#MORE LIKE NINE MONTHS AM I RIGHT.

[doodledrawsthings]

................................... so i mentioned in the tags of another post that i had made a kuafu x yi fan kid..................... Edit: I feel i need to clarify that her name is not Xiang Chang, those were written as side notes because i was trying to decide between Xiang OR Chang, seperately. I did not name her Sausage on purpose LMAO. I think the name I'm ending up keeping is Chang 昌 with Xiao Chang being a nickname.

[sceletaflores]

come on into my bed with me (i know you want to)

pair: old man!logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, some sad vibes because i can't function without them, large age gap (but isn't that obvious by now? mid 20s/old as fuck), established relationship but only kind of, falls in the logan 2017 timeline but very loosely, LONGINGGGG, gratuitous nickname use (kid, baby, honey, ect), nasty dirty talk cause he's old and gross, not so dry humping, JUST THE TIP RAHHHH, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: this was heavily inspired by imogen heap's 'i am in love with you' because that song fucks so hard and it really gave me lots of old man logan vibes. i was just so overcome with nasty thoughts that the beat possessed me and i blacked out and listened to it on a constant repeat while i wrote this instead of doing my a&p work. kisses!

dividers by angel @saradika-graphics!

you can't sleep, logan left his door open...

Rain pelts at the smudged glass of your window, drops trailing down the span of the panes that you follow with your eyes.

It's been raining nearly all week, a rare thing in Mexico, especially somewhere as dry as Sonora.

You used to love the rain. You felt a special kind of comfort anytime night would come and there'd be a certain chill swirling through the air, that familiar scent of damp soil and wet stone rising as the first drops hit the ground.

In Sonora, rain is supposed to be a gift—a reprieve from the unrelenting heat, a chance for the dry earth to drink.

It should feel cleansing, like a reset of sorts, and maybe it would have a few months ago.

Now it just feels heavy, oppressive. Each raindrop splattering against the glass feels like a reminder of everything that's stuck, unmoving.

The soft noise of it was almost enough to lull you to sleep, but it was still no match for your wandering mind.

You’ve been finding yourself here a lot recently, shrouded in the scratchy sheets of your bed in the quiet dark encompassing your room, mind racing.

It was raining the first night he touched you.

You've been with Logan and Charles for nine months.

A runaway hitchhiker turned caretaker after you fled from the meaningless scraps of your life back in Texas.

Logan found you on the side of the highway coming back from a shift in El Paso. One stop with the hazards on and a hasty conversation through a rolled down window later, you were throwing your bags in the back of his limo and climbing into the front seat.

You didn't realize until much later that he never truly asked you to stay, or to care for Charles alongside him.

It was only supposed to be a temporary arrangement, a roof over your head in exchange for your help. Watch over his ailing father for a few days while he went out to get him more medicine, that's what you settled on.

Yet somehow, here you are, nine months later.

You cook meals in a dusty kitchen that always smells faintly of motor oil, listen to Charles’ stories about a world you’ll never fully grasp, and watch Logan patch himself up in grim silence after he’s returned from whatever trouble found him this time. 

It's strange how the days seemed to stretch endlessly, but the weeks have slipped past like a blink. You carved out a routine in this crumbling house in Sonora, built something that resembles a life even if it feels borrowed, like a second-hand coat that never quite fits right.

At first, you weren’t sure what kept you here. Maybe Charles. 

You warmed to him almost immediately, drawn in by his gentle demeanor and the way he seemed to see right through you without a hint of judgment. 

Even when his mind faltered, slipping into tangled memories or distant fragments of a life long past, he treated you with a kindness you hadn’t felt in years.

You’d come to think of him as a king, regal and noble. A king stripped of his castle, yet still wearing a crown, if ever so skewed—a king nonetheless.

You still aren’t sure, but you can’t shake the sense that leaving now would be like tearing off a scab—painful and unnecessary.

And then, one night, the rain came.

You remember it vividly, a torrent so sudden and unrelenting. The downpour soaking the dry dirt surrounding the plant. 

You couldn’t help yourself from wandering out, stood barefoot on the porch as the cool air nipped at the skin of your arms and legs.

“You’re gonna catch a cold standin’ out here.” Logan said from somewhere behind you, his voice rough and low after the silence of a long shift.

You hadn’t moved, hadn’t even glanced his way. “I like the rain.”

There was a beat of silence before he stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating against your back. His hand had been hesitant at first, a brush of calloused fingers against your arm. 

You didn’t pull away.

The heat of his palm felt scalding, causing goosebumps to pebble along your damp skin. His thumb swiped across the circular scar just above your elbow, a cigarette burn, one of many.

He didn’t say anything as he turned and walked back into the house. You learned quickly that Logan’s not the type to fill silences with empty words, but you both knew something shifted.

He came into your room later that night. The squeaky mattress of your bed dipping under his weight as he slid his hand down your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your shorts, a silent question.

He didn’t kiss you, but the rain pattering against the tin roof was enough to swallow your soft moans and gasps.

You settled into something undefined—a constant push and pull of need and silence. Logan touched you when he needed to, and you let him because you wanted to.

It wasn’t love, not then. It wasn’t even comfort. But it was connection. A tenuous thread in the quiet storm of your lives.

You figured that was enough.

The rain hasn't slowed. If anything, the howl of the wind is stronger than before.

The soothing rhythm of droplets hitting your window turned aggressively sharp, like darts thrown against a worn cork board.

The boom of thunder is nearly in sync with the pulse of your core, aching and insistent in its need.

It’s been weeks since Logan touched you last, his endless cycle of guilt stronger than it's been before. He’s never outright said it, but you know it’s there.

The silence between you both has stretched longer than you'd like to admit, a quiet that isn't comfortable anymore.

You know he’s got it in his head that he’s somehow taken advantage of you. A perverted old man falling weak to the pretty, young thing taking up space in the bed two doors over from him.

The thought stirs something deep within you, a mix of frustration and confusion. He’s not wrong, not exactly—but he’s not right either. You aren’t a child, and you aren’t helpless. You knew what you wanted, what you needed.

And that hasn’t dared to change.

You shift in bed, the sheets tangling around your legs as your body hums with a restlessness you can’t shake. The air in your room feels thick, charged, and suffocating, a mirror of the space between you and Logan.

He doesn’t understand that you want him too, that you weren’t some helpless thing to be protected or shielded from his darkness. It eats at you until your skin is practically buzzing with it, buzzing with the need to show him.

There’s only so much silence you can take before it becomes too loud to ignore. 

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the hardwood cool against your bare feet. You know it’s late, but you don’t care.

You walk through the dimly lit hallway, the creak of the floorboards quiet under you as you make your way to Logan’s door. It’s cracked open, a yellow glow spilling through to guide you like a lighthouse guides its ships to shore.

When you reach the beat up wood you don’t hesitate, you push it open the slightest bit, peering through the widened gap. 

He’s there, sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge you, but you know he knows you’re there.

You cross the threshold, your heartbeat loud in your ears as you pull the door shut behind you, leaning your back against it.

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice rougher than you intended.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he runs his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. The lamplight catches the sharp planes of his face, a familiar weariness etched into his features.

His fingers flex at his sides, and for a moment, you think he’s going to tell you to leave—to go back to your room where it’s safe, where you won’t make things more complicated than they already are. You almost brace for it.

But then he speaks.

“What’s wrong, kid.” His voice is nothing but a deep rumble, like gravel crunching underfoot.

You shrug noncommittally, hands messing with a stray thread hanging from the edge of your shorts. “Can’t sleep.”

Logan sighs long and slow through his nose, hands pressing into his thighs. “Thought you liked the rain.”

You smile faintly at the irony, chest swelling with something dangerous. 

You take a step further into the room, pushing yourself off the closed door. The familiar scent of him invades your senses. It’s a mixture of leather, earth, and something raw—something undeniably him. 

You stand there for a moment, letting the silence stretch thin and taut before you finally speak.

“Can I stay?” The words come out barely above a whisper, but they land like a crack of lightning.

You feel your heart thud painfully in your chest, not from fear, but from the sudden vulnerability that makes your skin burn.

The room feels smaller now, the walls pressing in as you step forward, each movement slow and deliberate. You stop at the edge of his bed, the sheets pressing against the bare skin of your thighs.

Logan’s gaze flickers over his shoulder, meeting yours briefly before he looks away again, like he’s trying to convince himself that the ache in his chest isn’t real.

“You should go back to bed,” he says, voice gruff. “It’s late.”

“I don’t want to go back.” You shake your head even though he isn’t turned around to see it.

Without thinking, you crawl onto the bed, the comforter making soft shushing sounds under your hands and knees. You reach out, fingers brushing the back of his neck, the muscles there tight with strain.

Logan flinches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away, and that’s all the permission you need.

You shift closer, pressing your chest against his back, and letting your hands settle on his shoulders. The heat between you is electric, charged with something unsaid, something raw and undeniable.

“Please,” you whisper, your lips brushing against the back of his ear, your voice a mixture of defiance and desire.

Logan stiffens, but this time, you feel the shudder that runs through him, the way his body responds despite the walls he’s built around himself.

You know he’s torn, that he wants to fight this. You feel it in the tension that radiates from him, in the way his body seems to be fighting against the instinct to turn toward you.

But you don’t care anymore. You’re done with silence.

Your fingers slide down his back, feeling the rough fabric of his shirt against your skin as you press yourself closer. Your breath is hot against his neck now, and you can feel the rapid pulse in his veins beneath your lips as you hover just above his skin, waiting.

“Logan…” Your voice is softer now, almost pleading. You don’t know what you’re asking for, but you don’t have to.

His hand comes up, brushing against your wrist as if testing, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. But you don’t.

Instead, you lean into him further, your lips brushing the curve of his neck, whispering into the tension that still hangs heavy between you. “Please.”

The last shreds of Logan’s resistance snap under the cloying weight of your touch.

He’s moving before you can even register what’s happening, rearing up with heavy hands that land on your shoulders to push you backwards.

You fall back onto the bed with a soft gasp, bouncing on the mattress once, twice, before Logan follows. His body settles over yours like a warm blanket, thick forearms braced on either side of your head to support his weight.

"Why couldn't you sleep, honey?" he asks, dark eyes boring into yours intense enough to get your stomach churning. The green of them is deeper than normal, like fresh moss growing over stone.

“I was thinking,” you whisper, breathless. Your pulse races beneath your skin, you wonder distantly if he can hear it too.

“Thinkin’ about what?” he presses, breath fanning over your lips temptingly. 

Your brows furrow, a soft noise escaping you. You can't help but tell the truth. “About you.”

Logan hums, eyes trailing along your face slowly. He slots a knee between your thighs, groaning softly at the wet heat that seeps through to his jeans.

You gasp, hips bucking down instinctively. Your pussy aches desperately, leaking arousal into the cotton gusset of your panties.

His jaw clenches at the sound, muscle ticking just beneath the grey of his beard. “Is that right? You been layin' in that bed, thinkin' about me, gettin’ all worked up?"

Your face burns under his scrutiny, but you don’t shy away. You arch your back, pressing yourself as close to him as possible, letting the heat of your body speak for you.

“Yeah,” you breathe, the confession trembling on your lips. “I need you, it hurts.”

Logan exhales sharply, like the words knocked the air out of him. His hands slide from your shoulders, rough palms gliding down the skin of your arms before settling right under the swell of your breasts.

“Where’s it achin’, baby?” he asks softly, words almost getting lost in the dark of the room. “Show me.”

You let out a soft breath, reaching down to take his hand in yours.

Without breaking eye contact, you guide his hand down your trembling body until his palm rests over the apex of your thighs, where the damp fabric of your shorts clings to your swollen folds.

“Here,” you whisper, voice barely audible above the rain pounding against his window.

A low growl rumbles from deep in his chest, and his fingers press more firmly against you, feeling the slick heat that’s soaked through the thin cotton. His eyes darken further, the green almost swallowed by the black of his pupils.

Logan’s thumb drags over your clit, slow and deliberate, coaxing a needy whimper from your lips.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice thick. “You’re drippin’ for me, aren’t you? Didn’t even need to touch you, and you’re already so fuckin’ wet.” 

You whimper softly, bucking your hips against his hand, desperate for more.

"I've been like this all night," you admit, your voice going high and needy. "Thinking about how good you make me feel. How much I want you."

Logan’s eyes lock onto yours, and there’s something new swirling through them, something you’ve never seen before.

A beat passes—too long—almost agonizing. His free hand lifts from your hip, gently cupping your cheek, fingers brushing against your skin, like he isn’t sure if he has the right to touch you like this. 

His thumb brushes your lip, his gaze flicking to your mouth before returning to your eyes, asking for permission, even though neither of you had ever really needed it before.

"Logan," you say, the sound a little breathless, unsure of how to navigate this sudden shift, but he doesn’t keep you waiting.

He closes the distance in a heartbeat, lips crashing into yours with a ferocity you didn’t expect.

It’s like the world around you falls away, leaving only the warmth of his lips, the taste of him, and the pressure of his body against yours. The raging storm outside dulling until it’s nothing but fuzzy background noise.

His kiss is rough, deep, urgent, but there’s something more in it, a slow unraveling. Like he’s trying to carve himself into you, a permanent mark, a reminder that he was here, even if he never says it out loud.

Logan tastes like rich smoke and whiskey, the sharp edge of him mixing with the sweet burn of need. It sends your head reeling, arms coming up to circle around his neck.

You can’t find the words to describe it, not with the way his fingers slide through the wetness gathering at your entrance, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

Your hips thrust upward, begging for more, your body hungry for the release he’s just out of reach of giving.

“Want you inside me, Logan,” you moan desperately, slick lips brushing his with every word. “Please.”

Logan's body stiffens against yours at the sound of your pleading, his grip tightening on your cheek like he's trying to anchor himself in the reality of what you're asking.

“Shit,” he growls under his breath, his forehead pressing to yours as he closes his eyes. His chest heaves, the tension in his body palpable. "I—" he pauses, struggling to form the words, but you can see it in his eyes. He's conflicted, desperate, yet still hesitant.

You move against him, your body restless, your need undeniable, feeling the rigid outline of his hard cock pressed firmly against your thigh. A thick plane of heat that has your pussy clenching around the tips of his fingers.

You don’t want to push him, not anymore. But you’re past the point of waiting for permission.

Your lips meet his again, softer this time, coaxing, until he finally gives in, groaning against your mouth as he kisses you back with an intensity that steals your breath.

“I want to feel you,” you whisper, your hands trailing down to the hem of his shirt, pushing it over the swell of his pecs. 

His skin is hot under your fingertips, rough and familiar. Your fingers trail lightly across his chest, nails scratching through the salt and pepper hair dusted across his skin as you urge him closer.

“Just the tip,” Logan mutters under his breath, barely above a whisper. His voice hoarse, like he’s bargaining with himself. “Just to make you feel good, but that’s it, understand?”

You bite your lip, the edge of frustration gnawing at you. It’s not everything you need, not everything you want, but it's something. And right now, it’s enough.

You nod your head, hands already moving to the front of his jeans. You undo the button with shaking fingers, tugging the zipper down and pushing the worn denim away. 

His cock springs free, already hard, leaking with the same desperation you feel. You run your fingers along his length, feeling the heat of him, the steady throb of his pulse.

Logan peels down the thin layer of your shorts, cursing under his breath when he finds you completely bare underneath, your slick pussy shining under the dim light.

You watch him, chest heaving, as he stares down at you—his eyes dark and full of something primal, something raw.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his fingers tracing the outline of your wetness. He groans low in his throat, his thumb circling your clit once before moving down, dipping inside you just barely. “You’re perfect, baby.”

“Logan,” you whine, thighs spreading in a clear invitation. You patience is running exceedingly thin, your whole body alight with the feeling of a raging forest fire

“I know,” he mutters, placating. He takes the throbbing length of his cock in his hand, swiftly settling between your legs. “I know.”

The thick head drags through your folds, smearing pre-come along your skin and adding even more to the mess between your legs.

A quiet moan passes through your swollen lips, your muscles tightening as he slides himself along your clit. A slow back and forth movement that sends sparks shooting up your spine.

Logan grits his teeth, his breath shallow, as he finally aligns himself with your clenching hole. 

The air around you feels charged, a taut thread stretched between anticipation and restraint. You shift your hips slightly, just enough to encourage him, your eyes locked on his as you beg him silently with your gaze.

Then, with a low growl that vibrates through you, he pushes forward, just enough to make you gasp in relief, the head of his cock sliding home in your entrance.

And though it’s only the tip, the sensation of him inside you is enough to set your world alight. 

You can feel it, deep in your bones—the simmering, searing heat that makes everything else fade into the background.

Logan presses his lips to your forehead, his breath hot against your skin as he keeps his movements slow, deliberate, his hands holding your hips steady. "This is what you wanted, huh? Got you begging for it, honey," he growls softly. "Even if I’m only givin’ you a taste."

His hips roll languidly, staying true to his word and never sinking deeper than the thick head of his cock. His hand grips the base tightly, his fist fucking slow strokes over the length of himself to where he’s spreading your pussy open.

His scarred knuckles bump against your clit with every stroke, fanning the fire building in your lower stomach.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, honey,” he groans into the skin of your neck, the pace of his hips speeding up ever so slightly. “Feels like heaven.”

You claw at the skin of his back, touch wild and desperate. It takes everything in you not to shift your hips down, to sheath the rest of his cock deep inside your and lock your ankles around his back so he can never leave again.

Logan’s lips find your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he shifts against you. “Tell me you want this,” he says, his voice low, almost a command, yet laced with something tender. “Tell me you want me.”

You meet his gaze without hesitation, your voice steady despite the tremble in your chest. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.” 

The words come out without thought, raw and honest, and you see something in his eyes shift—a flicker of relief, of something deeper than lust.

Logan groans like he got shot, his body shuddering above you as a low growl tears its way from his chest. He fucks into you faster, short, quick thrusts that steal all the breath from your lungs.

Sparks go off behind your closed eyes, bright white and glittering. You can feel yourself getting closer, your body trembling as you grind up against him, meeting him halfway, needing more, needing release.

“Logan,” you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders harder, nails digging in. “I’m so close. Please—”

“Let go,” he growls, his pace increasing, his body pressing harder against yours. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

With his command, you unravel, the world spinning around you as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless, gasping for air, your body quivering beneath him as he holds you through it.

Logan follows, tearing himself from the tight grip of your pussy with a sharp jerk of his hips, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he shoots thick ropes of come over your slick folds.

Your body shakes at the feeling, a breathless whimper pulled from your slack lips at the sticky warmth of his release.

He collapses onto the mattress next to you, his body shuddering enough to match your own. The room falls into a deep silence, the only sounds your mingling breaths and the distant sound of thunder.

A sick sort of dread bursts through the sweet afterglow of your hazy mind, settling in your stomach like a lead weight. You think that this is the moment where Logan will realize what you’ve done, that he’ll retreat back into himself and send you away.

Send you back to your own room and leave you to lay in the cold aftermath of your own recklessness.

You brace for it, the instinct to pull away, to protect yourself from his withdrawal, but it never comes. 

Instead, you feel his strong arm slide over your waist, pulling you closer, his body heat a stark contrast to the chill creeping in from the window.

His breath is warm against your neck as he shifts, his fingers tracing absent circles on your skin in a move that’s so endearingly human it has your chest aching.

"Stay here tonight?" he asks, his voice rough, almost a whisper.

Your heart clenches, tears burning at your waterline at the vulnerability of his tone. It breaks the dam inside you, relief and something dangerously close to love flooding your body in a bursting rush of water.

“Of course,” you murmur, your voice shaky.

Logan’s hand tightens around you, his thumb brushing over your ribs. He presses a soft kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder, settling onto the mattress with a slow breath.

You drift to sleep more relaxed than you’ve felt in years, even with the knowledge of the slow journey that lies ahead of you. It won’t be easy, it never is with Logan. You can’t find it in yourself to care.

Because even though the rain falls, the desert doesn’t bloom overnight. 

And neither do you.

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[macfrog]

homesick

a cowboy like me one shot

oh, i missed these two. here's a little check-in on my favorite morally irresponsible outlaws.

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you spend the weekend back home in austin with joel.

warnings: age gap (early 20s/late 40s), twinge of angst, piv sex in the shower (beware of slippage). you know the drill with these two. part of the cowboy like me universe, but can probably be enjoyed as a standalone.

word count: 6.3k

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“This is Joel Miller. I can’t come to the phone right now, so leave a message and I’ll get back to ya.”

You wait for the beep, pacing along a wall of steel cylinders. The laundromat is stifling, the machines’ drumming deafening. It’s eighty-something degrees out, and it’s only six o’clock.

“Pick up, Miller. Hello? Hello? I know you’re there. Can’t come to the –” you clear your throat, strum the twang in your vocal cords, “– Can’t come to the ph-owww-ne right n–”

The line clicks as he picks the handset up.

“Did you call just to make fun of me, kid?”

You halt, spinning on your heel. “So you were screening me?”

He scoffs. “Didn’t notice the time. I’ve been out back with Tommy.”

“Oh,” you mellow, tongue curling around your ice cream, “We don’t have to call right now, you know. I’m just doing laundry.”

“It is six there, right?”

“Yeah, but don’t let me keep you. Go hang with your brother.”

Joel sighs as he sinks back into his couch. “Keep me. He knows you were calling tonight. He’s probably outside fraternizing with the neighbor, anyway. Won’t even notice I’m gone. Laundry, huh?”

“Mhm.” You suckle on the lip of the waffle cone. “It’s a beautiful night, and I’m stuck being force-fed Mötley Crüe and watching a steel drum shred my panties.”

“Sounds like a good time to me.”

“Enough, cowboy.”

“I like Mötley Crüe,” he chuckles. “They got some hits under their belt.”

“Name five.”

“Five,” he says. “You’re asking a lot there, darlin’.”

“Of Mötley Crüe or of your memory, old man?”

Joel hums. “Should’ve seen that one coming, baby.”

You boost yourself up onto one of the dryers, swinging your legs. If there were anyone else in the laundromat, you’d care to hide your fluster – but you’re here on your own, and the man just melts you. All girlish and giggly, you feel his words swirl around your stomach like sweet honey.

“Tell me about your day,” you say, covering the flutter in your voice with another mouthful of ice cream.

“Well,” Joel says, “weather’s fine, work’s fine. Almost done with that renovation for your favorite clients.”

You gasp. “The old couple with the cats?”

He grumbles. “That’s them. They still hate me, by the way.”

“The couple, or the cats?”

“…Jury’s out.”

You snicker.

“Then, uh, I called Sarah, had some dinner, and now here I am talkin’ to you.”

“Hm. I’m your favorite part, right? I’m your favorite part of today?”

Joel pauses, breathing for a moment. Slow, quiet, but sure, he says: “You’re my favorite part of every day.”

The smile on your face cracks, crumbles into something more pained. Your heart sinks.

It’s been three months since you were last home. Technically, it’s been seven weeks since you were in Austin – but Joel was out of town for the weekend, and you spent four days cleaning your dad’s gutter and watching westerns.

It’s been three months since you were last in Joel’s arms. In his house, in his clothes, in his bed. Three months since you heard his voice not through the crackle of a thousand miles apart; since you smelled him on your skin, not on the flannels you’ve stolen from him.

Three long, tough months.

And it means nothing, anyway. All this missing each other. So you tell yourselves, and so you tell everyone else. You’re not together, you’re not committed. You’ve been seeing other people, so has Joel – even if he’s only been on two dates in the nine months since you moved away.

Spending a casual weekend together here and there is enough to get you by. It’s easier this way, right? It’s cleaner. There are no crossed wires, no strings at risk of becoming tangled.

Only – your entire relationship is woven in tangled strings. Messy, knotted, twisted around your fingers and threaded through your ribs. A summer’s worth of weaving yourselves closer and closer together, only to be pulled apart come fall.

It didn’t take long to prove that when a knot is pulled, it only binds tighter.

It only binds sorer.

“Anyway,” Joel says, “your turn. How was your day?”

You gulp, slipping down from the dryer to check on your wash. If you speak, you’ll break, and if you break, you’ll sob.

“Baby? You still there?”

“Yep,” you croak. You wipe your eyes with your sleeve and shake your head. “I – uh…Yeah, my day was fine.”

The line quietens.

“You sure? Everything okay at work?”

Your reflection blinks back at you in the window of the machine, warped and molten. She opens her mouth and replies, “All good.”

He can read you even three states apart. “Let me call you back. Hold on.”

The call disconnects before you can protest. Over your shoulder, another regular shuffles into the laundromat.

She smiles, skin supple and sun-spotted, looking but not looking you in the eye. She slides her full basket over one of the machines on the other side of the room, and tosses her clothes into the drum.

When your phone vibrates again, you pass by her and out onto the street.

Joel’s pixelated living room stretches across your screen.

“Joel,” you sniff, “Joel, it’s –”

“Can you see me?”

“No, you gotta flip your –”

“…never know why the damn thing don’t –”

“The button with the arrows. The camera button, Joel, it’s –”

His coffee table flips, and in place – straight, dark brows drawn tight in a frown. Crows feet, scar across the bridge of his nose. Peppered hair a little longer than the last time you called, beard a little thicker.

The only person in the world who can weaken your knees and splinter your chest, in one fleeting glance.

“Hi, baby girl,” he whispers, expression softening. “Look at you.”

You slump against the warm wall, sliding down. One sight of him, and your knees give. “Oh, my God, I miss you today.”

Joel laughs. His head cocks, smirk tugging at his lips. “I miss you every day.”

“Yeah, that’s – that’s what I…” you sigh, “…That’s what I meant. It’s just – some days, you feel a little further away.”

“Today one of those days?”

You nod. A car soars by, whipping hot air from the road which pours over your bare legs. “It’s just…been a day. That’s all.”

“We can talk about it, if you want. You’re hell of a lot smarter than me, darlin’, but I’ve had my share of bad days before. Never does any harm to get it off your chest.”

He smiles. It breaks your heart.

He works ten hours straight, some days. Out at the crack of dawn, home with only enough time and energy to nuke something in the microwave. Somewhere amongst that, he fits in beers with Tommy and ridiculous DIY jobs your dad elicits his help for.

And still – he sets aside an hour or two every few nights, specially for you. He collapses into his couch, decaf in his mug, and puts the world to rights with you on the other end of the phone.

The meaningless work dramas, the paper building up on your desk. The commute, for the love of God – the traffic jams you swear will one day be the death of you. The last thing Joel needs is to listen to your problems on end, and you tell him so.

“Bullshit,” he replies. He shakes his head, takes a sip of his beer. “I asked, didn’t I? Talk to me. Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

You groan. “I just…I wish I could turn my brain off. Just for a little while. No meetings, no call times. No helping my dad trim the trees in the yard when I’m home for the weekend.”

He laughs. “He rope you into that one too, huh?”

“Sure did.” You tense your fist, wince at the memory of splinters you were still plucking from your palm even weeks later.

“I got nothing to complain about,” you tell Joel, “I know that. This job is…it’s right where I want to be. Just – sometimes, I miss being back in Austin, following you around Costco and hiding from my dad. It’s like life was simpler then.”

Joel chokes. “I guarantee you,” he coughs, thumping his chest clear of beer, “life was not simpler. Not by a long shot. Goddamn.”

He swings to his feet and wanders across the room to his kitchen. Past his armchair, past the guitar mounted on the wall. Past the dining chair he always hangs his coat from. You know the anatomy of his home better than your own, it feels like.

You sure as hell miss it more than your own.

“Lemme see…” Joel squints over his phone. He leans over his kitchen counter. “What’s next weekend look like for you?”

You shrug. “My weekend off.”

“Nothing planned?”

“Nothing yet.”

He nods. “I’m meeting a supplier on Saturday afternoon, but if you can stand to be without me for a few hours, then…”

His eyebrows lift.

So do yours. “Then…?”

“I can look at flights,” Joel says, “get you booked tonight. Pick you up Friday, drop you off Sunday. Spend the whole weekend with your brain shut off, if that’s what you’re lookin’ for.”

A wave of warmth floods through your chest. Relief, maybe – or simple adoration for the man on the other end of the phone. Most likely, the way it always seems with Joel, it’s both at once.

He loves you. Enough to break every rule in the book. To go behind his best friend’s back for an entire summer. He loves you enough to let you go, watch you follow your wildest dreams, and then be the safety net at the end of each long day, each hard night.

He loves you enough to scratch everything off his calendar for a few days, just to make sure you’re okay. Just to hold you in his arms, heart beating a rhythm he knows better than his own. Just to sing you to sleep, and wake you up with burnt toast and runny eggs.

You pull the collar of your shirt over your nose and weep into the material. “I ever tell you how much I love you?”

He smiles. “Not half as much as I love you.”

“Gross.”

“I know.”

The laundromat door flings open.

Face now flushed and hair scraped back, the woman clocks you immediately and throws a pointed finger in your direction. “Are you coming to get your panties or what, little girl?”

She clicks her teeth and disappears again. The blind hanging over the door rattles with the force it slams closed.

“Guess that’s my cue,” you whisper, heaving to your feet. “Better go get my panties.”

“Why?” Joel’s making his way back outside. “Ain’t like you’re gonna need ‘em.”

You scoff. “Talk later, cowboy.”

Austin welcomes you back with a delayed flight, a screaming seatmate, and a raging headache.

The airport is busy. Loud busy. All chittering couples, hordes of kids with nauseatingly bright backpacks. You drag your suitcase through to arrivals, careful not to trip over the wheels of the stroller ahead.

When you spot his tall, dark figure weaving between bodies, the gate hushes. You move towards him by instinct, parting the crowd as you go. The magnet in your chest senses its partner drawing nearer, and nearer, and nearer.

And nearer, until he’s reaching out. He’s close enough that his hands land on your waist, and it’s the first time in three months that you’ve felt this weight – his weight, the way only he feels – all around you.

Joel pulls you in to his chest. He locks you in, resting his chin on your head.

“Hi, honey.”

You inhale his scent, breathe in the comfort of him. “Hi,” you exhale.

Tears prickle at your eyes. It feels stupid. He looks down at you, thumb swiping across your cheek, and a salty droplet spills.

“How was the flight?” he asks.

“Good.”

“You okay?”

“Perfect, now.”

“You look perfect,” Joel grins, “Look like the sun.”

And you could swat him away, could shrug him and his flirting off. The sun sure as hell doesn’t look stewed in three-hour plane, too tired to move and too clingy to unhook from her dad’s best friend’s arm.

But that’s not what he’s saying, is it?

You do look different. You feel different. You feel brand new. Golden – just like the sun.

These days, it feels like there are two versions of you. One, you’ve spent the better part of a year polishing off – electric and vibrant, eyes wide and head spinning, moving through her day like gliding on air and then collapsing in a heap come nightfall. Chaos with a clipboard and call sheet.

And the other – slower. Steadier. Surer on her feet, simpler in her ways. Dust under her heels and a Texan shine in her smile. Honeylike; moving where her body tells her to go, drinking up the world as she pleases.

There’s a moment, stood under the fluorescent lights of the terminal, where you feel the first give way to the second. Safe now, in Joel’s arms, to slip back into her old, worn boots and shutter her mind – even just for this weekend.

“Come on,” he whispers, wrapping his hand around yours. “Let’s get you home.”

And there never seemed like a better idea than that.

He keeps your things in his shower caddy.

Bottom basket, strictly yours. Shampoo and conditioner and bodywash and a loofah, all exactly where you left them last time you were here. He says it as he cranks the handle, holds his palm under the flow until it’s just right.

“The strawberry stuff…?” Joel nods to the bottle, face screwed.

You gasp. “You don’t like it?”

He shakes his head. “Like it on you. I smelled like a fruit farm for a week, baby.”

“Makes a change from wood trimmings,” you mutter, peeling the shirt from your chest.

Joel glares over his shoulder. “You wanna say that a little louder?”

“No, sir,” you whisper, and step into the cubicle.

The water pours over your head and down your spine, breathing life back into your body. You close your eyes and let it wash down your face. LA feels so distant, so lost to the steam and serenity in Joel’s ensuite.

