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taintandviolent · 2 months ago

Text

Visitors ; Jimmy Darling x Remmick x Reader

summary: You've been fooling around with Jimmy Darling for a few weeks now, but are shocked when he shows up at your doorstep, past midnight, with a stranger, asking for a threesome.

word count 4.3K warnings: female reader, no use of Y/N, crossover au, au where remmick survived (don't ask me to explain how), mentions of alcohol/drinking/being drunk, reader's occupation at the freak show is up to you, threesome, oral sex (fem/reader receiving), fingering, handjobs, interrupted orgasms, vampire bites/biting, blood drinking, vampire!Jimmy Darling, .

a/n: *grabs your face* listen to me. I don't expect anyone to enjoy this as much as I did, but I'm posting it anyway. this is an extremely self-indulgent fanfic, inspired by the fact that @garykingz said that Remmick reminded them of a very fucked up and evil vampire version of Jimmy Darling. I took that idea and absolutely RAN with it. by reading this, you will excuse anything weird or any plot holes, okay? okay. banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / fic playlist here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

At first, there nothing was fire and agony, but that didn't hurt half as bad as the feeling of failure. He'd failed, he'd lost them all, and somehow, somehow after all that… there was mud. It surrounded his stinging, sizzling body until he healed. Until he found himself again.

Maybe Mississippi wasn't the place for him.

Jupiter, Florida. 1952.

The sun has disappeared from the sky, allowing room for the big, luminous moon to rise. It's a clear night, no clouds, despite the weather forecast threatening summer rain for the next few days. A soft, humid breeze flows through the air, rustling the tall grasses in the field while the crickets chirp their nightly song. A few miles away, the settling sounds of Lake Okeechobee lingers.

Surrounded by the grasses, your trailer sits. It's farthest away from the other trailers, out of the circle of long-term residents. You were a new addition, so it was only fair. It's a Liberty, white and blue, with a hand-painted picket fence trim along the bottom, and red and white gingham curtains hang in the windows. To the every day person, it might not have been much, but to you, it was home. You'd made it that way.

Inside, you let out a contented sigh and sway your feet back and forth in the air; the night had been a good one. Despite the blistering heat persisting through the night, it had been a full house for the past week. Word had gotten out in town, and the crowds had flocked to the Freak Show. Elsa was happy — and when she was happy, the entire troupe reaped the benefits of her jovial and rare attitude. On a personal side, your segment had gone particularly well tonight, the crowd had been reactive — something that always filled your ego like one of the red balloons that you sold at the stand.

Now, freshly showered, rollers in, pajamas on, you're lounging on your stomach, flipping through a magazine. Life is good. Paired with the music that drifts from the small radio on the shelf, the constant whirring of the fan fills your trailer, doing a decent job at keeping it cool despite the heat wave. The only light comes from the string lights in your window, and the small bedside lamp — everything else is shut off. It's just enough for you to read by, and illuminates the small caravan in a warm, romantic way. You lick the pad of your middle finger and use it to turn to the next page.

Knock-knock-knock knock knock.

Your body seizes at the sudden noise, and your eyes flit from the magazine to the door — that sounded an awful lot like Jimmy Darling's knock, but… it was so late. Clad in nothing but your sheer, pink nightgown, you push yourself up off the bed and snatch the matching satin robe from its hook as you pass it, heading towards the door.

The knock repeats, and you glance at the heart-shaped wall clock. 12:36. What on Earth?

With a steady hand, you unlock the door, and pull the latch-handle, pushing the door forward gently. Standing there, is not only Jimmy, but another man. He's shorter than Jimmy by a few inches, but similar in build and energy. His dark hair falls onto his forehead in gentle curls, and his enchanting blue eyes gaze up at you with a piqued interest. Nervously, you wrap the robe around yourself, and tie it tightly at the waist.

"Hey, baby," Jimmy says, looking up into your pretty eyes, admiring the way that your interior light creates a halo around your scarf covered hair. He's seen you in rollers before — nothing new for him. He leans one arm against the edge of your trailer, and you can tell that he's been drinking. He always gets extra flirty when he drinks, and the last few times he'd come to your trailer drunk had resulted in debauchery. "Whatcha' up to, pretty girl?"

God, you think. He's always so charming. You'd walk right off a cliff if he asked you to.

You tighten your grip on the top of your satin robe, making sure that no cleavage is revealed. You look from Jimmy to the stranger, your expression filled with apprehension. Jimmy seeing you in rollers and free of makeup was one thing, but another man putting his eyes on your indecent form had a pit forming in your stomach.

You hesitate, chewing on the corner of your lip. "I was just readin'." You pause, expectantly waiting for an introduction. When it doesn't come, you clear your throat and ask: "Jimmy… who is this?"

He blows air out through his lips, shaking his head softly. "Hell, look at me. Starin' at you and I forgot my manners. This is Remmick. He saw the show tonight."

"Oh," you say curtly. Why is he at my trailer? "Hello."

Remmick nods, flashing you a bright, inviting smile. Encumbered with the same kind of boyishness, it reminds you of Jimmy's, but there's something darker underneath it, something that Jimmy lacks. It's almost malicious — something that Jimmy doesn't have an iota of.

"I'm a traveling man and I've sure seen a lot of shows. Y'all are a bunch of gifted folks. And you… you've got a real God given talent, darlin'." The man's accent sounds slightlySouthern — Floridian, even — but you notice that underneath, there's an odd lilt to his words, like he's using it to mask something else.

You blink. You didn't know about God given — the mutters in the crowds were usually of the opposite, freaks are God's mistakes. Still, the compliment is appreciated, and you smile politely all the same, dipping your head to your chest as a silent thank you. You're all too used to compliments from male show-goers, so that doesn't unnerve you… but the way he's looking at you sure does. The eye contact feels like a one hundred pound weight on your chest, and shift as you might, you can't dislodge it. You don't think he's even looked at Jimmy once. A silence, punctured only by the gentle sounds of the evening, hangs heavy between the three of you for a little too long, but you finally break it with a cough.

"….Jimmy, what're you doin'?"

"Huh?" God bless his naivety.

"It's past midnight. What're you doin'?"

He seems embarrassed by that, but with a quick look to Remmick, he regains his confidence and finds his reasoning for showing up at your door to begin with. He rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat.

"Well, Remmick and I got to talkin' after the show, and we were wonderin' if we could come in. Y'know, for a little fun."

Your jaw almost hits the floor. What exactly had they been talking about? You and Jimmy had fooled around a few times — more than a few — but you never expected him to come at you with an offer of a threesome. The implications weigh heavy on your limbs like shackles, and your gaze flickers back and forth between the two of them.

"Jimmy, I…"

"Now," he starts, sensing your apprehension, cutting you off. "…Listen. I know you aren't that kinda' girl, baby… but… he appreciates you the same way I do. He sees what I see, and I just… I think it'd be fun."

"If I may," Remmick says, flattening a hand on his chest and nodding slowly a few times. "I've traveled all over the world... And I ain't never seen a woman like you. I'm a firm believer in appreciatin' beauty, and makin' sure that the owner of it knows they've got somethin' real special."

"Y'see?" Jimmy asks, looking up at you with those big, ink-pool eyes of his. Your heart just melts at the sight of them, and you want to lean down and press your lips against his warm ones. You know what he tastes like, having memorized it the first time you two kissed. Heat pools between your legs, and you hum softly to yourself.

"C'mon, baby… we'll be gentle…" he urges. Short of clasping his conjoined fingers together, he's begging you. You know that tone in his voice. You've heard him beg before. Jimmy leans more of his weight into the trailer, and reaches out, running one of his fingers along the length of your thigh. His touch is electric and it takes all of your power to suppress the shudder that tickles at the base of your spine, but you do.

You swallow the dryness in your throat and look to Remmick. His eyes slide heavy from your face to the forbidden spot between your legs, as if he notices the fervid, salacious change in you. He grins as you shift, rubbing your silky soft skin together, trying to alleviate some of the arousal. "I won't bite too hard."

They aren't going anywhere, and the way Jimmy's looking at you — hell, the way they're both looking at you — is suddenly driving you crazy. It's turning your resolve to melted butter, dripping through their extended fingertips.

You heave a sigh.

"Too hard? You better not bite me at all. I've got shows tomorrow." You say, stepping to the side of the door. "Come on. Both of you. You're letting all the good air out."

Jimmy's face lights up. With a huff, he drops his hand from your thigh, throwing Remmick a pleased glance, and jerks his head towards the door before stepping up inside. His hand trails along the front of your stomach lovingly as he moves further inside, allowing room for Remmick as he too steps inside. With a lingering glance outside, you lock the door behind them.

You don't even make it to the fridge to offer them both a glass of lemonade before they descend on you, like two hungry animals cornering a small prey animal.

Jimmy's hands are on you, cupping your breasts outside of the flimsy fabric of your nightgown, as he mutters hot breathed words of need. His mouth finds yours in a flash, tongue slipping along your bottom lip before delving inside to wrestle with your own. The heady, sweet taste of him paired with the remnants of the booze he was drinking invades your tastebuds, making you woozy with want. Your lids flutter closed as Jimmy deepens the kiss, one hand on the small of your back, pulling you ever closer to him.

Remmick is on the other side of you, kissing you, inhaling you. There's a hunger seated deep within his core; you can feel it in the way his mouth explores the nape of your neck, sloppy with desire. You ease into the feeling, and bring a hand around his head, running your fingers through his soft hair. He inhales again and whimpers into your neck, like he's touch-starved. You keep up your ministrations, tangling your fingers in his locks and pushing him against the curve of your neck. While he kisses you, his hands slither up the curve of your hip, gripping the plush flesh there, pulling your hips towards his own.

You allow a sweet little vocalization to drift off your lips. You'd be a liar if you said you didn't enjoy the attention, the tantalizing feeling of not one but two pairs of hands on you, exploring you, tasting you.

"So pretty, baby…" Jimmy mutters into your mouth. His hands explore every inch of your top half, moving defly from your breasts to your neck, where he grips the column of it. Not hard enough to restrict airflow, just enough to fan the fire in your core.

Remmick's tongue lolls out, licking a thick stripe from your collarbone to just beneath your ear. He urges his aching groin against the plushness of your hip. "Prettiest thing I've ever seen…"

The kiss was abrupt, to be sure, but it seems to take even less time for Remmick to be on his knees. He makes a fist in your nightgown and hoists it up your thighs painfully slow, savoring the feeling of the satin sliding up your silky soft skin. There's no friction. Once the fabric is bunched at your hips, Remmick buries his head between your plush thighs, tongue laving over the soft, supple flesh. His hands crawl up them, and with an avidious urgency, he pulls them apart, forcing you to take a few wide steps.

Jimmy had eaten you out almost every time you'd been together, and in doing so, had created a monster out of you. Now, even the proximity of a mouth in front of her, a single hot breath washing over her, and you were throbbing.

This time was no different.

Louder than the croony voice over the radio, a whimper leaves your lips as Remmick exhales over your aching center, an inch or so away from her. Jimmy feels the change in your body, and looks down, clocking his new friend between your thighs. A cocky smile crosses his boyish features, and he leans in, pressing a single kiss along your jawline.

"See, baby?" Jimmy drawls, close to your ear. "I told you he appreciates you just like I do."

Jimmy's hand finds yours and pulls it — gently, lovingly, if that's possible — towards his cock. Your fingers cave to the outline, soft jeans are pulled taut, hard-on straining against the worn fabric. You hum, and fiddle with his belt until you manage to get it undone. Next, the button of his jeans, and before Jimmy has time to help you, your hand is delving inside his boxers, searching for the searing hot tip of his cock. Keeping your body straight and your cunt easy access for Remmick, you bring your free hand to the back of Jimmy's neck, feeling the hair at the nape of his neck. You pull him close into another searing, sensual kiss.

A flash of soemthing — nerves, perhaps — taints your features. Jimmy shakes his head, placating you with another kiss.

"Nah, baby. It'll feel good. Real good. Besides," he whispers, nuzzling his nose into your neck. "I need you good and wet."

So you let him.

Encouraging him, you tilt your hips towards him.

Below you, Remmick exhales again, sending a chill through you. He kitten licks at your folds for a minute, slowly, savoring the wetness that meets his tongue. Two, long fingers slip through your wetness, before sinking inside your cunt. Stars of pleasure explode behind your eyes, your head lolling back helpelessly. He lets out a low growl at the desperate way your hips buck forward, forcing them in further and responds by curling them up into your clenching heat, hitting the lethal spot within. Another small, whimpering moan leaves your lips, feeling vulnerable in the hands of both men — but that vulnerability turns you on even more. You feel your knees to turn to jello as they both continue. You're suddenly very glad that you're pressed tightly up aaginst the sink.

As you jerk Jimmy off in slow, deliberate strokes, Remmick pumps his fingers inside of you, his mouth suctioning to your cunt every so often, lapping up the succulent juices that leak from her. Every time he does, your grip on Jimmy's cock tightens, urging more pre-cum from the fat, velvet soft tip. You both can hear the lewd sounds coming from Remmick's mouth; he's sloppy and hungry with what he's doing, and your legs are starting to quiver around his head. Jimmy breaks the kiss to chuckle.

"God damn, baby. You gettin' taken care of down there, huh?" He says, his voice husky. "Feel good?"

You mewl, nodding. "Y-yeah… he's—mmmmph. He's…."

"Shhh, baby, I know. He's eatin' you real good. Can't blame him, 'cause I know you taste good. I've been there. Like sugar on your tongue…"

Despite your orgasm fast approaching, you don't lose your rhythm, pumping his stiff cock through your fist. Your fingers are wet from the pre-cum that leaks from the slit and Jimmy bucks against your grip, humming low into your ear.

"Faster, baby… faster."

You obey, restricted slightly by his open jeans. Jimmy feels this and reaches up to pull them underneath his balls, giving you free reign. To thank him, you capture his mouth in another searing kiss, nipping playfully at his bottom lip before letting your tongue swirl with his.

Remmick swallows against you, and his tongue ceases its flicking to tease your entrance. Your intoxicating nectar is dripping down the length of his fingers, into his palm, and each passing second brings you closer to the edge. He can taste it — you're getting sweeter and headier.

Jimmy breaks the kiss again, resting his forehead against yours. You're both breathless, and your kiss-swollen lips pull into a pout. "Why don't we uh, take this to the bed? I need inside that, baby." Remmick hears this and laps at your cunt a few more times before he reluctantly gets to his feet, slowly pulling his mouth and fingers away from your sensitive center. You look at his face — his lips and chin are glistening clear with your arousal and his drool. But god, there's a lot of it. It seems to leak out the side of his mouth in a thick stream, but he doesn't bother to wipe it away. His gaze is hungry, and you imagine, mirrors your own lust-blown one. His eyes look different, darker, and almost red. You blink, but they've returned to normal. You're too deep in arousal to think on it further.

You retract your hand from the front of Jimmy's pants, and hurry to the back of the trailer, where the small bed is. You push the magazine out of the way with one hand, and turn, falling backwards. Your rear hits the small, springy mattress and the cool air from the fan hits your wet center, sending a shiver down your spine. You spread your legs again, eager for the oncoming lust of both men, and lift your half-lidded eyes. Jimmy is walking towards you, unbuttong his shirt hurriedly — with an almost giddy expression plastered on his drunken face, looking ready to sink his cock so deep inside of you that you see stars. Your eyes flick to Remmick; he's close behind him and looks equally as eager, a giant smile on his face. It's almost too big.

Jimmy pulls the white undershirt over his head, dropping it to the floor. He's only a few inches away and you hum excitedly. "Come and get me, boys…"

After that, it happens so fast.

Remmick latches onto Jimmy, pulling him backwards with strong arms. Sharp claws dig into his the sunkissed flesh of his biceps, holding him in place as he bites down on the side of his neck.

The blood.

The blood gushes down the front of his chest, coating his warm skin in crimson. Jimmy falls to his knees, his coal-black eyes locked on you, frozen in a confused, pained expression and Remmick follows him down. Tears well up in the corners of your eyes as the helplessness claims your system, paralyzing you. He looks so lost. You know that the adrenaline is dumping in his system and he probably doesn't understand what's happening, but you do. Except you don't, really.

This man that you invited in is not a man at all, even though he ate your cunt like one, even though he kissed your neck like one, and whispered sweet nothings like one. Your brain can hardly process the visual in front you, and the scream that rips through your throat hurts. You howl Jimmy's name as loud as you can through your fingers, in hopes of altering the course of events. Remmick doesn't let up, pointed fangs gnashing and gnawing at the torn flesh. He swallows loudly, drinking the cerise liquid that flows out.

