#It was hard figuring out where this chapter would end so I struggled

[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 8 | stanley pines x f!reader 

summary: you and stanley go fishing 

warnings (TW): swearing, panic attack/panic-inducing scenarios, slight gore/violence 

tags: mutual-pining, fluff, angst, action, affection

notes: idk anything about ice fishing so pls don’t get my ass for this okay, this was v different to write than my usual long drawn out heart gutting character analyses that I love (not that that is NOT here) but all the movement was deffff hard so it took me a minute but hey this is what I wanted imma do it ya know 

Also i configured this chapter in like three separate ways in my head and it was so hard to chose? But i think the one i did end up writing is most true to their dynamic so far. To be of note for the v stubble reference im giving here but yall know The Kiss by painter Gustav Klimt? Ya… that…. Thats here (spot it if you can) as always thank you for the kind messages and notes and comments, love yall <3 also comment below if you'd like to be on a tag list I should maybe organize that hehe

word count: 6.5k

| masterlist | ix |

January, 1987

She had found them both nice fold-out chairs at the flea market just that last season, along with fishing poles the nice old man insisted went with the seats also. Talked her ear off about how he used to go ice fishing with his son, before said son went off to college. 

Now he wouldn’t be home during the ice fishing season, so he saw no use for his chairs or his poles. But she did. 

Stan would tell her flippantly about his youth from time to time, usually if not always said stories incorporated Stanford in one way or another. It seemed that the two barely, if ever, separated during their youth. Something that upset her more, that her friend had never spoken of his brother to her in the six years they had known each other. She didn’t think he would speak of it all as fondly, these memories, considering he never confided in her about Stanley, to begin with. 

Stan would speak of the shoreline in New Jersey, of the sharp sand beneath his feet and hidden caves along the coast they both would trek through. Talk of the setting sun, of racing his brother home in the dark down paved streets back to their shared room. 

He spoke most fondly of a boat though, one that had taken both twins years to configure. 

She figured the fishing poles could be some sort of link, at least in her mind. 

That and they spent some of their summers down by the dock at the local lake anyway. Splashing in windy tides off the dock and watching boats go by until sunset was a great way to cool off. That or revisiting the pool, where Stan would insist upon ice cream for the short drive home. 

She figured he would wait for the season opener to go fishing. Considering she gave him the poles and chairs in December, a quick wave to Christmas, a holiday he laughed off on the regular. He would routinely celebrate it with her, just for the holiday cookies and cheesy movies he wouldn’t admit he loved. But he was Jewish, after all. At least raised in a Jewish household, he told her flippantly, after opening his gift this last December. Laughing at her blushing face, and flabbergasted stuttering, asking him why he would bother with all this. She sat straight when he said it was for her. Because she wanted to, so he would. Not that he was a religious man, anyway. 

He found it amusing this holiday season then, to find her struggling to make some traditional dishes his mother would make each year come December for the holidays. Nothing he necessarily missed, but something he found endearing nonetheless. Her usual attention to detail, and odd need to ensure his comfort. 

The fishing poles were a welcomed gift though, and he lit up at them and the differing tackles the nice man at the flea market had also gifted her. Hugged her into his side, while he ranted and raved about being able to fish off the docks come summer. 

But he didn’t want to wait. 

Something she thought rather glumly in the very early morning that January weekday. The sun not even having made its appearance, she had stumbled out of her bed around 4 a.m., having promised to reluctantly go ice fishing with said enthusiastic man. They stood before the porch door now, while he knelt in front of her, lacing up tall winter boots and pulling over her snow pants. Tucking her in, layer upon layer. Putting to use some winter clothes they both had rangled out of donation bins that very first cold season. The snow pants and boots had only ever really been used when they would trek through the outskirts of the woods, searching for clues to Stanford’s other journals. 

She was still half asleep on her feet, falling forward into Stan’s bent shoulder in front of her to groan. For some reason, he was wide awake, and grinning like a fool despite it being 4 a.m. That dumb look on his face reminded her why she even crawled out of her cacoon of blankets. He was beyond happy to be able to go fishing. Something he couldn’t even wait for a warmer season to do. 

He seemed a smidge like his younger self when he was closest to water. Some of his favorite memories are those ones with Stanford by his side and sand intertwined in his hair. His skin dark in the sun and his toes were deep in the tide of the sand. 

It seemed more distant now, as distant as Ford was to him now. He wanted to ground himself here too, and some of his new favorite memories are of them hanging at the end of the dock. His feet in the cold water of the lake, and her nudging his shoulder. Teasing him, edging him off the docks’ wood and into the cold water with her. He preferred the summer to the snowy winters, but he figured they could make some new memories by the water now also. Even if they were colder ones. 

So he more or less begged her to join him. Promising that he would handle the fish after she made a disgusted face at the thought of stripping the fish of their skin and bones for the meal they would make of the catch. She agreed though, happy to tag along if it pleased him. 

He stood from his knelt position in front of her, standing to reach behind him to grab his red coat from the coat rack. Turning back to her to fold her arms into the coat also, her eyes still blurry as she smiled at him slightly giddy. 

He had a gift for her that last December also. A coat folded into shitty wrapping newspaper he had thought to repurpose. She smiled at the blue coat but quickly became confused when she pulled it out of the wrapping to find it was far too big for her own physique to be for her. He had quickly pulled out another present for her, presenting her with another newspaper-wrapped gift. Which she tore open with haste, and rocked up quickly to her feet to dance around their small living room, his old red coat in her arms. 

It was hers now, and she reveled in the shitty coat. His smell still lingered in the seam line, and when she leaned her head far back into the hood she could pick up on his shampoo. It kept her warm, despite also not fitting her physique. 

He had woken up earlier than her that morning, putting the appropriate supplies for ice picking into the trunk next to their foldable chairs, the tackles, and the fishing hooks. So they made their way out into the dark, ducking into the car next to each other to make for the lake in the early morning. 

She hummed along to the radio as per usual, random songs interspersed in between the local morning forecast. She stopped though now, picking her head up from the back of the seat to look over at Stan. 

“We missed the entrance to the dock.” 

“Nah there's another one we can go to. Farther down, less people.” 

She hummed, smiling over at him. What he actually meant was there would be no lake office to report to. So no need to register them for the lake that day, and no stupid state fee to pay for fishing on the lake. Amused at his shortcuts, she turns back to watch the pine trees pass out the car window. 

It was a sharp, nose-burning 10 degrees Fahrenheit that day, according to the radio forecast. Only made worse somehow with the creeping darkness from the horizon line. The sun slinked slowly in the coldness of January. 

He made his way out first, the car’s cabin light flashing on as he grinned over at her. Securing his blue coat closed quickly before getting out to stomp a path in the fresh snow around the car. Pulling around the sides to pull open her door, before chugging around to the trunk to unload the supplies he claimed they needed. 

She knew how to fish, but had never ventured into ice fishing. Mainly because the cold was beyond unappealing to her. But the thermos Stan had presented to her before making out the door that morning heated her hands enough to dismiss the onslaught of negativity thrumming through her. And partially woke her up on the drive over. Stepping out into the crunchy cold snow to help Stan gather supplies. 

He shuffled her chair into her hands, slugging everything else into his own broad arms. He could reasonably carry everything, stomping forward in the snow to make a path for her to follow in. 

They had made a spot on the ice, the snowy shoreline a good bit away. Stan claiming the best spots must be farther out. Because the farther out, the bigger the fish. She sat, glancing around the empty ice. When Stan meant fewer people he meant no people. A frozen dock far off near the shoreline also, its wooden structure covered in ice. She watched him now, the fishing poles cradled in her lap, and the thermos warm in her hands. He’s bent in front of her, his mittened hands working an ice auger to break a solid hole through the thick layer of ice. 

Grunting, he stands back up, hands on his hips admiring his work. 

“Is the ice too thin here?” She observes. 

He tilts his head left, turning to her now. “No, doll. Perfectly fine right here. We’ll only be here until a little after sunrise anyway.” 

He sits in his own foldable chair that she had set up for him while he was finagling with the ice. Their chairs positioned side by side, a little distance between them and the whole he had just made. He reaches between them, opening up the tackle box to shuffle around drawers, looking for something in its depth. 

“Close your eyes, hun.” 

She rolls her eyes, closing them, while shuffling the thermos between her thighs to hold out her hands in wait. He places something in her mittened hands, it’s slightly heavy in them now. 

“Open ‘em.” 

She opens them to see an odd black contraption in her hands. Two knobs, a dark screen, and a long antenna on what she presumes is a battery-powered electronic. Almost too dark to make out what it was, but it hit her and she gasped. 

“Ta-Da!” 

“A radio!” She sings, clutching it closer to her chest and swinging in her seat to knock her knees with his. Clawing at his shoulder to fold herself into his neck and coat’s furry trim. She wouldn’t question where he got it, just revel that he had thought to, for her. 

“I know you weren’t too eager to go fishing with me, doll. But I figured this could make up for some of it.” He chuckled, readjusting his hat on his head after they pulled away. Knee’s still knocking between them. 

“I’d do anything with you Stan.” She hums, unthinking, as she looks down at the device in her hands. Tweaking around the knobs and the antenna to turn it on. She misses his flush next to her. 

She gets it working quickly, the music faintly staticy in the background of Stan attempting to put lures at the end of their poles. 

He gets her’s ready first, leaning forward in his seat to situate the pole in her hands. Pointing out the slack line and the type of lure he put on the end of her pole. She’s too distracted, like she always is when he’s probably explaining something vaguely important. 

The music hums between them, perched on the tackle box he had closed. His cheeks flushed from the cold, his hat slumping down the back of his head, hair peeking out around the rim and sticking to his forehead. He leans in closer, his knee and thigh along her own. His own covered hand reaching for hers, folding it around the pole for her to hold. 

They enjoy each other's company until the sun peaks up along the horizon, a good hour in. As they pass the coffee-filled thermos back and forth, she hums to the radio. Enjoying stories Stan told about tourists from the end of the last season. Telling her about their ridiculous questions he had to work around last minute. 

“Then he asked me if they were extinct!” 

“What you tell him?” 

“Well he couldn’t have been more than eight years old, and he got all teary-eyed when he asked me.” Stan waves his hand around, drumming up the memory of when a child had asked him if the fake displayed plady-beaver was the last of its kind. 

“Annnnddd?” She hums, sipping on the last of their shared beverage. 

“And I may or may not have said they were not.” He shrugs. “Was easy to convince the kid’s dad to buy him a plushy.” 

She laughs, thinking about the stupid merchandise she’s still not used to, that she sometimes restocked in the front of the house. But of course, Stan didn’t have the heart to really crush the kid’s spirit. Sad kids equaled less money probably, in his mind. That and he had a weird affinity of being about to communicate with them like no other. 

There’s a tug on her line suddenly, not the first in the hour they’d been at their spot, but the first real strong one she’s ever felt. Jerking her pole, bending it forward. Both her hands met the pole, yanked straight in her seat suddenly. 

“Woah!” He says, sitting forward and reaching for her pole also. His hands encased hers around the pole. “Hold it tight, hun.” Grunting in her ear. 

But the pulling got worse, had them both standing from their chairs. His arms around hers, helping her reel back the pole, pulling it back towards his left shoulder. His arms encasing her, pulling her flush with his front. 

“I gotcha.” He grunts again, close to her ear. 

“Do you?” Gasping at the strength of the pull along the pole. 

It seems to drag them closer and closer to the ice hole he had put in the ground not even an hour ago. His feet planted firm, yet scrapping against the ice. Hers fumbling, dipping under the strength of being pulled forward. Her hands tight, beginning to sweat and ache in the casing of her mittens. A heat around the ring of her hat. He’s hot behind her, warmth seeping out from his coat and onto her back. He feels firm, and yet they both continue a slow crawl forward. 

Until it tugs. It tugs so hard that she instinctually releases her grip. Her hands were still steady against the pole though, still beneath Stan’s own hands. 

The jerk has them both flung forward, his feet no longer steady, flipping against the ice. She’s still between his arms when they fall forward, inching towards the hole. He turns them somehow, taking the brunt of it on his right shoulder. 

Her head swims, having met the ground rather suddenly. But she’s between his arms, her hands having let go of the fishing pole. He’d let them slip from the pole, his arms tight around her, trying to take the force of the impact. 

“Stan.” She mutters, mushy between them. Her head pounded for a minute, as they continued to slide against the ice. His chin propped on her head, warm around her still. 

He doesn’t respond, because he’s given no time to. Another harsh tug on the pole sent him forward quickly towards the hole. He thinks fast though, bending his arms, hooking his feet along her legs, and pulling her out of his grasp. 

She slides along the ice and snow, his push along her legs and waist burned. She turned, pushing herself up on her hands. Grasping at the snow to get some balance. She had run into the chairs and tackle box. All their supplies scattered along the ice. The radio was static behind her. 

It had all happened so fast, her voice cracking in the cold air. Calling his name but not finding him. One moment he was there, the next gone. The water still. 

They had been pulled forward so suddenly, a quick five-second span between the tug and her head meeting the ice. And he was gone as soon as she had lifted herself again, the ice cracking along the sides of the former small hole. 

“Stanley!” Scrapping, crawling towards the hole. The surface wet and slick from the cold lake water that had seeped through the cracks along the hole now. Stan’s visage far from view, the top of the water dark. 

She stares in what feels like forever but is only quantifiable in the movements of the sun. It’s rising now, around her. Sparkling on the ice and water around her. Something she’d marvel at, have her grasping at Stan’s shoulder. Nudging him to see as she does. 

She thinks only briefly before shucking off her hat and gloves, beginning to unlace her boots. She’d follow him, into the dark depths. 

A deep continuous thump. Running along the ice. First near her feet, then farther and farther from her. It has her racing towards it, the vibrations along the ice guiding her along. It must be him, must be that something that pulled him into the dark murky water. The rhythmic thudding has her racing back to the supplies. Fumbling for the axe Stan had packed to help pick out the ice in the hole. 

Running full force back, the ice cracking beneath her legs. Shoelaces dancing around her feet, her fingers nippy and uncovered around the wooden handle of the axe.

It cracks, sickenly loud and sudden. Water bursts beneath her shoes, seeping up and around her. The ground opens up in front of her, splitting along the horizon line. A flash of blue precariously balanced in the large maw of a blurred creature. 

It shakes the ice, splintering and fracturing it below her feet. The weight of the creature resting the front of its body along the ice. Shaking the striking blue figure in its jaw, trying to subdue it. 

She stands still in the ankle-deep water, trying to make out the blurry figure in the maw of the anomaly. It strikes her then that it could be nothing else but Stanley, confirmed by the sputtering grunts the figure heaves, coughing up cold water from his lungs. 

She stands frozen only until then, stepping forward into the slowly sinking ice bath. Ax swung behind her shoulder, ready to slice along the neck of the beast in hopes it would release her husband. 

He clamors in the cage of teeth above. Raised his large hand into a well-practiced fist, blindly throwing said fist to meet the eye of the beast. 

The hit startles the beast, cracking open its jaw to release Stan, a sudden sharp screech creeping up its large neck through its throat. Rattling her bones as she leaps forward in the ice and water, bringing the ax into the meat of the beast's neck. 

It crawls back further, slinking back into the dark cold waters. She stumbles back through the ice and the water until she feels snow beneath her unlaced boots again, the ax gone from her grasp and embedded in the skin of the anomaly. The beast is there and gone in a flash, scrambling back beneath the water. 

Stan has the air knocked out of him, having landed on his back. His head cracked against the ice and water below, the cold creeping in through his clothes. He opens his mouth to groan but finds only his shallow breath and the puff of heated air leaves his mouth. The sun creeping above the horizon now, something he can only gauge by the heat on his face. The rest of him rock solid and shivering under the weight of his wet clothes. 

A sudden eclipse above his head, the sun, and shadows shaded by a beautiful face. Her face shadowed by the sun, her hat gone and her hair spilling all around her head like a halo. Her cheeks flush from the cold, from the adrenaline. It could be the cold or the way the light looks around her head, but he swore she must have been an angel. 

He’s muttering when she finally reaches him, stumbling through the cracked ice and wet water. Her only thought was getting to him. He was beyond sense when she did make it to him, clutching at his tattered and soaked blue coat. He was soaked, drenched to the bone. His hat gone and his hair icy along his head, his gloves gone also, a boot missing from his left foot. And he’s drenched. It all stuck to his body, freezing quickly in the icy temperature. She had to get him home, get him out of these clothes, and heat him up. 

She runs her hands along his coat first, checking for punctures, for blood. He had been dragged several yards under the water in the toothy jaw of said beast. But no punctures and no blood made themselves apparent through his coat. Something she’ll have to access later. 

A thump along the ice has her whipping her head around. The vibration rippling along the ice and the shards of the broken lake surface. The beast lingered in the area, waiting for them to be off guard again. 

She wastes no time, lifting Stan’s large arm up and above her shoulder. Leveraging his body up to be leaned against her side and her back. All those stories about mothers and daughters and adrenaline ring in her head, a truth to the stories of women and abnormal strength in times of strife. She would ache tomorrow, and be glad of it anyways. 

He unconsciously shuffles his feet, and she makes note that he’s somewhat conscious. The ice helps her slip them both along the good hundred yards she has until they reach the shoreline. Their supplies the least of her worries, and the anxious thought of the beast meeting her back out there in the wreckage of it all. She does not turn back to look when abandoning it all. 

It’s harder folding his stiff body into the passenger seat. His legs flopped into the car last. She curses, reaching over him to buckle him in and then making for the driver's side. She rarely drove them, it was more of a special occasion between the two of them. She had only ever driven once in the winter and had been deeply scared of the slipping ice and heavy snowfall. But the sky was clear and she’d put the thought of ice away for a long while. 

She curses again, reaching over to Stan to feel up the inside of his coat pockets for the keys. He stirs at the movement, shrugging off her touch, shivering in his seat. 

“Not Doc’.” He mutters, his head spinning. 

“What?” 

“You’re not Doc’.” He grunts again, his lips loose. His head hurts like a motherfucker. 

“I am!” She hisses, hands pushing his away, reaching for his pockets again, looking for the keys. 

“Oh.” He looks back, eyes blurry under the odd pressure along the back of his head. This person sounded like his wife, he’d admit. Shifting his head to lean against the back of the long bench, making out the flush on her face and the halo of hair around her head. He thought this was his angel? He guessed it was the same thing in his mind, anyway. 

She’s still ruffling through his soaked half-frozen jacket. “Hi, angel.” He says, smiling down at her frusstrated face. Why was she so frazzled? 

He’s grinning like an idiot, and he just acted like he didn’t know who she was. Like she wasn’t her. Calling her angel? He’d only ever done that in her dream. That achingly sick dream she had of them, of them in this very car. Of his weight above her, of his breath along the crook of her neck. Of his kiss. 

She shakes it off. Finally finding the keys folded into a very frozen and flat pocket along his chest. Turning back to the wheel, starting the car up, and peeling out of the parkway backward. Leaving the same way they had come in. 

She races home, glancing over at Stan stiff in the passenger seat. His eyes hadn’t left her figure but seemed distant. His thoughts far beyond him, and his coat and pants were frozen against him. His hair melts off his head in the car, still wet but no longer frozen to his scalp. Messy wet hair tucked around his big ears. 

She parks and throws open doors as quickly as she physically can. Slipping in the snow, tripping over her loose boots. Fingers frigid when she reaches for him to move him out of the passenger side. 

She knows the signs of hypothermia. Knows the dangers of prolonged exposure to cold, and dropping body temperature. Doing math in her head, hoping he had been exposed short enough for her to physically raise his temperature before his heart began to slow. Before blood began to sludge its way through his veins. 

He looks as blue as his coat, his arm slugged back over her shoulder as she attempts to get him up the stairs. The slurred speech, the confusion, the dulled skin. It made her heart race, taking steps two at a time to drag him to the upstairs restroom. To the bath. 

She sets him against the open door, running and slipping along the tile, turning on the bath to its warmest temperature. The water would be scalding against his cold skin, would sting and tingle in contrast to his wet clothes, but it was the only way she thought to raise his temperature. 

She rushes back to him, kneeling in front of him, grabbing at his coat and pants to pull the wet clothes from him. He’s smiling again, giggling at her attempt to uncloth him. 

“Could have asked hun.” He jokes, but she cries. He’s so out of it, so gone from this reality and it shakes her bones. He’s here and not all at once. 

He thinks he sees her clearer here in the yellow bathroom light, hot fog swelling around them from the facet. She has her hands all over him, eager to get him out of wet clothes that stick hard against his body. Didn’t she know? That all she had to do was ask and he would shed any layer to get closer to her? He giggles again, leaning into her hot hands against his cold blue body. 

She manages to get everything but his boxers and socks off him, a flush to her face. Not for lacking of trying though, but Stan would laugh and shake her hand away. Muttering under his breath between them when she would reach for the waistband of his usual blue loose boxers. So she luggs his wingspan along her back again, leveraging him up to move him to the scalding water. Heat bubbling up in clouds around the water. Bruises along his chest have begun to form from the pressure and weight of the beast's teeth and jaw. They’d turn purple and swell soon, a good sign she sighed. A swell meant blood was flowing fast still.

He hisses, his head rocking back along the edge of the clawed tub when he finally is able to sit in the water. It’s hot, too hot. It hurts to breathe in the heat, and he attempts to lift his lungs above the water to gain air again. The muggy water hurts his skin and burns him. But her hand meets his chest, pushing him back into the scalding water. 

“Stay.” She commands, eyes wavering when she looks at him now. Melted into the porcelain of the tub. He’s still shivering. He doesn’t even register it but his body has been shaking, vibrating, this entire time. Moving his muscles in an attempt to warm him up. 

She reaches to turn the hot water back on, cursing, beating her hand along the rim of the tub when the water comes out cold. It’s all gone. She looks down at him again, her hand moving along his chest, trying to generate heat where her hand was. “Stay, Stan. Stay in the fucking water.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He mutters, still smiling at her like an idiot. God, she was pretty, god her hand felt nice along his cold bitter skin. She was out the door so quickly. Was it possible to miss someone who was just in the other room? 

She’s barreling down the stairs, flipping on every gas burner in her wake on the kitchen stove. Stumbling to the cupboard, pulling out saucepans and the like to put water in. She’d boil it, damnit. Like her grandmother used to do for her when she was preparing her bath. 

She doesn’t breathe until every corner of the stove is full. Leaned over the countertop next to the burners. Her hand rubbed along her chest, along her heart. Self-soothing, the purpose of the continuous motion above the erratic beating. She had tunnel vision up until now, suddenly noticing that she hadn’t even flicked on the kitchen light. Hadn’t even closed the front door. 

She had been scared. Still was. Shaken beyond something she knew. It pained her to be in the next room, afraid of looking over her shoulder and not finding him there. She’d never lead them through crowds again, never let him stray far from her peripheral. Because then he would be gone, could be gone. 

Ice seeps in through her snow pants, and she tugs off her boots too. Socks wet against the kitchen tile. Her hands shake as she pulls her boots loose. 

She had almost lost him. Lost him for good. It was a shell shock beyond her, beyond her imagination. For the last five years, it was hard to conjure up adventures and trips without him. The thought of flippantly leaving him behind never crossed her mind. Hadn’t ever left her mind. Not after storming in through the shack's door, not after his confession to her across the dim kitchen table, across their kitchen table. 

She sits there now, feeling like it was a lifetime ago, but knowing she could blink and mistake the past for the present. He had reached across to her that night, across the table. Held his palms face up when he asked for help. When he confided in a four-second mistake he had made. She had hesitated then, to reach for him. To reach across and find assurance between them, to fold her hands into his own. She had judged initially. But they had both made mistakes. Both made mirror image mistakes, it felt. She didn't want to hesitate to reach for him ever again. She just feared he would be gone before she could. Feared he would disappear along her shoulder line. 

She had thought it was obvious, the unspoken agreement between them. That they both meant something to the other. That her dreams threaded into a deeper reality, and that the jokes they shared weren’t some passing balm to deal with it all. That the late nights in front of the T.V. analyzing movies were for the thrill of each other's company, and that their yearly poker game was a silent promise of convergence. That the shitty driving lessons weren’t so she could drive away from him someday, that chalkboard lessons were so he wouldn’t scoff when she said he was smart with her whole chest. That the yearly diner dates were just that, just dates. Not something flippant, not something as unkind as the upkeep of an image. That he opened doors for her for a reason and tucked her below his chin because he cared enough to. That he reached across tables, palms up, because he never feared her hesitation. 

Something unwritten between them she believed, everything shared in everything but words and letters. She was a calculating woman throughout her years and didn’t know how to trace the beginning of the feelings she had amassed all the way to the end of it. She didn’t know how to explain that her heart clenched when he leaned over the seat to buckle her in or explain how her hands shake when he reaches for the chalk from her now in the middle of a lesson. It was inconsequential, improbable, and entirely unexplainable to well… explain the sum of him to her. It felt little in comparison to his constant devotion. 

The two front pots begin to boil over, she lifts her head, turning off burners and carrying a stem to a pot in both hands. Taking the stairs two at a time again, uncaring about the burning water running down her arms in her haste to make it back to him. 

He’s still the same shade, but he lifts his head to look at her when she enters now. His smile less doppy, more genuine. His hair beginning to dry along his head, no ice to be found in its dark strands. He’s still leaning heavily along the back of the tub, not yet able to hold himself up. Color coming back to his cheeks, to his face. She kneels beside the tub, the floor wet as it seeps in through her pants. She pours in one pot at a time, swiping the water around to acclimate it to the bathwater. His hands move unconsciously, grabbing a strand of her hair to fold behind her ear. To be able to look at her more clearly through the fog of hot water. 

She begins to pour the next pot into the tub, but he tugs her forward, folds her body against the rim of the tub. Something in her makes her stand, lifting her feet into the tub. The way he looks at her, so disorientated and shivering still. It moves her forward, has her crawling into the tub completely clothed just to lay her cheek against his chest. To make sure it continues to rise under her. Like when she sleeps, and he lulls her back to sleep by simply being there. She wants that, for him to lull her racing heart now. Make her forget about his disappearing visage and still water. He does that, hums like he always does, folding her head under his scruffy chin. Comforting her despite his weakened figure. Hoping she wouldn’t notice how cold he still was against her. 

Something unwritten she believed, something she had never had to say out loud because she had never felt this weird depth before. But he was slipping from her grasp now, heavy against the rim of the tub. And so very quiet it made her sick, made her heart chase up her throat. Made her anxious beyond words, because the thing she meant to say to him would stay unwritten. If he was gone she’d only voice such fantasies in her dreams. The dreams she had of him as hers, those other realities her mind conjured where he wore a golden band and called her his. Where she was his. 

“You're mine.” Her voice was unwavering, something unwritten between the syllables of her words. It blooms and bursts from her throat, a growth that had sprouted long ago, stumbles out of her mouth searching for light. Still folded under his chin, along his chest. Her shirt wet from the water, bunched up along her waist where he had put his hands. 

He gets that look in his eyes despite her intensity, a joke on the tip of his tongue. Something to soothe her racing heart, to stamp down the distant look in her eyes. How she had looked in the car scared him, the rush of her chest but the focus of her eyes. Like they had been driving in the dark, through a neverending tunnel. But she chases it away before he can open his mouth, her hand meeting and cupping his scruffy jaw, pulling back from her comfort to look at him. Turning his eyes to her intense ones, ones that held something unspoken. 

“No.” A shake to her voice, eyes blurry. “You’re mine.” 

He nods, his voice stuck in his throat. Running his hands up her back, his warmer hands. 

“Y-you aren’t allowed to leave me like that, Stanley. You can’t l-leave me all alone like that.” Flashes of a towering beast are nothing compared to turning over her shoulder. Of searching the horizonline. Like she does for Stanford, eyes drifting to tree lines. She wouldn’t, couldn’t compartmentalize doing such a thing for Stanley. She’d take back hesitancies and reach across tables palm up if it meant he wouldn’t leave her again. 

“I promise, angel.” He takes her again, tucking her back to his chest. Her racing heart fluttered against his warming chest. “I won’t leave.” 

Her hand fall into that crook in his chest, the other clutching along his back, trying to bring him closer, trying to make the space between them disappear. She sniffling, from the cold and stress, against his chest and he doesn’t think twice about his words. Thinking of reaching for her, of meeting her across bridges and tables and in tunnels to meet her open palms, her warm hands. Unfurling her from his chest to lean down and place his lips near her ear, something unspoken between syllables. 

“You’re mine, too.” 

His lips traveling to her cheek, hovering against the flush skin before tracing her warmth. Kissing the apple of her cheek as she leans into the front of him. His lips warm against her cheek, like she had dreamed of. He had never been this close in the waking world, something she craved more with each passing day. She never pulled away, sniffling as he brings her forward again. No hesitation to be found in the nod of her head along his scruff, a nudge, and nestle of agreement. Something unspoken, unwritten. 

She forgot about the pots and burners. 

[elusivecagedmockingbird]

Orbiting: pt.4°

: pt.1° | pt.2° - pt.2,5° | pt.3°

[icehockey!jungkook x figureskater!reader] [3.9k smut, angst. There's swearing; bitch-calling (non-sexual); this is purely fiction, please practice safe sex!; tons of dialogues. I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it, but tbh, I kinda struggled to steer the plot.

Also! Happy Hobi Day! Please give Be My Mistake some love, too! (if u want)

-

"Isn't that your girl, cozying up to Park?"

The first thing Jungkook sees is you—back on the rink, just where you belong. He's never seen someone as graceful as you glide. You always look beautiful like this, he thinks. The apples of your cheeks are rounded and rosy from the cold, and the corners of your eyes wrinkle as you laugh.

You always reverted to the nine-year-old you when you were left free to skate—so carefree and unafraid. There were moments like now when he could watch you move smoothly on the ice and soar in the air forever. Days like today are what he will always be thankful for, and he hopes you get to have forever. No longer does he want to see you put yourself through so much pain and endure it for the sake of being the best in your sport. While Jungkook knows all too well that you need to put in the hard work to get a step forward toward your dream of being professionals in your own field, he also knew when too much was too much. In all those days where you suffered, Jungkook did, too. So, he vowed to never forget that there's a version of you who knew how to revel and not overthink every move she made on the ice. And it is his duty to always remind you of her.

Your squeal broke him out of his trance. And Jungkook would have felt the strain in his muscle when he whipped his head, turning to look through the glass, past the bleachers, if the sight hadn't irked him. Jealousy stirred as he spots Jimin's arms on your waist and the other outstretched to hold yours. He knows it's nothing malicious. You've been practicing that stance with him for years when you were kids, thanks to his mom. But something about seeing Jimin with you and the fact that you've defended the guy when Jungkook blamed him for your sprained leg AND even managed to gush about how graceful he skates left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Plus, not to be bitter and petty, but Jungkook thinks he skates well—better even. And yet you've never complimented him.

"Not my girl," Jungkook murmurs under his breath. "And it's a routine. Not exactly cozying up." He scoffs and takes his stick from Yugyeom a little too aggressively, causing his friend-slash-teammate to chuckle.

"You seem to know a lot about routines," Jackson cuts in. "But then again, why wouldn’t you, Jungkook?" The lilt in the older man's voice as he said Jungkook's name wasn't unnoticed, but Jungkook didn't have enough patience and attention to spare to even humor the guy. He also knew whatever Jackson had to say would be anything but a friendly banter.

Jungkook only acknowledges the man with a side-eye and raised brow as he tapes his hockey stick.

Unfortunately, Jackson refuses to shut his mouth; the man is clearly on a mission to get a reaction from Jungkook.

The rest of the hockey team starts to come out of the locker rooms, clumping to the bleachers. With the gathering crowd, Jackson raises his voice, demanding attention and an audience. "You know, there's this move figure skaters do where they spin and spin and spin, circling around their partner." With his head tilted and standing in front of Jungkook, he gives him a haughty glare.

And still, Jungkook’s attention remains on you. You’re only just occupying your side of the rink—the opposite side where his team is gathered at. Whatever you hear on your end should be incoherent. You don't need to hear the bullshit coming out of his teammate's mouth, he thinks.

"What was it she preferred to call it again?" Jackson pretends to wait for Jungkook to answer. Yugyeom, on the other hand, looked apologetic. What started out as playful teasing turned into a way for Jackson to provoke their team captain, and everyone knew how Jackson loved to rile Jungkook. While everyone thought it was because the older man lost the title to someone younger, that was only partly the reason.

"Ah, right," Jackson walks closer to Jungkook. He claps Jungkook's shoulder before gripping tightly into it. "Orbiting,” Jackson grins. He’s taunting, hooking Jungkook, demanding his full attention. “Y/N does it well, but you clearly do it the best,” he mocks. “It’s comical watching you run in circles around the bitch for years.” His sly smile turns to pointed chuckles as he feels Jungkook tense under his grip.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Closing in on Jungkook's ear, Jackson whispers, "Don't worry, I'm pretty sure she does it intentionally, especially to guys she dances with. I bet Park's gonna be her new boy toy now, huh?"

Jungkook was never a violent man. Even on the ice, in a game, he never started brawls. The one time he got tangled in a fight, he couldn’t stand the disappointed glare you gave him. It hurt more than the 13 stitches on his head and scarier than his mom’s scolding.

And yet, Jungkook throws the first punch straight to Jackson’s jaw.

Jungkook can take a joke and can easily shake off empty trash talk and name-calling from his team. In fact, he lets them make jokes about him about his blatant simping for you because it’s true, and anything untrue, he doesn’t see the point in entertaining it. But he draws the line when the jabs are at the expense of the people he loves.

In a matter of seconds, Jackson returns the punch, and a full brawl breaks out.

On the opposite end, you and Jimin match your stride as a pair—being aware of each other’s movement and syncing your limbs to move as one; oblivious to the growing chaos.

You’re in the middle of a Lutz when the commotion steals your focus. You wobble on your landing and Jimin’s quick to hold you from falling. You turn towards the racket and see a mass of bulky men shouting.

It’s Jungkook’s team.

You skate closer to the chaos, and it’s not until you see a pressed back on the glass, the number 97 jersey bold and taut on their back, that you speed skate. Behind you, Jimin calls your name and follows.

You see Yugyeom restrain Jackson, and the other guys are holding back Jungkook. A flurry of curse words flies out of Jackson’s mouth. Entering the box, your eyes are drawn to Jungkook. You can already see his busted lip and sore knuckles. You call his name, and he looks up, jaws locked and tense. It takes a moment for his clenched knuckles to relax. He stands up and shrugs off the arms holding him.

Yet again, Jackson cuts in, “You guys are quite a pair, huh?” he laughs, humorless.

“Man, shut the fuck up,” Yugyeom struggles but eventually manages to drag Jackson away from the group. Sensing that Jungkook won't follow and lunge at Jackson, the rest of the guys disperse. All that’s left gathered on the bleachers is you and Jungkook.

And Jimin. 

Your new partner’s existence annoys Jungkook. Your doe-eyed friend wonders if Jimin knows he doesn’t have to stand so close beside you. He watches with eagle eyes as Jimin hands out your skate guards. You teeter sideways as you clasp the rubber on your skates, and Jungkook hates the sight in front of him—you’re holding on to Jimin for support, and his arm is on your waist to keep you steady.

Fueled by jealousy and adrenaline, Jungkook walks towards you just in time to catch your arm away from Jimin’s body as you switch to putting on the other rubber guard on your skates.

You feel smushed as you stand sandwiched between two guys. Feeling claustrophobic, you push Jungkook by his chest to look at his injuries. “Your lips are bleeding,” your tone colder than ice, a contrast to your warm hands inspecting the blooming bruises on his face. “It’s nothing,” Jungkook murmurs, his head turning sideways, away from you.

You tsk at his stubbornness and press your thumb on his split lip, earning a pained hiss. “We have to clean this so it doesn’t scar.” Before Jungkook can protest and put on his macho bravado, you turn to Jimin. “Can we take a rain check on lunch?” your voice barely above a whisper. But Jungkook’s not only stubborn, he’s nosey, too—masking how hard he strains to listen to your conversation with an unbothered face.

There's an exchange of whispers, then Jimin looks at him, then back at you. He smiles and nods at you. “I'll see you later, then.” His hands connect with your arm for a comforting squeeze before leaving.

Jungkook rolls his eyes.

-

“Where are we going?” Jungkook follows you as you drag him by his arm along the corridors. “The clinic’s closed on weekends,” he points out, but the only response he gets is a huff.

You’re a bit eerily quiet. Calm, even. He fears what follows, so he thinks of a way to pacify you.

“Well. Lucky for you, Jeon, I have the keys.” You dangle the set of keys on your fingers. “Your mom gave them to me before she left.”

You unlock the clinic and usher Jungkook in the compact space. “I seem to always end up hurt when I practice and it’s not like your mom has her eyes on me all the time, so she lends me the key to the clinic.” You push Jungkook to the foamed table. “Sit.”

Jungkook follows suit, still mum, still thinking. He knows he's on wafer-thin ice with you, but even so, he can't help but love the attention you’re giving him and the fact that you’re away from Jimin.

The image of you and Park on the rink is still vivid in his memory, stirring the tinge of jealousy that resides inside him. So, as you rummage through the cabinets, Jungkook pulls you close to him. “C’mere,” he whispers.

“Hold on, I have to find something for your lip.” Your body extends in the small space. Your arms are outstretched while you rummage through the cabinet for bandages and antiseptic cream, and your lower half is awkwardly bent, thighs wedged between Jungkook’s, and his hands support your hips. 

“Forget the cream. I know a better way to have this healed quickly.” His arms engulf your waist and pull you completely to him. You turn to tell him off, but before words can leave your mouth, Jungkook slots his lips to yours.

Before things could escalate, you begrudgingly pull away. “Nuh-uh. You think you’re so sly, huh?” You pinch his chin. “I still need to interrogate you on what exactly happened with Jackson back there.”

Jungkook deflates. “You know Jackson. He was spouting nonsense, and I guess he just got on my nerves.”

Curiosity peaked, you push Jungkook to tell you more. “What nonsense?” Your willful streak shows in your furrowed eyebrows. On most days, he loves it, but on a day like today, he wishes you knew when to get the hint and just drop it.