He lingers in the doorway, watching as you turn under the shower. He smiles when you hold your hand out and flick your fingers.

“Soap, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, dropping it in your palm.

You slip the velvety bar over your skin. The soap lathers in thick, milky bubbles, cascading over your chest down to your hips. Your hands lift from your navel to cup your breasts, pinching your nipples between soft fingers.

Joel’s jaw ticks. He crosses his arms, shoulders tensing. “Easy, darlin’. Dancing with the devil here.”

It burns low in your stomach.

You pass him the bar back. “Maybe I want to dance,” you murmur. “Maybe he does, too.”

His eyebrows lift. “Maybe he does,” he agrees. He trades the soap for shampoo, tapping the bottle against your hip.

The heat grows under your skin. Having him watch, his close eye on you as you wash the suds from your hair and slick bodywash over your skin.

His eyes drift from your chest to your waist, looping up to your soaked eyelashes and dripping bottom lip, diving again between your legs.

Hungry. Starved, even.

Three months of secret photos and sexy phone calls to get you both by. Three months of imagining you, fist around his cock in the dead of night, coating his stomach just with the thought of you.

And right here, right now, in his shower: the real thing. The forbidden fruit. Body hot and skin soaked, just as desperate as he is. Just as needy.

You step forward, reaching for his shoulders. Arms around his neck, dampening the collar of his shirt, you pull him closer.

“Dance with me,” you whisper against his lips, stealing a kiss.

Joel’s gaze darkens. He takes your jaw and tilts your head back. Voice like thunder rolling over you, he warns, “I told someone we’d be somewhere.”

You smile, tugging on the hem of his shirt. “We’re running late. Something’s come up.”

His arms lift and you pull the cotton over his head, tossing it to the floor. He’s the same solid sculpture as always. Strong and wide, torso scattered with hair which thickens across the span of his chest.

He rids himself of his boots and jeans, kicks his underwear off, and joins you under the water. So big that he corners you, so tall that he has to adjust the showerhead.

Pressed up against your body; warm, manly scent raining over you. He’s hard, tucked right by your hip, rutting gently as he steals kiss after kiss.

He’s addicted to it. To you. Has been ever since that first night, the first taste of poison. Has been, probably, since that first glimpse of you last summer. For all the wrong reasons and in all the wrong ways, for better or worse –

You break him open. You make him weak.

Joel groans when you wrap your hand around him. That familiar weight in your grasp. He glances down to watch your slow strokes, fighting back a filthy smile.

“Missed you,” he breathes, voice lost to the patter of the shower. He slips a hand between your legs. “Ain’t gonna last long, are you?”

“Fuck,” you hiss, grinding into his palm. You toy with his bottom lip, nipping at the edges of his smirk. “We got all weekend. Just – just fuck me.”

He hikes your leg over his hip and lines up. A blooming ache when he notches at your hole, tip teasing your entrance.

Your back curls. You wrap your arms around Joel’s neck, whimpering into his chest.

“’s alright,” he kisses your neck, “Just take it nice ‘n slow. Get her used to me again, baby.”

He pushes inside, two heavy hands on your waist. Always in control, always easing you in. He holds you delicately, moving inch by inch, watching the twist of your brow and bite of your lip before sinking in further.

He reaches up and tilts the downpour to the wall. Lifts your fragile body, split in two on his cock, and pushes you against the tile.

Your cunt aches as he slides out. She clamps around his tip. It hurts – but you don’t want to let him go.

“Stay,” you cry, nails digging into his shoulders. “Stay inside me.”

He hums and presses his lips to the hinge of your jaw. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere, baby. I’m right here.”

His hips move forward. Your cunt opens for him the deeper he moves. Like welcoming him home, remembering the way it feels to be this full. The stretch of taking him, the air stolen from your lungs. The love you can never find the beginning nor the end of.

And then he’s moving quicker, sharper, one arm wrapped around your neck to cradle your head. Hips snapping against yours, slowing to a roll when you yelp.

Whispering sweet nothings in your ear – how good you’re taking him, how tight she is. How much he’s missed this, missed her, missed you. Never wants to let you go, never wants to be anywhere except right here, feeding you his cock and watching you come undone.

“Made for me, huh?” Joel grunts. He presses his forehead to yours and slips the words across your tongue. “All mine.”

“All yours,” you echo, weeping under him. The flame catches and curls around your stomach.

The missing piece to the last nine months. The dead-end dates, the hazy hookups. Awkward good mornings, and goodbyes that never seem to come quick enough. Sneaking off home to shower the scent of it away, to replace it with something sweeter.

Him.

Because none of them are him.

They don’t make you laugh and they don’t make you come. They don’t see you, don’t hang on your every word. They don’t – they can’t break your world apart and paint it something new. They don’t know your every move, don’t understand the most fleeting glances.

You could spend forever circling every bar and every diner; what do you do for work and where did you grow up. You could chase the tail of every flannel shirt, search all over for that twinkle in his eye.

They’re not him. They’ll never be him.

Joel coaxes you where he needs you. He fucks you until you’re quivering in his arms, head rolling across his shoulder. His thrusts begin to stall, breathing turns to panting, teeth sink into any part of your skin he can find.

He moans into your neck. The sound nudges you towards the edge.

“I’m close, baby,” he grits, “’m so close.”

You look up at him through tear-soaked eyes.

Three months. Since the last time he touched you, kissed you, fucked you like this. Since the last time he lost control, came deeper inside than anyone before, or anyone since.

Three months since the last time you held him in your hands, lined your lips with his, and begged him to stay in you.

Joel laughs. “Dangerous little game, darlin’.”

But he’s fading. He’s falling under, same as you are.

You want it. You need it. Need to be full of him – that ache when you walk, the warmth leaking down the inseam of your thighs. The feeling of being his, all his; ruined and wrecked in the sweetest way.

“Stay – inside,” you plead. “I want you to – want it so bad.”

“Keep begging, honey. Sound so cute when you’re desperate.”

“Please, Joel,” it’s getting harder to hold, “Just wanna feel you in me –”

“I know, I know,” he shushes.

You tense in his arms, gasping. “I’m gonna – come –”

“So,” Joel smirks, “come.”

And it snaps.

You scream into his chest. Your climax pulls you under, drowns you in a heavy wave of pleasure. Your hips lock, legs clamp around his waist as you cry out.

He plants a hand flat against the tile to steady himself. He holds you still as his own orgasm rolls through, pumping your swollen cunt with each rush of warm release.

You collapse against his body, bubbling and mumbling something incoherent.

He hears you, though.

He shuts the water off and rocks you back and forth. His cock slips from between your legs. “Shh, shh,” lips to your temple, “’s my girl. Such a good girl, baby. So good for me.”

You hum in response and pull yourself upright. You trace the shape of his beard, soaking wet and soft under your touch, following the droplets of water to his chin.

He kisses the tips of your fingers. “I love you,” he says. Chants it like a prayer, leaning closer and closer until his lips are against yours. “Love you more ‘n anything.”

You giggle. “You’re tickling me.”

Joel nuzzles his nose into your neck. He wriggles his fingers under your ribcage. “Can’t get enough of you,” his tongue swipes across your hot skin, “Swear to God, baby, you’re killing me.”

“Joel,” your head falls back with a clap of laughter, “Joel, stop – oh, my God, you have to stop, please – Joel!”

He hoists you onto his hips and turns. Hands still exploring, still pinching and squeezing everywhere they shouldn’t be, he carries you out to his bedroom and drops you onto the mattress.

“Here,” he chuckles, wrapping a towel around your body. He knots it over your chest and rubs your waist, before flopping down onto the bed with a sigh.

You roll over on top of him and fix the dripping hair from his forehead. “Missed you,” you whisper, trailing kisses along his collarbone.

He smiles. His heart flutters beneath yours. “Missed you more,” he says.

His semen drips between your legs. He’s softening against the inside of your thigh. The bed is soaked, sheets that’ll need changed before you sleep tonight. You’re tired, spent, pussy throbbing from the loss of him – and it’s all so perfect.

Being here, with him. Seeing him, feeling him on your body. In your body, for crying out loud. Holding him, kissing him, loving him up close.

It’s fucking perfect.

“What are we running late for?” you ask.

Joel’s eyes flutter open. He cocks his head, frowning.

“You said we had somewhere to be,” you clarify.

“Oh,” he winces, “Uh, your dad’s. He’s havin’ us for dinner.”

“Oh,” you echo. “When is he expecting –?”

He glances at the clock. “Half hour ago.”

“Nice.” You push yourself up, slipping from his grasp. “Well, this is about to be awkward.”

Joel folds his arms behind his head. He tracks your flurried movements: lugging your bag across the floor, tearing through it for an outfit that doesn’t scream, Your best friend just fucked me senseless in his shower.

When you straighten and lift your arms, eyes wide, his lips turn.

“You said you wanted to dance, baby. I was just following orders.”

The sun filters through the leaves, breathing back and forth with the sway of the trees.

You’re horizontal in a deckchair, feet in Joel’s lap, blanket around your shoulders. Full on burgers and baseball talk; if it weren’t for your dad’s riveting conversation about his new lawnmower, you’d probably be asleep.

“Ride-on,” he tells Joel, nodding. It makes gardening a real thrill, apparently. He flicks a hand over the span of the yard. “Whole thing done in less than twenty minutes. Hank says he’s half a mind to make an investment himself.”

Joel purses his lips. He strokes your ankles soothingly. “Sounds like a good buy,” he placates.

Your dad drums on his armrests, admiring his yard some more. He mumbles something about raking the leaves, painting the fence, then – with a vigor that makes you jump, he taps your arm.

“How’s work, kiddo? Still rockin’ ‘n rollin’?”

Your eyes flash across Joel’s. The hell does that even mean?

The corner of his lip twitches. Your guess is as good as mine.

“Yep,” you lie. “Living the dream, Dad.”

Joel says nothing. He hasn’t told your dad why you came home – hasn’t even mentioned the tears outside the laundromat. Your secret is safe with him, you know that. Some puzzles are easier to figure out, the less eyes that are on them.

He hasn’t even brought it up with you yet. Granted, you’ve been home all of four hours, and a solid quarter of that time has been spent naked with him back at his place – but he’s waiting for you to make the first move.

This weekend doesn’t have to be about work. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be about you feeling homesick. It can be as simple as you hadn’t seen your dad for a few weeks, or you heard the news about the damn lawnmower and just had to pay a visit.

It’s what you’ve always loved so much about Joel. It’s what reeled you into him in the first place.

He just lets you be. No questions, no pressure, no worries. He knows you’ll figure it out – you always do. And if he knows that, then it makes you believe in it, too.

Dad sinks back into his chair with a sigh. “What’s on the cards this weekend, then?”

“Joel’s down San Antonio way tomorrow,” you yawn, “Some supplier meeting.”

“You don’t feel like a road trip?”

Your eyes roll to Joel. He’s already staring back. You cock an eyebrow, smirking into your glass.

His shoulder rolls in a shrug. “Your call, chief,” he says, tipping his drink to you.

The minute he mentioned the meeting last week, you knew you’d be tagging along. Two hours each way and an hour in between is too big a chunk of your weekend together to miss out on.

That – and you’ve missed Joel’s front-seat singing.

It doesn’t matter what you planned on doing – rolling around his bed for three days straight, driving to San Antonio and back. Hell, trimming your dad’s trees and cleaning his guttering.

As long as you’re doing it with Joel, it’s enough.

It’s what you came home for in the first place.

The drive passes quickly enough. Joel’s truck doesn’t have Bluetooth, and he only keeps three discs in his glove compartment: Don McLean’s American Pie, a Guitar Classics compilation album, and a blank disc with SARAH MILLER, SECOND GRADE scrawled in Sharpie.

He whips it from your hands when you fish it out of the compartment.

“Listen, listen to this,” Joel says, slotting it in the tray. “Found it a couple weeks ago. I listen to it when I’m drivin’ to work.”

Her squeaky, seven-year-old voice punches through the cabin. “Welcome to my presentation –” she roars into the mic, pausing when a voice picks up in the background. “Huh?” Sarah asks.

“You’re holdin’ the mic too close,” Joel murmurs, almost fourteen years younger. “Farther. Farther,” he says, and then – “Alright. Go.”

“Welcome to my presentation on Amelia E-Earhart,” she resumes, clearing her throat. “She…Oh, Daddy, we gotta restart. I forgot to tell ‘em my name.”

Joel covers his laughter with his fist, reciting it line for line. “Tommy said he’s gonna make her a copy for her birthday,” he says.

“Oh, my God. She’s gonna hate you guys, you know that, right?”

He nods. “I’m countin’ on it.”

Sarah rounds off a few facts about twentieth century air travel before Joel swaps her for the radio. He hands you the disc and you place it safely back in the glove compartment.

You curl up in the passenger seat, swinging your legs over to his lap.

He rubs your calves and glances over, smiling. “You okay over there?”

“I’m more tired than I was when I landed,” you reply, and he laughs.

You haven’t had much of a chance to catch up on sleep. The second you made it home last night, your dress was on the floor at the foot of Joel’s bed. He woke you this morning with his lips on your thighs, your underwear around your ankles.

He was midway through cooking breakfast when you floated into the kitchen to return the favor. The toast burned, the eggs shriveled to a crisp, and your knees bruised.

Fuck it, right? You’ll miss him when you’re gone. When all that’s left are the memories, and the sound of his climax through speakerphone.

An afternoon spent on the road is good recovery time, then, for all that’s waiting for you when you make it back to Joel’s tonight.

A few off-key covers of fifty number ones from the last fifty years later, you’re pulling into a barren lot headered by a beige trailer. The supplier springs out – a beefy guy with a full head of thick, white hair. He crosses the lot as Joel parks up.

Joel rounds the truck, pausing when he spots you lingering at the tailgate. He curves a hand around your neck, thumb circling over your pulse point. “You comin’?”

You twist the hem of your tee around your finger. “Maybe I’ll stay out here and wait. It’s a nice night, and you ain’t gonna be too long, right?”

He shakes his head. “Be as fast as I can. If it gets dark out, you come inside, alright?”

You shuffle into his embrace. “Promise.”

He kisses your head and steps back. “Here,” he slips the flannel from his shoulders, “If you’re sittin’ out. Got my phone if you need me.”

He disappears inside and the door falls closed. A cluster of moths twirls around the light on the trailer’s side. You hop up on the bed of the truck, crossing Joel’s shirt around your frame, and nestle against the back window.

The sun pulls down towards the horizon, sending dregs of daytime in ripples to the stars. She’s still alight just beyond the trees, still burning a hole in the sky. She winks at you from a distance.

The world looks different from Austin. Bigger, like the view from your bedroom window. There’s always more, just beyond the horizon. There has to be more, right? More than four pink walls and a chest of drawers. More than Sal’s store, more than Rita’s cross stitch.

You chased that more halfway across the country – only to realize it was in your hands the whole time.

Him and his lazy smile, sarcasm as thick as the accent he speaks it in. Rolled up sleeves and messy collar; a half-empty cup of coffee and a cracked watch face.

He’s all the more you could ever need.

You’re still perched on the tailgate, staring skyward, when Joel finishes up.

He swaggers across the lot, tan arms speckled with dry dirt, boots kicking up dust. He tosses a fistful of papers in the front seat, then drifts around to settle between your knees.

“Hi,” he whispers, tucking his nose under your jaw.

“Hi.”

He plants his hands either side of your hips and kisses your neck. “Home time, sweet girl.”

You glance over your shoulder.

This time tomorrow, you’ll be on your flight back. Row twelve, seat C. Joel’s flannel over your shoulders, slowly forgetting the scent of him, mile by mile. You’ll sleep with it tucked under your chin until it no longer smells like oak or pine, or the mint bodywash he uses.

You’ll miss it the way you’ll miss him. Holding onto every last moment. Deep morning voice, warm, safe embrace. The rumble of a laugh in his chest, the glimmer or mischief in his eye. The touches he saves just for you; the words he whispers when the lights turn out.

You wrap your arms around his neck.

“Can we go watch the sunset somewhere?”

Joel glances off behind you. His eyes flit back to yours, sunlight catching their ochre and setting him ablaze.

“Get in,” he pulls you down, “I know just the spot.”

It’s almost dusk by the time you reach the outlook.

A twisty dirt road which opens up between some trees, halfway out of the city. Joel reverses the truck and parks in the clearing. The two of you slide onto the tailgate, sharing a bag of fruit gums he had stored alongside Sarah’s CD.

The stars turn one by one, dotted across deep indigo. The last of the day’s blush still lingers where the city meets the sky. Tucked between trees and twilight, it feels as though you’re the only two in the world.

Joel holds the bag out, and you pinch a couple pieces of candy. “How you feelin’?” he asks, looking out to the skyline.

“Okay, I guess,” you mutter. “This has been a nice reset. I wish I could take you back with me.”

Joel laughs. “I don’t.”

“No?” you suckle on the sweet fruit, “I think you’d fit right in.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” He shakes his head, pinching your chin. “Naw, LA is yours. It’s something you did, all by yourself. I am so proud of you, honey, do you know that? I mean, I miss you like hell, I really do…”

He glances back down, rustling the bag in his hands. He’s hiding, you know him well enough. Staring at his lap instead of in your eye. When he looks back up, there’s a glimmer along his waterline.

“…But the way I feel any time you call, and I know…I know you’re out there doin’ something you actually give a shit about. You ain’t stuck here, too big for your own bedroom, too comfortable for anywhere else.”

He slips a hand over your knee and squeezes.

It’s infuriating, how right he always is. You’re working your fucking ass off, and for good reason. Austin was always too small for the world inside your head. Missing each other is a price you’re both willing to pay, for the luxury of not missing out on every dream you’ve ever had.

But –

“What if it keeps getting harder?” you sniff, “What if I need you more?”

Joel clicks his teeth. “’s always gonna get harder. That’s life, darlin’. But the hard times won’t last forever. And when it feels real tough, and you feel like you can’t do it no more, you call me. You jump on the next flight. You switch your brain off, and you let me take care of you for a little while.”

You shake your head. Tears break loose, rolling down your cheeks. “I can’t ask that of you, Joel, you got your own shit to worry about –”

“Baby.” He sighs. “I’m old. I’ve done everything I think I oughta do. You know, the days I know you’re gonna be callin’ at eight o’clock – it’s all I can think about. I’m at work checking my watch every five minutes.”

You giggle, turning into the crook of his arm.

“It’s true,” Joel snickers, “I’m like a goddamn teenager. That’s what you do to me.”

He catches you and pulls you against his chest.

“What I’m saying is – there ain’t nothing that matters more to me in the world than you. My own shit to worry about? You mean – you?”

“Shut up,” you scoff, spitting tears into his shirt.

“You call,” he says, resolute, “and I’ll be there.”

“I’m calling,” you whisper. “I’m always calling.”

“Then I’m always here.”

You sit back, bracing yourself on Joel’s thighs. He wipes the wet from your cheeks and fixes his shirt over your shoulders.

“You know, one day,” you tell him, “you’re gonna get a call, and it’s not just gonna be for the weekend.”

He smiles. “I know.”

“One day, I’m gonna come home forever, Joel.”

“I know,” he repeats. “And I’ll be on the front porch waitin’.”

[ashes-of-rozes]

AFAB!Pregnant Wife

Telling the batfam you’re pregnant (it’s Bruce’s)

Bruce:

You’re nervous as hell. He has four adopted kids, one biological, and three more that aren’t his but are his at the same time. You just got engaged a month ago. He’s going to think you’re baby trapping him. But just get it over with. Like ripping off a band-aid.

“I’m pregnant.”

He stares at you for a long moment. You’re pretty sure he’s not breathing. Way to fuck up the rest of my life—

He sweeps you off your feet. Literally. He holds you tight. But not too tight. He doesn’t want to hurt the baby. “How long,” he murmurs, pampering soft kisses along your neck. “About eight weeks. But I just found out last night,” you answer. He beams. You’ve never seen him light up so fast. So bright.

“You’re carrying our child?” A simple nod is all it takes.

He comes back from patrol a little earlier, is a little extra careful to not get hurt so he can take care of you. And if he was spoiling you before? It’s so much worse now.

Dick:

“You had something important to tell me? Are you okay? Is Bruce being Bruce again? Because I swear—“

“I’m pregnant.” You blurt out. Dick stares at you. “Is it his?” You’re a little offended but you can see the smile forming on his face. “Of course it’s his,” you defend. Dick laughs, wide and happy. His shoulders are relaxed for the first time in a while. “I’m happy for you. Is he smothering you already?”

So you bond over Bruce’s excessive need to spend his insane amount of money on everything.

But Dick does it too. If he sees a toy or an outfit he thinks you’ll like? Bought. He saw a collection of baby clothes based off of hero’s, bought the Nightwing ones all the way up to 2T and had them delivered to the manor.

Bruce was not happy.

Tim:

“You’re pregnant.”

“What,” you ask, “How did you even—“ “You haven’t touched alcohol at dinner for days. You’re constantly hydrating. And anytime you’re anxious, you hold your belly. It’s not rocket science,” he explains. You can see the bags under his eyes but he’s smiling, “You know that baby is going to get spoiled to hell, right?”

A nod.

He snorts, “Good. Cause as soon as they’re old enough to walk, they’re in Uncle Tim’s hands. I am going to teach them to kick Damian’s ass.” He leaves before you can say anything.

It could’ve gone worse.

Damian:

“I’m pregnant.”

This is the most nerve racking one. He’s the ‘blood son’. He’s always screaming it. Even if it is a little adorable how he uses it, you’d never tell him that. He stares at you for a long moment. “Does father know?”

“Yes.”

A long pause. He continues to stare at you. He’s harder to read than Bruce. “Can I teach them to sword fight,” he asks. It’s softer than his usual tone and there’s a soft pink on his cheeks that you really want to tease about but won’t. “Can you wait till they’re at least five or six,” you ask.

What even is my life?

He nods, “That’s acceptable.” Another pause. Then a small upcurl of his lip, “Congratulations.”

Jason:

He finds out through the media.

Not for lack of trying. But he hasn’t returned your texts or calls asking to speak to him. You know he cares a simple 911 or help and he’d be there in an instant but asking to talk? Yeah. No.

He storms into the batcave, spots you with a hand on your stomach and sipping water. He’s pissed.

“You didn’t tell me.”

Dick drags Tim away to give you two privacy. His face softens just enough to ease the tension in the air, “How far along?” “About nine weeks,” you reply. He sighs, “Do you need anything? Nausea medicine? A new future husband-slash-father?” That gets a small laugh from you.

Jason sighs and smiles, reaching for his gun. “Do you know how to use this?”

“No, but—“

He shoves the gun in your hand, “I’m teaching you. The media knows Bruce Wayne’s wife is pregnant. If we can’t get to you, you and the baby have to stay safe.”

So he teaches you to use a gun. Then personally gifts you one at your baby shower months later.

Bruce is not happy.

[salsakiyoomi]

ex! nanami who comes to you drunk.

it was a mistake, really. he shouldn't have let satoru convince him to go out for drinks, and he shouldn't have drank so much, and most of all, he shouldn't have come to you at three am, drunk out of his mind.

you were awake, of course. nanami knew that you’d be awake, and maybe that's part of the reason he found himself going to you.

besides the fact that he missed you of course.

the knocks that come at your door are languid and soft, you almost think you imagined it but nope, they come again and this time you sure you heard it.

you get up and head towards the door quietly, before opening it just an inch to see who it is, only to be met with a familiar mop of blonde hair.

nanami looks at you and your breath hitches because he's as beautiful as you remember — although he looks a little unkempt, with his tie loosened and his hair a mess with red blooming on his cheeks, and god, you could kiss him right now.

no, nope. you shouldn't be thinking like that, he's your ex now.

“nanami.” you utter out and he tries to pretend that the usage of his last name doesn't send a pang through his heart.

“y/n.” he says, looking at you with those stupidly beautiful brown eyes of his that you can't possibly resist.

“what-what are you doing here?!” you exclaim, sort of agitated that he came to your apartment at three am, “and — oh my god, are you drunk?”

he gulps, “sort of. can i come in?”

you hesitate. the logical thing would be to tell him no, that he wasn't allowed at your place anymore and that he wasn't welcome to your hospitality, that the both of you were an old story now. but the emotional thing? the emotional thing would be to let him in and take care of him, shower him and get him into more comfortable clothes and —

“okay.” you say, opening the door wider for him to come in.

he stumbles in, and you help support him and god, just feeling the warmth of his body against yours brings back old memories that you've long since buried.

you guide him to the couch where he plops down on it.

“what got you so out of character?” you ask, almost shyly as you shift from one foot to another, trying not to look at his lips.

“gojo.” he simply says, sighing.

“...right.” you mumble, unsure of what to say before you quickly head to the kitchen, ignoring your racing heart.

nanami, on the other hand? he's definitely having cardiac arrest.

because you look as ethereal and soft as he remembered — of other-worldly beauty that he could not comprehend yet he sees you as you approach him with a glass of water in your hand.

“here.” you say, handing it to him and he gulps, his fingers brushing against your knuckles so subtly yet enough to make his heart flutter.

he doesn't know what made him come to you — maybe it was the fact gojo ditched him, or the fact you lived so close to the bar he was at, or maybe the simple fact that he just missed you, and longed to see you again.

he gulps down the water, trying to keep his eyes off of you.

a few moments of silence pass and he can feel your gaze boring into him.

“i can tell you have something to say.” he mumbles, finally looking up to meet your gaze as you shyly look away — he smiles at your bashful self, “what is it you have to say?”

“uhm…” you stammer, “just, uh, what brought you here?” 

nanami stiffens but he knows you'd emerge an answer, after all, it's been almost nine months since your initial break up, and this is the first time he ever broke ‘no contact.’

“right.” he mutters, “just…had nowhere else to go.”

“oh.” you utter — it's a blatant lie, you know that, and you know it was just a stupid excuse to see you, yet you don't call him out on it.

after all, maybe, just maybe you wanted to see him too.

“right, oh.” he hums, getting up from the couch, “i should probably go.”

“no!” you blurt out before you could think. 

“...no?” he questions, raising an eyebrow.

“just, uhm…” you stutter, fiddling with your fingers, “it's pretty late and quiet out there, and uh, you have nowhere else to go and uhm, y'know —” you cut yourself out, sighing, “just stay the night, nanami.”

he chuckles to himself — you've always been a stuttering mess whenever you were shy or so, and this was definitely one of those occasions.

“right, of course.”

nanami thinks that he misses you, like a lot, more than he can describe. but he also knows that this entire break up was his fault.

if only he hadn't overworked so much, then maybe things would be different now.

“thank you,” nanami finally says after a moment, “for your hospitality.”

“don't thank me.” you mumble, “just make yourself comfortable, okay?”

“...okay.”

“goodnight.” you say softly.

nanami smiles, “goodnight.”

he may have lost you for the long term, but for tonight? he'll just dwell on this interaction, because at least he got to see you one more time.

one more time before he went off to shibuya.

but he promises himself, he promises himself that after he's done with whatever in shibuya, he’ll come back to you.

he'll make you his again.

tagging : @deathofacupid since you asked me to tag u babes :3 <33

[theonottsbxtch]

Can we get part 2 of secret sister by any chance? loved it

Secret Sister Part Two | OP81

a/n: i need you to know that i sat in my bed giggling and kicking my feet when i saw this and i’m currently sat in the airport at 6:35 am giggling writing this 🤍

fc: sophia birlem & pinterest photos

requests: open

ynnorris

liked by oscarpiastri, yourbestfriend, mclaren and 1826 others

hungry for hungary 🦁

*tap to load comments*

yourbestfriend: that caption gave me the ick

ynnorris: you love me

yourbestfriend: i really don’t know why i do

userone: shes going to watch the gp!!!

usertwo: begging for cute oscar photos

userthree: look at her watching quali 🥹

logansargeant: first gp?

ynnorris: yessir

logansargeant: enjoy!

userfour: why is oscar holding her upside down?

oscarpiastri: dragging her away from build a bear

ynnorris: you and i are not friends anymore

landonorris: there is NO way i just found out you’re coming to the gp VIA INSTAGRAM

whatsapp

f1wags

liked by userone, usertwo, userthree and 9,782 more

new spotting in the paddock! lando norris’ newly revealed sister and oscar’s girlfriend👀? lando introduced his sister to the world on her 21st over 8 months ago for safety and privacy reasons. her and her brother’s teammate hit it off quite quickly after that, making his first move in norris’ comment section. the two of them keep their relationship as private as they can but we can’t deny that when they do feed us the crumbs, we love all of it. according to yn, this is her first ever gp. can’t wait to see oscar and her together!

*tap to load more comments*

userone: has anyone checked in on lando?

yourbestfriend: he’s throwing up in the toilet rn

usertwo: it’s nine months of their relationship in a week plz😭

yourbestfriend: he still complains

userthree: ahhh cant wait to see her!

userfour: hopefully i meet her 🙂

userfive: the IT couple

ynnorris

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, yourbestfriend and 8,462 more

so so proud of my boys <3

*tap to load more comments*

oscarpiastri: love you 🤍🧡

userone: someone tell her she’s gotta pick a side

usertwo: mclaren did lando so dirty

userthree: guys she can support both her brother and boyfriend

userfour: dickrider

landonorris: love you lil sis x

userfive: how can you post this knowing mclaren stole a win off your brother and gave it to your boyfriend

*comments have been disabled*

oscarpiastri

liked by ynnorris, landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 16,837 others

my first f1 win, couldn’t have done it without a lot of people but my pr manager said i had to keep this short and sweet

*tap to load more comments*

ynnorris: congratulations my love 🤍🧡

landonorris: congrats mate!

userone: you were done so dirty oscar

usertwo: lando deserved that win

userthree: fuck mclaren

maxverstappen1: well deserved!

userfour: lol

*comments have been disabled*

landonorris

liked by ynnorris, oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1 and 19,268 more

well deserved win for osc, spa next 🔜

*comments have been disabled*

phone call between lando and yn

l: yn? are you okay it’s 3am?

y: lando i’m scared

l: what’s wrong? are you in your hotel room?

y: i’m in oscar’s but i don’t want to wake him up, i’m in the bathroom

l: what’s wrong?

y: i keep recieving really mean messages and even some death threats, i should have listened to you and not made my account public i’m so sorry for not listening to you lan-

l: yn it’s okay, it’s not your fault, unfortunately this is what comes with this sport.

y: i’m scared

l: listen i want you to wake up oscar and tell him how you’re feeling right now. he’ll be able to comfort you right now, tomorrow morning we’ll speak to our pr and see what they say but try and get some sleep, wipe your tears and wake osc up okay?

y: i’m so sorry

l: you didn’t do anything wrong, i’m sorry you’re feeling the brunt of our stuff.

y: love you lan

l: love you ynn

oscar’s hotel room 3:17am

Picking herself up off the floor, yn glanced at her reflection in the dimly lit mirror. She wiped away the tears that had been streaming down her cheeks, wincing slightly at the redness that had set in. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself, and attempted to make her face look presentable. With a final sigh, she opened the bathroom door and stepped into the dark bedroom. Her eyes softened as she took in the sight of Oscar, lying peacefully in bed, his face serene and calm.

Despite the turmoil inside her, she couldn't help but smile at how adorable he looked, lost in his dreams. Pushing her guilt and insecurities aside, she made her way over to his side of the bed. Gently, she reached out and tapped his shoulder. "Osc."

Oscar stirred slightly, his eyes remaining closed. "Yeah?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. "You okay?"

Yn hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to begin. "I..." she faltered, then continued, "No, not really." Oscar opened his eyes just a fraction, enough for her to see the concern etched in his sleepy gaze. "I saw what people were saying about me online, and—"

Before she could finish, Oscar reached out and pulled her into the bed beside him. She sat at the edge, struggling to hold back more tears as he gently took her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. He let out a soft, disappointed sigh. "I'm so sorry you had to see that."

"It's not your fault," she replied, shaking her head.