Your instinct to survive kicks in, and you don't know how you manage, but you somehow leap off the bed and over to the floor, knocking hard into the table at your side.

You throw your shoulder into the door and stumble out of the trailer, onto the ground below. The grasses fold underneath your weight as you scurry to your feet, getting back into an upright position. You take off in a straight line, towards the circle of trailers in the distance.

You hear the creak of your door as it opens again. And… singing? Behind you, Remmick’s voice carries on the breeze, light as a feather and as you run barefooted, you whimper, moving your legs as fast and as hard as you can.

"Anytime… you're feelin' lonely…. anytime… you're feelin' blue…"

You push through a patch of tall grasses, and keep running towards the first trailer visible — Eve's. It's not far, but each step feels like it's dragging you backwards, backwards into his grasp.

"…that's the time, I'll be thinkin' of you…"

You nearly collapse against the door and scream your heart out. Someone has to hear you.

"EVE!" Your closed fist hammers on the metal over and over again, thumping loudly. "EVE! WAKE UP! PLEASE! Eve, let me in! Something real bad has happened - EEEEEEVE!"

The singing continues, growing closer with each passing second and Remmick nears the trailer. A light flicks on inside, soft and filtered through the lace curtains that hang in her window, and the door swings open, revealing a nightgown clad and grief stricken Eve. "Sweetheart, what—"

"SHUT THE DOOR!" You push past Eve with a panicked strength and pull the door shut as you enter the trailer. The overwhelming feeling of safety hits you, and you collapse against your friend sobbing. You can barely catch your breath from running, but do your best to explain anyway.

"H-he's d-d-dead, Eve! Oh god — he's dead!" Your words come out in a blubbering mess, hot tears streaming down your cheeks.

"Slow down, sweetheart." She pulls you away, holding you firmly at your shoulders. "Who's dead? What happened?"

"J-Jimmy! I let them into my trailer! We were foolin' around, and that man, he's a — he's a monster or something, he ate him! I —"

You hear a voice from outside the trailer, and freeze. It couldn't be.

"Baaaaby…" Jimmy says, sing-song and full of his usual caramel sweetness. "Baby, baby, baby."

Without another word, you rush to the door and open it. Jimmy stands there, with Remmick at his side. Had the front of Jimmy not been stained in blood, you wouldn't think there was anything wrong with him. At all.

But there was. You'd watched the life drain out of Jimmy's warm, coffee-black eyes, watched him crumple to the floor like he was made of paper. You'd heard the sound of Remmick swallowing wetly against his flesh as he drank the life blood that flowed from the gash on his neck. Where there should've been a chewed up hole, there was a simple scar.

But you'd seen it. You'd seen it with your own two eyes.

But then, Jimmy flashes you a smile. His perfect pearly whites are now elongated and sharp at the tips. You gasp, taking a step back. "Jimmy, no…"

"What did ya' leave for, baby?" His mouth sounds full.

"Don't!"

"Aw, c'mon now," Remmick says, looking up at you with a faux, depressed expression. Paired with the drying, deep red blood that coats the lower half of his face and neck, it's a sinister visual and brings you no comfort whatsoever. "We was just gettin' started."

"YOU ATE HIM!"

"Nah, darlin', just had a little bite is all. I ate you, and whoooo, I ain't ever had a cunt that sweet."

Angry heat floods your neck. Eve shifts next to you, taking in the confusing and life-altering scene in front of her — she'd dealt with a lot of things in her time, but vampires weren't one of them.

From behind you, Eve speaks up. "Both of you, get lost. Jimmy Darling, I don't know what you've gotten yourself into, but you ain't gonna' hurt the rest of us."

Jimmy frowns and shakes his head, like he's incredulous that he's even having this conversation. "Eve, it's better this way. You gotta' trust me. We're all afraid of fading away, and now we don't have to!"

"No," she responds sharply. "No."

"Have I ever lead you and the gang wrong?"

Both of you stop at that, knowing that he hadn't. He'd always been the strong, logical voice of reason, always had the troupe's best interest in mind.

"Baby," Jimmy whispers, pulling your attention to him. "C'mon. Take my hand."

You shake your head, convincing more yourself than him.

He nods and stretches his hand closer to you.

"I know you love me. We can be together. We got all the time in the world, now."

The ground drops from beneath you, and takes your stomach along with it. You loved him, you really did. Hearing him admit it for you had your walls crumbling to pieces at your feet.

"Eve," you say, mournfully. She puts a hand on your shoulder, holding you back, as If she senses the change in you, senses that your heart started aching something awful.

You shrug her off and take a step towards the door.

"Sweetheart," Eve calls. "Don't do this. That's not Jimmy anymore, even though it's walkin' and talkin' like him. Don't fall for it."

You look from her to Jimmy again, and your heart squeezes in agony. She's right, but if you lose him forever…

You look to Eve again, devastated at your own decision.

"I'm sorry, Eve."

As you step down, both Jimmy and Remmick coax you forward with sweet words, calling you baby and sweet girl. You wonder briefly if it'll hurt when they bite you.

You collapse against Jimmy's chest. He's not as warm as before, and the blood that hasn't dried sticks to the front of your nightgown. You forget about that feeling as he wraps his arms around your back, in an iron grip. You ease into his embrace, into the knowing feeling of impending doom.

You don't know what this means for the rest of them. You don't know what will happen, but you're in his arms.

And for now, that's all that matters.

#jimmy darling x reader #jimmy darling x you #jimmy darling smut #ahs freakshow #remmick x you #remmick x reader #myfics #crossover fic #female reader #x reader #x female reader #reader insert

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latenightdaydreams · 1 year ago

Note

Can you write about Konig and stepmother! Reader. When he came back to visit his father in his hometown after years of deployment and he saw stepmother!reader who is young and curvy with large breasts and then...they fuck=))) Not forcing, love your writing btw

This is such a hot idea 😮‍💨I had so many ideas so I just had to pick one and write! Thank you for the support and I hope you enjoy the story! Have a great day♥️

König x Stepmother!Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List

Part2 Part3 Part4

>cw: fem/ afab reader, step mom, p in v, age gaps, mentions of breeding

2.6k word count

König sat on his bed in his quarters and yanked his mask off of his face as his hands grasped a wedding invitation for his father’s 4th wedding. König looked at the elegant font and design before rolling his eyes and tossing the invite into the trash. After his father walked out on his mother, he has had no interest to keep up with him. It’s pathetic how a 73-year-old man keeps bouncing from wife to wife. König wouldn’t give this marriage a year. Yet, it was still his father and he made sure to try and make it to his city once he went back home to visit.

Still dressed in his full military uniform he finds himself standing outside of his father’s door. He takes a deep breath as he gets ready to see his dad again and meet whoever was stupid enough to marry the man. His hands go under his mask to adjust it slightly. Deciding to get it over with, he raises his hand and knocks on the door.

The door opens and he expects to see his 6’4 slender and frail old man of a father, but instead he sees you, his new step mom. You open the door with such warmth and radiance it’s as if the sun light behind you was coming from you. He stood there with a blank stare for a moment, trying to process the site before him. His eyes traveling down your frame to see the way your breasts are barely contained within you summer dress, you don’t look a day over 30, even young for König’s 46-year-old self. He swallows hard, no way this is his step mom.

“König?” Your voice smooth like silk with an accent sends a shiver down his spine.

“Ja, and you’re…”

“Y/N,” your hand is so small and delicate within his own as he grabs yours to shake. He tries to control his gaze as they step into the house.

“Your father is just over here,” you say walking ahead of König as you both make your way to the living room. König’s eyes glued to your ass jiggling and the way your hips sway with every step. His mind jumping through hoops trying to understand how his dad could have possibly landed someone as fucking hot as you.

Walking up to his father König holds a hand out for him to shake, his eyes piercing down at the old man with a look of distain.

“Hallo, how have you been old man?” König asks as he sits, his eyes trailing back to his new step mom as she sits on the arm rest next to his dad.

“Great son, have you met my old ball ‘n chain?” Felix hand creeping around your waist.

König suppresses the eyeroll he feels at his dads comment about his new wife. His new soft, big breasted wife.

“I have, she’s lovely.” His piercing pale blue eyes meet your gaze as he says these words. His dad too oblivious to notice the lustful gaze his son was giving his new wife.

A small blush forms on your cheeks as König calls you lovely. You smirk and look over his body. He is massive. A younger, bigger version of Felix. You wonder if everything is bigger.

“Well, I’m happy I finally get to meet you. Felix has told me so much about you.”

“Has he now?” König asks while looking at his father, Felix’s eyes glued to watching the TV.

“Can I get you something to drink König? I’m sure you’re wore out from all of the traveling.” You stand to your feet and smooth out your dress as you wait for his reply.

König’s throat was dry and he most definitely could use something to drink, but he didn’t want water, he wanted you to squirt in his mouth. He shakes his head to snap out of the thought.

“Uh, yes please.” König stands and walks past his father following you into the kitchen. His dad too out of it to even keep interest in a conversation with him, he wonders how you do it.

You walk into the kitchen and tiptoe to get a glass for König when you feel a large hand on your side, making you shiver.

“Here, let me help.” König says casually as if his heart isn’t beating out of his chest from the sensation of touching your waist. His hand resting on the curve of your perfect hour glass shape as his mind begins to wonder how sexually fulfilled you actually are with his father. He quickly pushes the thought aside as he hands you a glass.

“Thank you, König.” You grab the glass from his eyes all the while gazing deeply into his blue eyes. Snapping out of it you turn and go to the fridge as you begin to fill the glass with water. “So, your dad tells me you’re a Colonel?”

“I am,” König eyes you intently wondering why you’re actually here with his dad, you could be with anyone. “How long have you been with my father?” He takes the cup of water from you, your fingers grazing his making him feel a spark.

“A little over four years now.” You reply leaning against the counter in the kitchen.

König’s eyes land on your breasts again before he looks down at his glass and takes a long drink. He couldn’t think of any appropriate questions to ask you. From are your breasts real to can his dad even please you are the only ones bouncing around in his brain.

Just then his dad walks in and pats König on the back, making him jump. König watches as his dad walks past him to you, wrapping his arm around your waist and kissing your soft lips. A heat of jealousy rushes over him as he drops his gaze and drinks more water.

“Is dinner almost ready?” Felix asks as his hand remains on your ass.

“It is, I was just getting König a drink.”

“Alright, let’s get eating, I’m tired.” Felix complained as he made his way to the table. König thankful his face is hidden or hid dad would have seen his disgust.

“I’ll help set the table,” König walked to the cabinet you had opened and reached over you to grab three plates.

“Oh, thank you.” He was close and all you could think about was his cologne mixed with his natural musk, finding it enticing.

You set the table with König’s help and sat down to eat. It was painfully awkward. You could tell the strained relationship between father and son was hopeless. Felix has no interest in talking to his son and his son has no interest in forgiving his dad. König’s eyes kept following you the whole time. Watching how your lips wrapped around your fork as you took a bit, the way your breasts rest on the table due to their size. He can’t get enough of you.

Hours pass and König is in the room you set up for him and looking around. He pulls his mask off and begins to undress. He can’t stop thinking of you. As he drops his pants, his erection is more obvious. He runs his palm over it through the fabric of his boxer briefs.

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself as he walks to the bed and gets under the covers. Looking up at the ceiling he begins to think of you as he slowly began to stroke his cock. Thinking of the way your breasts jiggle with the slightest of movement. He closes his eye and begins to pump his fist over his cock, imagining you riding him and how your breasts would look bouncing. Thinking you and Felix are asleep, he lets out soft moans.

You walk upstairs from getting a late night snack and you can hear soft little moans coming from down the hall, you know its König. Looking ahead at your bedroom door, then over to König’s, you decide to make your way to his room.

Standing outside the door you can clearly hear his hand moving over his cock, soft wet sounds mixed with the blankets rustling. You can hear him moan out your name every few seconds. Taking a deep breath, you open the door.

König stops and his eyes go wide as he sees you. A mix of surprise and embarrassment written on his face as he gulps. His eyes travel down your body and notice the silky light pink night gown you’re wearing. The dress clings perfectly to your body, you look like a goddess.

“Y/N…” König says your name with lust and panic in his tone.

“König…” You close the door behind you. Your eyes travel to the part of the blanket that was poking up from his erection.

König froze in place as you slowly started to walk to him. You sit on the bed beside him as you reach out and grasp his erection over the blanket. König lets out a shaky breath feeling your small hand grasp his fat cock.

“Oh Scheiße.” He moaned softly as you squeezed the head of his cock.

“Would you like some help?” You slowly stroke down his cock and watch as his jaw drops.

König begins to nod his head quickly, “Please,” his eyes look into yours almost begging you.

You pull the blanket back to see his boxer briefs pulled down his thighs and his cock out, the foreskin hugging his bright pink tip that’s leaking pre cum. His cock is simply massive. You grab his cock, skin on skin now, your fingers don’t even meet when wrapped around him. König’s breathing quickly at this point watching with anticipation.

You begin to stroke his cock faster pulling quiet moans from König’s lips. You look up at his maskless face and study it, watching the way his face contorts with pleasure; he looks exactly like his dad, but younger.

Without thinking König reached a hand out and cupped one of your breasts over the nightgown. He squeezed gently as he moved his eyes from your hand wrapped around him to his hand on you. Your breast so big and full they spill over his large hands. He has never been blessed to touch such beautiful breasts before. His hand pulls down your night gown to expose your bare breast to him.

Your nipples hard as he reaches out and tugs on one. “Mein Gott, you are so perfect.” He whispers almost as if he didn’t mean to say the words out loud.

He sits up more to lean forward, his lips finding yours and bringing you into a passionate kiss, his tongue finding yours as you softly begin to suck on his. He lets out a soft groaning sound at the thought of you sucking his cock instead. His hand still playing with your nipple as the other holds your waist tightly. Precum leaking on to your hand as he slowly breaks the kiss.

“I’ve been thinking about fucking you since the minute I laid my eyes on you.” He growls as he begins to kiss down your neck, biting lightly to not leave marks behind.

He hears you let out the softest little moan and it sends his brain into over drive as he pushes you back on the bed. His mouth hungrily kissed down your neck to your breast as he pulls his underwear all the way off. His mouth latched to your nipple and sucking at it desperately as you moan out running your fingers through his hair. König had been thinking about what this moment with you might be like, and now here he was; ready to show you another reason why he’s better than his dad.

You watch as König slaps his heavy cock onto your wet pussy, it’s been ages since you’ve been fucked- like really fucked. Your legs twitch as his cock rubs over your sensitive clit and it makes him smirk.

“Fuck me already,” you demand pathetically and König chuckles in response.

“Horny little house wife, aren’t you?” He teases as he slips his cock into your tight wet cunt. Instantly your velvety walls began to flutter around his size desperately trying to accommodate him. You let out a quiet moan as your eyes close, face twisting in pleasure. His cock filling you up to the point of pain, but fuck it felt good. His hands grabbing your thighs and spreading your legs. His cock pressing in until he hits your mushy cervix, your pussy not even able to fit all of him.

“You like that, huh?” König asks feeling a bit arrogant.

His pins your legs back and begins to just pound into your creamy cunt, his mouth finding your breast as he begins to kiss and bite all over them, no longer worrying about leaving marks on you. He wanted you for his own self. His balls slapping hard against your ass as they tighten from excitement.

Not only did your gummy cunt feel like heaven, the whole taboo situation of you being his step mom was adding to the experience. The thought of filling you with his cum and possibly getting you pregnant making his mind go crazy with excitement.

“Please fuck me!” Your fingers drag across König’s broad back and scratch deeply, leaving bright red marks across his pale skin. Yours legs tremble as they squeeze his side.

“König- I’m so close.”

“Cum for me, cum for me like the needy little step mom you are.” His hand moves to your pussy as his thumb begins to rub to your clit. You melt into nothing as you begin to moan loudly, your body tensing as you feel the rush of euphoria takes over your body.

“Shhh, you’re going to wake the old man up. You really want your husband to see you getting fucked by his son?” He smirks as you cum on his cock. He can feel how wet you get as you squeeze his cock. In this moment Felix isn’t even a thought, all you can think about is König’s cock fucking you.