Jungkook groans. “I’m just really having one of those days, Y/N.” Arms still wrapped around your waist, he leans forward to rest his head on your chest. Instinctively, you run your fingers through his hair, fingers massaging his scalp. Your best friend moans, and for the first time since you pulled him away from the bleachers, you let out a smile.

“Make me feel better,” he breathes. His face now burrowing into your breasts, and his fluffy hair tickles you.

“Gguk,” you giggle. “We’re in the clinic, and I'm pretty sure there are people nearby.” You softly pull at his hair to remove his head between your tits, but he just moans.

Oh.

“Don’t care, baby. Just focus on me,” he proposes with a kiss on your neck and his hands make soothing work on your back. When the only response he gets from you is a satisfied hum, he sits up further on the table. He lowers his hand, tapping your ass before he pulls you by the backs of your knees so you straddle his thighs on the table.

“Fuck, I love it when you wear skirts.” Jungkook’s hand disappears inside your clothes, palms once again making contact with your ass before he claws at your tights. “This I hate, though. Fuck.” he grumbles at the sheer garment.

“Oh, that's a shame," you pout. "I actually thought you'd love it. It’s crotchless," the last sentence coming out in a whisper. Cue another curse from his mouth. You momentarily pull away to get off the table and shed your safety shorts. “Need those off, Jeon," you command with a shoot of your brow towards his pants. “Wanna feel you. Don’t you want to feel me?”

You're a fucking tease, and Jungkook loves it.

You watch him struggle to unlatch his belt clasp—he’s roughly pulling at his padded pants and while you want to help, you decide to enjoy the sight before you as his thick thighs come into view. You climb back on top of Jungkook, his eyes following your movement until you plop your ass to his growing bulge.

Jungkook flips the front of your skirt and goes breathless at the sight. “You’re a fucking minx, you know that?”

“Only for you.” Hands gripping his shoulders as an anchor, you drag your wet pussy to his bulge, and you both moan. “Wore this for you," you pant. "I knew you were practicing today and thought you'd need a cooldown after." You’re full-on humping him, drawing pleasured gasps from the man below you.

“Well, fuck me,” Jungkook throws his head back, eyes up on the ceiling and he thanks his lucky stars for you. You pull at his tight underwear, and his hard cock springs free—swollen red and leaking. Your mouth waters at the sight, and your pussy clenches at nothing.

“Please, Jungkook,” you plead. You’re beyond turned on. Your arousal mixes with Jungkook’s precum, and you can smell the sex permeating the air. It drives you feral. You spit at his cock before stroking it.

Jungkook revels in your neediness. This is what he wants—for you to need him, want him. And someday, he hopes it goes beyond sex. His arms pull your waist closer as you sink down on his cock in one drop.

“Shit, Y/N, you okay, baby?”

You respond with a breathy yes as you start bouncing on his dick. Your focus is directed on chasing your high and, at the same time, making sure Jungkook feels the same intensity of desire and pleasure you feel. With a roll of your hips, you clench around his shaft. He claws at your arched back as he sucks your tits with playful nips. Each sting heightens your arousal.

You play around with the angle of your hips and attune to Jungkook's reaction. But you struggle and near complete submission with each bite to your breast, every kiss to your lips, and slide to your folds. Once again, you’re rendered pliant and submissive on top of Jungkook.

Feeling you slow down, Jungkook taps your burning thighs. “On your back, baby,” he rasps. You shake your head but move to get on all fours—you raise your hips, shuffling to snuggle his cock in your ass and stretch your back. And to top it off, you clasp your hands on your back, giving him something to hold as he pounds into you.

Behind you, Jungkook is gobsmacked. What are you doing to him?

Presenting yourself for his use, Jungkook doesn't hesitate to hold your behaved hands with one grip, and his other hand guides his dick to smear your slick from your folds to your ass. He preens at the noises you make.

"Please," you drool. "Please what? Tell me what you want, baby," his voice matches the slow and soft movement of his tip on your folds.

With one last teasing push of his tip to your puffy clit, he completely bottoms out and holds.

“How’s that for feeling me, baby?” His lips ghost the shell of your ear, and it tickles you just right. You clench around him and reclaim one of your restrained hands between your now folded bodies to draw circles on your clit. You hear Jungkook chuckle before leaving a quick peck on your cheek. As he straightens up to pull out his dick, he reaches to swat your naughty hand on your clit and replaces it with his.

And it feels better.

His fingers play with your nub and continue to plunge in and out of you. The sound that echoes around the tiny room is pure filth—guttural groans and whiny moans harmonize.

“Baby, cum for me,” Jungkook hastens his rhythmic thrusting, and with a soft flick to your clit, you come undone. His movements quicken and cum-soaked hands travel upwards to your body to fondle your tits like it's his personal stress ball.

“Shit Jungkook. Feels good," you blabber. You love how you can feel his weight on top of you; the pressure makes his pounding harder and deeper and it overrides your oversensitivity. The pleasure is too good, too strong. With a bite to your shoulder to muffle himself, you cum with him.

-

“Don’t forget your shorts. Can’t have you skating with Park wearing just that."

"Right," you giggle and put on your shorts. "Can't be traumatizing my partner this soon."

"Good girl." Jungkook pats your ass.

"Hey," your hands pull Jungkook before he can leave. "What really happened back there?"

"Y/N, I told you it was nothing."

"Nothing? Jungkook, had the fight been longer, you could've been dismissed from the upcoming game."

"Well, we're fine. Plus, Jackson's not going to do anything or tell the coach. It's both our asses on the line."

"That doesn't mean you can go around throwing punches now. What if—"

Throwing his head back, Jungkook lets out a bitter laugh, cutting you off. As he returns to face you, he sees the focused glare on your eyes—lids sharp and brows knitted. You're annoyed.

But so is he.

“You really wanna know? Fine. Jackson called me out. He said it was fucking comical how I wait around you like a lovesick puppy. It's actually a fucking running joke in our team that when you call, I come running." Words and feelings overflowed out of Jungkook's mouth, but he was not close to being done. "And as much as I hate to admit it, it’s actually true, and someone like him throwing that to my face just struck a nerve. He deserved the punch for running his mouth and calling you a bitch, too. Y/N, if you've heard the names he's called you, comments he made—"

"I don't care about that, Jungkook," you interrupt. One moment, you're in bliss, and now you've been hit with an accusation. "I don't care if he calls me a bitch or paints me however he wants. It's you I care about. I worry that one day, he manages to push you to your breaking point, and you do something that kicks you off the team." You feel like a bubble filled with emotions burst inside you, leaving you conflicted with what you feel. You're angry at Jackson, but also, if you think Jungkook is saying what he is saying, then half of you blooms in hope, but the other wilts at the revelation that he said it like he resents what he's feeling.

“So, do you resent me? For, I don't know, calling you? Wanting to be with you? Being friends with you?" The last question left your lips in a murmur. You've ranked low in competitions before, but you've never looked as defeated as you do now. To make it worse, you stand pathetic in front of Jungkook.

“I’m not saying that," Jungkook pinches the bridge of his nose. "I’ve been in love with you, Y/N,” he can’t believe he’s saying it out loud.

Jungkook imagined his confession to be far from this wreckage. This moment was the polar opposite of how he wanted it to go, but the words flurry out of his mouth before he could think of them. “I love you, but you’re always too hung up on every new guy that comes along to even see me…” he swallows the sob rising in his throat. “Sometimes I wonder if you keep me as a placeholder until a new guy comes.”

“A placeholder?” You're horrified. Jungkook's breaking your heart, and the thought that you apparently broke his shatters the pieces further.

“Aren’t I? When Jackson joined our team, all he had to do was wink and throw a cheesy line at you, and you’re all about him. And now Jimin—”

“Jimin?” Now, you're confused.

“Yes, Jimin. All he had to do was skate with you, and suddenly, I’m on the backburner.”

“Jungkook, where is this coming from? You’re making me out as someone who’s never been a friend to you.”

“Oh, you’ve been a friend, alright. But you can’t deny you’ve strung me up all along. Sometimes I wonder if you knew how I feel and you—”

“Stop," you plead. "Oh god, Jungkook, stop talking, please.” The tears you were holding back now freefall to your cheeks. “All this time, this is how you felt. You have been resenting me—"

"That's not what I'm saying! Do you not understand me?" Jungkook grows frustrated.

“No, I understand, Jungkook. Perfectly. I understand I’ve been selfish, teetering between wanting to keep you close to me and keeping you at a distance to protect myself." You don't want to invalidate his feelings, but he also needs to know where you're at. Thousands of thoughts are drowning you, and you're nowhere close to navigating your feelings; you're still conflicted and lost. But most of all, afraid. Will you lose Jungkook now? It frightens you that one wrong decision could crash your friendship beyond fixable. "But Jungkook, I’ve never seen you as someone I can set aside for anyone else because you’ve always been the first person I look for and reach out to. Even when I always thought you were so close yet so far to me, but still I—"

A knock pops the bubble you’re in. Rushing to wipe your cheeks dry, the door swings open to a clueless and shocked Jimin, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Shit, sorry," Jimin fidgets between wanting to close the door and leave but decides he'd rather not get in trouble, so with eyes on the floor, he calls for you.

"Coach is going ballistic looking for you, Y/N. And him, too. I mean, their coach is looking for him. He heard of the fight.”

More worry rushes to you. You try hard to stay afloat and level-headed, but you're sinking and sinking. “Right,” you clear your throat. “We were just cleaning up. We’re done here anyway.”

Once again, you feel claustrophobic. You need to leave. You don't trust yourself to make any decision in the state you're in. The last time you made a decision from what you were feeling, you made a selfish proposal to Jungkook. And look where that's gotten you now. You can't think, so you rush to leave the room, folding your arms before Jungkook can grab your wrist.

“Wait, Y/N—”

You linger briefly at the door, just enough so he can catch the defeated words that you speak, “We’re done, Jungkook.”

-

>> Page 5

[satorusugurugurl]

I Think He Knows: (Chapter Four)

Summary: When your novel takes off and becomes a best seller, doors of opportunities open for you. You can work on the series you have dreamed about all your life. And you’re also given the chance to stay in a tiny cottage in Europe for two years to help with inspiration! Your best friend, Geto Suguru, shatters at the news. How could he tell you how he feels when you leave him? His opportunity appears right before him when you confess that your editor thinks a change of scenery will help with your not-so-steamy romance scenes. They’re lacking a particular spice because you’re a virgin. So, Suguru does what any best friend would do. He offers to teach you how things work. Will you cross that line as friends? Or will you both say goodbye?

Pairing: Geto Suguru x FAB!Reader

Word Count: 4,954

Warning: Language, fingering, hand-job, kissing, heavy description of genitals.

A/N: Here’s the update!! I'm sorry its so late. My wrist feels a lot better today!! 😘💚💚 thank you for your patience!!

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven

You were glaring at your computer screen; the words struggled to come to you. Nanami was pleased with the changes you had made to your latest chapters; he said the kiss scenes were much more realistic, all thanks to your best friend, but as much as he liked it, it still didn't change the fact that your smutty mutual masturbation scene sucked balls.

“It’s getting there.” He glanced back at the words. “You’ve moved on from using meat stick to penis—while is anatomically correct, it’s not quite rousing. Perhaps try using the words shaft, dick, maybe cock.”

“Kento!”

“I’m being serious, how many erotic novels have you read where the writer uses ‘she grasped his penis in her hand’ no ‘she grabbed his cock’.”

“Right—”

“Then there’s the climax.” Nanami sighed, flipping through the pages. “Be honest with me; have you ever seen a man have an orgasm? It’s not like a fire hose in hentai—” A judgmental look was shot in your direction, which was well deserved. “It’s more like spurts.”

“Ugh, seriously?”

“Yes, and Oaklynn’s orgasm, you just described her facial reactions and breathing. Get into the pulsing or contractions she feels. Hell, make her squirt. Ilsan is a knight; he's been to brothels so the man would know how to please a woman.”

“Squirt—?”

The way Nanami deadpanned at you before running a hand down his face told you he had figured it out. He must have finally put the deli meat sex scenes, terribly written orgasms, and your lack of knowledge of female orgasms. You slowly sank lower into the booth with a flushed face.

“You’re a virgin.”

“You’re a virgin~” You mocked, sticking up your nose as the nightmares and flashbacks of your luncheon came to an end. Nanami’s suggestion to watch porn gives it a better understanding of how orgasms work. There was no way in hell you were doing that. “I don't need to have sex to know how to write a good sex scene!”

That statement was true, and having some experience would benefit you. It had kissing scenes. And it most definitely would help you with the grinding scene in the alley you were adding in. Suguru made things comfortable for you; he wasn’t pushy or manipulative. He was so gentle and kind, making sure you felt okay. You were so grateful for him, but after you started feeling weird last night and told him to stop, maybe he didn't want to keep doing stuff with you.

If you were honest with him, maybe he'd understand. But it wasn't very comfortable. It felt so intense, and you were all tingly.

Once you finished your rewrites, you would have to sit down and talk to him. You just hoped he didn’t think you were avoiding him after what happened. The sooner you finish, the sooner you can talk to him, get things back to normal, and maybe ask him to help you more. His lessons truly were helping you.

If only we weren’t having such a hard time with the stupid scene!

“Come on, just type it, dick, just type out the letters. DICK.” Your fingers hovered over your keyboard, your eyes narrowing at the screen. “It’s just a word!”

Before your fingers could even touch the ‘D,’ a fist pounded against your door. At first, you were startled; your heart lurched into your throat as your hand rested against your chest. The fist slammed against the door once again. If someone knocked at your door at 2:30 in the morning, it wasn’t a good sign. You were about to grab your phone to call Suguru when you heard his voice at the door.

“Answer, answer god, please.”

He repeated the exact words as you shove your lap desk off to the side before jumping up for the door. You open the door just as Suguru pulls his fist back to knock again. His face was pale, and his dark bangs clung to his forehead with sweat. The dark circles under his eyes were the evidence of the nightmares that he had been having and the lack of sleep.

Regardless of his appearance, your eyes still frantically searched him up and down. You were trying to find evidence of injuries or something that told you what was wrong. You could find no traces of anything other than his insomnia. He was in a white T-shirt and baggy gray sweats and stood there silently. Look of relief washing over your face. He just stood there. A look of relief washed over his face at the sight of you.

“Suguru? What’s wrong? What happened?” He doesn’t answer your frantic questions; instead, he grabs you, pushing his way inside your apartment and kicking the door shut. “Suguru?!”

You yelp as you both fall to the floor, his arms wrapped firmly around you as he holds you flush against his chest; your best friend is shaking, his breath heavy as he clings to you as if you would vanish if he let go. Seeing him in such a state made you sick to your stomach. He didn’t deserve to be plagued with the pain of what happened years ago. You knew he blamed himself for what happened with Riko. You wish you could take the pain away from him.

While that was impossible, you could be there for him when he needed you the most. So you wrapped your arms around him and squeezed, hugging him as tight as possible. “Thought I lost you.” He whispered, his hands clinging onto your tank top.

“Suguru—” you whisper, hands gently caressing his back. “You’re not going to lose me.” You feel him relax against you, shaking softly as he pulls back an inch. “Nightmares again?” His dark strands of hair cover his eyes, but he nods. “Sugu, oh sweetie—do you wanna stay the night with me?”

Your words seem to hit him like a freight train. The panic and fear in his eyes turned into relief. His muscles relax as he exhales through his nose. You reach up and caress his cheek, letting him know you are there, and he leans into your touch, nuzzling his cheek into your palm.

“Yeah, can I please?”

“Of course you can.” You lock the door before grabbing Suguru’s wrist and pulling Jim into your bedroom. “You can go to sleep. I need to finish editing this page before I lay down.”

As you sit back down, placing your lap desk in front of you, Suguru takes a moment to look around your bed. There are tiny Post-it notes and looseleaf paper spread out over your comforter, along with the mini spiral notebook you had in your purse. He had teased about it initially, but he realized that you need to jot down your ideas when inspiration hits you. So your stocking was full of the little mini notebooks you loved to carry.

Seeing that blissful smile tugged at your lips, in the warmth of the flush in your cheeks, made Suguru float with happiness. That joy that was brought on by notebooks was something he would never forget. He wanted to make you happy for the rest of your life. Not just with notebooks but a life you both could build together in a romantic relationship. Suguru wanted to give you the world on a silver platter because you deserved it and much more.

“Oh fuck, sorry, Sugu.” Small hands quickly removed the notes and the papers covering the other side of your bed. “Just transcribing and everything.” You motioned for him to lie down, patting gently on the mattress.

Suguru crawled into bed with you, covering himself with the sheet, before snuggling his head against one of your pillows. The smell of your favorite shampoo and conditioner had his nerves relaxing as he watched you glare at the screen. From the way your nose was turned up, you were deep in thought. His curiosity got the better of him, and he learned in closer, his eyes roaming over the screen.

‘Oaklynn’s face scrunched up in pure pleasure as her orgasm hit her. Her breathing was heavy, and Ilsan growled in her ear, pumping his fingers in and out of her vagina.’

Vagina?

‘That’s it~ such pretty sounds—nngh!’ Ilsan’s voice cracked as Oaklynn’s soft hand squeezed his penis, twisting her wrist as she stroked. ‘O-Oh gods! Oak~ Oaaak!’ A spray of cum coated Oaklynn’s hand, his sticky seed spraying all over her, pooling onto the mattress below them.

“PFFT!” Suguru tried hard not to laugh, his hand flying up to muffle the chuckle. But god, it was too funny!

Upon hearing the laughter from your best friend, your eyes snapped down. There he was, tears in his eyes, tanned skin flushing a rosy color as his eyes remained glued on your screen. With a tiny gasp, you slammed your screen shut before hiding your face in your hands. Your jerky, panicked motions seemed to set Suguru off more as he threw his head back, barking out in laughter.

“Oh my god! Stop!”

“W-Why was he cumming like a faucet?!” Suguru rolled onto his back, wiping at the tears.

“Stop it!”

“And using the words vagina and penis? I preferred it when you called it Meat Stick and Fairy Cave!”

You grumbled before moving your hands to push him. “Could you please stop talking!? Please, I know it’s bad!” Those words had Suguru jerking his head up, finding you flushed cheeks and glimmering eyes.

“It’s not bad—”

“Yes, it is! This screams, ‘A virgin wrote this! She’s never gotten any action,’ Which is true! How can I describe an orgasm when I’ve never even had one?!”

The truthful outburst left you panting as Suguru’s laughter abruptly stopped. His dark eyes were transfixed on your face before you got up, putting away your notes and laptop, and as you silently moved around the room, you could feel Suguru’s eyes on you. And they stayed locked on you until you crawled into bed with a sigh, curling onto your side.

The self-doubt was in your every move, from how your body tensed to your shallow breathing as you fought back tears. You knew Suguru didn’t laugh to be malicious, but it wasn't a confidence booster either. At times like these, you questioned if you were good enough to do this and if writing a smutty fantasy was what you were capable of.

Suguru frowned as he watched your body tremble, soft whimpers sounding in your chest. God, he felt like an asshole. With hesitant movements, Suguru inched himself closer to you. His hand gently inches itself around your waist, pulling you into his chest. Seeing that you didn't fight him or verbally tell him no, Suguru wrapped his arm underneath you, spooning you.

“I’m sorry.” His breath was hot against your cheek. “I shouldn't have been snooping, especially when you were in rewrites.”

“I-It’s okay. I’m struggling with it; I want to be the best I can, ya’ know?”

“Mhmm, I know princess.” The warmth of his body had you relaxing. “Can I ask you a question?”

You turned your head and pressed your cheek against his. “Yeah, of course you can.”

“You’ve never had an orgasm?” His voice was so smooth and sultry, making you shiver. “Like ever?”

It was true; you struggled to reach the mythical ‘Big O’ since you started masturbating. You felt like you would get close, it was within grasp, but you would fall short. There was a time you thought maybe you did, but the fact you had to question yourself was the only answer you needed to know that you had, in fact, not had one.

“No, I haven't; I think my fairy cave is broken.”

Suguru’s chest rumbled as he laughed loudly, giving you a tight squeeze. God, he had it so bad for you. You were so innocent and cute; you had such a good sense of humor.

“I don't think it’s broken.” His statement had you rolling so that you were facing him. “You just need to explore it some more.” His hand reaches down gently, resting it on your ass. “I could talk you through it if you want.”

Tingles ran down your spine as he squeezed the fat of your ass. It was a mixture of relief and excitement that your reaction didn't turn him off from the night before. Your hands moved, gripping his shirt gently before biting your lip. You had tried so many times before, but Suguru—he knew what to do.

“I don't want you to talk me through it—I want you to do it.” Suguru’s dark eyes went wide, his pupils the size of pinpricks. “If you want to.”

Your best friend leaned close to your ear before placing a kiss against it, and he moved further down to your neck, his tongue past his lips, kisses and little licks over your sensitive skin. The sensation had you squirming, your pulse racing in your throat, and a shuddering sigh left your mouth. Suguru sucked on your neck as his hand groped and massaged your ass. Your body felt like it was kindling with fire, a low burn in the pit of your stomach as he continued to pepper kisses over your neck.

“You want me to make you cum?”

“P-Please.”

“I’d do anything for you.” He grunts gravelly into the crook of your neck. “I’ll make sure you know what an orgasm feels like. That way, your already amazing writing is more accurate.” Teeth grazed over the skin, leading to your shoulder, as one of Suguru’s hands slipped under your shirt, trailing over your belly. “Can I touch you?”

“Y-Yea—aah—” his hand groped your breast the second he heard ‘yeah’ leave your mouth. He gently squeezed it, massaging it between his long, thick fingers. His thumb gently brushed over the nipple with every squeeze. “Mmm—” you pressed your lips together as your eyes tailed down, watching his hand move underneath your tank top.

Suguru continued to kiss and nip at your neck, trailing kisses so gently over your skin; well, his other hand pinched and pulled at your nipple, rubbing the bud between his fingers. The way your body twitched and jerked underneath his touch had his cock throbbing hard within the confines of his sweats. The breathless gasps, the way you took your bottom lip between your teeth, gently gnawing at it, you look so fucking hot; he wanted to do more to see what other reactions he could draw out from you.

Suguru’s hand left your breast, slowly trailing down past your stomach before pressing his whole palm over your clothes-clad pussy. Being touched intimately for the first time had you jerking, eyes snapping shut. Suguru groaned, rubbing his hand over your pussy, feeling the warmth of your sex. You gasped as he pulled his hand away to his index and middle finger over your clothed clit. Your body jerked forward, your arms wrapping around his neck, hands sticking into his hair as he brushed over the sensitive bundle and the nerves a second time.

“Does that feel good?” Suguru asked, his mouth pulling away from your sensitive skin.

Your mouth fell open as your eyebrows knitted together. “F-Feels r-real good.” His fingers began rubbing against your clit in slow circles, drawing out a whine from your chest. “O-Oh fuuuck S-Suguru.”

“I got you~ I got you, don't worry.” His fingers rubbed faster, memorizing how you jerked and reacted, repeating the same movements to get you to respond more.

The intensity of everything was becoming too much for you to handle. It felt like your whole body was on fire, like a pot on the stove roaring to a boil. You needed more; you weren’t sure what, but you needed more of this, of Suguru. He needed to quench your thirst, to put water on the flames burning with every nerve of your body, and you knew that his fingers would be the only thing that could help you.

“I-I want more.” Your voice was so timid, making Suguru’s hand seize up momentarily. “Please.”

“You sure?” he asked, his voice dark and husky.

With a nod, you grabbed his wrist, bringing it up to the waistband of your shorts. “Yes, I’m positive.” You gently pushed his wrist down, allowing his fingers to slip under the elastic band. You could’ve sworn Suguru choked on his breath, his eyes widening in the low light of your bedroom as they glanced down to his hand that had breached your shorts.

Suguru wrapped his arm around you, holding you steady as his hand dipped lower, brushing against your slick folds. The initial contact has your head tilting back m as he groaned, feeling your delicate skin before rubbing at your clit gently. You gripped the fabric of his shirt, digging your nails into it. Your body trembled as you buried your face into his neck, whimpering against his skin.

“S-Suguru—”

“Is this okay?” Suguru moved slowly, carefully listening closely to your breathing and noting how you shook—memorizing each twitch, saving it for him to jerk off to when you fell asleep. All you could do was nod your head as you lost yourself in the pleasure. Seeing that you were doing so well, Suguru slipped his hand back further, his thumb rubbing against your clit before slowly sliding two fingers into you.

“Nngh!” You gasped out, pressing your lips against Suguru’s neck as you mewled. “Sugu~! Sugu~!” Your walls were beginning to flutter and convulse around him as he slowly curled his fingers in.

Feeling your hot breath against his neck, how your lips gently traced unintentional kisses over his sensitive skin had his cock throbbing hard. Suguru pressed into you, rubbing his hardening cock against your thigh. He slowly began thrusting his fingers in and out of you, wet squelched flooding the room as he rubbed your clit harder.

“I want to make you cum Princess.” He snarled against your cheek.

The vulgar words had you clamping down harder on his fingers. Your body was getting hotter, from your toes to your pussy, all the way into your stomach. That coil from a few nights before began tightening, coiling deep inside you. The intensity had you tugging on Suguru's shirt.

“S-Sugu~ f-feels intense a-again—Ah oh fuck it’s l-like before.” There was a twinge of uncertainty and fear in your voice. “I-I—”

“I know it's weird, but just let go. I got you—it’s going to feel so fucking good in a second.” His fingers moved in and out of your tight, wet heat faster, drawing out more gasps from you. “Trust me.”

“I-I do feel good, b-but—” Suguru hooked his fingers up, moving them in a come hither motion, causing your legs to shake. “Fuuuck! Oooh fuck!”

“God, you sound so good,” he whispered so softly you couldn't hear him over your moans. “So good.” Suguru had dreamed about doing this to you for so long, to have you underneath him, showing you how much you meant to him. It was a dream to have you clinging to him, gasping his name.

“Sugu—Suguru—” You could feel something coming; it was intense, making your toes curl. “S-Sugu—I-I—I think—!”

“That’s it~ that’s it, let go~ you’re gonna cum.”

His fingers pressed into the sponge spot inside of you. The pressure of his fingers and his thumb rubbing your clit had you seeing stars. You screamed into his neck, shutting your eyes tight as your thighs clamped around his hand. The pure fiery pleasure had your whole body and pussy convulsing as you cried out loudly, so loud Suguru heard your neighbor hit the wall with a ‘shut up.’

Suguru couldn't care; he wanted you screaming his name. He groaned as he felt your slick on his fingers, slowing down to help you ride out your first orgasm. "Shhhh, shh—princess, don't be too loud~" You panted heavily against his neck, tears in your eyes as the last waves of pleasure washed over you.

“Oooh fuck.” You wheezed out as Suguru gently pulled his finger out of you. “Oh my god.” As you rolled onto your back, Suguru quickly slid his fingers into his mouth, sucking your cum off with a satisfied growl. You tasted sweet with a tang of citrus; it was addictive. God, what would he do to taste it firsthand?

As he pulled his fingers out of his mouth, you rolled back onto your side and stared at him. Suguru smiled cocking an eyebrow at the almost unreadable expression on your face. “Yes? Can I he—eeegh!” Your hand brushed over his hard cock, catching him off guard. “W-What are you doing?” you say up on your knees, cheeks flushed with post-orgasmic glow and determination.

“I-I've never seen a man cum! A-And seeing that you offered to help me, c-could I watch you jerk off? O-Or maybe if it’s okay, could I touch you? Y-You’re hard, right?”

Your bluntness and straightforward request left your best friend gaping at you. You wanted to touch him? God, this was like two dreams coming true. But as much as he wanted to have your hand on him, he was afraid he’d blow his load the second your fingers wrapped around him. So he's going to have to compromise for now.

“How about I jerk off, and you can wrap your hand around me?”

“Okay! Um! Let's start.”

You sat back on your heels, swallowing hard as Suguru pulled the sheets off his body. You could hear your pulse pounding in your ears as you watched your best friend sit up, resting his back against your headboard, dark hair falling over his shoulder with every movement. Why were you so nervous? It was just Suguru’s dick, just your best friend, who just made you cum your brains out. Nothing about this should make you anxious! He was helping you! This was research!

But your research had your pussy throbbing as Suguru hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his pajama pants and pulled it down. When he did, his thick erect cock bounced, landing against his stomach with a hardy thump. It was heavy and thick, and it had you pressing your thighs together. The tip was a deep, dusty, rose color, dribbling out a clear substance from the tip. His shaft was tan; thick veins ran up and down as it twitched.

“Oh—” you whispered, taking in his well-trimmed pubes, admiring his happy trail that went from the bottom of his belly button down to the base of his cock. “Oooh fuck.”

“Yeah—” Suguru groaned, tilting his head to the side as he watched you with dark, knowing eyes. He saw the way you looked at him, your gaze lingering on his cock. “this is it.”

Suddenly, it became crystal clear why he had so many romantic partners. He was thick and big. You’re sure it would hit every place inside you that would feel good. Wait a minute, not you, his previous partners! It must’ve hit all the right places inside of them. It probably felt so good. Like how his fingers felt pressing that spot inside you. His cock had the perfect curve that would hit it just right.

“You good there? Did your virgin brain malfunction?”

In a way, it did, but you wouldn’t acknowledge that it had. “W-What!? No, of course not!” your eyes started to burn with a visible flush. “No.” Suguru just laughed breathlessly.

“I'm just teasing you, come here, I’ll show you what it looks like when a guy cums.” Your eyes slowly drifted back towards him, your breath catching in your throat at the sight of him stroking his shaft. His hand moved silly up and down, smearing what you could only assume was pre-cum over himself. “Fuccck.” he grumbled, “I’m so hard, I-I'm probably not going to last long.” That was okay with you. “You can wrap your hand around mine.”

With his invitation, you placed your hand over his moving your arm up and down as he stroked his cock. He didn’t go all the way down to the base. Instead, he focused his attention on the head of his cock. Each time, he stroked his cock, his head tilted back against the headboard as his legs spread. The muscles in his upper thighs constricted with each jerk. He looked so fucking good, like some sex god.

Seeing him in such a state had you trying to match his movements as best as possible and attempting to keep up with his steady but jerky pace. Your eyes wandered to where his shirt pulled slightly up, just enough for you to see the bottom half of his abs that were clenching with each stroke that focused on the head of his cock.

While his movements utterly entranced you, Suguru’s eyes were drawn to you. The way you took your bottom lip between your teeth, how your eyes roamed over him, focusing on the muscles in his stomach, before trailing back towards his cock. Your presence was enough to have him dribbling more pre-cum out. Suguru straightened his legs out, toes curling as his hand moved faster up and down over the head of his cock. He had it down so bad for you that it was going to be enough to send him over the edge.

“Oooh fuuuck~ fuck fuck fuck~” he growled through gritted teeth. “Fuck yeah.”

Fuck, oh God, he looks so good. Watching him pleasure himself had you feeling warm and fuzzy deep inside. He was really into jerking his hand up faster, squeezing himself hard. He looks so fucked out of his mind, and you were sure if you could see your face, your expression with mirror his. There was something about watching him getting off that had your pulse racing in your pussy throbbing, your shorts were already wet enough, and you could feel more slick coating them.

Moving your hand with his wasn’t enough. Biting down on your lip, you pulled his hand away. “Hey, what ar—aah—” Suguru’s head lolled back as you wrapped your soft hand around him, jerking your hand up and down at the same pace he was going.

“O-oooh.” You were not expecting it to be as velvety smooth as it was. The feeling of his cock in your hand had awakened something in you. You leaned over him, resting your free hand on his upper thigh. Stroking your hand over his cock up and down faster and harder, squeezing it like he had done to himself.

Suguru threw his head back against the headboard, hissing through his teeth as his eyes watched your hand move up and down over him. He had the scenario so many times in his head and his wet dreams when he would stroke himself until he would cum all over his hand. The final push was to feel you touching him with such enthusiasm.

“C-Cummin! Fuck! I’m cumming Princess!” Spurts of thick white cum shot out of his tip, lashing out over his stomach and his T-shirt. It wasn’t all like a hose; it was small ropes, for it to be exact, that lashed out over him and your hand. “A-Aah!” His whole body jerked his abs, clenching as his eyes rolled back, and you continued jerking your hand, milking him for all you could.

“W-Wow, tha-that was hot.” at the sound of your voice Suguru shot his hand forward, grabbing your wrist, stopping you from continuing to move over his cock. “O-Oh, sorry—“

“N-No, you’re okay, just sensitive.” He grunted as he let you go, allowing you to pull your coated hand back.

You both sat in your bed, traces of your orgasm coating both of you as Suguru came down from his high. Silence filled the open air between you, but it wasn’t at all awkward; instead, it was thick with tension, sexual tension. A tension Suguru was familiar with while the feeling was alien to you. Part of you wanted to reach out and kiss him, but something inside you prevented you from moving forward. Because this wasn’t a relationship, this was just your best friend helping you when you were struggling. It was nothing more than that.

Seeing as you were the only one capable of functioning, you got up and headed into your bathroom, grabbing a warm wet rag to clean you both off with. “Thank you for letting me do that.” You whispered as you cleaned off your hand before gently handing him the rag. “That was very informative, and I think it will help me with the pages. I’ve been struggling with it.” Suguru stared blankly at you, taking in your words as he wiped his cum off his stomach and shirt.

“Of course, I’m glad I could help you out.”

“Uhm, so do you wanna go to bed?”

“Yeah—yeah, that sounds good.”

“Awesome!”

After snatching the rag from him and tossing it in the bathroom, you crawled back into bed with your best friend. A man you had known since your childhood who you had grown up with. The two of you had been through thick and thin together, always there for one another no matter the circumstances.

As you lay down on your side, Suguru wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against your chest. You couldn’t help but wonder if you both had crossed the line tonight. Or if you had taken a step towards a new chapter of your relationship? Those questions could wait until morning because you were only concerned about how good it felt to be wrapped in his arms, listening to his heartbeat as you both drifted to sleep.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks

Tag List (TO BE ADDED AGE MUST BE IN BIO)

@lemonintrovert01 @spankmydepression @renttheannihilator @witchbybirth @missmuffinr @lialia3945 @theobsidianempress @aquasan29 @toffeebrat @aussiemeerkat @chimichangagirl @zoroisminty @spankmydepression @em-aizawa @gojosimp26

[stevie-petey]

episode nine: the beginning

“No, I understand.” Steve smiles and then points to the wall of comics behind you. “So, if we’re going to be friends, I gotta ask about your Spider-Man obsession.” “Oh, now that’s just too personal. This is like, day three of our friendship. At least ask what my favorite color is, first.” Steve laughs again and nods. “Alright, fair. What is your favorite color, then?” And this is the beginning of your friendship with Steve Harrington. 

summary: BONUS EPISODE TIME ! steve becomes bookstrorindary's favorite loyal costumer, jonathan buys you a bug for christmas, you freak out your poor coworker alex, and suddenly steve is really hot and you're feeling so many feelings (bad ! it's all bad !).

rating: general, some swearing

warnings: swearing, angst ending (sorry gang), fem!reader and use of y/n

words: 6.5k

before you swing in: surprise ! bonus chapter that takes place between seasons 1 and 2. basically, as the title says, it's the beginning of everything between steve and reader. this is where everything starts to take shape, their beginning dynamic, and ultimately the horrible timing of it all. life is hard, steve is hot, and reader just wants to heal her physical and metaphorical wounds. enjoy !

-

November 15th, 1983

When Steve Harrington walks into Bookstrordinary your first day back, you think your lingering concussion from the monster is causing you to hallucinate. 

You had been struggling to reshelf some books, your crutches being a burden and hard to balance with as you stack, when the bell above the front door alerted you of someone’s arrival. 

“Welcome to Bookstrordinary, how can I help you–” You place the last back in the shelf and turn around, not expecting who you see. “Steve?”

He smiles at you and shoves his hands in his bomber jacket. “Hey, Y/N.”

“What are you doing here?”

“You can’t figure out my nickname if we don’t hang out, right? So,” He shrugs, as if this is just another Monday for him. “I’m here.”

You stare at him for a moment, unsure what exactly to do. While you hadn’t been lying when you told Steve that you guys could be friends, you hadn’t expected him to jump at the opportunity so quickly. His eyebrow is still healing from his fight with Jonathan in the alley and you’re stuck with crutches for the next two weeks. 

Wounds are still healing. You figured Steve would take some time to collect himself, but it appears that he simply doesn’t care, or maybe it doesn’t matter to him.

“How did you know I even worked here?” You ask the boy, now making your way over to the front counter where he stands.

Steve chuckles. “You really can’t give me credit for anything, can you? I pay attention, Y/N. I can be observant.” 

“It’s not like that,” you’re quick to correct, scared that Steve will think you see him as some mean jock. “I just… I’m not used to people paying attention to me, I guess.” 

You pause and make a face, not liking the way that sounds. “That sounded incredibly gross and cheesy, huh?”

“No, I understand.” Steve smiles and then points to the wall of comics behind you. “So, if we’re going to be friends, I gotta ask about your Spider-Man obsession.”

“Oh, now that’s just too personal. This is like, day three of our friendship. At least ask what my favorite color is, first.”

Steve laughs again and nods. “Alright, fair. What is your favorite color, then?”

And this is the beginning of your friendship with Steve Harrington. 

He spends almost two hours the first day at your job, asking you questions about yourself, your favorite food and color and animal, which genre of books you prefer, anything and everything he can think of to get to know you better, Steve asks it.

At first you’re unnerved by his onslaught of questions, but slowly you find yourself opening up to him and enjoying having Steve with you. He makes your last few hours of work bearable and fun. Before you know it, you begin asking him your own questions. You learn that he loves banana bread, secretly enjoys helping his mom around the house, and that blue is his favorite color. 

When your coworker Alex walks in to take over the next shift and finds you leaning against the counter talking to Steve, he almost spits out the milkshake he had been drinking. “S–Steve Harrington?”

Steve tenses for a second and, before your very eyes, he morphs into his King Steve persona effortlessly. You’re not sure what exactly he changes about himself, but he becomes more closed off, guarded, with an air of authority that frightens you a little. “Hey, kid. Do I know you?”

Alex shakes his head, too stunned to speak. 

“That’s my coworker, Alex.” You take pity on the poor kid. He’s only a year younger than you, but you suppose that a junior like Steve, someone well known and admired throughout the school, can be intimidating. 