"And it's yours?" he countered gently. The way he said it made her realise how misplaced her thoughts had been. "Come here." He pulled her into his arms, and she nestled against him, feeling the warmth and safety of his embrace. Oscar held her tightly, as if trying to shield her from the cruel world outside.

"They were really mean," she whispered, her voice cracking.

"I know," Oscar murmured, his breath warm against her bare shoulder. "Unfortunately, it's something we drivers get used to, but it's always rough for someone new to the world of F1."

She let out a small, breathy laugh. "Talk about being new to the world, quite literally." A faint smile tugged at her lips. "Lando said he’d talk to his team tomorrow."

"We'll talk to the team tomorrow," Oscar corrected softly. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes. "Hey, how about you tell me about your new project? You haven't mentioned it yet." His tone was gentle, encouraging, as if trying to distract her from her worries.

Yn looked at him, her heart swelling with love. The tears that had threatened to spill moments ago were now replaced by a shy, bashful smile. "Have I ever told you I love you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Oscar's eyes sparkled with affection. "Once or twice, I'm sure, but definitely not enough."

A warm, contented feeling settled over her. "I love you, Osc."

He smiled, leaning in to kiss her forehead tenderly. "I love you too, more than anything." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and added, "No matter what anyone says, you are amazing, and I'm so proud of you."

ynnorris

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, yourbestfriend and 8,172 others

this past weekend was tough on both mclaren drivers, decisons were made and oscar and lando are both excellent and talented drivers. lando is my brother and oscar is my boyfriend and best friend, there will never be a day where i chose between the two of them when they’re on a podium. i love them both so deeply and i will never pick a favourite.

*comments have been disabled*

oscarpiastri

liked by ynnorris, landonorris, logansargeant and 19,632 others

spa next weekend and summer break with this one

*only some users may comment*

landonorris: good riddance, she’s driving me up the wall

yourbestfriend: why are you always carrying her like that?

oscarpiastri: she can’t be trusted with money

ynnorris: love you 🤍🧡

[ceoofglytchell]

So this is love

| Part 2 | Part 3 |

Summary: From the moment you took your first breath, you were meant for each other. You are his twin, the missing part of his soul, and Aegon swore to himself that he would do anything in his might to make you happy.

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Twin Sister!Reader

Word count: 4355 words

Warnings: Incest, Reader has Targaryen features, tooth rotting Fluff, brief description of a birth, forced underage marriage, idiots in love, suggestive themes, brief mention of smut, talks of possible infertility, no mention of Y/N

Notes: I am late as usual, sorry. Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated 💛

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

Alicent Hightower never expected to give birth to twins in her first pregnancy, but the gods seemed to have had a plan.

The midday sun shone high in the sky above King's Landing and warm rays of sunlight streamed through the windows as the young queen let out one last painful cry and suddenly an even more shrill, high-pitched scream cut through the air. The cry of a newborn echoed through the chamber and Alicent fell back onto the pillows, exhausted, relief spreading through her.

A maester held the screaming, bloody bundle in his arms, a gentle, almost fatherly smile spreading across his old features. Her husband was not in the room to assist her with the birth. Neither was Rhaenyra.

"It's a boy, Your Grace," the older man in the white robe and the many chains around his neck told the young wife, causing tears of joy to run down her cheeks. The birth had been quick, thank the gods, and she would not have to go through that ordeal again.

The king now had a male heir to the throne.

But suddenly another stabbing pain ran through her abdomen. At first Alicent thought it was the afterbirth, but that was not the case. Her hand found the curve of her rounded belly again and, with wide eyes in shock, she realized that the little boy was not the only one that had been growing inside her for nine months.

"There... there's another one," gasped the young Hightower, whimpering in pain.

The maester immediately handed the boy over to one of the midwives who were in the far corner of the chamber. He hurried back to his queen and looked between her thighs. She was right. There was indeed a second child.

Twins.

"The gods have blessed you, my queen. They are twins," said the maester as he helped her get into the right position again.

Alicent just hoped that the second time would be over just as quickly. A few minutes of pain and then joy. She did not want to lie bleeding and torn on the sheets like Viserys' first wife.

A cloud obscured the sun in the sky and Alicent burst into tears for the second time that day and screamed with all her might as she tried with all her might to bring her Lord Husband a second miracle. She did not know where he was, or if he even knew that she was giving birth to his children, but she hoped that he would be happy in the end. She had done her duty. If he was merciful, he would be happy with two children.

Minutes passed and suddenly the time had come. A second shrill scream echoed through the chambers and mixed with the cries of the little boy who was busy screaming his little lungs out.

The young queen held her breath as the maester took the second bundle in his arms to check that it was healthy. A minute passed and he looked down at her with another smile, although this one was a little more polite than the previous one.

"A girl," he finally stated, wrapped the newborn in soft cloths and handed the little one over to the queen.

At the same time, the midwife approached from the other side and placed the boy in her other arm. Full of love and with tears of joy in her eyes, Alicent Hightower looked down at her twins.

They were beautiful. Two little angels with silver hair and purple eyes. They would need names.

Suddenly the door opened and King Viserys, first of his name, hurried in with an excited glint in his tired eyes. But instead of immediately going to his wife's side to ask about her or to look at the newborns, he turned to the maester, who was a good friend of his.

She didn't hear his question, but she heard the older man's answer: "A boy and a girl, my king. Twins."

Viserys whispered something else and the maester quickly replied: "The boy, your grace."

She could guess what he asked. Who was out first?

Her husband let out a sigh of relief and only then did he approach the birthing bed and look at the two sleeping babies that his wife was holding in her arms.

"They are beautiful, my wife. You did very well," Viserys finally said, brushing a wet strand of hair from the queen's face.

"They will need names, husband," she replied wearily, looking up at him with uncertain brown eyes.

"We will call the boy Aegon. A strong name. He will honor the Conqueror's name."

Alicent looked down at the baby she held in her right arm. Aegon. A weight came with that name and it seemed as if the little life which only saw the light of day for a first time a few minutes ago, has already faded away to some extent.

"And the girl..." Viserys hesitated for a moment before finally saying your name. It was a beautiful name and suited you. It didn't have the same weight as Aegon's, but it was still meaningful.

The young queen smiled gently and pressed a kiss to your forehead and that of your twin.

That day the whole court had a reason to celebrate. Finally there was a male heir to the Iron Throne.

"Aegon, give it back, it's mine!" you shouted loudly as you ran after your twin through the dark corridors of the Red Keep.

Servants quickly moved aside and knights of the Kingsguard just sighed as the young Prince Aegon ran past them, closely followed by his younger twin sister, as if the stranger himself was on their heels.

You had only recently had your fourteenth name day, but you still chased each other and played with each other like you were little children who had only recently discovered the joy of play and fun.

Aegon held a pink silk hairband in his hand that your little sister Helaena had given you for your name day. It wasn't much or anything special, but because it came from her it was all the more special. Aemond had given you a small wooden dragon figurine that sat on your nightstand and would hopefully never fall into Aegon's clumsy hands.

"Go get it!" he called over his shoulder, laughing, whereupon you uttered a little curse that you certainly shouldn't know at your age.

Aegon ran sharply around a corner and slammed into something hard. He fell back to the floor and lay there for a few seconds, staring up at the ceiling and still holding the hairband in his fist.

Without looking where exactly you were running to, you ran around the corner as well. You suddenly saw a large figure in front of you, but before you could stop, you tripped over something lying on the floor and fell down just like that, breathing heavily and looking at the ceiling.

"Have you gone mad?!" shouted Ser Criston Cole and immediately knelt down next to you. Apparently you had overlooked the knight.

Aegon giggled and looked at the older man with an amused expression in his bright violet eyes, whom he sometimes saw more as his own father than the king. "Sorry."

The prince was about to stand up again when you suddenly jumped onto his stomach and tried as best you could to pull your hairband out of his hand: "Give it to me, Aegon!"

"Say it nicely!" he replied and only gripped the hairband tighter while you pulled on the ends.

"Fuck you!" you replied, whereupon Ser Criston could no longer look away, grabbed you by the hips and carried you away from your twin.

"Let me go, please! He stole my hairband," you explained, struggling against the knight's grip like a wildling behind the wall.

"Did he now?" he said with a sigh and looked down at Aegon, who slowly sat up again. His silver hair was disheveled and fell in wild strands over his face. Yours looked no different.

"Perhaps," the boy replied with a shrug.

"You should give it back to her, my prince. She's your sister," Cole said and slowly let go of you, but he kept a hand on your shoulder to be safe. He didn't want to risk another attack.

He bit his tongue, suppressing an unkind comment that would have called him either a fool or an idiot. But he wouldn't have meant it that way. You were his twin. You were one and the same soul that the gods put into two bodies.

"Fine," Aegon finally said and threw you the hairband, which you immediately accepted with a sigh of relief.

Ser Criston let go of your shoulder again, as he was very sure that the danger was now averted and that the twins would not jump at each other's throats. Especially not because he was already aware of what lay ahead. The queen had planned it together with her father and the king.

"Daughter!" a worried voice suddenly called from the side.

A green dress and fox-red hair appeared in your field of vision and you immediately felt two hands resting on your shoulders and brown eyes searching your gaze. The queen was obviously concerned about the state of your blue dress and silver hair.

Alicent ran her worried gaze over her firstborn daughter's face, looking for any scratches or bruises, but thank the gods you seemed to be fine. Only when she had made sure of this did she look at her son, who was standing not far away from her and staring at the floor.

She did not check him for wounds or minor injuries.

"Ser Criston? What happened here?" the queen asked her sworn protector with a tired sigh.

"The princess chased the prince through the corridors, Your Grace. It was a game between children," the Dornish man explained to her calmly so that there would be no confusion. As much as he valued the queen, he knew that she could get moody at times. Especially when it came to the king's firstborn son.

"Then why is her dress dirty?" Alicent asked, trying to brush some of the dirt off her daughter's skirt with the palm of her hand.

"The prince stumbled while escaping and the princess then stumbled over him," Cole continued. He was honest, but knowingly left out the argument and the fact that the boy stole his sister's gift to annoy her. He didn't want to give her any reason to worry or reconsider her decision.

Alicent sighed and shook her head at Aegon, who actually couldn't do anything about this little accident. Except, of course, that he stole your hairband.

"Well, I wanted to talk to you both anyway."

You looked curiously at your mother and raised a silvery eyebrow, while your twin just tilted his head.

"Of course, mother," you answered politely. "What is it?"

The Green Queen shook her head and gently placed a hand on your shoulder. The subject was too private to discuss with you here in the middle of the hallway. It was a difficult subject, but it was necessary for both of you to know about it.

"Come with me, you two. Ser Criston, you too," Queen Alicent ordered, turning and walking towards her chambers, which were not far from this corridor. She gently pulled you along by your shoulder, while Criston made sure that Aegon followed as well and would not run away again.

Once in the queen's chambers, Ser Criston closed the heavy wooden doors so that the queen could be alone with her firstborns. He already knew what was coming and it would probably get loud in not too long.

For a moment, the room was plunged into a loud, uncomfortable silence, with the chiming of birds and the distant ringing of bells the only sounds.

"Your father and I have made a decision," Alicent began with a serious expression, folding her hands in front of her stomach. "You will soon be adults and we are already receiving letters about potential marriage alliances."

Aegon's shoulders visibly tensed and you could feel your eyes widening.

A marriage? Now? It was still too early...

"In order to ensure that House Targaryen remains strong in future generations, we have decided to marry you both to each other."

For the young prince, it feels as if all the wind had just been knocked out of his lungs and as if a whole herd of wild horses had trampled over him. He did not want to marry. You were his twin sister and he loved you, even if you could be annoying at times, but was that love enough to want to be your Lord Husband?

Just like your brother, you were at odds with yourself and were lost in the deepest recesses of your thoughts, torn. He was your twin brother and your souls were already one. You always knew, even when he was feeling bad, you knew exactly when he needed you and now you would be bound to each other forever.

As husband and wife.

You found your voice first: "And when will it be, mother? When will we get married?"

A soft sigh escaped your mother and she scratched the back of her hand with her short, bitten nails as if she was nervous or under immense pressure. It almost seemed as if she didn't want this any more than they did.

"In a fortnight."

Time passed faster than you could have ever imagined. One day your mother had stroked your long silver hair soothingly while she told you about her own wedding and suddenly you were standing in front of the mirror while your maids stood behind you, lacing up the bodice of your ivory wedding dress.

The dress was beautiful. The fabric was white and there were small gold decorations on the chest, hips and sleeves. Your hair was tied in a braid and around your neck you wore a gold chain with a green gem in the middle - a gift from your mother.

You looked pretty. You just hoped that your twin would see it the same way.

Aegon couldn't believe his eyes when you entered the sept and your father, King Viserys, gently led you by the hand to the altar.

Although he still didn't want this marriage, he couldn't ignore the warmth that spread in his chest when he saw you and a lump formed in his throat.

You were beautiful.

"I am hers and she is mine." "I am his and he is mine."

With those words it was official. And when he finally pressed a quick kiss on your lips he knew that he could perhaps learn to see you as more than just his little twin sister.

But it would take time.

And that you took.

Six years have passed since your wedding day and a lot had changed in that time.

You were now grown up and far more mature than you had been just a few years ago. A lot had happened. Your little brother Aemond lost an eye, Rhaenyra and her sons moved to Dragonstone and your father was now seriously ill.

The issue of succession has been getting bigger and bigger lately and all kinds of voices are getting louder. There are some who are vociferously advocating for your half-sister and others who wish your husband would one day sit on the Iron Throne.

But you also knew something that no one else knew. Aegon was not interested in power or the crown. Family was the most important thing to him in the world and that included you.

In fact, you were the thing he loved most in the world.

Aegon's head rested on your lap, his eyes closed and his face peaceful as you gently ran your fingers through his short wavy hair. You hummed a soft melody and he was lost in your angelic voice. It was a kind of ritual between you. Every time the world outside your marital chambers became too much for you, you came back here and you calmed him down and he calmed you down in return.

"I heard them whispering again today," Aegon murmured against the velvet fabric of your dress. "They still wonder when the line will be secured."

A small sigh escaped you and you stopped humming as he reminded you of life outside again. Of your duty. The one you had failed at so far.

"Soon, my darling. I promise you. We just have to try a few more times and then everything will be fine," you tried to calm yourself and your brother-husband. But in vain.

It has been six years since your wedding and so far you have remained childless. It wasn't as if you weren't trying, because you were. Often enough, in fact. At first, sex and pleasure had been something that was foreign to you and made you feel uncomfortable, but now it had become something you enjoyed doing. Aegon had always loved it, and in the last few years he had shown and taught you so many things that you couldn't even remember them all.

"Mother is getting nervous," he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the fabric of your dress while his hands ran soothingly up and down your lower back.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes. Of course she was getting nervous, but not for your sake. Not because she was worried about the functionality of your body or that of your twin, but because she was interested in the continuation of the royal line. Her blood on the throne. It was never about you, but about her ambitions and her will, shaped by her father the Hand.

"Yes, sure. If it were up to her, we would already have ten heirs,” you replied grimly, shaking your head. You wanted children, but not because you had to and it was your duty as Aegon's wife, but because you loved him and it would enrich your life.

It was similar with Aegon. Duty crushed him and in this great patch of darkness of the Red Keep, you were his only ray of light. A ray of sunshine on a rainy day, a gentle breeze in unbearable heat. Many years ago, he had wanted neither you nor this marriage, but you had taught him that this alliance could be more than a political tactic.

Because of you, he knew that he was more than the heir to the Iron Throne. He was more than that. His life had a meaning and that meaning was you. His twin, the other part of his soul, his light, his queen.

You saved him. More than once, and not only from the anger and rage of his mother and grandfather, but also from himself.

"She should be satisfied with one for now," said Aegon with a laugh.

You looked down at him with a smile on your lips and tapped him on the nose, whereupon he wrinkled his face and pulled a playful grimace, which in turn made you laugh.

"I love you, brother," you whispered softly, playing with one of his wild strands of hair that never let itself be tamed.

"And I love you, little sister," he replied with a grin.

"We're twins," you said, raising your eyebrows.

"But I'm still older."

"Only by a few minutes."

"Still."

"You're an idiot."

"And you're a twat."

He was behaving differently than usual. For several hours now, he had been following you through the corridors of the Red Keep like a kicked puppy that wants to apologize to its master for a misstep. It was strange. Especially because you didn't know what he could have done wrong.

Had he drunk too much again? Vomited on an old tapestry? Knocked over a vase? Ruined an heirloom? Questions upon questions, and you couldn't find an answer to any of them.

For the last half hour you had been sitting with Helaena in her chambers and she had told you something about the centipede she had in her collection while you tried not to show your disgust. She loved these little creatures and because she was your little sister you loved her too, but you couldn't understand that for the life of you.

You said goodbye with a smile and opened the door, but the moment it opened just a crack you could see a silhouette quickly disappearing around a corner.

What had your beloved brother done now?

"Aegon?" you called after him, but there was no answer at first.

You shook your head, your long silver hair falling in waves over your shoulders, and decided to follow him.

The corridor was empty. Apart from a few tapestries showing the conquest of Westeros by your ancestors and a few torches on the wet, cold walls, there was nothing interesting to see. Surprised, but still curious, you walked slowly down the corridor when suddenly a hand grabbed your wrist and pulled you into a small, dark alcove. Before you could scream, the person had already pressed a hand over your mouth.

Your instincts took over and you tried to defend yourself, but then-

A laugh. A laugh that was very familiar to you.

Aegon has rarely seen you as frightened as you were at that moment, and it amused him deeply. A broad grin lit up his features and a sparkle in his violet eyes revealed that he found everything about it very amusing.

Slowly he let go again and you couldn't help but hit him in the chest with full force, whereupon he coughed instead of laughing.

"What has gotten into you?! Do you want me to die?" you asked him angrily, but your Lord Husband just giggled and wrapped his arm around your waist while leaning his forehead against yours.

"Quite the opposite, my heart," he murmured before pressing a kiss to your lips and then another and then another.

You leaned away, whereupon he whined and pulled you even closer to him.

"What's wrong with you?" you asked him confused and shook your head. He was acting strangely.

"I want to give you a child. I want it so much," Aegon whispered and leaned forward to let his lips brush the side of your neck.

A shiver ran down your spine and you instinctively pressed yourself closer to him. Oh, you wanted to too. You wanted to be a mother and give him an heir. Or two or three. As many as he wanted.

"And what makes you think it will work this time?" you asked him instead as he gently sucked a mark onto your skin.

"There's this book-"

Your laughter interrupted him and he looked up at you with wide eyes: "What?"

"Forgive me, brother. I forgot that you also have the gift of reading," you replied with an amused giggle, whereupon he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and pushed you against the wall with a sudden jerk.

"Don't be a brat. Don't you remember what happened the last time you were like this?" he asked you, bowing his nose in your silver hair and inhaling your sweet scent. Gods, he had to find the person who made your oils and make him a Lord, because you smelled divine.

"Of course I remember. But I feel sorry for Aemond when he accidentally came into our chambers," you said, leaning your head against the cold, stone wall behind you.

"Why? Sooner or later he had to learn that these positions were possible," he whispered and started to nibble on your earlobe, which made you whimper softly.

His one hand wandered down your body and he kneaded your backside, while sometimes he bit your earlobe and sometimes he peppered your neck with more kisses.

"Go on. What about that book, darling?" you asked him, your voice quiet and shaky.

"Apparently there is a position that promotes female fertility," he answered you with a grin.

"And you want to try it?"

"Yes."

"Now?"

"Now."

Exactly one month later, you came running out of Maester Orwyle's chambers with a wide grin on your lips. He had just told you the good news. You were pregnant. After six years of marriage, you were finally expecting Aegon's child. You could hardly believe it.

With quick steps you hurried to your marital chambers, where Aegon was leaning against the window and looking out into the courtyard. When he heard footsteps, he looked around and smiled when he saw you. His beloved wife.

Without saying a word to him, you jumped into his arms and clung to him tightly, a wide grin on your lips.

"Hey, my sweet, what's wrong?" he asked you, wrapping his arms around you.

Instead of giving him a direct answer, you held him even tighter. "You're going to have to be much more careful with me in the next few months, dear brother."

His eyes widened and he reached for your face to look into your eyes, which were identical to his own. Although he always found yours far more beautiful. Like sparkling jewels.

"You're pregnant," he whispered reverently, looking down at your stomach, which was still flat.

"It seems so," you murmured with a soft smile on your rosy lips. Finally. After so many years.

Without waiting another second, he pressed his mouth against yours and kissed you as if his life depended on it. He poured all his love and passion for you into that kiss as he slowly moved toward the windowsill.

He would have to be more careful with you now, but that didn't mean he couldn't love you, as any good husband should.

And, as fate would have it, a few minutes later Aemond came into your chambers to seek his big sister's advice, only to see you sitting on the windowsill in front of the open window, your hair disheveled and your cheeks flushed, and Aegon kneeling between your legs, his face between your thighs.

And for the second time, you gave him a view he would never forget.

Not again.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

Taglist: @bey0nd-1he-stars @sassypain @hisfavegirl

[bloatedandalone04]

Kiwi

Summary: You’re pregnant with Rafe’s baby, and he’s more stressed out about it than you are (and rightfully so).

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: fluff, swearing, protective rafe, soon to be dad rafe, smut, angst if you squint, unprotected sex, pregnancy.

You were steadily entering your second trimester, which was shaping out to be a little easier than your first. You were still craving the weirdest food combinations, but Rafe would never complain about needing to go out and buy them for you since the grateful smile you always gave him made his heart feel so full. 

Seven years with you, and he was still as crazy about you as he’d been since the first date. 

With that being said, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could pretend to like your weird (and sometimes really fucking gross) pregnancy cravings. But he would have to, since you’re carrying his baby like a fucking champ, and you looked so stunning while doing so. 

Rafe had just gotten back from a grocery store run, sporting a bag full of odd food choices for you, and he set it down on the counter before leaving the kitchen to go find you. 

You were in the living room, your feet planted on the couch as you scrolled through your phone. Why you were standing on the couch, he had no idea, but the thought of you accidentally falling was the first thing that flashed through his head, and he was not about to let that happen. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” he rasped, quickly walking over to you and grabbing your waist. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack? You’re four months pregnant, babygirl, you need to be careful. Jesus Christ.”

“I am being careful,” you defended yourself, holding your phone in one hand while your other ran through his hair. You looked around the living room, your eyes flickering between every corner as you stayed standing on the couch. “I saw a spider, and I don’t know where it went. And you know how much I hate spiders. I had to make sure it didn’t crawl on me or something. Then I would’ve been the one having a heart attack.”

You sounded so unserious, but Rafe knew you were being completely genuine. Your fear of anything that had more than two legs was no joke, and he couldn’t count the times he’s killed something for you on both hands. 

“Plus, I’ve only been standing here for, like, five minutes,” you added, looking down at him and shrugging casually, as if you didn’t feel the way his grip tightened on you at your words. 

“Five minutes is too fucking long,” Rafe muttered, shaking his head afterwards as he leaned in and pressed his forehead against your belly. “You’re not thinking straight right now, are you? That’s the only logical explanation for this.”

His big hands stayed planted on your waist, keeping you steady as he pulled away and looked up at you, his blue eyes wide and full of nothing but adoration for you and the little life growing inside of you. 

“You’re going to give me gray hairs, you know that right?” he grunted, a smile forming on his lips when you let out a soft laugh. 

“Ooh, silver fox Rafe,” you teased, draping your arms around his neck as he helped you off the couch. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. You’d look so fucking hot with gray hair, baby. Like, so fucking sexy. So don’t tempt me.”

Rafe scoffed, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Silver fox? I’m twenty nine, baby, not forty,” he mumbled, “But, I guess if you like that sorta thing…who am I to judge?”

You laughed, leaning into his touch as you pressed your lips to his jaw. “I like anything that involves you,”

He smiled down at you, his hand coming up to tuck your hair behind your ear. “I like anything that involves you too, babygirl,” he murmured, leaning down so his lips brushed against yours. “Actually, I love everything that involves you.”

Then he was leaning all the way in and kissing you deeply and slowly, his hands sliding down your body until they grazed your ass, and then he was full on groping you through your leggings. 

You whined against his mouth, your lips pressing more firmly against his as you pulled him impossibly closer to you until your bump was pushing against his abs. “You always have to one up me, don’t you?” you muttered, “And what’s with you always grabbing my ass? You’ve been obsessed with it since we got together.”

Rafe smirked down at you. “Of course I’m obsessed with it, it’s part of you,” he replied, and you pressed your lips together. 

“You are so fucking sweet and sexy and I think we should go to our bedroom before I-” you cut yourself off by screaming directly into your husband’s face as you practically jumped back up onto the couch with wide eyes. 

Rafe didn’t even need to turn around to know that the eight legged creature who scared you before had made its big return. “What did I tell you?” he muttered, taking you into his arms as he lifted you from the couch. 

“Rafe! Stop, it’s literally right there and it’s so fucking big,” you protested as he carried you out of the living room and into the kitchen. Once he had you sitting safely at the breakfast bar, he slid the bag of food over for you to inspect as he grabbed a piece of paper towel. 

“Stay here, okay? Eat something,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before he walked back into the living room to find the harmless insect that had been tormenting you during the entire time he was gone. 

-

You were pulling Rafe along with you towards the bedroom, your lips all over his neck and jaw, but he was moving so slowly. You were now six months pregnant, and Rafe had become more and more protective of you, if that was even possible at this point. 

And while you loved him for it, his hesitation every time you initiated sex was making you go crazy. You were so turned on, and you needed your husband. 

“Rafe,” you moaned, bracing your hands on his shoulders as you walked backwards. “I need you. I need you so bad. Please? I promise, I won’t break.” you whined, nearly stumbling as you pulled him along with you. 

Rafe’s hands instantly tightened on your waist, his thumbs brushing along the underside of your belly as it pressed against his abs through his shirt. “Easy, babygirl,” he cooed, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.” 

While you knew he wanted to be gentle and sweet with you, you also knew exactly how to rile him up and get him going. Rafe had been obsessed with your body since the second he first saw you completely bare, and his obsession had only intensified once your body began to change due to your pregnancy. 

You stepped back and pulled your shirt over your head, revealing your breasts that had grown so much, they were nearly spilling out of your bra. You watched Rafe bite his lip before you moved onto your leggings, and you stepped out of them and kicked them aside as well. 

Rafe groaned as he pulled off his own shirt and jeans, his hands finding your waist again as he moved to sit on the bed. “Come here,” he murmured, sliding your panties down your legs before he guided you onto his lap. 

You willingly went, a needy whine leaving your lips as you settled on top of him and pulled down his boxers, freeing his hard cock. “I love you,” you moaned, kissing him as you began to rub yourself along his dick. “I love you so much.”

He gripped your hips, guiding the slow rolls of your body. “I love you too, baby,” he groaned, “More than my next fucking breath.”

His words made your head feel all fuzzy, and he lifted you slightly to position himself at your soaked core. When he eased you back down onto his cock, you both let out a sound of relief as you came together as one, and you reveled in the feeling of his big hands on your body. 

“Fucking perfect,” he praised, his eyes hooded as his hands slid around to grip your ass gently.

You moaned loudly, holding onto his shoulders as you rolled your hips against his as best as you could with your bump persistently brushing against his stomach. “Fuck,” you whimpered, arching your back a bit and making your chest press right up against his. “Oh fuck, Rafe, you feel so good.” 

He felt so good, you were powerless to stop the loud moans from leaving your mouth as you rode him. Rafe’s hands slid up your back and fumbled with the clasp of your bra before he pulled the fabric away from your body, his palms immediately roaming over the newly exposed skin. “Fuck, babygirl, you’re so tight and wet for me. Sweet pussy was made for my cock,” he grunted, rolling your nipples between his fingers until they pebbled under his touch. “You’re so fucking hot.”

Then he was leaning in and kissing you deeply, his tongue brushing against yours as he met your bounces with upward thrusts of his hips. You moaned against his mouth, his words making your body heat up in a blush. You’d never get tired of hearing him say things like that. 

His hands moved to your belly, and he caressed it as he broke the kiss and buried his face against your shoulder. “God, you feel so good,” he moaned, making your blush deepen as you moved a little faster and a bit harder.

“Rafe,” you whimpered, tangling your fingers in his hair as you felt your thighs start to burn from over-exertion. “Oh, fuck…I’m gonna cum.” you warned, feeling the knot that had been steadily building up inside you start to tighten. 

Rafe grunted, reaching in between your bodies until the heel of his hand was pressed firmly against the underside of your belly and his fingers were brushing against your clit. “Yeah, cum for me, baby,” he murmured, his other hand moving to your hip as he guided you to take him a little harder. “I’m close too.”

His fingers pushed you over the edge, and your head fell forward onto his shoulder as you came for him. A cry left your lips as you weakly bounced on his lap, your legs shaking a bit as you pulled on his hair. “Fuck,” you gasped, wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulders as you felt him thrust a few more times before he stilled.

A deep groan left the back of his throat as he held you close to him, his warmth filling you up from the inside out as he let out harsh pants against the side of your neck. “I’ll never get over that,” he muttered, placing soft kisses along your shoulder as he ran his hands up and down your back. “I’ll never get over you.”

You grinned as he gently eased you off him and moved back on the bed, taking you with him as he leaned back against the pillows. “Good,” you hummed as he turned you around and spooned you from behind. “Because I think you’re stuck with me for life.”

When you guided his big palm to rest on your belly, Rafe pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your head as his thumb rubbed along your swollen skin. “Good,” he echoed. “Because you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried. You’re all I want in the world.”

A lazy smile formed on your lips as you snuggled back against him, and only a few seconds later, you had fallen asleep.

-

Not me working on my birthday again...thanks for reading x

[pynkfairyheart]

Pairings: connie x black reader

Warnings: smut 18+ Connie's a lil toxic, mentions of a gun, pretty angsty

pt.2 to birthday girl but can be read as a standalone

Miss you

Constance Springer. The man who was once the source of your happiness though recently the source of your frustration and headaches.

“I just don't get it, Con. You take me on these amazing dates, buy me anything that catches my attention, and say you wanna spend the rest of your life with me, yet when I ask to publicly announce we’re together, which I shouldn't have to, you always brush it aside.” You spoke as calmly as possible. Though considering this was the 4th time this week you were having this conversation your calm tone resembled shouting.

It had been five months since your birthday. Five months since Connie gave you the best gift you could ever think of. Himself.

The first four months felt as if you were on cloud nine. The entire duration it was as if you were conjoined at the hip. Connie had to make a couple of drops? There you were in his passenger seat watching a movie or using his card to pay for the large quantity of your cart.

You needed to go make up a missed exam? Connie was waiting in his car with a bouquet of your favorite flowers. The only time you weren't seen together was if he was doing something he didn't want you involved in or if he was out buying you secret lavish gifts such as the car he got you a week after your birthday. Life was great.

It wasn't til you were at your nail appointment with Mika where she nearly cut you with her clippers from shock the moment you brought up your relationship with Connie, that you realized no one knew about it.

At first, you were confused. How could no one know? You were always together but the more you thought about it you started to understand. Whenever you were out he wasn't as affectionate as when it was just the two of you, just a few touches that could easily be considered friendly, but you just brushed it off as him not being comfortable with PDA.

Even when you went on dates he'd buy the entire venue or restaurant out so it'd be just you two or would plan the nicest dates at the house, either way, no one saw you on dates as a couple.

You thought about it for a while before it finally ate you up and you just had to ask. His response was the reason shit went left.

“Whatchu mean let people know we’re together? Ion want people in our business. I'm yours and you're mine, that's all that matters” He brushed it off with a kiss on your forehead before running to go get some eggs around the corner. He was only gone for ten minutes yet in that time frame you went through hundreds of different reasons as to why he responded that way.

At first, you were confused. Then, you were trying to reassure yourself he's right as long as we know then we straight. But immediately after that thought came anger why the fuck doesn't he want people to know? Am I the fuckin side chick?