König grabs a pillow and puts it down beside you before quickly pulling out. He easily manhandles you and flips you over, using the pillow to help lift your ass up. He got behind you, one hand gripping your hip and the other holding his cock that is covered in your creamy thick white cum. Pushing his leaky cock into you slowly he lets out a low sigh. His hands wrap around your ass and squeeze, pulling your cheeks apart as his thumb rubs over your tight asshole. He doesn’t know how much longer he can keep going, his muscles becoming tense as his balls begin to tingle and tighten. Your cunt keeping a tight grip on his cock.

Königs head dropped back and his Adams apple bobbing in his throat as he lets out tiny whimpers of pleasure. Without warning, König cums deep inside of your pussy, feeling his cock throbbing inside you.

He pulled out with heavy breath before laying beside you on the bed. You both looked at each other smiling.

The next morning König goes down stairs to see you wearing black leggings and a simple t-shirt. You were standing in front of the stove making breakfast for everyone. His eyes meet yours and you both smirk at each other.

He sits next to his father at the table exuding a cocky aura. He just fucked his dad’s wife after all. König keeps his eyes on your breast as you walk back and forth, remembering how they looked bouncing as he pounded into you last night.

You don’t know it, but König is already planning a life with you, away from his father. He feels no guilt or remorse, if anything this is just karma for Felix. You abandon his mom; he steals your woman. Fair is fair.

Part2 Part 3 Part 4

#konig #konig x y/n #konig cod #konig x reader #könig #könig x reader #konig smut #könig smut #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig x reader smut #konig x you #könig x you #könig x reader smut #könig x y/n #könig call of duty #konig mw2

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ch4mpagnedrought · 1 year ago

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compensation

[full series]

mdni ! art donaldson

summary: you and art cant help but try and compensate for everything you’re missing out on now that tashi and patrick are together.

ever since tashi had suggested a game of tennis for her number and patrick won, its left you and art to roam around the stanford campus like two little lost puppies, begging for their attention when patrick comes to visit tashi.

patrick has made it impossible to get a hold of the girl, her dorm room always locked and her absence in the daily work-outs the two of you usually have made very obvious. not to mention the betrayal art must be feeling, having his best friend be only in the adjacent building to him, but never coming to actually see him.

you’ve had to find ways to preoccupy yourselves, and stop you from going on an angry rampage, like;

hitting racket to ball in the middle of the court, not even bothering to play a real game. “my prof is making me rewrite my whole assignment this week.” you complain, aiming the ball at the green fencing at the sides and watching it bounce back in art’s direction for your own botched version of squash. he laughs loudly, “who knew you were so bad at everything besides tennis.” you shoot him a scowl and his eyes widen, shoulders shrugging unapologetically as he swings his arm once again.

spring fading into summer means that evenings still have a little light in them, and you fight the urge to lie straight down on the tarmac and look up at the greying sky. the light breeze washes through art’s strawberry blonde hair, swaying it to the side to expose his brows that furrow when you let the ball bounce away between your legs, looking at him with a tense expression. the thought that tashi and patrick were somewhere doing god knows what (you knew what) and completely ignoring you made a reappearance in your head suddenly, and it boiled your blood. “ugh! im gonna kill them!” you huff out, grabbing the ball from the ground and stomping to where you left your stuff. art’s arm finding the both of your shoulders, “ditto that.”

having lunch at the food hall together: waiting in line for the same exact salad that you get every day, curtesy of your game-preparation meal plan and taking a seat on the bar stools that overlook the rest of the campus. stabbing your fork into the frail pieces of lettuce in your plastic bowl, art taking another bite of his churro in silence and licking away all the rouge sugar particles from his lips. “you know, patrick didn’t even bother to call me about his visit.” art says, taking off his red baseball cap just to put it back on his head again. “what a dog.” you scoff, shaking your head and taking a sip of your smoothie that tastes a little grainy from the protein powder. you would’ve continued to rant if you hadn’t spotted tashi and patrick walking hand-in-hand in the distance, all smiles and giggles; it makes you sick. “look.” you point it out to art and he mocks patrick in a high-pitched voice, “hey tashi aren’t i so cool? i play pro and i’m totally not cheating on you.” you chuckle, leaning over to snag a bite of his churro.

and confiding in each other in art’s dorm late at night, when the haunting noises coming from the other side of your wall get too much.

his room is surprisingly so…boyish. a couple posters of tennis stars on the walls that seem so out of place, like he put them there for the sole purpose of taking up space. his medals are hung up on the corner of his wardrobe, tinkering on the edge and there is an unidentified pile of clothing in the corner.

his sheets are a deep maroon colour and you lie flat across them, both of your heads leaning on the single flat pillow he owns, legs crossed. his ceiling has remnants of a water leak the university tried to paint over and you study it from below. “i wonder what they’re doing right now.” art hums, putting his hands behind his head, and letting you rest your head on his bicep.

you shoot up, glancing down at him, one brow lifted and eyes narrow, “i can tell you exactly what they’re doing right now,” you say, scrambling up onto your knees, “’patrick i need your racket right now!’’’ you moan tauntingly, rolling your eyes back and crossing your arms over your chest. art cackles, stomach contracting and grabbing onto your shoulder for support. his hand is pumping warm with blood, hovering over your skin for longer than socially acceptable, and his fingers caressed by the long strands of your curly hair that fall at your sides.

running over to his room meant that you hadn’t had enough time to grab a change of clothes to sleep in, so he graciously lent you one of his t-shirts, a navy one with white embroidered writing that you hadn’t bothered to read, which prods at the aching in his head to see you without it.

“when was the last time you slept with someone?” your question catches art off guard, lying back down next to him and watching the blush creep up onto his cheeks, eyes darting away somewhere to think of an answer. “oh come on, was it that unforgettable?” you laugh. he knew when exactly when the last time was, but the thought that him sleeping with someone had crossed your mind, putting the idea of the two of you together into his own had clouded his head, making it unbearably difficult to think, or speak.

“maybe last month” art estimates when the last time he saw the girl in one of his classes that he casually slept with from time to time, your expression remaining unchanged, which whirls something inside of his stomach. you nod, smile spreading across your lips, and eyes glancing down to art’s partially parted ones. art adjusts himself, propping his head up with his hand and looking down at you, “when was the last time that you slept with someone?”

its unclear to him whether you're joking with your response. “ask me that tomorrow.” it spins his head until he sees double, having to shut his eyes for a second to regain consciousness. your nonchalant smile quite frankly irks him, because you seem so unaware of how he is sliding the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip, preparing just incase you decide that you want to kiss him. or the fact that he moved his leg upwards along the bed to cover his raging boner at just the mere idea of you and him together.

the shirt he lends you rides up on your hips, obviously showing off the black panties that you’re wearing and the neck-line hangs low enough to show the indent of your collarbone that he imagines licking a stripe over.

you thrum, looking up at art through dark eyelashes, “isn’t it so unfair how tashi and patrick can ignore us just to get at each other?”

he got the hint, every crumb you’ve put down he’s followed and scooped up all in one go, sighing out a weak, “yeah” that sounds more like a whine, and leaning down to kiss you on the lips.

the taste of your lip gloss he had missed sweetens his mouth immediately and the faint smell of a chocolatey lotion on your skin sends him into complete overdrive, left hand desperately reaching for the side of your face to take you deeper into him. he sinks himself down, pressing his chest into yours and disconnecting his lips to breathe out a groan at the sensation of your boobs against him like a boy who's never felt them before.

his face is burning hot, lips even hotter as they move simultaneously with yours, covering the perimeter of your mouth with long and drawn out movements to fully get the taste of you hes been dreaming of ever since that hotel room. his hands roam down to the curvature of your waist, taking a strong grip to it to make sure his fingerprints forever remember it, then down to your hips, kneading the flesh.

with him over you, he pulls away from your arms that are wrapped around his neck, pulling the hem of his shirt to unveil your midriff and the black lace that frames your lower waist, your thighs pressed together to catch the heat that he manifests within you, “oh my god.” it might just be the lewdest sight he has ever seen, along with your swollen lips that are glistening with his saliva.

he can barely keep away the moans that try to escape his mouth when he lowers himself down to you, eager lips pressing into your hip, lapping at the surface of your skin with a desperation only art could have, along the hem of your panties, and back up your stomach while your fingers entangle with his blonde locks.

your pulse quickens, exhaling his name out when his finger pulls your underwear to the side, letting the air hit your leaking core, a smile playing at art’s lips. “please, please art.” you moan out, squeezing your eyes shut and letting the sensation of one of his digits swiping through your folds overcome you.

he nibbles at your inner thighs, soft licks soothing the area as one of his fingers slides inside you, while the other gropes at your breast through your shirt. his mind is completely consumed by you, watching every change in your expression with his fingers pumping in and out of you, flush on your face and brows knitting every time he draws back.

your legs instinctively move over his shoulders, trapping him around you to continue the motion and giving him the chance to tilt his head to the side, pressing a kiss to the thigh that is thrown over him. “is this okay?” he asks, caressing a hand down your calf and watching the way your hand reaches out to grab him by the wrist.

“lie down art” you keen, his eyes narrow and he pulls back with a sense of confusion that is overrode with your impatience, ushering him below you. so he does, leaning against the headboard whilst you throw yourself onto his hips, his jaw tilting upwards to unconsciously fulfil the want of his lips devouring the whole of your figure.

the shirt he lent you doesn’t last long, ending up in the pile on his floor and letting him ravish in the sight of your bare torso. he gasps out your name, wandering hands reaching out to massage your breast, flesh filling out the gaps between all five of his fingers. “take this off” you strangle out, gesturing to the shirt he is wearing, disheveled hair falling back into his face that burns hot when you let your eyes roam down to his abdomen. even the weight of your ass pressing into his dick through his shorts is teetering him to climax, hands not knowing where to put themselves when he wants to grab a hold of all of you.

your fingers wrap around the waistband of his shorts that he is wearing, pulling down his boxers at the same time and freeing his erection to slap back onto his stomach, recalling something patrick said about the time he taught art to jerk off. the palm of your hand ghosts his cock, restraining yourself from taking it into your hands there and then, “can i?” even the way you sigh out the question has the hairs on art’s arms standing up and mouth swallowing saliva in anticipation. “yes, yes.” he whines, brows furrowing up at you and all of his muscles tensing.

with a gentle touch, he guides you above him, his hands at your sides as you spread yourself open for him, sinking down only to the tip before he grabs your waist and pauses in the position. he looks like a little helpless, bottom lip between his teeth and an alarmed look in his face that says if you go any further he’ll come right now. “i’ll go slow,” you whisper, a small smirk on your face that’s hard to resist when his shimmering eyes try to find the last slither of dignity within him, “i promise.” you smile reassuringly and he glances away, the flush in his cheeks getting a little deeper.

you keep your promise, slowly lowering yourself down onto him, goosebumps fevering your skin and palms laying flat across his abdomen to steady yourself.

taking him in completely, you whimper out his name and his hands journey to graze your back, up to your shoulder blades where he presses them into you to pull you into him, mouth suctioning down the valley of your breasts. his moans vibrate back into your skin when you pull back up from him, stimulating every single nerve ending in his length like it never has before. you set a pace, slow and steady for art, snapping your hips down onto his in a way that knocks the wind out of you each time, gasping for air. he keeps you close to him, rolling his hips to meet you in the middle and put some of that athlete stamina to use and murmuring your name with every movement.

his finger moves your hair from your shoulder, so he can press soft pecks onto the surface, whilst you clutch the wooden headboard, growing impatient and consequently pounding him into you. his moans purr into your ear, grabbing onto your ass to keep you still as he thrusts himself into you from below and shakily calling out an, “im gonna come.”

you nod, clasping around his biceps and leaning down to nip at his neck, losing composure the more your walls contract around him. you ignore the muscles in your legs that ache and your lungs that can’t seem get a hold of the air that is shared between you to continue to mercilessly plunge him deeper into you until it feels like you’re melting into one another, a shudder sending itself down your bare back and deepening the heat that builds in your core.

art is panting, popping your tit into his mouth one last time before falling still, twitching inside of you and releasing all of his seed into you until it overflows from below. your name echoes out of his mouth, whimpering and whining it out until he can open his eyes back up and centre his vision on you burning every last bit of energy to bounce on his dick.

you lean forward onto him, eyes rolling back into your head when reaching your climax and pressing your burning cheek against his face to feel all of him. he brushes his hand down your back comfortingly, you heaving into the crevice of his neck that glistens with sweat and feeling your walls contract around him the last couple times.

art sighs your name out, pressing his lips into your cheek and letting a smile spread across his face when you brush the dampened hair out of his forehead to get a better view of his eyes.

your body feels limp, falling back down next to him with a post-sex fatigue that follows you all the way into the next morning, where you sit at a table in the food hall, thanking art for bringing you some breakfast and trying to ignore the echoing of all the noises he made last night in your head.

“fuck i really need to work on that assignment today” you groan, taking a bite into a slice of honeydew with your head in the palm of your hand. art watches and nods, a false portrayal of an active listener when what he’s really focusing on is the way your lips curl around the slice, biting off a chunk and closing your lips around it in a way that makes him reminisce that he was right there too only a couple hours ago. “i can help.” he offers, truly from the kindness of his heart that kindly wants to spend the rest of his life looking at you.

“you wish.” you scoff, “i’m not allowed to be alone in a room with you anymore.”

art takes a swig of his water to hide the grin that spreads on his face, and when he makes eye contact with a random student from across the hall he feels like they heard that too. he wishes they could hear, and know that you, the best tennis player stanford has probably ever had, are having to physically restrain yourself from him.

“what are you smiling about?” the familiar voice of patrick calls out from a few strides away, in a pair of indigo levis and a white tee, grabbing onto arts shoulders and lowering himself down to his level to grab his chin playfully. art swats him away immediately, pushing patrick down into a chair. and tashi grazes your shoulders softly with her hand when taking a seat next to you and stealing a piece of your fruit from your bowl, “good morning.”

“morning.” you sigh out, taking a sip of your tea and hoping that it isn’t totally obvious that you slept with your friend. but tashi takes notice of the slight frizz in your hair, a dishevelled-ness that is never usually there, so it wasn’t her intention to call you out in front of the four of you when she asks, “why do you look hungover?” she even moves a piece of your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear to get a better look at the colour under your eyes. your brows furrow, eyes glancing to the left of you at the two boys whose expressions couldn’t be anymore different. art’s poker face is awful, he’s trying to keep his face composed but his posture slumps under the weight of patrick’s hand that spreads across over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth turned up into a smirk.

you shrug nonchalantly, taking another bite of your breakfast to act like your lungs aren’t constricting and you aren’t going into fight or flight, “late night i guess.”

theres a moment of silence, everyone in their heads peacefully while you wish you could get into art’s and find out what he’s thinking about your pathetic lie.

“nice shirt.” patrick says.

“thanks." you reply, swiping over the embroidered ‘mark rebellat tennis academy’ with a finger and looking up at patrick, who meets your eyes with a knowing smirk that makes you feel silly for not assuming that patrick would have memorised art’s whole closet, or recognise the school they went to.

and when patrick squeezes art’s shoulder and asks whether he is “up for a game?” you suddenly become hyper aware of how much his gaze slips past art’s eyes and down onto you as they stand up from the table, eyes squinting and a stupid smile on his face. the combination is so piercing you’ve become aware that even if tashi believed your lie, and art thinks he’s got away scott free—he knows, and he’s letting you know.

his hand ruffles the hair on art’s head, arm falling over his shoulders and drawing him into himself, “we have a bunch of catching up to do, art.” he keeps art close to him as they walk away towards the tennis courts, leaning in to whisper something into his ear after the both of them briefly turned around to wave you and tashi goodbye.

tashi seems unphased by their behaviour, continuing to braid a small of piece of your hair that she unconsciously started. “you know patrick’s about to tell art all about your get together.” you chuckle and tashi scoffs, leaning back into her chair, “he wouldn’t say anything” she reassures, “also we didn’t even do anything.” she adds in quickly, stealing another piece of watermelon from your bowl and taking a bite to avoid talking about the topic like you hadn’t just done that. you smile at her, and she widens her eyes to let you know that she’ll tell you all about last night later.

“i wouldn’t be so sure.” you shake your head, stealing back the half-bitten melon from in between her fingers and finishing it off.

#art donaldson #challengers x reader #art donaldson smut #challengers x you #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson fic #art donaldson x you #patrick zweig x reader #tashi duncan x reader #challengers

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unabashegirl · 8 months ago

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The Cover | part 4

Y/N and Harry, lifelong best friends, pretend to be a couple for a family wedding weekend in Edinburgh. As they navigate the event, old feelings resurface, and what starts as an act turns into something real, leading them to confront their true emotions for one another.