“Nice to meet ya, buddy. I’m assuming that Y/N here is off the clock now?” 

“Y–yes.” Alex squeaks out. 

The bell above the door rings again, this time announcing Jonathan’s arrival. 

He walks in, distracted with some groceries in his arms, so when he finally looks up and sees you, Steve, and Alex all standing in a circle staring at him, he freezes. “Well, this is an interesting sight.”

Steve ducks his head, his King persona quickly fading away. “Hey, Jonathan.”

“Steve,” Jonathan responds cooly, looking between you and him as if trying to figure out a complex math equation. 

Great. 

You clear your throat and step away from Steve, heading to the back of the store to collect your things and clock out. “Just give me a minute or two to grab my things, then I’ll be all set to leave, Jonathan.” 

He nods at you, still staring at Steve like he’s some foreign creature, and you quickly hobble away to avoid any interaction between them. You’re not sure why having the two of them in the same room as you feels so wrong, but your head still aches from its concussion and your ribs are so bruised that breathing still hurts, so you really don’t have the time to figure any of it out. 

While you’re gone, Steve and Jonathan continue to stare each other down. 

“Picking Y/N up?” Steve guesses, eyeing the keys in Jonathan’s hand and the groceries in the other.

“Yeah, kinda something I’ve always done.” 

“Right.” 

Jonathan readjusts his grip on one of the grocery bags, having nothing better to do as he waits for you. Alex busies himself with rearranging some books at the counter, clearly equally as uncomfortable as the two teens are. 

Steve lets a whistle out and awkwardly stuffs his hands into his pockets. Jonathan watches him in curiosity. The scab on his eyebrow has almost healed over, but Jonathan still gets a kick of pride seeing it. He’d done that. He’d marred King Steve’s handsome face. 

“Are you, like… Y/N’s friend now?” Asks Jonathan, the question heavy on his mind. He trusts your judgment of people, he knows you can read people better than anyone else, but having Steve around you makes him uneasy. The guy had been a grade A dick to you and him for years, especially his bullshit friends Carol and Tommy. 

“We made a compromise,” Steve says, a hint of humor in his voice. 

Jonathan frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well–”

“Okay, let’s go!” You walk back in, fearful of whatever conversation you’ve interrupted. 

Jonathan watches as Steve immediately turns to you, as if drawn in by your mere presence, and he starts to wonder exactly what the boy’s intentions are with you. All you did was walk into the room, and yet Steve is hanging onto your every word.

He doesn't blame him, god he doesn't. It’s you. You could command a room with just your smile alone, but Jonathan isn’t used to sharing that with others. 

Especially not with people like Steve. 

“Will you be working tomorrow?” Steve asks you, a twinkle in his eye. 

You nod at him. “Mhm, I work every day after school. On weekends I’m usually home doing homework or keeping that one in check.”

You point at Jonathan, who laughs. “Guilty.” 

“Then I’ll see you at the same time tomorrow?” Steve doesn’t even look over at Jonathan, which he rolls his eyes at. 

“See ya then.” You smile wide at Steve and for some reason Jonathan really wants to throw the bag of eggs he’s holding. 

This was not what he had been expecting when he told you earlier he’d be picking you up after getting his mom some groceries. 

And had someone told Jonathan that the rest of sophomore year would go on like this, he probably would’ve thrown the bag of eggs at Steve then.

– 

True to his word, Steve comes by and visits you almost every day leading up to winter break. He becomes a regular, hanging around the counter talking to you about anything and everything. The first few days you had been a bit nervous that your boss, Mrs. Waters, would have a problem with him, but she quickly dispelled your concerns. 

“Oh, that handsome young man? He can stay as long as he likes. I think he’s the reason we’ve been getting so many young customers recently.”

You look around and realize that, yeah, there is in fact a new group of freshmen girls who have started stopping by and browsing the romance section. You’ve noticed the way they stop and stare at Steve while he talks to you, whispering and giggling to themselves. 

Steve pays them no mind, always too busy talking about basketball or his latest issue with Nancy. 

That’s been the one downside to all of this, really.

You’re happy the two of you are friends, but between Jonathan’s moaning about the girl and now Steve’s worrying that he’ll never be good enough, you’re kinda sick of talking about Nancy Wheeler. 

Which is a shame, you actually quite admire the girl. 

“And today she looked at me in the hallway and I think she even smiled–”

“Steve,” you interrupt him, a headache forming. “Like I’ve told you a million times now, she needs some time. It’s only been a few weeks, I think she’s still recovering from what happened at Jonathan’s. She also lost Barb, you can’t forget that.”

You don’t tell Steve about the whole Jonathan and Nancy situation, partly because it isn’t your place, and partly because you’re not sure if it will do more harm than good. 

The boy nods, looking crestfallen. “Yeah, you’re right. I just… I want to get this right, ya know?”

“I know, and you will. Just… let her come to you, but also show that you’re still there for her. Does that make sense?”

“Yes. Got it. Stay at a distance, but in a smooth way.”

You snort. “Not how I would’ve phrased that, but sure.” 

You go back to counting the change in your register, beginning the early stages of closing up for the night. Jonathan will be here in about twenty minutes, you’ve come to learn that if you distract Steve when he’s here, then there’s fewer awkward interactions. 

You’re hoping that once Nancy figures out which boy she wants that you can then all be friends, but until then you’re stuck with being an uncomfortable middleman who just wants to drive home with you best friend in peace after spending a lovely evening with your new and endearing friend. 

Speaking of your new and endearing friend, Steve begins to tap his fingers against the countertop, fidgeting around. Amongst the many things you’ve learned about Steve these last few weeks, you’ve also learned that he absolutely hates silence and standing still.

“Okay,” you place your hand over his fingers, stopping his tapping. “I’m going to start closing, how about I give you a list of the books and comics I need to bring home with me? It’ll make closing go by faster.”

Steve perks up, happy to be given something to do. “Alright, I can do that. What are they for, though?”

“Most of the comics will be for the boys; it'll be their Christmas gifts. The rest, the books mostly, will be for myself. I like to add them to my bookshelf at home.” 

“No way,” Steve’s eyes light up and he leans in close, a teasing smile on his face. “Am I about to get a look into Y/N Henderson’s mind?”

You shoo him off your counter, grabbing your crutches to start restocking books for tomorrow. Steve follows close behind, carefully watching your steps to make sure you don’t fall. “I wouldn’t be too happy, I doubt you’d be able to figure out which comics are for me and which are for the kids. As for the books… well, guess I’ll have to make you sign a contract stating our friendship is legally binding. Can’t embarrass myself.” 

“I’d gladly sign it,” Steve says, without even hesitating. 

You stumble a bit and he’s quick to steady you. Steve does that sometimes, says things that make you feel like you feel hazy and warm. Too warm. You’re not used to his candidness yet; Steve doesn’t hide how he’s feeling, he’s an open book. 

You’re not sure if his open vulnerability is a good thing, but you’re slowly starting to find it nice. Pleasant, almost. 

“Anyways,” you shake your head, trying to clear your mind and ignore whatever cologne Steve is wearing that makes your head spin. “The list is in my backpack by the counter. Grab it and start hunting, soldier.” 

Steve salutes you and does as he’s told. In no time he’s wandering the bookstore, humming to himself as he skims the many shelves and aisles to find everything you need. You busy yourself with your own job, arranging a new shipment of books so that Alex has a calm opening shift the next morning. 

The freshmen girls have long since left, leaving you and Steve alone. Mrs. Waters is somewhere in her office, probably seeing if there’s any way to hire Steve, and it’s nice being alone with him. The two of you work silently side by side, he diligently works on his task and you can’t help but sneak a few glances when he’s not looking. 

Steve Harrington has always been attractive, you can’t deny that, but learning this gentler and nerdier side of him has only increased his attractiveness tenfold. Pair him with Nancy and it’s no wonder the two of them were such a hit at school. They make a beautiful pair, something you almost envy. 

Just as you’ve finished stacking the last of the new shipment, the bell rings in the store. You look up, seeing Jonathan, and feel yourself smile. He looks more tired today, though you suppose it’s because he’s basically become the kids’ chauffeur now that he’s no longer working. He claims that he doesn’t mind, but you know he secretly wishes you were there to help. 

“Rough day, bee?”

He nods, walking over to you and places his head against your shoulder, letting out a dramatic groan. “Dustin insisted I drive them to the quarry to reenact Will’s body being retrieved. It was morbid, and yet… Kinda funny.”

“I…” you’re speechless, in complete disbelief. “Those boys are horrible, I love their freakish little brains.” 

“What’d they do now?” Steve appears, a giant stack of comics and books in his arms. “Hey, Jonathan.”

“Steve,”

You gently remove Jonathan from your shoulder and face Steve. “They reenacted Will’s dead body being found in the quarry. A typical Friday afternoon, really.”

Steve’s jaw drops, equally as speechless as you were, and you and Jonathan laugh at him. “They sound insane.”

“If we’re going to be friends, you really gotta get used to the boys.” You tell him with a shrug. 

Jonathan walks over to the counter and grabs your backpack, then goes to Steve and holds it open, motioning for him to place all the comics and books in there. “She’s right, you know.”

Steve lets a chuckle out, a hint of nervousness mixed in with delight as he drops your stuff in the bag. “I know, she’s always right. That’s what scares me.” 

You blush and leave the boys on their own to go inform Mrs. Waters that you’re closing up. You hear them start whispering to each other as you leave, and you make a mental note to badger Jonathan about it on the drive home. While you’re relieved they seem to be getting along tonight, you absolutely cannot have them forming an alliance against you. They’d lose, of course, but still.

– 

Winter break comes and you spend the first half of it with your family and the Byers. Your mom has slowly started letting you out the house again. When you came home with a sprained ankle, crutches, and bruised ribs, she’d almost fainted. You were promptly placed under house arrest, only allowed out for work and school, but you didn’t mind.

It takes some pleading, you manage to convince her to allow you to bike to the Byers’ on Christmas to deliver your treats for them. When she agreed, you were giddy, finally having some time to yourself. 

Though it’s snowing, you enjoy the beautiful serenity of it all. The layer of white, untouched and pristine, falling around the pine trees like a blanket tucking you in after a long day, makes you smile. 

It’s always so lovely seeing Will and Joyce and you wish you could stay longer, but your mom had been firm when she told you to be back within the hour, so you deliver the cookies and bid your farewells before Jonathan drives you home. 

After your conversation, making him promise that things will always remain the same between you two, the car ride is silent once more. You’re okay with this, finding that you’ve come to miss your comfortable silences with Jonathan. They’ve become few and far between ever since Will’s reappearance. You’ve both been busy attending to him and the boys, trying to make everything as normal as possible again.

When Jonathan pulls into your driveway, you unbuckle your seatbelt and lean over to kiss his cheek, but he stops you. “Hold on, I figured we’d do our gift exchange early this year.”

You gasp. “Did you plan this?”

For years now, you and Jonathan have given each other your gifts the day after Christmas so that it’s just the two of you, no one else, experiencing the moment. You love the tradition, it’s become your favorite part of Christmas. 

“Maybe,” he laughs, wrapping around his seat to get to the back. He pulls out a small box that’s so poorly wrapped, you know he did it all by himself. “Here, open it.”

“But your gift is inside, I didn’t–”

“Shush and open the gift, damnit.”

“How sweet,” you tease, but eagerly begin tearing at the wrapping paper. Jonathan has always given you the most obscure and wonderful gifts, every year he somehow manages to surprise you. You tear off the last piece of wrapping paper and open the small box, gasping when you see what’s inside. “Jonathan… you didn’t.”

Inside the box is a beautiful silver necklace. The chain itself is simple, it’s the pendant attached to it that takes your breath away.

Dangling from the necklace is a bee, no bigger than a centimeter or so. 

There’s small diamonds in its wings and the necklace itself is minimal, something you’d only notice if you were paying attention, and it’s the most precious gift you’ve ever been given. You touch it delicately, the metal cool against your fingertips.

Jonathan gives you a boyish smile. “Figured we could match.”

“What–” He raises his right hand and for the first time you notice a ring on his index finger. You gasp again and snatch his hand, bringing it closer to your face so you can get a better look. The ring has a thick silver band, and there, in its center, is a ladybug as small as your bee. The ladybug is all silver, its wings integrated through the ring’s band. “Jonathan…”

“Do you like it? I found the jewelry at a garage sale this summer. Came as a pair,” Jonathan wraps the hand you’re inspecting around your own. “Almost like fate knew I’d find it for us, ya know? Bug and bee, you and me.”

You have so many things you want to say, but the words are stuck in your throat and all you want to do is grab Jonathan and pull him in and never, ever let him go. “You’ve had the jewelry for months?”

“Hardest secret I’ve had to keep from you, honestly.”

You laugh and cry and kiss Jonathan’s cheek a million times. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Things are finally starting to feel alright again. Here the two of you are, parked in your driveway in Jonathan’s rundown car, off in your own little world for the first time in months. It’s just the two of you, no one else, with only the falling snow as your company. 

You couldn’t be happier. You feel complete again, whole, with Jonathan’s pinky promise from earlier as your oath. 

“I feel bad,” you say as Jonathan walks you to your door. “For Christmas all I got you were cassettes. Had I known you were being sentimental this year I would’ve given you a lock of my hair or something.”

Jonathan laughs, and the sound doesn’t hurt you as much as it used to.

– 

Working the day after Christmas has always been your favorite shift. No one ever comes in, it’s always just been you, your books, and your comics for five blissful hours.

Somehow, you should’ve known that Steve would stop by anyways. 

You’re admiring your new necklace in a mirror when he walks in, all bundled up due to the flurry of snow that’s encasing Hawkins. 

“How do you always manage to know when I’ll be working?” You ask him in lieu of a greeting. 

Steve unzips his coat and hangs it up. “A magician never reveals his secrets, Y/N.”

“Boring, I say they should.” 

“Well,” he walks over with both hands behind his back, hiding something, which you raise your eyebrows at. “Instead of my secrets, can we compromise on revealing a gift instead?”

You gape at him. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

“Oh, I did.”

“Steve! I didn’t even get you anything, I hate being empty handed! This is literally my worst nightmare–”

Steve places the box on the counter with a devilish smile on his face. “Just shush and open it, Y/N.” 

“But–”

“Open it.”

You sigh, very much against this entire thing, but curiosity gets the better of you. Steve has only been your friend for barely a month now, what could he have possibly gotten you? The wrapping is well done, vastly neater than Jonathan’s had been, which you comment on. 

Steve blushes. “My mom sorta helped me wrap it.”

Something warm settles in your stomach at the idea of Steve’s mom helping him wrap his gift for you. “Tell her that I admire her tasteful wrapping skills.”

Steve chuckles and tells you he will, but he’s too focused on watching you slowly unwrap the gift. Inside is a rectangular box, thin but sturdy, and you look up at your friend curiously. “What’s this?”

“Open it and see.” Steve says, giving you a duh look. 

You roll your eyes at him but lift the box’s lid and almost scream when you see what’s inside. 

Steve anxiously studies your reaction, seeing the way your eyes widen comically and you throw your hands over your mouth to stifle a scream. You’re practically jumping up and down in your excitement to hold the framed poster up, and he feels relief wash over him. You seem to love the gift, he finally did something right. 

“How the fuck did you get this?” You exclaim, studying the incredible details on the poster. It’s the cover of the very first edition of Spider-Man, Amazing Fantasy #15. You eyes scan over it and notice scrawled handwriting next to Spider-Man’s leg. “No, oh my god.”

“Notice anything special about it?” Steve leans against the counter with his arms crossed, a pleased smile on his face. 

“It’s signed? By Stan fucking Lee?”

“Yup.”

You run out from behind the counter and engulf Steve in your arms. He’s stiff against you, having not expected such a reaction, but you don’t care. You bury your face in his chest and squeeze him, trying your best to exude your immense gratitude. “Thank you,”

Steve slowly relaxes into the embrace and wraps his arms around you, gently patting your back. “My dad knows a guy… Thought you’d like it.”

“I love it, Steve.” You whisper, your words muffled by his sweater.

You’re still wrapped in his arms, standing toe to toe with him, and you’re so happy it almost hurts. Steve’s arms are warm and strong and you feel him hesitantly rest his cheek atop of your head. He brings you in closer, secures his hold on you a little tighter, and you can smell that stupidly expensive and addicting cologne of his. 

Steve is internally freaking out. Not only is he hugging you right now, but he’s surrounded by you. Your hair is against his cheek, your soft perfume overtakes his senses, and the sweater you’re wearing has Steve believing that everything about you is just warm and comforting and lovely. He wants to pull you in deeper, pull you into him, even. 

He’s never been hugged like this before, so openly and with such sincerity. 

He doesn’t want this moment to end, honestly. 

Then your boss comes through the front door. “Well, hello there, children.”

You don’t necessarily pull away from Steve, letting an arm linger around him so that you can face your boss. “Hello, Mrs. Waters. We were just wrapping up, then we’ll be out of your hair.”

She waves you off, winking, and scurries over to her office. “Oh, don’t mind me! Carry on!”

You and Steve laugh, no ounce of tension between you. He seems carefree as always, and you have to refrain from pulling him into another hug. You look up at him, still toe to toe, so your head almost butts against his chin. “I sort the books, you stack?”

He smiles down at you. “Deal.”

– 

Winter becomes spring and somehow you manage to finish sophomore year without any further problems. Jonathan remains by your side, Steve continues to visit you at work, and you even strike up a tentative friendship with Nancy. 

It was hard at first, especially after she got back together with Steve, but Jonathan seemed to do well at burying down his feelings and insisted that the four of you could make things work, so you do. 

Nancy is a joy to be around when you forget about the fact that Jonathan is hopelessly in love with her. She’s incredibly intelligent, cunning, and a great chemistry partner. Following the events of Will, you and her discover that by studying together, Kaminsky’s exams aren’t too difficult. 

You often study together in the library while Jonathan sits across the table doing his own work. Slowly, Steve begins to join in as well. He usually spends your study sessions cracking jokes and bugging Jonathan, but after a while even he breaks down Jonathan’s stoic demeanor and strikes up their own hesitant relationship. 

It’s not perfect, there’s still some underlying tension between you, Nancy, and Jonathan, but it’s enough.

Plus, it’s useful having Steve around whenever Jonathan and Nancy slip off into their own world. It’s become inevitable, something you’ve come to accept, but at least you can turn to Steve now and roll your eyes together. 

It’s really nice, actually. 

He eases the sting of losing Jonathan, even if he doesn’t realize it. Makes everything more bearable.

Summer comes and you don’t see Nancy as often, but Steve makes sure to visit your job whenever possible. 

One day he comes in looking nervous and doesn’t do his usual greeting. He doesn’t wave, doesn’t flash you his signature smile, he just walks straight towards the counter with a frightened look on his face. “I need your help.”

You put the book you’d been reading down and immediately feel dread overwhelming you. Something is happening again, all those contracts you had to sign by Hawkins Lab are coming back to bite you in the ass. Will is in danger again. “Is everything okay?”

He must see the terrified look in your eyes and he quickly reassures you. “Oh, no it’s nothing serious, I just… I need your help with something.”

“Holy fuck,” you let out a breath, feeling your heartbeat start to return to normal. “Dude, after the whole monster fiasco, can we use some discretion when it comes to asking for help?”

“Right, sorry.” 

“It’s fine… So, what’s up?”

Steve looks around the store to ensure no one is listening, which you find a bit odd, but whatever. He leans in close and whispers, “I need your help finding a gift for Nancy.” 

“A gift?”

“Yeah. It’ll be six months with her soon and I just, I don’t know. I want to be a good boyfriend and get her something she’ll like. But I don’t know what she’d like, I’m the worst gift giver ever.”

You frown. “That’s not true. The poster you got me is hanging in my room as we speak.”

“Thanks, Y/N. But Nancy is different, she’s… She’s still really shaken up about Barb and I want to make it up to her. Cheer her up, ya know?” Steve fiddles with his sunglasses, you’ve never seen him so closed off and guarded before.

“Okay, well. What did you have in mind?”

“Something she’ll love.” Steve thinks for a moment. “A diamond necklace, maybe?”

“Okay, woah.” You put your hand up to slow down Steve’s frantic ideas. “I know you mean well, but Nancy is like. Pretty well off. She can afford her own diamond necklace, but besides that, she’s not a very materialistic girl. She wouldn’t like a necklace.”

Steve sighs. “You’re right. That’s um, actually why I’m here.”

“Oh?” You’re intrigued now. 

“Nance has been going on and on about this news article that came out recently. Something about politics, or maybe the weather?” You stare at Steve, urging him to get to the point. “Sorry, doesn’t matter. Okay, basically I know she likes journalism. And you work at a bookstore, so…” 

“You want to get her some books on journalism?” You ask, your heart clenching. Here’s this guy, Steve fucking Harrington, who is gorgeous and kind and shyly asking you for book advice for a girl he so dearly loves.

Somehow you envy Nancy Wheeler even more than you already do. She really does have it all, and you can’t even begrudge her for it. She’s genuinely a nice person, it’d be easier to hate her if she was horrible, but she isn’t.

Typical. 

“Is that dumb? Actually, you know what, now that I’m saying it out loud it sounds stupid–”

You grab Steve’s hand, interrupting him. “Hey, no. It’s actually a really sweet idea. I think… I think she’ll really love it.”

Steve looks relieved and you can’t help but pity him. He’s trying so hard to be better for Nancy, to be all she wants him to be, and yet just yesterday you had to break up a weird staring contest between Nancy and Jonathan when you’d been at her place picking up Will and Dustin. 

Your heart aches for this boy, so in love with a girl you’re afraid may love your best friend. 

You guide Steve over to the journalistic section of Bookstrordinary and tell him some of your personal favorites. It’s not your favorite genre, but you’re familiar enough with it to give Steve a good starting point, which he’s immensely grateful for. 

“You’re a lifesaver, Y/N.” 

“What can I say? It’s a talent of mine.”

Steve starts to search through the books and you leave him alone to get back to work. It’s a slow day today, the mid July heat seemingly keeping everyone at home, so you spend most of your time watching Steve. He meticulously goes through each and every book, spending almost three hours reading their synopses over and over again to ensure that he finds Nancy the best book. 

Occasionally he mumbles to himself, shaking his head when a book doesn’t fit quite right with what he has in mind, or exclaiming with glee when he finds the perfect one. Slowly he accumulates his own little pile of books before he brings them over to you. 

He places the stack on your counter with a proud smile on his face. “I’ll take these, please.”

You whistle at the pile. “Think it’ll be enough?”

“Do you think I need more?” Steve asks, fear in his voice. 

“I’m kidding, Steve. This is more than enough; it’s perfect.”

You start ringing the books up and Steve leans against the counter, back into his usual stance at your job. The price racks up quickly, but you’re sure it’s no problem for someone like Steve. In total he’s selected six books for Nancy, and with each book you scan you feel more tugging at your heart. 

He deserves better, but he wouldn’t listen to you if you told him. 

“Thanks again, by the way.” Steve breaks the silence. 

“For what?”

“For helping me. You’ve always been so patient with me, well–I don’t know. It’s nice.” Steve rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. 

You find yourself blushing as well, his words making you uneasy as always. “It’s nothing, Steve. We’re friends, what else am I supposed to do?”

“Well, I’ve never really had any friends before. I’m still new to this.” He confesses, looking away. 

Again your heart aches for the boy. Here King Steve is, admitting to you that he’s never really had any friends before. You can’t imagine what that must be like, being so loved by a crowd of admirers yet isolated because of it. 

You think about Tommy Hagan, Carol Perkins, and the various people who seemed to flow in and out of Steve’s inner circle of friends. The numerous girls he never stayed with for long, the boys who only used him for his popularity, you never considered how exhausting that all must’ve been. Surrounded by all, yet loved by none. 

Hell, even with Nancy, Steve has confessed to you that he feels like he’s too much for her sometimes. 

“You’re a great friend, Steve.” You reassure him, trying to keep your voice level. You know that any hint of pity will only make him feel lesser than, but you really wish you could make him believe you. Steve Harrington has somehow become your favorite person to be around. “I promise, you’re a natural when it comes to friendship.”

Steve smiles. “You think so?”

“I know so. In fact,” you finish ringing Steve up and deduct your employee discount from his total, dropping the price significantly. “I just gave you my employee discount because that’s what friends do and I know you’ll do the same for me one day. That is, if you ever get a job.” 

He puts his hands in the air. “Hey, the way I see it: why get a job when I don’t need one?”

“Such wise words from a rich kid.” 

“What if the rich kid offered to buy you dinner to repay you?” Steve’s tone is teasing, but there’s openness in his eyes that makes you freeze. He wants you to say yes, he’s almost pleading with you to accept his offer with those big brown eyes that make you want to scream.

You want to say yes, to accept his offer and go out to dinner with him and laugh and tease each other’s food choices and feel like the only two people to exist in Hawkins, but you can’t. 

Steve is looking at you with a softness in his eyes that catches in the July afternoon light, and you see the shift. It’s subtle, but it’s there. He’s looking at you as if he’d do whatever you asked, without any hesitation, because he cares about you in a way that no one quite has before. 

Sure, you’ve noticed it before through his actions, but seeing the deep fondness behind his eyes is something entirely different. You feel this flutter within your chest and you feel heat rise to your cheeks. He’s looking at you as if you’re holding the goddamn sun, and you can’t do it. 

You can’t tell Steve yes. 

He’s Nancy’s. So is Jonathan. 

You can’t develop feelings for yet another guy that Nancy Wheeler has claimed for herself. 

You don’t love Steve, but you know how easily you could fall for him. With him, everything is easier. Your laughs feel freer, your heart a little lighter. With Steve, it feels like you’re coming home after being away for so long. First uncertain of what you’ve left behind, but then so full of love once you’re embraced with open arms as if no time has passed. 

It would be so easy falling in love with Steve. 

That’s why you tell him no. 

“I can’t.” You finally say. It takes everything within you to get the words out, as if your body is physically unable to break Steve Harrington’s heart. But you have to. 

Steve’s smile drops. “Oh, alright.”

You wrap up the last of the books for Nancy, take the cash from Steve, and then inform him that you have a lot of work to do before closing. “You should leave.”

“Already?” He looks so hurt and you want to just kiss his cheek, whisper how lovely he is. 

But he’s too lovely. Too selfless towards you. Too kind and charismatic and easygoing. 

He’s too much for you, but not in the way that plagues him with fear of rejection. 

He’s too much for you because of how easily you could embrace him entirely, how willing you are to make room for him even if you already know there’s plenty of space for him regardless. 

“Yeah,” you busy yourself with a meaningless pile of books. “Just go home, give Nancy those books.”

The words burn your tongue almost as much as your tears burn your eyes. 

But you remind yourself of Jonathan, of how much it hurts to hear him say Nancy’s name like a prayer. How Steve describes her as if she’s the moon and he’s a lowly astronomer tasked with studying her. 

You can’t keep putting yourself through this hurt. 

It isn’t fair to yourself, and for once you need to be selfish. 

Steve leaves, mumbling a soft goodbye, and you vow then and there to push him away. You’ve gotten too used to his company; you came too close to falling in love with yet another person who couldn’t possibly ever love you back. 

So you limit your interactions with Steve. 

You’re dismissive when he comes to your job the next day, then the next, and the next. He seems hurt at first, asking you if he’s done anything wrong, why you’re icing him out, but eventually after a few weeks he seems to let it go. 

You’re thankful for that. For his ability to read you and understand that there’s something more, you just can’t tell him. 

July turns to August and Steve stops coming by Bookstrordinary. 

You go back to only spending time with the boys or Jonathan, rarely ever Nancy. You don’t see much of Steve, and sometimes it feels like last November never happened. Like he never came into your life and flipped it completely upside down. The only reminder that it had been real is the poster that hangs on your wall, taunting you for your cowardice. 

Jonathan notices your change in demeanor, missing Steve more than you thought you would, but you make up some lie and change the topic. You know it’s for the better. It has to be for the better. And yet it feels like you’ve just lost something incredible. Something that could’ve been everything, an almost that you’ll never quite understand. 

But you refuse to fall in love with Steve Harrington. 

-

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[word-wytch]

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 12

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 12/? 10.7k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Grades are high, but stakes are higher.

✏︎ 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 warnings: flirting, play fighting, heavy angst, drinking, pregnancy mention, a heaping helping of family tension, mild fantasy blood/gore 

Special thanks to @storiesbyrhi for the beta reading on this one.

Monday, November 18th 1985

Hawkins felt different this weekend. 

Perhaps it was the ashen sky that hung over the scattered remains of a brilliant fall. The way it bathed the world in a pale, sullen wash. The way it made the rust on the signs outside the gas station seem more corrosive, the streets seem smaller, the storefronts seem older. Perhaps it was because everywhere you looked, you saw him. 

You were used to hearing Eddie in the cars that billowed smoke and blasted music as you pumped your gas. You had grown accustomed to seeing him in the crushed beer cans and cigarette butts that littered the weeds along the sidewalk, in the remnants of a good time. Those things were not unusual. But this weekend you saw him under the harsh fluorescents of the grocery store. On the crinkled label of a 99 cent can of soup. In the faces of small children as you stood in line with a cart that you could never fill alone. You saw him in the windows of subsidized apartments. Heard him in the squeak of wire hangers against the pole at the secondhand store. Felt him as you drove past the huddled rows of trailers.

On Monday after school when you sensed a tall figure in the doorway of your classroom, you half expected to look up and feel those grey skies again. To see those weed littered sidewalks and pothole riddled roads that led nowhere. But instead you saw something much brighter.

Eddie was smirking, rapping his ringed knuckles against the doorframe as he leaned into it. A look in his eyes like he was keeping a secret.

His dirty white Reeboks squeaked against the tile as he padded over to his spot in the wooden chair beside you and dropped his backpack irreverently to the floor. The gust of air that followed was painted with base notes of skin and leather, top notes of cigarette smoke and a bright hint of shampoo. Not a trace of rain.

You gathered the papers in front of you, shuffling them into a pile in the corner as you glanced over at him, unable to suppress the smile breaking out on your face. “What?” 

The smirk twisted deeper on his lips. “I read your story.” 

It was like he said he’d seen you naked. Heat crept up your neck. “All of it?” you asked with a nervous chuckle. 

“Not exactly.” Eddie grabbed the seat between his legs and walked it closer. “I’m at the part where they’re, uh, cooking over the fire outside of Grimhold and Cybelle takes her mask off for the first time. Well, in front of Lazarus anyway.” He shrugged his leather jacket off to drape over the back of the chair. 

It was strange to hear him say those names. Names you hadn’t thought about in years, dusted off from where you shelved them in your mind. It was like he was speaking a dead language, breathing new life into it. 

You swallowed. “Oh, that part. Yeah, that’s an important moment.”  

“I had a hard time putting it down, if that tells you anything.” 

“I take that means you like it then?” 

“Like it?” he said in a breathy chuckle, leaning closer. “I’m blown away.”

Your stomach turned to mush, unable to tear your eyes away from the soft earnestness of his features. “Really?”

Eddie gave a deadpan look. “Look, I’m a huge fantasy geek, but this world you’ve created is…” he shook his head as a soft puff of air left his lips, “unlike anything I’ve ever read.”

There was a weight to his gaze, so heavy that you needed to break it. “Oh wow, um, thank you,” you said, glancing at the paperclips on your desk as heat made a home in your cheeks again. “It’s been ages since I’ve read it myself honestly.” In the same span of time you still never learned how to take a compliment.

“Yeah—no, I mean it. It’s really good.” He tipped his head towards you, searching for your eyes. “I like that it’s, uh, based in a sort of… reality, if that makes sense. Like the whole thing about illness being a problem and how the change in the atmosphere makes Cybelle dizzy. The gold and how it powers machines. Stuff like that. It’s clever.”

You found the courage to meet his gaze again. “Well, thank you. I mean I’m definitely no Tolkien, but…”

 Eddie scoffed. “Honestly? Tolkien takes three pages to describe a door. You never need to and yet the world is crystal clear.”

The ease that washed over you escaped through a chuckle. “You know, I always thought that killed the pacing.”

“It does! God, I mean don’t get me wrong, he is the grandfather of fantasy but Jesus Christ.”

Your laughter mingled, soft and easy, coloring the air in the space between you. It echoed off the tile floor and concrete walls as beams of golden sunlight poured in through the row of windows to your right. The rays made a halo of his hair, catching the frizz that escaped the pattern of his curls. 

Eddie’s eyes sparkled, and you would search for the hurt in them. You knew it was there, hiding somewhere deep in those pools of molten chocolate, but in this moment there was no trace to be found. 

“Hell, maybe I should consult you for my campaigns,” he said scooting his chair impossibly closer. Close enough to feel his aura. To feel the hair on his arm tickle against yours. 

“Jeez, don’t flatter me.” You were surprised at how steady your voice came out.

“No, I’m serious,” he said, his eyes drifting toward your lips. “Okay, don’t tell the boys but I’m actually kind of stuck on this one part coming up.”

You snorted. “Right, because I have such a good rapport with the boys.”

The smile lines deepened around his smirk. “Ok, so… the final boss is coming up and I kind of want there to be a plot twist but I’m not sure how to like, make that work.”

“Alright, well what’s happened in the story so far?”

There was a glimmer of mischief in his eyes before his voice dropped to a theatric narration. 

“There’s a dark, evil force in the village of Hammerfall,” he began with a wave of his hand. “Crops are withering, livestock perishing. The villagers say it’s a curse put on by a spurned old crone who vanished into the forest, never to be seen again.” 

The gooey smile breaking out on your features could not be contained. A new color in the lexicon of hues you knew his voice to be. Rich with iridescent animation, reaching deep enough to turn your heart to putty.

“Six brave adventurers investigate the cause and venture deep into the nearby woods where they encounter harpies,” he emphasized, flourishing his fingers, “dryads, and a forest teeming with dark activity. There’s something deeper going on…” he paused for dramatic effect, “or at least I want there to be,” Eddie chuckled, breaking character as his voice snapped back into its normal cadence. “Originally I was just going to have it be that the old crone is a kind of sorcerer but we already sort of figured that, you know? I feel like that’s too predictable. I want it to be something, I dunno, more interesting?” 

You blinked as you willed your dopey mouth to move. “So she’s, um, going to be the final boss I take it?”

“Yeah, but that’s like, totally predictable right?”

“Hmm.” Resting your elbow on the desk and your finger between your lips, you thought for a moment. “What if she’s like, I dunno, possessed by something else? Like maybe there’s an even darker force at work and it’s just using her as a puppet or something?”

Eddie’s eyes lit up like Christmas. “I like the way you think.” His voice was tinged with a playful darkness.

You tucked your fingers behind your ear in reflex. “I mean I have no idea what it would be, but…”

“No—no that’s a good place to start. I think I actually have an idea of who could do that sort of thing, like in the monster manual. He’s a sort of… necromancer.” 

You nodded. “Oh yeah, that sounds plausible enough. Maybe there’s some sort of clue that gets left behind when she dies or something. Maybe there are like, markings on her body or some sort of strange amulet or… something that would lead to clues about who might be behind this.”

Eddie nodded along, his eyes growing wilder with every word. “Hey uh,” he began, leaning in like he was about to share a secret. “I don’t… know if anybody’s told you lately but…” his soft breath feathered your cheek, “you’re pretty brilliant.” 

It was the way he said it. Soft in tone, heavy with intention. Peering under his lashes like he wanted to kiss you. You swallowed, hard, as your heart pounded into your throat. “No uh,” you choked on your laugh, “not lately.” Breaking his gaze, you fiddled with your green grading pen and pressed your thumb nail into the gummy gripper. 

With startling animation, Eddie grabbed a spare piece of paper from the pile on your desk and snatched the pen out of your hand. 

“Hey!”

“Not like you were using it,” he teased, swiping your attendance clipboard to prop the sheet against. 

Your mouth fell open. “Well… no… but—”

He turned the pen over in his hand and clicked it a few times. “So much power in this little tool.” Putting it to the paper, he etched a green mark that would form the first letter of your first name. “Hmm what grade am I going to give you?” he tapped the pen against his lips.

You raised your eyebrows. “Oh you’re grading me now?”

“Well you definitely have attention to detail down, so A for that.” His hand hurried across the page, flourishing as he marked the A.

You sat back in your chair, thoroughly amused. “How generous of you.”

His eyes crinkled as he scribbled against the paper, clipboard cradled in his left arm to shield it from you. “Let’s see, what’s next… oh I know. Creativity. A plus for that one.”

You rolled your eyes, a weak diversion for how hot your face was getting. “How ‘bout I give you an A plus for being a total cheeseball?”

“Ohh wit — A for that one too.” His tongue darted out, nimble hand dragging your pen across the page. 

It was almost uncomfortable, the grip he had on you. How he could make you feel with a gesture, a word. “Ok enough flattery, give it back,” you said, reaching for the clipboard.

Eddie jerked it away. “Sense of humor, hmm, might have to give you a B for that one.” He shot you a smirk.

You balked. “Oh come on!”

“…B minus.” 

A laugh escaped you. “Eddie!”

His eyes were full of mischief as he scribbled frantically against the paper. “What, never got a B before? First time for everything, sweetheart,” he jested with a firm shake of his head. 

It was hard to be offended when your brain was short circuiting. 

“Maybe we can work on it together,” he offered, biting back a snicker.

Your brain clicked back on with the glare you shot him. “Okay, that’s it.” You lunged for the clipboard, but he was slow on the juke this time. Your fingers made purchase with the masonite slab.

Gripping it like a lifeline, he practically dragged you across his lap as he lurched away. It all happened so quickly. The swift tug he gave, your hand jutting out to brace the first thing in proximity — his denim clad thigh.

There was a pause in the movement. Heat lit up your whole body, radiating from the point of contact. 

His leg was warm and solid under your palm. So too was his shoulder nestled into yours as you reached across his lap, deeper into the bubble of his scent. You didn’t dare look him in the eyes, but in your close peripheral you could see his mouth; gaping just as yours was. 

Recovered from shock, the tension resumed in his tugging, and you responded with equal and opposite force. Your hand remained planted. For balance.

“So serious!” Eddie teased, wild hair bouncing as he jerked.