By the time Connie came back you were fuming. You trusted Connie, the night he asked you to be his he promised you he'd never do anything to hurt you yet you couldn't deny how suspicious this was. He barely had time to lock the door behind him before you started with your questions.

“You cheating on me Constance?”

“What?” He almost gave himself whiplash with how fast he turned, looking at you as if you had said the stupidest shit ever which in his mind you did.

“You heard me. Are you cheating?” You followed him into the kitchen of his apartment.

“No [☆] I'm not cheating. I needa take you to the ER? Cause it sounds like you hit your head while I was gone”

“Then why don't you wanna tell anyone?”

“About us?”

“Duh”

“I already told you, mami, I don't want people all up in our business”

That was two weeks ago and you guys were nowhere near in a better place. By no means were you insecure. You knew Connie loved you and only you but you wanted others to know as well. It's not like you wanted to leak one of your many sex tapes on IG. You just wanted at least your friend group to know you were together. Connie wasn't having it though.

“Mama lower your tone” He groaned. Inked hands rubbing his face from frustration.

“Just tell me, Con. Why don't you want anyone to know?”

“Is it wrong to wanna keep our relationship private? I love you princess but you buggin’ for real. Drop it”

“You know what. Fuck this, nd fuck you too. There's a big fucking difference between private and secret.” You slammed his bedroom door. This was too much. You couldn't take it anymore; it was as if he was ashamed of you. You loved Connie, you really, really loved him but this hurt, the constant drop of your heart whenever he let go of your hand the moment you stepped out of his apartment complex or whenever a girl flirted with him in front of the group but there was nothing you could do. You were done. No amount of love could make you settle for anything less than you knew you deserved.

Despite your teary eyes you managed to pull yourself together. Grabbing your bag, you packed as much as possible before finally exiting the room.

Connie was in the middle of rolling a blunt when he saw you walk out, he would have been convinced that his heart was lying on the couch when he stood up if it wasn't for the loud thumping in his ears.

“Where are you going?” He stood in your way

“Connie please move” You sniffled

“No, not until you tell me where you're going. Please [☆] lo siento, mami, por favor, no te vayas please don't go” His voice cracked as reality hit him. Dropping to his knees, his hands gripped the soft flesh of your hips.

“I promise to be better, I promise. I will call everyone on my phone and tell them about us right now, please don't go” At this point, you had to look away. His tear-stricken face and Spanish almost had you fold.

“We'll work this out ma, estaré mejor, lo prometo I'll be better, I promise”

“No, we can't Connie. Not right now” And with that, you left.

A month had passed so far. It was rough in the beginning. He blew your phone up 24/7 to the point where you had to block him. You couldn't eat, and whenever you did have the energy to stay awake you did nothing but scroll on your phone, your thumb always finding the photo album where you stored all pictures of Connie.

Sasha and Mikasa finally had enough, while Mika was the only one you told Sasha had a pretty good idea after she went to visit Connie only to find him in the same state as you, maybe even worse. Deciding you needed to leave the walls of your apartment and have fun, they finally convinced you to go out. Taking a couple of pregame shots while shaking ass in the mirror, your outfit leaving nothing to the imagination as you finally felt ready to face reality.

By the time you had arrived at the party, the drinks started to kick in and you grabbed the first sexy guy you saw and dragged him to the dance floor.

Unknown to you Connie was also at the party, standing in the corner as he made a few deals. He looked tired, and he was. The moment the door closed behind you he broke down. Ignoring all of the calls and texts he got from clients as he sat there. He was angry. Angry at you for leaving him but mostly angry at himself for fucking up.

When Connie finally caught sight of you it was as if someone had finally flipped the switch on throughout his body. His heart sped up, his posture straightened and his dick twitched at the sight of your body in the dress.

His dick wasn't the only thing twitching. When it finally registered to Connie that you were letting some random guy touch you as you whined on him, his eye twitched and his hand immediately went to his gun.

He was furious. With zero fucks he approached you, the barrel of his gun pressed against the guy who you were currently throwing it back on.

When you no longer felt the swaying of the man behind you, you turned to be met with the fear-frozen stranger and Connie whispering something in his ear. You didn't have time to ask what was going on before the guy scurried off and Connie roughly grabbed your arm, dragging you out of the house party.

Despite the fact you were no longer together and he had no right to drag you away, you stayed quiet. Connie rarely got angry but when he did you knew it was best to just stay quiet.

“Get in the fucking car [☆]” He threw open the door. You were convinced the thong you had on was completely drenched after those six words. His voice was low and threatening and you almost felt disgusting from how turned on you were. Almost. With one look into his rage-filled eyes, you got in the car, the door slamming behind you when he was sure you were safely in.

He quickly got in, tire tracks marking the ground as he sped off. It was silent for a minute before you decided to speak, once his grip on the steering wheel loosened and the color returned to his knuckles.

“Connie?” You faced him, eyes burning into the side of his head as he kept his dark stare on the road.

“Connie, come on. You can't just kidnap me and then not speak. Pull over and talk to me now” You huffed.

With a roll of his eyes, he pulled into a deserted parking lot.

“Hello? Either you get to talking or I'm getting out nd calling an Uber”

“No the fuck you're not” He groaned loudly, eyes meeting yours.

“Then talk” You borderline yelled

If Connie's hair was long enough to grip he'd have a couple bald spots from how frustrated he was. He gave you both time to cool down before he spoke.

“Look I'm sorry for dragging you away, and for threatening your lil boyfriend-”

“He's not my boyfriend”

“He's not?”

“No. Continue your apology” You rolled your eyes.

Your response had a smirk forming on his face. He missed you so much, even your attitude.

“I missed you ma. I'm sorry for dragging you away. I'm also sorry for how things ended.” He grabbed your hand.

“I now understand your feelings and your concerns and I'm sorry I ever made you feel like I was ashamed of you or if there was another woman. You're the love of my life ma, this past month has been pure hell. I need you baby. Please take me back.” His hands were shaking as they held yours securely. It was rare to see Connie cry, and the sight of his tear-streaked face made your heart ache. He really did love you.

Swallowing the lump in your throat you asked the one question that started it all.

“Be real Con. Why didn't you want anyone to know?”

With a sigh, he rubbed his facial hair.

“I was afraid you'd realize you could do better”

“What? What made you think that Con?”

“I sell drugs for a living, mami, I'm involved with a shit ton of dangerous people. I was afraid when others found out they'd start telling you things about me and you'd realize you can do so much better”

“Oh, Connie” You could no longer resist the need to be close to him. Maneuvering yourself so you sat in his lap you cupped his face as your eyes searched his.

“Papa there is no one better. I love you so much, Connie. There is nothing anyone could ever say to make me want or love you less because I know you. I know how much you care and love those around you. There is no one better, Connie.”

For some time, the two of you were wrapped in each other's arms as you faced your emotions.

When you both were calm, you finally dared to look into his eyes. The energy shift resembling the one from your birthday.

“Con” You slowly inched your face closer to his

“I'm sorry for all the hurt I put us through mami” His hand wrapped around your neck

“Déjame compensarte let me make it up to you” He closed the space between you.

It felt like the first breath taken after being underwater for a long time. You felt alive, felt loved. The once slow kiss grew into something more passionate. Both of you needy, as you fiend for dominance in the heated exchange.

Ultimately you lost the battle when his hands gripped your hips tightly as if to assure himself you weren't leaving again. It wasn't soon after that you found yourself in the back of his car with your legs resting on his shoulder as he drilled into you.

He littered kisses on your ankle as his grip on your hips tightened. His thick cock stretching you out had your eyes rolling back and moans of ecstasy coming out of your agape mouth.

“Yeah? You doing so good fa me ma. You miss this? Miss how good I fuck you?” His thumb found its way to your clit.

“Fuck, Connie” You whined. Attempting to push his hand away from the sensitive bud.

“Answer me princesa or ima stop” He warned

“Yes, Connie- mhmph I miss it so bad papi oh my god” Your velvety walls squeezed him tight.

"Fuuuck. Don't ever leave me again, you hear me? I can't take it, baby, I love you too much. T-try that shit again nd Imma make you watch while I put a bullet in between his eyes. Understand?” His pace increased.

God that shouldn't have turned you on as much as it did. You were convinced you could have come on the spot, the added pressure on your carotids when you didn't answer immediately wasn't any help.

“Y-yes Con, I promise it won't happen again” You managed to say in between the moans and whimpers that you no longer had the energy to contain.

“Keep squeezing me, mami. I'm so fuckin close” He groaned, hand no longer on your neck as it rested against the steamy windows to stable himself.

The atmosphere of the car was pure filth. Your moans bounced off the windows, the sloshing sound of your wet pussy and slapping skin that created the creamy ring around the base of cock topping it all off.

His thrusts were slowly getting sloppy, you were just squeezing him so tight.

“C-Con” You managed to gasp out, the marks he littered on your neck to suppress his whimpers, having the coil in your belly tighten.

“I know mama, let go fa me” He groaned.

That instant you came, eyes rolling to the back of your head for a quick second as your cream and small spurts of squirt leaked from your pussy.

“Shit mama” He panted, dick twitching as he painted your walls with his cum.

Connie being the lover boy he was despite repeatedly denying it whispered apologies, and sweet promises into your ear as you came down from your high.

“I'm sorry mami, I promise to be better” He kissed you softly as if you were in a fairytale before whispering in your ear.

“But don't think just cus we're good now, that I'm not gon tear that ass up when we get home for giving that loser a taste of what's mine.”

I dont know how i feel about this one buuutttt all thanks to @masterofthepp for giving me this idea. Hopefully it meets your standards babes. As always any feedback is welcome. mwah

[stevie-petey]

episode nine: the piggyback

“It’s always been you,” Steve whispers, lips pressed above your brow. “The six kids. The family I’ve always wanted. Traveling the countryside. My dream, it’s always had you in it.” You laugh, breathless and in love. “I know, honey.” Sickly sweet warmth cascades through you. Your lips find Steve’s, you kiss the smile off his face. He lets you. “I’ve always known it was going to be the two of us.”

Summary: operation save hawkins is a go. youre eagle one, steve is currently doing that, eddie is youd be lying if you said you havent thought about it, nancy is it happened once in a dream, robin is if you had to pick a girl, and dustin is eagle two. what could possibly go wrong ? spoiler alert: everything. literally everything goes wrong. might as well break a few promises while youre at it. for the plot. but at least its over, right? .... right?

Rating: general, some swearing, violence

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, cursing, weapons, blood, death and gore, injuries, lowkey suicidal thoughts

Words: 8.5k (we broke tradition where the last chapter is the longest but tbh this is probs for the best)

Before you swing in: oh my god this is the end. i am. very very emotional rn. this story is my baby and i dont know what im going to do now that its done. i cant even write an in between chapter because we still dont have season 5 content :((( im gonna miss writing this story, and i will absolutely go crazy waiting for season 5 so i can write again. these next few months will be ROUGH but !!!! thank you guys so so so much for reading. all your comments/reblogs/kudos/likes have meant the world to me. im truly the luckiest girl ever :') for now, and for the final time... enjoy !

–

It’s pitch black outside. All around you is darkness. The sun is long gone, its golden warmth no longer present, retreating into the treeline as if afraid of what the night will bring. 

You’re afraid, too.

Everyone stands around Nancy. The group is quiet as you await whatever she has to say. When she turns to face you, her voice is leveled, calm, but her hands shake. 

She’s afraid, too.

“Okay,” Nancy exhales deeply. “I wanna run through it one more time.” She looks at Robin, prompting her to recite everything back. “Phase one?”

“We meet Erica at the playground.” Robin responds. “She’ll signal Max and Lucas when we’re ready.”

“Phase two.”

You step forward. “Max and I will bait Vecna. When he goes after one of us, he’ll go into his trance. If he chooses Max, we’ll go onto phase three together.”

“And…” Nancy swallows, looking away. “And if he chooses you?”

It’s Steve who steps forward this time. He stands tall, brave, but his voice shakes. “Then I’ll stay with her, walkman ready, while you and Robin go on your own.”

You grab his hand, squeezing it. He squeezes back. 

“Speaking of phase three.” Dustin clears his throat, weary eyes never leaving you. “Me and Eddie wil draw the bats away.”

“Carefully,” you look pointedly at your brother. “Right?”

He rolls his eyes at you while Nancy continues speaking. “Okay, phase four.”

“We head into Vecna’s newly bat-free lair and…” Robin holds up a molotov cocktail. The liquid sloshes around. The scent of gasoline still stings your nose from when you helped her pour it into the bottles earlier. “Flambe.” 

“Nobody moves onto the next phase until we’ve all copied. Nobody deviates from the plan, no matter what.” Nancy reiterates, looking around the RV. Her eyes linger on you, cautious, almost doubtful. She trusts you. She knows she trusts you. But she also knows your heart and the lengths you’ll go to save others. 

Nancy has always admired your selflessness, but she’s also always seen it as your greatest strength and weakness. A coin, two sides. Now, tonight, she has to hope that you’ll follow the plan. Even if it means leaving Max behind if she’s the one Vecna chooses.

Your eyes harden when you realize what Nancy is thinking. Without saying anything, you nod at her. The jut of your chin tells her that you’ll be fine. That she needs to trust you. 

Eddie’s trailer is only a few yards away, but the walk to it feels like decades. Steve guides and Nancy is close behind him. You stay back, walking beside Dustin. Your shoulders brush. His presence grounds you, reassures you that you will make it through the night. 

Dustin, sensing your fear, reaches for your hand. He extends his warmth to you, silently promising you that he will always be here. There isn’t anything left to say.

Steve opens Eddie’s door, turning the lights on and tossing his backpack to the ground. He eyes the rope that connects the trailer to the Upside Down, getting ready for the part of the plan that you honestly really hate.

“Be careful, please.” You urge him, uncomfortable that he has to be the first one to return to the hell that is the Upside Down. It makes sense, he’s the only one able to climb the rope up, but still. You’ve had shit luck these last few days.

“I’m always careful, angel.” Steve winks at you, rolling his sleeves up. “Here goes nothing.”

He climbs up quickly, years of being an athlete being put to use. Everyone watches anxiously. However, when Steve crosses through the gate and lands with a cheesy flip, you and Robin share a disgusted look. 

“What, does he want us to applaud?” She scoffs.

You shake your head. “Sometimes I think he has an imaginary audience in his head.”

“Do you think they ever boo him?” “Not like we do.”

Nancy covers her mouth, muffling her laugh, and Robin snorts. You smile at the two of them, momentarily forgetting what’s to come.

“Alright,” Steve shouts up, tossing down Eddie’s old mattress. “Let’s go.”

You take a deep breath, steadying your nerves. Wiping your hands on your jeans, you place them on the rope and prepare for the inevitable torture that this will be. You’re pretty sure you’re bleeding again. 

“A little help?” You ask the others, motioning towards your injured leg and shoulder. “Sorta out of commission.”

Eddie grips your waist while Robin and Nancy gently hike your legs up. Together the three of them are able to carry you almost all the way up. Breathing through your nose, you grit your teeth and climb the rest of the way, wincing every few seconds. The pain is unbearable.

You really hope you don’t sound as pathetic as you look.

When you land on the mattress, small, black dots litter your vision. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

Steve is already bending down, helping you up with ease. “And ruin Munson’s tidy home?”

Woozy from pain, you bat Steve away and wait for the others to join. Nancy comes next, then Robin, then Eddie and Dustin. Weapons get tossed down. Bodies land on the mattress with finalizing thuds. 

Outside, it’s just as cold as you remember it. Eddie and Dustin stay in front of the trailer. This is as far as they’re going. They aren’t leaving.

Roughly you pull at your brother. His body lands against yours, but the kiss your press to his forehead is gentle. You haven’t done this since he was a kid. Dustin flings his arms around you, nearly knocking all the air from your lungs. He squeezes you tight, as terrified as you are, and you feel tears in your eyes.

“We’ll come home,” your whisper is hoarse, rough and desperate. You bury your face in his mess of curls and kiss his head again. “The house won’t be empty.”

Dustin sniffles, too weak to hide his tears. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Your throat burns. How can you possibly leave him? 

Vision blurry with tears, Eddie manages to catch your attention as you cling onto your brother. The teen nods, lifting his pinky in the air to wave it at you, reminding you of his promise to you. He’ll protect Dustin. He swore it.

Reluctantly, you pull away from Dustin and wipe your face. “Please don’t die. Who knows what Mews’ ghost would do to you?” Dustin laughs wetly, wiping his own face as well. The thought of your childhood cat haunting his grave is enough to lessen the sting of letting you go. 

“If things here start to go south, I mean, at all, you abort.” Steve breaks the remorseful silence. He doesn’t want anyone getting hurt. He doesn’t want you losing anyone else. “Draw the attention of the bats, keep ‘em busy for a minute or two. We’ll take care of Vecna. Don’t try to be a hero or anything.”

His tone is harsh, but you know Steve means well. You also don’t want Dustin and Eddie anywhere near danger. As long as they stick to the plan, they’ll be fine. They have the quickest escape route and the most amount of protection.

“What Steve is trying to say is that you two better climb back through the gate the moment anything bad happens.” You look at the two boys. They stare at you, grim faced. “I mean it, okay? Go through the gate, don’t try anything else.”

“We’re the decoys, we get it.” Dustin rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry. You and Steve can be the heroes.”

“Look at us,” Eddie nudges your brother’s shoulder. “We’re not heroes.”

Your stomach twists. You hate how Dustin views his and Eddie’s position. They aren’t just decoys, they’re heroes in your eyes. They’re facing an army of bats all on their own, but you don’t dare say this out loud, afraid to encourage them. 

“Just…” your mouth is dry. “Just be safe, alright?”

“We will.” Eddie swallows. Then he pauses, his gaze darkens slightly. Looking back at you, he breathes out, “And make him pay.”

You and Steve look at each other. So much of Eddie’s life has been ruined by Vecna. Even if you all make it out of here alive, killing Vecna, there’s no guarantee that Hawkins will accept him back into the town. You understand the anger that resides within Eddie. The desire to kill the very thing that has destroyed everything he loves. 

You bite your lip. You’ve never made a promise you haven’t been able to keep. But this time you’re facing something bigger than anything you could’ve ever imagined. All this time you’ve tried convincing yourself that you’ll win. That everything will work out.

But you remember last summer. 

The mall. The fire and the deaths. Hopper. Billy. The power Vecna seems to hold, his claws that have sunk into you and Max. His threat to Nancy. The danger that Hawkins is in, up above where your mother sleeps peacefully. Unaware of what you’re sacrificing for her.

This is more than anything you’ve ever dealt with before. But a promise built on an unsteady foundation is all you can give Eddie. 

“Well will,” you echo his earlier promise.

Eddie smiles at you. The one you’ve grown to like, even find charming. Slanted and mischievous. The glint in his eyes never dimmed, even after everything. Through it all, he remained kind.

This is how you’ll always remember him.

– 

The further you walk away from Eddie and Dustin, the harder you have to force yourself to keep going. Your body is heavy, the weight slowing you down, pleading with you to go back. None of this feels right.

Steve’s hand on the small of your back is the only thing keeping your heart from collapsing. Robin’s smile helps, too. 

“You’d think this place gets less creepy the second time around.” She says, stepping over a root. “But I’m still pretty damn creeped out.”

“It isn’t the most pleasant place.” You agree. 

Robin steps over another root, looking back at you as she does so. “At least I’m here to protect you, Y/N. Pretty brave, don’t you think?” “Hey,” Steve warns. “Watch it.”

You knock your shoulder against his and smile apologetically at Robin. “Like always, I think you’re the bravest.”

She smiles proudly, throwing her fist in the air in excitement. However, after stepping over a root for what feels like the tenth time, her heart starts to pound. Looking around, all the trees suddenly look the same. Have you been here before?

“Not to alarm anyone, but I swear we’ve seen this tree before.”

“That’s impossible.” Nancy dimisses.

You agree. “We’re in the woods. All we’re going to see are trees.”

Robin tries to calm herself down, but ultimately fails. There are so many components to the plan, so many ways it can go wrong. “I mean, that would suck, right? Veca destroys the world because we got lost in the woods.”

“We aren’t lost–” You try to reason with her, but Robin is already running away in a panic. You scream at her, terrified of losing her. “Robin!”

“I’ll be back!”

You start to stumble after her. “Why does everyone want to separate?” You huff out, nearly tripping. “There’s safety in numbers! Come back!”

Nancy, seeing your fear for your friend and horrible coordination skills, steps in front of you. “I’ll go after her. You stay here with Steve.”

And then she’s gone, disappearing into the mass of branches alongside Robin. 

“They’ll be fine,” Steve reassures you, grabbing your hand. “They’re tough, even if Robin may lose her mind sometimes when she’s distressed.”

“I think we’re all slowly losing our minds.” You laugh, bitter.

Steve tightens his hand around yours. The two of you walk in silence for a while. The thunder above you serves as a reminder of where you are. The darkness is a threat. But you’re here, together. That’s all that Steve cares about in the end.

“Did you really mean what you said? Back at the cemetery?” He asks, clearing his throat in unease. The question has been on his mind ever since he heard your pleas for Vecna to take you instead of Max. 

He thinks of how adamant you’ve been to protect her. How you’re only here with him right now because Max wouldn’t let you blindly walk towards your death. 

The question strikes deep guilt within you, yet an exhaustion follows. You’re ashamed of how desperately you pleaded to die. Steve and Dustin had to hear you beg for your death. Lucas, too. 

You’re ashamed. Yet you wouldn’t take it back.

“I did.” You finally say. “I wanted him to take me.”

Steve already knew you’d say this. He’d been expecting anger to follow, to be furious with you for sacrificing yourself knowing he’d be left to pick up the pieces. 

But seeing the way you set your jaw and stare ahead, seeing the resolve that masks your face, the acceptance of your decisions, Steve can’t bring himself to be angry. Not at you. 

This is who you are.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” Steve promises you again. He will always promise this to you. Over and over again, he will die saying these words to you. “I-I can’t lose you. I refuse to lose you.”

Your eyes remain downcast. 

“I know that this is how you love,” he grabs your jacket, begging you to look at him. “I know that I can’t let you lose the ones you love. Dustin, Max, Robin, Lucas, or El or Mike or Nancy. Hell, even Jonathan. I won’t let you lose them, but I won’t lose you, either.”

He understands, then. The selflessness within you and its selfish ways. Yet he doesn’t shy away or hiss at its venom. Steve opens his hands and allows the selfishness to stay there, warming it with his skin. 

You kiss him. Surprising both him and you, yet you melt together. Steve circles his arms around your waist, pulls you flush against him, and in the cynicism that surrounds you, there is still love. 

“Thank you,” you breathe against his lips. He’s wonderful. He loves you wholly, without any faults. Your kindness and its destructive ways; he accepts it all. “Thank you for understanding.”

And this, you believe, is the most selfless act a person can do. Steve’s understanding of why you need to do this, to sacrifice your life for Max’s, even if it means he risks losing you. 

“I should be the one thanking you,” Steve kisses you again, softer this time. Slower. 

You pull back, confused. “Why?” He pulls you in again. “I mean, I don’t know if you know this, but I was a pretty huge asshole back then.” You laugh softly, and Steve knows he’s exactly where he’s meant to be. “You saw this good in me that I didn’t know existed. Right off the bat you saw through me, expecting more from me than anyone else ever did. I wouldn’t be who I am now without you. ”

“Steve…”

“And I’m sorry for thinking you didn’t see a future with me.” He continues, unable to stop now. This is everything he’s wanted to tell you ever since you allowed him into your life. “I know it’s stupid now, apologizing for our fight a week ago after the hell we’ve been through since then, but…”

He can’t believe he almost let something as small as a misalignment of where you’ll be a year from now jeopardize what you have. There is a string that attaches Steve to you, it brought you to him and tied your heart to his. 

“I meant what I said, Y/N.” Steve’s forehead presses against yours. “I’d wait forever if it means I can have forever with you.”

His eyes shine down at you, brown and warm. The honey you fell in love with when he pretended not to know your name, all to get you to laugh. 

“When your head went under the water, that night at Lover’s Lake, I thought you were dead.” Your voice shakes, remembering the fear that choked you. “For those thirty seconds, I thought you were dead, and it almost killed me.”

It was then that you realized how truly you can’t lose Steve. You’ve always known this, but to have his soul ripped from yours so suddenly, so permanently, there are no words to express the agony that poisoned you. 

Losing him would be the one thing you’d never recover from.  

“I don’t ever want to live through those thirty seconds again,” you’re crying. Steve is, too. He wipes a tear that falls, strokes your cheek, and you can’t bear the thought of a world without his touch. “I want forever with you, too. We’ll figure it out, but I’m not losing you. You have to be in my life, in whatever capacity. Whether you’re in a small, cramped apartment with me in New York or in Hawkins, waiting for me to come home.”

Your breath hitches. To think that a childish argument almost separated him from you. 

“As long as we come home to one another, it doesn’t matter.” 

Steve is quiet after you’ve said all this, and for a moment you’re scared you’ve said too much. Revealed too much of yourself, convinced him he’s gotten it all wrong, but then he cradles your face. His hands are soft, tender, the weight of them familiar against your skin. 

He kisses your forehead, and you exhale the last of your uncertainty. All that is left within your lungs is love. 

“It’s always been you,” Steve whispers, lips pressed above your brow. “The six kids. The family I’ve always wanted. Traveling the countryside. My dream, it’s always had you in it.”

You laugh, breathless and in love. “I know, honey.” Sickly sweet warmth cascades through you. Your lips find Steve’s, you kiss the smile off his face. He lets you. “I’ve always known it was going to be the two of us.”

Steve smiles, wide and bashful, and you know that this is where you’re meant to be, too.

“Hey, guys!” Robin breaks through the treeline, running back with Nancy right behind her. “Awesome news!”

“We aren’t lost.” Nancy cuts to the chase. “We think the Creel house is up ahead.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” You step out of Steve’s arms, though your hand remains intertwined with his. “Let’s go face imminent doom.”

Nancy huffs out a laugh and Robin winces, though Steve squeezes your hand and is the first one to start walking. Together, the five of you descend deeper into the woods.

Unsurprisingly, the Creel house is even more terrifying in the Upside Down. Bats surround it, their screeches stinging your ears. Lightning flashes a deep, blood red and the thunder that follows causes your heart to drop.

You stand at the crest of the hill. There’s a light below you, its glow pure in the abandoned park where it resides. The same park that you told Erica to hide in as she waited for Max and Lucas to take their place. The light flashes.

It’s time for phase two.

– 

“Max is moving into phase two: distracting Vecna. Y/N, get ready.” Erica’s voice carries into the Upside Down.

Nancy, Robin, and Steve all turn to you. Grief and longing taint their faces. Your walkman hangs from Steve’s hand. He grips it tightly. Tension coats the air, nearly suffocating you; you can’t run anymore. 

No one says anything as you carefully lower yourself to the ground. It’s cold beneath you. Hard, unforgiving. You cross your legs, ignoring the deep ache of your wounds as you do so. You close your eyes. The storm is coming. 

“Take the bait, you son of a bitch.” You hear Nancy whisper. 

You or Max.

Take me, you silently beg. Take. Me. 

Silence settles over the group. Everyone waits with bated breath. No one knows who Vecna will choose. 

Steve stands nervously behind you, his hand on your walkman at all times. 

Just take me. Kill me instead of her. If you’ve watched me for so long, then just get it over with. Don’t make this easy, don’t be such a fucking coward.

The words echo in your head. Taunting Vecna, hoping their malice will be what saves Max. That he’ll choose you in the end, give you what you want. You’ll do whatever, say whatever you need, if it means Max will come home. 

Something pricks your skin. An uncomfortable, electric sensation coats your entire body. 

Vecna. 

For a moment you think he’s listened. You can feel his presence, the weight of him shadows in your mind. He’s here, he’s spared you mercy after prolonged cruelty. He’s chosen you and Max will survive. Her blue eyes will remain bright, her body alive.

Then it all comes crashing down.

“He chose Max. I repeat, he chose Max.” Erica says, voice cutting through the delusions you allowed yourself to get lost in.

Your ears are ringing. Somewhere in your body there is still oxygen that has not escaped you, but you cannot find it. He chose her. 

Robin radios Dustin and Eddie, you think she’s instructing them to move onto phase three, but her words are jumbled in your mind and you can’t hear anything besides the screaming in your head. 

He chose her.

“Y/N,” someone roughly grabs your shoulder. “Y/N, look at me.”

Nancy. She’s in front of you, kneeled down. She grabs your arms, her grip vicious. Her mouth moves. She’s saying something, the way her chest heaves makes you think she’s yelling.

Is she yelling at you?

“Y/N!” The ringing doesn’t subside, but you manage to look at Nancy. “We need to go!”

She’s right. You need to leave. There isn’t time to remember how to breathe. You know this. Somewhere in the distance there’s music. Guitar rifts through the wind, Eddie’s melody enrages the bats that swarm the Creel house. They’re gone in seconds, flying towards the sound, and you need to stick to the plan. 

Your head moves shakily, managing a small nod, and Nancy yanks you up with Steve’s help. She looks at Robin, and suddenly her and Steve grab your arms and force you to walk alongside Nancy. They aren’t aggressive as they do so, nor are they cruel. But you can’t afford to shut down. Not now.

Max won’t survive if you do. There’s no time to hesitate. No turning back.

You hope she finds the light.

Lightning flashes all around you, illuminating the Creel house as you stand before it. Steve opens the door first. The vines that cover the ground writhe at the disturbance. He shines his flashlight, his heart drops when he realizes just how infested the house is.

“Shit,” he breathes out. The floor is virtually impossible to walk across. “That’s not good.”

Then, because he has no other option, Steve starts jumping to any safe spot he can land on. He looks ridiculous as he does so, but for once you aren’t focused on that. Instead, you stare down at your injured leg and wince.

“Great,” your thigh is currently more blood than flesh. Jumping on it is quite literally the last thing you should be doing. “This is gonna hurt.”

“At least you have good balance?” Robin offers, though she doesn’t believe what she’s saying either. 

Nancy grabs your hand, then Robin’s. She looks at the two of you and smiles, trying her best to look reassuring. “It’s okay. You guys got this.”

The first jump hurts, setting the remaining nerves in your upper thigh on fire, but you can’t afford to scream or collapse. You have to remind yourself that the vines are interconnected. One wrong step, one miscalculated fall, and they’ll wrap viciously around you. 

It’s a slow, tedious process trying to get to the attic. The stairs are the hardest part. The vines twist with every step, slithering across the walls. Steve does his best to help you, offering you his hand for support, but you both hold your breath every time your foot slips. 

When you make it to the attic door, everyone readies their weapons. In one hand are your knives, in the other a molotov cocktail. Steve spins you around, digging into the backpack for an ax while Nancy grabs her gun. 

Your foot lifts, about to step forward, before the ground beneath you shakes violently. The entire house trembles, and Steve barely has enough time to catch everyone as all of you struggle not to fall. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You sneer, holding desperately onto Steve. This is all some sick, cruel joke. A poorly timed rupture in your rapture.

But then the house stills. Everything is quiet. You, Nancy, Steve, and Robin stare at one another, panting. Nobody moves. There’s a clarity in the air, a false sense of security. 

That’s when the first vine latches onto Robin. 

It folds around her ankle before tearing her away from you. She screams, so do you, and her body is thrown against the wall as more vines encase her limbs. They move fast, snake like, and everything unravels after that. 

“Steve! Y/N!” She screeches, terrified. “Nancy!” 

You’re at her side in a second, stabbing at the vines. Your knuckles are white as you grip your knives, your biceps strain. You aren’t letting them take Robin from you. “Hold on!”

Your teeth grit together in exertion, sawing as fast as you can. Steve and Nancy are on the other side, throwing their axes as hard furiously into the vines. But nothing works, they’re too thick, and you don’t realize that one of the vines has wrapped around your arm until it’s too late.

“Y/N!” Steve screams when your body gets lifted into the air. You try to fight it, to pry your arm away, but your legs give out and soon a second vine wraps around your other arm. Then a third, a fourth and a fifth. 