Author's note: Hello everyone, here is the final part of the cover. I've decided to keep the smut exclusive to my Patreon subscribers. I hope that is okay with you. Also remember that this is a shorter version of the original.

I'm trying to come up with new ideas for one shots. Pls vote! Especially if you are subscribed to Patreon! Help Decide the Next One-Shot!

I'm still trying to gather the money to continue my journey to medical school in January. I've only gotten 1% of my goal. I'll leave the link here in case you would like or are able to help me. Please I am desperate! 🥺 https://ko-fi.com/mariabernal8706

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check out my patreon (starting at $2) and get full access to the rest of the chapters, various one shots and much more :)

As the evening wore on, the rehearsal dinner turned into a carefree celebration under the soft glow of fairy lights. Laughter filled the warm air, wine glasses clinked, and the once-formal atmosphere relaxed into something more boozy and free-spirited. Most guests had trickled out, leaving behind only close family and friends, including the bride, who was barefoot and swaying on the grass.

Harry sat at the large wooden table, eyes on the makeshift dance floor where family members stumbled over each other, laughing. His blazer was discarded over his chair, the top buttons of his shirt undone, a sheen of sweat glistening on his chest. The summer night was humid, and the heat from earlier hung in the air, clinging to everyone like a heavy blanket. Harry ran a hand through his tousled curls, the dampness at his hairline a reminder of how sticky the night had become.

Harry leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the backrest, the other holding a glass of whiskey, now mostly just melted ice. He hadn’t been drinking much since the toasts, but the buzz from earlier still lingered, making him feel a little lighter than usual. His shirt clung to his chest, damp from the heat, and he unbuttoned another button to catch some air.

Across the yard, Y/N spun in her floral dress, laughter echoing in the warm night air, blending with the upbeat music from the DJ. Her cheeks were flushed, hair wild from dancing and drinks. She was the brightest thing in the yard, a glowing figure of joy among the family still hanging around.

Harry took a slow sip from his glass, his gaze never leaving her. She was magnetic—the way her dress swayed, the way she threw her head back when she laughed. It was impossible not to be drawn to her.

His shirt collar felt tight again, and Harry absentmindedly tugged at it, his eyes tracing the way Y/N’s dress hugged her in all the right places. There was something about the way she moved tonight—so free, so completely herself. It was like watching the most beautiful thing in the world, no filters, no pretenses.

He exhaled, a mix of admiration and frustration settling in. They hadn’t confessed anything yet—no love, no admissions of the truth that lingered between them. Watching her from the sidelines, it hit him just how deep he was in it.

Y/N’s cousin twirled her on the "dance floor," and for a split second, she stumbled, giggling as she caught herself. Beth, now barefoot, joined in, and the three of them—Y/N, her cousin, and Beth—started dancing in a clumsy circle, arms around each other’s shoulders.

The group’s laughter rang louder than the music, and even Y/N’s cousin—who had spent the evening showing off her fiancé and trying to impress Harry—was caught up in the happy, drunken haze of the night.

Harry sighed, rolling his shoulders and sinking back into his chair, the sweat on his skin cooling in the evening air. His gaze never left Y/N as she moved, effortlessly beautiful. It struck him again how out of place she seemed here—surrounded by these people, with their petty remarks and forced conversations. She was so much more than that. Watching her dance, carefree and full of life, made his chest tighten.

Then, as Y/N spun in the circle, her eyes met his. For a moment, her smile softened, more intimate, before she waved at him playfully, inviting him to join. Harry shook his head, raising his glass in a half-teasing salute.

She pouted, narrowing her eyes at him before rolling them and letting her arms drop from her cousin and Beth. Without missing a beat, she marched toward him, the fabric of her dress brushing her legs with each step.

“You’re really just going to sit there all night?” Y/N teased, standing in front of him with her hands on her hips. Her voice was light, but the challenge in her eyes was undeniable.

“I’m enjoying the view,” Harry replied, his voice lower than he meant to. He grinned, but there was no mistaking the heat behind his gaze.

Y/N’s lips curved into a knowing smile, and she tilted her head, studying him for a moment. “The view’s better up close,” she said, holding out her hand.

Harry stared at her outstretched hand, the challenge and playful spark in her eyes tempting him. It was impossible not to be drawn in. His heart raced, the idea of crossing that line between friendship and something more pulling him in.

For a moment, he considered brushing her off with another excuse. But something shifted. A decision settled in his chest, heavy but certain.

Without another word, he reached out, his hand taking hers. Instead of getting up, he tugged her gently toward him. Y/N gasped in surprise as he pulled her close, his grip firm but careful. She stumbled slightly, and before she could react, Harry pulled her down onto his lap.

“Harry—” she whispered, voice breathless, the protest fading before it even left her lips.

Harry wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. Y/N's legs draped over his lap as she sat sideways on him, his other hand settling on her thigh. The warmth of his touch seeped through the fabric of her dress, the floral print fluttering slightly as she adjusted. The delicate pattern contrasted with the intimacy of the moment.

His heart raced, but he kept his voice steady. “Thought you’d look better here,” he murmured, his words laced with both playfulness and something deeper.

Y/N looked up at him, wide-eyed and speechless for a moment, her cheeks flushed from the sudden closeness. She shifted in his lap, slow and tentative, the nervous energy between them thick and palpable. Neither of them had fully acknowledged the tension before.

Her hands found his chest, fingers brushing against the open buttons of his shirt. She swallowed hard. “Harry, what are you doing?” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. Was it a challenge? A question? Or just a way to steady herself in the chaos of emotions between them?

He smirked, though his heart felt like it might burst. "I don’t want to dance," he murmured in her ear. "I prefer being here with you."

Her breath hitched at his words. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. She’d always hidden her feelings, pushed them aside, but this felt different. It felt real. The way Harry’s arms held her, the way his breath brushed against her skin—it was as if they’d always been this close, even when they hadn’t.

Y/N bit her lip, her nerves taking over for a moment. She wasn’t sure if this was just Harry being playful or if something had really changed between them. But as she sat in his lap, his hand on her thigh, the truth felt undeniable.

Harry could feel her hesitation, the tension in her posture, caught between leaning into him and pulling away. His thumb brushed over the fabric of her dress, a small, reassuring touch, silently telling her it was okay to stay.

“Relax,” he whispered in her ear, his voice low and soft. “Just… stay.”

Y/N exhaled, her body melting into his as she allowed herself to give in to the moment. She leaned her head back against his chest, their breaths syncing as they sat close and quiet, the fading party around them.

The world blurred into a soft hum, the laughter and music fading into the background. All that remained was the warmth of Harry’s embrace, the steady beat of his heart beneath her hand, and the electricity of their unspoken feelings finally surfacing.

Y/N closed her eyes for a moment, her hand resting over Harry’s on her thigh, fingers intertwining. “What are we doing, Harry?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he tightened his hold on her, his lips near her temple. “I’m not sure,” he murmured, “but I don’t want to stop.”

Her heart fluttered at his words. For the first time that night, she allowed herself to believe—just a little—that maybe he felt the same way she did.

Y/N took a deep breath, summoning the courage she needed. The alcohol made her head spin, but it also gave her the boldness to act. She knew if anything was going to happen, it had to be now.

Suddenly, she stood up from his lap. Harry looked up at her, surprise and curiosity flashing in his eyes. Y/N reached for his glass, brushing against his fingers as she took it. Without breaking eye contact, she downed his drink in one swift motion.

Harry’s gaze was intense, a mix of desire and uncertainty in his eyes. Y/N’s heart raced, but she ignored the nerves and extended her hand to him—an invitation, a challenge, all in one.

For a moment, Harry hesitated, his eyes searching hers. Then, slowly, deliberately, he took her hand. Y/N felt a jolt of electricity as their fingers intertwined. With a gentle tug, she pulled him up from his seat, their bodies close, the tension between them undeniable.

Without a word, Y/N led Harry away from the fading party, through the quiet halls of the house. The sounds of laughter and music drifted behind them, their footsteps echoing softly in the silence, their heartbeats quickening in sync.

They reached the door to their shared bedroom, and Y/N paused, her hand on the doorknob. She turned to face Harry, her eyes searching his.

His gaze was intense, a mix of desire and something deeper. He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The simple touch sent shivers down her spine.

“Are you sure about this?” he whispered, his voice low and husky.

Y/N nodded, her voice barely audible. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

With that, she turned the doorknob, and they stepped into the room together, closing the door behind them. The night was far from over, and whatever happened next would change everything.

Y/N woke up before Harry, her head pounding slightly from the drinks of last night. The dull throb of a hangover tugged at her, but the memories of the night before were as vivid as ever. Every touch, every whispered word, every lingering moment—it was all clear in her mind.

She lay there for a moment, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. Her gaze drifted to Harry, lying beside her on his stomach, completely naked. The sheet had been kicked off during the night, leaving him uncovered. His broad back rose and fell with each slow breath, muscles relaxed, his messy curls falling across his forehead. He looked peaceful, vulnerable, and breathtakingly beautiful.

For a brief moment, Y/N let herself admire him—the smooth lines of his back, the curve of his spine, the way his body seemed perfectly at ease. A warmth spread through her chest, not just from the memories of their night together, but from the way Harry made her feel in this quiet, unspoken moment.

With a sigh, she slipped out of bed as quietly as possible. Grabbing a pair of pajamas from her suitcase, she slipped them on, the soft fabric comforting against her skin. Her mind buzzed with thoughts of the day ahead—the wedding, the ceremony, the reception.

Y/N cast one last glance at Harry before tiptoeing out of the room. She needed a moment to herself—and some breakfast—before the chaos of the day began.

Heading downstairs, she stepped into the dining room, still feeling the faint throb of a hangover, but the promise of coffee and food was enough to offer some relief. She spotted her cousin and Beth immediately. Both looked worse for wear after last night's festivities. Beth was lounging in her chair, sipping a Bloody Mary with a smug expression, while Y/N’s cousin—the bride—was nursing her headache with a cold compress pressed to her puffy face, slowly nibbling on toast.

"Morning," Y/N greeted as she made her way to the coffee pot, pouring herself a steaming cup. She sat down at the table, hoping the caffeine would kick in and help her survive the day ahead. Beth’s eyes sparkled mischievously as she took another sip of her drink.

"So," Beth said, leaning forward with a sly grin. "Where did you disappear off to last night?"

Y/N’s cheeks flushed with heat, the memory of waking up next to Harry still fresh in her mind. She tried to play it cool, taking a long sip of her coffee before responding. "We just... went to bed early," she said, keeping her tone casual, hoping to brush it off. "Nothing exciting."

Beth’s grin only grew wider. "Uh-huh. Sure. You just went to sleep, huh?" She leaned in, lowering her voice like they were sharing a secret. "Come on, Y/N, don’t be shy. You’re a dirty girl now, aren’t you?"

Y/N nearly choked on her coffee, her face burning even hotter as she shot a glare at Beth. "Beth, seriously," she muttered, feeling more exposed than she wanted to admit. Before she could say anything else, her cousin, the bride, spoke up.

"I’m actually glad we have a moment to talk alone," her cousin said, setting down her toast and focusing her attention on Y/N. Her voice was sweet, but there was a sharpness in it that immediately put Y/N on edge. "I’ve been wanting to bring this up for a while now."

Y/N’s pulse quickened as she turned to face her cousin. "Oh?"

Her cousin smiled tightly, pressing the ice pack harder against her swollen face. "I’ve been meaning to say… I’m a bit surprised, to be honest." She gave a small, pointed shrug before continuing. "That someone like Harry would notice… well, someone like you."

Y/N’s heart sank, though she’d braced herself for comments like this. Hearing it still stung. Her cousin’s words were dripping with condescension, like she couldn’t believe Harry would even look twice at Y/N, let alone be interested.

"Someone like me?" Y/N echoed, her voice calm but guarded, forcing herself to keep her tone even.

Her cousin waved a hand dismissively. "You know what I mean. You’ve always been so quiet, so reserved. And Harry’s... well, he’s Harry Styles. A global superstar. It’s just... unexpected, that’s all."

Y/N’s stomach twisted as insecurity rose to the surface. She’d always known Harry’s fame was a shadow that loomed over everything, especially in situations like this. But hearing it like this? It felt personal. It felt like her cousin was questioning her worth, her place beside Harry.

Before Y/N could think of a response, Beth cut in with a sharp laugh. "Oh, shut up," she said, dismissing the bride’s thinly veiled insult with a wave of her hand. "Harry doesn’t care about all that. If anything, he’s lucky Y/N even looks at him."

Y/N shot Beth a grateful glance, feeling the tension shift slightly in the room, but her cousin wasn’t done. She leaned back in her chair, sizing Y/N up with an unreadable look. "Well, I suppose we’ll see," she said, her voice laced with skepticism. "But it’s just... different. I never would've guessed."

Y/N swallowed, trying to keep her composure, but her cousin’s words hung in the air like a cloud she couldn’t shake. She took a deep breath, forcing a smile despite the nervous flutter in her chest. "Yeah," Y/N said softly. "It is different."

Beth, ever the firecracker, raised her Bloody Mary in a mock toast. "Different is good."

Y/N’s cousin’s voice dripped with saccharine sweetness, her next words like poison. "I mean, you’re just so... simple," she said, emphasizing the word in a way that felt anything but kind. "And that’s okay! Not everyone has to be flashy or... glamorous." She waved her hand dismissively, as if to brush aside any possibility that Y/N could be more than what she was implying. "You’ve always been the quiet one, the one in the background. I suppose some people might find that... charming."

Y/N forced a tight smile, but her cousin’s words stung deeper than she expected. Doubt crept in with every backhanded comment. Was she really that unremarkable? Did everyone see her the way her cousin did—as someone who didn’t quite belong with someone like Harry?

Beth wasn’t having any of it. “Simple?” she scoffed. “You mean down-to-earth, real—not fake like some people I can name.”

Her cousin smirked, clearly pleased with herself. “Look at Harry’s usual type—models, actresses. Saw him with that model in London last week? They looked so into each other.”

Y/N froze, her stomach twisting. “What model?” she barely managed to ask.

Her cousin leaned back, eyes sparkling. “You must’ve seen the pictures. They were everywhere. Harry was all over her. Thought they were dating.”

Y/N’s head spun, images of Harry with someone else filling her mind. She hadn’t seen those photos, but the thought gnawed at her.

Beth wasn’t having it. “Can you stop stirring shit? Harry’s here with Y/N, clearly doesn’t care about some random model.”

Y/N’s cousin didn’t respond, just gave a tight smile. Y/N tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest.

Y/N’s cousin gave her a sweet, condescending smile. “I just thought they looked so... in love. But who knows?” Her eyes glinted, clearly relishing the discomfort she was trying to stir.

Y/N felt the doubt creep in, but instead of reacting, she straightened her back. She locked eyes with her cousin and said, her tone ice-cold, “You know, I could say a lot of things right now. Things that would take that smug look off your face.”

Her cousin blinked, caught off guard. Y/N smiled, the edge never leaving her voice. “But since it’s your wedding day, I’ll keep them to myself. I’ll play the part, smile for the cameras, and make sure everything’s ‘perfect.’”

With that, Y/N turned and walked away, the weight of the moment settling in as she left her cousin speechless. No more doubts. Not today.

Y/N shot her cousin a cold smile, letting the weight of her words sink in. "After today, we’ll be strangers. I don’t plan on speaking to someone so self-absorbed and cold-hearted ever again."

Beth raised an eyebrow, impressed by Y/N's bluntness, but her cousin's face fell, her shock turning to indignation. Before she could respond, Y/N brushed off her hands nonchalantly. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, let me know when hair and makeup get here," she said casually, turning on her heel and walking out.

But as soon as the door closed behind her, Y/N’s facade cracked. The anger that had fueled her words faded, replaced by confusion and pain. Her heart raced, and doubts flooded her mind. Was her cousin right? Did she really belong in Harry’s world? Or was this all just a fantasy? The thought of facing him upstairs—of confronting everything she was feeling—felt too overwhelming. She couldn’t do it, not now.

Y/N slipped quietly through the back door into the garden, the crisp morning air doing little to ease the storm inside her. Coffee cup in hand, she made her way to a small table, steam rising from the mug, the only warmth she could feel.

Her hands shook as she took a sip, the bitter taste matching the thoughts spiraling in her mind. The garden, serene and beautiful, felt like a different world from the chaos in her head.