“I am serious, give it back.” Maybe it was your bright, airy giggles that gave you away, but he didn’t seem convinced.

God he was strong. You could feel the tremble of his arm emanating through the clipboard. Feel the flex of his bicep against yours as you fought his strength. You allowed yourself, for just a moment in the struggle, to glance at the one furthest to you. To follow his white, angular knuckles down to his wrist and see tendons flex against blue veins. To trace the curve of his inked forearm, to the bend of his elbow, to the bulge of his bicep. Your eyes lingered there. At the swell under his velvet skin. It surprised you, how large the muscle was, so much that it caused your grip to slip for just a second. 

It only made him tug harder, but not too hard, you noticed. Gentleman he was, trying to play fair. It was, however, hard enough to draw you further across his lap, further into his scent, close enough to slot your chest into his outstretched bicep and feel it tremble. You fought to regain your hold, hooking your fingers over the top and yanking back with an invigorated fervor. 

“Wai-wai-wait I’m not finished! I haven’t even gotten to ‘plays well with others’,” he wheezed, breaking into a warm, bubbly chuckle right against your ear.

You could barely eke out words. Sweat dampened your hand against the denim as his thigh flexed with every tug. A large, strong muscle that glided and stiffened under his heated skin. “Give it back,” you gritted weakly.

Soft curls tickled your cheek, feathered your lips and nose. You could smell it deeper than ever; that bright shampoo, that warm musk radiating from his neck. 

“What, you gonna give me detention?” he quipped, turning his head to steal a glance from you. 

Your mouth hung open. It was the way he said it, so defiant and cocksure. Daringly taunting for someone whose face was blotched pink. “Yeah, write you up for being a smartass,” you choked out with a pointed tug while your other hand burned a hole in his thigh. 

He gasped dramatically, pausing in the struggle. “You think I’m smart?” His tone was comically serious. It was scary how easy he could feign it on a dime. 

You deadpanned. “I’ve been telling you that this whole time. Maybe you should pay more attention.”

“Oh I’m paying attention.” 

“Oh yeah, to what?” 

It was all you could do not to stare at the ridges of his neck as his Adam’s apple bobbed, pink lips twitching, eyes darting between yours.

“That’s what I thought.” You seized the split second opening in his defense and snatched your dignity back.

His fingers clung desperately to the clipboard. “Ok—ok, I’ll give it back, I promise, just answer one question for me… about your book,” he panted, ghosting your lips with it.

It was those goddamn Bambi eyes that defeated you. Large, almond, pleading. His last, pathetic line of offense. “Fine,” you sighed.

“Is this a love story?” he murmured, close enough to taste his words.

They hung like a cloud. Heavy and potent. Threatening to burst. Hovering in the fractional distance between you.

“I—” you balked, voice trapped in your throat. 

The tugging ceased. Arms went slack. Fingers dampened masonite and paper. Eyes flicked back and forth. Yours caught the dip in his lids as they lowered to your lips, the long, gentle curve of his lashes as he peered at you from under them. 

You could not will your hand to move. It was glued there like his eyes were on you. Clammy fingers twitched against warm denim, itching to snake them further, to pull him closer, to commit each aching second to memory. 

Your eyes dipped next, quick enough to see his nerves make subtle twitches in his smile lines. To catch the parting of his plush, pink mouth that drew you like a magnet. Your heartbeat drowned out any sounds of pinballs. 

You could have done it. Moved your chin two inches. Snatched his pout.

Instead you swallowed and summoned a whisper. “You’ll have to find out for yourself.”

______

Your childhood home had gone rather unchanged since you had moved out of it. A little one-story ranch built in the 50s. Looking at it from the outside, it always amazed you that it could fit three bedrooms within its four walls. Plain and unassuming. White exterior, green shingled roof, a brick flower bed underneath the big bay window in front. Your mother had planted a tidy row of mums in it for fall. There was hardly a stray leaf to be found fluttering across the small, manicured lawn.

Inside you were greeted with the same paneled living room walls, painted powder blue now. The same family portraits from when you were seven, another from when you were ten, and then thirteen. Clean white carpet. Neat and orderly. Your old room had become a craft room soon after college. There was hardly a trace of you left. The Led Zeppelin and Beatles posters were the first to go, replaced with more tasteful decor like cross-stitched landscapes. A singer sewing machine was now perched on the desk you spent countless hours huddled over in study. Nick-knacks took up residence in your bookshelves. The purple walls were painted over with a powder yellow.

Mickey’s room remained largely unchanged. Bigger than yours, though you never had the heart to move over. It served as a guest room now, the full size bed still dressed in the quilt he used, the one your grandma made. Same cobalt blue walls. Your mother still dusted his trophies. 

What was most different was the table that stretched from the small dining room part-way into the living room. It was decorated with candlestick holders that looked like turkeys wearing hokey pilgrim hats. Those were definitely new. You wondered where your mother picked them up.

Both you and your mom would assume your roles — hers as host, and yours as helpful. You would busy yourself with the little things first. Details like folding linen napkins just how she instructed; in cascading triangles. You would sit at the end of the table and press daydreams into them. Quiet fantasies of warm nights and summer winds. Folding in details like the scent of leather and smoke inside the van, the sweet country air gusting through the windows. Details like how you imagined freedom would taste — slick and hot, hungry and lazy with room for seconds.

Once finished, you placed your folded secrets where they belonged — under the dinner forks.

You were making yourself useful with a can of cranberry sauce when your relatives arrived. The kind with whole cranberries. Clamping the gummy handles of the can opener and twisting as the teeth bit into the metal lid. Last year you’d made your own. Simmered sugar and orange juice in a pot over a real flame in your own house, added plump red berries and heated them until they burst. Dan’s mom said it was her favorite thing on the table.

This year you scooped cold, jelly chunks into an plain glass bowl, running the spoon down the ridges like a washboard. You were tapping off the bitter excess when the front door cracked open, ushering the sound of familiar voices colored in casual pleasantries. 

They would find you there eventually — in the kitchen putting rolls into a basket. It was effort, to smile and laugh and act like you were doing great. It was easier to act like you were busy. 

You hadn’t seen them since Connie and Cameron’s wedding. A sweltering day in mid-July. The last place on Earth you wanted to be. You’d spent most of it swallowing your feelings. Washing down saccharine cake with acrid mimosas. Sitting at a vacant table littered with party favors and sweating, half-empty glasses while your relatives slow danced to I Want To Know What Love Is by Foreigner. 

Your Aunt Helen and Uncle Larry spared no expense for their daughter and her new husband, from the country club venue to the live band. From the four course dinner to the three tiered tower of a cake.

Connie’s dress was beautiful. An ivory silk with princess puff sleeves and a train that stretched down the aisle. Like a limited edition Barbie still inside the box.

You hadn’t said much to her then — a tepid congratulations from behind a tired mask. It was all you could offer besides cash in a Hallmark greeting card. You doubted she noticed. She was busy anyway, as all brides were on their wedding day. It’s not like you were really that close to begin with. Not close in age with her being seven years your junior, not close in interests or hobbies. Not even close in proximity for most of her adult life, until recently. 

What you remembered more than anything was the way your grandma looked at her that day — like she’d hung the moon. She’d looked at you like that before of course — adorned with sashes in the parking lot as you clutched your first diploma. In the shade outside the the stadium as you cradled your second. When you reached across the table to present your ring to her.

You were reaching across the table to place the steaming basket of rolls by the cranberry sauce when you caught that look again — at Connie, the Sears catalog between them blanking the napkins you’d placed so carefully.

“See, I was thinking about this matching set with the dresser and changing table. See how it’s sort of built in like that?” Connie explained, leaning in toward your grandmother at the head of the table. 

Your stomach did a sinking somersault, eyes magnetized to her pastel pink fingernail tapping against the full spread of baby furniture. 

“Oh my, well isn’t that convenient. Yes I do like the natural wood grain of this one, the lighter color,” your grandma added.

You tried to swallow it away. Pretend like you didn’t even notice. Like the cheering coming from the living room was summoning you. You could still hear them as your stocking feet crossed over the divide from the hard wood to the plush carpet.

“I was thinking the same thing. It’ll go nicely with the paper we’ve picked out for the walls. Oh shoot, I meant to bring the sample. Sorry, I’ve been so spacey lately.” Connie’s sticky sweet chuckle clung to your hammering ears.

Suddenly your mother’s Precious Moments collection had never been so fascinating. Looking past your anguished reflection in the glass cabinet, you drank in their big, dopey eyes. Vignettes of little cherub hands clutching flowers, posing as firefighters and dentists. Droopy eyed children sitting on see-saws and garden benches. Frozen in their perfect little worlds.

“Oh that’s quite alright dear,” your grandma’s gentle reassurance echoed from the dining room. “I can come over and see sometime after my knees are healed, plenty of time between now and April.”

You tried to blink away the image — your old craft room on Clementine painted pastel pink or blue, filled with furniture from the pages of Connie’s catalog. It probably was at this point. Your eyes burned a hole in a ceramic cherub head as heat rose in your veins.

The sound of a whistle drew your attention to your uncle and cousins crowded around your family’s meager television. 

“Oh COME ON!” Larry bellowed as the plastic cushions squeaked under his shifting weight. “There’s no way that was a foul, you see that, Kevin?” he gestured to his son, slumped against the couch half asleep. “Total baloney.”

Cameron adjusted his glasses as he shifted forward. “Oh yeah his foot was totally on the line, I bet we can catch it on replay.”

“Where do they find these damn refs anyway? The academy for the blind? HA!” Larry sat back in his seat and cracked another beer, amused with himself.

You raked your eyes over the blurring sea of dolls again, drowning in your thoughts until one of them pulled you to the surface. On the middle shelf behind the one in the lab coat and stethoscope, this one stood in front of a big desk with a stack of books and an apple on it and held a large slab in front of her. You crouched down to read the fine print.

Report Card

Kindness…A

Mercy…A

Love…A

Faithfulness…A

Your stomach twisted into knots. Phantom touches ghosted over your hands and arms, wrapped themselves around your heart and squeezed. You caught your own eyes in the mirror behind the dolls — sad and droopy just like theirs, only painted with shame and longing instead. 

Uncle Larry’s voice boomed through the room again. This time it was coming from the television while the Larry on the couch shushed your cousins like they were even making noise to begin with.

“At Bessler Ford we’ve always got the best deals, and this Thanksgiving we’re practically GIVING these cars away!”

“Hey you guys seen the new one?” Larry called out to the rest of the house. 

The question was met with weak replies from Connie and Grandma looking up from the catalog in the dining room. You wondered if your parents even heard him from the kitchen. With lukewarm enthusiasm, you humored him with your attention, mind swimming with pinball thoughts, eyes glazing over as you stared at the screen. Then, like a sudden apparition, your mother emerged from the kitchen and snatched the remote from the end table.

“ZERO down, ZERO interest, we’re prating BEGGING you—”

Like a Wild West gunslinger quick on the draw, the TV blipped off with a fizzle.

“Aw come on!” Larry protested.

“Dinner’s ready, time to eat,” she stated firmly, her expression unamused.

As your family peeled themselves off the couch and shuffled over to the table, you found your seat on the carpet side of the divide. 

Even with the extra leaf there was no fitting nine at a six person table, so there had been some improvising. The two tables were covered in linens you didn’t recognize. Starchy and stiff, a cream brocade with a fall leaf pattern that shimmered in the light. Your mom must have steamed them to get the creases out from the packaging. Though matching, they couldn’t hide the fact that they were different shapes. 

Your side of the family took their places at the smaller square table, and your cousins found theirs at the rectangle.

Aunt Helen’s green halo of fruit jello jiggled as your dad triumphantly plunked the carved turkey in the center of everything. 

It rested awkwardly on the seam between the two tables, a sloping butterball bridge. 

You watched the juices gather at the lower end of it as everyone around you lowered their heads to utter the words of a half-hearted prayer, the meaning long forgotten with tired repetition. 

Barely a second of silence passed before a manicured hand shot out from your left, reaching to steady the platter so it favored her side. “You know, it really was nice of you to offer to host,” Helen said to your mother across from you, “but perhaps next year we can have the honor. We have plenty of space for it.”

The suggestion was met with a tight lipped smile. “Next year we’ll be back at mom’s,” she quipped at her younger sister.

The tension was thick enough to slice. A heavy backdrop to the clinking of silverware against ceramic as servings were doled out. You busied your hands with the nearest thing to you — a warm bowl of mashed potatoes, dolloping a generous helping onto your plate and pressing a crater into the center with the back of the spoon. You passed the bowl toward your right to your dad at the head of the smaller square table.

It was your grandmother who broke the silence. “Helen you do have a lovely home, if you really wanted to host I wouldn’t be opposed,” she said, breaking the molded perfection of the green halo with her serving spoon. “Less work for me to do anyway.”

You caught it. The flicker of dejection in your mother’s eyes, cast down at the crisp table linens. Fleeting and momentary before her shoulders resumed their rigid posture, before she corrected her expression and reached across the table to usher a thick slice of turkey breast onto her plate.

Helen looked delighted as she plucked a roll from the basket. “Well thanks, mom. Besides, this time next year there will be ten of us.”

You stared down at your plate, shuffling your green beans with your fork. 

The conversation would lighten up over steamy, buttered rolls and Betty Crocker stuffing. It would soften to a casual cadence about Cameron’s new accounting job at the dealership. How the pay raise from his previous job could afford he and Connie a house on Chestnut street. How the decorating had been going. How your dad was managing the hardware store this time of year. 

You would sit there in silence and unfold your secrets; smooth the linen against your lap and feel your sweating hand on his rigid thigh; the ghost of his breath at your lips when he asked you if this was a love story. You would prod at your potatoes and indulge in the fantasy of closing the gap. Conjure the cradle of his plush cupid’s bow and taste his wicked grin. Swallow the sensation of how it might feel to have a belly full of him.

Your spoon broke the gravy dam, flooding your plate.

“Dear, aren’t you going to have any liver dressing? You’re the one who made it after all. It’s quite good, isn’t it?” Your mother asked you, glancing at your grandma.

You choked on your daydream. “I—um…”

“It’s kinda chunky,” Kevin commented through a mouthful. “I mean compared to how grandma makes it.” 

Your grandma offered a sympathetic smile. “It’s a tricky recipe.”

She wasn’t wrong. It was tedious to put it mildly. It involved bread crumbs, cooked liver and ham, and a food processor. But it was a family recipe and she just had knee surgery so your thoughtful mother volunteered you to take up the reigns. How generous.

“It’s still quite good, isn’t it?” your mom asked her before turning back to you. “Why don’t you try some, you’ll see.”

You stared down at the square, pyrex dish. You never liked liver dressing. It looked like cat food cut up into little squares, the crispy edges making it only slightly more appealing. It was the texture that always got you. Mushy and homogenous. Admittedly you’d never actually tasted cat food but you wondered how it compared.

“No thanks, my plate’s already so full,” you said through feigned laughter.

There was that flicker in her eyes again, like the flames above the new ceramic turkeys. 

“Mom, come on, I don’t…” you glanced around at your relatives, busying themselves with the contents of their own plates. 

Your mother set her fork down. Her gaze flicked toward your grandma tucking her spoon happily into Helen’s jello. “Why don’t you try just one bite, sweetie.”

Huffing through your nose, you stared down at the dish, then back up at her. There was only one way this was going and you didn’t want to cause a scene. With a placid smile, you picked up the serving spoon and scooped a bite-size portion onto your plate, giving a single, solemn tap against the ceramic before setting it back in the tray.

You glanced around the still silent table, then back at your mother, still watching you intently from across the flickering candles. Defeated, you started down at the lump of mushy cat food on your plate. Scooping it up with your spoon, you brought it to your lips with a resigned sigh before opening your mouth. 

It wasn’t terrible. The rich umami of the fat and the seasonings almost made up for the texture, and quite honestly, the chunks helped. You still didn’t like it. You would never like it. You’d been forced to eat it your whole life and your opinion still hadn’t changed. Whether your mother could accept that was another subject.

You swallowed, finally, to your relief and probably everyone else’s, if they were paying attention. “I’d give it a solid C,” you stated flatly. Your mother was not amused.

“C’s get degrees,” Larry added, laughing at his own joke.

Your dad tipped his head to you. “Well I’d definitely give it a higher grade than that, but I guess you are the expert when it comes to grades, huh?” 

You humored him with a soft, pained smile, tucking into your stuffing again in hopes of replacing the taste in your mouth. You washed it down with a swig of champagne and the sweet tingle cleansed your palate. 

They left you alone after that, with thoughts too loud for your beverage to drown out. Pinball thoughts and summer thoughts. Echos of bright laughter off tile flooring. A rich, warm hum at the shell of your ear. Words like timeless and sweetheart. Loud enough to drown out dull conversations for the duration of the meal. 

“Mom can I go to Vinnie’s after this?” asked Kevin.

Helen shot him a stern look from across the table. “You may absolutely not go to Vinnie’s. I told you I don’t want you hanging out with that boy anymore.”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Come on, it’s not a big a deal.”

“It absolutely is a big deal. I said no, and that’s final,” she said, punctuated by the stabbing of her fork into white meat.

Candles wavered in the tension as orange wax dripped down the sides. Not a sound aside from chewing and silverware against ceramic.

It was your dad who broke the silence. “Ok, I gotta know what Vinnie did.”

Connie bit back a smirk, eyes shifting around the table. “Vinnie got suspended for bringing,” she glanced at your grandma before mouthing, “pot to school.”

There was an audible stir from the table.

Your grandma clutched her chest. “At St. Michael’s?”

You bit your lip at her reaction, cheeks quivering as you struggled to keep a straight face.

“I know, mom. It’s appalling,” said Helen, “I really thought we could have avoided this sort of thing by choosing a private school.”

It was then that Larry turned to you. “Yeah, I bet you see this kinda stuff all the time at Hawkins, don’t you?” 

It was a dig. You might have been polite but you certainly weren’t stupid. “Not as often as you think,” you said flatly, taking another bite of cranberry sauce to busy your mouth before something regrettable came out.

“You know, Kevin, I had a friend in high school who smoked pot, you know where that got him?”

Just what everyone needed, Uncle Larry’s wisdom. You sighed and stared blankly ahead. It was everything you could do to keep your eyes from rolling back into your head. 

“Flippin’ burgers at Benny’s, that’s where,” he concluded before taking a swig of his beer. He set it down with solid thud, as if that made his point.

Kevin huffed and sat back in his chair looking more disappointed than convinced.

You thought about Eddie Munson again, perfumed with cigarettes and covered in tattoos. Thought about him at this table and wondered where he’d fit. Between you and your Aunt Helen? Across from your mother pretending to enjoy liver dressing? At the seam between the square and the rectangle?

There used to be ten at the table. Before that there were eleven.

Your most secret daydreams wafted in on summer winds. They hinged on the changing of seasons and circumstances. You thought about this table without your chair. Of the flickering candles in your mother’s eyes; the way they hinged on you. 

Your hands toyed with the linen in your lap. As far fetched as a future was, you wondered, desperately, if both ends could ever meet.

If the two of you would ever have a place among the dolls.

______

Thanksgiving was Eddie’s second favorite holiday. After Halloween of course, for obvious aesthetic reasons. Having no extended family in Hawkins, his Thanksgivings had always been small. Some better than others. There was the one shortly after his dad went to jail for the first time. He was only six, but there were a few things he remembered — that there was no yelling at the table, that his mom seemed happy for once, and that it was his first Thanksgiving with Wayne. 

Nowadays Eddie and Wayne were like passing ships. Wayne would come home from work after Eddie left for school and go to sleep shortly after he returned. The weekends were a little better, though Eddie had a tendency to sleep in late, so that left them a few hours for early dinners together when he wasn’t galavanting around or getting into trouble.

Over the past nine years, the two Munson men had developed their own Thanksgiving traditions.  

Wayne wasn’t much of a cook, but each year he would go out and get the smallest turkey he could find and gather some essentials. The thing Eddie loved most was that Wayne always made it fun. He would always encourage Eddie to help in the kitchen, even when he was younger. 

The first staple dish was a green bean casserole. It was easy enough even for an eleven year old to open a can of cream of mushroom soup, to scoop out its contents and mix it with shredded cheddar and green beans. Simple enough to sprinkle crispy onions on top and pop it in the oven. Eddie always felt like a chef putting it together.

The second staple dish was a baked mac and cheese. Wayne picked up the recipe from a coworker in West Virginia. It was pretty simple too. More hearty than your traditional stovetop Kraft. It involved heavy whipping cream, eggs, and three different kinds of cheese. Nothing compared to baked Thanksgiving mac fresh out of the oven. It was thick, and rich, and the cheese was browned to a crisp on top. The noodles had just the right amount of chew and the center was melted perfection. 

As Eddie got older some new traditions developed. Wayne started letting him in on the beer when he turned 18. Something about “I know you’re doin’ it, might as well be doin’ it safe under my roof.” Wayne was pretty lenient about most things. More than anything, Eddie got the sense that Wayne just wanted him to feel like there a place he could call home. 

There was one Thanksgiving tradition that stood above them all — the sacred text, the soundtrack to every Munson Thanksgiving — Alice’s Restaurant.

Every year like clockwork Wayne would dig the record out of his collection and Arlo Guthrie would accompany the two of them as they strained pasta, cracked eggs, and opened cans. He would spin his long-winded sermon, his odyssey, about one fated Thanksgiving and the trials and tribulations of dumping trash where it shouldn’t go and how it can spare you from getting drafted. The song was nearly twenty minutes long and took up one full side of the record. Wayne would play it over and over to the point where both of them had most of the damn thing memorized, which was difficult to do considering it was mostly just Arlo rambling a story over chords with the chorus thrown in here and there.

Tucking his legs underneath him, Eddie cradled his heaping plate, shifting his balance so that it didn’t end up in his lap when the couch cushion dipped as Wayne took his spot. 

“Damn boy, I sure do hope your stomach’s as big as them eyes. Mine’s hurtin’ just lookin’ at all that.”

Eddie cracked a wicked smile and leaned in like he had some kind of secret. “You know, you can get anything…”

Wayne raised his eyebrows, playing along. “Anything?”

“Anything you want,” he quoted Arlo before shoveling a heap of stringy mac and cheese into his mouth. 

Wayne brought his broad, calloused hand down on top of his head and gave his mop of curls a playful ruffle. Eddie chuckled through a mouthful, balancing the plate in his lap.

It was good like this. Sitting on the couch with a heaping pile of food. The B side of the record spinning with fuzzy familiarity as Charlie Brown’s Thanksgiving played quietly on the small TV in front of them.

He didn’t need a table to enjoy it. Besides, the couch was way more comfortable than any stiff chair. The paper towel tucked underneath his plate did as good a job as any to wipe his mouth. Eddie was thankful for moments like these, and Wayne more than anything.

“You still doin’ game night tomorrow?” he asked.

“Nah, school’s closed so I guess they get a pass,” Eddie answered, “I mean I thought about making everyone get together anyway but I dunno where we’d meet. Still gonna do band practice on Saturday though.”

“Oh yeah? Whatcha been practicing?”

“Uh, been kinda on a Sabbath kick lately. Hand of Doom, War Pigs, early stuff,” he said, barely denting his mashed potato mountain.

Wayne took a stab at his turkey. “Y’all sound pretty good. An’ I’m not just sayin’ that.”

“Well… thanks.” Eddie toyed with his food, running his fork along the solid, jelly ridges of the of cranberry sauce.

“You guys oughta play more places, maybe after you graduate.” 

He raised his eyebrows as he chewed. “You sound awfully confident about that last part.”

“I am,” Wayne started, “after last Friday anyway. Got to meet that teacher of yours who’s been givin’ you all sortsa help.”

Eddie choked, shielding his mouth with his fist as he hacked mashed potatoes from his windpipe.

“Y’ ok Ed?” 

“Yeah—yeah, just uh,” he wheezed. He met you? Jesus. He wasn’t sure if his head was spinning more over the lack of oxygen or the implications. 

“Y’ know, she sure had an awful lotta good to say about you.”

“Did she?” Eddie asked between coughs. A deep embarrassment bubbled in his gut. 

“Sure did. You really lucked out this year. She really seems to… I dunno. Get it. Get you. Real sweet young thing, I’ll tell you what.”

Eddie thought his mashed potatoes might end up on the carpet. 

“Ain’t hard on the eyes either,” Wayne muttered before taking a sip of his beer.

“WAYNE.” Eddie wanted to crawl out of his skin. Dig a hole. Bury his own skeleton in the back yard between the laundry posts.

There was a glint in his eyes, like he was catching onto something. “What? A fact’s a fact.”

“Ok enough, please.” Eddie ran his hands down his heated face, certain he was absolutely crimson. 

Wayne just chuckled harder, like the torture entertained him.

Suddenly he was eleven years old again. Standing outside the auditorium with his guitar slung over his shoulder as parents and classmates filtered out in droves. 

“Come on boy, time to go.” 

Eddie fussed with his stiff pleather jacket, looking left and right with a growing desperation. “Can we wait just like… five more minutes? I wanna tell Chrissy good job.”

Wayne’s eyes sparkled with a curious mischief, “Oh I see. Got a little crush huh?”

Eddie hardened his lips into a line and fumed. “I do not, I just wanna say good job. God.” He glanced around,  growing claustrophobic, jacket suffocating him with heat. “You know what, let’s… let’s just go,” he huffed as he marched toward the glass exit.

What was he going to do? Storm off? Slam the door like a fucking child?

No. Instead, Eddie just sat there, staring a hole into his heap of Thanksgiving as the plate grew heavy in his sweating hands. Suddenly he wasn’t hungry anymore.

“Oh come on, Ed. I’m just teasin’.”

There it was again. The heat that lit his skin like fluorescent lights as he stared down problems he was too stupid to solve. 

“It’s fine,” Eddie muttered, vision blurring as Snoopy doled out helpings on the television. The record skipped with a steady rhythm in the silence of its end.

You had met Wayne. He knew now, who you were to him. There was no unknowing that. What did he think? That he was going to bring you by some day? Introduce you as his girlfriend? Would Wayne even believe it or would that be a joke to him too?

In the countless visions of you that played out like tapes in his mind, this part always came in fuzzy. Now it was prickling static. 

He wanted to get up; to wrap his plate in tinfoil and throw it in the fridge; retreat to his bedroom like he always did. But he was already doing a piss poor job at playing it cool and he knew that would only make it worse.

So he sat there and ate it. Swallowed his shame and frustration, chased it with a solemn resignation. 

Sometimes he could almost forget. When the books sprawled out on the big desk came from his home and not his locker. When the names on your tongues were from fiction and not history. When impulse took hold of his hands and they took hold of yours. 

Sometimes his visions were more unbelievable than his wildest campaigns. You, hammering your next novel into a keyboard. Him, surprising you with kisses and a sandwich prepared in a kitchen you both shared. A home together in some far off place that neither of you knew the name of yet.

Sometimes, in the bubbling laughter that clouded the space between you, he could almost forget his place.

By the time the credits rolled on the TV, he couldn’t stomach another bite. 

“I think, uh,” Eddie looked down at the half-eaten mess on his plate, “I think my eyes were too big for my stomach.”

He got up without another word, dumped the scraps into the garbage, and resigned to his room.

______

Eddie fluttered open his heavy lids, adjusting his eyes to the darkness that swallowed him. It had been light out when he’d closed them, though he barely remembered doing so.

He wiped the drool from his face and peeled the now silent headphones off his sore ears. The clock on the nightstand painted his vision with a red neon glow; a tether back to reality. 7:07 PM.

Reaching toward his right, he pawed the air for the cord to the hanging lamp beside his bed and flicked it on when he made purchase with the switch. 

Before the turkey’s tryptophan took hold, he had been enjoying the cool breeze at his face as he drove his wagon leisurely along the trail through the Ashmar forest. 

Eddie squinted against the light and rubbed his eyes as he glanced down at your world in his lap, still open right where he left off. The weight of it was like an extra blanket; heavy like a hug. It beckoned him to stay in the toasty cocoon of his bed. Though he had half a mind to get up and take a piss, the world outside was steeped in November’s chill, so instead he took the path of least resistance and dove right back in.

As much as Cybelle was concerned about illness, it was difficult for them to travel together and still keep their distance, but they seemed to have figured it out. They picked up a small tent and collapsable cot while in Torgaard which worked well enough for sleeping arrangements. While on the move, Lazarus had his place; in the driver’s seat, and Cybelle had hers; in the caravan. She would busy herself over the wood stove, crafting strange food and concoctions while Lazarus tried his best to stay alert and steer the horse.

Sometimes she would peek her head out the large window atop the singular door and talk to him. He enjoyed those moments most of all. Lazarus was learning all sorts of new things; what daily life was like in Myrne, what the city looked like and how agriculture worked for them. What Myrnish people thought of the world beneath and what had surprised her about it so far. Namely the flora and fauna. The weather. How diverse it all was. The people too. He would often catch her studying plants when they stopped to camp; taking samples and storing them in jars, pressing them to pages, sketching little drawings in her thick leather book.

“You know I would love to visit Myrne,” he turned his head and called to her, “once this is all over anyway.”

Small, russet fingers curled around bottom of the ornate caravan window frame, followed by a pensive, crescent moon face. “Many people want to visit Myrne.” 

“Right, well, not many people actually know someone from Myrne,” he added, “and I just happen to be so lucky.” 

Cybelle’s eyes crinkled in a soft, sad smile. “I would love to show you,” she began, “but I know they will forbid it.”

The wheels of the caravan creaked along the dirt path, shifting their weight with a soft thud as they drove over a rock. “Even just one person? What if I wore a mask, like yours?”

Cybelle shook her head, “The council is very strict. Even merchants are not allowed beyond the docks. There have still been plagues, even with these rules. One in my lifetime. I was quite young but I still remember… more than I would care to. We lost… so many people.”

He could hear the sorrow twinge her voice. Lazarus gave a solemn nod, staring down at the worn leather reigns as they plodded along. “I’m sorry,” he offered, “I’m sure you knew more than a few of them.”

Cybelle hummed softly, folding her arms across the bottom of the window to cradle her head. “I know just about every family in Myrne.”

Sunlight laced through the trees, dappling the road in patches of shade and light. They hadn’t seen another soul in miles. Perhaps he was becoming a bit stir crazy from all the driving but the further they plodded, the louder the questions that rolled around in his head became. 

“Forgive me if this is, uh,” he searched for the word in the leaves, “inappropriate, but with such a small population, how do you prevent, um,” his fingers toyed at the nape of his neck, “like, accidentally marrying your second cousin?”

To his relief, it earned a big, bright laugh from Cybelle, “We are not that small, around three thousand. But yes, sometimes you must be careful,” she chuckled, propping her head against her arm. “We do keep records of such things.”

“Ah,” he confirmed with a single nod as his face bloomed with heat. 

It encouraged a glimmer of mischief from Cybelle’s umber eyes. “There was a… how you say… practice, I suppose, long before the plagues when we were more open to outsiders where—”

The words were snatched out of her mouth by a sudden halt of the caravan, jerking both of them backward with startling force. The horse cried out, rearing to her hind legs in shocked protest.

“Woah—woah!” Lazarus braced himself against the wood panel in front of the driver’s seat and whipped his head around. Unable to see anything behind the mass of painted wood, he stumbled out onto the dirt to get a better look. “Just keep Turnip calm!” he called to Cybelle as she clambered off the floor.

He scanned the perimeter of the wagon. There was nothing he could see right away, that was until he looked down. Two thick vines, moving like snakes, were actively coiling themselves around the spokes of the wooden wheel. They were covered in tiny, glass-like thorns, and they seemed rather perturbed. He imagined it might have had something to do with running them over. Lazarus cursed. “We’re gonna need uh—a blade of some sort,” he shouted. 

“There’s the knife I was using by the stove,” Cybelle called back, running her hand gently along Turnip’s dapple grey neck.

“Uhh, I think we need something bigger, come take a look at this.”

Cybelle gave Turnip a soft, final pat as she turned to follow Lazarus’ voice around to the back of the caravan. She gasped when she saw it.

“Ever seen one of these… monstrosities in your books?” he asked, gesturing to the vines.

Cybelle crouched down, looking more fascinated than horrified, marveling at the way they moved, like prowling serpents. “No,” she whispered. “They must be very strong though, to stop us like that.”

Watching them coil around the spokes filled Lazarus with an eerie dread. He shuddered to think what he would find if he followed their length into the forest. That was when he remembered the wood axe. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “Please just… keep your distance.”

The axe was on the floor when he found it, as was the kettle, and the utensils, and dozens of other objects that had been launched from their careful placement. Lazarus left the caravan with a heavy sigh.

“Alright, step aside,” he said, tapping the handle of the axe against his open palm.

Cybelle scurried backward, clearing a safe distance. 

Gripping the smooth wood, Lazarus approached the vines. He shuffled his boots into the dirt as he widened his stance, taking aim about a foot from the wheel as the menacing serpents continued their slow coil. He swung with his full force, and just like chopping wood, he let the weight of the axe do its job. It severed the vines with a clean chop. Like snakes without heads, they recoiled into the forest. He swore he heard them hiss. 

Leaning against his long axe with a proud flourish, Lazarus glanced over at Cybelle. She seemed more captivated by the what remained of the plants than his demonstration, much to his quiet disappointment. 

Cybelle shuffled over to the wheel, fascinated by the green, glassy specimens. They had fallen to the  road in a heap upon severance.

“Maybe we ought to invest in a sword when we get to Fenwood,” Lazarus half-joked, “More dangerous out here than I—”

The vine that shot out from the forest snatched the words right out of his mouth, morphed them into a scream as it seized his forearm with a searing sting. In an instant he was on the ground, clawing at the dirt with his other hand as the vengeful, severed serpent lurched him from the road. 

With startling quickness, Cybelle stumbled to her feet again. She snatched the axe from the ground and chased after him.

The pain was blinding as it dragged him. Small, glassy hooks like a fire in his forearm. It made the sticks that scraped his body feel like tickles. The rocks that raked under him like a dull massage. Though his other hand flailed desperately at ferns and the damp, dead leaves that blanketed the forest floor, there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t pull back. He couldn’t stop. All he could do was scream and panic. It was hard to tell how fast he was really going, how much time had actually elapsed. The seconds felt like agonizing hours. But when he heard the dull thud of footsteps by his head, there was a glimmer of hope for his misery to end. 

A guttural scream proceeded a loud THWACK.

It would seem Cybelle had decent aim, because he wasn’t moving anymore. Clambering off the forest floor, he righted himself as quickly as he could in his spinning, pounding world. It was anyone’s guess how long they had before the next retaliating strike, and he wasn’t about to play the odds. 

“RUN,” Lazarus shouted, bolting toward the caravan as Cybelle kept pace. The axe seemed even larger clutched in her small hands. Under any normal circumstance he would have been a gentleman and taken back the burden, but this was anything but normal.

He didn’t even look at his arm. He didn’t have time. He didn’t want to. He could feel it though — the blood as it trickled down his wrist, the sting of the thorns that were likely still lodged there. 

Both he and Cybelle were barely on the driver’s platform before he was at the reigns, commanding Turnip to move with a quick snap of the leather. The dappled grey horse trotted forward with a rare sense of urgency.

Lazarus leaned back against the driver’s seat, chest heaving, more grateful than he’d ever been in his life to feel the cool wind at his face. They were a fair distance up the road before he even looked down. The sleeve of his white linen shirt was completely saturated in a wet crimson that clung to his skin.

Cybelle emerged from the caravan with an armful of bandages and jars and took the seat to the left of him on the other side of the door. 

Lazarus stared blankly ahead, mind still numb from the ebbing panic. 

“Let me see your arm,” Cybelle said gently.

He met her large eyes, now brimming with a soft concern. Slowly, he raised his trembling arm to hover in the space between them; the gap between the seats. 

Cybelle’s fingers twitched above the soaked linen. Gingerly pinching the cuff of his sleeve, she peeled it back to reveal his angry wound. 

Lazarus turned his head toward the forest, unable to look. “How bad is it?” he asked dejectedly. 

Cybelle paused for a moment, assessing the damage. “There are still some thorns, I need to pull them out. They are not too deep though,” she reassured. “You will be alright.”

It was the warmth in her voice that made him turn his head to face her, to face his wound — the mangled trail of lacerations that encircled his arm. Some of them did look quite deep, to him anyway. The bleeding seemed to have stopped on its own for the most part, thanks to his shirt. 

Shifting so that her feet now faced him, Cybelle scooted forward in her seat so that her lap was below him and grabbed a pair of tweezers. Her hands hovered above his arm, and for a moment Lazarus wasn’t sure if it was the rocking of the wagon or her proximity to him that caused her hands to tremble. There was a deep fear in her eyes, and not just from the wound.

His palm faced up at her, close enough to feel the heat of her body. 

In their brief time together they had always kept their distance. Lazarus in the driver’s seat, Cybelle in the caravan. Separated by walls and windows, tents and masks. At night, she would indulge him with her naked smile from across the campfire. Blinding and brilliant, like the crescent moon above them.

Lazarus held her eyes from across his offering; a bloody bridge that hovered in the space between them. 

With hesitant acceptance, she lowered her fingers slowly, then her eyes, guiding his arm to rest across the bandage in her lap.

The wink of her tweezers in the sunlight encouraged him to study the trees again. He gripped the leather reigns to brace himself.

Her touch was delicate and tentative as she steadied his arm, like his skin was a hot iron, and hers at risk to burn.

He flinched when she pulled the first thorn.

“Sorry,” Cybelle soothed.

He flinched again when she pulled the second. And the third, fingers writhing against the warm silk of her dress. 

“I know it hurts, but you must stay still,” she quelled. 

Lazarus allowed himself a glimpse back at her large, uneasy eyes that shone over the crescent moon. “H—how many more are there?” He didn’t dare lower his gaze to count.

With deeply furrowed brows, Cybelle scanned his arm, “Perhaps…fifteen?” she guessed. “They are small, it is difficult to say.”

Lazarus gave a heavy sigh and slumped into the seat, straining to find some comfort in the greenery that passed them. His head bumped dejectedly against the wagon as it swayed along the path. Fifteen. He tried not to think about it, but instead found himself wondering how badly it would scar. His fingers trembled as he braced himself for the next sting.

Instead he felt a hand.

Featherlight touches at the heart line of his palm. 