In seconds you’re pressed against the wall. 

“Steve!” Screams are ripped from your throat, you try to call out, to beg for your life, but the more you move, the tighter the vines constrict.

Steve calls after you, ramming into the wall as he tries to cut you loose. “I got you! I–”

The ax he’s holding gets yanked back by a vine. He’s launched into the air, body landing harshly next to yours several feet up the wall. He screams again, but his voice dies when a vine cuts off his breathing and chokes him.

Another vine coils around your throat and suddenly you can’t breathe. Your airway constricts. Sobbing, you try to reach out to Steve. You’re inches apart, his fingers are so close to yours that you can feel their warmth, but you can’t reach him

All you want to do is hold him. 

Nancy falls to the ground, the last victim. She gets thrown to the opposite wall, it all happens so fast that she doesn’t even have time to scream. 

Your vision blurs. You close your eyes.

This is how you’ll die. 

Far away from your home. No one will find your body down here. Dustin will come looking for you and he’ll face the same fate. He will die trying to find you. Vecna will destroy everything you’ve ever loved.

Your lungs burn, fighting for breath that they cannot get. Blood rushes to your head. You take your last breath. The sound of it echoes in your ears. 

Everything goes black. 

Your mother will be worried about you. 

I’m sorry.

– 

There’s a body beneath yours. 

It groans, gasping for air, but your vision is dark and you can’t see anything. Pain erupts in your wrist. You try to move it, but the sting makes you nauseous. 

There’s coughing all around you, but you’re too weak to suck the air back in. Everyone cowers for breath. The vines rescind, unwrapping themselves from your skin. There’s a body beneath you, and a gentle hand cups your cheek, you know it’s Steve.

“Breathe, angel.” His voice cracks, wounded. It hurts to speak, but he needs you to breathe. “Y/N, you have to breathe.”

Everything is numb. Your lungs are empty; you can’t remember how to fill them. Steve coaxes your lips open, blows air in your face, does whatever he can think of to get you to breathe, before finally, miraculously, you inhale sharply and begin coughing. 

“Are you alright?” Steve asks you softly, rubbing your back as you cough. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

Your throat is raw. It takes everything within you to speak, but you want to. You need to. There’s only one thing you want to say. “We have to make him pay.”

The anger is back, and Steve’s jaw sets. Vecna has hurt you. He’s hurt everyone you love. He’s chosen Max for his final death and your fury threatens to devour the sanity you have left. You’re tired of his shitty mind games.

It’s like what you promised Eddie: you have to make Vecna pay for what he’s done to you all.

“I don’t believe in a higher power,” Robin rasps, breaking you from your thoughts. “Or divine intervention. But that was a miracle.”

Nancy cocks her gun, already walking towards the attic door. “Then we better not waste it.”

“Phase four.” Steve says, steadying himself against you. 

“Flambe.” Robin finishes. 

You flick your knives out. “Let’s finish this.”

– 

Vecna’s body hangs in the attic, thick, gruesome vines attach him to every crevice. He’s unmoving, eyes closed, and seeing his body up close makes you want to gag. He’s a terrible, vile creature. 

But Dustin had been right: Vecna is in the same trance-like state that El goes into when she uses her powers. 

Without being told to, Robin sets down her bag. All the molotov cocktails are inside. Everyone grabs one, silent. Almost as if you’re all too afraid to break the spell he’s under. You only get one shot at this. 

Steve has the lighter. You hold the first cocktail up, and he looks at you, eyes shining. He asks you if you’re ready, if this is what you really want, and you nod. At your signal, Steve throws the cocktail into the air.

The bottle shatters against Vecna’s body. The flames engulf him, the impact of the blast so powerful that it knocks you and everyone else back. There’s an awful scream as Vecna’s vines begin to snap from the sudden heat.

Your screams mix with his, throwing another cocktail with every ounce of strength you have left in you. You’re bruised and bloodied and exhausted, but you think of Max. You think of Billy and Hopper. Eddie and how his life will never be the same again. You think of Chrissy, Patrick and Fred. All the innocent lives that have been lost for a cause that you despise. 

This is for them. For Hawkins. For your home.

The last of the vines die withering away, and Vecna’s body falls to the ground. He stands, body on fire, and stalks towards you. His eyes are only on you. 

Robin lights the final cocktail and the force of it sends Vecna stumbling back. It’s enough to break through his chest, and he’s weak. Weaker than you’ve ever seen him. 

“Shoot him, Nancy!” You cry, ready for this all to end. 

And she does.

The first blast pierces Vecna’s skin. The second, third, and fourth diminish him to ruined pieces. With every shot, Nancy steps forward, drawing him out, and you’re right behind her. Vecna releases a deep, furious roar. The sound of it sinks into your bones, but you no longer fear him. 

He isn’t worth your fear. 

Nancy raises her gun again. She deals the final blow, sending Vecna through the old, rotted wood of the house into the dark night. He falls, screaming, before everything is quiet. 

The roar of the fire that surrounds you is the only sound. You all stand in the attic, numb. None of it feels real. All that’s left of Vecna is a hole in the house, his body far below, sprawled on the concrete outside. 

“Did we…?” You’re afraid to jinx it, to somehow bring him back. But this has to be it. There isn’t any other way for this to end.

Nancy doesn’t say anything. Instead, she turns around, running back down the stairs. No one has to ask why she does this; you all know. There has to be a body. There must be tangible proof that you’ve won.

Everyone runs outside.

Vecna’s body is gone. 

The only indication that he’d been there is an outline of flames that molt the grass below it. But there is no body.

“No,” you run down the steps, kicking through the grass as you look around. You’re frantic, sprawling on the ground as if you’ll find him buried beneath the ash. “No, where is he?”

You killed him. He was on fire. Nancy put more than five bullets in him. He fell from the attic, a height that alone should’ve killed him. Where the fuck is he? You did everything right. Followed every step of the goddamn plan.

“This doesn’t make any sense.” Something is wrong, you just don’t know what. Steve and the others join you. They’re quiet, fearing what you’re refusing to even consider. Four deaths. That had been all Vecna needed. But you killed him. “None of this makes sense, unless… Unless he–”

No. 

A bell chimes. 

The sound sends you to the ground. Your knees give out, collapsing under the weight of it all. “No!” Your scream is loud, guttural. Tearing from your chest as it tears out your vocal chords. There’s blood in your mouth and you want it to choke you. 

It’s Max. 

He got her. He killed her. 

All of a sudden there are arms around you. Someone carries you back up the stairs, back into the house that has taken everything from you. Steve holds you to his chest as he, Nancy, and Robin stare at the grandfather clock before them. 

It’s alive.

“Four chimes,” Nancy’s voice can barely be heard above your crying. “Max…”

The realization settles upon all of you. You’re in hysterics, no one can calm you down. You’re crying so hard that you can’t breathe, but you don’t want to breathe anymore. 

Grief pours from you in cruel, bitter waves. All you do is cry, barely even registering the earthquake that follows your devastating loss. 

Steve has to set down your crying figure in order to stabilize Robin and Nancy. You curl into yourself on the ground, making yourself as small as possible. There is too much. It’s all too much. Your head digs into the floor beneath you, cutting you, and your tears mix with the blood. 

Over and over again the clock chimes. Like laughter. His laughter. 

He won. 

Steve holds onto the stairs as the earthquake worsens. He has to crawl over to you; you’re rocking back and forth on the ground, your cries heard even above the cracking of the earth. His hand wraps around your weeping body and he won’t let you go. Steve tries to shield you from fallen debris, the world is falling apart, but you don’t move.

You don’t care anymore. 

It’s always your fault in the end. You lose everyone eventually; you get them killed. You can never save them. You will never be able to save them.

She’s gone. 

Max is gone. 

– 

The days pass. You’ll come to remember them in fragments. 

Returning to Eddie’s trailer and finding Dustin crying over his dead body. Prying him away, your tears mixing with your brother’s when you have to tell him that something has happened to Max.

Finding Hawkins in flames. Seeing the deep gashes in the town you grew up in. Stumbling to the Creel house, racing side by side with the ambulances for everyone within the once quiet town, and collapsing again when you find no one there. 

Going home. Your mother’s arms breaking you. 

Steve. How he never left your side throughout it all. Holding Dustin’s hand, unable to stop crying. 

Visiting Max in the hospital the day after. The stench of sterilizer and surgical tools. Seeing her lifeless body still alive. The countless other bodies in the building that died due to your failure. 

When the news broadcasters announce Hawkins to be cursed. The burden that you can’t tell them that they’re right. The guilt seeing your baby brother’s limp. Another scar he will carry with him forever. 

All the hurt in the town. The pain. 

The collapse of your home; they’re calling it an earthquake. 

It all comes to you in flashes. 

Hawkins high school gets converted into a donation center for everyone dishoused. Visiting it is your idea. You can’t bear the thought of spending any more time inside your home knowing there are hundreds of others who no longer have a place to call home. 

“Anything else?” You place your old comics into one of the boxes you’re donating. 

Dustin shakes his head. “That’s the last of it.”

He hasn’t left your side in days. He still keeps your walkman on him, though neither of you know if it’s important anymore. Dustin is afraid that you’ll never put the headphones on again, even if it could save your life. 

You tape the boxes up, carefully writing down their contents on one of the flaps. Your fingers are scabbed. Your wrist is stiff, locking up if you move it too suddenly. 

Books.

Bedding. 

Clothing.

Anything you can offer, you’d give it all to Hawkins if you could.

Steve picks you up. He helps you put the boxes in the back of his car, gentle with you as always. “You guys ready?”

You nod weakly, and Steve kisses your forehead, careful of the cuts that litter it. He helps you into the car. Turns on your favorite songs. Tries to distract you from the wreckage that encases Hawkins as he drives; you keep your head down. You can’t look at any of it. 

Nancy is waiting in her driveway with Robin, a pile of their own boxes at their feet. They greet you kindly, warmly, with an air of fear that you’ll break, and you’re too tired to pretend. 

“I found some more of your old stuff in the attic,” Mrs. Wheeler walks out of the garage, smiling despite the circumstances. “I think it’s lovely you’re doing this, Y/N.”

“We all just want to help,” you politely respond, staying near Steve’s side. 

Nancy picks up one of the stuffed animals in the box and pouts, seeing her old favorite toy. You’re about to tease her, try to laugh, when a pizza delivery van speeds down the block. 

“Someone order a pizza?” Mrs. Wheeler asks.

“Not that I recall.” You mumble, confused as your eyes follow the car. Every business in Hawkins is shut down right now. It doesn’t make sense for there to be a pizza delivery.

It parks in front of the Wheeler’s, and when you see who steps out, you drop the box you’re holding and run towards them. 

Will and El throw themselves around you, hugging you tightly. Dustin joins, and holding them again, having them here with you, makes everything okay for a moment. Your kids are okay, they’re safe. 

“Are you okay?” El asks you, pulling away slightly. Her eyebrows knit in concern when she notices the cuts on your face and how red your eyes are. “Did he get you?”

Somehow you aren’t surprised that she knows about Vecna. 

“I’m okay, sweetie.” Her hair is buzzed. Already you miss the long strands she once had. You don’t know what she’s been through this last week, but you hope, more than anything, that she hasn’t lost her kindness. “I-I’m okay.”

Your voice catches at the end, and immediately El understands that something else happened.

“We were worried about you,” Will doesn’t let you go. “When El told us what was happening, Jonathan almost lost his mind.”

Jonathan.

Hearing his name makes you remember everything. Instinctively your eyes find him. They always do. Jonathan has Nancy in his arms, but when he senses your eyes on him, he looks up at you. He will always be able to find you. Your heart stops, looking into his once familiar brown eyes.

Jonathan rushes towards you, as he always does, and his arms around you feel like home. 

“Bug,” he breathes against your neck, holding onto you tighter than he ever has before.

You melt when the nickname drips from Jonathan’s lips. It’s been so long since someone has called you that. It’s been even longer since you’ve held Jonathan like this. 

“God, what happened to you?” His eyes roam your body, catching on your bandaged shoulder and thigh. The cuts on your cheek. You try to ease his concern, grabbing his hands, but Jonathan starts to ramble. “We-we tried to get back to Hawkins as soon as we could. The second El told me you were in danger I–”

He inhales shakily, presses his face deeper into your neck. “All I could do to stay sane was think of your voice. Of our last phone call.”

You bury your face into Jonathan’s messy hair. You’re crying, but for what, you don’t know. His scent is bittersweet. His arms are reminiscent of what was once. You’ve missed him, but nothing will ever be the same again.

“I need to see her.” El’s raised voice causes you to let go of Jonathan. She’s standing in front of Dustin, arms crossed, and you know he’s told her the truth. “Take me to Max.”

“What’s wrong with Max?” Mike slings an arm over your shoulders, putting all his body weight against you in greeting. “Miss me, Henderson?”

You move his arm down, forcing him into a hug. You want to remember these next few seconds. The remnants of his childhood before it comes crashing down on him. “I did, Wheeler.”

Mike hugs you back, but when he sees the distress on El’s face, he lets you go and walks towards her. “What? What’s going on?”

Dustin is the one who breaks the news. Shamefully, you know it should’ve been you, but you haven’t been able to say Max’s name in days. There’s too much guilt, remorse, resentment that it hadn’t been you. 

It’s a mess of tears and panic when Dustin tells them. Will covers his mouth, holding back tears, while El storms inside the pizza delivery van as Mike demands that Jonathan take him and everyone else to see Max. They don’t believe any of it. El told them that she saved Max. 

“Are you coming, Y/N?” Jonathan holds his keys up. Everyone else, including Nancy, are already inside. A boy your age, you think his name is Argyle, waves at you from the passenger seat. 

So much has changed. Unable to form the right words, you shake your head at Jonathan. Yet even after months apart, he understands your unspoken words. You can’t see Max again. Not yet. It’s too soon, too much for you to bear.

Seeing her limp body once was enough. 

“We’ll be back,” Jonathan hugs you one last time, pressing a kiss to your hairline as he lets you go. “I promise.”

Steve steps forward then, wrapping an arm around your waist as he stands next to you. The two teens lock eyes, Steve gives Jonathan a cool, steely look. He remembers what you’ve told him. He remembers Jonathan’s words to you before everything collapsed. 

Sensing his anger, you squeeze Steve’s arm. Not here, you beg him. Not now.

Exhaling slowly, Steve offers you his hand. You take it, allowing him to walk you back to his car as the others leave.

– 

The donation center is packed. There are so many people inside, sitting on makeshift cots and pinning missing posters of their loved ones to a bulletin board. Nurses tend to the injured. Mothers cradle their children. The sight makes you ache. All these people, displaced by what they believe to be an earthquake.

You set the boxes down at the main dropoff table, and though the kind employee praises you for how organized the boxes are, you can’t help feeling that you should be doing more. 

In the hundreds of injured and grieving people you’ve seen, you’ve only noticed a handful of workers. 

“Is there any way we can help?” You ask the woman, looking around with a frown.

“Truly anything.” Robin says. “We just… we want to help.”

The woman seems surprised, and you wonder how rare it is for kindness to still be in a town that has known nothing but turmoil these last few years. 

You and Steve get placed sorting clothing while Robin is assigned to the food station. Dustin passes out cups of water for everyone. It isn’t much, but the work is meaningful and it eases the tension in your chest. 

“So…” Steve folds a t-shirt. “Can I ask about Jonathan yet?”

Picking up tattered jeans, you place them in the trash pile. “Might as well.”

“How do we feel about his sudden arrival? I mean, the giant pizza statue on the van was a little dramatic for me.”

He’s trying to keep the conversation light, which you appreciate him for, but you also know that Steve is doing this because he’s worried about you. And, you know, he’s unnerved seeing Jonathan. There’s still a lot left unsaid between you. 

“It’s… a lot.” You admit, struggling to find the right words to convey how you feel. “I’m relieved he’s okay, and I really am happy to see him again, but I… I understand, you know. If you’re upset.”

Steve scrunches his face. “I’m not upset, just… I don’t know. Annoyed with the guy.”

“So you’re upset.”

“Okay, no–”

“Is that Vickie with Robin?” You unintentionally cut Steve off, too surprised by the fact that mere feet away from you is Robin and Vickie making sandwiches together. And they’re laughing. “Are they talking together?”

Steve whips his head around, disbelieving, but lets out a low whistle when he sees Robin making easy conversation with Vickie. “Well I’ll be damned. Who knew our girl had it in her?”

The Jonathan talk lays forgotten as you and Steve admire your friend. You share a secret smile, remembering your own first awkward, bantering conversations together. There is so much pain in this town, and yet you watch as love still blossoms within it.

Across the room, you see Dustin talking to an older man. They’re deep in discussion and you notice your brother’s shaking shoulders. He’s crying. The older man is, too. You narrow your eyes, unsure if you should approach, but when Dustin hands the man Eddie’s old guitar pick, you realize who it is. 

“I’ll be back.” You kiss Steve’s cheek, excusing yourself. 

He tries to ask where you’re going, but you’re already gone. Your brother needs you right now.

Walking over, you stand to the side and allow Dustin and Eddie’s uncle some privacy. While there are so many things you want to say to the man, like how kind his nephew had been, how brilliant his mind was and how you’ll never forget the smile that never left his face, this is for Dustin and Dustin only. 

Eddie was his dearest friend. There is no greater loss than that.

Whatever Mr. Munson tells Dustin will be good for him; it will be the closure you can’t give him yourself. 

An arm wraps around you. You lean into the touch, knowing who it is without even having to look. You rest your head on Steve’s shoulder, exhausted, but content with the warmth he offers you. The two of you keep an eye on Dustin, ready to catch him in case he falls. 

Eventually Mr. Munson leaves, and you take his place next to Dustin. The second you sit down, the boy cries into your shoulder. Tears soak your shirt and your brother’s frail body shakes. “I-I had to tell him that Eddie died a hero.”

“I know,” your head falls against his.

“They’ll never know what he did for this town.” Sobs wrack Dustin’s body. “It isn’t-it isn’t fair.”

You rub his back, brush his hair out of his face. “None of it is fair, Dust.”

He cries even harder and you try to shield him from the world with your body. You try to block out the grief, the bitterness that follows death. How empty it can leave you. An emptiness that can swallow a person whole. 

You won’t let it happen to Dustin. 

“We’re gonna get through this together, alright? You and me, just like it’s always been. I promise–” Your words catch in your throat, tears forming in your own eyes. There’s so much you want to promise your brother, to swear that will come true, but you’re just as hurt and lost as he is. 

“I promise,” you make the words come out. “That everything will be okay. We’ll-we’ll be together, heal and do whatever we can to make everything okay. I-I’ll never leave you, you hear me? I won’t leave you again.”

Though Dustin still cries, his breathing slows. 

“Together. We’ll face this together.” As you talk, you notice a crowd of people swarming by the windows. They’re looking at something, staring and gasping. Your voice grows weak, anxious that something bad is about to happen. “It’ll… it’ll all work out.”

Dustin notices the crowd, too. He looks to you for answers, but you’re silent. You don’t know what’s happening. There’s a murmur in the crowd, hushed, urgent. It sets your skin on edge. Even more people get up now, some are even running outside, and every nerve in your body is screaming at you to run. 

Suddenly the room darkens, as if a giant cloud has covered the sky. Your stomach twists, and you get up, following after the crowd. Bodies shove each other, people blindly walk through the haze of whispers and uncertainty. 

When you step outside, all you see is ash.

The ash falls like snowflakes, beautiful and pure. There’s a softness to it, something delicate in the ruin it leaves. Dustin knocks against you, staring up into the sky with the same dread that you feel. The crowd is murmuring with glee, whispering excitedly about what they believe to be snow; but they’re wrong.

You’ve always won in the end. 

You’ve come to believe this to be a fact. You once told Steve that you believed you used up all your luck. Saving Will, closing the gate over and over again. The penance was the deaths from this summer for the greedy way you abused luck.

Steve had reminded you that there was still good leftover in the bad. That there will always be softness in the destruction, a reason for hope. That you will always find a way out, that luck and love were two sides of the same coin.

You’ve always won in the end. 

Yet, lost in the swarm of people, you watch as the sky begins to fall and Hawkins descends into the Upside Down. 

You no longer believe it.

[END OF SEASON FOUR]

-

⌑ series masterlist

⌑ if youd like to buy me a coffee ☕︎

⌑ thank you for reading ! feel free to like, comment, reblog, or send in an ask so we can chat <3

[astonmartinii]

day nine: christmas on screen | carlos sainz social media au

pairing: carlos sainz x fem musician reader

what's better than being a super famous singer that's dating a formula one driver? being a super famous singer that's dating a formula one driver that is willing to dress up in silly outfits for your chirstmas special

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 4,231,893 others

tagged: chappellroan & netflix

yourusername: yoohoo! i'm excited to announce my christmas special is coming to you via netflix on december sixth!

view all comments

user1: i have never been more sat, my parents are telling me it's not out yet but i am SO sat on our couch

user2: this is about to be my entire personality for the next two months

user3: TWO MONTHS? weak.

oscarpiastri: CHAPPELL???

yourusername: i know right !!!

carlossainz55: why are you here?

oscarpiastri: i may not like YOU but i like y/n and i LOVE chappell

yourusername: so true of you

carlossainz55: no. not true of you

oscarpiastri: you have a problem with me streaming your girlfriend's music? supporting her career?

yourusername: i appreciate it oscar

carlossainz55: YES.

carlossainz55: you're only doing it to bother ME

oscarpiastri: listen here buddy i've been here since the disney days just because you're an OLD MAN doesn't mean i am

yourusername: i think you guys should maybe settle this on track and not in my comments lol

carlossainz55: i'm on it

oscarpiastri: if you can get close enough next season :P

user4: carcar beef even in the offseason we're being FED

user5: can't deal with oscar reminding me that carlos will be in the williams next year

user6: but oscar is also real as fuck for being a disney girl

charles_leclerc: do you need a piano man at all?

carlossainz55: if there's going to be a ferrari driver in this special it would be ME not YOU

charles_leclerc: well you're not really a ferrari driver anymore so.... it's still open?

yourusername: charlie... it's already been filmed... how did you think we made the trailer?

charles_leclerc: oh - BORING!

user7: so that's basically confirmation that carlos will be in the special right?

user8: i mean although his only talents outside of an f1 car seem to be golf, football and liking shady tweets - he does have a face card that demands to be on tv

user9: i wouldn't put it past y/n and carlos to somehow shoehorn smooth operator in there somewhere

carlossainz55

liked by landonorris, fernandoalo_oficial and 652,494 others

tagged: yourusername

carlossainz55: making my netflix debut with my love this winter - check it out december sixth!

view all comments

user13: CONFIRMATION !!!!

user14: tbf as soon as this project was announced there was no way he wouldn't be in it in some shape or form

yourusername: it took a LOT of pleading... had to use the netflix card in the end

user15: thank you for your service

yourusername: seeing your face on a big screen? do tell me more

carlossainz55: i'm just happy you let me on the same screen as you

yourusername: but we're always on the same screen together?

landonorris: not this gatekeeping...

yourusername: i don't think you'd want to see it lando

landonorris: why wouldn't i want to see my two best friends ???

carlossainz55: IT'S NOT SUITABLE FOR YOUR EYES STOP ASKING

landonorris: IS IT YALL FUCKING???

yourusername: my lawyer said i shouldn't answer that question

user16: netflix debut? bro said drive to survive? i don't know her

user17: i mean that show is a complete farce

user18: can't wait for the three episode run all about stake and no mention of max vs george

fernandoalo_oficial: wowee chilli you have outdone yourself this time!

carlossainz55: thank you nando :) i hope you will be watching

fernandoalo_oficial: i will be sitting pretty on the sixth no worries, but only if you and y/n come to my new years bash ...

yourusername: WE WILL BE THERE

fernandoalo_oficial: loving the enthusiasm!

carlossainz55: it's because she has a huge crush on you :(

yourusername: welp can you blame me?

carlossainz55: that's a surrogate father to me i will not be agreeing with you

yourusername: snooze

user19: y/n crush on fernando? she's even more relatable

user20: this makes the whole fernando x taylor swift thing even funnier

yourusername: i won't say it was me whole told taylor about that.... buttttt

user21: queen

netflix

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 2,893,099 others

tagged: yourusername, obx & f1

netflix: what will you be watching this christmas break?

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user22: me and my girls will be streaming drive to survive and then will be using a nonsense christmas as a palate cleanser

user23: REAL

user24: @netflix please do better with the next season xxx

carlossainz55: a nonsense christmas. over and over again. until it's all that is in my brain and tattooed on the inside of my eyelids

yourusername: omg you do that too???

yourusername: no living soul should ever see my 'baby' folder on tiktok LOL

carlossainz55: well SNAP

user25: really yall save the tiktok edits of each other?

yourusername: ummm yeah? some of you are VERY talented

carlossainz55: also we're apart more than we're together so something must tide us over

charles_leclerc: is that why you keep looking for cameras, smizing and pouring water on yourself

yourusername: don't forget the backwards cap!

carlossainz55: i gotta give them the material to keep my girl happy

carlossainz55: also who do you think suggested the juno position...

user25: thank you for your service

landonorris: wait so that cute fanservice moment was actually just the y/nlos KARMA SUTRA ???

user26: i need a significant other who does this much just for tiktok edits

user27: is this the 21st century romance we were promised?

user28: it's the best we're getting, poetry is dead i fear

yourusername: so i wrote juno for nothing?

maxverstappen1: i will be conducting a full dexter rewatch

carlossainz55: excuse you?

maxverstappen1: well why would i watch drive to survive? i lived it and i already watched a nonsense christmas - amazing work @yourusername

yourusername: thanks max!

carlossainz55: how have yOU watched it? i haven't even watched it yet?

maxverstappen1: i wouldn't have that if i were you y/n, that guy is meant to be your biggest fan?

carlossainz55: i AM

maxverstappen1: oh and i just bribed netflix lol - they had to make up with me at some point ;)

yourusername

liked by taylorswift, landonorris and 3,834,033 others

tagged: carlossainz55

yourusername: christmas was on screen for me this year, but i get to live my hallmark romance everyday

view all comments

user30: chat do we wanna put bets on how long it takes for them to get their own btec hallmark christmas movie like taylor and travis?

user31: next christmas for sure if they're still together

user32: 'if they're still together' kill yourself

liked by carlossainz55

user33: i will be sat for their awful attempt to film the racing scenes

carlossainz55: you're my fairytale ending princess

yourusername: as if you're not the biggest prize of all

carlossainz55: nope that would be you :P

yourusername: whatever you say beautiful

carlossainz55: no i'm being so serious, you being mine is the best gift of all and one i intend to keep for life

yourusername: well it's your lucky day, i want to be yours forever too

yourusername: but the y/ln name will live on

carlossainz55: i'm ready to take yours

charles_leclerc: it's true i caught him practising a new signature with carlos y/ln

yourusername: that's so fucking hot

user34: so that ended abruptly ...

user35: do we think?

user36: yep. it's defo what we think

user37: i mean i'd also climb my boyf like a tree if he said he wanted to be my life partner and take MY last name

taylorswift: we loved your special !!! see you soon xx

yourusername: thank you mama

carlossainz55: so are we all going to the super bowl orrrrrr

yourusername: let's get through christmas first babe

carlossainz55: ACTUALLY who do i talk to about getting you the super bowl halftime show

user38: boyfriend or agent? why not both!

carlossainz55

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, landonorris and 782,309 others

tagged: yourusername

carlossainz55: thank you netflix for allowing to broadcast how hot and amazing my girlfriend is and how absolutely off limits she is

view all comments

user39: bro used a NETFLIX special to tell people to back off his girl

user40: i need a boyf like this

user41: i think i speak for most men that we don't have the budget for this

user42: i mean y/n and netflix mostly paid for the special

user41: did or did carlos not ride in on his 'sleigh' that was a WHOLE FERRARI F1 CAR ???

yourusername: i want everyone to know your mine too

yourusername: why do you think i wear so much red?

lewishamilton: right, this is my seat now you people do know this right?

yourusername: RED CAN BE FOR SPAIN TOO

yourusername: DUMBASSES PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE TO THIRST OVER MY BOYF AND WEAR HIS COLOURS

carlossainz55: you do look otherworldly in red 🫶

yourusername: why thank you xx

yourusername: @williamsf1 any chance we can do a one off red livery - perhaps in spain pretty please

williamsf1: i don't think the social media admin has control over it

yourusername: okay i'll just dm james personally

carlossainz55: babe ???

yourusername: you look almost as good as me in red babe i'm doing it for the greater good

yourusername: @alexalbon you'd look okay too i guess?

alexalbon: i'll take it (and i'll take some tickets as well please)

user43: i love how y/n has just become the ticket plug

user44: and for both sides like why was she the one to get travis in touch with alpine but also giving charles the tickets to taylor in italy

landonorris: ugh we get it you're happy

carlossainz55: you doing okay buddy

landonorris: it's a lonely time of year and you guys aren't helping

yourusername: i have a song about this!

landonorris: what do you think has been on blast the last couple of days?

yourusername: i'll take the streams thanks buddy

f1

liked by danielricciardo, oscarpiastri and 1,209,483 others

tagged: carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, yourusername & landonorris

f1: so how do we get y/n on OUR netflix show?

view all comments

user45: i ask myself this everyday

user46: i'll deal with all the fake drive to survive drama if we get a whole episode of y/n and carlos just existing

user47: i need a y/n hot lap while we're at it as well

carlossainz55: why are you posting such sexy photos of my girlfriend 🤨

f1: ummmmmmm... all photos of her are?

carlossainz55: WRONG ANSWER

carlossainz55: ONLY I'M ALLOWED TO SAY THAT ABOUT HER

f1: i didn't even say the word ???

francocolapinto: take me to jail then

carlossainz55: ugh i don't have the time to fight all of you

francocolapinto: weak

carlossainz55: i have a tight schedule which includes driving in the car you thought you would get and loving the girl YOU WISH YOU COULD BE WITH

francocolapinto: oop

user48: bro is crazy

user49: crazy in LOVE

liked by carlossainz55

yourusername: i guess you'll just have to ask nicely

f1: carlos won't fight us if we do right?

carlossainz55: no... for now

f1: COOL PLEASE COME TO A RACE

yourusername: i can't say much, but i do look just as cute in red as i do i blue :P

user50: YES QUEEN!!!!

user51: and when we get a y/n performance at a race and then we get a juno position at a grand prix weekend...

carlossainz55: that will be my onstage debut

carlossainz55: i know how outrageously horny all you lonely f1 guys are

user52: spill

yourusername: so not just as much as you babe?

carlossainz55: well i actually get to have you sooooooo

yourusername: true :P

user53: LEAVE US ALONE

fin.

note: woah this is like the first time i've written for carlos in like a year. oh and even though this is nice to him... the guilty as sin finale will come in the new year xx

[julesinsummer]

Baby Fever | Theodore Nott x Reader

theodore nott x pregnant!reader | fluff

in which theo is adamant about his daughter's name

"This is insanity, Theodore!" she shouted, flinging her hands up in annoyance.

"It is very reasonable!" Theo yelled back, tangling his hands in his hair and pulling slightly.

Theo began to pace back and forth, shaking his head. y/n rolled her eyes and scoffed. "You cannot be serious right now."

"I am!" he replied, dropping his hands to his sides as he looked at her.

There she was, his wife, standing in their living room, looking pristine as always. Her hair was in perfect condition and her eyes shone brightly as they always had. It was hard for him to stay mad at her when she just looked so ethereal.

"I'm nine months pregnant, Theo. Stop looking at me like that," y/n deadpanned, crossing her arms over her chest. Theo let out a small chuckle, all the frustration he had felt moments prior fading away.

He stalked over to his wife, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head and wrapping his arms around her frame. "I'm sorry, my love."

y/n melted into the embrace, closing her eyes contentedly. "'s alright, baby."

"So is it completely out of the question to name her-"

"One hundred percent out of the question."