She had no answers, no idea what to do, or where to go. It all felt like it was slipping through her fingers.

Y/N gripped the mug tightly, trying to steady her racing thoughts. But before she could find her peace, the back door creaked open.

Her mom stormed out, face flushed with anger. Y/N didn’t need to ask why—her cousin had already run to her, no doubt twisting things to make her the villain.

"Y/N!" her mom’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and demanding. “What did you say to your cousin?”

Y/N tensed, her heart sinking. Of course, this was coming. She didn’t even look at her mom, just stared into her coffee, hoping it would swallow her whole.

"She came to me in tears, Y/N! Tears! On her wedding day! How could you be so cruel?"

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek, keeping her voice steady. She didn’t want to argue—not when she felt so broken inside. "You don’t know what she said to me," she murmured. "She’s been making snide remarks all morning—about me, about Harry. About everything."

Her mom crossed her arms, annoyed. "She’s the bride, Y/N! You could’ve let it go. It’s one day. Now look at what you’ve done. The whole family is talking about it."

Y/N’s chest tightened. "It’s always about how things look, isn’t it?" she muttered, almost to herself. "I didn’t want to make a scene, but I wasn’t going to let her tear me down, not today. Not when I’m already—" she stopped, not wanting to show just how fragile she felt. "Not when she was being completely out of line."

Y/N’s heart dropped as her mother’s words hit their mark. “Out of line?” Her mom scoffed. “She was just pointing out the obvious. Harry isn’t like us. He’s not… your type. And everyone knows it. You should’ve thought twice before bringing him into all of this.”

The sting of her mother’s words cut deep. It was like being told, once again, that she didn’t fit in. That she was too much of an outsider, even in her own life. She felt small, like everything she’d worked so hard for wasn’t enough to make her belong.

“Mom,” Y/N whispered, trying to hold back the wave of emotion building in her chest. “Why do you always make me feel like I’m not enough?”

Her mother paused, just for a second, before shaking her head, as if dismissing Y/N’s hurt. “I’m just saying you need to be realistic,” she said, voice lowering as if that would soften the blow. “Harry’s great, but he doesn’t belong here. You don’t belong here. You need to think about what’s best for you.”

That was it. The words that would stay with Y/N for days. The ones that would echo in her mind, repeating like a broken record. She wanted to scream, to tell her mom how much it hurt, but instead, all she could do was blink back the tears. She didn’t have the strength to keep fighting, not now, not with everything weighing on her.

“Just… fix this,” her mom ordered, voice soft but still holding that cold command. “Make it right before the wedding starts. You owe her that.”

Y/N felt the world close in, her heart sinking lower than she ever thought it could.

Y/N’s heart sank as her mom walked away, leaving her standing in the cold. No response. No comfort. Just the weight of her words hanging in the air. She wiped at the tears that had started to spill, her chest tight with everything she couldn’t say, everything she couldn’t change.

She dragged herself upstairs, each step heavier than the last. Her mind was a mess, full of her cousin’s cruel comments and her mom’s cold disappointment. What was she supposed to do with all of this? Where could she go?

When she opened the bedroom door, the warm steam from the shower hit her like a wave, and there he was—Harry. Freshly showered, his damp hair curling at the ends, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. He was toweling off, his back to her. For a moment, she stood frozen. Her heart ached, unsure of how to handle the storm brewing inside her.

Then he turned around, his face lighting up when he saw her. “Hey, there you are,” he said, walking toward her with that familiar smile. But then, his expression faltered when he noticed the tear stains on her face, the redness in her eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked softly, his hand reaching for her. He moved toward her as if to kiss her, but stopped short, brow furrowed in concern.

Y/N opened her mouth, but no words came out. She tried to smile, to act like it wasn’t a big deal, but it was—everything felt too big. Her throat tightened, and the tears started all over again.

Harry’s face softened, his hands cupping her face gently as he wiped at the fresh tears. “Talk to me. What happened?”

Y/N’s heart raced in her chest. The question she didn’t want to ask, but needed to, bubbled up. “Are you seeing someone? A model?”

Harry froze. The question caught him off guard. “What? A model?”

Y/N's voice trembled, her tears barely held back. “Are you seeing a model, Harry? Please, just tell me the truth.”

Harry looked at her, confused. “What? No, I’m not seeing anyone. Where’s this coming from?”

She choked on her words. “My cousin said she saw pictures of you with someone in London last week, and—”

He immediately softened, understanding clicking. “Y/N, listen to me,” he said, his voice steady and warm. “If I was seeing someone, you’d know. I’m not dating anyone. It’s just you and me.”

Her heart lifted with the sincerity in his voice. He pulled her closer, his forehead resting against hers. “You know how the media is—they make stories out of nothing. Those pictures? Nothing serious. Just some event.”

Y/N closed her eyes, leaning into him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s just… everything here has me so confused.”

Y/N melted into Harry's embrace, the warmth of his words easing the ache in her chest.

Harry held her close, his hand soothing her hair. He pulled back slightly, his green eyes full of concern. "Y/N, we don't have to stay here," he said gently. "We can leave right now. You don't have to stay if it's making you feel like this."

Her heart raced as she blinked up at him. “But it’s the wedding…”

“I don’t care,” he cut in, shaking his head. “I don’t want to see you upset over something your cousin said. You don’t need to deal with that. Not another second.” He cupped her face, his eyes searching hers. “We can go. We’ll pack up, drive back to London—just you and me. Leave all this behind.”

Y/N felt her chest tighten, knowing he meant it. He would drop everything for her, even for the weekend. The sincerity in his voice made her heart ache.

“I don’t want to see you hurt, love,” Harry murmured. “If staying here means you’re miserable, then let’s go. We can make our own weekend. No pressure, no fake smiles, no cruel comments.”

Y/N swallowed hard, the idea of leaving so tempting. But she still hesitated. “Harry, I... I don’t know.”

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “It’s your choice. We stay if you want, but you don’t owe anyone here anything. Not even your family.”

Y/N rested her hands on Harry’s chest, leaning into his warmth. The idea of running away with him was tempting, but she couldn’t just walk away—not now, not after everything. Still, his words meant everything.

“I… I think I want to stay,” she whispered, voice steady. “I don’t want to run, Harry. Not from them.”

Harry nodded, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “Alright. But if you change your mind, we’re gone. I’ll pack in a heartbeat.” His small smile made her laugh softly, despite the tears still clinging to her lashes.

“Thank you,” she murmured, sinking back into his arms. “For everything.”

“I’ve got you, always,” Harry whispered, his breath warm against her hair. “No matter what.”

The wedding was beautiful. Y/N couldn’t deny it. Despite the tension with her cousin, the love between the bride and groom was undeniable. Her cousin’s eyes sparkled as she walked down the aisle, and the way her fiancé looked at her—like she was the only person in the world—had Y/N’s heart swelling. She even teared up a little.

Though Y/N hadn’t patched things up with her cousin, she didn’t feel the need to apologize. She knew she’d done nothing wrong. Her cousin’s hurtful words had crossed a line, and Y/N wasn’t about to apologize for standing her ground. Harry agreed, and that was all that mattered.

As for Harry? He was the star of the wedding. Eyes constantly on him, people whispering and sneaking glances, captivated by the famous face. But Harry didn’t seem to care. His focus was entirely on one person.

Y/N.

he was wearing a sky-blue silk dress that seemed to float with every step. The fabric hugged her perfectly, and her hair tumbled in loose waves around her shoulders. Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away. Throughout the ceremony, the reception, and every moment in between, his gaze never left her—she was the most breathtaking thing in the room.

No matter how many people tried to pull him into conversation, Harry stayed focused on her. His hand found hers more than once, squeezing it under the table during speeches, or brushing her back as they weaved through the crowd.

Every time Y/N caught his gaze, her heart skipped a beat. That warm, genuine smile—just for her—made her feel like she was the only person in the world. There was an unspoken bond between them, growing stronger with every minute that passed.

As the night wore on, filled with laughter and celebration, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of pride. Not just for standing up for herself, but for the man standing by her side.

187 notes · View notes

berryispunk · 3 months ago

Text

At Last

Chapter 9 of "Rain Down on Me" for the April Showers challenge by @jolapeno

series masterlist

pairing: Frankie Morales x ofc! reader (Summer)

tags: enemies to lovers, emotional chaos, love confessions, curse words , all the tension, a dance, smut (finally!!), fluff, all the feelings, they are just idiots in love your honor

notes: this is it guys, the grande finale! who's cutting onions here? geez. for the full experience I recommend listening to this , you'll understand why. thanks from the bottom of my heart for loving these two idiots. this isn't goodbye, this is see you later.

word count: ~ 6,9 k

The sun was too warm on your shoulders. The breeze too soft. The music too pretty.

You stood beneath the swaying palm trees, hands clasped loosely in front of you, eyes fixed on the couple at the front—Monica glowing in lace, Will looking at her like he still couldn’t believe she’s his and you felt your heart split clean in two.

You smiled, of course. For Monica. For your best friend, your roommate from that awful first apartment with the flickering kitchen light and the cracked tiles and the way you used to eat boxed mac and cheese off the floor when you were too tired to find chairs.

You remembered every version of her.

The one with a chipped tooth from falling off a scooter when you were seven. The one who cried over boys who didn’t deserve her in the first place. The one who once said, drunk and barefoot on New Year’s Eve, “I don’t think I’ll ever get married. No one knows how to love me long enough.”

And now here she was.

Radiant, steady and so full of love it pulsed out of her like sunlight.

Your eyes burned with tears.

You were happy for her. God, you were so happy. But at the same time, there was this weight in your chest you couldn’t shake. This quiet grief for all the versions of yourself you used to believe in—the ones who swore love like this was coming for you too. That you wouldn’t be the one who messed things up. Who ran. Who didn’t know how to hold on when it mattered most.

You weren’t jealous, not exactly.

It was more like mourning. Mourning what you didn’t have, what you hadn’t been ready for. What you still didn’t know how to ask for.

And then—Frankie, fuck, Frankie Morales. The man who was as infuriating as he was soft.

You felt his gaze on you before you even turned.

Stolen glances, like he couldn’t help himself. Like just seeing you unraveled something inside him. You didn’t dare look back for too long—just enough to feel the weight of it, to let it settle in the hollow behind your ribs, where all the wanting lived, breathing and growing, alive and restless, getting bigger by the second. You exhaled slowly and forced your attention back to Monica.

But Frankie’s eyes on you stayed, you felt it even when you weren’t looking. The ache did too.

Much later, when the sun dipped low and the music turned slow and golden, you found yourself on the dance floor with Will. The crowd had thinned, and his new wife was laughing somewhere near the cake table, her veil tossed aside and her heels abandoned, carefree and beaming in a way you’d never seen before.

“You better treat her right,” you said, half-playful, half-aching.

Will smiled, warm and solid as always. “Wouldn’t dream of doing anything else.”

You moved slowly, swaying in the soft light. He looked at you then—really looked. Like he saw something cracking open behind your smile but before he could say something Frankie approached you.

Hands tucked in his pockets. Shirt sleeves rolled. That unreadable look on his face—the one that somehow still said everything. His curls wild and unruly from running his hand through them a thousand times. Something you noticed he did a lot, at least when he wasn’t wearing that damn cap.

“Mind if I steal her for a minute?” he asked, voice low.

Will didn’t answer right away. Just glanced at you, steady and knowing, which made you wonder how much Monica told him. Something quiet passed between you—understanding, maybe or permission.

Then he clapped Frankie’s shoulder and stepped back, leaving only the both of you behind.

Frankie held out his hand and you took it.

And that was it.

The song changed.Fix You floated through the air, slow and familiar, threading its way into every crack you tried to hide. Frankie's hand found your waist, his other hand slipping into yours like it had always been meant to fit there. You started to sway—cautious at first. Stiff. Electric with everything unsaid.

Then something gave way. He pulled you closer—not much, just enough to feel him.

Your heart plummeted as you looked up.

Of course he was already watching you, his warm brown eyes unreadable.

He wasn’t asking, not demanding. Just... waiting. And you—aching, worn thin from pretending—stepped in. Let yourself want it.

Just for this one song, just for this one, fragile moment.

Frankie’s hand was warm at your back. His palm steady against your bare back like he knew exactly how to hold you without making you feel trapped. Like he remembered you—what you needed, what you could take.

The lights blurred behind him. Laughter faded. Glasses clinked in the distance, someone shouted something about tequila—and none of it touched you, none of it mattered.

Not in this soft bubble of music and memory and longing.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. Your eyes stayed on the open collar of his shirt, too afraid to meet his gaze just yet. Not when you were this close. Not when the smell of him—clean skin and sweat and soap—felt like a gut-punch.

Frankie said nothing, just moved in sync with you. Like he’d been waiting for this dance his whole life.

“You look beautiful,” he said eventually, barely above a whisper.

Your lips parted but no words came out. Just a sharp inhale you tried to hide and your cheeks heating.

He cleared his throat like it hurt to say it, or maybe to break the heavy silence between you. The silence that somehow said more than any words could.

You looked up, slow and unsteady, and found his eyes waiting for you. It felt like slipping into something inevitable—weightless, quiet, safe.

But it also stirred up the ache—the impossible kind of wanting that set you alight from the inside.

“How long,” you said softly, “are we gonna keep playing pretend?”

Frankie blinked and his grip on your waist tightened—just enough to ground you, or to steady himself.

“Summer,” he said, voice cracking in the middle like your name was a wound.

You didn’t look away, didn’t even flinch.

Just waited.

The music swelled between you.

Frankie’s jaw clenched. His gaze dropped to your mouth, then back to your eyes like it hurt to look too long.

“I don’t want to pretend anymore,” he said.

You exhaled like you’d been holding your breath for weeks.

“Then don’t,” you whispered.

He didn’t move. Didn’t kiss you. Didn’t pull you closer, even though you could feel the tension in him like a live wire. But his forehead dropped to yours, just barely. His breath warm against your skin. And for the rest of the song, you didn’t say anything else, you just held on.

—

Frankie didn’t remember the last time he danced. Not really, not like this.

Not with someone who made the air around him feel heavier and lighter all at once. Not with someone who looked up at him like maybe—just maybe—he could be more than the sum of all his fuckups.

Your hand was in his. Your other rested gently against his shoulder, and his palm was at the small of your back, fingers curled soft against your bare skin.

You were warm and steady, right here and so incredibly close he could inhale your scent. Something sweet, but also heavy, mixed with sun cream and your body heat.

This closeness, you, scared the hell out of him. Not the way danger used to—fast and sharp and adrenaline-laced. This was quieter, slower. It crept in like a tide and sat heavy in his chest, because it mattered. You mattered. More than he would ever say out loud.

And you’d just looked at him—eyes wide, voice steady—and asked how long you were gonna keep pretending. Like you weren’t scared to ask and casually cracked him open with these words.

How long are we gonna keep playing pretend?

His first instinct had been to deflect, joke. Make it easier, being defensive, because that’s what he can best.

But he couldn’t, not this time. Not when you were looking at him like that. Eyes trained on his, like searching for answers in his face. The reflection of the fairy lights illuminated in them, sparkling like stars and it was dangerously beautiful.

The silence after echoed in him as you swayed under the glow of the lights and cheap hotel lanterns. Your forehead leaned into his. Your breath soft and steady. You didn’t pull away, neither did he.

And Frankie wanted to say everything.

He wanted to tell you that it was easier when you were bantering. When you rolled your eyes at him and called him out and made him laugh so hard his stomach ached. That it was safer when you hated him a little, or at least pretended to, because then he didn’t have to deal with this: The need. That raw, aching want clawing its way up his spine, tightening every muscle in his body with the sheer effort it took not to devour you right then and there—like you were the best thing he'd ever tasted, and he’d been starving.

Or the way he woke up thinking about you and went to sleep hoping you were dreaming of him too. He wanted to tell you that he’d thought of that kiss every damn day since it happened. That it haunted him. That it made him believe in things he’d stopped believing in a long time ago.

But what scared him most—what rooted him to the dance floor, still and slow and unraveling—was that you weren’t just the fantasy anymore. You were real, in his arms, dancing and it was way worse than anything he made up in his mind. Because he got greedy and wanted all of it, all of you. Even the parts you kept guarded. The sharp ones, the quiet ones. The ones you thought needed hiding.

He wanted you. It was as simple and as complicated as that. And if you gave him the chance, he swore he wouldn’t waste it.