Lazarus glanced over his shoulder, expecting to find fear in those deep, upturned ovals. Instead there was something much softer. 

It was hiding just under the curve of her lashes, in the tender brush of her fingertips — a quiet fascination. 

His chest rattled, with more than just adrenaline. Her eyes would surely raise at any moment and he braced himself to meet them, but instead she did something much bolder.

She lowered her palm. 

It nestled into the groove and slope like it belonged there. Her skin like warm, russet earth against the vast, snowy landscape of his. When her fingers got brave enough to curl around the back, he allowed his pale digits to follow suit. 

They sat like this a moment, staring at the knot of palms and fingers with a gentle awe. Her cheeks dimpled under the ivory crescent, and despite the radiant sting, Lazarus found himself smiling too.

Finally, Cybelle met his eyes and readied her tweezers again. “Are you ready?” 

Lazarus tightened his grip. “I am now,” he said softly.

There were sixteen thorns. Lazarus counted. They fell one by one to the floor of the caravan. He didn’t flinch at all this time. 

She was quick and methodical, and when her work was finished, she painted his wounds with a soothing balm that smelled of mint and fresh green herbs. The sting faded to a tingle. 

What he noticed more than anything was how her fingers lingered as they left his hand to wrap the bandage.

“Thank you,” Lazarus uttered, running his hand along the neatly spiraled ridges of the dressing.

Cybelle gave a singular, dutiful nod and shyly gathered her supplies. She resumed her place, inside, and got to work reestablishing order in the mess of objects strewn about the floor. It was quiet the rest of the ride into Fenwood. 

As they approached the city, the trees grew denser, the path grew darker. Moss hung like tapestries over lichenous limbs. Frogs croaked in chorus from every direction. A peaty moisture hung heavy in the air. 

All signs pointed toward the same conclusion — they were entering the boglands. 

Eddie sat back against the heap of pillows and rubbed his arm. The one with the puppet tattoo. 

He would always wonder what you said about him, to Wayne. The words you used. Verbatim. You were always so good with them. He would watch you wield them every day, like a weapon or a spell. You could paint worlds for him as quickly as his eyes could gather them. 

It was when he was next to you that you seemed at a loss, like the concrete walls were listening, like they would shatter the illusion the two of you had conjured. It was safer to speak with your eyes, your hands, your laughter. 

Despite the volumes left unspoken, the questions left unasked and unanswered, the volume in his lap had answered one:

That it was, in fact, a love story.

______

A/N: I want to thank everyone for their patience and support while I wrote this chapter. I fought a lot of inner dragons to bring it to you, but I’m in a much better mental place now. I’m learning so much about myself in the process of writing this story, my first one of this length, and how best to keep my inner flame alive. It can be scary when it dims, but it's bright as ever now. 

I was admittedly very nervous about including so much family backstory for Teach, but I felt it was important for the telling of the story. The Precious Moments teacher doll does actually exist. It’s called “Love Never Fails” and it came out in 1984. I couldn’t have conjured it better if I tried.

As always, nothing encourages me to continue writing this story more than hearing what you think about it in comments, reblogs, and asks. It's truly the most rewarding thing for me as a writer.

I’ll be serving up some piping hot drama in 13 so stay strapped, folks!

Taglist:  @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @mantorokk-writes @loveshotzz @trashmouth-richie @carolmunson @wordscomehither @munson-blurbs @blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @bibieddiesgf @idkidknemore @alizztor @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @alienthings @eddiemunsonsbitcch @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @ruby-dragon @ladylilylost @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi

[spnfanficpond]

July 2024 Angel Fish Awards

(Angel Fish design by @slytherkins!!)

Every month all of you fantastic writers work your asses off to post some truly incredible stories. Our Angel Fish Awards are the way for all of us, as a community of writers and readers, to lift each other up and give praise to those who have captured our attention and deserve a few kind words. (Click here to learn more about how to nominate a fic for an award!)

Nominated by @heavenssexiestangel

A Stairway to Nowhere by all_the_kings_ham (AO3)

Everyone knows there is a lack of some good Ducifer fics out there, due to it being a rarepair. This one is still one of my faves and I love the humanity and trauma shown in some scenes. It's truly worth a read.

Apple Pie and the Apocalypse by @ladyknightskye

I'm still reading it but I've read quite a few new chapters and I'm absolutely loving it. There are some hilarious scenes and some more serious ones (sometimes they're together...) and I really can't wait to see how it ends

Like an Open Book by @butiaintgonnaloveem

I am trying to get into x Reader fics and there truly is a lack of Ketch oh my G-d. Anyway. Although here the reader is... Way too dominant to be me lol... I love Ketch showing his softer side and reader helping him to relax. I shall leave nsfw thoughts untold 😫

Nominated by @annahmiraculousmillenium

Let's pretend I'm dead by evitably (AO3)

I love possession fic.

Nominated by @charliethealpaccaso

Woof by morrezela (AO3)

I tend to hunt down all sorts of transformation based fics of all kinds if it peaks my interest and this one caught my interest at the start. I want to make sure more people check out the tag or get some ideas. For this fic what if jensen got turned into a dalmatian. How is he going to deal with his new form and does he ever get back to his human self that is up to you to figure out

Like The Fairy Tales by Icefire149 (AO3)

As the one trying to seek out some great animal transformation fics we got this one where sam is turned into a frog. I thought this was a cute fic and worth a read if you like to check it out.

Regarding Sam by AllHallowsEve (AO3)

For me Regarding Dean was a great spn ep and when I found this I wanted to see what would happen for Sam. The story for the ep plays the same with some added bits more leaning on the Sam side of it all along with his relationship with Dean.

Home For a Stray by 3oclockrock (AO3)

This one was a hard read for me with the topics but it did peak my interest a bit in its concepts. If your interested in a strange read with more mature topics dealing with struggle and recovery check out this fic.

Faithful Companion by brokenlittleboy (AO3)

I'm still hunting down as much transformation fics that peak my interest and this was one I thought was a great read. Sam's powers go out of control causing him to change into a dog and Dean take a bit of an advantage on him giving him a pink collar.

Nominated by @glygriffe

Did You Hear? by cacholady (AO3)

This is a sweet outsider (mostly school related) POV on Dean. He might not be a dad, but he sure has a way with children! And I love that Bobby John Campbell was a part of this story.

Nominated by harrypotterfanatic1 (AO3)

amoralism by @artyandink

I'm nominating this because it's just caught my eye. It's an AU, based in the world of the FBI and the smut is just AAHH and the sexual tension and all of it is so damn GOOD! There's also a plot around a crime syndicate which includes as many major characters as possible and it's overall a read which I would recommend everyone to check out and leave their feedback on as there's so much to go. Aah, can't stop talking about it! It's the characterization as well, all the characters leap off the page and are so accurate. Definitely felt I should nominate this.

Nominated by @leatafandom

Wingman by cas---2y5 (AO3)

I love Sam's fascination with wings and Gabe helping him organize the bunker. I love how their relationship changes and the how Sam just can't help himself. Plus it's also just so steamy.

we sons of hell and heaven by @gay-destiel

This was such a great read! I love the word usage and descriptions so much! It was so enthralling and the relationships were amazing to watch bloom.

Nominated by @masoena

Living in a Haze by @girlsvmonsters

The story has well thought out plot, smoking hot smut, lots of Dean whump and a red thread of humor that compliments the trauma, angst and comfort perfectly. It is also polyamorous and A/B/O.

Nominated by @rainythursdaynight

Crashing In by @followyourenergy

I'm an angst girl through and through, but sometimes I just really need some fluff and comfort. That's what this fic is, hot chocolate on a (not 2024) cold winter's day, snowed in with a good book. Single parent Cas and kid Jack fics are always so lovely, as are the fics where Dean comes in when Cas needs it most. Even if in this fic it's a literal crash into them, it's fluffy and sweet and heart warming and cozy and everything you could ever want out of a read.

And This, Your Living Kiss by @asecretvice

I'm a sucker for well written stories about well written in-story works. Poet/Writer Dean has some beautiful works sprinkled throughout this fic that the author does so much justice to, his story is heart wrenching in the leave-your-chest-aching-despite-knowing-the-outcome-is-okay-kind-of-way, and I love me a fic about hidden identities. The tension, the prose, the energy: this fic is beautiful, if I only could describe it in one word it'd be that: Beautiful.

Heroes for Ghosts by @pantheonofdiscord

I think I haven't felt such deep yearning as I have felt conveyed through this fic. It reads so tense, like you're waiting for a small crack to let out some of the building up pressure and anxiety but still waiting, and waiting, and aching the way Cas does. And then when that pressure is finally relieved, god is it worth it. The waiting was worth it in the end. This fic is also a masterclass in writing interactions that aren't direct, none of TFW can speak to each other or see each other, but they still move and talk like they can, even if its out of desperation. It acknowledges the empty spaces in each of their lives during the fic, and reminds you in equal parts that they are connected even if the thread is invisible.

The Benjamin Franklin Key-and-Kite Experiment by @deanology101

I'm a sucker for not only time travel, but pre-season 4 deancas meetups. This one hit all the marks. It was tense with mystery, with energy, with passion and secrecy. It left the reader and the characters in equal levels of dark as to why things were happening in the way they were. And it kept characters alive that the show couldn't bother to, and gave the Winchesters some meaningful friendships to boot. This setting IS if Faith Healer had an extended cut, rainy and dreary and electric, but with occasional bouts of light peeking through the clouds. And Dean's Journal Entries? His little doodles? His analogies? Dean's voice was PHENOMENAL in this fic, I highly recommend it to any Dean fans, period.

The Sinking Ship by @crack--attack

I'll offer the note that I wrote down when I bookmarked this fic the first time. "Like bearing a part of my soul open and shining sunlight on it. I ache, but there are new flowers here. There are new flowers and a gentle breeze." This is a story about sacrifice, and love so intense it shakes the planes of the world. It's about story telling and eternity and history inundated by loss and a ticking clock and forgiveness and moving on and love. It's everything I could ever want in a piece of literature. Please, if you have even the slightest interest in Deancas, give this story a read. I read this not even acknowledging some of the ships in this fic but found myself pleasantly surprised by them. Even if you don't like or are impartial to deancas, or sam/rowena/gabe, or claire/maggie, please please PLEASE give this fic a shot. I'm so so glad I did.

The Neighboring Perspective by aileenrose (AO3)

A story about loss, grief, and healing. About loving unconventionally but loving fiercely and fully. About opening old closets and airing them out with hope. It's a shorty so I won't write much, just that if you're interested in moving on from loss, in finding new family, in learning how to love again, give this fic a shot. Plus baby!Ben Braedon is adorable throughout!

Out of the Deep by @riseofthefallenone

This is a behemoth of a fic, and popular if the hits are anything to go by. However, if you haven't read this yet and you're into heavy Mermaid lore, I highly recommend giving it a try! It's heavy at times. Cas is caged and sometimes no matter what they try to do, things don't work out for the protagonists. But they try again, and again, and again and the payoff is very much worth it in the end. Plus there's a whole lot of cathartic payback and BAMF Cas, Dean, Sam, and Jess that makes the high action points of this story edge-of-your-seat fun! And the calmer points much more magical, mystical, and hopeful. I loved it for its found family, for it's incredible lore, and it's fierceness. And when I have the time, I know I'll go back in for a second read.

Nominated by @samanddean76

My Brother's Keeper, My Father's Prisoner by @xpurdyglambertx

An Omegaverse story that starts dark with Dean being trapped by his duties and obligations. It follows him as he struggles to break away from those that are more intent on hurting him, than helping him to grow. With help, he does escape. And he goes on to find a relationship with an OC that you will love and adore. They grow together, while Dean works through all of the pain and trauma that was inflicted upon him by the one that should have protected him. It concludes with happy endings all around, and the possibility of hope for the rest of his days.

Nominated by @sardonic-the-writer

B-Clean by EliDeetz (AO3)

i'm nominating this story mostly because the descriptive nature had me hooked, as did the accurate characterization of gabriel, and the relationship between him and the reader was really enjoyable without feeling forced

Nominated by @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes

The Cherry Pie Club by zation (AO3)

>.< It’s so hard to explain. It’s a great story with angst, fluff, a bit of violence that is an after the fact type description so not too bad imo, and a hopeless romantic story. Zation does it again, ok? They’re an amazing writer and destiel is just *chef’s kiss* for them. I have yet to read a story of theirs that I haven’t enjoyed. I swear! Did I mention a bunch of well written kinky smut that also shows the developing relationship between the main characters and Dean coming to happy terms (with loving support) with his sexuality too. I highly recommend reading!

Stars in Your Eyes by Cigarettes_and_Valentines (AO3)

It is so, so good! It’s perfect. It’s perfect and I love it. Relaxed, Endverse-like Castiel is an amazing Alpha for Omega Dean Winchester, a career-focused man that loves his job. ❤️💙💚

Stars Above, Earth Below by @hellhoundsprey

It’s a love story that is technically a slow burn. It’s so sweet and well done. I love how the author gets Jensen and Jared finally together. It has a lot of A/O vibes imo, which might be why I love it so much. The secrets that come out and how it ends up actually helping in the long run, shows just how dedicated they are to each other. There is some angst but a good amount of smut that is actually necessary for the story. Pay attention to the details or you’ll miss it. 😊

For Appearances Only by @lotus820

It’s an amazing amalgam of urban fantasy, billionaire romance, one-sided enemy to lovers with a decent slow burn, and then everything gets fun, sexy, and dangerous. The love that Castiel has for Dean just keeps showing and showing so easily. Dean can’t help but falling for the being that is Castiel. I love this! This is a new comfort fic. It is amazing. You gotta read it. The title is half the story. 😊

Nominated by @thoughtslikeaminefield

The Fear That Remains by @stusbunker

This fic is nearly 4yrs old, and I've read it multiple times because the characterization is perfect (as Stu is wont to do) and it feels like I'm in the room, whether as a spectator or as the female reader. It's sumptuous and heartfelt, sexy and so, so Dean.

(Divider by @glygriffe)

THANK YOU ALL, KEEP UP THE AMAZING WORK, AND AS ALWAYS, HAPPY WRITING!

- From your Admins and Manta Rays, @manawhaat, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @mariekoukie6661, @thoughtslikeaminefield, @heavenssexiestangel, and @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes!

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

I'm Your Man - Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal x OFC - Chapter 6

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 |-| Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18

AO3

Summary: In the wake of a tragic mission and the loss of a friend, Frankie is ordered to spend some time at Coombe House to recover her strength

Warnings: Language, Frankie's potential drinking problem

Word Count: 4.3k

Tags: @mads-weasley @xxluckystrike @curaheehee @footprintsinthesxnd @dcyllom @storysimp @latibvles @love-studying58

George's forehead pressed against the place where Frankie's neck met her back, warm air blowing down the back of her pyjama shirt whenever she breathed. Their hair was a tangled mess of brown and blonde, bodies struggling for space upon the narrow mattress. Whenever one moved, the other instinctively placed a foot down on the cold floor to brace themself from rolling off completely. The beds were narrow enough with only one sleeper, but the extra body made it almost impossible to lie comfortably, the mattress springs and metal bedframe digging in at awkward angles. And yet it seemed the only way they could truly rest, the steady breathing of the other a reminder that not all was lost.

"Why do we love them, George?" Frankie asked quietly, picking at a crack in her fingernail. "When we know they might not come back."

George lifted her head off the pillow, craning to look over at Frankie as she scooped the hair out of her face. "Because we're like that. You and me, we love people so fast that we forget to think about the bad parts," Frankie sighed, rolling over to look at her as a frown creased George's brow. "Frankie, I don't talk to pilots anymore. I barely even go near them, I'm too scared of what will happen if I start caring again. I don't want you to have to live like that."

Frankie shook her head slightly. "Well, it was different with Bucky and me - we're friends, but it's not like what you and Curt had."

"Frankie..."

"What?"

"I'm not talking about Bucky."

She was silent for a moment, considering this. The bedsheets rustled noisily as she sat up, staring at the wall opposite, feeling George's gaze on the back of her head as she spoke. "He pulled through when no one else did - his was the only plane that came back, that's gotta mean something. Like... like he's better than the others."

It's about luck, not skill. She knew they were both thinking it. George would never say it, would never taunt her with that possibility, but they both knew it could happen. Rosie could go up one day and simply never come back down. Just like Cleven. Just like DeMarco. Just like Bubbles. Just like Bucky.

"I start work in an hour," Frankie muttered, almost flinching as her bare feet touched the cold floor as she got up out of bed, tip-toeing across the room towards the bathroom. George sighed and went back to staring at the ceiling.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A pencil hung from between Frankie's teeth as she rummaged through the supplies that littered the mechanics' Nissen hut. In the last few days, the constant back-to-back missions had taken priority over keeping any sense of order, and the place had descended into chaos, everything tossed in at random without rhyme or reason. She was wrestling with a stack of sheet metal as the door creaked open, another figure entering the room. Frankie was scarcely alone in here, so the intrusion caused no alarm - until her visitor spoke.

"Serge?"

Looking up from her work, her brow arched in confusion, plucking the pencil out from her mouth. "Colonel?"

Colonel Harding stood at the end of the shelves, hands folded politely behind his back. When it looked like she was about to drop the metal, he stepped forward, helping her to steady the unwieldy sheets as she uttered her thanks, slotting them away on the correct shelf.

"Sergeant, have you considered taking some time off?"

Frankie frowned, stuffing her hands into her pockets as she shrugged. "I'm too busy for that."

Harding nodded slowly. "That does seem to be the gist of the problem. Rosenthal has informed me that you were very close with Major Egan," At the mention of Bucky's name, her shoulders tensed. "He's also told me that you've been extremely overworked lately. We both feel that some time away from Thorpe Abbotts could do you some good - make sure you can keep up your excellent work."

She paused for a long moment, mind racing a mile a minute. Had Rosie really gone behind her back? Told the Colonel, of all people, about what was going on?

"No. I'm good," She shook her head, turning away as she wandered down to the other end of the shelves to continue tidying. When she looked up, the Colonel was standing on the other side, looking at her through the wooden slats.

"It wasn't a request, Sergeant."

Frankie had been forced into a corner. And Rosie had made it happen.

"... Bugger."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The driver had dropped her off at the top of the long driveway, Coombe House looming large as she dug her heels into the gravel, carrying nothing but a battered suitcase and a raggedy old satchel. It felt like she had been dropped off in some garden of Eden, some fantasy world so far removed from her own that it was practically a different dimension. The first thing she noticed was the smell - rosebushes, freshly trimmed grass, not so much as a whiff of engine oil, the scent that had clouded her nostrils for years. Frankie tried counting the windows, but lost track somewhere around thirty, at which point she realised she'd done nothing but stand and stare for several minutes.

"You nervous?" Rosie asked, suddenly at her side. She hadn't noticed him approach, hadn't heard his footsteps against the pebbles. Hadn't noticed the way he'd stopped to take a long look at her in her dress uniform - a far cry from the coveralls he'd only ever seen her in before. Her hair was curled, her nails scrubbed of any dirt. She looked good.

Frankie shrugged. "Just a general aversion to the English upper class."

It took her a moment to realise who she was talking to. But when she did, she turned to glare at him, brow arched in equal parts question and judgment. "Did you tell Colonel Harding I was verging on a mental breakdown or some shit?"

He blinked. "I said you were tired. Sad."

She scoffed, handing him her bags without invitation. "Don't tell the Colonel I'm sad, he was lookin' at me like I was a nutcase."

Rosie chuckled, buckling slightly under the sudden weight of her luggage. "Well, I'm glad you could join us, if that's any consolation."

Frankie hummed, nodding slowly. "S'pose it'll have to do."

The Riveters had only arrived that morning, her appearance following by no more than a few hours, but already it seemed the flight crew was settling nicely. All except for Rosie, that was, who twitched like an anxious puppy, as if some magnetic force were repelling him from the doors of the building.

"I told them you're here. They wanted to roll out the full welcome mat, but I said you'd prefer it if I showed you around - keep it quiet, n'all."

She eyed him sideways. "I'm not sure there's anyone left that you haven't managed to convince I'm insane."

A teasing glint shone in his eye. "Well, if you want, I can call down the butler and-"

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Frankie uttered, rolling her eyes at the mere concept. She trailed beside him as he led her down the hall, eyeing the furnishing with a constant air of distaste. "Why do they need so many lamps?"

Rosie grinned, pausing to wait for her at the foot of the stairs as she stopped to examine a huge, ornamental clock, her expression distorted in judgment. "You've never been in one of these big houses, have you?"

Taking off her uniform cap, she wagged it at him scoldingly. "My entire house has four windows - I think they have more in the fucking toilets here."

"Wow, you're like a total reverse snob."

He had begun to climb the staircase, footsteps muffled by the runner as Frankie made to follow, taking the steps two at a time as she swiftly caught up. The door to her room was directly opposite his, and Rosie couldn't help but wonder if it had been a coincidence as he propped it open with his foot, unloading her bags onto the carpet. The walls were painted a pale yellow, French windows opening out onto a narrow balcony, watercolour landscape paintings and antique furniture filling the space. Frankie felt predisposed to hate it, but couldn't quite bring herself to say a harsh word.

"I'll leave you to it," He nodded, beginning to back out through the doorway.

"Thanks. Oh, wait," She called, halting him in his tracks. "Is there a phone somewhere?"

"Downstairs, I think."

Once she was alone, the door closing behind her with a gentle click, Frankie shrugged off her uniform jacket, tossing it over the back of a nearby chair before she fell back against the bed, the springs creaking beneath her weight. It was a far cry from the beds at Thorpe Abbotts, and by god was that a good thing. If it hadn't been the middle of the day, she probably would have gone to sleep right there and then, burrowing beneath the soft duvet, enveloping herself in the warmth. Her father had never been able to afford holidays or hotels, and she was quite certain she'd never stepped foot anywhere as nice as this. And to think they were simply giving her the week? She couldn't help but grin.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A few hours had passed since Rosie had left Frankie in her room, and he was emerging from Doctor Huston's office, a disgruntled frown painting his features as he fiddled with the cuffs of his shirt. He was glad Frankie was here - glad the Colonel had listened to him, glad she might finally get a full night's sleep - but he wanted out. Almost desperately so. If the guilt wasn't tugging at him he might have loved to spend this time out here with her, but he couldn't tear his mind away from the mission at hand, from the pilots he'd left behind.

Muffled speaking caught his ear as he passed through the halls, tearing him from his thoughts as he recognised the voice. Rosie peered around the corner and spied Frankie by the phone, holding the receiver to her ear. The wire was stretched across the width of the corridor as she stood in front of one of the many bust statues, examining its features as she chatted away with whoever was on the other end of the line.

"Yeah, put her on... Hello m'love! How's things?... Yeah? Oh good," Rosie was leaning against the wall, and she suddenly spotted him lurking, waving to him and pulling a face to match the disgruntled expression of the statue beside her. He chuckled as she continued to speak. "Yeah? Well, I hope you're givin' him hell for me until I can come home... Ooh, yeah, put Jill on... Hiya!"

He couldn't quite tell who it was she was talking to, but after a while, she gestured for him to come over. Brow furrowed in confusion, Rosie approached, shrugging as if to ask what she was doing.

"Tell you what, I've got someone here who'd like to say hi," His face paled at this, and he began to shake his head. Frankie only nodded. "Yeah, that's right, he's one of my pilot friends," She grinned at whatever the other person had said, holding the receiver up to him. "Say hello!"

"Uh, hi?" Rosie spoke uncertainly, but the tiny voices on the other end of the line returning the greeting made him smile. Whoever these children were, they were very excited to hear from him.

Frankie took the receiver back, pressing it to her ear. "Alright, well, I've gotta run, but ask your uncle to call me when you get home from school tomorrow, yeah?... Alright. Love you. Bye!"

She was grinning as the call ended, hanging up the phone as he shot her a questioning glance. "They're my cousins. They've been living with my dad since the Blitz killed their mum."

Rosie frowned. "I'm sorry."

"S'alright, it was a few years ago now. But they're really good kids, I'm glad we got to take them in... You been with the doctor?"

"Begging him to let me leave, mostly," He nodded.

"They want me to see a grief counsellor or something, but there's no way in hell I'm doing that."

"Why not?"

"Because..." She shrugged. "I think shrinks need to mind their business."

"I'm not sure that's the best attitude to have about this."

"Like yours is any better - I heard you when I was waiting for the phone, you don't want to be here."

Rosie had nothing to say to that. She was right, he just wished she didn't know it. He sighed. "... You wanna go outside?"

"Yes."

It was as nice a day as one could find this time of year, the afternoon sun beating down on them as they strolled the gardens, gravel crunching beneath their feet with each step along the path. The grounds of Coombe House were huge - stables, tennis courts, croquet grounds, and the river, all connected by mazes of paths and neatly trimmed hedges. Neither of them had any real interest in the activities on offer, electing instead to simply wander aimlessly.

"So..." Frankie began. She was wearing what appeared to be a man's dress shirt - a rather large man, judging by the way it billowed out around her, the tails flapping in the breeze. "What did you do before this?"

"Oh, I was a lawyer."

She almost gasped at this, and Rosie couldn't help but grin at how clearly impressed she was. "Seriously? So you went to university?"

He began to chuckle. "Well, yeah, I went to law school, that's pretty much the requirement."

He could see her pondering this for a moment before her gaze snapped back to him. "Are you rich?" She almost whispered the question, as if the mere suggestion were scandalous.

"What?" Rosie scoffed. "No?"

"But you went to university."

"... Yes? Didn't you have to go to school to learn what you do?"

Frankie practically guffawed at this, a squawk escaping her throat that sounded so ridiculous he laughed himself. "Jesus, no. I dropped out of school when I was fourteen."

"Fourteen?"

"Yeah, that's the cut-off. I'm pretty much self-taught - y'know, like a genius," She wiggled her eyebrows mockingly. "Not just a pretty face."

Rosie smiled. It was easy to smile with Frankie - easy to forget the tragedy that had brought them both here. There was always something about her, something magnetic, that he was sure she could say anything at all and he would still smile. Perhaps it was worth sticking around for a while.

They took dinner in the main hall of the house, which had been laid out like a restaurant, the floor dotted with tables of various shapes and sizes, all covered with white tablecloths. Frankie stirred her soup with her spoon, around and around, scarcely ever eating any. But everyone noticed the whiskey she poured into her coffee. Pappy shot Rosie a glance, and he subtly shook his head, urging his co-pilot not to say anything. The Riveters seemed to have developed an unspoken understanding that she was his jurisdiction - if anything happened to Frankie, it was Rosie's business, not theirs. They all knew each other well by now - had all chatted on the hardstand and drank together in the pub - but it would've taken a blind man to be ignorant to the fact that what she and Rosie had was different.

"So... Frankie," Bailey spoke up, earning a few nervous glances from the rest of the crew. "How'd you find your first day?"

She nodded, buttering a bread roll and finally taking a bite. As she spoke, she lifted a hand to cover her mouth full of food. "It's nice, yeah. Although, I think big houses like this always smell like old people."

Pappy clicked his fingers as if she'd said something profound. "That's what that smell is!" Frankie chuckled, taking another sip of her alcohol-laced coffee.

Conversation was small, stilted. No one had it in them to talk about the last mission, but it was near impossible to recall any missions prior to that without having to mention Egan, a topic the Riveters had been warned to avoid like the plague. No one quite knew how Frankie would respond, and they preferred not to find out over dinner. But she wasn't a fool - she could tell they were dancing around her, leaving gaps in their stories for the sake of preserving her feelings. And if there was one thing Frankie didn't like, it was to be coddled.

"Right," She huffed, chair scraping against the polished floor as she stood up. The men's gazes all turned to her, half of them almost getting up on instinct, their mothers' lessons on manners ingrained into them. "I'm off. I'll see you gents tomorrow."

They muttered a scattered chorus of goodbyes and goodnight as she turned to leave the hall, taking her coffee with her. Rosie watched her go, his gaze tracking her across the room until the moment she passed through the doorway, at which point he practically leapt to his feet. "One sec," He uttered, dodging the other tables as he hurriedly made his way to the door.

Frankie was already halfway down the hall when he left, glancing up at the artwork she passed as she sipped away at her drink. "Frankie?" His voice echoed against the wood panelling, and she turned to look back. "You sure you're ok?"

She took a deep breath, nostrils flaring. "Look. Talk about what happened, or don't, I really don't care. But I'm not a child, and I don't need you all walking on eggshells around me, ok?"

"I..." He sighed. "Yeah. I'm sorry."

Frankie nodded. "G'night, Rosie."

"Goodnight."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Rosie couldn't sleep. Again. He couldn't quite pin down what it was that was keeping him awake - the Münster mission, his lingering desperation to get back to Thorpe Abbotts, or the guilt that had been eating away at him since Frankie had ditched at dinner. Nevertheless, the amalgamation of all three kept his mind restless, unable to calm itself enough to give him a moment of peaceful rest. Before he knew it, he was up, wrapping his dressing gown around himself, slippers muffling the sound of footfall as he began to pace the corridors.

There was no real direction to his wandering, in an almost trance-like state as his thoughts raced to make sense of things. Why was he here? Of all people, why him? It was a situation that couldn't be rationalised, but he tried nonetheless, the question almost torturous as he rolled it over in his mind. Luck wasn't a force he found comfortable - there was no solace in its painful lack of answers.

Music was coming from the end of the hall. It tore him from his thoughts, the muffled sound of jazz accompanied by a faint humming, his footsteps trailing after the sound before he had time to stop them. At first, the library appeared empty - no evidence it was inhabited save for the lamps that had been left on and the record that was slowly spinning away on its player. Rosie's brow furrowed, but then he realised the humming sound was coming from behind the couch.

Frankie was sat cross-legged on the floor, posted in the gap between the couch and the record player, obscured from view to anyone entering. She wore her baggy, blue pyjamas, hair pinned up in rollers around her scalp, a port glass filled with what appeared to be whiskey held in one hand as she sifted through the house's music collection with the other, building a hefty stack of records at her feet with the ones she had decided were of value.

"What are you doing?"

She didn't even look up, entirely unphased by his arrival. They had grown used to each other's presence so quickly that it seemed just as natural to be together as it did apart. "Looking. If I've gotta stay here all week they'd better have some good music."

Rosie looked down at the half empty glass in her hand, frowning. On the table behind her sat two others, stains left by her faded lipstick indicating she had already drained them of their contents.

"Are you drunk?"

Frankie hummed. "About two-thirds of the way there."

"Alright," He huffed, crouching down to tug the drink from her grip as she let out a gasp in protest. Rosie paused for a moment before upturning the amber liquid and pouring it down his own throat, coughing slightly at its sting. "Jesus, that's pretty strong stuff."

She seemed to be sulking, continuing to flick through the stack of singles in stubborn silence, as if electing to ignore his presence. Sighing, Rosie grunted slightly as he manoeuvred his way to sit down beside herm back resting against the arm of the couch as he peered at the pile she had gathered. "Hey, these are pretty good."

Frankie hummed, not saying a word as she continued to browse. He was beginning to think she had seen all of the records already, and was pretending to go over them again to avoid having to talk to him. She was craning forward to look, and he dared to raise a hand to her back, thumb skimming across her spine. Turning her head to look back at him, her big brown eyes reflecting the orange glow of the lamps, the corner of his mouth turned upwards in a flickering smile.

It felt stupid to ask if she was alright for the hundredth time. "How're you feeling?"

She tilted her head to the side, sitting back against the couch next to him. "I don't want you to make yourself so busy trying to look after me that you don't look after yourself."

Her response caught him off guard, and he blinked a few times as he tried to think of what to say to it. Had that been what he was doing? He supposed it must be. He'd spent maybe a couple of hours thinking of himself since he arrived, and those hours had been spent solely before Frankie's arrival and after he thought she'd gone to bed. Without realising, he'd accidentally made himself a caretaker for someone who never asked to be taken care of.

"How are you feeling?" She pressed.

Rosie heaved in a deep breath, holding it in his lungs for a moment before releasing the air in a sigh. "Being here feels... wrong," He confessed. "This- this is not how we're supposed to deal with what's happening - we don't play tennis and go riding with the hounds - I don't even know what that is, but-"

"Foxhunting?"

"Foxhunting," He nodded. "We're not supposed to sit around and talk and cry - we're supposed to keep going. Y'know - I'm here because I need to stand up to what's wrong and I can't do that when I'm sitting here," Rosie paused, running a hand over his face as he sighed again. Frankie's hand gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"I got in a rhythm. You go up, you come down, you do it again the next day, over and over. You keep the streak going because then you're in it - you're focused and you're sharp. But now it's broken."

Perhaps the broken streak had been the thing that bothered him most, the thing that stole his sleep more than anything else. But in truth, the more he thought it over, the rhythm had been broken for a long time. The rhythm had been broken since the day he met Frankie - since the moment he saw her smile and realised there was something he wanted to come back to. Her mere existence had planted that seed of fear in him, and suddenly he was covering for more than himself. For a moment he let his words trail away, simply staring at the way the light caught itself on her eyelashes.

Frankie nodded slowly, considering what he had said, trying to formulate something to say. But when she turned to glance back at him, all the words caught in her throat. No one had ever looked at her the way he did now, with such softness in his eyes that she almost felt suffocated by it, weighed down by whatever image of her Rosie must have contained in his mind. Frankie didn't know how to accept that kind of adoration - didn't know what to do with it, how to hold it in her hands without crushing it. It didn't even matter that she felt it too.

She leant into him, trying to rest her head against his shoulder without her curlers getting in the way. Rosie sucked in a breath, wrapping his arms around her, feeling the warmth of her through the thin layer of cotton that separated his palms from bare skin. There wasn't anything either of them could say to soothe each other's pains, but it was good enough to share the weight. She could hear his heartbeat, thumping slightly faster than it should've.

He fell asleep before the record ended. When he woke up, it had been taken off the player and put carefully away, morning sunlight flowing through the curtain and streaking across the carpet next to him. Frankie was gone, but there was a blanket strewn across his lap that hadn't been there the night before.

On the table beside him, a still-hot cup of coffee was giving off steam.

[atlasofthestaars]

[MK X READER] New Era - Chapter .007

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NOTE:  Lots of fluff this time, hope you enjoyed! I uh, hurried to get this out before my work LMAO

Time for yet another poll this time about Kitana! These should be stopping soon, but I want to cram these all in before the Outworld Tourney arc so I can plan it out properly! 

As usual leave your thoughts, and I will be taking them into consideration up until a week after this chapter, aka when the tumblr poll ends.

About three chapters left of original content before rejoining with the main plot! I don’t think there are many other characters that people are interested in polling for after Kitana and Havik, but just know that chapter 10 is probably the last time I will accepting asks for love interests since by then I do want to cement how the characters will interact with the reader before we head off to Outworld.

FROM THE EYES OF ONE WHO GETS A LITTLE CLOSER WITH OTHERS

Turns out that movie night is what you needed.

It didn’t fix all your problems, certainly not. If only it did. You still struggle with sleeping still. You aren’t certain how you were able to fall asleep so easily in that room, but you weren’t able to fall asleep quite as nicely afterwards.

You still worry and struggle to relax, and you weren’t certain if you were going to ever find a permanent solution to that. But you were inspired by Johnny to take up more activities to help loosen up more. You began to cook more, trying to chase the perfection that was Madam Bo’s cooking from the recipes that she had taught you. 

You ended up cooking more than you often needed, and outside of meal times, you were often too embarrassed to ask Liu Kang to help eat the food. You weren’t even certain if the fire god even enjoyed eating, or ate to simply accompany you so you did not eat alone. You always wondered that, but found it to be too awkward of a question to ask. Plus, he seemed happy enough to eat your cooking.

Nevertheless, you had a surplus of food that you could not throw away, so you thought of a different solution.

“You don’t have to give me this.” Kenshi said, a look of confusion on his face as you handed him a neatly packed box of food. It was still warm and you could faintly smell the goodness that was inside. Despite his words, you held it out to him insistently to the point where he took the food into his hands, a confused look on his face. 

“No, no I insist!” You say, brushing it off. “I’ve recently taken up cooking as a hobby again, so I’ve been cooking more than I usually do.” You explained, crossing your arms so the man could not hand back the food you had given him. “I don’t want food to go to waste, so I insist, really. Plus, I figured you’d be someone who would help critique me on what I need to improve.”

“Wouldn’t Kung Lao be better for this?” Kenshi inquired, though he did not look as against the situation as he originally did. He lifted the box up slightly, trying to examine the pristine way you had wrapped and packed the food. “He’s the one who likes food the best out of all of us.”

“He enjoys any food, he’d just eat it and compliment me to see if he could get more.” You pointed out, having thought this out. “Raiden would be too nice, he’d say I tried hard on it even if it was horribly seasoned and burnt. Johnny might have been a good choice, but I also think he might take me giving him food the wrong way.”

“I see.” The swordsman said, taking another look over the packaged food another time. You felt proud of yourself for how neatly you had done it. He paused, before sending you a small smile, and you mentally pat yourself on the back. “Thank you then, I’ll make sure to give you a thorough review of it.” 

“Good, because there will be plenty more where that came from.” You said confidently as you quickly shooed him off. “Now go back to training.” You nagged him. “And let me get out of here before Johnny Cage makes fun of me for being here on my off time again.” You whispered, scanning the area for the actor. 

You quickly left, leaving Kenshi standing there with a slightly stupefied expression. He glanced down at the box, a small smile on his lips. 

When was the last time he had tasted a home cooked meal made with care?

Sneaking a peek around the area, his curiosity tempted him too hard. He pulled at the packaging you put thought into, and opened the lid. It looked like the definition of made with love. He grabbed the utensils you had given him, and took a bit of the food, too curious about it.

It tasted amazing.

“You’re free to do whatever, just don’t kick their asses too hard.” 

It was a month after your short break, and despite your visit to the Lin Kuei temple a long while ago, it was only until now that Smoke could make time to help out your group. 

You shot the gray haired man a grin as you walked down the halls with the man. He let out a chuckle at your instruction, raising an eyebrow. The man seemed confident, probably due to you hyping him up for this day. You knew he would provide just the perfect challenge.