"But it's-"

"I said no," y/n said with finality, poking Theo in the ribs playfully. "I'm not naming my daughter Theodora after you. She gets your last name and that is more than enough."

Theo sighed and let go of y/n, keeping a light touch on her hips. "Fine, fine. Can we name her y/n junior then?"

y/n laughed loudly, putting her hands on her protruding stomach. "I think that's better than Theodora, at least."

-

"So did you get your way?" Draco asked Theo as he emerged from the labor and delivery wing of St. Mungos. He had a smug grin on his face as he looked at Nott's blanched face.

Theo shook his head slowly. "No, but I think it's just set in that I'm a father."

Pansy stood and gave Theo a polite tap on the shoulder. "You'll make a decent one," she stated in the softest tone she could muster. "What's her name, anyways?"

"y/n named her," Theo beamed, the light from his smile illuminating the small waiting room where his friends stood. "Isabelle, after my mom."

[pythonmoth]

cw: FLUFF. social anxiety. self-imposed exposure therapy (pls never do that!). cute and then not so cute, but cute again! panic attack. dissociation. reader is traumatized and inconsistent. implied sexual activity, nothing explicit. simon is a whiny little bitch. slightly styled text.

primary simon x f!reader. poly tf141.

word count: 4k

First | Last | Next

Having breakfast with Johnny, with the team, wasn’t something you realized you’ve been missing.

It fits right in your heart, filling a hole you didn’t know has been empty.

So many years have gone by and little things like this usually go ignored until you’re forced to be aware of them and their absence. Maybe it’s therapy; maybe it’s that you’ve gotten used to being alone after nine months, only relying on your brother for a few months and then being on your own, but breakfast with the people you’ve called your family for nearly ten years now, it’s something your body accepted as necessary once you got it back, only then understanding how much you’ve been missing it.

Once everybody’s tummy is filled with tea, coffee and good food, they take turns to shower, one by one leaving to get ready until it’s only Simon and you. He looks far more relaxed than the day before, his eyes warm as he nods when you talk, telling him about how you’ve been planning to remodel a little, maybe change the paint of the exterior or even add some flowers to your backyard. Now that you’re forced to stay home, there are things that you want to change so it looks prettier when you come back. 

You don’t miss the way his right cheek jumps, as if he’s trying not to grimace; you know it isn’t a happy memory for anybody, but you’re glad he isn’t trying to shut it down, and merely accepting it as it is. Same as you are.

“Do you know if Tommy is available? I might have to call him up, since I can’t reach everything on my own. He’s the closest one to a professional I know, anyway” you hum, your fingers entertained as they rip apart a sugar packet, your eyes not leaving it for a moment.

“My brother? I think so. I can ask him to contact you” Simon mumbles. You look up when you notice how unhappy he sounds. He’s… pouting.

“What?”

Simon frowns, seemingly unsure if he should speak up or not. In the end, just when you’re starting to overthink and overanalyze everything you’ve said and done to get him to look like his, he finally looks up.

“I’m… I am available. I could help you” he grunts. “I’ve helped him at work before and I can get it done as quickly as he can” Simon rushes, as if he couldn’t help it. “With the right tools, perhaps even faster”.

When you go quiet, he shuts up. You’re hyper aware of his eyes on you as you look down at the ruined sugar packet in your fingers, biting down on your lip. It’s not that you don’t know he helps Tommy sometimes, it just felt like a safer question.

In the back of your mind, you think back to something your therapist mentioned as a possibility, something that could help you with the PTSD, though she said it wasn’t time nor a good idea for you yet. That was five months ago and, really, neither of you mentioned it again. Maybe…

Exposure therapy. It should be okay.

After all, what’s the worst that can happen? It’s just Simon.

“Wait, I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I can just call him and—”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay” you interrupt him, your eyes twinkling a little. “If you’re free… we could start today, buy a few things. Please?”

And so, when the morning comes to an end, Price, Gaz and Johnny say their goodbyes, only Gaz and Price coming over to kiss your cheek and pat your head. Johnny gives you a bright smile and a promise to come over later. Price makes sure you remember his number, just in case. Gaz cups your cheeks, kissing your forehead loudly before he walks out the door with Price.

Johnny kisses Simon briefly before they leave, Gaz playfully gagging behind them. You see him, however, getting nudged by Price, both of them looking quite content; surely, there was a conversation you weren’t part of. The sun is high up as the car disappears from sight, some part of your heart wishing they could stay longer, but this will be good.

You hope so, at least.

Then, it’s only Simon and you.

It takes you fifteen minutes to get ready, and another ten minutes for you to stop looking in the mirror, reminding yourself that you’re not going alone. You don’t have to double check behind you, you’ve nothing to fear. But, the reminder that is Simon who’s coming with you, brings an unwelcome feeling at the base of your spine.

It’s somewhat irrational, you’re aware. But it’s still scary, and it doesn’t make it less real.

Taking a deep breath, you nod to yourself in the mirror, and step back, hastily putting away your makeup and promising yourself you’re going to clean the few-weeks-old dust from it when you’re back.

Your guts flip when you realize the sun’s already coming down, and it makes you feel insane that you can’t even focus on things like that; why would you be unsure of how long you’ve spent spacing out? That’s something else to mention the therapist, maybe.

Simon’s waiting in the living room when you come down, his face relaxed and his eyes fixed on his phone. His leg betrays him, however, because you can tell he’s been waiting, anxious. When he hears you, Simon gets up, checking his pockets to make sure he has everything and gives you a thumbs up, gingerly walking towards you.

“You ready?” he asks, his expression inviting, as if giving you an out. He looks just as anxious as you feel, and that makes you feel a little better.

Reaching into your bag, you make sure you have your knife and the spare knife, before nodding at him. As you both make your way out and into the car, you also pat the left pocket of your jeans. 

Pocket knife is a must, sometimes.

Buying the paint isn’t nearly as boring as you thought it would be. 

Simon makes it his mission to keep you entertained, easily reading the anxiety in your body language; he talks.

He talks a lot. And quite easily, much to your surprise.

Simon tells you why the lighter painting is better, and why you shouldn’t go for the darker one in certain places of the house, and why grey is a hard no if you want your house to look good. The black surgical mask is almost funny with how much it moves over his mouth, but you focus on him, and soon enough, you’re less worried, talking more, smiling and laughing at his awful jokes.

Eventually, in the middle of one of Simon’s morbid comments —"Look, that ashtray would be a funny gift for Johnny, if you ask me. We could make him fit in there later. Do you think it would be cheaper if we tell them why we want it?"—, you find the perfect shade for the exterior of your house. Simon isn’t convinced, you can see it, but he doesn’t complain, only crossing his arms and tilting his head, as if calculating in his brain how much you’ll need. He’s been at your house many times, and knows it as well as you do.

Simon’s the one who asks for the paint and a few other tools, since you’re already aware he won’t let you carry it anyway. You hand Simon your credit card, and turn away, distracted with little light bulbs of soft white light that would look pretty good in your bedroom, so you don’t notice he doesn’t use your card to pay for it, but his instead. He doesn’t tell you either as he hands the plastic back to you and carries the bucket and the rest of the big tools to the car.

Just like a few days ago, you find yourself checking your surroundings, especially now that it’s dark. You keep the car locked as you check the back seats with your phone, making Simon wait a moment. After making sure it’s safe, you pat your left pocket to feel the knife there and quickly get inside, finally allowing him in as well. Maybe your therapist is right and you’re still jumpy, but it is dangerous out there anyway, and there’s nothing wrong with being paranoid careful.

The drive back home is pretty calm, your shoulders finally relaxing after nearly two hours of being on edge. Simon’s music blasts on the speakers, a little too loud to be safe, but you need the distraction, and the streets are pretty lonely at night so you only focus on it, mumbling the lyrics to yourself.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re home and carrying the little bag with tools, which is the only thing Simon will let you grab, and get inside. Not even bothering to turn back, you lock the door behind you and take your shoes off, letting Simon take the plastic bag from your hands so he can set everything by the back door.

“I’ll be up early. If you wanna help, make sure you’re up by 7am” Simon grumbles, yawning as he takes the mask off.

“I haven’t woken up at 7am in like… nine months. That’s too early”.

“Tough shit”.

With a happy feeling in your chest, you say goodnight and go up to your room, leaving Simon to get comfortable in the guest room. Neither of you mention it, but it’s implicit he won’t be staying in your room like he would if this were before. The stairs creak slightly when you pause, your hand over the handrail, looking down as he seems to hesitate before waving at you, making his way to the room.

Out of habit, and maybe feeling a little anxious, you lock the door before taking your heavy jacket off. Getting ready to sleep alone feels a bit odd now that Gaz isn’t laying in your bed, but soon enough, you’re fresh and clean, and ready to sleep.

A loud crashing sound makes you jump up, face wrinkled from the pillow and heart pounding in your chest. You make your way downstairs, nearly tripping over your bare feet, one of the long knives in your hand as you try to focus on whatever is happening. The sun hits your face from the back door, watching as Simon hisses and holds the bucket of paint up, a big splash of colour all over your wooden floor.

“What the hell are you doing?” you grunt, using the knife to scratch your forehead.

Simon looks up, his eyes widening as he takes in your appearance. He didn’t think he’d ever be given the opportunity to see you so messy in the morning, but here you are. He clears his throat and starts scraping up the paint before it dries. “I didn’t seal it and I kinda dropped it. It’s fine, I’ll clean it quickly”. He falters a little when he sees the knife in your hand, a little amused. “Are you gonna stab me for messing with your floors?”

“Maybe. Don’t tempt me” you huff, your shoulders relaxing. “Be back in ten. Don’t you dare use the skyscraper ladder without me”.

“Mhm”.

“You’re gonna break your neck if you do”.

“Heard ya” Simon grumbles, his lips curling up. “I’ll wait for you”.

The tone in his words makes your heart tremble, but your face betrays nothing. Excited to work on your house, and hoping the little challenge you're putting yourself through doesn’t end badly, you rush to get ready.

The toughest part of painting with Simon is getting the job done.

Simon doesn’t move until the edges are perfectly done. He accidentally touched something he shouldn’t have? He’s gonna spend as long as necessary to get the paint off. You’re doing it gently, slowly, so he doesn’t take the brush from you? You’re taking too long! And if you let him do it himself, then why are you sitting there all pretty while he does it all? In the end, you give him an annoyed look and he calms down.

But then, when the edges are done, and you have to use the roller? Now that’s fun.

Since it’s easier, he lets you do it yourself, one of his hands on your lower back so you don’t trip —if your heart is trembling a little, that’s none of his business. Though you’re not entirely sure if it's anxiety, or excitement—. Simon’s smiling now, guiding you with a lot more patience, chuckling next to your ear when you accidentally get paint over your hands, and some tiny, little drops on his hair.

“I’ll make something to eat after we finish the first layer” Simon promises, guiding your arm with his warm hand; a simple caress from your elbow to your wrist as he points to the little places that are missing some love, as he calls it.

It doesn’t take you both long to finish the first layer, though it is more than you expected, since Simon kept coming back to perfect the edges and some little mistakes you couldn’t even notice, but you appreciate his enthusiasm, so even if it can be a little annoying, you don’t really complain.

Simon cooks something “simple” that allows you both to take two hours off, letting the paint dry properly. With both of you working together, his movements less sudden than they were the last morning —especially with the knife, which you can appreciate—, you end up just eating on your feet, both of you in the kitchen, not even using the plates and eating straight from the pot. 

Feeling lazy to clean up after this, you reach out for a single glass, lifting your eyebrow at him. Simon nods, taking it from you to pour some cold water for the two of you.

You can tell his eyes are fixed on the little mark your lip balm leaves on the glass and the way he drinks from the exact same place, but you’re easily distracted by food, so it doesn’t cross your mind to call him out for it. It’s something he used to do a lot back then, so you’re not surprised, but… it’s a little funny, honestly.

A few hours later, Simon’s on your ass again. The stupid edges are making both of your eyes twitch and your annoyance grows with each comment about how you’re doing it wrong. He isn’t even mean, but it’s so fucking annoying it makes your blood boil, your guts churning with murderous intent.

When he fucking whines that you’re not doing it as straight as it should be, you just can’t do it anymore. Your hand reaches down to the painting tray and, when your palm is dripping, you don’t give him a moment to understand what you’re doing before you place your hand right across his face, paint getting to his hair, his forehead, his nose and temples.

“Whom do you serve?”

Simon stares at you in shock.

You have exactly two seconds to run away when you see him reaching down for one of the brushes. 

He catches up to you in just a moment, the cold brush getting paint all over your old shirt, as if he were slashing a sword across your back. You shriek, still trying to get away, but Simon’s determined now, an arm wrapping around your waist to hold you against him. “You little shit” he grunts, amusement dripping from his voice as clearly as the paint does from the brush.

“Wait!” you yelp, laughing when Simon runs the cold paint across your face, forcing your lips close for a moment as the coarse bristles run over your cheeks.

“See? Better” he laughs, his hand splaying on your stomach before he finally lets go. Your skin tingles when his warmth slips away, but then you turn around to huff at him, and notice the bright, rare smile splitting Simon’s face in two, so you end up tackling him to the ground instead.

You’re rewarded with his flushing face, a loud bark of laughter coming from deep in his belly as he doesn’t even try to stop you. You scoop the dripping paint from your cheeks with your fingers and wipe your hands clean on his hair, his shirt. The paint seems to glow over his flushed cheeks.

A loud yelp of surprise echoes in your backyard when Simon easily flips you around, one of his hands pinning your wrists to the soft grass as he uses the brush to paint ridiculously big dots all over your shirt and arms. Your entire body shakes with amusement, laughing with no inhibitions, until you try to free your wrists from his grip.

And you c a n ’t mo ve.

Your mind fills with awful memories, with pain, fea r, salt wa ter, and pain. 

Pain. Pa in. One finger nail. Five fi ngerna ils.

Th r ee toe na il s.

You suddenly freeze, zoning out. You don’t even notice Simon’s holding you up, carrying you back inside as he mumbles, whispering soft promises. His hands are gentle and warm as he wipes the paint off your face, doing his best not to get much water on your skin, but you aren’t listening, your body is rock solid and your jaw is so tight he can’t even make sure you’re not biting down on your tongue.

When you wake up, you’re in your bed.

Your skin is clean, and there’s a soft towel under you that’s now a little dirty with paint; you’re still wearing the same clothes from this morning. It takes you a little moment to remember why you’re here, and look down at your wrists. 

Right.

The sound of water running from downstairs makes you get up, taking the towel off your bed. You set it over your chair by the desk and walk downstairs, your cheeks warm with embarrassment when you see him in the kitchen. The lights are low so you can’t really see his face, but you can see his slumping shoulders, the tension on his nape and the twitching of his mouth.

“Simon?”

He nearly drops the glass when he hears your voice, but he manages to catch it just in time, freezing as he stares up at you.

He’s still covered in paint, including the mark of your hand across his face. The sight of him looking so worried and still giving you those big puppy eyes behind all that completely dry paint…

“I’m sorry”.

Simon’s lips part, the words heavy on his tongue. His eyebrows seem unsure if they should be surprised or angry, because they jump and pinch together at the same time. He lets the glass aside and walks over to you, stopping just a few steps from you, his shoulders trembling.

“Sorry? You’re— sorry? What the hell are you even apologizing for? That was my fault. I scared you, again” he mumbles, tears welling up in his eyes, even if he desperately tries to stop it, swallowing thickly and shaking his head. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. It slipped my mind and I fucked up”.

You reach up to touch his shoulder, but Simon steps back, flinching away from you. Your heart breaks, your lips parting in surprise, but Simon’s too gone with guilt that he doesn’t realize it. Distantly, you wonder if this is what he’s felt this whole time. You wonder how many times you’ve broken his heart by now.

“I’ll just— I’ll call Tommy tomorrow. I’ll tell him to help you with the rest, so you don’t have to be around me for now. That will be easier” Simon mumbles, mostly to himself, his eyes darting from one place to another, avoiding your eyes. “Just let me grab my stuff. I can leave in ten minutes. I won’t bother you, I promise, I—”

Taking a quick step forward, your arms wrap around his middle, closing your eyes as you navigate through the complicated feelings growing in your chest. A little bit of fear as you feel him so close again, the panic still not gone from your system, but the love makes you weak on the knees; even like that, you don’t let go of him, your arms tightening around him when you hear him breathe shakily.

“I’m alright” you whisper, your fingers curling on his shirt, almost pleading. “Don’t leave”.

Simon’s heartbeat pounds against your ear, his arms still hovering over you, hesitant. And scared.

“Please”.

That’s all it takes for Simon to sink to his knees, gently bringing you down with him, his arms never restraining you, merely holding you close. His hands splay across your back, your sides. You grip onto him harder when you feel his tears running down your shoulders, shifting until you’re straddling his lap, his face buried in your chest as he cries in complete silence, your fingers lost in his hair.

“I love you. I’m sorry” he whispers, his voice muffled with your skin. You think he’s going to pull back, but his hands only curl slightly on your arms, your sides, one of your thighs, as if he were grounding himself.

As if he couldn’t believe you were holding him again.

The ball of feelings in your chest unravels until you’re able to slowly identify them as you both hold each other right there in the middle of the kitchen. His hands brush over your back, fingernails scratching softly over your skin, and you’re reminded of good memories, of better times; of the moment you realize you were in love with him, of the ridiculous moment he asked you to be together. Of the night Johnny joined you for the first time, of the instant you understood your own feelings, Johnny's, and Simon’s. 

You’re reminded of the night you saw Price and Simon share a fervent kiss before disappearing into the Captain’s room, more than once. And then when you saw Gaz and Price do the same over the years, even if they never freely spoke of it. 

The memories of that experimental kiss with Price, back in your first year with the team haunts your memory for a moment; both of you had paused after a while and grimaced. In the end, Price had given you his chocolate and you gave him your tea flavored mochi, the kiss forgotten and never spoken of again. 

At some point, your arms relax around Simon, but he doesn’t seem in the mood to pull away, even if his grip isn’t even too tight. It takes a little bit of nudging, a few whispered words, but he finally pulls back, his face puffy and slightly wet with tears, staring at you.

“Sleep with me?”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, it seems; his hesitation appears to be long gone as his arms easily hold you up, calmly throwing you over his shoulder. That would’ve broken the tender moment, if it weren’t for the warm hand over your back holding you still, and the shaky fingers gripping onto your thigh again as he walks up to your room.

Simon hesitates, but you kick back on your door, hurrying him up. Once inside, he sets you down, waiting by the door.

“Are you... expecting me to kick you out?”

“Yes”.

Your lips curl up, forever glad he never holds back with you, and motion him to get in. 

The anxiety doesn’t magically leave your body, and you’re still awfully terrified of him being able to just restrain you so easily again, but… progress.

It’s progress when he curses and rushes down to grab his clean clothes and a towel, asking you to let him take a shower after you’re done.

It’s progress when Simon lays in your bed, body stiff and hands shaky as he waits for you to turn the lights off.

It’s progress when you both awkwardly find a good position to sleep.

It’s progress when you wake up in the morning with his arms wrapped around you, your legs tangled, and one of your hands under his tshirt, warm against the bare skin of his back.

And it’s progress when you’re greeted with a small, sleepy smile from him before his eyes even focus properly on you.

henlo. how are we feeling? progress!!! progress!!! PROGRESS!!!

› buy me a coffee ♡

anyway, simon's autistic bc i am autistic and he's a whiny little bitch perfectionist!

if things go well, we have 8 chapters left :)

+18 people read here: yes, price and simon still fuck nasty from time to time. nobody gasped, nobody surprised.

taglist I: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic @silas-fanfic-favs @nina-from-317 @an-ever-angry-bi @kittygonap @adventurerabby @defronix @sheepispink @iambuttwodaysold @blackhawkfanatic @malevolentghoul @thriving-n-jiving @literallegendicon @echo9821 @angel-bugz @ssc7514 @clickbait-official @hades--baby @blackhawkfanatic @sirbonesly @saki---chan @skeletonsucker @nnsissys @kukavittu @tessakate @honestlymassivetrash @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @rayrayyio @diseasedclitoris @alex1011sdzfgh @thebumbqueen @hyunjaebaby @jillvalentinesrealwife @sodavrr @kneelforloki @vioxsoo @l4vstrr @leon-thot-kennedy @t3a-bag @dotmistbird @littlezarp @eclipsedcherry @codeseven @babydoll-143 @viennakarma @exitingmusic @lockofspades

[endless-ineffabilities]

The Bolter (part nine) (18+)

Steve Rogers x f!reader / Bucky Barnes x f!reader

synopsis : Steve carries out his decision to return to Peggy, aiming to live out the rest of his days with her. But this means he's leaving everything behind - he's leaving you. Did he make the right choice? Will there be anything left with you to come back to?

in this chapter : Sam, Bucky, and you head to Madripoor with an unlikely ally. Steve says goodbye to Peggy, then travels in time to where he truly belongs.

themes/warnings : language, even more pining, even more smut!, Zemo being Zemo, Sharon cutting through our bullshit

word count : 5.8k

main masterlist ▪︎ series masterlist

━━━━━━☆━━━━━━

The 1950s, seven months after Steve’s arrival

Steve sits by the window, watching the fading sunlight pour into the room. For the first time in months, he feels calm—an eerie, unnatural calm, like the eye of a storm. He has come to accept the truth, bitter as might be: this was never his home, and soon, it won’t exist at all.

Mobius had warned him. When he goes back to his timeline, it will be as if none of this ever happened. This branch, this brief stolen life with Peggy, will be pruned. She will never know what they had here. Steve will fade from this time, and she will move on, be with the man she was always meant to be with, and have the children she was destined to have. She will live the life she was always supposed to.

But he will remember everything. He will carry the ache of knowing that none of this was ever really his to keep. 

And deep down, Steve knows it’s the right choice. His normal, whatever semblance of it he can grasp, is always going to be with you. It has always been you with whom he belonged. With his friends. With Bucky. 

His very being is meant for the picket line and not a picket fence.

“Are you ready?” Peggy’s voice breaks the silence, and Steve turns to find her standing in the doorway, looking at him with those sharp, knowing eyes. She has accepted it, just as he has. There’s no anger, no confusion. They’ve had too many talks in the past week about this—about how something always felt off for both of them, like an invisible weight pressing against their happiness. 

“I am,” Steve answers. 

“It didn’t feel right, did it?” she says quietly. 

“No… it didn’t.” He hesitates, the truth weighing heavy. “But I think I know why.”

She steps closer, her hand reaching out to touch his arm. “You don’t belong here, Steve,” she says gently, her voice unwavering. “You belong with them. You belong with the one who truly holds your heart.”

When he lifts his eyes, there’s something new in them. Certainty. “Yeah. I do. But I’m glad we had this. Even if it was never meant to last.”

Peggy’s smile is bittersweet as he presses her hand to his lips. “Me too.” 

Steve nods, his throat tight as he steps away. Hunter pads over, his loyal companion waiting patiently by the door. Mobius and Loki wait in the other room, the quiet harbingers of the life he’s meant to return to.

“Goodbye, Peggy,” he says, for one final time. 

“Goodbye, Steve,” Peggy says, her voice filled with quiet grace. “Go get your girl.”

A shiver runs down his spine. You had said the exact same words when he left you. But it didn’t stick, because he was too stupid to realise that you had always been his girl. He can picture it so well, picture you, and the thought of seeing you again soon inspires an overwhelming happiness in him.

“Ready?” Mobius asks, his usual lighthearted demeanour replaced by something more solemn.

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly. “I’m ready.”

Loki taps the device, and with a flash, Steve’s world shifts.

And just like that, he’s on his way home.

2024, seven months after Steve’s departure

Your first encounter with the Flag Smashers did not go as expected. Or maybe it did. Fighting a bunch of serum-powered radicals – kids, practically – on top of cargo trucks moving at high speed was perhaps the likeliest outcome of this whole thing. After everything you’ve been through, in your decade and a half as the Huntress and all your run-ins with the Big 3, this is just another afternoon, just another mission.

Except the appearance of John Walker threw you in for a loop. Captain America, he calls himself, but there is no chance of you ever addressing him by that name, and you know the same goes for Bucky. John isn’t even carrying the right shield, the only shield, the one Steve brought with him. All he dons is a replica, much like he himself is one. 

Seeing that red, white, and blue paraded around almost made you forget about the kiss you shared with Bucky before the fight. Almost.

But you feel its undercurrent in every moment, you catch glimpses of it when you close your eyes, you feel him… and you know he does too.

The three of you made your way back to New York, recuperating in your apartment, and planning the next move, but what Bucky proposes seems the farthest from sensible.

“Zemo?” Sam stops mid-step. “Tell me you’re joking.”

Bucky doesn’t flinch. “He knows about the serum. More than anyone alive.”

“Yeah, and he’s also the guy who tried to tear the Avengers apart,” Sam counters. His voice is rising, filled with disbelief. “You want to break out a criminal mastermind? For what, a history lesson?”

“I’m not saying I like it,” Bucky says. “But if these Flag Smashers have the serum, then he’s our best chance at understanding what we’re up against.”

You can see Sam’s shoulders stiffen, his eyes wide with incredulity. You, though—your gut reaction is different. Zemo is dangerous, but your concern isn't for yourself or Sam. It’s for Bucky.

You meet his gaze. “Bucky… do you really think you can handle him? Zemo’s not exactly a small problem.”

He looks at you, something quiet and intense behind his eyes. “I can handle it,” he replies. “I have to.”

There’s a finality to his words, but they don’t ease the knot forming in your chest. Sam throws up his hands. “This is madness! I’m just supposed to be okay with busting a guy out of maximum security prison? You people are crazy.”

A moment of silence passes before you let out a resigned breath. “We don’t have much of a choice, Sam. If Bucky thinks this is the way forward, I trust him.”

Sam glares at both of you, then mutters under his breath, “You two have been spending way too much time together.”

The Berlin Correctional Facility is colder than you expected—both literally and figuratively. 

Sam checks his watch, then gives Bucky a sideways glance. “You know, this is the part where I remind you again that this is a bad idea.”

Bucky shrugs, his expression unreadable. “Noted.”

Sam sighs. “I just want it on record that I’m the voice of reason here.”

You smirk, leaning against the wall. “Come on, Sam. What’s life without a little danger?”

“You don’t get to say that when we’re about to break a supervillain out of prison,” Sam deadpans.

The plan, despite its insanity, goes off without a hitch. The guards are neutralized with minimal force, and the security systems go offline like clockwork. You hack into the mainframe to open Zemo’s cell, and when the door finally slides open, you see him—Helmut Zemo, calm and collected, standing there as though he’s been waiting for you all along.

He steps forward, his movements slow and deliberate, like a cat stalking prey. “I must say, I didn’t expect visitors.”

You glare at him, your hackles rising instantly. “Let’s get one thing clear. This is a means to an end. One wrong move, and you go back in.”

Zemo’s lips curl into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of causing any trouble.”

You don’t believe him for a second.

Zemo’s private jet is the epitome of luxury—plush seats, dim lighting, the hum of the engines barely audible. Chump change compared to what Tony used to travel in, but still. It’s surreal, sitting in this polished environment, knowing you’re en route to one of the most dangerous cities in the world with one of the most dangerous men in the world.

You’re seated across the aisle from Bucky. His body is tense, his fingers twitching in his lap as if he’s holding himself back from something. You wish there was something you could say to ease the weight he’s carrying, but you know better than to push him. Not now. Not with Zemo sitting across from you, watching everything with sharp, calculating eyes.

Zemo leans back in his seat, looking far too relaxed for your liking. “I must say, I’ve always had a fondness for Madripoor. It’s a city of endless possibility, wouldn’t you agree?”

Sam glances up from across the aisle, his expression unimpressed. “Yeah, I’m sure it’s paradise for a guy like you.”

Zemo smiles, but there’s no warmth in it. “It’s a place where the lines between good and evil blur. A place where one can truly be free.”

Your grip tightens on the armrest, and you glance at Bucky. His face is turned toward the window, his jaw tight, eyes dark. You lean closer, keeping your voice low. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” he says, but you can hear the lie in his voice.

You open your mouth to press further, but Zemo speaks up again, cutting through the tension. “It’s interesting, isn’t it? The way history repeats itself.”

You glare at him, your protective instinct flaring. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Zemo’s eyes flicker between you and Bucky, his gaze too knowing for comfort. “It’s just... curious. The way you watch him. The way you stand between us.”

You feel a surge of anger rise in your chest, but you hold it back, keeping your tone steady. “You’re not part of this conversation.”

Zemo chuckles, leaning back. “No need to be defensive. I’m merely an observer. But I must say, the loyalty you show to him... it��s quite touching.”

Bucky shifts beside you, his hand balling into a fist. You place your hand on his arm, silently communicating that Zemo isn’t worth it. 

You warn lowly, “Don’t push it, Zemo.”

Madripoor is a city of lights and shadows, the streets buzzing with a kind of energy that makes your skin crawl. Zemo leads the way, his steps confident as he navigates the underworld with ease. He fits right in, and so do you. You’re not unfamiliar with the city yourself, with many of your contacts residing here. Sam picks at his flashy fur coat, having to wear the guise of the Smiling Tiger, and you have to bite back a laugh.

What you hate is Bucky’s role in this. Zemo insisted that Bucky act the part of the Winter Soldier again, and seeing him slip into that persona makes your stomach turn. You’ve fought so hard to help him leave that part of himself behind, and now he’s being forced to wear it like a mask.

You stick close to Bucky, your eyes constantly scanning the crowd for threats. Your hand brushes his occasionally, a silent reassurance. He doesn’t speak, but you can see the conflict in his eyes, the way his jaw clenches every time someone looks at him like he’s a weapon.

Zemo’s voice cuts through the noise. “Ah, here we are. The Brass Monkey Saloon. You’ll need to put on a show, Soldier.”

Your heart twists at the cold way Zemo refers to him. Soldier. Like Bucky’s nothing more than a tool, a means to an end. You step forward, putting yourself between them.

“Watch yourself,” you snap, your voice low and dangerous. 

Zemo raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by your protectiveness. “Of course. I merely meant that appearances must be kept."

The atmosphere inside the Brass Monkey Saloon is thick with tension. Zemo’s plan, of course, involves a show of force. Bucky takes on the role, fists flying, and you stand helplessly on the sidelines, watching as he dismantles anyone who stands in your way. You can see the fear in the faces of the crowd, the whispers of “Winter Soldier” passing between them.

When the chaos finally subsides, Zemo steps forward, calm and collected. “Very convincing, James,” he says, clapping Bucky on the shoulder.

You can’t help yourself. “Don’t touch him.”

Zemo leads the way to Selby’s hideout, the plan already set. You, Bucky, and Sam follow close behind, nerves taut. You can feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on you, recognizing not just the Winter Soldier, but the Huntress.

Inside Selby’s lair, things unravel faster than you can react. The exchange was supposed to be smooth—get the information on the serum, figure out who’s behind the Flag Smashers. But Selby, sly and dangerous, catches on too quickly. The words turn heated, tension thick in the air. When the situation escalates, a gunshot rings out, and Selby collapses to the floor.

Everything goes to hell. 

Selby’s guards surge forward, the entire operation blown to pieces. You don’t even have time to think before the room erupts into chaos, bullets tearing through the air. 

Bucky grabs your arm, pulling you toward the exit. “We need to move!”

The narrow alleyways of Madripoor are a maze, and no matter how fast you run, the sound of pursuit is never far behind. Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline surging as you push forward, leading the way through the twisting streets.

“I can’t run in these heels!” Sam yells, his voice tight with effort as he ducks behind cover.

The sound of gunfire grows louder, and just when it seems like you’re cornered, Sharon Carter appears from the shadows, her expression all business. 

“You guys really know how to make an entrance.”

The tension in Sharon Carter’s loft is thick enough to choke on. You can’t deny the relief that floods through you at her arrival—she’s saved you from the brink more than once—but the comfort quickly dissolves the second she opens her mouth. Sharon’s never been one to coddle, and it’s clear she’s ready to let you know exactly what she thinks about this whole situation.