But he didn’t say all of it, not yet. But he held you closer. Let you feel it in the way his thumb traced circles at the small of your back. In the way his forehead stayed pressed against yours. In the way he breathed your name soft, like a promise:

“Summer…”

You looked up at him.

Slow, careful, brows lifted like you were about to ask something, but you didn’t. Like maybe the truth had finally settled between you—no more dodging, no more games. Just this quiet understanding humming beneath your skin.

And in your eyes?

God, Frankie saw it all. The fear, the ache, the want that matched his own so perfectly it knocked the breath out of his lungs.

It was like looking in a mirror and finally seeing the thing he’d been too scared to name.

He didn’t move, didn’t dare to. Didn’t even blink. Because if he did, he might miss the way your lips parted like you were about to say something else. Something more.

But then—

“Alright, alright, my turn,” Benny’s voice cut through the moment like a goddamn chainsaw. “I wanna dance with the hot one too.”

Frankie stiffened instantly. His hand tightened at your waist before he let go, reluctantly. You pulled back, blinking, the spell was broken, just like that.

You looked at Benny, then at Frankie, and something flickered in your face—something he couldn’t quite read. Like you were lost for a second. Confused, maybe even a little hurt. But then you smiled. That same sharp, bright smile you always used when you wanted to hide whatever was cracking underneath.

“Careful, Miller,” you said, stepping away, “you keep talking like that, people are gonna think you have taste.”

Benny just laughed and spun you toward the center of the dance floor, where the music had shifted to something fast and loud—some pop song Frankie didn’t recognize. You danced with him.

Smiling, swaying, laughing at something he said—your body moving effortlessly to the pulse of the music. Frankie tried not to look too hard, tried not to let his gaze linger on the way your hips rolled, the way your dress clung like it had been made for you.

But your eyes kept finding his, over and over.

And Frankie—he just stood there. Hands clenched at his sides. Watching Benny’s fingers settle too easily at your waist. Watching the light catch on your dress. Watching your smile falter every time your eyes locked with his and his blood boiled.

Because the moment had been yours and now it was gone.

—

He didn’t know how long he stood there.

Long enough for the lights to dim. For the playlist to shift again. For the air to start feeling smaller, louder, hotter.

He’d lost track of how many times you looked back at him. How many times Benny’s hands touched your waist or your arm or your lower back like it was nothing. Like you were nothing.

And then Benny came stumbling back from the bar, two drinks in hand, cheeks flushed, tie crooked, grinning like he hadn’t just ruined everything.

He handed Frankie a beer, sloshing some on the floor in the process. “You gonna sulk all night, bro? It’s a wedding, not a funeral.”

Frankie didn’t answer and Benny, the idiot he was, clinked bottles anyway, shrugged and leaned against the wall beside him.

“She’s a good time, huh?” he said casually, watching you out on the dance floor with some of the other guests. Smiling, chatting, but still not unguarded.

Frankie’s jaw tensed.

Benny took a drink. “You think she’d let me hit it? Just once? I mean—” he smirked, “—you’re clearly not doing shit about it.”

It happened so fast, Frankie didn’t even think. Just heard the sound of the bottle shattering as it hit the ground, felt the heat of his fist connecting with Benny’s jaw.

Benny stumbled back, stunned—then came at him like the soldier he was.

The next minute was fists, blood, and chaos. Chairs knocked over, glass breaking. Monica’s screaming echoing through the night. Frankie took a hit to the ribs, one to the cheek. His knuckles split open against Benny’s shoulder. They slammed into a table—furniture crashing, something splintering beneath them. Voices blurred in the background. Someone shouting for security. Then—through the haze—he caught the sound of Will and Santi, yelling, grabbing, pulling.

Hands on his shoulders. Arms locked around his chest and dragging them apart before one of them did something they couldn’t take back.

It took both of them—Will with an arm around Frankie’s chest, Santi holding Benny back by the collar.

Frankie’s breathing was ragged, chest heaving, lip split and tasting blood in his mouth.But he was still burning. It had been a long time since he ticked out like this—since the rage took hold and blurred everything else out. Rationality? Gone. There was only heat in his veins, white and blinding.

“You ever talk about her like that again,” he spat, voice wrecked and raw, “I’ll fucking kill you.”

Benny wiped the blood from his nose, eyes locked on Frankie over Santi’s shoulder like he wasn’t finished either.

Then Monica was there—storming across the floor like a fuse had been lit, her dress flaring behind her like a streak of fire.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she screamed, fury cracking her voice wide open.

Frankie didn’t answer, he couldn’t.His chest was heaving and his fists still clenched.

Monica pointed to the exit, hand shaking with fury. “Get out. Now!”

Will’s grip tightened on Frankie’s shoulder—solid, steady—but it barely registered. Frankie’s eyes didn’t leave the chaos. The wreckage he made.

Until they landed on you. And everything else went still.

You stood there frozen.

Eyes widened in shock and face pale. One hand still curled against your chest like you were holding something in. He didn’t know what shattered more in that moment—your expression or whatever was left of his restraint.He let Will steer him out, defeated. Stumbling and bleeding as the adrenalin wore off and the pain was slowly sinking in.

—

He was slouched low on one of the lobby couches, a tissue pressed half-assed to his lip. His knuckles throbbed—split open and swelling—and his pride felt even worse. Blood on his shirt. Shame in his gut. The buzz of wedding music still faint through the walls like a bad joke.

And then—

Your voice cut through it all.

“Don’t fucking move.”

He looked up and there you were—standing at the edge of the lobby like you’d been summoned. Hair a little out of place, dress still perfect. A small bag clutched in one hand, a first aid kit in the other. And eyes so full of fire he swore he could feel the heat of them across the room.

You crossed the distance without waiting for him to speak.

Dropped the bag at his feet and sat next to him on the couch like you were doing something simple, like laundry or tying your shoes. But your hands trembled just a little when you opened the kit, your breath sharp and uneven when you said, “Let me see.”

Frankie didn’t move, didn’t argue either. What would be the point anyway?

He let you take the tissue from his lip. Hissed when you dabbed at the cut with antiseptic. You rolled your eyes like he was being dramatic, but you didn’t pull away. Your fingers brushed his jaw—gentle, steady, infuriatingly kind. He wanted to apologize, but the words got stuck somewhere behind the pain and the guilt and the heavy way you looked at him.

You didn’t speak until you were holding an ice pack against his knuckles, your brow furrowed in that soft, focused way he knew too well.

Then finally: “Why the hell did it happen, Frankie?”

And it wasn’t just a question, it was the question.

The one about all of it. About you, him, Benny. Every word left unsaid since the moment you looked up at him on that dance floor with those eyes full of everything he felt too.

Frankie let out a shaky and rough breath.

“He said something,” he mumbled.

“I figured.”

“About you.”

You were quiet.

“I know it doesn’t fix anything,” he added, eyes on the ice pack now, not your face. “And I know I fucked everything up even worse, but—” he swallowed hard, jaw tight, “—he talked about you like you were nothing. And I just—I couldn’t take it.”

He looked up slowly.

“You’re not nothing,” he said, voice hoarse. “Not to me.”

And in the echoing silence of the lobby, with the soft hum of the vending machine and the ache in his ribs and blood drying under his nails, he realized just how true that was.

Too late, too loud, too fucking much.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at him, eyes unreadable, hands still gently pressing the ice to his bruised knuckles. Frankie could feel his pulse there, thudding under your touch. And for a second, he thought maybe you’d let the silence stretch.

But then you scoffed. Soft, dry. Almost a laugh, except it wasn’t.

“Oh great,” you muttered, flicking your gaze away. “So you punched Benny Miller in the face because of honor. That’s very medieval of you.”

He blinked. “Summer—”

“No, seriously,” you said, shaking your head like you were scolding a toddler. “Was it before or after he asked if I was a fair maiden in need of rescuing?”

Frankie winced. “He was drunk.”

“And you were stupid.”

Your words were sharp, clipped and hit exactly where you intended them to land. But your hands never stopped moving—still cradling his, still careful with the swelling. The contradiction twisted something in his chest.

You sighed. And for the first time, let your voice soften. Just a little.

“I don’t need you to fight for me, Frankie,” you said, barely above a whisper. “I needed you to choose me. And you didn’t.”

Then, like you regretted saying that much, you dropped the ice pack into his lap, stood up, and added—cool and casual:

“But hey… at least now you’ve got matching bruises to go with your ego.”

You grabbed the little first aid kit off the couch and walked away without looking back.

Frankie stayed behind—bleeding in more ways than one, swallowing down the flood of feeling threatening to break the surface. At least he’d finally said what he never had the guts to before, even if the price he paid for it would leave marks—on his body, and somewhere far deeper—for a long time to come.

——

It was way too late or way too early.

Somewhere in that unbearable space between the two, where everything felt a little too raw, too real. In the distance, a thunderstorm was gathering, thickening the air to suffocating levels, with the hot rain tapping softly against the hotel room windows.

The room was dark again, save for the faint glow of the hallway light bleeding in through the crack under the door. Frankie hadn’t said a word since you walked in behind him. Just sat on the edge of the bed, hands in his lap, eyes trained on nothing.

You didn’t say anything either. Not about the fight. Not about the look he’d given you before Benny cut in. Not about the quiet way he bled like he deserved it.

Instead, you swore like hell.

“God—fuck—seriously?” you muttered, yanking at the back of your dress. “Who the hell designed this thing, Houdini?”

The zipper wouldn’t budge. Your arms were bent at the worst angle, and the sweat from the heat made everything stick to your skin in the most unholy way. You twisted toward the mirror and tried again, growling under your breath when it didn’t give.

Behind you, Frankie shifted in the dark.

“Want help?” he asked quietly. His voice rough, tired. Still bleeding around the edges.

You froze as you caught his reflection in the mirror.

His face was bruised and a little swollen but his eyes were dark and unreadable.

A hundred replies danced on your tongue. Most of them sarcastic, all of them defensive.But you were exhausted. And sore. And done pretending.

“Only if you promise not to go full knight-in-shining-armor about it,” you muttered, not turning around.

He stood up and took slow steps until he was right behind you—close, but not touching. His hands hovered near your lower back like he wasn’t sure if he had permission yet.

You didn’t move.

And then—

The soft tug of the zipper. The cool air on your overheated spine.

The slow, deliberate slide of fabric peeling away, like a second skin surrendering.

You swore you stopped breathing for a second.

Frankie’s fingers brushed the dip of your back by accident—or maybe on purpose—and it felt like an electric shock straight to your lungs. You caught his gaze in the mirror again. His jaw was tight. His eyes trained on the zipper.

When the dress was loose enough, he stepped back. Didn’t say a single word, didn’t try to touch you again. Just stood there like he was scared he’d ruin something by staying close.

You pulled the dress the rest of the way down and stepped out of it, only in your slip, still feeling the ghost of his fingers all over your skin.

You looked at him over your shoulder.

“You can look,” you said, tone light, almost teasing—but your voice caught halfway through.

Because he was looking but it was different than you thought it would be. This wasn’t lust or cockiness. It was awe.

Like he didn’t know how the hell you ended up here, in the same room as him, half-undressed and heartbreakingly real.

And somehow, that was worse than all the banter. Because it meant he was honest, about what he said earlier, mirrored in his face, written all over it.

You turned away before he could say anything and crawled into bed, staring at the ceiling.

But the heat was back. Not just Florida heat this time.

Him, always him.

You flopped onto your back with a groan, one arm slung dramatically over your eyes.

“Christ,” you muttered, “this state should be illegal. Everything sticks. My hair, my thighs, my dignity.”

Frankie gave a soft snort behind you. “You lost that at the open bar, I think.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—you’re judging me? You, the guy who threw hands at a wedding and got blood on the centerpiece flowers?”

He didn’t answer. You dared to peek out from under your arm, caught the corner of his mouth twitch like he was trying not to smile. God, he was ridiculous. Bloody and bruised and still so stupidly handsome in that wrinkled dress shirt, sitting in the chair next to the bed like he didn’t know what to do with himself. Like being near you might hurt worse than Benny’s punch.

“Besides,” you added, voice lighter than you felt, “at least I didn’t start a fight.”

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing just slightly. “You’re really gonna pretend you don’t know why I did it?”

You pushed yourself up on one elbow. Sweaty, bare-legged, with your hair a mess and your heart somewhere in your throat.

“Frankie,” you said slowly, “you can’t just beat the shit out of your friend and then go mute about it.”

He looked away. Jaw tight again.

Of course. That fucking silence again, the one that always came right when it mattered most.

Your chest squeezed, too full of things you couldn’t name or wouldn’t. You swung your legs off the bed and sat up, hands planted on the mattress beside you. “You know what? At least Benny admitted something you didn’t have the balls for.”

Frankie’s head snapped toward you.

You held his stare. Let it land, let it sting. Not caring, or even planning to finally get a reaction from him.

“That he wanted to fuck me.”

And just like that—The air in the room shifted. Hot, yes, but now it burned.

Frankie stood like he’d been pulled by a string, eyes locked on yours, something wild and wounded cracking through his expression.

Your heart beat hard against your ribs. Your body flushed, not just from heat now but from the weight of what you’d said. The way it sat between you, sharp and jagged and true.

You didn’t look away.

Let him say something. Let him deny it. Let him fucking do something.

Because if he wanted you—really wanted you—then he needed to stop pretending this was just heat. Just proximity. Just banter and bad timing.

Frankie stared at you. Chest rising, jaw flexing. That muscle in his cheek was ticking the way it always did when he was fighting himself.

And then—he breathed out like it hurt.

“You think I don’t want you?” he said, voice low and rough. “You think I haven’t spent every fucking day since the time you told me you couldn’t stand me in the elevator, trying not to look at you too long? Not to want you too much?”

You froze. No smirk. No witty retort. Just your eyes on him—wide, glassy, unsure.

“I want you so bad it hurts,” he said, stepping forward. “And yeah, fuck yeah, I’ve thought about touching you. About having you under me, over me, in every goddamn way a person can think of another person. But it’s not just that.”

He swallowed. Ran a hand through his already ruined hair.

“It’s not just that,” he repeated, softer now, almost like he hated saying it out loud. “I want you when you’re pissed at me. When you steal my fries. When you talk shit about my playlists and fix your hair in the rearview like you don’t even realize you’re beautiful.”

He looked at you then, like it might be the last time, your heart in your throat.

“I want the part of you that gets quiet when things get too close. The part that thinks she has to hold everything together alone. The part you keep hiding ‘cause someone fucked you up and made you think that’s how love works.”

It hit you like a fucking freight train.

Not the words—though yeah, those knocked the wind out of you too—but the way he said them. The way he meant them. No bravado, no sarcasm. Just Frankie. Standing there like he’d peeled off every layer he’d ever used to protect himself and handed you whatever was left.

You blinked, unsure what to say. You’d seen glimpses of this side of him before—fragments of vulnerability when he told you about the fair, or when he admitted the truth about the bet. But this? This was something else entirely. Raw, unshielded. And he was still looking at you like you were it. Like you always had been.

And something in you just broke.

Your mouth was on his before you even realized you’d moved. Hands fisting in the collar of his shirt, dragging him down, down, down with you as your back hit the bed in a rush of tangled sheets and need. He caught himself on his elbows, bracing above you—but only just.

His breath stuttered. Your fingers found skin. Under fabric, against heat, along the planes of his back like you were trying to memorize him blind. And he kissed you like he’d been waiting forever. Like every version of this he’d imagined couldn’t hold a candle to the real thing.

It wasn’t slow, it wasn’t careful.It was a goddamn free fall—your mouths meeting over and over, desperate and wet, too much and not enough all at once. Your legs wrapped around his hips before you even thought about it. His hands slid down your sides, over your waist, anchoring you like he needed the contact to breathe.

Skin, sweat, teeth.

You gasped when his lips found your neck, when he bit gently at the spot just under your ear, and he groaned against your skin like he was losing his mind.

Your voice was wrecked when you whispered, “You’re not holding back now, huh?”

And he just shook his head. “No,” he rasped. “Not anymore.”

Then he kissed you again, and this time it said everything else. All the longing, all the fear. All the months of pretending you were nothing but banter and eye-rolls and almosts.

And now—finally—you were this.

And neither of you wanted to stop.

The last piece of clothing you wore hit the floor fast—his followed right after. You’d imagined this, fantasized about what he’d look like beneath all the layers of fabric and bravado, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the reality. He was achingly beautiful—broad chest, strong arms that flexed as he hovered over you, like he was holding himself back with every ounce of control he had.