“Let me give you the rundown.” You said as you continued to guide him. “Kung Lao, you remember him, is doing great. He does have a bit of an ego though, so feel free to knock him down a peg. Raiden, the other person from the exam, is also doing well, but don’t let his innocent looking face take you off guard. Feel free to also go a bit harder on him, he needs the push.”

“It sounds like you want me to beat up your students rather than test them.” Tomas pointed out an amused tone in his voice as he glanced over to you. He was very expressive with his eyes, which was a trait you were thankful for since he was wearing his mask today for training. 

“Isn’t that the Lin Kuei way?” You teased before sighing as you put a hand on your left rib cage. “It’s been years, and I swear Bi-Han left a permanent bruise from his intensity.” You huffed. “Anyways, for the other two, let’s see…” You paused, thinking of what to say. “Johnny has a flashy way of fighting, don’t let the look of his fighting deter you, no matter how impractical it may look, he can still land a solid punch.” You let out another scoff. “Also, don’t let his words, whether positive or negative, take you off guard, he’s a real charmer.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s an actor, he has a way with words. He might try to butter you up so you’ll go easy on him. Or try to cast you in his movies.” You informed him, remembering back to the first time Johnny had tried to get you to join his movies after the tournament. “You’ll see what I mean.”

“Duly noted.” Smoke nodded, but you had a sense that you probably made him more curious rather than cautious. You watched as he subconsciously spun the karambit he fought with on his finger, doing tricks with it absentmindedly.

“Anyways, Kenshi has some more…practical practice with fighting, so he’s also a threat to look for.” You continued, purposefully being vague with Kenshi’s past for the sake of his privacy. “He fights with a katana, so I suppose you’ll be out ranged.” You pointed out, gesturing to the much shorter dagger he wielded.

“Don’t worry, I’ll find a way to close the gap.” The Lin Kuei man said, with a tone of confidence in his words. You smiled, remembering your old spars with him. He was always tricky to fight against, being able to easily slip in a fight to get right where he wanted. “Any other advice you have for me?”

“Nope, like I said, you’re pretty much free to do what you want.” You said with a small shrug. “They’ll learn a lot from fighting you.” 

The two of you made your way to the courtyard, where the group was gathered. They were waiting, and you could tell that it had probably only been a few minutes since the last master had been training with them.

“Gentlemen, I present with you today, a different person to spar.” You greeted as you rounded the corner with Smoke in tow. You gestured to your friend, a smile on your lips. “This is Tomas, otherwise known as Smoke. He’s from the Lin Kuei. and I chose him to help train you today.”

“Lin Kuei? Like the ones who broke my Hichuli?” Johnny asked, as he looked towards Smoke. He observed him for a moment before pointing at him. “Nice mask, by the way.” He commented before looking towards you again.

From the corner of your eye, you watched as Smoke was surprised by Johnny’s compliment.

“I remember you from the test.” Kung Lao said, walking up to take a closer look at the guest. He sized him up and down, crossing his arms as he did so. “We’re better trained now.” He declared, referring to Raiden and himself with confidence, “We can take you on without you pulling your punches.”

“Be careful what you wish for, Kung Lao.” You warned, sending him a look. “You may have been progressing very well with your training, but Tomas here is still a trained hunter, you know.” You gestured towards the gray clad man who took your praise well, but there was a hint of bashfulness you could glean from his face. 

“It is an honor to have you with us here, today.” Raiden spoke, bowing towards Smoke with utmost respect. You smiled, pleased at the respect he displayed. You could always rely on him to be modest. You watched as Kenshi also nodded in his direction. 

“Kung Lao, since you’re so confident, go ahead and step right up first.” You instructed, nodding towards Smoke who stepped forward to take the challenge. You crossed your arms and observed, feeling satisfied as you were proven right that Smoke provided just the right amount of challenge. He could do what the rest of you could not: attack from all sorts of angles with his teleportation techniques.

As Smoke finally knocked over the farmer, you strode over. You held a hand out for the man.

“Good job.” You praised both of the men. You gripped Kung Lao’s hand firmly as he grabbed yours, hoisting him up. You felt Kung Lao squeeze your hand briefly before releasing it, and you mentally noted how his hand felt with the callouses.

“You’ve improved since the exam.” Smoke added in, brushing himself off too. Even though Kung Lao had been ultimately beaten, you could see that he had still given the Lin Kuei member a run for his money at times. 

“Thank you.” Kung Lao said, seeming to have been humbled a bit more. An enthusiastic look appeared on his face as he tilted his head towards the two of you. “Soon enough I’ll be able to beat you though.” He said with confidence. “Especially when I get my hat.” He said, his tone dripping with excitement as he glanced at you before walking off to the side to rest up.

“A story for another time.” You said as Smoke sent you a curious look. “Kenshi!” You called the previous gang member up, and stepped back to observe the fight from the sidelines. You had your students rotate through, each of them fighting Smoke one on one. After the last match, you called for a break, letting them catch their breaths, especially Smoke who had been fighting all this time.

“You’re really making me work.” Smoke commented lightly as he took the water you handed him. 

“Just as you did when I helped you.” You reminded him, remembering how many Lin Kuei recruits he had made you spar on that day when you visited the temple. “Don’t think I forgot.” You teased as you brushed past him, purposely bumping into his shoulder in a playful manner. You felt his stare on you as you walked away to go talk to your students.

You approached all of them, giving tips to them, explaining what they could improve when they were called up to fight Smoke for another round. You smiled as you watched them absorb the information. Soon, you sent them all back to fight the Lin Kuei member once more.

“Alright, you’re all dismissed.” You declared as Kung Lao finished his round, you chose for him to go last this time since he went first the first round. You clapped your hands, and they nodded as they dispersed. You watched as both Kenshi and Smoke approached you, only for Johnny to distract the Lin Kuei member and whisk him away.

You’d have to make sure that the actor wasn’t roping the poor man into anything later.

“What’s up?” You inquired as the swordsman approached, but you had an inkling of an idea of what it was about, after all you’ve been hearing his food critiques for about a month now.

“The food today was great, as usual.” Kenshi informed you with a soft smile. He had certainly warmed up to you much more ever since your food gifting had begun. “I did notice though that…” And he went off on a small talk about your food, giving you helpful criticisms as usual. He was always honest, and seemed to put great thought into his reviews, which you dearly appreciated.

It felt all too familiar, and you felt nostalgia pull at your heart. While you didn’t have too many memories of Kenshi in your past life, you had enough to remember that he must have been a close confidant. Why else would you care so much about his opinions?

“I’ll be sure to do that next time.” You said, but your mind drifted off. While you had been cooking mainly Chinese cuisine, you briefly considered trying out Japanese cuisine for Kenshi. You opened your mouth to ask for his favorite food, but considered against it.

Maybe you can surprise him instead.

You think you remembered what you believed was his favorite food from the hazy memories that you had sorted through. You made a mental note to visit Madam Bo soon to try to ask for some advice for cooking it. After all, she was the best chef you knew.

You watched with a silent pride as the man walked off after giving you his short food review. You felt a presence approaching you, and you turned to see Tomas approaching with raised eyebrows. You returned his confused expression.

“You feed your students?” He asked, a tone of curiosity…and another emotion you couldn’t quite place. You let out a small laugh as you nodded.

“You overheard?” You asked, but you knew already that he must have if he was asking about it. You placed a hand on your hip. “I do, but just to Kenshi. I’ve been practicing the recipes that Madam Bo taught me, and I usually make too much and give some to him. He helps me out by critiquing them.”

“I see.” Smoke said, nodding. He paused for a moment, a look of consideration crossing his face. “All these years of knowing you, and I don’t think I’ve tried your cooking, I’m hurt.” He said, his voice taking a teasing tone at the end. You scoffed and rolled your eyes to match his playful energy.

“It’s nothing special, if you want real good food, you should try Madam Bo’s, she’s the real master.” You said, moving to cross your arms. “But now that you’ve mentioned it, you’re right. I haven’t cooked for you before.” You paused and considered something. “Maybe one day I should.”

“I’d like that.” Tomas said, his eyes crinkling at the edges as you assumed he smiled at you. You returned the smile.

“I’ll make plans for it, then.” You said, trying to think of an appropriate time to cook for him…or maybe you should invite the other Lin Kuei ninjas too. You began to calculate in your head some plans. It was only until you saw Smoke extend his pinky in front of your face that your train of thought was derailed. “A pink promise?” You inquire with a mock offended tone, “What, you don’t trust me?”

“I do, I just want an excuse to hold it over you in case you forget.” Tomas said. letting out a small laugh. You sighed dramatically as you rolled your eyes. Nevertheless, you extended your pinky and hooked it around his, playing along.

It was a little silly, but seeing the promise between you was a bit charming. A small delightful tingle was left on your skin where it had made contact with his as your pinkies unraveled from his. You wondered briefly if it was a side effect of his power, but didn’t try to question it too much, just savoring how it felt.

“I’ll hold you to your word, then.”

“The first prototype of Kung Lao’s hat is here.” 

Turning around, you saw Liu Kang approach as he carried a small box. You approached him, grabbing the box from his hands. It was lighter than you expected, and walked over to set it down on a table so you could inspect it properly.

It took longer than you were expecting to get this first prototype. Another month had passed between when you had Smoke help you and now. The days seemed to be passing quickly, and the months leading to the Outworld tournament were dwindling slowly.

You weren’t certain to be nervous about the time to train these men were quickly running out, or to be excited that soon you were going to finally visit Outworld.

“Interesting.” You remarked as you held up the razor sharp ring of metal up from out of the box. It seemed it was the main blade that was supposed to attach to the edge of the hat. For now, it was still unattached. You were careful as you traced the edge of the blade, but hissed as you accidentally cut yourself on it. “Sharper than it looks.”

“Indeed.” Liu Kang said. you saw a crease of worry appear on his face as he noticed the look of pain on your face. You set down the blade, going to go inspect your finger where it had cut you. You squinted down, seeing a bead of blood beginning to form. It was a bigger cut than you were ready for, it extended to two of the joints of your pointer finger.

Carefully, the fire god grabbed your hand. You blinked owlishly as he carefully lifted up your hand to inspect it, not knowing what to exactly say or do. He let out a small hum as he noticed the small amount of blood. As if he were touching something delicate, he wiped away the blood with his thumb.

His touch was always so gentle, so warm.

“You carry a medical kit with you, yes?” The protector of Earthrealm inquired. You nodded, not noticing how you were spaced out. You reached around to grab it out of your pocket. You handed it to him, feeling a bit touched he remembered that fact about you. 

Liu Kang took it from you, and you watched as he carefully took the supplies out of the pack. He carefully made sure to clean the blood away before he spread some petroleum jelly on your skin. You tried not to flinch at the contrast of the cold jelly and his warm skin. Then, he carefully wrapped your finger up with a band aid.

“Thank you.” You quickly said, briefly stupefied at the actions of the god. You could have cleaned and mended your cut yourself, and yet you found yourself not wanting to mention that fact to him. Maybe he just thought it was easier for him to patch your wounds for you. There was no reason to overthink things, the fire god was just as friendly to you as he is to everyone else.

Surely.

“No problem.” Liu Kang replied warmly as he packed up your medical pack and handed it back to you. You swallowed as you took it back, tucking the pack back into one of your pockets. You avoided his glowing eyes as you picked up the box.

“It’s time to deliver this to Kung Lao.” You announced, before walking briskly off. You tried not to think about why you were all of a sudden feeling tongue tied over such a small gesture. You ignored how you felt his stare linger on you for maybe a little too long as you walked off.

You were overthinking things lately, honestly.

“This looks better than I envisioned!” Kung Lao marveled as he looked over the blade you were presenting to him. You basked in the beam he sent your way, and you felt a sense of satisfaction wash over you as you were watching the man’s dream come to life before your very eyes. 

And you were the cause of it.

“I think it looks good too.” You remarked. You instinctively pulled the blade away as Kung Lao tried to touch the edge. You had been reminded of what happened earlier, and ignored how your face wanted to warm up at the memory. “Be careful, the blade is sharper than it looks.” You warn. You hesitate for a moment, before gently handing it to him.

You probably shouldn’t be as cautious as you were being. He was going to wield this razor hat one way or another. You watched with bated breath as he took it from you. Your nerves turned to pride as you watched him inspect it, flipping it over as he murmured to himself.

It felt right, watching him with the blade. Why were you so worried in the first place?

“Oh, and here’s the hat, compare it to the blade to see if you like the fit.” You remarked as you stooped down to pick it up. You heard the sound of metal falling as you lifted the hat up. You looked down, puzzled, as you knelt down to inspect it.

It was a small piece of metal. It had no marks, but it was too small to be any piece of a blade. Was this a piece of scrap metal? You chose not to question it, grabbing it as you stood up. You handed the hat to him, along with the piece of metal.

“Here’s the hat.” You started, before gesturing to the small piece of metal. “Not sure what this is for, but this was also in there too.” You said, shrugging. You watched as he gladly took the hat. There was a look of recognition that appeared on his face as he saw the piece of metal in your hand. He quickly snatched it out of your hand before tucking it away in a pocket.

Odd, but it wasn’t suspicious enough to question him. Or at least, you weren’t bothered enough to.

“Thanks!” He said. You watched as he put the blade along the edge of the hat. Carefully, he put the hat on, holding the blade to the edge with his hands. He tilted the hat down, masking the fact that he had to hold the blade and the hat together by striking a pose. “How do I look?”

A wave of nostalgia washed over you as you looked at the pose. You don’t remember when was the last time you had been hit with it this strongly. You were speechless as you looked at him. You knew he wanted to make a hat with multiple blades, but something about a simple blade hat felt right.

Maybe you should try and make him a different version of this hat, one that felt closer to the memories you had. 

A small memory of teasing and laughing with a much cockier version of Kung Lao filled your mind as you looked fondly at the man. You sucked in a breath as you nodded.

“You look great.” You complimented, and you truly meant it. “The hat really suits you, I can’t wait to see how it’ll look when it’s finished.” You watched as a grin grew on Kung Lao’s face, and you spotted a bit of pink on his cheeks. He seemed to absorb the praise well, and for a moment you almost reconsidered taking back the compliment. It was clearly letting it inflate his ego.

Then again, it made him happy, so you said nothing to rain on his parade.

“Of course I do.” Kung Lao said smugly as he took the hat off. He looked at it again, the same way you would think a father would look at their own kid. You held back a chuckle. He was really enthusiastic about this hat, wasn’t he?

“You can mess with it for a while, whether it be practicing with the blade or making notes for the blacksmith.” You informed him. “I’ll be taking it back with the box whenever you are ready to return it to get it worked on again.” 

“Got it.” He nodded. “Thanks for this, again.” You watched as the Fengjian farmhand took one last look at the hat before stowing again in the box and running off. Whether it was to test out the blade or to make design notes, you weren’t sure. 

Either way, you felt happy.

“You’ve improved a lot.” You remark as you watch Raiden run through a combination again. He was a far cry from the man you remembered from the beginning. You looked up at the stars, reflecting back to those days with a wistful look.

Time was passing by fast, and you were reminded of that as you noted how much more confident Raiden seemed in his strikes. You crossed your arms as you fixed the man with a stare, watching him take pause after he finished the combination.

“Really?” He asked, a small smile on his face. He had an almost shy look on his face as he turned to look at you. You nodded in response, and he stood there for a moment before looking away. “How so?” He asked, a curious look on his face.

“Well, for one, you’re not making as many mistakes anymore.” You pointed out, holding back a small chuckle. “Actually, do that combination again.” You said, finding it ironic that you were probably going to have to take back the praise you had just given him,

You watched him as he did the combination again, and noticed the error in his form. You couldn’t help the laugh that left your lips. The irony of it all.

“Okay, poor timing.” You remarked. You tried instructing him on how to correct him form, but watched as he kept on missing the critical error. You felt a bit bad, maybe it was because you had just been mentioning how he had been improving and now he was a bit psyched out. You walked up to him. “Here, you need to land like this.”

Gently, you grabbed his arms and moved them into the proper position. You twisted his hands to face the right way. Then, you nudged his legs apart to make sure they were spaced apart properly. You hummed as you leaned in close, inspecting his form now. 

“Just like that.” You said softly, as you removed your hands from him. You backed up, looking him up and down. You looked up to his face, raising an eyebrow as you saw him avoid eye contact, his face a bit pink. “You understand now, Raiden?”

“Um, I…” Raiden stumbled on his words, his voice a little panicked as he looked down at himself before nodding. “Yes, I get it now.” He said quickly. You tilted your head, a bit confused at his change in demeanor. 

“It’s okay if you don’t.” You reassured him, sensing he was nervous. Was he all caught up in trying to be perfect after your praise? You had a feeling that wasn’t the reason, but you couldn’t quite understand what else it would be. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad by praising you then correcting you.” You told him, trying to make sure he felt better. “I can help correct your form again if you need me to.”

“I should be good.” The former Fengjian farmhand said, his voice still a bit antsy. He shifted out of the form before facing the dummy. He took in a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. You nodded at him, and watched with satisfaction as he did the combination much better this time. “How was that?” He asked, a bit skeptical of his own performance.

“Excellent.” You praised, clapping your hands. “See, even if you mess up, you take critiques very well.” You pointed out with a smile. “It’s honestly impressive how quickly you can adapt sometimes now.” You continued. “I don’t think I was as quick of a learner as you are.”

“Really?” Raiden inquired, his eyebrows rising in surprise. “I can hardly imagine you not being excellent at fighting.” He commented, rubbing the back of his neck. “You just seem to be so talented at it, in all honesty. It’s admirable.”

“You flatter me too much.” You said, but still took the praise happily. You’d never admit it, but you enjoyed it whenever people praised your fighting skills. “I just have a lot of experience under my belt.” How much training you truly had, you had no idea, but he didn’t need to know that detail. “I do want you to know that I truly mean it when I say you’ve improved greatly, despite what just happened.”

“You are too kind.” Raiden said, nodding his head at your praise. “I hope to live up to your expectations for me.” 

“Oh Raiden,” You chuckled, covering your smile with your hand. You looked at the man fondly, shaking your head. “You already have.” You admitted. And it was true, he always went above and beyond for training, putting in more hours than anyone else did. He was truly dedicated to getting better.

The bashful look on his face, you had to admit, was rather amusing. You grinned. You felt bad, it was almost a bit fun to try and tease the man and see what got him flustered. Maybe you were being a bit of a bully, but you would never really admit that.

“I’ve only managed to get this far because I have such a wonderful mentor.” Raiden said, and you felt a bit warm as he turned the praise back on you. Sure, he had praised you just recently, but there was something about the way he said it that made this particular compliment feel special. The smile that decorated his face only added to it. “So, thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being such a wonderful person.”

part eight

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Sugar Mama Chapter 2

Summary: Bucky is overworked and struggling to get by.  The bills are piling up and he’s consistently in the red with no end in sight.  Y/N is a billionaire’s daughter, entrepreneur and philanthropist having a hard time finding true friends or love.  She has a proposition for him.

bucky barnes x curvy!reader Warnings: eventual smut, sexual assault (not from Bucky)

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The next day he called the number on Y/N’s business card.  A woman named Pepper, her assistant, answered and made an appointment for him to come to her penthouse apartment on Sunday at 7 p.m.  He had that day off from his multiple jobs for once, but instead of resting he was stressing about the meeting all day.  He barely slept with how nervous he was, going through his closet over and over again to figure out what would be best to wear and pacing around his tiny studio apartment.

When the time came to leave he got a text from an unknown number saying a car was waiting for him outside.  He peered out his window to find a black town car at the curb.  He laughed at just how strange this all was.  The ride was awkward and quiet, and once they reached her building the driver instructed him where to go.  He followed their instructions until he found himself leaving the elevator and entering into a large sitting room with a wall of windows showcasing the Manhattan skyline.  He gaped at the sunset hovering over the buildings, brilliant oranges and pinks peaking through the windows and streets.  He looked around the room at the high end furniture and art pieces on the wall.  Whoever designed the apartment had obviously been given an open budget as he recognized some of the items that he could only dream of using on his design boards.

“Bucky!  Good evening,” Y/N’s voice rang out around the corner.  Bucky followed her voice until he entered the kitchen.  It was huge, with appliances that a Michelin chef would die for.  Y/N was standing in front of the island in the middle, making sandwiches, dressed in a sweater and sweatpant set that was black and spotted with yellow smiley faces and matching slippers on her feet.  She looked so small and casual compared to all the other large and grand things in the apartment that it made him smile through his nervousness.

“Hello, Miss Y/L/N, good evening,” he greeted her back, standing awkwardly at the entrance to the kitchen.

“None of that, just call me Y/N.  You’re not allergic to anything are you?” she asked suddenly, her hands stilling over the food.

“No, nothing that I know of, anyway,” he quickly assured her.

“Do you like chicken or ham?” she smiled and turned back to the sandwiches, cutting a tomato and layering meat and cheese on one.

“Ham is fine, thank you,” he answered, smiling back at her.  She finished the sandwich and slid the plate over to him, gesturing for him to sit down on one of the stools by the island.  He caught it and gave her a quiet thanks as he sat before taking a bite.  She watched his reaction, and when he hummed in satisfaction she smiled again and went back to finishing her sandwich then hopping up on the counter to sit.

“There’s all kinds of drinks in the fridge, you’re welcome to whatever you’d like,” she gestured towards it behind her.

“Oh sure, thank you,” he said around another bite and walked to the fridge, opening it to find what looked like a full grocery store inside.  He quickly chose a water bottle and went back to the island.

“Did you like the crab cakes and risotto?”

Bucky’s eyes rolled back dramatically, making her laugh. “Oh yeah, still definitely my favorite, best thing on the menu there, in my opinion.  Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, giving him a lopsided grin.  “So, I’m sure you’re just dying to get this weird conversation over with,” she teased him as she took a bite.

Bucky chuckled as he finished chewing.  “Honestly, yes.  I’ve been very nervous all day.”

“Let’s just dive right in, shall we?  Have you ever been a sugar baby before?”

Bucky took a sharp breath and huffed it out.  “No, I haven’t.  Um, what exactly would it entail, if I said yes?”

“What are you hesitant about?” she queried, watching him intently.

“Uh, I guess, um,” he cleared his throat and decided to take a quick drink of water.  “So, I give you, what, companionship?  And you pay for things for me?”

“In a nutshell, yes.  It’s a mutually beneficial relationship,” Y/N answered matter-of-factly.

“So what kind of companionship are you, uh, looking for?” he asked hesitantly.  “I’ve heard of these kinds of things starting out okay but then becoming, um…”

“Sexual?” she finished for him.  He nodded.  “I don’t expect sex from you, Bucky.”  He let out the breath that he didn’t realize he was holding.  “I also wouldn’t be opposed to it, if the relationship organically led to that, but otherwise no, I don’t expect sex or sexual favors from you.”  She set aside her sandwich for a moment as she faced him.  

“My reason for doing this is because I have friends, plenty of friends, but those friendships have all been born out of those people wanting something from me.  Money, connections, for me to invest in their business, using my name as a way to get ahead, get in contact with my father, and so on.  It’s very hard to find real friendship, let alone anything more romantic.  And I know buying someone’s time isn’t exactly normal or the best way to get it, but it’s my last resort, really,” she finished, her eyes looking sad as she took another bite of her sandwich.

Bucky felt bad for her.  She had all the money and resources open to her and yet she was still lonely.  This big fancy apartment with just her in it.  

“Anyways, I’d like companionship.  Someone to come home to, to take with me as a date to events, spend time with on the weekends, go to parties with, maybe get a good cuddle or some hugs, just a friend.  And if something more were to ever grow from that, then great!  But that’s what I’d like.  You would of course be free to go spend time with other friends and family, I wouldn’t keep you prisoner here,” she joked.

Bucky snorted at that as he finished his sandwich.  “Okay, and what about my jobs?”

“Jobs?  How many do you have?” Y/N’s head jerked up at the question, a look of concern in her eyes.

“Three right now,” he answered nonchalantly.

“Three?!” she sputtered.  “Jesus, Bucky, no wonder you look so tired.”

“Tell me about it,” Bucky sighed as he took another drink.  

“Do you want to keep any of them?” 

“Um…I’d like to keep my main one.  I went to college for architecture and interior design, and during normal working hours I work for Joaquin Torres in Soho, so I’d like to keep doing that,” he explained.

“Oh yes, Joaquin!  I worked with him a few years back.  Architecture and interior design, huh?  I’d love to see your work,” she said excitedly, her eyes brightening.  

“I’d love that,” he smiled genuinely at her interest.  “But yes, I’d like to keep that one, if that’s okay?”

“Of course.”

“Alright, um…and money?” He felt so strange asking for money.  

“I’ll need a list of your debts, and I’d like you to break your lease and come live here.  I’ll cover any fees that come with that process, including for movers if you have anything big needing to be moved.  You’ll have your own room, your own space.  As for payment, you’ll get a weekly allowance of $5000 that you’re free to spend or save however you want, and if you need or want anything else or more, we can talk about it,” she rattled off.  “I’d like to take care of you, Bucky.  I’d like you to feel comfortable, and hopefully help make your life better.”

Bucky could feel the tears welling up in his eyes as she laid out the benefits to him.  His debts paid, living in this beautiful apartment, with a beautiful woman, getting paid $5000 a week, getting to keep his job and possibly get new opportunities just for being in her inner circle.  

“Oh Buck, don’t cry,” she jumped down from the counter suddenly and walked over to him, her hands reaching for his face and brushing away the tears that fell.  “Please tell me those are at least happy tears?” she pleaded as her fingers stroked the sides of his face.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he sniffled, “it’s just, really generous, Y/N.  I feel like all that just for my company and friendship isn’t fair.”

“It is an unbalanced dynamic, I agree.  But I promise that’s all I want from you, Bucky.  All the money in the world means nothing without having someone to share it with,” she gave him a smile then let go of his face and reached for his hands.  He gave them to her to hold and she rubbed his knuckles with her thumbs.  “So…is that a yes?” she asked hopefully.

Bucky scoffed, “Well yeah, I’d be pretty stupid to say no, wouldn’t I?”

“Not necessarily,” Y/N scoffed back at him.  “I want this to be an enthusiastic yes, with no hesitation or reservations.  So I’ll ask again, is that a yes?”

Bucky took a moment to look at her, really look at her.  She was sincere, with hopeful eyes and a determined set of her lips.  He would be dumb to refuse, but he also didn’t want to refuse.  He had no reason to. He wanted this.  There was a small part of him deep down that hungrily thought, I want her.  He pushed that away as he nodded his head.

“Yes, I say yes.”

“Yay!” Y/N cheered, jumping up and down a little and shaking his hands in hers.  He laughed at her and squeezed her hands.

“Would it be weird if I hugged you?” Bucky asked. 

“I’d love a hug,” Y/N said, opening her arms up to him.

He stepped into her embrace, her arms around his waist and his arms around her upper body.  She nuzzled her face into his chest, breathing him in as he squeezed her.  He felt like he was taking a breath of fresh air as she held him, one of her hands rubbing up and down his back.  They stayed like that for a few long minutes, neither of them seeming to want to let go.

“So when can you move in?” she murmured against his chest.

“Maybe this Friday?  After work?  That way I can pack and get some things in order…quit a couple of jobs.”

“Yes, quit those jobs,” she agreed as she turned her face up towards him.  “We’ll get you moved in on Friday night and then binge watch a show and eat all the pizza we can.  Get to know each other.  Sound good?”

He could just kiss her with how sweet she was being.  “Sounds perfect,” he agreed.

***

The week seemed to trudge on for Bucky.  He and Y/N had exchanged phone numbers and were constantly texting each other.  She would check up on him, ask him how his day was going, if he needed help with anything, getting the list of his debts and lenders, making sure he ate and would randomly have food and drinks sent to his apartment.  He had packed his small amount of things within two days and put his furniture up for sale on a local apartment sales site, making a few hundred dollars on the side.  Y/N had called his landlord and figured out the fees for breaking his lease early, so all he had to do was go to work, come home, pack whatever he had left, and wait for Friday.  Quitting his other two jobs had been incredibly freeing, and he wasn’t sure what to do with himself with all the free time he now had after 5 p.m.

On Thursday night he invited Steve over for one last hurrah in his apartment.  “I can’t believe you’re moving.  What was this job you got again?  Wanda was being really weird about it the other day and told me to talk to you,” Steve questioned him.

“I’m still working at the interior design firm, I just don’t have to work the other two now,” he was mum about it, not sure how Steve would react.

“That’s not actually answering my question, Buck,” Steve exasperatedly sighed.  “What’s going on?”

“Okay, just don’t judge me,” Bucky warned him.  Steve gave him an unimpressed look and sat on the floor where the loveseat used to be.  Bucky sat across from him as they ate the Chinese food Y/N had delivered to his apartment.  “I served some pretty wealthy people last Friday night, when I covered your shift?”  Steve nodded.  “One of them was Y/N Y/L/N.”  Steve’s eyes widened.  “Yeah!  She was super cool.  When it came time to pay she wanted to talk to me.  She asked me to, uh…to be her sugar baby.”

“She asked WHAT?!” Steve started laughing uncontrollably, clutching at his chest and falling over.

“I said don’t judge me!” Bucky yelled at him, throwing a dumpling at him.

“I’m not, I just, ha!  And you obviously said yes, cuz you’re moving, and quit two of your jobs!  Haha!” Steve was rolling on the floor as he started crying from laughing so hard.  “No no, Bucky, I mean it’s weird but hey, you gotta do what you gotta do, right?” He kept giggling. 

Bucky glared at him.  “She’s going to be paying me $5000 a week.”

Steve immediately stopped laughing as he gawked at Bucky.  “What?”

“She’s moving me into her penthouse apartment.  She’s going to pay off my debt.”

“Uh…what are you doing to get these kinds of benefits Buck?” Steve was suddenly serious, his eyebrows hung low over his eyes as he sat up.

“Keeping her company.  Literally giving her companionship.  Friendship.  That’s it.”

“Oh come on, Buck, that can’t be it.”

“That is it.”

“No way, dude, she’s gotta expect something more in the end,” Steve accused.  “Did you already have sex with her?  Now she’s gonna keep you as her plaything?”

“What?  Ew, Steve, god no,” Bucky grimaced at his friend.  “Look, she’s hot, I like her, but no I haven’t slept with her.  If it happens in the future then hey, why not?  But she doesn’t expect sex from me.  This isn’t that kind of thing,” he promised him.  “She literally just wants a friend.”

Steve analyzed him, trying to see if there was a lie hidden in his explanation.  When he didn’t find anything he sighed again.  “Okay, man.  Look if you feel good about it and think it’s a good idea, then go for it.  I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I won’t,” Bucky said resolutely.  “It’ll be okay.  Hey, I’ll see if I can get you and Peg to come with us as a double date or something.  She mentioned having season tickets for the Yankees?”

Steve brightened at this news.  “The Yankees, huh?  Double dating with a billionaire’s daughter,” he mused.  “Peggy’s kind of a fan of hers.”

“It’ll be great, Steve.  You don’t need to worry about me,” Bucky said, clapping his friend on the shoulder.  “But I appreciate it.”

***

Bucky practically ran home after work was over that Friday.  He was ready to go, not needing any movers, with just a couple of bags of things he owned.  He grabbed his stuff, left the key in the slot of the landlord’s mailbox, and walked outside to the already waiting town car.  The driver helped him load his things in and sped off towards the penthouse.

He took the elevator ride back up to her place.  The doors opened and revealed Y/N standing there, her arms crossed, shifting from one foot to the other and fighting a smile on her face.

“Honey!  I’m home!” Bucky announced as he stepped in with a wide smile on his face.

Y/N laughed as he dropped his bags at their feet.  “Welcome home, Buck,” she greeted him, opening her arms for a hug.  He happily accepted it and gave her a tight squeeze.  “Come on, let’s get you settled in.”

They spent a good portion of the night getting Bucky unpacked into his room and making a list of anything else he may need to get fully moved in.  Afterwards she ordered pizza and drinks and pulled out all the snacks she had in the pantry.  Once the food arrived they binge-watched a few different shows, talking about their favorites, then altogether forgetting about the TV as they got to know each other better.  

“Steve is my best friend.  We’ve known each other since we were little kids.  When his parents died my mom took him in and then when she died, he helped me get through it,” he shared.

“What about your dad?” Y/N asked.

“Oh, he was in and out of the picture.  Always nice enough, but he just wasn’t the fatherly type.  I haven’t seen or spoken to him since mom died, and it’s better that way,” he said, looking away from her intense gaze.  “But what about you?  Any traumatic childhood experiences?”

She chuckled at his dark humor.  “It was just me and my dad.  My mom was only in it for the money with him.  I was her pretty doll to dress up, her pawn to get as much child support and alimony as possible.  Once I turned 18 she had a mental breakdown knowing she’d lose a big portion of the payout she’d been getting, and I’ve kept my distance since then,” Y/N looked away as well.  “She’ll call me sometimes, always asking for money.  The alimony would last her the rest of her life if she’d stop gambling and hoarding.”

“Jesus,” Bucky murmured.  He reached a hand out and intertwined his fingers with the hand closest to him.  She gave him an appreciative smile.

“It’s okay, I’m fine,” she reassured him.  “It is what it is.”  They sat silently for a moment, digesting the not-so-fun topic.  “Anyways, I’d love to meet Steve, he sounds great.”

“Oh yeah, I told him we’d have to double date some time.  He and his girlfriend Peggy went to that new burlesque club and loved it.”

“Did they?  Oh good, I’m glad.  That place was a labor of love, I tell ya,” Y/N giggled.  “But I love the art of burlesque.  Have you ever been to one?”

“No, I haven’t.  I’d like to,” Bucky said truthfully.

“We’ll go tomorrow.  You should invite your friends.  I’ll get us all in.  It’ll be fun,” she smiled again, patting his hand and then standing up and cleaning up some of the trash.  

“Let me help,” Bucky said as he stood and grabbed the pizza boxes.

The night wound down and they talked some more until it was nearly midnight and Y/N’s eyes began to droop.  “Y/N, you gotta get to bed,” Bucky poked her arm as her head began to loll to the side on the couch.  

“What?  No, I’m fine,” Y/N said groggily.  

“Come on…let’s get you to bed,” Bucky coaxed her, standing up and pulling her up by her arms.

“Oh, alright,” she agreed, then wrapped her arms around his waist.  “Guide me.”

“Oh god,” Bucky laughed, then started waddling his way towards the bedrooms beyond the kitchen.  Y/N was walking backwards, keeping a firm grip on his waist so as not to trip and fall, giggling every once in a while as they swayed towards her room.

As he walked into her room he led her over to the edge of her bed.  “Come on, you, we made it,” he said as he tried to push her off.

“But you’re so comfy,” she complained, her hug tightening on him again.

“And so are you, but you’re falling asleep,” he tried to pull her arms apart from behind him.  In the process they lost their balance and both fell onto her bed, Bucky catching himself on his elbows at the last minute before he squashed her.  She laughed as her hands flew up to his chest to help stop him.  He laughed as well, his head falling to her shaking shoulder.  As the laughter died down they stared at each other, their faces within inches of each other, the air around them shifting quickly.  

“Sorry,” Bucky blinked, breaking the spell. 

“It’s okay, it was my fault,” Y/N whispered as her eyes looked back and forth between his eyes.  “You know you have the prettiest eyes?”

Bucky huffed a laugh, his breath fanning her face.  “That’s funny, cuz I think you have the prettiest eyes.”

“I’m being serious, Buck,” she whined, then held back a yawn.

“Yeah, okay, time to sleep,” Bucky said as he lifted himself up.  Y/N sat upright on her bed as he stood before her.  “Goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight Bucky.  If you need anything I’ll be here,” she reminded him, giving him a sleepy smile.

“Alright, sleep well.”

“You, too.”

Bucky gave her one more smile before turning and leaving for his room next door.  As he got ready for bed and settled into his new bed he sat and looked around him.  The room alone was larger than his previous apartment.  He was in a king size bed, his clothes in a mid century modern dresser that cost more than his rent inside a walk-in closet and a full bathroom with all the amenities one could ever want or need.  Another smile spread across his face as he tried to accept that this was now his life.  He didn’t know how long this was going to last, or what this weird relationship would be like even a year from now, but he was extremely grateful to Y/N for helping him at his lowest.

**I'm not sure the best way to tag people who requested to be tagged? I'm still pretty new to posting like this on Tumblr so please be patient with me. But I'm happy y'all are liking it so far!**

[flowerandblood]

The Impossible Choice (35)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, mention of injuries, swearing ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm’s End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

There was silence in the tent after what the servant had conveyed to them. She looked at her husband apprehensively and met his anxious gaze − they both did not know what to make of the information they had just heard.

Daemon wanted to speak with them.

With both of them.

Why?

"We shouldn’t speak with the enemy. I’m sure he has a plan because he knows that without both of you, everything will fall apart." Her father said, looking at her uncertainly.

She knew that the last thing he dreamed of was his daughter's journey to the man who had almost burned her alive.

She pressed her lips together, thinking quickly − she didn't know if Daemon was aware that she had been in Harrenhal during the attack.

Even if he had, he wanted to discuss, and that meant he had something to give them.

He didn't want to speak with her father or the other commanders and this meant that it was a family matter.

And if so, perhaps there was a chance of a peaceful solution.

Although she knew that peace for her husband was not an option, she had to be smarter and secure their future from all sides.

The future of their child.

Everything was about to change for them.

He couldn't admit it if he was to remain faithful to his brother as was expected of him, but she was going to have to make all wickets open for them.

Also the Black one.

"I would like to speak with him." She said calmly.

She figured she would make it her private affair, a sort of revenge, because it would appeal to her husband. She glanced at him, he was pale, shock and disbelief painted on his face.

"If you will only consent to it, my husband."

She could see that he was struggling with himself, but she was sure he would give in.

After what had happened to her, he refused her almost nothing.

He was still remorseful.

She saw him lower his gaze and swallow quietly.

She knew she had won.

When he finally gave his consent she set off straight for her tent, ignoring her older brother's calls that it was a trap − she didn't believe it was.

Something had happened after Daemon's attack − for some reason he hadn't moved on them then, and surely for the same reason he wouldn't do anything to them now.

She changed into a more comfortable attire consisting of breeches and a thick leather tunic, similar to her husband's − when she came out she found with a smile that he looked exactly the same as when she had first seen him in Storm's End.