Her apartment reflects her new life in Madripoor: sleek, stylish, and modern, with a hint of danger lurking beneath the surface. The large windows offer a panoramic view of the chaotic city below, bathed in the neon glow of a world where morality has always been in short supply. You’re reminded of who Sharon has become—the Power Broker, controlling Madripoor’s criminal underworld from behind the scenes. And yet, she’s still the woman you fought beside, the woman you trusted implicitly. Your friend. 

“You’ve made a mess of Madripoor,” Sharon says, leaning casually against the bar, one eyebrow raised as she surveys the room. Her eyes flick between you, Bucky, Sam, and Zemo, her smirk cutting. She takes a slow sip from her glass, her posture relaxed. “You’re lucky I showed up when I did.”

“Yeah, we didn’t exactly have time to send out a save-the-date,” Sam mutters, his voice dripping with sarcasm, though you can tell he’s thankful. Sharon’s saved you all from a sticky situation—again.

Her gaze shifts to you, and that smirk widens, a playful but knowing glint in her eyes. “Still running around with these boys, huh? After everything?”

There’s an edge to her words, something that cuts deeper than you expected. Sharon’s always had a way of seeing through you, right to the heart of things. But this time, her words carry an extra weight. You know what’s coming before she even says it, but it still feels like a punch to the gut when she does.

Her eyes dart to Bucky, who’s standing tense and silent beside you, his shoulders tight. Then, they come back to you, her lips curling slightly. “You and Steve were… close. And now, here you are, keeping Bucky in check.” She pauses just long enough to make it sting. “Seems like you’ve got a type.”

Your stomach twists, and you catch the slight flicker of movement from Bucky, the way his fists clench at his sides. His face remains stoic, but you know him well enough to see the storm brewing underneath. Sharon’s words have struck a nerve. 

“What?” you say, keeping your voice even, though there’s a sharpness to it. Your heart races, and you try to keep the emotion out of your voice.

"Wow," Bucky mutters dryly, "she's kind of awful now."

Sharon shrugs, feigning casualness, but her eyes gleam with amusement at you. “It’s just… interesting. You and Cap. And now Cap’s best friend. Two men who can’t escape their own shadows. You seem to have a thing for complicated.”

You bite back your immediate retort, but before you can respond, Zemo—because of course he has to chime in—speaks up, lounging against the wall with that smug, knowing look that makes you want to punch him. “Ah, the familiar,” he says, voice silky. “It’s natural to seek comfort in something... predictable. But I wonder, how much of this is about James, and how much is simply because he reminds you of your precious Captain Rogers?”

You feel the room go cold, and the weight of Zemo’s words settles like a stone in your chest. The air around Bucky shifts, his calm demeanour fracturing just enough for you to see the tension rippling beneath. His posture stiffens even more, his jaw tight, but he doesn’t speak. The silence is worse than anything he could say.

“Leave him out of this,” you snap, your voice barely above a whisper, but the threat is clear. Zemo’s eyes gleam, dark and dangerous, but he raises his hands in mock surrender.

“Of course,” Zemo says, his smile widening. “But… leave who out of it? Which one?”

Sharon watches you closely, her smirk fading slightly as she steps closer. For the first time since she spoke, her gaze softens. She knows you—really knows you. The unspoken history between you feels heavy in the air. She tilts her head, studying you with a sharpness that you’ve come to expect from her.

“Can I have a word?” Sharon asks, her voice quieter now, almost gentle.

You nod, barely noticing the others as Sharon gestures for you to follow her into a more private corner of the apartment, away from the tense stares of Bucky and Zemo. Once you’re out of earshot, Sharon leans against the wall, crossing her arms. The playful glint is still in her eyes, but there’s a seriousness there too.

“You know I don’t mean to be harsh,” she says, her voice quieter, more personal. “But you and I... we’ve always been able to call it like it is.”

You exhale, your shoulders sagging slightly. “Yeah, well, some things are harder to call than others.”

Sharon watches you for a long moment, her gaze searching your face. “It’s been a long time since Steve left. I get it. I do. But you and Bucky...” She trails off, her eyes flicking back toward him. “You’re not fooling anyone. Least of all me.”

You swallow, unsure how to respond. You’ve spent so long trying to navigate your own emotions, keeping them at bay. But here, it feels impossible to ignore any longer.

Sharon takes a step closer, her expression softening. “He’s not Steve. And I know you know that. But Bucky—he’s been through hell too. And I see the way you look at him. The way he looks at you.”

Your throat tightens, and for a moment, you can’t speak. Sharon does have a way of cutting through the bullshit, of seeing things for what they really are. 

“I’m not—” you start, but Sharon cuts you off with a small, knowing smile.

“I’m not saying it’s the same as what you had with Steve,” she says. “But maybe that’s a good thing. Bucky’s different. And maybe that’s what you need.”

You glance back toward Bucky, who’s still standing with his back to you, his shoulders tense, his hands curled into fists at his sides. You can feel the weight of his emotions, the way Zemo’s and Sharon’s comments have hit him harder than he’s letting on. You want to go to him, to tell him it’s okay. That he doesn’t have to be Steve. That you don’t want him to be.

But there’s a part of you that’s still tangled up in the past—in Steve’s shadow.

Sharon places a hand on your arm, pulling your attention back to her. “Listen,” she says, her voice gentle but firm. “Whatever this is with Bucky... don’t let it slip away because you’re still holding onto something that’s gone. Steve’s not coming back. But you’ve still got a chance—with him.”

You take a deep breath, nodding slightly, but the knot in your chest doesn’t loosen. Sharon squeezes your arm, offering a small smile before she steps back, her smirk returning as she glances toward the others.

“All right,” she says, her voice louder now, more playful. “Enough emotional introspection for one night. Let’s figure out how to get you out of Madripoor before you make an even bigger mess.”

Zemo, lounging against the wall with a glass in his hand, raises an eyebrow as you sit down beside Bucky. He doesn’t say anything, but his smirk is enough to get under your skin. It’s like he can feel the emotional turbulence swirling around you.

Sharon saunters back into the room, her heels clicking against the polished floor, a confident ease in her step. “Well, now that we’ve aired out some of that dirty laundry, maybe we can focus on the job at hand?”

Sam, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet through all of this, gives Sharon a look. “Yeah, and maybe we can talk about why you didn’t feel the need to mention how deep you are in Madripoor’s criminal scene, huh?”

Sharon doesn’t miss a beat, throwing him a cocky grin. “I’m an opportunist, Sam. Madripoor offers a lot of opportunities.”

Sam mutters something under his breath, clearly not satisfied with that answer, but it’s clear Sharon has no intention of explaining herself further. And you don’t push her on it either, even though you’re the only one here who knows exactly what her role is in this city. You’ve never questioned her decisions before—everyone has to survive somehow—but seeing her now, it’s hard not to wonder if she’s lost herself in the shadows.

“I trust you’ll all stay out of trouble until I arrange our next move?” Sharon says, her eyes flicking back to you, a knowing glint in her gaze. It’s subtle, but you can tell she’s still watching you closely, assessing everything—especially your unspoken bond with Bucky.

Before anyone can respond, she turns and walks out of the room.

After escaping the chaos and making it back to Zemo’s safe house in Riga, the adrenaline finally starts to fade. It’s well past midnight when you make your way into your designated bedroom. You drop onto the bed, your heart still racing, trying to calm the storm of emotions churning inside you.

Sleep never comes easy to you—a side effect of your chosen life. One of high stakes and adrenaline. A lot more losses than wins, if any of your successful missions can even be considered wins at all.

After an hour of staring up at the ceiling, your eyes tracing the curves of the rosettes, Bucky enters your room, as noiseless as a cat. You raise your head sharply on instinct, but relax as soon as you see his figure. His shoulders are slumped as if the weight of the world rests upon them. He glances at you, and you can see the struggle etched across his face.

“Can’t sleep?” you ask, sitting up and patting the space beside you on the bed.

He purses his lips, not saying anything for a moment. After a while, and with a resounding sigh, he settles at the foot of the bed, his back to you.

“What you saw back there…” he starts, his voice low. “That wasn’t me. I’m not the Winter Soldier anymore.”

“I know,” you say softly, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder soothingly. “I’ve always known. You’re just Bucky.”

“I don’t… I don’t want to ever lose control,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

“You won’t,” you say firmly, shuffling closer to him. “You have me.”

Bucky turns halfway, meeting your gaze. “I want to prove to you that I’m not him,” he says, his voice thick with conviction. 

Your throat suddenly feels dry. You don’t know anymore if he’s referring to the Winter Soldier or Steve. You can tell that Sharon’s comments rattled him. You’re familiar with her humour, so you know that she didn’t mean anything negative by what she said, but Bucky might have easily taken them to heart.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” you whisper. 

His gaze softens, and then he’s leaning in, capturing your lips with his. There is no goddamn way you’re falling asleep now, with the fire he’s igniting within you. You pull him closer, your hands threading through his hair as he deepens the kiss. 

“Are you sure?” you whisper against his lips, breathless. A roll in the hay at the height of a high-risk mission is not beneath you, especially with someone like Bucky. With these things, a heated release of pent-up tension might be just what you need. But you want to be sure that he needs it too. That he needs you. 

He nods, eyes searching yours. “I want this. I want you.”

In one fluid motion, he takes your lips again, this kiss softer, more deliberate. He relishes in you, taking his sweet time, his tongue raking the outline of your lips. You melt against him, feeling the warmth of his body pressing against yours, as well as the cool of his left arm wrapping around your torso. 

“Bucky,” you breathe, breaking the kiss momentarily.

“Just Bucky,” he replies, his voice thick with emotion.

He tugs you against him, the two of you moving in a slow, sensual dance. You feel the weight of everything—the mission, the past, the chaos—slipping away as you lose yourselves in each other. His hands grip your waist, pulling you closer, as you taste the sweetness of his tongue.

“I want you,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “I want to show you how much you mean to me.”

You shiver at his words, the sincerity behind them sending a rush of heat coursing through your veins. “Then show me,” you whisper, your heart pounding in your chest.

The world tilts slightly as he lays you back against the soft sheets. He hovers above you, his expression a mix of desire and reverence, as if he’s afraid to touch something so precious.

“You’re so beautiful, doll,” he breathes, his gaze travelling over you as if memorising every detail, and you suddenly forget how to speak. 

You’ve never considered yourself meek by any means, always able to stand your ground. The last time you’ve actually felt shy, and felt blood rush to your face at the attention of an admirer was with….

You shake Steve out of your thoughts.

“It’s just me,” you say, mirroring his earlier words.

His lips curve into a soft smile, and you can see the flicker of warmth behind the shadows that often cloud his expression. “Just you is everything,” he replies, his voice dropping to a whisper.

His hands slide under your shirt, fingers brushing against your skin, igniting every nerve ending. The sensation is overwhelming, and you gasp against his mouth, the heat pooling low in your belly.

“So perfect,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck, kissing a path along your collarbone. Each soft touch leaves a trail of fire, and you can’t help but arch into him, your body instinctively seeking more.

“Bucky,” you gasp, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as if you can fuse your bodies into one. “Please.”

His response is immediate. He pushes your shirt up, baring your torso to him, and you feel exposed yet completely alive under his gaze. Then he leans down to press soft kisses along your midriff. The sensation is electric, maddening even, as he drifts ever lower. 

Bucky lifts his head, meeting your gaze with a burning intensity. “Let’s make this moment last,” he murmurs, his eyes darkening with desire as he shifts his weight, settling between your legs. His hands find the hem of your pants, his fingers grazing your skin as he slowly pushes them down your legs, along with your underwear, revealing you completely to him.

“Bucky,” you moan, when he kisses a trail along your inner thigh. “Patience, doll,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine. You watch him as he continues his exploration, his kisses drifting higher until he reaches your core, and the breath hitches in your throat when he sucks at your aching bud.

The heat builds, swirling around you as he loses himself in you, the world outside fading away completely. You can feel the tension tightening in your belly, a delicious coil that threatens to snap.

“I’m getting close,” you breathe after a long while, the words almost lost amidst a long bout of incoherent moaning. You reach down and roughly push his face into your pussy, wantonly craving more as his tongue laps at your juices. 

Bucky responds with a growl, his hands gripping your hips as he pushes you closer to the edge. “Let go,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with desire. “I’ve got you.”

With those words, you explode, pleasure crashing over you in waves as you cry out his name. He holds you tightly, a steady anchor as you ride the waves of ecstasy, feeling more alive than ever.

As the pleasure subsides, you gasp for breath, your heart racing as you come down from the high. “You okay?” Bucky asks, hovering over you and brushing a stray hair from your face.

You nod, your body still buzzing from the aftermath. “Better than okay,” you reply, a smile creeping across your lips.

He chuckles, the sound resonating deep within his chest, a rich, warm sound that makes your heart swell. For all his worries about falling back into the darkness, you find that he is slowly becoming your source of light. 

“I want you to know,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, “that was only the beginning.”

“Oh really?” you tease, raising an eyebrow, letting your fingers trace along the contours of his vibranium arm.

“Yeah, babydoll,” He grins wolfishly, and you’re glad to see this playful side of him resurfacing. 

You roll on your side, pressing a playful kiss to his lips. “Well, I’m all for that.”

He undresses in a haste, his motions careless and frantic that his black shirt gets stuck around his head, earning a giggle from you. His groans are muffled when he protests, “It’s not funny.”

You reach up to help him out of it. “It’s kinda funny.”

When he’s finally free of the confines of cotton, his hair is all mussed. He looks downright adorable that you could just melt at the sight. But then he frees himself of his trousers too, his thick cock bobbing erect from his boxers, the vein running down its side angry and swollen. 

He’s not just adorable; he’s sensual, virile, erotic.

And you want him so fucking badly.

But he beats you to that admission. “You drive me crazy,” he rasps, his hands massaging your sides. “In the best way possible.”

“I could say the same about you.” There’s a teasing glint in your eyes as you lean back slightly, letting your fingers wander down his chest, tracing the solid lines of his body, each muscle taut and inviting. He groans softly at your touch, his head dropping slightly as his control wavers. 

He positions himself just right, teasing at first, his breath ragged as he enters you slowly, inch by inch. The stretch is exquisite, your body tightening around him as a disjointed gasp escapes your lips. His jaw clenches, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment as he savours the sensation.

“You feel so good, doll,” he groans, his voice hoarse with restraint. There’s a primal hunger in the way he looks at you—like he’s claiming you, and that realisation ignites something deep within you.

You meet his thrusts, your hands gripping his back, nails biting into his skin as he starts to move. His rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, as though he’s drawing out every moment of pleasure, letting it pool deep inside you. Each thrust pushes deeper, more intense, as he slams his pelvis into you.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice dripping with possessiveness, his lips brushing against your neck before he bites down softly, enough to make you moan his name.

“Fffuck, yes, Bucky—”

“You’re so tight,” he gasps, his voice thick with need as he watches your reactions, the way your body responds to him. “God, you feel incredible.”

Before you can respond, he shifts his angle, driving into you harder, deeper. Your knees are pressed together, pointed to one side as he lifts your hips slightly. Every time he ruts into you, he hits that fleshy, sweet spot in your cunt. 

“Yes, Buck!” you gasp. “Just like that.”

“Look at me,” he demands, his voice barely above a growl. “I want you to remember this every time you think of him.” His words are punctuated with a dangerous tinge that almost makes them sound like a threat. A warning. 

“Want you to fall apart around me, doll. Go on. Cum on me,” he commands. His movements grow frenzied, his body shaking with intense pleasure as he drives his cock mercilessly into your core.

You practically scream out hoarsely, the sound mingling with his as he follows you into bliss, his hot seed filling you completely.

Bucky collapses beside you, panting, and you turn to face him, a blissful smile breaking across your lips.

“That was fucking incredible,” you whisper. 

He catches his breath, his fingers trailing along your cheek, his gaze softening. “You have no idea how much I needed that,” he admits. 

“I can kind of tell,” you tease lightly. 

He smiles, a wicked glint in his eyes as he leans in, brushing his lips against yours again. “You’re amazing.”

You smile back, despite the pang of wistfulness in your heart. Because even as his memory lingers, you can feel yourself falling deeper for Bucky. 

“Thank you,” you say sincerely, “So are you, Buck.” You take a breath, the words caught in your throat, as you desperately attempt to address whatever it is that needs to be addressed, but he sees the turmoil in your eyes, and gently cradles your face with one hand.

“I’m sorry, I don’t… I don’t know…” you mumble. 

“Hey,” he says, offering a soft smile, “it’s okay, it’s okay.” You feel hopeless—it should be you consoling him. About whatever this is, and how the memory of Steve continues to complicate everything. Perhaps it always will. But here he is, carrying that burden for the both of you.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, a gesture carrying nothing but tenderness. 

Maybe even love.

“I’m with you, doll,” he promises. “Until the end of the line.”

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Some notes in the margins:

I'm kinda rushing through the events of tfatws, but I want to reach a certain point in time for Steve to make his entrance!

Writing this made me really, really feel for Bucky. My allegiance sways every week. I don't know what to do 😫🥲

oh, and the header images have been updated to include our Buck! As always, I am keen to know what yous think about this chapter 💙💙💙

[hanjisick]

Orders.

genre. mafia au. bodyguard!lee know x fem!reader

desc. your father is an elite, high ranking official in a mafia family. after your first kidnapping, a bodyguard was hired to ensure your safety.

warnings. nsfw. fingering & sex. torture. kidnapping. murder. violence.

wc. 10k

✉️ : this is my first writing after a 9 month hiatus. i apologize for the unannounced break and i will be answering and writing again shortly. enjoy! :)

You sit in a wooden chair, wheezing and thrashing from days of sleep deprivation and torment. Your body aches, wrists bruised and bloody from the ropes, and you almost feel like giving in and spilling Daddy’s secrets— allowing them to kill you and the family.

But you knew better than that. You knew that you'd be saved.

The gunshots and cries for help weren't unexpected from above the dark bunker.

With an ear-piercing creak, the door swings open and the shadow of a man emerges through the doorstep, shoes squeaking with fresh blood underneath.

He doesn’t let out a single word as he kneels to grab your face and examine it. Your attention follows the ring on his finger. An insignia that he is part of the family. You can depend on him.

But still, you wince, sharply inhaling as his fingers aggravate your wounds.

“Don’t get their blood in my wounds, I don’t know what kind of freaks they are,” You grumble, voice husky from days of screaming.

You let him turn your head, retaining eye contact with the floor as you grit your teeth.

“Relax,” he mumbles, “I don’t bite.”

He leans closer to examine your wounds. “You took a lot of hits. How many people are here?”

He draws back as you reply, “Can’t tell you exactly.”

“About four of them grabbed me while I was leaving the house— stupid on their part, no wonder you were here so shortly,” You trail off before catching yourself back on topic.

“But I’ve only seen three different men since I’ve been here. Only to beat me and interrogate me. Don’t worry, I didn’t say anything to put Daddy at risk.”

“I heard two other unrecognizable voices. That would make nine people in the building that I know of. Of course, there could always be more. How many did you shoot?”

“Six,” he responds before looking down at your scrapes and wounds again.

You feel him caress your cheek once more, his cold skin sending shivers down your spine.

“You’re in bad shape.”

“If there’s more here, we need to get out as soon as possible. We can worry about my wounds as soon as these people aren’t on our ass.”

You struggle in your bounds, the ropes burning your already bloody wrists, “Could you untie me, first?”

“Don’t move.”

You obey his command, halting as he unties the ropes, uncovering the painful burn marks and blisters.

“That fucking hurt,” you rotate your wrists, “I could’ve gotten out without your help eventually, though.” Your voice is rough, breath coming out in harsh, sharp drags.

“Sure, you would’ve.”

You stumble to your feet as he pulls you into him for safety. He reeks of gunpowder and high-dollar cologne— presumably something that Daddy has made sure that he has the money for.

“Stay close to me, when we get to the front, you go out first and then I’ll leave right after.”

You follow the unfamiliar man out of the maze, almost slipping on the floor blanketed in blood.

You adjust to the bright sunlight— and it feels gentle against your damaged skin. It seems like time has stood still while you were captured. “Did Daddy order you a car?”

“Yes,” he answers, “Some men are waiting out front to take us to the closest hospital— which isn’t too far.”

“I’m being hospitalized?” You follow him into the backseat, finally slacking for a moment ontop of the fresh leather.

“It’s not my choice to have you taken to the hospital, it’s the orders.”

“Do I have a statement to tell the nurse?” You look at him in concern.

“Am I supposed to say, ‘Oh, I was kidnapped by Daddy’s enemies! By the way, he’s in the mafia! Who wants to arrest Daddy?’”

“Tell them you fell down the stairs.” His flat tone contrasts your own, remaining unfazed.

“How would that cover up my wrists' burn marks?” You hold up the bloody and bruised dents, “Nobody gets these from falling down the stairs. There's way too much blood— and some of it isn’t even mine.”

He raises an eyebrow, looking over to the burn marks on your wrist and then back to you.

“Then tell them you accidentally burnt yourself while cooking.”

“Are you even listening to me? Are you stupid?”

He doesn’t respond for a moment, not seeming to care about the situation.

“It’s not hard to pay them to be silent.”

“How about I tell them that I was heavily bullied at school and a couple of classmates did this to me? I think that could work.”

You two arrive at the front entrance of the emergency room, he follows behind you, strolling through the automatic door.

“I’m fine, really, I was just beaten by classmates,” You lie through your teeth to the front desk, “My boyfriend took me here to get it checked out.”

He raises an eyebrow.

You comply with the nurses as they check your weight and interview you.

“I don’t have any stab wounds, at least I don’t think so— I don’t remember what they did to me. I was held captive for a few,” Your voice trails off as you wince at a sudden pang.

You glance down at your bleeding side and are unexpectedly whacked with all of the distress that you had been repressing at once.

Your vision starts to fade, face pale as a ghost.

The man rushes over as they carry you to a bed, and he kneels beside you to review your condition. Your body is pale and cold, breathing jagged and rapid.

You hear the whispers of the staff panicking. One nurse checks your pulse, and another elevates your legs.

“I need my blood sugar up,” the first words that come out of your mouth sound weak and painful.

You look over at the man beside you.

You need to lie. But you don’t even know his name.

“Boyfriend,” you determine, “please get me a sugary drink from the vending machine.”

A subtle smirk forms upon his lips, but it vanishes as soon as it appears.

“Fine,” he rises to his feet.

You hiss as the nurses sterilize your wounds, shrieking and thrashing on the mattress at the sting. You try to stay still, but the pain is intolerable.

Footsteps echo and you find the man returning with a chocolate bar, which he holds out to you. He brings it close to your lips and holds the chocolate against your mouth for you to take a bite, “Slowly.”

“I told you to get me a drink,” You disregard his command, biting the chocolate quickly, almost aggressively.

His lips turn up, amused by your action.

The nurses finish stitching up your deep gashes and bandaging your wounds, recommending that you stay the night.

“Pay for the bill with Daddy’s cash and let’s get out of here,” you state coldly, “I need to shower and get all of this blood out of my hair. I don’t want to stay here.”

“As long as you can walk by yourself, we can leave right away.” He replies. The man takes out a wad of bills quickly counts the money and pays for the bill.

You stay speechless until entering the car.

“Who are you?”

“I’m your bodyguard. Your father hired me to look out for you after the kidnapping.”

You nod in acknowledgment. “Will you be staying at the estate with me? Or is it a ‘only when I leave the house’ kind of deal?”

“My primary duty is to protect you from anyone or anything that could harm you, whether that be outside or inside the house. I could go wherever you wish me to follow you, and I will be there.”

“You won’t sleep in bed with me though, right?”

He stays silent for a moment.

“You are correct, I am here to protect, nothing more. I will not sleep next to you. I am merely your bodyguard and take your orders.”

“Good boy,” you grin, “I bet Daddy will pay you very nicely. Why else would you take this job? How much does he give you? Either way, I’m sure you have enough to buy a mansion.”

The bodyguard holds back an eye roll. “I will have more than enough money. Not only that but he also provides me with a home.” He adds with a smirk.

“Good.” You reply.

You fall silent, allowing him to drive, taking in the past few days.

You were never worried about surviving, You understood that Daddy would handle it. But you didn’t expect to be as hurt as you were.

He could’ve saved you sooner.

“When we get home, order the chef to make me something sweet, I deserve a treat,” you state, “I’m going to shower and you are not allowed to enter my bathroom under any circumstance. Even if I’m dying.”

“You would die before letting me enter your bathroom? I get it.” He retorts.

Once you both arrive at the estate, you stumble out of the car. You don’t linger for him.

You’re welcomed by a handful of workers as you enter the home, but ignore them as you make a beeline up the stairs and towards the bedroom.

The door locks behind you and the room is silent. You feel the weariness creep on as your wounds sting. You lean against the door, sliding down.

After a moment of peace, you head towards the shower to comb the dried blood out of your hair.

You scrub your face carefully, avoiding the stitches above your eyebrows.

You wash your body entirely, removing the blood stains with soap, water, and a wash rag. Then you comb out the dried blood.

Once you finish, you dry yourself off and dress in a plain, silk nightdress.

Leaving your bedroom, you turn to look for your guard. He is at the doorway of your room when you walk out. His eyes roam around your body for a brief moment, examining the nightgown.

“Do you require assistance?”

“Did you place an order for something sweet, like I asked?” You peer at his suit, moving in to adjust his tie.

He follows your hand as it moves, eyeing you for a few moments before he utters, “I did, the chef will be bringing it to your room once it’s prepared.”

“Good boy.”

You look up at his face once you are pleased with the positioning. You grimace at his sharp, cold face. The blood was dried, brown, and unpleasing. The man’s hand relaxes on the gun holstered on his hip.

“I order you to come into my bedroom.”

His eyebrows crease. He understands his role as your bodyguard— nonetheless, he doesn’t get a kick out of being ordered around in this tone.

He takes a deep breath. “Your wish is my command.”

The room is massive, a silk-covered canopy bed sits in the center of it. He pays no mind to looking around, concentrating on the job at hand.

“Sit down on my bed,” you demand, steering towards the bathroom and pushing open the double doors.

He obeys your orders without question, crossing his legs, and keeping his hand resting beside his gun.

The bodyguard keeps a close, attentive eye on the doors, supervising the way that you soak a washrag with warm water, squeezing out the excess.

You sit beside him, grabbing his chin and leaning into his face. He tenses.

“Relax, I don’t bite,” you smirk, reiterating his first words from the moment he met you back to him, massaging the dried blood off of his face, “No guard of mine will have a messy appearance.”

You can tell that he feels uneasy, but he can’t reject you. If you wish for him to relax, he will make an effort to relax.

You can’t help but notice his complexion when he isn’t scowling. The apathy melts away as you wipe the dried blood, giving you a new perspective on his appearance.

“You’re handsome,” you state bluntly, “Especially without blood covering your face.”

You toss the rag into the laundry basket carelessly, waiting for a maid to take care of it.

“Thank you.”

“What is your name? You never told me.”

His eyebrows arch slightly at the question.“It’s Minho.”

“I am Y/N,” You reply, holding out your hand to shake his own. His grip is firm and warm.

He keeps a stoic face as he glances at your face and back at your hand, as if he is searching for an ulterior motive behind this handshake.

The food.

The bell rings and the sound of it shatters the stillness of the room. Minho’s head jolts towards the door, hand back on his gun.

He rises instantly, opening it to reveal the maid with a tray of sweet snacks.

He takes it from her. “I will bring it in.”

“What a good boy, Minho,” you praise, clapping your hands together as he sets the tray on your lap.

“I don’t take you for a man who enjoys sweet food much. Do you like sweets?”

“Sometimes.”

You unwrap a piece of high-dollar chocolate, “I command you to open your mouth.”

Minho can’t deny you, it would be disobeying your orders.

He opens his mouth as the chocolate is positioned between his lips.

You relish in the chocolates with Minho and once finished, you set the tray on the floor for a maid to pick up at sunrise.

“I don’t think I mind you being around all that much, Daddy makes good decisions.” You lay down on the mattress.

“Your father does make good decisions.”

His gaze wavered on your face until you drifted off to sleep. Only then did they slowly trail down to your body.

The way your body was built captivated him. Minho was glued to your sleeping form.

He stayed in the room, taking a seat on a chair in the corner to watch you.

He didn’t know how long it had been since you had dozed off, but by the way that the room was now pitch black and noiseless aside from your figure rising and falling, he would imagine that it had been a couple of hours.

“How long are you going to sit there?” Your sleep-filled voice questions him, causing him to snap out of his daze, hand reaching for his gun out of instinct.

“Do you sleep? Are you allowed to sleep?”

“I will only remain in the room as long as you order me to. I do sleep,” He replies, “Now is there anything else you need my assistance with? Or can I return to my duties?”

“So you’re only staying in the room because I ordered you two hours ago?” There’s a tinge of dismay in your voice, but it was masked by sleep, “You can leave if you want, I don’t mind.”

Minho felt a sudden pit in his stomach. You sounded disappointed by his statement.

Your words are perplexing him, and he can’t conclude what you want from him. To stay or to go?

“Should I stay for a bit longer?”

You were already asleep again once he had responded.

You and Minho both wake to a maid opening the blinds and ringing a bell. You groan, stretching your body.

“Miss, let’s get you dressed for today.”

She pulls your nightgown up above your head as Minho’s eyes wander toward your laced underwear.

“What’s on my schedule for today?”

He quickly forces his gaze to look away and stares back at the maid.

“We want you to heal from your injuries, miss,” she answers, “we will start with a nutritious breakfast to encourage recovery, and attend to your injuries, and then you will speak with Daddy about your incident.”

The maid buttons your fitted dress, glancing in Minho’s direction, “Your bodyguard will need to be there for your conversation with Daddy.”

“He will?”

“He needs to tell Daddy what he witnessed from the facility.”

You nod, following her lead down the stairs and towards the breakfast table.

Minho follows suit, remaining at your side the entire time and he watches you eat, staying observant and cautious.

“Are you hungry?”

This question catches Minho off guard.

“No.” He adds in a dull tone— but in actuality, he is starving. He was entrusted to watch over you. He shouldn’t eat on the clock.

“Maid, go order,” You look Minho up and down, “A side of crepes. Blueberry crepes. And two cups of coffee.”

The maid hurries to the kitchen to place the order, and it is brought out a couple of minutes later.

He stares at the crepes being placed on the table, and his belly grumbles. “Thank you.”

The maid carries the mugs of coffee to the table. But it doesn’t take Minho long to catch sight of her cunning smile and the perplexing liquid that the maid slipped into the mugs of coffee.

He stares quietly, calculating his next action.

“Don’t drink it.”

“Why not?”

Minho’s sight narrows as you bring the cup of coffee to your lips.

This time, his tone is warning and direct. “It’s better that you don’t.”

You halt your sip at his harsh command.

The maid pulls out a handgun swiftly after realizing that she has been caught, aiming it at you.

A switch swiftly flips inside of him.

He lunges forward, grabbing the woman’s wrist and twisting the gun to the right, snapping a couple of fingers in the process.

It’s a rapid movement, and he had little time to think before shooting her in the head, watching the life leave her body. His face is apathetic and almost casual.

The maid’s blood spilled onto the floor as the others ran to clean it up.

“He passed the test, we can keep him. A promising guard so far,” Daddy compliments from behind you, “Urgently acting to protect. He knew that she was mindless and weak. He comprehends crises well.”

The older man slips a wad of cash into the breast pocket of Minho’s suit. “Good on protecting her. That was a setup with a stupid maid who was just aching to betray us. You will have the same fate if you are wavered by another team.”

“I think he’s a good boy. He won’t betray me.”

“Y/N, meet me at my office. Guard, follow her.” He swiftly turns away to lead the two of you as you eye Minho.

“You can relax now. No more tests.”

He nods in understanding, heeding silently towards the office.

“Tell me about what you saw at the facility.”

You nod. “Four men had taken me from our garden entrance and used Chloroform to knock me unconscious. I woke up in their van, where my hands and legs were tied. I heard them talking about what they planned to get out of me. They had intentions of murdering me if they got to a week of no answers.”