You couldn’t resist letting your fingers trail over the heat of his skin, watching his lips part, his expression twist—like your touch hurt, like it scorched him. His brows pulled tight, but he didn’t stop you. Didn’t flinch. Not even when your hand drifted lower. And then you grabbed him—hard, steady, impossibly thick—and looked down just to be sure you weren’t imagining it. But no. It was him. All of him. Right there and so fucking beautiful it stole your breath.

He caught your hesitation and smirked—of course he did—but he didn’t say a word. Because then you started to stroke him, slow and deliberate, and he hissed through his teeth and the sound wrecked you.

His hips jerked forward into your hand, chasing the friction, unabashed in his need—and , if anything, it only made you want him more. You leaned up and latched your mouth onto his neck, biting the same way he had, and he groaned—low and rough and not nearly as quiet as before.

You were already dripping, just from watching him fall apart in your hands. He basked in your touch and found your lips again as you kept the movements steady. He kissed you like a man starving. And it lingered, everywhere—on your skin, in your chest, deep in your heat. It meant everything. Every brush of his lips said what neither of you had dared to voice.

Because finally, finally, you were both surrendering to it. Whatever this was—this charged, magnetic thing that had simmered between you for months—it was no longer ignorable. It was alive and breathing. Wild and hungry, but laced with something softer too.

He handled you like you might break—but with firm hands that told you he knew exactly how much you could take. Somewhere between raw need and reverence, his touch burned down your spine, slow and deliberate. His fingers traced your thighs like a map he’d memorized in a dream, and now, waking, couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch.

You pulled him closer, nails digging into the hard muscles of his back, and he groaned into your mouth—deep and broken, like it ripped from somewhere buried. Like he was unraveling piece by piece and didn’t care if you saw it happen.

His hand found your center, warm and steady, fingers teasing before sliding inside with practiced precision. He curled them just right, and your back arched in response, a gasp tearing from your lips. But it still wasn’t enough. It had been too long. You were too far gone to wait.

“Usually,” he murmured against the heated skin of your neck, voice rough and low, “I’d take my time. Spread you open and eat you out like you fucking deserve.”

He bit gently at your pulse point, groaning as your hips bucked into his hand.

“But I can’t,” he confessed, ragged. “I’m aching, Summer. I need you now.”

You pulled his face back to yours instantly, eyes locked.

“I’m yours.” you said, no hesitation, no fear.

His eyes darkened, and then his mouth was on yours, all heat and hunger as he shifted, guiding himself to your entrance. The stretch of him was heaven—slow, deliberate, overwhelming. He filled you completely, and you clung to him like your life depended on it, nails dragging down the muscles of his back as if he were the only thing keeping you grounded.

He cursed under his breath, forehead resting against your shoulder, sinking into you like it meant everything—like this was the only place he'd ever truly belonged.

And when he started to move—slow at first to give you time to adjust—it was like the dam finally broke. Months of tension, of banter and near-misses, of fighting what you both felt, spilled over into something that felt holy in its ruin. And then his speed picked up, and he was everywhere—his breath on your skin, his body pressing yours into the mattress, the low sounds he made echoing in your chest. You wrapped your legs tighter around him, pulling him impossibly closer, needing him like air, like you might break without him.

“Fuck, Frankie—” you breathed, barely recognizing your own voice, wrecked and wanting.

He growled something low, desperate, into your neck—your name maybe, or just a sound, like language had slipped through his fingers entirely. His hips snapped harder, deeper, rhythm losing its steadiness with every ragged breath he took. His eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched, every muscle straining as he chased it. You reached up, cupping his face, forcing him to look at you.

“Come on,” you whispered, shaky and soft. “Let go.”

And God, when he did—it hit like a thunderclap. His whole body locked up, and a broken sound tore from his throat, like it cost him something just to feel this much. He buried his face in your neck, clutching you to him as he came hard, shaking with it, like he'd been holding back for a lifetime and finally couldn’t anymore.

You followed a breath later, every nerve lit up, body trembling from the sheer force of it. For a second, everything else fell away—no noise, no room, no reason—just this. Just him. Just you.

When the world settled back around you, it was in pieces. Frankie collapsed against you, still inside, both of you covered in sweat and breathless. The air was thick and warm, and your limbs felt like jelly, tangled around him.

After a long stretch of silence Frankie let out a low, disbelieving laugh against your skin. “We’re idiots,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Stubborn, fucked-up idiots.”

You smiled, fingers curling into the damp hair at the nape of his neck. “Takes one to know one.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes a little dazed, a little raw, like he still wasn’t convinced this wasn’t something his brain made up. “We could’ve had this months ago.”

You gave him a pointed look. “Yeah, if you hadn’t been so busy pretending you didn’t care.”

His brows lifted. “Me? You said you'd rather spend ten hours in customer service hell than one more minute with my ego.”

“Only because your ego made it easier to lie about wanting you,” you said, softer now, but not backing down.

That shut him up for a beat. Then his face broke into the kind of smile that made your stomach flip—wide, warm, a little sheepish. “Guess we’re both full of shit.”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “But… not right now.”

He leaned in, forehead pressed to yours, that smile still lingering at the corner of his mouth. “No. Not anymore.”

For once, there was no sharp comeback. No deflection. Just both of you, and the quiet truth settling between your bodies like something sacred.

“I wanted this so bad,” he said, the words barely a breath. “You don’t even know.”

You nodded, eyes burning a little. “I do. Because I wanted it too.”

His thumb brushed your cheek. Then he kissed you—not rushed, not greedy this time. Just soft. Sure. Like he finally knew what was his to hold.

And this time, neither of you pulled away.

—

It wasn’t fireworks or fanfare. It wasn’t some grand finale to the will-they-won’t-they saga your friends had long grown tired of placing bets on. When it finally happened—you and Frankie—it just was. Messy and soft and full of that aching kind of love that sneaks in when you’re not looking.

And now, months later, it stuck. Despite everything, maybe because of everything.

Frankie leaned against the kitchen counter in Monica and Will’s apartment, a beer in hand, the muffled sound of rain tapping gently at the windows behind him. The usual crew had crammed into the living room—Monica glowing, round-bellied and blissed out, Will watching her like she was the sun. Benny was three sliders deep, dramatically arguing with Santiago over the best cartoon role models for future children.

You were barefoot across the room, hair loose, laughing like he hadn’t nearly ruined it all once. Like there wasn’t a time you told him to go to hell in a rainstorm and meant every word. Like you weren’t the best damn thing that had ever happened to him.

He didn’t even pretend not to stare.

“So,” Monica said suddenly, patting her belly like she was sealing a deal. “Will and I were thinking… if this kid ends up being an actual demon, we’re gonna need backup.”

Will grinned. “And there’s really only two people we trust to be terrifying enough.”

“Don’t you dare,” Frankie muttered, already knowing where this was going.

“Godparents,” Monica beamed. “Or more accurately, our emotional damage control team. It’s you two, obviously.”

Benny pointed a chip at you. “Yeah. You once told Frankie he had the emotional range of a teaspoon and the charm of a traffic violation. That’s love, man.”

You shrugged, deadpan. “I was being generous.”

Frankie smirked, taking a sip of his beer. “And yet, here you are. In love with the traffic violation.”

You rolled your eyes. “Honestly? It tracks.”

“Perfect match,” Santiago said without looking up from his phone.

Later, after most of the crew had trickled out or passed out in food comas on various pieces of furniture, Frankie found you on the balcony. Rain dusted the city in a soft hush, washing the world in silver.

You didn’t turn when he stepped out, but you didn’t need to. He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Don’t say it,” you murmured.

“Say what?”

“That you’re thinking about the baby thing already.”

Frankie smiled, lips brushing your skin. “Maybe I just wanted to hold you.”

You sighed like you’d been holding your breath all night. “You’re so full of shit.”

But it came out soft, no real heat behind it.

The silence between you stretched, warm and familiar, the rain tapping a steady rhythm. Then you said it. Quiet, offhand. Like it didn’t matter—but it did. God, it did.

“I love you, Morales.”

He froze. The kind of stillness that felt like a held breath. Then:

“Say that again.”

You didn’t look at him right away. Just sighed, eyes on the downpour like it’d give you an out. “You heard me.”

“I did,” he said, voice rough. “I just… I need to be sure I didn’t dream it.”

You glanced over your shoulder, expression soft despite your words. “If this was a dream, you’d probably be shirtless and less annoying.”

He laughed, a quiet breath of disbelief, tugging you closer. “So, you love me and I’m annoying. Got it.”

You shrugged. “I contain multitudes.”

His arms locked tighter around you, mouth brushing your neck. "Yeah," he drawled, smug and warm all at once. "Love you too, not that you ever made it easy."

You didn’t answer right away. Just leaned into him, letting the rain speak for a while. And then you finally whispered, “Don’t make me regret saying it.”

“You won’t.”

And you didn’t, not even once.

thanks for reading 💌

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yatagarasuhonyaku · 4 months ago

Text

Chapter of the Fireflies: Those Who Yearn

Disclaimer: This is a fan-translation japanese-english of the original novel. This is a short story originally written for a japanese magazine and later compiled in one of the Ravens' Hundred Flowers books.

Blog version

For other translations, you can find them HERE

Timeline: Midway of Raven of the Empty Coffin, after the Chihaya chapter

Characters (in order of relevance): Masuho no Susuki, Akeru, Sumio, Yukiya, Hamayuu, Nazukihiko, Chihaya, Shigemaru.

Synopsis: During Yukiya's second year at the Monastery, he takes the lead role during the Boys' Festival celebrations at Cherry Blossom Palace. The inciting incident to a strange proposal...

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Those Who Yearn(1)

It all happened during the Boys’ Festival(2).

At the time, the mountains were full to the brim with new leaves, all sparkling like green jewels under the dazzling sunlight, but in Cherry Blossom Palace none was more splendid than Sakura no Kimi, the Crown Prince's wife.

An aroma so strong it was almost overbearing came from the ornamental scent bags hanging around the place. They were made with mugwort and iris, and decorated with freshly cut flowers and five-colored strings that were now swaying in the blowing wind. For the first time in three long years, the Horse Racing Ceremony was to take place at the riding grounds in front of Cherry Blossom Palace.

Within Yamauchi, the Boys’ Festival was, for the most part, structured to take two days. During the first, Medicine Hunting(3) took place, and Horse Racing was scheduled for the second.

As for Medicine Hunting, just like the name implied, the term originally referred to a religious service(4) consisting of the picking of medicinal herbs and the acquisition of deer antlers. The first day was, in fact, the most important part of the event. It was when the Golden Raven, the chief of all Yatagarasu, would perform a ritual known as ‘Antler Knocking’, in which he would retrieve the antlers of a nine-colored deer(5) raised by the Bureau of Medicine.

However, in modern days, real deer hunting had come to take place simultaneously with the ritual at one of the hunting grounds on the Center's property. The attendees were mostly young noblemen, purposely for the sake of building up their stamina in preparation for the coming summer, who would later go on to present their acquired prey at the Court. The second day's Horse Racing Ceremony was intended as a reenactment, showing off their performance during the hunt itself.

For the Yatagarasu, who possessed both the form of a human and a three-legged giant crow, to employ another member of their own race as a ‘horse’ and ride it was an act requiring permission only given to a limited number of privileged. So, during the event, the young noblemen who took part in the hunt rode outstanding giant crows, all specially chosen for the occasion, and shot an arrow each towards an earthenware deer statue as they flew towards it.

There were multiple potential riding grounds in the Center, so the one used for the festivities was chosen by the priests after seeking Lord Yamagami's divine will. That said, for the one by Cherry Blossom Palace to go unchosen for three years was unheard of. After all, there was in truth another altogether different criteria than divine will playing a hand in the events.

On the sides of the cliff where Cherry Blossom Palace stood, there were covered paths built to bridge the different buildings. Thin bamboo screens had been placed on them, making it impossible to look at whoever hid within them. There sat the Ladies in Waiting under the service of Sakura no Kimi, the edges of their kimono visible from underneath the curtains. Peeking from underneath the green bamboo were colors as vivid and pleasing to the eye as the peonies and azaleas that decorated the many ornamental scent bags around.

Masuho no Susuki, the head of Sakura no Kimi’s Ladies in Waiting, watched over such a scene with the indifference of an onlooker. She was standing on top of a stage which overlooked the roofed paths where the others were waiting in line.

To the opposite side, at the halfway point between the stage and the mountain, a tall rock protruded upwards with a red deer statue on top of it. Giant crows flapped their dark wings as the young noblemen on their backs approached the statue one after the other, mimicking the act of shooting their bows.

While they all feigned indifference, they kept giving curious glances at what hid behind the bamboo blinds—most likely, picturing in their minds the ladies’ beauty through their lovely clothes. Something that the women within were very well aware of. They had, in fact, gone through great lengths to look their best for the day. Aware as she was of their hard efforts, Masuho no Susuki looked warmly over the scene from underneath her long-handled parasol.

The Ladies in Waiting serving at Cherry Blossom Palace were often young, beautiful women—and their chances to meet the sons of the nobility were quite scarce. Many of them ended up marrying someone just for their families’ sake without ever meeting face to face with their husband before the fact. Hence, it had become custom to use the Horse Racing Ceremony as an excuse for a bachelor line-up.

The number of successful marriages among the nobility went noticeably up every year the Ceremony took place at Cherry Blossom Palace compared to the others. Some young men had even gotten the chance to successfully rise up in standing after a high-ranking princess fell in love with them at first sight, so none were more psyched up during the day’s exhibition than those of the low nobility.

Just a few years ago, as Masuho no Susuki calmly realized, she would have been the most concerned with the beauty of that barely visible kimono edge. Yet now that her plentiful waving locks had been replaced with the hairstyle of a nun, the only thing she felt was utter disinterest.

The highest of the nobility, besides the Golden Raven, who stood at the top of Yamauchi’s hierarchy, were the Four Houses, who had all been entrusted with the ruling of the territories in each of the cardinals—the Eastern, Southern, Western and Southern Houses. Each Region had their own unique produce and crafts they specialized in, and their best goods and talent were all henceforth sent to the Imperial Court. In doing so, the economy at Yamauchi’s Center stayed in motion.

Masuho no Susuki had been born as the first princess of the Western House, which held craftsmanship as its regional specialty and, until not that long ago, she had been one of the candidates to become the wife of the Crown Prince—Wakamiya.

Masuho no Susuki’s beauty had been without equal at the time, even compared to the other beautiful princesses sent by the Four Houses to Cherry Blossom Palace as prospective wives. There had been no doubt she would be the one chosen and yet, in the end, it wasn’t her but a lady of the Southern House—the West's political rivals—who became Sakura no Kimi.

Ever since infancy, Masuho no Susuki had spent her life with the conviction that she would be chosen as the prince's wife. She had longed for Wakamiya—who had grown into quite the attractive young man, a perfectly matching picture to the memories of those moments in her youth spent together—more than anyone else. A fact that had driven her to believe that, in the unfortunate and unlikely case she went unchosen, it would be the end of her. That she wouldn’t be able to live on.

Reality, however, couldn’t have been more different from her imagination.

The moment Masuho no Susuki actually met Wakamiya during the consort selection process, she came to discover that the attraction wasn’t there at all. He even told the candidates—of all things to say—that ‘he didn't particularly like them, and there's a possibility he may end up betraying them in the future.’ That ‘if they didn’t mind that, he would make them his wives.’

His arrogance was plain for anyone to see as he stomped all over the love the princesses held for him. Masuho no Susuki was a prideful woman and this wasn't something she could ever overlook. In fact, she had been so worried about the Southern princess, who had actually gone and accepted such terms, that in the heat of the moment she became a nun and a Lady in Waiting serving her.

Those of the Western House had been beside themselves with disappointment, apparently, but Masuho no Susuki saw the instant she cut down the same hair she had prided herself in as being freed of something possessing her. From that point onwards, she had lost all interest in romantic love.

She learned afterwards that Wakamiya's circumstances were what left him with no other option but to be realistic to a fault like that. While it gave her a newfound respect and admiration for the Southern princess, as she had chosen to become his wife with full knowledge of the brutal circumstances she was embroiling herself in, she still couldn't picture herself as Wakamiya’s wife at all from that day onwards.

She had never expected to find such a side to herself, but she had come to discover that she liked this version of herself—someone who kept her dignity and pride—much more than the woman drunk on love she had once been. So, what alternative did she have?

——An hour or so had passed since the start of the ceremony.