They moved together through the fields to the small hill where Vhagar was resting, a strong wind all around them − she felt fear at the thought of meeting the dragon again, but knew she could not show it.

She shuddered when she heard her husband's low, indifferent voice.

"Why do you want to meet him?"

She swallowed quietly.

Because your brother is a terrible king.

Because he is controlled by your power hungry grandfather.

Because she needs to know if Daemon realised that she was in Harrenhal at the time.

Because she was expecting his child.

She figured that she wouldn't be lying if she told only part of the truth.

"I want to find out if he knew that I was in Harrenhal at the time." She said. He only hummed under his breath, looking away at the mere mention of the place.

When they reached the location, she felt her heart pounding hard. She had only seen Vhagar from a distance so far − now it seemed to her a great mountain bursting with warmth and life, all covered in hard grey scales, its maw huge.

She was immersed in a deep sleep but she still felt shivers down her spine at the sight of her.

She looked frightened at her husband as he held out his hand to her − she gave him hers with confidence and walked closer with him. The dragoness' eyes opened slowly, her head lifted in uncertainty, the ground around them trembled all over − she clasped her hand tighter on his, frightened, snuggling into his shoulder.

A great red dragon flying from above the forest and then a pillar of fire that consumed her body.

She felt their fingers intertwine, his thumb stroking her palm reassuringly.

"− Lykiri, Vhagar. Lykiri −" He called out low and she stopped, looking at them intently.

Aemond led her closer to the long ropes that hung from the great saddle at the very top of her back. With his help, she managed to climb all the way to the top, and then she felt him sit behind her, his body pressed against hers.

He tied her precariously to himself so she wouldn't fly off during her flight − she felt his cheek pressed against hers as he did so, his manhood pulsing steadily behind her. She pressed her lips together feeling it, not believing that she felt desire in such a place and time.

She turned her face towards him and he pressed his nose against her soft skin, his cock pressed firmer against her, fully hard.

The thought that she would fly with him on a dragon's back aroused him.

She smiled sleepily at the thought, and then he commanded his dragoness to fly in the language of his ancestors.

The force with which she was lifted into the air was so great that she had to hug the front of the saddle with a squeal, terrified of the speed and overload, ringing in her ears and head. She heard her husband laugh low at her reaction and thought that although she was terrified, she was happy at the same time.

They were as close to each other as they had ever been.

When they arrived at the location she saw two dragons in the distance, not one, and swallowed loudly at the sight of the red beast that burned half her body.

To whom did the second dragon belong?

She turned her cheek towards her husband, but he said nothing, instead ordering his dragoness to land. Once they were on the ground she felt his hands untangle her from the ropes. He slid down first and then told her to do the same.

She did as he said, and he caught her at the waist, placing her on the ground. They both looked at each other uncertainly, she could feel her heart pounding hard.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked calmly, and she nodded quickly.

They could not retreat.

Together they moved towards a small canopy that was set up near the shore − she spotted the silhouettes of two guards in the distance and two white-haired people under the baldachin.

She felt her heart freeze as she recognised the face of King Viserys' first-born daughter.

Rhaenyra.

So these conversations were going to be more serious than she thought.

Her husband's half-sister walked out to meet them, her face gentle and warm, even worried, a few steps behind her walked her uncle- husband.

Daemon.

She felt a shudder noticing that he was looking at her intently, his face expressionless.

Rhaenyra stopped not far from them and sighed quietly, folding her hands in front of her, their hair and clothes rumbling in the wind.

"Aemond, my Lady, thank you for accepting our invitation." She said quietly, her voice trembling slightly.

She was nervous.

Neither of them answered her, waiting to see what she would say next.

"My Lady, may I leave you in the company of my husband for a moment?" She asked, looking up at her, and she felt herself tense up all over.

She looked into her husband's uncle's eye and felt a sqeeze in her stomach.

She wanted to do this.

She had to do it.

Let them speak about war and mutual hatred.

She had to find out what his uncle was planning.

"He almost burned her alive. My wife will stay with me." Her husband hissed, furious, his gaze black. She felt heat at his words.

"No. I'd like to speak with your uncle." She said calmly, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, still looking into Daemon's eyes.

He nodded slowly, so she moved towards him and they both headed towards the river, walking a short distance apart.

For a while they said nothing − her heart was pounding like crazy, however, for some reason she knew that his uncle would not hurt her.

He wasn't armed and didn't look like he did when he cut off Vaemond's head.

"I hope the burns are healing well. I know what a fucking nightmare they are." He muttered finally, looking somewhere to the side, their footsteps spreading with the soft rustling of the grass beneath their feet.

She pressed her lips together at his words, swallowing quietly, trying to gather her thoughts and get something out.

"Yes. Luckily the fire missed my face and hands. I can hide everything under my garments. Unlike my husband." She said finally, wanting to point out that she was not here to converse, but to support him. She heard Daemon snort under his breath, looking ahead with a smirk.

"Good point." He said, finally glancing at her. "Your father moved on me solely because of you. He must love you deeply."

She looked into his bright eyes, stepping beside him, his face calm and mysterious, even gentle.

She felt uneasy.

"It's true. I have a wonderful father and brother." She said at last, lowering her gaze. Daemon smiled under his breath at her words.

"My brother was a cunt. He was weak. But I loved him." He said finally, and she felt a tightening in her stomach at his words.

"And that fucking whore killed him." He hissed, and she looked at him astonished and horrified.

"Who?" She asked, and he just stood, looking at her intensely, his jaw clenched, fury in his eyes.

"That green cunt, your husband's mother. She killed my brother, put this whore-king on the throne, and you and your husband are fucking supporting her." He hissed angrily − she could feel that an hatred was bursting from him similar to the rage that she felt from her husband.

A fire burned within them.

She thought that in some ways they were very much alike.

She felt her whole body trembling, strenuously analysing what she should answer him − she knew she couldn't lie, but she didn't believe the Queen would be capable of such a thing.

"The Queen did not kill your brother, my Prince. Of that one thing I am certain." She said lowly, looking him straight in the eye, and he pressed his lips together, looking at her intensely.

"I lost my daughter because of her." He said lowly, and she felt that he had only now moved on to what he really wanted to say.

She swallowed quietly, untying slowly her tunic − Daemon looked at her indifferently as she loosed her shirt underneath, tilting it slightly to reveal her burns.

"I have lost something too. Irretrievably. What should I do? Have my husband kill you? I don't want any of you to die." She said quickly, tying her tunic back again. Daemon looked at her with an unconcerned expression, the sun blinding him slightly, making him squint.

"You are a naive child." He said finally, and she pressed her lips together.

"And you are a stubborn, envious fool, just like my husband." She said impatiently and pressed her lips together, swallowing quietly, only now realising what she had said.

She thought her words would enrage him, but he only laughed − he kicked a small stone with his boot, so that it fell into the water. He moved on, and she followed.

"My wife wishes to make your stubborn, envious fool an offer, against my advice. She wishes to give you possession of Dragonstone in exchange for your support in a bloodless resolution of the matter." He said finally, and she looked at him shocked.

She wants to hand over the Dragonstone to you in possession in exchange for your support.

Rhaenyra wanted to come to an agreement.

Drag her and Aemond to her side.

Their child would have their inheritance.

She pressed her lips together, unsure of what she thought.

"However, both she and I know that your husband will not agree. That leaves you and your skills of persuasion." He said lightly, glancing over his shoulder at her. Her lips trembled in shock at his words.

"…what do you mean?" She asked in disbelief and he rolled his eyes in impatience.

"You have him wrapped around your finger. If you don't want bloodshed, fucking convince him." He said, standing upright in front of her, folding his hands in front of him. "Otherwise the next time we meet I'll pierce his other eye with my sword."

She shuddered, horrified to hear her husband call out to her from afar, and turned over her shoulder, looking at him. Their gazes met, she could see he was walking towards Vhagar.

"Choose wisely." Said Daemon, moving towards his wife, and she ran to her husband terrified, feeling her heart pounding hard.

They met near Vhagar − she could see that he was all flustered, thrilled and scared at the same time.

She didn't know how much she should say to him, what to make of the words she had heard.

"You undressed in front of my uncle?" He hissed, and she furrowed her brow, looking at him in surprise.

"I showed him a part of my burnt shoulder when he told me that he had lost his daughter. I told him that I had also lost something irrevocably." She said quickly, and he let out a loud breath, clenching her eye.

"Up. Now." He said, indicating the ropes to her, and she obediently began to climb up. They flew off as soon as they were seated in the saddle and took to the skies.

She was surprised, however, that her husband landed a after they returend in a completely different place, on a hill around which there was only forest, from afar she could see the barely visible ruins of the fortress of Harrenhal.

"Where are we?" She asked quietly, her heart pounding like mad.

She squealed softly as she felt his hand untie the bindings of her breeches, his hot breath against her ear ragged and aroused.

"He only saw your shoulder?" He asked in a tone that sent shivers through her, her whole body breathless before him − she felt a hot pulsing between her thighs, her nipples swollen all over.

"− yes −" She whispered softly and moaned helplessly when she felt his hand slip under the material of her breeches between her thighs, his fingers beginning to run over her moist, sticky, swollen folds, so hungry for his attention. She felt him get fully hard, his manhood rubbing against her buttocks from behind, both of them beginning to pant quietly.

"− untie your tunic −" He said lowly, trailing his plump lips over her cheek and neck, and she obediently undid the buckles, wondering if he really meant to fuck her in the saddle on the dragon's back.

She felt his hand immediately grab the material of her linen shirt and rip it open − she squealed hearing this, his hand clenched on her naked breast, teasing her little, puffy nipple.

"− what did he tell you? −" He exhaled dangerously, menacingly, his fingers beginning to roam around her pearl, teasing her moist slit once in a while, her thighs helplessly trying to find any source of pressure and beginning to rub against the saddle beneath her. She swallowed quietly at his question.

"− that your half-sister wants to give you Dragonstone in return for your support and that I should convince you to do so −" She whispered, moaning softly, tilting her head back so that she was leaning against his shoulder, his finger beginning to slide slowly inside her stretching her tight, fleshy walls again and again.

"− mmm − what do you think about this idea, sweet wife? −" He asked in an attentive, low voice, his words almost a murmur, his free hand playing with her nipple unwillingly, a cool breeze enveloping her bare skin.

She swallowed loudly as she felt his finger begin to press and tease the spongy bud inside her from which her walls clenched in pleasure. She mewled quietly, not understanding why he was asking her such a difficult questions when he brought her to such a state.

"− I-I think I will be faithful to my husband −" She mumbled out, feeling that was the best possible answer.

She didn't know if she should believe Blacks.

However, she knew what she needed for sure.

"− please, put it inside me −"

She heard him chuckle as he pressed his forehead against her temple, his finger sliding in and out of her slowly with a quiet click of her moisture, not giving her what she wanted, making her wriggle before him.

"− always so eager for my cock inside you, aren't you? −" He cooed and stroked her nipple gently, playing with it between his fingers. She moaned softly, delighted by the sensation, leaning back more, her lips parted in complete delight. "− it occurs to me, have your breasts gotten bigger? − they are so wonderfully plump −"

"− please −" She mewled quietly and felt him slide his hand out of her breeches, untying his own. She pulled off her boots, which fell to the ground with a loud thud, and began to struggle with the material of her breeches herself − she heard the low, amused chuckle of her husband behind her.

"− so desperate − come here, let your husband take care of you −" He hummed and she squealed softly as she felt him pull her buttocks to him, forcing her to lean forward.

He lifted her hips and she moaned loudly as he saddled her on top of him, sliding right into her, his throbbing manhood wonderfully and completely filling every inch of her fleshy, hot interior.

"− yes, Aemond, yes −" She cried out as he began to slam into her from behind, panting heavily along with her, the cool breeze enveloping her half-naked, heated body.

She thought that they were both mad.

"− gods − greedy little thing − squeezing my cock so fucking well −" He growled out heavily, clasping his hands on her hips, opening her wide again and again, pounding into her with loud splats of bare skin against bare skin.

She pushed away from the saddle meeting his thrusts, falling on top of him each time with a moan of pleasure, rubbing herself against him at such an angle that he pressed the spot of her greatest pleasure.

"− am I a dragon rider now, my husband? −" She asked sweetly, her lips curving in a cheerful smile, her mind completely dulled by pleasure, the heat and tension in her lower abdomen unbearable.

She heard her husband chuckle low at her question and lean in, pressing his lips to her ear, groaning and panting along with her, chasing his own fulfilment.

"− yes, sweet wife − ao gīmigon skorkydoso naejot kipagon iā zaldrīzes sȳrje (you know how to ride a dragon very well) −" He purred low, delighted with her state, teasing her nipple with his thumb, his other hand sliding from her hip between her thighs, rubbing her puffy bud her with intense, quick flicks of his finger, letting her ride him.

She furrowed her eyebrows, hearing the one familiar word meaning dragon, but completely not understanding the rest of it, rising and falling against him, feeling her walls clench against him in pleasure, sucking his fat cock deep inside her.

She had never felt so full, wildly free before.

"− my cruel husband − ah − he fucks me and speaks in a language his sweet, naive wife doesn't understand −" She cooed as she parted her lips wide, getting closer and closer to her fulfillment, clamping her hand over his palm that stroked her breast. She heard him gaps loudly at her words, his thrusts fast, messy and deep, she felt like just a little more and he would pierce her stomach.

"− my sweet wife −" He growled out, sliding his hand from her breast to her neck, clamping it around it, pressing his nose to her cheek. "− fuck, I'm close −"

"− me too − gods, me too, don't stop, please! −" She sobbed, parting her lips in shock, clenching her eyes in pleasure as she felt a sudden strong, intense, hot pleasure surge through her body.

She heard his loud, low moan of fulfilment as her walls began to squeeze him steadily − he pressed his face against her neck and came hard, rocking his hips deep inside her for a moment longer. She sighed softly as she felt his hot seed spill inside her, hugging her heated face to his cheek, breathing loudly along with him.

She touched the skin of his face with her fingers, involuntarily seeking his lips and she gasped with pleasure when she felt his tongue slip deep between her mouth.

They kissed for a moment with a loud, lewd click of their saliva and then pulled away, looking at each other sleepily − her husband combed his fingers through her hair, letting out a quiet sigh.

"I swore to the gods that if they let you survive, I will abandon my dreams of the crown. That I will be a good brother. A good son." He whispered, pressing his forehead against her temple.

She felt a squeeze in her heart at his words, running her fingers involuntarily over his soft cheek, the wind on her half-naked body enveloping her pleasantly.

"I cannot betray them. The gods will take from me what I have miraculously recovered. I would rather burn the entire kingdom than lose you again."

She swallowed loudly, stroking his cheek, feeling a tightness in her throat, her eyes filling with tears.

Everything had changed.

They were no longer fighting just for themselves.

"I am expecting your child."

_____

Taglist 1

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics @tempt-ress @blairfox4 @crazymusicgirl104 @ahristata @menaosama @ladywin17 @queenofshinigamis @rae-seri

[venus-is-thinking]

DRDT Chapter 2 Episode 12: Initial Thoughts

Hello everyone! I thought it'd be fun to do a post going over some of my first thoughts from the episode after each release. "Initial" is a bit of a stretch, considering I did watch it a second time while making this post, but it's more "initial" in the context of being before the next episode drops. It's sort of like my "initial thoughts" of the Milgram MVs, which are actually the result of, like, 3 hours of obsessing and research, lol.

(By the way, @accirax and I watched the episode together, so apologies if her initial thoughts end up being, like, the same as mine.)

SPOILER WARNING FOR DRDT CH 2 EP 12!

T/W: Body image issues/body dysmorphia, murder, suicide

The Reactions

Confirmation of what I think most of us already suspected! I do think it's a little weird that Nico didn't bring up their testimony about all of the fish being there at the last time they fed the fish. That probably means it's being saved for later in the Trial, I guess?

It's okay Teruko, I saw literally no one in the entire fanbase figure this one out either!

Why is everyone so mean to her though. Everyone here has been an idiot in the Trials at LEAST once

God I missed David

This was so funny. Get his ass.

(In all seriousness, though, I do wonder if we're going to come back to what J said. I don't currently (?) think Arei was drenched, unless the real purpose of the water WAS just to confuse the time of death, so if the water didn't connect with her enough to cool her down, it might be weird that the body isn't warm after all.)

This took me out. Who let you say that. What.

Okay, but Ace, outside of a killing game... why. Like, literally why would a plastic surgeon need to know how to do an autopsy. King.

Like Felicity...? /hj

All in all, though, this was a really interesting character moment for Arturo! And god, the fact that he started learning medical knowledge and spedrun plastic surgery specifically since age 12 HAS to mean something. My vague theories of Felicity having struggles with body image/dysmorphia (Arturo's section of this post) are... maybe real???

Honestly, I'm starting to wonder if Arturo is going to go farther in this game. I don't expect him to survive or anything, but I could see it taking him a surprisingly long time to die. He feels like he's got too much lore to unpack to die, like, next chapter. Unless he gets HELLA focused next chapter, which is definitely possible.

This is so silly. I love them.

(Note: I'm not a Whit mastermind truther, but if I were, I would point out that MonoTV sort of covering up a rules violation for Whit could be relevant. I'm not a Whit mastermind truther though, so I think this is just a very silly joke a la "no wifi! why live :(" )

Well you see Eden, the killer would have actually had all night to prepare. If, say, they mentioned that they could dial in and focus on their work for like 14 hours straight, they could have gotten a lot done before 7:30 AM!

I'll talk about this more later, but the fact that J, David, Veronika, Hu and Nico seemingly have alibis that actually matter is so iconic. I can't believe that many theories died that quick. I'll talk about that more in my theories section, though!

It's been said before, but. Funniest fucking reaction to being declared innocent of murder.

"David still has a family history of depression even if that isn't his secret" nation where you at?

This one made me laugh out loud. Who does it like him

How truthful do we think David is in this next section? I refuse to believe it's 100% a lie, just because he's cooking SO hard on SOMETHING, but I could also believe David thinks he's lying to an extent. I could definitely see a "the best lies are based on the truth" kind of thing?

Also, damn. Xanvid really is real. LGI got me to believe it but WOW David's just being gay on main now

This was a really good, succinct way to have Teruko show her opposition to David's ideas. Even if it is to end the killing game or do something "good' or whatever, Teruko is still hurt and betrayed by what Xander did. Xander tried to kill her, and presumably would have tried to kill everyone else. David is now doing the same thing.

It's going to be really interesting if, whether genuine or not, David is kinda taking on Xander's position. That's going to give Teruko a reason to (outwardly) hate him even more. I'm really looking forward to learning more about how both Teruko and David view Xander.

Also, it's so fucking funny that Teruko and David are literally fighting over Xander. Like, valid, but. Guys.

(Also, David soooo knows Teruko's secret is the killing game is all your fault. Idk if he specifically knows that Xander's plan was to kill Teruko no matter what, but he's definitely caught on to some extent.)

This was crazy. Is Xander famous? Why would everyone recognize him? Like, did David just take particular notice of Xander because he's a simp, or is there something else going on?

Notably, it's also extremely interesting that David says "Even if you all lost a year of memories for this killing game." It almost implies that David didn't? What do you know???

Also, if David DOES have weird memories about this that no one else does, it's a really interesting comparison to Teruko remembering the existence of a killing game in the area investigation when she was talking to Veronika. Are these two getting special memory privileges because they're important? Or does everyone have some kind of memory that they all should have, but only one person knows each thing?

At first I was confused when David said this, because I really don't know how dear anyone in DRDT's life to him was other than Xander. But then I realized, if David is talking about killing 15 others and yourself, he's definitely still talking about Xander's mindset. Xander had something worth the lives of 16 people that he was trying to do.

I don't know how much David cares about ending the killing game. I wonder if "belief in Xander" is the thing he's willing to kill 13 people plus himself for?

I'm starting to get REALLY curious what J's deal is. Between this and her voiced line earlier in the trial saying something along the lines of "it's like you all still haven't grasped just how serious murder is," she definitely seems to have strong opinions on specifically the morality of killing other people. WHY is she being singled out with these beliefs, what does it say about her, and where is her character headed?

(If she is the mastermind, does this couple with the "all murderers must be held accountable" rule?)

"Any answer" is so funny. I think she's looking for the truthful answer, David. This is why no one believes you when you say anything ever /aff

Notably, this is VERY similar to the plan Eden came up with that Veronika described: using the fact that TV shows need entertainment to continue to end the killing game. It's the same thing, but with a much more depressed "everyone should just give up" kind of flavor.

The level of similarity does make me think David is probably not being 100% truthful, and that he just repurposed Eden's escape plan to be something sort of similar to what he was going for.

I do think that he WAS trying to defeat the killing game by killing people through the class trial. I just think that, between Xander's actions and the motive secret he received, he was trying to kill Teruko specifically. Yet another way that David's unhinged behavior ties into the Chapter 2 secrets.

*Hu hopeless child looms in the distance*

I'm so glad that Hu gets to pop off though. She really hasn't gotten, like, any content in the series so far. Here's hoping this is kicking off her getting a bunch of time to shine!

Interesting that they had both Ace and Hu cut Nico off in this interaction. The staging definitely implies that they're trying to show that while Ace is wrong for talking over Nico and not letting them say anything, Hu is also wrong to an extent for not letting Nico defend themself and running to their rescue all the time.

I am begging you. Please discuss the murder method. I didn't realize until my rewatch of the trial that they have actually literally not talked about the murder method at ALL except for telling David that he doesn't know shit about it.

HUH?????????????

Theory Update/Analysis

Well, I'm gonna start this off by saying that I'm still pretty locked into Eden being the killer. We still need to address the tape, and I personally still found her to be decently shifty now behavior wise (she seemed nervous when we turned back to solving the trial, and she says something about "it's too hard to narrow down the killer :/" when people were talking about morning alibis). I just think it makes the most sense.

While obviously my logic for why Levi would be the accomplice has to be at least somewhat flawed, given Levi's surprise confession (!!!), I still think it's possible that Levi is the accomplice here. He could be doing this to further confuse/complicate the state of things (hence why he calls it leading people astray), and it's possible he's not being 100% honest here.

Something that Levi could be doing here is taking control of the situation and spinning the truth in his favor. Hu mentioned earlier (e11, I think?) that the secrets are phrased dramatically. Similarly, Levi may be trying to offer an explanation for his secret that might be more tame, but still believable.

For example, if Levi says that he killed one of his parents because of the circumstances he grew up in, but it turned out that his parents were extremely abusive to him in some way (cough cough Amane Momose), wouldn't people be more willing to forgive the fact that he's a "murderer"? There are different levels to the culpability of murders.

So, it's definitely possible this is still an attempt by Levi to conceal the truth of his secret. It's true that, right now, no one's really trying to match all of the remaining secrets up with the remaining secret holders in-universe, but the entire fanbase pretty much slam dunked this one. Once the content of the secrets was revealed, it wasn't too difficult to track the origin of this secret to Levi. Levi might know that, and might be trying to spin it in a positive way while he can get everyone's attention and tell everyone the same narrative here in the class trial.

I don't think any Levi accomplice or killer truthers have to fully give up on the idea, or at least not until we see what Levi actually says after this. It's a WILD topic to reveal we're going to talk about, but we haven't actually talked about it yet. If we were told "we get David's motivations for trying to throw the trial," I doubt literally any of us would have locked in the prediction of "David is trying to follow in Xander's footsteps by killing everyone via the trial because he kind of remembers Xander." So, until next week, I'm keeping an open mind!

This was insane. I can't believe we actually got a new episode, and that we're gonna KEEP getting new episodes until the chapter finishes. What the fuck!!!

[mychoombatheroomba]

A Losing Game

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 17

He'd been promised pain, and Major Krauser never failed to deliver on that mark. At least now, the two of you had each other to distract from that pain, however dangerous it was.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

CW: horniness

You had been telling the truth; Leon’s first day with his new squad was hard. 

It had all opened with a speech from Krauser, as so many days here had started. “I’ll promise you one thing,” he’d said, his voice severe as ever, “you’ll all be miserable. One of you makes a mistake, you’re all paying the price for it. You’re going to end up in the dirt, you’re going to run until your legs give out, and you’ll do it all without complaining because the more you sweat here, the less you’ll bleed out there.” 

In the first hours, Krauser delivered on that promise. 

All of it was dialed up to ten, and Leon could only struggle through it. The longer run in the morning, the more demanding exercises, the combat . . . trying to keep his focus off of you . . . 

He would catch your gaze, sometimes. It was never more than a second or two at a time - you both had plenty of other things to focus on - but Leon found some small solace in your eyes. You were always silently urging him on. Telling him to keep going with just a look. 

So, he pushed through the pain and exertion, because he had to. If it didn't break him, all of this would make him stronger. 

Raccoon City hadn't been able to break him. Neither would this. 

"You going to make it, pretty boy?" There was only one person Leon wanted to hear that nickname from, and it certainly wasn't Valeria. Not in the middle of their second run of the day, each of them carrying an ammo case along with their normal gear, when Leon's lungs felt like they were going to cave in on themselves. Not when, in the time since the tear gas attack, he’d realized who had likely put him in that headlock. Who had knocked him to the ground with a punch that left an ugly bruise forming on his jaw. 

"I'll be fine." It was more a growl than anything else, delivered through a sneer and a furrowed brow. His voice wavered with the impact of his footfalls. 

Valeria’s words did too, but her smirk never faltered. “Whatever you say. And no hard feelings about the hit, eh?” She took her hand off her ammo crate to point at his bruising jaw, giving him confirmation that he didn’t need. Still, the smug look on her face made him feel his frustrations sharp in his chest. “Figured you’d be used to it.” She grinned towards where you were running ahead of them, and Leon felt like someone had doused the ground in lighter fluid and set it ablaze, anger and embarrassment and all manner of other things burning at him. 

He did his best to use that fire to push him forward. 

He let it build in his gut when it came time to run the obstacle course, the humidity of the spring air pressing in around him. Each of them still held the ammo cases as they moved over the wooden planks and along ropes. It was an added thirty-five pounds of weight, as Krauser was happy to point out. And how would they navigate the course while still holding on to it? 

“You’d better figure that out.” 

Leon only made it part of the way before his case slipped from his grasp, and then he and the rest of the squad were doing push-ups. Twenty for his mistake. Twenty when Alenko fell from the course. Another twenty when Alejandro dropped his case, right before he reached the end. Twenty when even you slipped up, falling from the rope as you tried to save the case before it hit the ground. With each misstep, there was a punishment, just as promised. A punishment and glares of animosity from those who had managed to complete the task without error. 

By the end of that exercise, in a group of fifteen, only four had completed it successfully. Eleven failures. 

“I expected the rookies to be weak, but the rest of you?” Krauser shook his head in disappointment. That was the only break the squad got before moving on to the next exercise.  

Krauser wasn’t just pushing the new blood, Leon could see it in your labored breathing. Still, you were handling it much better than he was. Your whole squad was. Enough that most of them were able to snicker a bit at the new additions by the time dinner came around, when Leon and his old squad mates dragged themselves into the mess hall. Leon’s arms felt like they were made of sand - sand that had been soaking in the desert sun, scorching and heavy. His legs shook a little, and he was just then getting his breathing back under control. 

“Kind of thought there was going to be a party. You know, a little celebration,” Williams sighed, wiping her brow as she reached for her tray of food. 

Shinoda was in front of her, and he scoffed at the notion. “Today was our celebration, far as Krauser is concerned.” 

“Maybe we throw one for ourselves tonight, then,” Alenko huffed, and Shinoda shook his head in a decisive ‘no’. 

“Only way I’m celebrating tonight is with some extra sleep.” 

Williams groaned, rolling her eyes and giving a smile that was just shy of energized. “Aw come on, where’s the fun in that? Kennedy,” she turned to face Leon, one of her brows raised expectantly, “you’d join in, right?” 

Leon laughed, even if it hurt his core to do it. He appreciated the sentiment, he really did, but after the day he’d had, all he wanted to do was spend time with you. Even if it was in a sparring match, and even if his body’s aches would likely stop him from winning against you like you’d challenged him to. 

He wasn’t sure what that said about his life right now, and he didn’t care much to analyze it. All that mattered was that he’d had a shit day, and you made him happy. Kisses or words or the way you moved, it didn’t matter. You made him happy, and you made him stronger.

“I would but-” 

“But you’re gonna go get the shit kicked out of you, we know,” Alenko shook his head, clearly amused by the idea. It was no secret how Leon had been spending his evenings, after all. “You’re crazy, Kennedy, you know that?” 

Leon had to give him that. “Yeah, I know.” 

That didn’t stop him from showing up in the training yard that evening, because just as surely as he was going to lose this fight, his weariness lost horribly against his anticipation. By the look on your face, you knew exactly how this fight was going to end, same as Leon. You’d known the minute Leon had joined you at dinner, practically collapsing into the seat across from you. Even so, you hadn’t offered a night of rest, and Leon hadn’t asked for one. You’d just given him one of those knowing almost-smiles - the same kind you were giving him now. 

That look shouldn’t have excited him as much as it did. 

“Last chance to go join the party,” you grinned. You were tired, too, but something told Leon it wouldn’t be enough.

“Oh, you heard that?” 

You nodded, a knife arcing through the evening air after you tossed it. Leon’s arm protested him reaching out to take it out of the sky, but he managed to catch it anyway. “Sounds like things might get pretty crazy.” Even without the sarcasm dripping from your voice, it would have been clear that the truth was far removed from your words. 

“Wouldn’t be much of a party without music,” Leon shrugged - or went to, before his sore shoulders demanded otherwise. 

“Good thing we’ve got some, then.” Some classic rock today, it sounded like. Krauser must have moved out of his bluegrass phase. 

The Rolling Stones scored Leon’s defeat - one delivered sluggishly, the two of you moving slower than you usually did. Even those first few bouts had the two of you panting, staring across at each other with heavy eyes. Still, both of you kept going. Leon couldn’t say exactly what it was that pushed you both onward. It might have been your shared terrors, and the desire to rise above them. Maybe it was simply the strength of your characters - enduring through the pain. Or, perhaps, it was that teasing challenge you’d issued the night before, whispered against Leon’s lips. If you can beat me . . . 

Whatever the case, you both went on until at last the sun was down. 

“One more,” you breathed, letting your breath escape you in a slow exhale before you raised your guard again. Leon could see it was lower than usual. Anything that required less effort. “Let’s see if you can get that win.” 

And he tried - he really did - but he misjudged your exhaustion. Whether you were granted a sudden burst of energy, or it had all been a ploy, the fight ended with you taking Leon to the ground, then settling on top of him for a pin. 

The fatigue helped, of course, but as you straddled him, your knife at his belly and your face so, so close to his, Leon decided that he didn’t want to move from that position for the rest of the night. 

“Better luck next time,” you grinned down at him. 

“I feel pretty lucky right now, actually.” Leon wasn’t sure where the words came from, but he was a little bit delighted to see surprise flickering across your eyes. It wasn’t often that he caught you off guard. 

Then, your expression turned to something dangerous. “Careful, pretty boy,” you warned.

Did you mean to press your hips against his like that? Knowing you, you absolutely had. He’d lost. By your own rules, there would be no continuing last night’s affairs - but you’d promised him that you would tease him, too. You were ruthless with a blade, he fully expected you to be ruthless with your affections, when you wanted to be. 

When he looked up into your eyes that night, he could tell that you very much did want to be. 

“That’s a dangerous game you’re playing.” Your words were hushed – a promise of something Leon had imagined for so long. 

If it was a game, it was one he’d be happy to lose. 

How long had it been since he’d felt so close to someone? How long since he had been able to hold onto a feeling other than regret? Even now, even as tired as he was, he found that he wasn’t exhausted enough to disregard those desires. He wanted you to move against him. To take the aches of the day and turn them into something sweeter. To kiss him until he couldn’t breathe. 

But you were both in the training yard, where anyone could see you. It would be mad to go any further here. Even so, Leon learned that you weren’t averse to a little risk when you glanced around. 

When you were satisfied no one was there to see, you moved like you were going to get up. All to disguise your true intent, as your lips brushing against the bruise at his jaw, just soft enough to not hurt the tender injury. Your hips dipped against his, making his throat go dry, and then you were standing, offering him a hand up. 

As you pulled him up, he was frustrated to find his desire overtaken by pain, and he winced as he stood. 

You noticed. 

“Tomorrow will be worse,” you cautioned, that playful spark gone from your eyes. Replaced with something more sincere. “But after that, it’ll get easier.” 

Leon nodded. You’d never lied to him before, he had no reason to distrust you now. “Right,” he sighed, taking a breath and meeting your eyes with a glint. “So, rematch after dinner?” 

“As if there was ever a doubt,” you nodded, smirking once more, and for a moment, he thought you were going to say more. It took you until the two of you were finished putting the training equipment away for the night for you to voice the question. “I know you said you would tell me, if things ever went too far,” you began, your voice low, “but how much are you comfortable with just yet?” 

“What do you mean?” Leon asked, and he could see the gears turning in your mind as you worked out how to say what you wanted to say.

“I mean . . . if we were anywhere else, and I asked you to come home with me and spend the night right now, would you say yes?” 

The question made Leon’s lips part, the initial shock of it wearing off quickly because he’d known that was the name of the game you were playing. It was hard to interpret the dark glances and pressing touches any other way. Still, he appreciated you asking. 

“Well . . . I’d like to take you on a date first,” he chuckled, and you gave him a look. 

In all honesty, in another life, he would have liked to wait. He would have wanted to take his time; to get to know you. He would have taken you out to dinner. Maybe a movie. He would have talked with you about your goals, your dreams. Your family. Embarrassing stories.

He couldn’t do that here, and he didn’t need to. Even if there were still mysteries - so many mysteries - about you, he knew you well, now. He knew the side of you that you didn’t show anyone else.  You pretended to act annoyed at bad jokes, but you told your fair share of them anyway. You liked the Spice Girls. You liked challenges. You were the type to apologize over and over for something, even when you didn’t need to. You pushed yourself because you never wanted to be caught unprepared again. You were afraid of losing people, so you hid yourself away. 

You cared, very deeply, about the people around you. Even if you tried to convince yourself otherwise. 

There was more to learn, he knew, and he would take whatever you were willing to share with him, in whatever way you were willing to offer. 

So, in this world where he knew his life and yours may be all too brief, Leon gave his answer with certainty. “I would say yes,” he said it quietly, moving a little closer to you. 

He watched your eyes flash, and you smiled that beautiful, incredible smile. “Alright then,” you nodded. “If I ever go too far . . . or if the teasing is too much, tell me. I’ll stop, no questions.” 

“Same goes for me,” Leon agreed. “But as far as the teasing goes . . . don’t think I’m going to surrender now.” 

He saw that competitive streak in you spark, and he knew he was going to be in for it. 

“Told you . . .” you tilted your head, leaning close, “. . .that’s a dangerous game to play with me.” 

“I’m counting on it,” Leon grinned right back, standing his ground the way you’d taught him too. 

There was no time for anything else. And besides, Leon didn’t mind earning his time with you. He’d discovered his feelings for you on the business end of your knife, after all. 

“Well,” you eventually said, “we can’t do much of a date, but I can at least walk you home.” 

“We live in the same place,” Leon laughed. 

“Well, that’s convenient, isn’t it?” you grinned right back. 

He almost forgot the pain in his body, laughing there with you. He held onto that feeling, savoring it while he could. Before the morning came and the pain began anew. 

⧫⧫⧫

The next few days were hard on Leon, you could see it plain as day. It was hard for everyone, but the new members of your squad especially. Every day they barely managed to pull themselves through exercises, and every evening they retreated to the barracks with heavy steps and hollow eyes. 

All but Leon. 

You didn’t feel like you quite had a right to be proud of him, but you were. You were proud of how hard he pushed himself, never once complaining. It didn’t matter what kind of hell Krauser put you all through, or how much pain he was in, he still joined you in the training yard every evening. 

And every evening, as he adjusted to the new training regiment, he came closer and closer to beating you. 

He nearly had you on the third day, his knife grazing you time and time again. On the fourth, he managed to disarm you, and you narrowly blocked a stab to the heart. Then, on the fifth day-

You’d been trading blows, the two of you working at a speed that must have looked like a blur, to the untrained eye. Any of the sluggishness Leon had been experiencing in the last few days was gone, replaced now with the desire to win. Maybe because he just wanted to be a better fighter, true, but you knew damn well it was also because you’d been torturing the poor man with your teasing for the last few days. On that third day, after sparring, you’d pulled him into one of the blind spots of the cameras, kissing him quickly, letting your lips trail down to his neck. “Almost had me, there,” you’d whispered, and felt him shiver. On the fourth day, when you’d finally managed to take him down by pinning him against the wall of the officer’s barracks, you’d looked right into those ocean blues of his and pressed your thigh in between his own, just long enough to make his breath hitch. Oh yes, you’d been pushing your luck, skirting the edge of that knife just as you promised him you would. And on that fifth day, you knew, you were going to end up falling over the edge. 

You’d known it going into sparring, even after your first few victories. There was just something in his eyes - a certainty and determination you’d come to see in him more and more. And beneath it all, there was a fervor there. A desire that had your belly fluttering with anticipation. 

Never in all your time in STRATCOM training had you wanted to lose a fight like you did that day. 

And Leon delivered. 

You swung your blade down at him, held in a reverse grip. His knife was held the same way - not a hold he favored, you knew. That was likely why he was able to catch you unawares, locking the flats of each blade on each other’s forearms and pulling down. The leverage there was enough to send your knife flying, your eyes widening as he brought his arm through and up in an arc. One that ended with the tip of his knife pressing up under your jaw. 

The two of you watched each other for a moment, the realization of what had just happened sinking in. The promise of what came next. 

“So, what do I get for winning this time?” Leon asked, and the strained timbre of his voice set your blood aflame. 

It was funny how now, with a knife to your throat, you found it so easy to look into Leon’s eyes. To communicate without words what you were feeling. Now, after so long spent running from what you felt, because you’d completely and utterly surrendered to the simple desire to be happy with him. You knew what you wanted, at long last. Still, after days of vexing him, the least you could do was offer him a choice. “Well . . . what do you want?” 

His eyes, so pretty and so blue, softened. It almost scared you, the way he looked at you then. If it were just desire, that would be easier. Instead, Leon Kennedy looked at you like you’d just offered him the night sky and everything in it. 