Minho listens to your explanation with hawk-like eyes, paying close attention to all the details and descriptions.

You clear your throat, running your fingers across your bruised wrist, “I was tied to a chair in their questioning room, and they used forms of torture for me to open up.”

“I was deprived of sleep and beaten if they caught me closing my eyes— trying to get my lack of sleep to cause me to open up about your activities.”

Daddy nodded solemnly, leaning into his chair.

“Waterboarding was their favorite method, but they enjoyed beating me. I assume that was mainly for fun.”

You continued, “Minho appeared and killed a couple of them and saved me, but most are still alive.”

“Still alive? You didn’t find and kill them, bodyguard, why?” Daddy’s intense eyes moved toward Minho, who appeared unbothered.

The fact that he missed a few guys is enough to drive him crazy.

“I had to get her to safety as soon as possible.”

Daddy merely nods. “I will send my men after them. Y/N, did you get any names?”

“They wouldn’t tell me anything about themselves, but I saw a couple of signs of their rival gang.”

“Guard,” he veered towards Minho, “Describe the faces that you saw. I need as much information as possible.”

“They look to be between the ages of 20 to 30, their faces covered in scars. One man had dark skin, and his facial scars were faded. His most notable feature was a slit across his brow. He wore a dark suit. I left him alive but with a bullet in his arm. The other man had a lighter skin tone and his scars were similar to knife wounds. He had gotten away.”

The boss nods.

“Good. I can work with that. Never let my little girl get into trouble like that again, alright?”

The second the words ‘my little girl’ leave his mouth, Minho can’t help but gaze at you. He observes your reactions and motions.

His heart beats by hearing his boss call you that, and his attention is now focused on every single twitch that you make.

“The nurses will be waiting in her bedroom shortly. Be good and do as they say.” He adds, snapping Minho back to him.

“Guard, do not let her go against any of the nurses' rules. She can be convincing. Do not give into it.”

“Yes Sir.”

You roll your eyes, turning away to leave the room.

“Stay safe.” That is the last utterance of the boss before you drag Minho out of the room and towards the bedroom.

“Sit on the bed,” a nurse commands you, and you quickly obey.

She dabs at your abdomen stitches with antiseptic soap and your eyebrows furrow.

“You can’t move around much, got it? No exercising for three weeks until we get these stitches out.”

You agree as she moves on to your wrists, rubbing cream into them, “You’re going to visit us twice a day for six days until the healing is almost complete.”

She yanks a bandage off of your face, causing you to groan in pain. She rubs another ointment on it before substituting it with fresh dressing.

Minho supervises each step that the nurse takes, noticing how she takes care of your body as if it’s her most precious gift.

She turns to Minho, “I need you to make sure that she’s well rested, drinking enough water, and not doing many straining activities. Take her back here once again in the evening, and then we will see her again this time tomorrow morning, got it?”

“Yes, I will take care of her.”

“What about him, nurse?” You eye the small cuts across his face and hands.

She smiles and leans over to you. “He is well trained. Trust me, he’ll survive a few scratches.”

Your eyes narrow. “I order you to treat his wounds to the best of your abilities.”

She sighs. “Yes ma’am.”

She moves towards Minho and checks his wounds, patching the ones that were newly caused. She brushes his face softly with an ointment.

“I don’t like it when my guards don’t keep up a good appearance,” you try to explain away your worry for him, “and being injured will only slow you down when protecting me.”

The man stares straight ahead, listening carefully. “I’m fine. I’ll recover just fine. I don’t need much care as you do.”

“Let her rest now,” the nurse tells Minho, “order the maids to bring her a glass of water and have her sip on it until lunchtime.”

Once she leaves, Minho turns towards you, “I’ll make sure the maids bring you water. You need to stay hydrated”

Once water is on your table, your gaze returns to Minho

“Now, I order you to sit down on my bed with me.”

He examines you with a neutral expression and waits for you to say what you mean, not wishing to assume or take anything wrongly.

“Sit down with me,” you demand again, patting the spot beside you, waiting for him to follow suit.

As soon as you ask him to, Minho does not waver. He sits down beside you, body brushing your own.

You turn to meet his cold expression with intensity. “Do you like your job so far?

Minho is taken off guard by your switch of topic. He stays where he is sitting, but turns his body as well and faces you.

“I enjoy my duties.”

“Good. Because I’m fond of you. You’re handsome, and you are good at your job.”

He stares at you with slight surprise. “Thank you.”

Your hands grab for his, playing with the ring on his finger.

Then, you reach your hands higher, tugging his sleeve up to reveal a cluster of scars littered across his forearm.

“How long have you been in the business?”

“Since I was fourteen. I was trained from a very young age.”

“Have you always been in Daddy’s family?”

“I was loyal to your Daddy from the moment I knew what this life was like. I haven’t had a moment of doubt.”

“Good. That means you won’t leave us, right?”

“I will serve your family until my last breath. You have nothing to fear about that.”

“What a good boy,” you reach to ruffle his hair, landing a swift kiss on his sliced cheek. “That’s exactly what I like to hear.”

Minho stiffens.

“I order you to take off your jacket. I want to see your body. To see if you’re strong enough to be a good guard.”

Your words are sharp as a knife and they cut deep through his defense system. His jaw clamps and his breathing accelerates.

Minho swallows his breath, nodding his head. His movements are rigid, starting to cautiously peel off his jacket. It takes him a moment to unbutton it, but once his jacket is off, he stays there, waiting.

You slide his jacket to the floor, touching the muscles of his bicep through his button-down. “You’re fit. That’s good.”

Minho yearns for you to keep feeling him. To keep praising him. He swallows. Your words sound like a honey trap to him, and it’s working as intended.

“I order you to take off your tie.”

“Yes.”

That is all that he says, slowly slipping his tie from underneath his collar and tossing it aside.

Unexpectedly, you’re climbing on top of his body. “Take off your button-down.”

He unbuttons his shirt as your eyes sear into his chest. He is now only wearing a black undershirt.

“So many clothes,” you sigh out, groping his bare arms. You run your hands across his biceps, listening to him shudder underneath the touch.

“Take off your undershirt now. I want to see your chest.”

You can feel the heat radiating off him as he shivers. His body is now sensitive, and your hands are making it worse for him.

Your orders are evident, and he hastily lifts off his undershirt, waiting for what is next.

You can see his whole chest with all of its blemishes, with every muscle covered in sweat, exposed for you.

Your hands travel down his chest and abdomen, feeling each ragged scar with your bruised fingers. The delicate contact causes his breath to catch and a soft groan leaves him, fighting to not show that he relishes in your touch.

“Let me kiss you.”

He stares at you for a moment before his eyebrows slightly shift— his way of showing you that he approves of that request.

Minho leans in slightly and closes his eyes, gently placing a timid kiss on your lips.

You smirk against him, pushing him to lie against the bed frame and deepening the kiss. Your hands reach for his dark hair, clasping a handful in your grip.

He kisses you deeply and wraps his arms around you to pull you in closer, offering full control to you. His breath speeds up.

You pull away after a moment, lips brushing against his as you catch your breath, but only for an instant before moving towards his jaw, sucking marks onto his skin.

Minho quivers at your touch, his breathing speeding up once more as you leave red and purple blemishes on his skin. He bites his lip to stop himself from groaning.

Your mouth moves from his jaw to his neck, leaving kisses and hickeys all across him, making sure that he is covered in them.

Your hips grind against him, breathing heavily with anticipation as you make your way to his chest.

Your hands and mouth are touching all of him, and each sensation triggers a reaction that he tries to conceal.

Your lips hover back to his lips, staring at him longingly. “Do I have to command you for you to do anything to me? You don’t have to ask. You have my permission. Do whatever you want.”

You can see his gaze shifting from your eyes to your mouth, to your neck, and then towards your chest.

You swiftly lift yourself off of him to let him remove your dress, leaving your body as bare as his own.

You grasp onto his neck, bringing him in for another deep kiss. Minho remains silent as he kisses you, allowing you to leave him as many marks as you desire.

“What are you thinking, Minho? Speak to me.”

He takes a moment, letting out an unstable breath. “I’m thinking of what you are doing to me. I,” he stammers, “I want to make you feel good.”

“Then do it. Please.”

“I don’t want to harm you,” he breathes out, “you’re injured.”

“The nurses said to not do,” Minho presses his eyes shut as you bring your hips up to meet his, “fuck, anything straining.”

“Remember what Daddy said? I can be convincing.” You sneer as your bodyguard fails to keep his cool composure, but the aching cock pressing into you is giving his true desires away.

You eye his internal struggle between following your orders and his cravings, or the nurse and his boss.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I can go relieve myself in the bathroom.”

“I like being hurt.”

You notice his lip twitch at the comment, and you decide to provoke him further, grinding into him, and set a steady rhythm with your hips.

He groans as his head drops back, tugging onto your hair and trying desperately to control his breath, “Please, Y/N, I just want to take care of you.”

“You can take care of me in another way.”

“I need to follow orders.”

“Then I order you to fuck me.”

His eyes pinch shut as he tries to clear his head and reason with himself.

Perhaps if he were gentle, it would be alright.

But how long could he remain gentle when you were splayed out in front of him, willing to take anything that he gave to you?

He made his decision, gripping your shoulders gently and flipping you, pinning you to the bed, and surveying your face for any discomfort.

When he finds none, he impatiently unclasps his belt, throwing it to the floor along with his dress pants, leaving him in just his boxers.

You hold yourself up by your elbows, thighs pressed together and mouth watering at the man in front of you.

His hands were delicate, although they could easily snap you in half, as he unclasped your bra, leaving your top half bare.

Minho stopped to take in the view for a moment before grabbing at one of your breasts, his mouth attaching to the other.

Your whines were like music to him— something that he wanted to hear more of.

Your back arched in pleasure as he moved one hand down to your thigh, caressing it for a moment before slowly slipping his hand into your panties.

“Try to stay quiet, darling, I don’t want any staff checking on us,” He hushed you with his lips attaching to your own once again, feeling your wetness all over his calloused hands.

His thumb brushed against your clit and you whimpered into his mouth, clenching around nothing.

Minho then plunged two fingers deep inside of you and curled them. He was becoming lost in pleasing you, overlooking his own ache between his legs.

Your thighs shook beneath him, feeling him brush against your g-spot brutally. “Minho please, please just fuck me. I want you inside of me so bad.”

At your request, he slipped his fingers out, feeling your cries against his lips from the loss of friction.

“Yes ma’am.” He pulled away from your lips, replacing them with his now dripping fingers, lapping it up with his tongue.

Next, your ruined panties were yanked off of you, with his boxers soon to come after.

One hand gently relaxes on your hips, cautious to avoid aggravating your injuries as he uses the other to guide himself inside of you, a deep groan followed by your whines.

He gives you a moment to handle the stretch, but you hardly need it, already begging for him to move.

Minho cautiously thrusts, taking in a deep breath and furrowing his eyebrows in concentration. 
This is the ultimate test of patience for him. He needs to be as gentle as possible with you.

Ultimately, he sets a slow pace, hands locating themselves on either side of you, letting out uneven breaths as he tries to control himself from how good you feel around him.

“You really do care, don’t you?” Your hand reaches to cup his face, gazing into his eyes that are hazy with pleasure.

He keeps his response short, too concentrated on the waves of bliss through each thrust, “I do care.”

“Is it because you’re my bodyguard or something more?”

You study him, watching his adam’s apple move as he swallows deeply, inhaling sharply. He halts his thrusts for a brief instant.

“Both, maybe. I can’t tell.”

That was enough for you to continue, grabbing another handful of his hair and bringing him in for another hungry, deep kiss.

With each deep thrust, Minho’s mind got hazier and hazier, losing himself to pleasure bit by bit. You could feel it by the way his rhythm became rough and desperate, and his pace picked up.

One of his hands left your side, creeping towards your throbbing clit, causing you to let out sobs, all of which he ate up with his mouth against your own.

“Are you gonna cum for me?” He coos, knowing that you’re too lost in bliss to respond.

He takes your whines as a ‘yes’, his thumb rubbing circles faster, coaxing your orgasm out of you.

Your walls fluttered around him, squeezing your eyes closed and letting out a lengthy, drawn-out moan as his pace picked up even further.

“Just like that. You’re so good for me, so, so good, fuck,” he talked you through your orgasm between his thrusts, chasing his own high.

His brows crease, hips stuttering at how good it felt to have you gripping so tightly onto his cock. Finally, he let go, his load spilling inside of you and seeping out.

Both of you took an instant to catch your breath, coming down from your highs.

His hands slowly traced your curves in contentment, paying attention to the way your chest rose and fell.

Finally, he has a justification to gape at your body up close.

From your jawline to your hickey-covered chest, down to your bruised sides and stitches near your abdomen, and— Oh fuck.

Your wounds.

Minho slowly pulls away, feeling a sense of post-nut clarity and fright.

His hand slides away from your body, staring at you with concern.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, your own anxiety suddenly displayed on your face, “Do you regret it?”

“No! No,” He panics, “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?“

Back in reality now, your wounds ache and your head pounds with exhaustion and overexertion.

His mind calculates the solutions to the situation— ways to explain to the nurses, to fix you, to help you feel better.

It was his shortcoming, after all. He let his urges get to him.

“Let’s run you a bath.” He pulls himself up, tugging on his boxers and heading towards the bathroom.

You hear the tap turn on, lying in bed trying to catch your breath. Your breath is harsh from both adrenaline and pain, but you can’t help but feel as though the latter is more of the cause.

You had slept with a small handful of men, primarily Daddy’s men, but none of them were quite like Minho.

He was tough but breakable. He was still kindhearted at his core— something that wasn’t all that common in the business.

You could tell from the way that he ran the bath, bare muscles glistening from sweat, running his hand through the water to make sure that it was the ideal temperature. How concerned he was about your protection, even through his pleasure.

Not many other men that you’ve met throughout your life have been the same way.

You’re quite fond of the man that you have just met.

You hear the water shut off and footsteps coming towards the room. He holds a faint smile as his steps come towards the bed. Your gaze slowly wanders to his physique.

“It’s ready for you.” He says in a slight whisper.

“I order you to pick me up and bring me to the bath.”

He nods at your order, hooking his arms underneath your thighs and back, his strong grip securing you.

You inhale the powerful stench of gunpowder stuck to his skin, finding comfort in your bodyguard’s presence.

“Will you wash my hair?”

Studying his expression, it’s hard to read, but you let him carry you and place you into the water.

‘I do care,’ you recall his words.

‘Is it because you’re my bodyguard or something more?’ ‘Both, maybe. I can’t tell.’

Perhaps you had feelings for the man, especially while he massaged shampoo into your scalp with tough hands, making sure to rub your temples.

“Have you ever been a bodyguard before?”

When Minho hears your question, he hums while he proceeds to wash you, working on scrubbing the areas where he touched you earlier. “No, you’re the first one I’ve been a bodyguard for.”

“I did things for your father before this. Not as a bodyguard, a more, I guess, dangerous role,” he dismisses the question.

“Is that so?” You fall to silence as he continues to wash you, taking his time and guaranteeing that he gets every part. He hesitates when he washes around your injuries— every stroke and movement of his hands is smooth and temperate.

“Let me relax for a minute alone,” you murmur, “You should put your clothes back on, the maids should be here any moment to take my order for lunch. They won’t find it suspicious that I’m bathing, but they will question why you’re with me.”

Minho nods and pulls away from your body.

He stands up and his feet splash on the wet floor. He takes a double take at your closed eyes.

The way your body floats in the bath is something that catches his attention. You look very pleasing in such a vulnerable position.

He leaves the room, cracking the door to make sure that you are safe.

Minho buttons up his wrinkled shirt, pulling the jacket over it and smoothing it out to ensure that nobody suspects anything.

Minho’s eyes turn to the maid who enters the room with the ring of a bell.

His demeanor is unfazed, a hand on the gun in his pocket once more. He holds eye contact, his stare intense.

He would make sure that there wasn’t another incident.

“Where is Miss Y/N?”

“She is bathing at the moment.”

She nods, walking towards the bathroom and knocking on the door.

You hum, allowing her to enter.

“What would you like for lunch, ma’am?”

“I don’t know, surprise me.”

A few seconds go by as you immerse yourself entirely in the water before rising back to the surface.

“Minho,” you call out, “What would you like?”

You hear the faint sigh that Minho gives as a response back to your question.

“I’ll just have a sandwich or something, whatever you have is fine.” He replies to both you and the maid as she exits the bathroom, fulfilling her duty of reporting your lunch choice.

The bedroom door shuts behind her.

“Minho!” You call out once again, “I order you to take me out of the bath.”

A few seconds pass before you hear Minho’s footsteps come near the bathroom once again. He grabs a towel as you stand, body bare and dripping with water.

His eyes have an intense focus as he reaches out his hand.

Minho pulls you up from the bath wraps the towel around you, making sure to cover all of you, and begins to dry off your hair.

“Minho,” you begin, “Daddy can’t know about what happened. He’d shoot you dead on the spot.”

Minho pauses for a moment, his eyes darting across the floor.

He is silent for a moment. “I won’t reveal anything to him.”

“Good boy,” you cling to the towel covering your body, “Go fetch a maid to dress me. While she does so, I want you to change out of that suit and shower before lunch.”

“Then I’ll go shower now. I’ll be back.”

You hum in agreement, stepping towards your bedroom as a maid rings the bell.

You drop your towel, letting her sift through your drawers to find decent clothing.

She eyes a hickey on your breast, along with the other injuries across your body from the kidnapping.

“Your injuries look agitated, Miss Y/N, are you sure that a bath was the best idea for you?”

“Don’t question me,” you grumble, “I took a bath because I wanted to.”

“Yes, miss.” She pulls the dress above your head smoothes it out, and clasps a necklace behind your neck.

“You’re all set for lunch.”

The moment that you come out of your room, you can feel his presence. He is leaning against the front door of the room with an unreadable expression.

He has another suit on, a fresh one. Minho’s previously muskier, dark scent has been replaced by a new, sweeter fragrance.

“First shower at the estate?” You question, “Our soaps are quite lovely and mild on the skin. You smell wonderful.”

Minho’s lips curl at the compliment, looking you up and down, “Seems that we both are putting our best foot forward.”

You look around to see if anyone is watching before leaning to ruffle his damp hair and leave a kiss on his cheek, taking the man by complete surprise. He makes an effort to regain his composure, but you can see that his cheeks are blushed from the touch.

As soon as you lean in to lock arms, you feel him lean over to you to whisper something.

“I would love to do that with you again.”

You froze in your spot, heat rushing to your thighs.

You must regain your composure, caught off guard by his blunt words, something unlike the ordinary nature of Minho.

He takes a seat across from you, watching every move that the maid makes to be sure that she doesn’t try anything— he has learned his lesson.

“Pressed Italian Picnic Sandwiches and tea,” The maid states, setting the plates on the table.

You scrunch my nose up. “What’s in it?”

“Artisanal prosciutto, aged provolone, and sun-dried tomatoes inside of a crusty ciabatta,” She doesn’t hesitate to list the ingredients, “and a fragrant blend of rare loose-leaf teas with fresh cream and sugar cubes.”

She sets the teapot and cups out, along with a carton of cream and a bowl of sugar cubes.

Minho’s hand rests on his gun, waiting for her to leave before taking a sip of tea.

You follow his action, dumping a couple of cubes into your tea and bringing it to your lips.

I finish my lunch with Minho.

“Let’s go back to my room now. I'm exhausted.”

Minho nods his head and you both finish up the meals quickly.

You both leave the dining area and stroll back to your bedroom.

As soon as you get back into the room, you feel Minho close the door behind you.

You don’t hesitate to climb into bed and lie down.

The guard looks over at you, observing the way that your chest rises and falls as you breathe. He notices every movement that your body is making.

“I command you to lay down with me.” You lean back against the bed, your body still and eyes focused on his unmoving body.

He slips off his shoes silently, slipping into the canopy bed.

You grin, curling at his side, pressing against his body.

His breathing is deep and steady as he struggles to get into a more comfortable position.

Your mind began racing with questions about the mysterious man that you were slowly falling for, burying yourself further into the sheets.

“Minho,” you start slowly, “How did you become tangled with our family?”

Minho stays silent for a few moments and you feel his body shift a little against yours.

“I didn’t have a lot of money or family growing up,” he kept his answer short and simply, “the moment that this job came my way, I took it. The people connected to this business have always stayed on the down low, so this is an easy job to keep."

“Daddy seems to like you,” you grit your teeth.

Minho turns to you on the bed and sits up a little. He looks at you from top to bottom, reading the worry on your face with ease.

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

“He will kill you on the spot if he finds out. He’s done that to almost every man who has flirted or slept with me.”

You pause for a moment. “God forbid the one he hired as my bodyguard.”

“I am not so easily killed.” The words leave his mouth with a tinge of arrogance.

“I trust you.”

“Good.”

There is stillness between you both for a time, but he breaks it by grabbing your chin and leaning in to kiss you. You soothe into his touch, smiling against his lips briefly before he pulls away.

“I order you to stay here. Like this.”

It’s not difficult for you to drift off to sleep beside him, and as always, Minho pursues your request, keeping a close eye on you. You relax, your breathing slow, and he notes all of the occasional twitches and movements that you make in your sleep.

A couple of hours later, the door is knocked on by a maid.

“Dinner order?”

Minho jolts awake from the knock on the door, a hand swiftly placed on your shoulder to protect you from any threats before turning his head towards the noise.

His voice is full of sleep. “Repeat that?”

As she opens the door, there is a look of inquiry on her face, one that she won’t ask to ensure her job and health.

“Is she asleep?” She questions instead, glancing over at your peaceful figure.

He turns his head towards you to double-check, observing your napping body.

“Yes.”

“Alright. I’ll advise the chef to prepare her dinner later tonight.”

She gives a sharp nod to the guard and scurries out of the room, quietly shutting the door to not disturb the girl.

Minho’s eyes rest on the door for a moment, fully alert now with a hand resting on his gun.

Eventually, he turns over to you. He has his eyes on you for a few seconds before leaning down to kiss you on the forehead, letting out a small sigh.

You stir at the warm touch, scrunching your face up and stretching your body.

“What time is it?” You ask groggily before burying your head into his neck.

“Dinner is in about half an hour. You hungry?”

“Not really,” you pull yourself up and rub your sleep-filled eyes.

He notices your body shiver as you pull yourself up. Minho lets out a short exhale.

“Did you sleep?”

“A bit.” He doesn’t look away or turn his head as he admires the way you stand and stretch your body, smoothing your dress of its wrinkles.

You walk towards your vanity mirror, plopping down in the chair to readjust your necklace to the center. A few marks on your collarbone catch your eye.

“The nurses will be in shortly.” You grit your teeth. “I hope they don’t notice.”

“They won’t notice.”

His figure can be seen from behind you in the reflection of the mirror. His lips are turned upwards as he watches you fix your appearance.

You pull out a couple of foundations and concealers, working on concealing the marks left from earlier.

“The maids wouldn’t, but the nurses will tell the difference between a hickey and a bruise. Especially since these are fresh.”

Even though you are busy with your makeup and covering up the bruises, Minho’s eyes are never off of you. It is a feeling that you will have to get used to— always having a watchful eye on you.

Once you were satisfied with the coverage, you rose from your seat quickly.

“Get up, we’re going to dinner.”

“So bossy.” He retorts. “What will you have?”

“I want to go out, let’s go somewhere fancy. Daddy will pay.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You want to go out when you have had a beating just two days ago?”

He asks it like he thinks it’s an absurd idea, almost condescendingly, yet his tone of voice is soft and full of concern for you, causing your stomach to flip inside out.

“I’m tired of staying inside already. This estate is suffocating,” you pull on your slip-on shoes.

“That’s how I got myself into this mess in the first place. I left the house and got kidnapped. That won’t happen with you here.”

“I guess you’re right. We’ll go somewhere nice.”

“Good. I’ll go tell Daddy.” You leave the door open for Minho to come after but don’t wait for him, yet you can tell that he follows behind silently, attending to the way your body moves in the dress as you make your way down the halls.

The door is slightly ajar, so when you knock, it pushes open with a creak, revealing your father inside.

Minho stands behind you like a shadow, his lips pressed into a straight line, gaze locked on your father, keeping his distance from the both of you.

“Come inside,” the older man invites both of them with a welcoming grin, “sit.”

You can sense that your father has something on his mind, which is never a good sign.

“I was going to call you to my office shortly, anyway.” Instantly you assume the worst.

You sit down, taking a seat in front of him. Minho is still standing in the back, his priority on you and your father.

The man looks over at Minho. Their eyes lock for a moment. “Guard, go lock the door. There is a conversation that needs to be had.”

Minho nods and he turns his head, locking the door behind him.

He turns his attention back to you, who is frozen in your seat, breath hitching.

The elite man fiddles with a pen at his desk, clicking it to drown out the tense silence.

The silence in the room seems so heavy that you wonder how neither you nor Minho is feeling sick. Judging by the thick atmosphere between the three of you, it is easy to tell that he isn’t pleased right now.

He fidgets with the pen and you wait for him to finally speak.

“Do you find my daughter to be precious, Guard?” He addresses Minho with a stern voice, finally setting the pen down at his wooden desk with a smack.

“Yes sir,” Minho replies flatly.

“Are you willing to protect her at all costs, even at your life?”

After moments of silence, he answers back confidently. “Yes sir. I am.”

A hand comes to rest at his side, toying loudly with a handgun, which he eventually pulls out of his pocket.

Tears begin to well up in your eyes, yet Minho stays concentrated. There isn’t a single sign of fear on his face. He is unshaken, calm, and collected as if he had been foreseeing this exact scenario.

“Do you know why you were assigned to guard my daughter, Minho?”

“I know the reasons.”

“There was a leak to the rivals from a previous staff member that I had a precious daughter in my life,” He turns towards you, “the one that I had climbed to the top of my career to protect and assure her safety and security.”

He cleared his throat before darting back to Minho, “It took less than a day for her to be taken from my hands and placed in the hands of one of my greatest enemies.”

Minho pays attention to every word that he speaks and clears his throat, waiting for your father to continue.

“I care for my daughter more than anything in the world. Which is why I had appointed the most valuable, honest, and competent man in the family to ensure her protection.”

Minho nods.

“Please don’t kill him, Daddy.”

The boss meets you with cold eyes, disregarding your words to proceed with his lecture. “You are my most prized possession. I would hurt anyone or anything to make sure that not a single person touches you. The men who kidnapped you are all taken care of, wiped out by my command.”

He continues. “I know everything that goes on in your life. Every meal, every kiss, every injury, the staff must report every minor thing that occurs in your day. I have eyes on you at all times, and you’re more than aware of that.”

Your shoulders stiffen. He knew.

“Minho,” his stare is burning into the other man, “I’ll get to the point. Did you sleep with my daughter?”

He doesn’t blink. His body tenses up and his voice remains neutral.

“Yes.”

The boss turns the safety off of his firearm and you dig your head into your hands, unable to observe the scene that is about to unfold.

The gunshot is fired, but the man deliberately aims to the left of Minho, grazing his cheek with the bullet before standing up instantly from his seat. The guard doesn’t react with more than a blink as the blood pools at the cut.

“I trust you, Minho. You are a good man. If there is a single person who I would choose to give my daughter to, it would be you.”

Finally, Minho takes this as a sign to let his guard down for a moment as his shoulders drop, lip quivering slightly. It was evident that there was more emotion that the guard was holding back, especially when he took a moment to look away.

“You have my approval.”

Your eyes widen.

“Take care of my daughter. If you break her heart, I’ll feed your own heart to her for supper.”

“Understood.”

“Take her to dinner,” a wad of cash is pulled out from one of the drawers, “buy her flowers and anything else that she asks for.”

“Yes sir.” He responds, “I’ll make sure that she gets the treatment that she deserves.”

You run to embrace your father, to which he places an arm around you, rubbing your back before pulling away.

“Get yourself dressed more sufficiently, I will have a car ready for you soon.”

Minho follows you out of his office, letting out a breath that he had been holding in once the door was closed.

“Did you hear that?” Do you know what this means?” You beam at the man before grabbing at his cheeks and pulling him in for a kiss.

He lets out a surprised noise, hesitantly wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing back.

When you break the kiss, he stares back at you with the first big smile that you’ve seen from him displayed on his face.

“Let’s get you ready.”

[isenkus]

ex! izuku, one mention of the war. pro hero! y/n, who was also in the war. weird plot, but i had a dream about this with my ex. i need to cope and take my meds.

thinking of accidentally reuniting with your ex izuku midoriya, in one of the most common ways possible: both of you being invited to an arcade for a huge event.

it’s one of your mutual friend’s birthday, with the invite being a 'simple' arcade party. though, nothing about it is simple—you and your friends have the wallet of a pro hero, which meant a whole arcade building was rented for the night, with each one of the games filled with colorful costumes in case of an emergency.

and as soon as you stepped towards a big, down the clown machine, your heard someone clear their throat.

it was none other than izuku midoriya.

how long had you practiced no contact? was it four months? to you it felt like years, but you know what they say. when love truly blooms, times goes by in a flash. did this apply here? you didn't know, but you respectfully greeted him with a smile.

a forced one at that. things with midoriya went downhill after a year of dating, and if you were being honest with yourself, you couldn’t bear to see him. he smiled as he greeted you in return.

“it’s been a while, y/n, how have you been? you wanna play down the clown together?”

it had been exactly four months since the breakup, and yet your given name rolled off his tongue so naturally. chuckling, you reached for your arcade card inside your wallet. “sure, midoriya. though i think we’ve beaten bigger clowns than this one.”

ouch. izuku visibly winced at the mention of his surname. for a brief moment, his mind replayed the events of the war, and how he held you in his arms as tears slipped his eyes. a near death experience is sure to bring people closer, yet in this case, it felt like a riff that would lead you two apart.

you giggled as you swiped the card and watched as the colorful plastic balls fell towards you and him. you each picked one and started throwing them at the nine clowns standing before you. laughs and glances were exchanged, with a few victory cries as all clowns were down and gone, the machine spewing out tickets in return.

izuku cheered as he pulled you into his embrace, his arms wrapped comfortably around your waist. as he pulled back, his hand rested on your waist still, “do you wanna play some more?”

and a part of you wanted to say no. his innocence is far too much for you, constantly reminding you of what led to the end of what was the relationship of the century. even tabloids were confused as to what happened. the happiest couples are always the ones with more trouble in paradise.

yet, you nodded. his fingers intertwined themselves with yours as he drove you towards another game in the arcade. your heart pounded from pure confusion, your mind going back a year as you remembered…

him. this was the izuku midoriya you knew. the carefree, loving izuku midoriya who looked out for you always, and the one who loved you wholly.

as he and you neared a fishing pond, he and you grabbed the magnetic fishing rods. it was terrible, your attempts at catching the plastic fish failing miserably. izuku was always touching you in some way, whether it was his hand on your shoulder or the small of your back when you turned towards him with a pout, or his hand cupping your cheek when you finally got a fish.

“you never answered my question, y/n” he started, his expression completely serious. “how’ve you been?”

“i’ve been amazing, actually” you replied, arms crossing as you continued. “my agency’s teamed up with bakugo’s for some missions, and we’ve grown quite a lot!”

“i’m so happy for you!” izuku smiles, his hand on your shoulder, slowly dragging down towards your forearm.

well, it’s not or never, right?

“so, uhm, midoriya… are you seeing anyone right now?”

his eyes widened as his lips curled into a smile.

“yes, i am! her name’s—“

it was then when your brain stopped processing the words that escaped his mouth. unable to hear the name, you sighed in relief, as it was izuku's mixed signals that got you and him into a rough patch way back. it was a sign that there is no way to go around izuku midoriya without looking like a complete fool.

“that’s so great, midoriya! i’m so happy for you” you laughed awkwardly, “i knew you’d find someone good for you.”

and to be honest, it was during this moment that you were grateful his special person wasn’t you.