Terrifying, when you really only had one thing to offer, broken and imperfect as it was. He knew that, but his answer stayed the same. 

“You.” 

He spoke the word with such a soft honesty, it took all your willpower not to kiss him then and there, damned if anyone saw. Still, you had just enough of your wits about you to hold off, keeping his reverent gaze for a while longer. “Let’s clean up here,” you said, and the two of you put the training equipment away in record time. 

All the while, you found yourself looking over at him, the anticipation building in your gut. The need. When it was done, your eyes met, and without words the two of you began to make your way out of the training yard, towards the back of the mess hall, to that spot where you’d imagined pulling Leon into the shadows so many times. 

How had those imaginings become reality? 

You didn’t have the will to answer that, right now. All you wanted was him, and so you rushed towards the back side of the building, your mind abuzz and your body alight. 

You were so full of apprehension, you almost missed the smell of cigarette smoke. Still, it hit you and Leon just before you rounded the corner, and you both stopped dead in your tracks. With a quick signal for Leon to stay back, you peeked your head around the corner, trying to figure out if the smoke was indeed coming from the one place you needed to be right now. 

When you saw none other than Alejandro, his outline cast in the now-present moon’s light, you felt like the next puff of his cig was going to make you burst into flames. 

You looked back to Leon, shaking your head, and the shadows around him seemed to grow darker as he frowned. There was the blind spot by the officer’s barracks, you supposed, but that risked Krauser’s attention. Any of the other areas were supervised, you couldn’t linger there for too long without being watched. You did the math in your head and came to a conclusion that you absolutely loathed: your fantasies would have to wait another night. Maybe this was the universe punishing you for being a tease. A taste of your own medicine. 

With no choice but to retreat, the two of you began to make your way back, and you tried to calm the lingering excitement in your belly. “Just our luck,” Leon finally said, and the disappointment in his voice was endearing. 

“There’s always tomorrow,” you offered. You’d waited this long. Even if you didn’t want to, you could hold out another day. 

If you must. 

Leon nodded, pouting a little in the darkness. You couldn’t blame him. Still, he managed to give you a small smile. “Tomorrow.” 

As you both settled into your barracks that night, you knew Leon was thinking the same thing you were: tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

A/N: So, yes, we're building to smut 😁

[books]

Hi! So, I’ve struggled A LOT with this in the past, and I was just wondering what a good way to outline a book was? I understand that there are many different ways to do it, and that it’s different for each person, but it’s hard to find good examples online on the different methods.

When we talk about outlining, we're often talking about structure, even though I think the best outlining also offers some connective tissue between the events of the story and the motivations and consequences of those events. My personal favorite outlining method is what I call a narrative outline, which is kind of like a reverse synopsis. In a narrative outline, you pretend you're explaining your story to someone very invested in it, who wants to know all about it. It's in paragraph form and written in your voice. It can be casual and incomplete. You can fill in the gaps with things like [FIGURE THIS OUT LATER]. Then you can take each paragraph you've written and make it into a chapter.

Sometimes, though, I don't even know enough about what I'm working on to do a narrative outline, and that's when I break out the tried and true four-part structure. This structure has served me well for many years, and even if it doesn't work for you, it's at least a place to start. Long-form stories generally have four major parts: exposition, rising action, climax, and denouement. I like to think of them as buckets in which I toss various scene ideas. The scene where characters A and B meet probably goes in exposition, which is the part concerned with establishing context and leading to an inciting incident. My characters getting to know one another would fall into the rising action bucket. Rising action involves raising stakes and escalating the tension. Then, the climax. This is when the rising action culminates into a major breaking point. Maybe my characters have a fight and break up. And lastly, my denouement, the action that falls in the aftermath of the climax. Here's where my characters, after some time apart, reunite.

Generally speaking, the halfway point of a story parallels the ending. If your halfway point is a major success of some kind, you likely will also have a happy ending. If your halfway point is a failure or a loss, you're probably writing a tragedy. Deciding off the bat, "Will this have a happy ending or a sad one?" will help you start putting events in order. Of course, there are also complicated or bittersweet endings, and those will also be reflected at the halfway point. For a complicated ending, your halfway point may be the most complex part of the book, the point with the least clarity. And a bittersweet ending will have a bittersweet middle.

Other writers have other structures they employ. There's Freytag's pyramid, which is two parts only: rising and falling action. There's the three-act play and the five-act play. There are the six stages and the eight key turning points. I've used all of these just to test them out, but I always end up back at my four parts. The trick to choosing an outlining method or an existing structure is to use it only as a jumping off point. It's a lot easier for me to start writing something knowing my job is just to fill four buckets. Often I end up with five parts instead of four. Don't box yourself in too much; as you begin writing, your story will let you know how it wants to be written. Trust your process and your intuition.

For those just joining us, @bettsfic is running a writing workshop on @books this month. Want to know more? Start here.

[lurkinglurkerwholurks]

With a Whimper

First posted: October 5, 2019

Focuses on: Jason Todd & Damian Wayne

Favorite bookmark: "Need to be emotionally stable to read"

Second favorite bookmark: “💣💣"

Tier: Middle of the pack

This is my “behind the scenes” series where I indulge myself horribly by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Thoughts below the cut.

Chapter One

I wrote and posted Bang in the middle of a football game. Which means I started getting pleading requests for closure during the same football game.

Thankfully, even though I really liked the open-ended nature of Bang, I did have a rough idea of how I could have my cake and eat it, too.

Also, the title was @audreycritter's idea! I was stuck on what in the world to call a sequel to Bang and she was quick with the suggestion.

He could see the display flashing on wrist, the live countdown timed to his demise. It was the only light in the supply closet and cast long, ominous shadows in the small space. It made the blood on his clothes and skin appear black. The part of Damian’s brain that was still functioning insisted that black blood would be better. He had seen the second Robin uniform, its tears painstakingly mended, the cloth not wholly scrubbed of unmistakable russet stains no matter how much household witchery Pennyworth used.

Wow I really have no memory of Damian's POV here 😂 What a nice little dagger this intro bit is, though. It's a good mix of practical logistics with the dark and the limits of visual input and what Damian would really be focused on. Go me.

Damian knew pain, was no stranger to it, but Todd said it would hurt, and the way he had said it… It was going to hurt. 

It was a choice to jump in mid-scene here, essentially. As much as I enjoy and have a history of revisiting fics from an alternate POV, it's such a struggle to make the alternate its own story and not just a plodding rehash. As much dialogue as I can skip, the better!

The first blast, the accidental one that had trapped him in the rec center basement, had collapsed shelving units on him like a landslide of metal and sporting equipment. 

I had to think real real hard about what it made sense to do to Damian. Like I had to figure out the broad strokes in Jason's POV, but there wasn't really time to get into the details, but the details are inherent to Damian's experience and therefore POV here. This involved a lot of me sitting on my bed and squinting furiously as I tried to picture a gymnasium storage area I knew really, really well to figure out what within it I could use.

How utterly sure he had been of his choices, even after finding the exit blocked by fallen debris, when he had lied to Batman about being outside. It was noble and eminently practical, he had thought, to let Batman focus on defusing the bombs in the rest of Gotham. He could hold for extraction until later, or perhaps even find a way out on his own in the interim.

Poor kid. He was being stupid but also very not being stupid. He had REASONS for lying, REASONS for the situation he landed in. It wasn't a whim or a lark! But he also couldn't have anticipated these consequences.

He couldn’t call Batman. He knew that as instinctively as he knew his own name. To call now would benefit no one, least of all him. Batman was already doing the one thing that might save him. Nor could he call Richard, who was uptown at one of the other targets, silently monitoring family chatter through his own earpiece while on duty as Officer Grayson.

Damian! Is not! A stupid! Kid! He makes his choices for a reason!!!!

Speaking things aloud made them real, like peeking under the bed for a monster. Far better to hide under the covers and not look.

He's just a baby!!!!!

He wished he’d never asked, because finally he was being treated like an adult and told the truth, and he wished Todd had lied instead.

Just a baby!!!!!!!!!!!

He could be the one to dig Damian out so Father wouldn’t have to.

It is just stunning how widespread the ripples of Jason's death really are. By the time Damian appears in Gotham, Jason has gone and returned. Tim and Dick know firsthand how bad it got in the interim, but Damian only has secondhand knowledge, and even he knows Bruce shouldn't be forced to dig out another son's corpse, though he still assumed his own loss will be inherently less painful.

He would not let Richard listen to him die. And he would not spend his final moments with Richard’s anger and heartbreak in his ears.

This is nuance that didn't make it into Jason's POV. Damian understands that making Dick listen to him die will do to Dick what Jason did to Bruce. And his flinching back from Dick's imagined anger isn't just a child's instinctive recoil. He doesn't want that to be the last thing he hears.

Oh Mother, I wish you had never sent me here.

This was where I started crying while writing because I could feel the way his voice would catch in my own throat.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was difficult. I’m sorry I didn’t know how to be a good son. I’m sorry I was such an awful brother. I’m sorry I made you so angry. Please don’t be sad for too long. Please don’t forget about me. I love you and I’m sorry I never said it, please don’t put me in a glass box, please don’t give me to Grandfather, please I don’t want to die, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please—

I've leaned on this kind of panicked stream of consciousness in multiple fics and I will not apologize.

They had all suffered too much death, and he didn’t want to be a photo on the wall. He didn’t want to be the little dead boy that haunted Richard’s life.

I'm awfully fond of these two lines I don't remember writing.

And Jason’s arms were around him.

(Also noting that Jason is Todd through the whole fic until this final line.)

[jumpywhumpywriter]

"I Want You to Scream" -- Hero Tortured by Villain, Intimate Whumper part 4

Warnings: betrayal, PTSD, chains/restraints, severe torture, blood, cauterization, iron rod branding, knives, intimate whump, etc.

The poll I posted asking which of my stories people wanted me to continue most is over, and this was the #1 most wanted continuation!! So as promised, here's a new chapter for it! I'm always open to continuing other stories too if requested.

Hero woke up screaming. His whole body was on fire with agony, there was something stuck to his face, and several sharp things buried in his arms. He started clawing frantically at the thing on his face, hyperventilating because he couldn't breathe right -- but strong hands grabbed his wrists and kept them down.

"It's okay, it's just an oxygen mask," a soothing voice said, but it sounded too far away, hard to hear over the blood roaring in his ears, his own terrified, skittering pulse. And his vision was blurry, all he could make out was the dark silhouette of a person looming over him.

Where am I? WHERE AM I?! Hero fought hard against the firm hold, a ragged wail escaping him as another wave of pain washed over him.

"Can't you do something?!" The voice hovering over him said.

"I'm working on it! He wasn't supposed to wake up so fast!" A second unknown voice barked.

Hero panicked, thrashing and struggling as much as his ravaged body would allow, maddening screams filling the room as several pairs of hands grabbed his limbs, pinning him down. Vaguely familiar voices were talking all around him, but he couldn't figure out where he knew them from.

An animalistic, primal fear reared up inside him, the desperation to get away and escape -- but there were too many enemies, too many hands subduing him. Amidst his weak flailing, something sharp pricked him in the shoulder, and he felt a cold liquid flood into his veins. A needle. What was he being injected with?? What was this some new form of torture?!

His struggles were lessening, his heartbeat slowing against his will despite the adrenaline pounding through him. He tried to scream again as another agonizing muscle spasm ripped through him, he really did, but the sound only ended in a high whine.

Someone's fingers were running soothingly through his hair, gently massaging his scalp. At first Hero flinched, throwing his head to the side to escape the contact -- but then he focused on the feeling, using it to distract himself. It felt good, he admitted, and he was desperate to cling on to any sensation that wasn't more blinding pain.

Hero instinctively leaned into the soft touch with a pathetic whimper, craving even the most basic touches of kindness.

"It's okay to let go, let it all slip away..." a voice murmured.

But Hero was terrified of the darkness closing in on him, dragging him back. The edges of the world were turning an awful shade of black, sapping his sight away.

It's okay to let go...

It's okay to let go...

It's okay.... to let go...

He latched on to the words, the echoing thoughts slowly dying out in his mind... until the empty void that awaited him swallowed him completely.

-------------------------------------------------------

The crawl back to consciousness was much harder this time, like wading through thick mud. The first thing Hero noticed is that he wasn't in searing agony like before -- the pain was still there, sharp and insistent, but lessened to a throbbing ache. But even so, his anxiety climbed. He still didn't know where he was, what was happening. Had Villain taken him back to her lair to torture him further? The hands that had pinned him earlier... who knows how long ago it was... did they belong to her henchmen?

He could hear a quiet beeping noise that kicked up a notch in speed, beeping faster, and through his delirious mind he somehow recognized it as a heart monitor. But if that was the case, was he in a hospital? Villain would never give him medical luxuries like this.

"His heart rate's spiking too fast." A gruff voice made him jump in his skin, heart springing to his throat with fear. "I'm gonna have to knock him out again before it climbs too high."

"Wait, let me try something first." A new voice, right next to where Hero was laying. "Hero? Can you hear me? Are you awake?"

Hero hesitated, then twitched his hand in acknowledgment -- he hardly had the strength for anything more. His pulse calmed a little at the genuine concern lacing the voice -- concern for him meant he wouldn't be hurt, he reasoned.

It took a gargantuan amount of effort, but Hero managed to slowly crack his eyes open, blinking dizzily until his vision focused on the face looming over him.

"...Sidekick?" He whispered hoarsely in disbelief, his voice barely more than a raspy breath of air from all the screaming.

A choked sob, and then someone was hugging him, arms wrapping tight around his torso in an awkward embrace on the medical bed. At first Hero recoiled, but relaxed a second later at the familiar presence. He was safe. He didn't know how, but he was at the hero headquarters in the medical bay, he was sure of it now. How else would Sidekick be here? And the first voice -- it must have been Medic's.

"What... happened?" Hero croaked, noticing how dry and parched his mouth was. How long had he been out...?

Sidekick's gaze dropped to the floor, his demeanor turning uneasy and tense. "Our team tracked you down just in time to get the drop on Villain," he started. "But it was bad. We thought we were too late, there was so much blood everywhere..." Sidekick grimaced. "Half of us thought you'd die on the way here... you needed a lot of work from Medic and a bunch of transfusions to save you."

"And Villain...?" Hero trailed off expectantly, but his stomach twisted with fear and nausea at the brief pause that followed his words.

"...She got away," Sidekick mumbled.

Hero's chest seized, it was hard to breathe. "...How?" His voice came out in a racking cough that shook his whole body.

"We barged in and thought we got the drop on her, but she had everything planned out from the start, Hero. She was already five, no, ten steps ahead. The instant we kicked down the door she jumped out the window and fled. And she even left a note. She knew we'd find you like that. She wanted us to." Sidekick's lip curled with disgust and hatred.

Hero wet his lips uncomfortably, apprehensive with sudden fear as he remembered the one thing he hadn't brought up yet. "Sidekick -- about those pictures of me on the bed--"

Sidekick raised a hand to cut him off, and Hero's mouth instantly clicked shut.

"You don't have to worry about any of that, the whole team knows you'd never agree to something like that of your own free will. Villain tried to create a trust rift between us, but failed. We believe in you, Hero. You've done nothing wrong."

Maybe not this time... but I did do something wrong in the past. So terribly wrong, Hero though miserably. A rattling breath wheezed out of his lungs as he sighed. Then he stiffened, remembering.

"Sidekick, about Villain..." He chewed the inside of his cheek, mulling over his words before speaking. "Villain isn't just another criminal... she's Old Hero."

Even the heart monitors themselves seemed to go quiet at that in shock.

"She... what?" Sidekick sputtered, then whirled to face Medic, who had been watching things unfold without saying a word. "Just how much pain meds did you give him?!"

"I'm not that high," Hero rasped indignantly. "And I'm serious. Villain is Old Hero. The same hero thought to have been killed by the citizens after I revealed her affair with a villain. Everything that's happening right now... it's all my fault. I shouldn't have gone sticking my nose into other heroes' business. If I'd just kept quiet when I learned about what Old Hero was spending her free time doing--" his breath hitched, and he swallowed dryly.

"So that's how Villain's stayed so many steps ahead of our team," Sidekick breathed with dawning realization. "It's because she knows us. Our strengths, our weaknesses, our tells in a fight... no wonder we haven't caught her yet! Because she used to be one of us." His voice came out in a hiss, eyes huge as he started pacing anxiously next to the medical bed.

"So that's why--the note she left--" Sidekick shook his head grimly, talking to himself.

"...What did the note say?" Hero hesitantly asked. He wasn't completely sure he wanted the answer.

Sidekick's alarmed eyes flicked up to meet his, and he reluctantly pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket to read aloud. "It says... 'Say hi to (Superhero's real name) for me, she's next on the list. P.S, Hero might need therapy'. And then... a smiley winking face emoji?"

Hero snorted a humorless laugh. "Yup, sounds like Old Hero all right."

Sidekick's face was ashen. "You weren't lying... Villain really is Old Hero. How could we have not seen it sooner..."

"Villain played her masks well," Hero admitted grimly. "That's why she was the best undercover spy in our hero team. She can don a dozen different personalities on a whim." His heart sank to his stomach, and he sat himself up with a grunt, carefully pulling out IV lines from his arms, white gauze shifting with his movements. "I need to talk to the other heroes, after I get cleaned up. We need to make a plan, and fast, before Villain makes her move. Knowing her, she'll use the ripples of shock she created by torturing me to slip inside our base of operations unseen while everyone's busy worrying over me."

Sidekick suddenly looked nervous, fidgeting with the edge of his shirt. Suspicious. "Oh, uh, I don't think you should be moving just yet--"

"Sidekick."

"You must be exhausted after your ordeal, why don't you just take it eas--"

"Sidekick." Hero said it more firmly this time, his voice shaky but stern. "Why don't you want me to get up yet?"

Sidekick's gaze dropped to the floor, filled with guilt and sorrow, two emotions Hero hadn't expected. "Ah, it's... it's your wounds, I--" he glanced over at Medic for help. "C-Can you tell him instead?" He squeaked.

Medic quickly raised his hands, scooting his chair back. "I'd rather not. I'm the one who spent hours patching Hero up, that should earn me a break."

Sidekick's shoulders drooped, his face crumpling as he turned back to Hero. "It's hard to explain... it might be better if I show you instead..." His voice was a strained whisper. Why was everyone so uneasy about Hero's wounds? It wasn't like they hadn't seen vicious battle wounds before.

Hero's stomach churned with unease at how cryptic Sidekick's words were, but he nodded, sliding over the edge of the medical bed to try out his legs -- and promptly collapsed. Not even the strong painkillers in his system could override the blasting agony that streaked up his whole back and shoulders. The intensity stole his breath away, leaving him drowning in air -- before arms caught him, holding him up so he didn't hit the floor.

Hero instinctively jerked away from the hands with a terrified shout, because for one second he was back with Villain, at her mercy as she cut into him again and again -- for one second, he could feel the hands disguised as help turn right back into hurt.

"Hero! It's me! Calm down!" Hero snapped back to himself, head swimming as a low whine escaped parted lips. He hadn't realized he was shaking so hard, trembling violently as Sidekick held him to his chest. He sucked in shallow, uneven breaths, trying to calm his racing heartbeat.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to spook you," Sidekick hastily apologized. "I didn't think about how you'd react, given what you've been through..."

Hero felt cold fingers on his wrist, and realized that Medic had appeared right next to Sidekick, checking his pulse with worried eyes.

"I'm f-fine," Hero snapped a little less-than-convincingly, shoving Medic's hand away. Medic let it happen, and shared a glance with Sidekick before backing off.

"Come on, let's get you to a washroom," Sidekick muttered, and slung one of Hero's arms across his shoulders, pulling him up.

Hero gasped at the pain that speared him, but it was a little more bearable now that he'd braced himself for it. He leaned heavily against Sidekick for support as Sidekick guided him out of the medical wing.

But Sidekick hesitated once they reached the bathroom door. Hero was the one who took the first step in, taking his arm off Sidekick and limping on his own until he reached the sinks, a giant mirror mounted above them.

"Hero, you might want to wait before you--" Sidekick started to speak, but Hero was already ripping his shirt off, tugging at the gauze and bandages wrapped around him. He winced and flinched in pain at every small movement, and soon he felt Sidekick's presence standing right behind him, and could see his friend's reflection in the mirror as he wordlessly helped remove the medical dressings one by one without comment.

Hero froze when the last of it was discarded, leaving his torso bare. He gaped in horror at the mirror, shocked at the extent of the damage.

On the front of his shoulder a large emblem was emblazoned into angry red flesh, charred and blistered around the edges. Villain's mark from when she was Old Hero. It was perfect, too perfect, clear that Villain had taken great care to make it last and make sure the shape was pristine. A permanent brand from his torturer. Every time he ever saw himself again, he'd be forced to remember her. For the rest of his life.

Hero swallowed the bile in his throat as he angled himself to see his back, and had to force himself not to gag and vomit on the spot. His back was practically shredded, long lines of dried red criss-crossed over his skin. It made a pattern -- an intricate form of art, and what was worse was that it was his own hero emblem. A star with a triangle in the middle. The same sign engraved into every piece of the hero suit he wore to battle, the emblem that gave people hope when they saw it.

Seeing the wounds like that hurt Hero on a deeper level. And that was exactly what Villain had intended, he knew. Villain was one who always went right for the heart above all else.

'The best way to break someone is to leave something behind that will last an eternity,' she'd once told him. 'Physical pain is temporary. It hurts and then it's gone. But invisible pain? That stuff will stay with you... forever.' Hero had found the words odd at the time, spoken by Old Hero as she sat with him on the roof of a skyscraper drinking wine over the latest victory thanks to her skills. The irony was revolting.

"...Hero?" Sidekick's worried voice brought him back from the haunting memories, and he realized he had a white-knuckled grip on the sink ledge.

His stomach lurched violently, nausea rushing up his throat, and he couldn't stop himself from retching, heaving the last feeding tube-fed meal into the sink. His body was shaking when it was finally over, and he spat a last mouthful of bile and stomach acid out before wiping his mouth with a towel.

He felt like crying, like shouting, like screaming at the ceiling how unfair it was. All his anger, the excruciating pain he was in both inside and out… it was too much to handle. But Sidekick was here with him. And he didn't want to fall apart in front of his teammate. He wanted to cling to that last shred of dignity that hadn't been stripped away by Villain.

So he forced down that agony in the place where hope goes to die, pulling the broken pieces of himself together into a man-shaped figure and composed himself, dissociating. He didn't have time to break down. Villain… Villain was on the loose. And he had to find a way to stop her with his team, before she found another victim to claim.

But the hollow void in him ached with something dark and twisted as he caught another glimpse of his ruined and violated body in the mirror, shaking his resolve.

Hero shook his head with a shiver, gritting his teeth. “We have to talk to the team,” he forced out. “Put a plan together.”

“But don't you want some time to yourself to recov–”

“NO!” Hero cut Sidekick off a little harsher than he meant to, and Sidekick's eyes widened.

“No,” Hero repeated, softer this time. “I can do this. I have to. Villain needs to be stopped… no matter the cost.”

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[chaosduckies]

Friends in Small Places (Chapter 3)

So sorry for the wait haha- The stress is real. Anyways this is NOT my best chapter, but it does include something that I always love to see in g/t. But otherwise, I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 3.4k

CW: Anxiety

3-Cas

When I woke up, it was quiet as usual. My head was throbbing, and my muscles ached every time I moved them, but I forced myself to sit up, finding that I was lying on the hard ground. Right. New medicine, made my body go haywire, Liam- Liam. My eyes darted all round, landing on a small figure that was copying some things down in his notebook from his laptop. He wasn’t as small anymore, which meant I was back to normal. Well, sort of. I felt drowsy. And hungry, but I usually I just go out to go eat something. 

I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand, stretching out my arms as far as I could temporarily manage. Liam picked up his head, closing his notebook and laptop. What time was it? I looked through the window curtains to see that the sun was still out, but it didn’t look like it was noon at all. How long was I out for? 

“Morning.” Liam greeted, walking a little closer to me. I pressed my back up further against the wall. Did I sleep through the entire I night? Where was my phone anyways? 

“M-morning.” I whispered, simultaneously searching for my phone. I knew that I didn’t have to go into the lab today, but still, sometimes they liked to schedule surprise meetings or something. Last time I didn’t show up they punished me for it. I shuddered at the thought, but kept my attention on Liam, who looked like he was forcing himself to come closer to me. 

I raised the hand that he seemed to be walking towards close to my chest. It’s not like I didn’t want him to touch or come near me, it’s just that I was scared I’d accidentally do something that he might not like. What if I hold him wrong or-or he gets too uncomfortable, or what if I accidentally drop him? The anxiety ate away at me until I felt myself grow a few feet. I winced, calming myself down before it could get worse. Again. 

Liam took a few seconds to get out of his sudden shock, giving a shaky smile. Was that supposed to mean “I’m okay but I’m terrified of you?” I couldn’t help but look away, saddened by the thought. I wish I didn’t have to keep so in control of my emotions all the time. Anytime I want to cry I just can’t otherwise I might hurt people. More especially the regular-sized human that was currently struggling to stand on two feet. I would offer help but… I don’t think he’d be all that excited about it. Neither was I. 

“How are you f-feeling?” He tired to hide how shaky his voice was, but I could tell. Most people talk like that when they’re around me anyways. They get one glimpse at the stupid band around my wrist and they automatically think I’m a threat. I mean, yeah, I have depression, but as long as I remember to refill my anti-depressants and SSRI’s I should be okay to go out in public for a couple hours. Most of the time I try to control my emotions though. Since that’s what triggers me to grow in the first place. It’s also mostly why the SSU doesn’t let me see my family for a long time. They think that if I’m around it’ll spark too much emotions all at once. It could be true, and the last thing I want is to hurt my own family. 

“Um, a little better.” I sighed, seeing my phone thrown halfway across the room. Right. I completely freaked out when Liam said to open the door and ended up throwing it somewhere. I’ll just go grab it in a little bit, I wasn’t in a rush. If anything, I should probably get dressed to get something to eat. I didn’t know how to cook besides some microwaveable things I had in the fridge. Of course I had some groceries, just not many. 

“Hey, um, are you hungry? I can go out to get something.” I asked, keeping my voice to a whisper while also getting ready to stand up. While I didn’t have a job, the company was giving me monthly checks to help for necessities. Clothes, food, basically anything I needed to survive. With another person here I might as well make them comfortable and help out with anything they need. It’s only the right thing to do. Especially if I’m the one giving them a hard time… 

“Hm? I-I can cook something.” Liam looked towards where the kitchen was. I nervously smiled, finding it kind of funny that he didn’t realize that this entire house was accommodated for my size. Of course I can be smaller, but I wouldn’t be able to do anything but walk around on the floor. Plus, it’s hard to stay that height without the medicine. I did feel bad that Liam couldn’t do the things that he wanted to do. I didn’t know if he liked cooking or not, but maybe I could at least try to help? I’m not exactly a culinary expert. 

“I can maybe help? I-if you’re okay with it of course.” I stared at my hand, slowly lowering it to the ground what seemed a few inches away from Liam to me, but must have been a couple feet to him. He eyed it warily, and the longer he stared the more shaky my hand became. How could I trust myself to carry an entire life in my hands? I don’t even trust myself anywhere around someone smaller than me. 

Liam sucked in a deep breath, “I-I, um, I d-don’t-“ He paused for a minute, recomposing himself, “S-sure. If you want to.” He hesitantly walked closer to my hand, looking at my palm as if asking himself how to get on. I didn’t particularly care. It’s my first time actually holding someone. A living person in my hands. What if I drop him? What if I’m holding him wrong? I don’t want to hurt him! I would never forgive myself, and then they’d assign me a new therapist. I bit the bottom of my lip, trying my best to tilt my hand as much as I could to make it easier to climb on. Of course I could just grab Liam, but I don’t think he’d like that very much. 

“You can just climb on. I don’t really mind.” I gave the best fake smile I could manage as he returned one back. He took another look at my hand, starting with hurtling on of his legs on and then falling over when I tilted my hand flat to make the rest easier for him. Apparently it just made him roll over onto his stomach. I was so sure Liam could feel how shaky I was. Of course I was nervous, but I guess I’d just have to trust myself. Something I wasn’t prone to do on a daily basis. 

I stood up slowly, using both hands to cup the passenger I was currently holding to make sure they didn’t fall, and walked slower than usual to the kitchen, slightly tilting my hand to let Liam back down before I did something I was going to regret for the rest of my life. 

“I don’t know how to cook, so I guess you just tell me what to do?” I kept my hands by my sides. Liam took a while to get himself back together, but eventually he just nodded his head, “D-do you have anything in the fridge?” He fidgeted with his hands while I checked, finding it kind of sad that it looked kind of bare except for a few containers filled with some leftovers, eggs, drinks, and a couple of the microwaveable plates I buy at the store. 

“Just some eggs, a few plates I can microwave too.” I closed the fridge, noticing that Liam cringed. Did I do something wrong? 

“It’s not healthy just eating those y’know.” He muttered, probably thinking that I wouldn’t be able to hear him. I sadly nodded my head, “My mom wasn’t able to teach me before they moved me away soooo-“ I looked away for a second, grabbing two eggs and smiling nervously down at Liam, who was thinking hard about what I had just said. Did i give away too much? He’s going to have to meet my parents sometime soon anyways. They’ll tell him all the embarrassing stories of me when I was a kid and all of the other things I did. The good and the bad. Because that’s just how they were. 

“I can just make these, right?” I held them up, watching him nod and tell me what to grab and do. Liam had tried moving some objects around that I needed to use. He tired his best to use them himself, but of course he was too small, or he at least couldn’t do it by himself. I was scared that if I grabbed it at the wrong time then he’d jump and run away, so I usually just waited for him to take a break before taking the issue off of his hands. 

It was kind of awkward since I should be the one already knowing I how to cook, but I guess this was fine. Liam was honestly a really great teacher. He kept me calm when I thought the heat would just make the mixture explode in my face. Again, I don’t know the slightest thing about cooking. Not at all. Can’t blame me for not knowing… but maybe Liam could teach me? No, that’d be ridiculous. There was no way that he’d do that. Plus, what if I don’t watch what I’m doing carefully enough? I could really hurt him without even meaning to. 

“Liam?” I set down my plate for a second. 

“Yeah?” He did the same with his, all of his attention on me. Was it weird that I was a bit nervous now? I feel like it should be the opposite. But here I was, worrying about an answer to a question I pretty much already knew the answer to. 

“Would you mind teaching me how to cook? You seem pretty good at it, and I’d like you to feel more welcome here.” I tried to explain thoroughly, so he doesn’t think I’m tricking him. I wouldn’t ever dream of it, but just in case. We’ve only really been around each other for two days anyways. He has no reason to trust me. Especially when yesterday I messed it all up. I had it all planned out in my mind. I’d try to stay calm for as long as I could, let us both get comfortable with the situation (More for Liam than me) and then I wouldn’t have to be so careful around him. Turns out I couldn’t even last a day. Or maybe that was just because of the medicine. It was extremely painful. It felt like my insides were being ripped out. Do you know how hard it is to stay calm when you’re in that much pain? Hard. Very, very hard. 

“Sure! U-Um, we might need to go to the store later though. If that’s okay with you of course!” He laughed nervously, trying to rid himself of the shakiness of his voice. At least he was trying. But… I couldn’t help but shake the feeling that he though I would actually hurt him over something as trivial as taking him somewhere. If anything, I’m just happy that he wants to be near me at this point. 

“I don’t mind. You’re the cook here anyways.” I tried to lighten the mood. It seemed to work. 

———Liam———

When Cas woke up this morning I wasn’t expecting him to be in such a light-hearted mood. If anything I thought he’d be the exact opposite. He seemed tired still, but at the same time he seemed to be trying his hardest to keep calm. Actually, that’s kind of what he looks like all of the time. No offense. 

This morning was surprisingly fun. I wasn’t expecting to try and help a full on giant cook something. It’s extremely difficult to maneuver all of the utensils when they’re almost ten times your own size. I wasn’t built for moving heavy things around if you couldn’t tell. But either way, it was still a lot of fun trying to help Cas cook. It was saddening to learn that he was never taught because the company moved him away from his family. Why would they do that in the first place anyways? I don’t see a reason why they would just rip him apart from his family. I would think they’d help him out more than I could actually. 

“S-sorry to ask,” I sighed, making the mistake of peering over the edge of the counter, shuddering at the devastating height I was currently at, “But could you l-let me down? P-Please?” I took a couple steps back. Cas nodded his head, extending his hand out just like before and waited for me to let myself on. I couldn’t really tell all that much, but I think he’s just as nervous as I am when he’s holding me. I can feel him slightly trembling, and even the way he moves slower than usual. I think it’s kind of funny how he cares so much about one meaningless life. Or sweet really. 

I climbed onto his hand, being taken back to the living room where I had left my stuff. Right. I had a test to take on Monday… Luckily I still had the entire weekend to study. I think it’d be nice to spend at least one day with Cas. We haven’t really had the chance to get to know each other better. Maybe I can ask to make my lessons online? Just until they find my replacement. If they ever find one of course. It’s not actually that bad being with Cas. He’s really nice and gentle, doesn’t overdo anything. I have no idea why I thought it’d be so terrifying in the first place. Then again, it’s only been a couple of days. 

“Thank you.” I mumbled, just barely loud enough for Cas to hear. He look a little shocked before smiling. Like a genuine smile. Not one of those fake ones he puts on to hide that he’s actually sad. I must say, I’m not doing a very good job as a therapist, but then again everything seems to be fine. 

I put away most of my things inside of my backpack, heading to my little corner on the floor where my other suitcase was, filled with my clothes. I still had a lot back at my dorm, but I’m technically not living here. Just staying for a while until the SSU can make sure that the person I’m with is comfortable without me here almost all of the time. 

I grabbed a few clothes, waiting for Cas to leave and change so we could head out. It was already midday anyways. I think it’ll be fun teaching him how to cook anyways. I feel bad about the whole situation he’s in. Does he even get to see his parents? I guess I’d have to ask him that. 

After a while of waiting, Cas came out wearing a t-shirt and a regular pair of jeans. I couldn’t take my eyes off of the bright-red band on his wrist though. He’s not… that bad actually. I’ve only ever heard stories that shifters with a red band were a danger to society. Were they wrong? Did the company lie to us? That can’t be true… But so far everything that’s happened to Cas hasn’t been exactly great. The forced medicine, taking him away from his parents, what else have they done? So many questions I wanted to ask Cas, but we weren’t at the level yet. I feel like he’d completely shut me out if I asked him right now anyways. 

“So are you fine with just climbing on again?” He crouched down on the ground, his palm down for me. I struggled to climb on, but managed on my own. He was definitely more nervous than I was. 

“You good?” I chuckled lightly, getting used to it already. For someone who was so afraid of being mishandled, I was actually doing pretty good. Or maybe that was because Cas was watching everything he did so closely. Ryan was definitely right. Shifters really weren’t as bad as the stories made them out to be. Or I had made them out to be. 

“Hm? O-Oh yeah! Just nervous.” He brought up his other hand our of fear of himself dropping me I was guessing. Yeah, I would not enjoy falling from a hundred foot drop right now. I was thankful for the extra protection, but this only proves that he doesn’t trust himself all that much. Another thing I can work on with him? I think it’d be a good thing to work on his self-confidence. Maybe that’s why he’s not used to being around people smaller than him? That being said… how did he live when he was younger? If he couldn’t stay comfortable at a normal height? And yet another question to ask Cas. 

I admit it’s pretty scary when You’re a hundred feet up in the air, your life literally in someone else’s hands, and heading to a place you’ve never been to before. Really anything could happen, but I have to place all of my trust in I just met two days ago. I guess you can’t gain trust if you don’t give any in the first place. Still, I couldn’t get rid of the slight fear that was slowly crawling up through my entire body. Okay, maybe I was just jumping to conclusions about getting used to being carried around. This was the most terrifying thing ever. 

——————

The walk wasn’t that far. (Well at least for Cas-) Maybe about ten minutes before we reached the small store that was packed with people. I guess this is what it was like on this side of the city? This was just crazy. Maybe that’s why Cas doesn’t go out much? It would make sense. It would also explain why he tried his best to avoid so many people everytime he walked down an isle. Or maybe it was for my sake? I couldn’t tell. 

“What exactly do I need?” He laughed nervously, grabbing a carry basket in his free hand, the one holding me cupping even more to make sure I wouldn’t fall off. I think I’ll just stay clear of any kind of view from the ground. Yup. 

“Oh, well, um, fruit? Some meat I guess? I-I can help you with that.” Cas nodded his head, walking over to the produce section and picking out a mixed bowl and some things to make a salad. Good to know that he wasn’t just microwaving everything. It didn’t take long for me to help him pick out some chicken to make for dinner tonight and something for tomorrow too. There would probably be leftovers for a good day or so afterwards anyways. I’m just glad I could help him out with something. At least somewhat. 

When we arrived back home, I told Cas where to place everything, and that was basically it. I’d just have to teach him how to cook dinner for tonight. But otherwise, we would just be hanging out in the living room. I could go without studying for a while anyways. It was beyond tiring to memorize all of those formulas anyways. 

“Thank you so much.” Cas laughed. 

“For what? Getting groceries?” I laughed with him. Just because I’m slightly older than him doesn’t mean anything. 

“Yeah. I guess so.” His hand laid up against the couch, letting me down and onto the comfy cushion. I made myself comfortable, watching Cas sit on the other couch, grabbing his phone that he completely forgot about after last night and checked on whatever was waiting for him. He sighed, placing it on the table in the middle. 

“Wanna play a game?” He asked, looking a little wary. Well, it’s not like I can say no. 

“Sure!” 

——————

Ahhh I love when the giant doesn’t know how to cook but the tiny does. Just when the giant tries to help out as much as they can AGHH- I hope you guys enjoyed this extremely overdue chapter, again, so sorry for the long wait.

But thank you guys so much for reading! I appreciate every single one of you who read and like my work you have no idea how much it means to me that you all like it 🫶

If there is an ask in my inbox, I promise I will eventually get to it. So sorry for those of you who have been waiting (I have a little writing piece that I want to do for them)

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