The last shooter should be about to arrive at the scene. This star shooter, unlike the other young noblemen taking part in the event before him, didn’t have to feign the act—his role was to shoot an arrow and actually hit the deer effigy. Successfully taking it down brought good fortune and failure brought misfortune, or so the story went, which made it an important duty to bear.

Ever since that tiny boy had left to train to become a high-ranking military officer, Masuho no Susuki hadn’t had much of a chance to meet with him—would he be actually capable of successfully fulfilling the task?

Suddenly, the sound of bells ringing resounded in the distance.

“He's coming, Lady Masuho no Susuki,” the Lady in Waiting waiting beside her announced nervously.

It wasn’t the shooter ringing the bells, but the herald. Ting-ting-ting. A giant crow led the way, the bells producing their shrill sound as it moved forwards. It flew much, much faster than any of the young noblemen had before. In fact, Masuho no Susuki couldn’t help but wonder with a touch of fear whether it was too much speed.

Yet, right behind the heralding giant crow came the shooter—and he proved to be just as swift. The rider, laid down on top of his steed, lifted his body all of a sudden with smooth, graceful movements as the sleeves of his cool light blue kimono—embroidered with silver—flapped in the wind, the gold of the stirrups sparkling under the sun.

The shooter, with his back now fully straightened as if he were unfolding, clung tightly to his mount's back using just his thighs while he gracefully drew the bow.

A woosh, and the arrow came loose with a sound not unlike a high-pitched whistle, piercing the deer effigy as if it had been sucked in. The effigy immediately crashed down with a clatter, giving no time for the bell to ring to indicate the shooter had successfully hit the target.

The spectators cheered, and the shooter dropped his speed. He then drew a loose arc in the sky, flying towards the spot where Masuho no Susuki awaited him. In the process, he passed by the roofed paths and their excited occupants but, unlike the other young men taking part in the ceremony, he didn't pay them even a single glance. The other young men, who had been on standby right underneath the stage, flew up and positioned right behind him.

The star shooter—a scion of the Northern House, once Wakamiya's close aide and a boy Masuho no Susuki regarded as her own little brother—smoothly landed on the stage where Masuho no Susuki stood with the spectacularly dressed young noblemen right after him.

Actually, no—calling him a ‘boy’ didn't feel right anymore. The young man had now dismounted with ease and approached Masuho no Susuki with a broad smile on his lips.

“It’s been so long, Lady Masuho no Susuki.”

His friendly voice was unfamiliar to her ears, somewhat hoarse as it was so characteristic of teenage boys. Masuho no Susuki was taken aback.

‘Who is this?’

Of course, she knew his name. Asking would be stupid, she realized that much. Still, and despite having met so many times before, the man in front of her looked like a completely different person in her eyes.

“Are you… Yukiya?”

“I am, yes. I've come to bring this year's Boys’ Festival's medicine to Sakura no Kimi.”

After giving his face a long, hard look, Masuho no Susuki could in fact tell those were without question Yukiya's features, but he had changed so much that it was almost a guarantee to confuse him for another.

His cheeks, once round like a baby's, were now lean, giving him the distinctive look of a warrior, and the outline of his face was that of a young man, firm and defined. His skin had a healthy tan to it and his somewhat light-colored eyes sparkled. To top it all off, he had become noticeably taller compared to their last meeting—it was now Masuho no Susuki who had to look up.

It actually felt like a fox had disguised itself to deceive her.

“Lady Masuho no Susuki?” Yukiya called out to her, perplexed.

After finally coming back to herself, a panicking Masuho no Susuki proceeded to respond as custom demanded. “You did a good job coming here. Sakura no Kimi must be no doubt overjoyed as well.”

“There's no bigger honor than that,” Yukiya courteously bowed his head and signaled behind him with his eyes. The moment he did that, a number of warriors—all fully clad in black—briskly stepped forward from the group and proceeded to place in a line the medicine, deer meat and antlers they had brought, all loaded on small offering stands.

Once she verified that everything in the checklist was accounted for, Masuho no Susuki nodded in approval. “Everything has arrived safely indeed.”

“Please, send my best regards to Her Highness.” A pleasant, refreshing smile later, Yukiya nimbly jumped back onto the giant crow's back. “Now, if you'll excuse me.”

Masuho no Susuki bowed slightly at him and Yukiya gave her a firm last greeting back before taking off. The flashily dressed young noblemen, who had been looking over their exchange with keen interest, followed after Yukiya this time as well—although they were clearly reluctant to do so.

Their group flew away, in the direction of the Imperial Court, as Masuho no Susuki watched over them. With them gone, all that remained on the stage was the ‘medicine’ sent for Sakura no Kimi, the Ladies in Waiting and a small number of warriors who had stayed to help carry the delivered goods to Cherry Blossom Palace.

It was among those warriors that Masuho no Susuki found the face of someone who wasn’t even supposed to be there. Her eyes went wide open. “Sumio, is it really fine for you to be here?"

Sumio had a dark complexion and a somewhat small build for a warrior, and he was always found by his Lord Wakamiya’s side as his bodyguard. His lord, always keen to abuse his infamy at the Court as a ‘fool’, had no qualms to indulge in his bad habit of skipping ceremonies and, to make matters worse, Sakura no Kimi, his wife, didn’t reprimand him—she instead went as far as to willingly help him on occasion. All in all, it was a pain to deal with.

Just the day before, Sakura no Kimi had actually gotten news of Wakamiya secretly escaping from the Court and had left for Sunrise Palace—where Wakamiya had been supposed to be—to act as his literal body double. She wasn't even supposed to ever come out from Cherry Blossom Palace.

Masuho no Susuki had waited with bated breath ever since, hoping her absence went unnoticed by everyone, but the situation had to have somehow resolved itself. Otherwise, Sumio wouldn’t have been there at the event. He ran towards her with a slight, wry smile on his lips and stopped some distance away from her.

“I know we've caused you much worry, but Wakamiya has now returned to Sunrise Palace. Sakura no Kimi should be back here as well tonight—she's at Sunrise Palace right now,” Sumio announced to her in a whisper, low enough that nobody else but Masuho no Susuki could hear him.

“I see.” Masuho no Susuki let out a sigh of relief.

Every single time, it was Sumio and Masuho no Susuki's job to clean up whatever mess Wakamiya and his wife caused by acting irresponsibly. She had gotten quite used to it—a feeling she actually found terrifying when she stopped to think about it, although there was little to no point to complaining after being at it for so long.

The weight on her shoulders now lifted, her mind couldn’t help but to turn towards the events that had just transpired. “Still, what a huge surprise. I knew that Yukiya would be taking on the role of the star shooter, but—”

“I know what you mean…… He has grown up a lot, hasn't he?”

“I mean, yes, that kid was shorter than me last time we met.”

Masuho no Susuki's actual little brother had joined the Unbending Reed Monastery—the same training facility for military officers Yukiya attended—at the same time as Yukiya did. Despite their circumstances, Masuho no Susuki had gotten the chance to meet with her brother from time to time, but his growth rate hadn’t been nearly as dramatic as Yukiya.

“It's as the outer books say, right? ‘If you don't meet a young man for three days, pay attention’(6),” Sumio responded as he smiled wryly.

Masuho no Susuki, on the other hand, quietly muttered, “Seeing him grow makes me happy, but… It does make one feel a bit lonely……”

The source of her turmoil was, most likely, a gnawing feeling of loss. Whenever she thought about how that innocent boy was gone from this world—even if she technically knew it was a good thing and she should be glad for his growth—the sensation that overtook her was one beyond description.

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After finishing up the matters at Cherry Blossom Palace, Sumio flew right back to Sunrise Palace. There awaited the young men who had just recently joined him in the ranks of Wakamiya’s bodyguards. Their nerves were plain on their faces, but their expressions shifted to ones of relief the very second they saw Sumio return.

Well, not like Sumio could blame them for that.

Their Lord and his wife were found within the annex they were guarding, but the couple didn’t obey common sense and dealing with their sudden whims was still a bit too heavy a task for the new guards. Apparently, they had been trembling with fear at the possibility of receiving some ridiculous order during Sumio's absence.

But Sumio was here now and the young Guards let him pass inside.

“I'm back,” Sumio opened the door and announced his arrival with a very familiar tone—something usually unthinkable from a servant. There, in front of a desk facing the window, was a young couple, their appearances remarkably similar, drinking tea with complete ease.

“Good job out there. How were things at Cherry Blossom Palace?” The handsome young man who asked the question was none other than Sumio's childhood friend and the Lord he had sworn his loyalty to—His Highness Wakamiya. His straight hair was tied at his nape and fell over his light purple kimono. He was dressed casually, with no hakama.

“It all went without a hitch. It may go without saying, but nobody noticed Sakura no Kimi's absence.”

“How was Yukiya?” Sakura no Kimi—Princess Hamayuu, who was dressed in the exact same outfit as her husband, asked with clear amusement. Dressing gown or not, that outfit probably still qualified as male attire, yet it was quite the perfect fit for the tall princess, who was constantly taking the role of Wakamiya's body double.

“That too went without issue. However, I brought a message with me from Lady Masuho no Susuki for Sakura no Kimi—’For all of the world, please, let's not have another ceremony take place in your absence ever again. Also, please, return as soon as possible.’”

Sumio replied to Hamayuu with some degree of respect, but the oddly-dressed princess just cackled in answer. “She doesn't learn her lesson either, huh? She should have figured out by now that I won't listen no matter how many times she asks.”

“I guess she can't hold herself back from trying,” Sumio spoke a tad emotionally—he felt exactly the same way as her after all. The young couple was, unfortunately, impervious to his tame attempt at sarcasm.

“Anyway, now that Masuho no Susuki has shown her face in front of those noblemen, we'll have quite a commotion awaiting from here on.”

“What do you mean?” Wakamiya asked his wife.

Hamayuu let out a snort. “Isn't it obvious? I mean there’ll be marriage proposals aplenty.”

“I see…” Wakamiya’s eyebrows lowered. “But Lady Masuho has become a nun, so it shouldn't be too much of a problem…”

“Quite the opposite. She let down her guard because she's a nun now and showed her face, and I'm convinced that's going to backfire on her.”

Sumio couldn't help but to agree with Hamayuu’s argument in his mind. Masuho no Susuki had never cut corners when it came to her appearance when she had still been a candidate to become Wakamiya's wife, always dressed in tremendously splendid outfits.

However, ever since she had decided to serve Hamayuu as her Lady in Waiting, she had come to prefer plain outfits with subdued colors. But she wasn’t the princess renowned as the most beautiful in Yamauchi for nothing. Far from diminishing her appearance, it had actually come to highlight her own natural charm and in turn made her stand out even more than before.

The events of the day had been no different in that regard. The young noblemen's eyes had been hopelessly glued on her the entire time as they passed on the medicine, however brief a moment it had been.

“It's at my discretion as her master to decide whether she returns to secular life or not, after all. Wait for it, I assure you there'll be letters arriving nonstop to Cherry Blossom Palace from tomorrow onwards,” Hamayuu declared as her lips curved upwards.

Wakamiya tilted his head with an ‘uhm’. “And looking at you, it seems you're more than eager to receive such proposals for Lady Masuho?”

“Of course I am! It's Masuho no Susuki we're talking about! To make such a beautiful and good-natured woman waste her life away serving me is no hobby of mine. It would be such a shame, who could do that?” Hamayuu yelled at him. “That said, I have no plans to give her away to some no-good noble. To marry Masuho no Susuki is to quite literally gain the Western House as your ally. There should be someone, right? Someone ready-made for her, in need of the Western House's influence.”

Wakamiya, who had seemingly realized where the conversation was going, grimaced. “Hey……”

“It's a good opportunity. I've told you this many times before, but you really should be taking Masuho no Susuki as your concubine.”

Wakamiya, faced with his legal wife's keen glare, sighed. He was clearly sick of it. “And I've told you this many times before. As nice as gaining the Western House as my ally sounds, the West-affiliated nobles will undoubtedly get carried away if I do that.”

“Do you really think you have the leeway to say that in your current situation? You barely have any allies and, to make matters worse, you have political enemies everywhere. Shouldn't you secure your position first, even if that means turning a blind eye to those who use their lineage to throw their weight around?”

“And I’m telling you that's absolutely not a problem I can turn a blind eye to. This is a topic that concerns the future course of the Imperial Family, I must not cheap out on my methods.”

“You say that, but where's the meaning in that if you get killed for taking things too slowly?”

The conversation had gotten to a point beyond the realm where Sumio could even dare to open his beak. And so, under their bodyguard's watchful gaze, their very un-couple-like argument kept escalating further and further.

“Don't fuck with me, what's even your problem with Masuho no Susuki!? That girl will certainly be a good mother. If I were a man, I would have taken her as my legal wife without hesitation! Are you freaking blind?” Hamayuu picked Wakamiya up by the collar.

“Your logic is off. It's not like I have any problem with Lady Masuho.”

“Of course you don't! If you had said otherwise, I would have had to do you the favor of destroying your sorry ass here and now.”

“Wait a moment. What even are you to Lady Masuho?”

“I'm Masuho no Susuki's master and your wife. It's me of all people who's telling you it's fine to go with it. What other issue can you have to not take her as your concubine?”

“It's nothing but issues. Anyway, I’m not taking Lady Masuho as my concubine, I won't back down on this.”

While he didn't resist Hamayuu's grip, Wakamiya remained otherwise unyielding. Hamayuu finally clicked her tongue and, all of a sudden, dropped him. Sumio took some newly poured cold brewed tea and quietly placed it in front of them.

——The exchange had been a bit violent, but Sumio knew very well that, for this oddball couple, it was just some form of play.

Hamayuu promptly accepted the glass teacup and drank it all in one go. That done, she stared at Wakamiya with squinted eyes. “...... I’ve realized as much, you know? That the Western House's Lord and Heir must be begging you to take her as your concubine. Won't it become a problem for you to disregard their wishes like that?”

Wakamiya, who had been quite a bit more well-mannered while drinking his tea, left the translucent cup on the floor with a clink. “Even if that's the case, my stance is the same. I can't take Lady Masuho as my concubine, given how it will affect power dynamics.”

“No matter what?”

“No matter what.”

Hamayuu’s face was one of disappointment—and it most definitely wasn't an act on her part. “Then, what are you planning to do? To keep Masuho no Susuki as a nun is just too much of a waste.”

This time around, Wakamiya nodded in agreement. “I feel the same, yes. If possible, I would want her to play a role in strengthening the ties between the Four Houses.”

Hamayuu's expression changed as she focused on giving him an earnest proposal. “Are there any suitable young noblemen among the Four Houses, though? At least for ones that come to mind now, there's only Aotsugu from the East and Kiei from the North, but……”

“Both of them must already have legal wives, and there's no way I'm sending Lady Masuho away as a concubine.”

“Then we are left with no option but to extend our criteria to branch families. That said, that comes with a problem—finding someone with a high enough status to fit in with the Western House.”

Both of them groaned as they wondered what to do. Sumio, who had been listening to the conversation in silence until then, cleared his throat lightly.

“Sumio, what's wrong?”

“Do you have any good ideas, perhaps?”

They both turned towards him with the same exact expression on their faces. Sumio smiled wryly.

“...... I don't know if it's a good idea, but—I do have a suggestion.”

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Green rain fell ruthlessly all over the Unbending Reed Monastery's roof tiles, but the rain drops dripping unceasingly from the building’s eaves were clear and its interior remained isolated from the grey world outside the walls.

“Sorry, Yukiya, you shouldn’t have to help me like this,” Shigemaru said with a frown, his big body hunched over. Yukiya, however, laughed lightly in response.

“It's fine. We’ll take care of this in just a minute.”

Due to the rain and at the Instructors’ convenience, the day's practical courses had been replaced instead by theory and, while Yukiya himself had finished the assignment quickly, he had chosen to stay to patiently explain everything to his best friend, who was as compassionate as he was bad at theory subjects.

To become part of the organization in charge of the protection of Yamauchi's rulers—the Yamauchi Guard—you had to first enter its training facility, the Unbending Reed Monastery. It required the recommendation of someone influential and enduring three long years of training, so it was a grueling process and dropouts were a matter of daily life.

They had to learn not only arts like swordsmanship or archery, but other practical skills like horsemanship—where they learned how to ride horses and how to fly themselves—and theoretical subjects like Etiquette and Law as well. This methodology was known as the Six Arts, Four Techniques and Two Studies.

They had plenty to learn about theory during their first year at the Monastery, but their studies were much more focused on the practical from the second year onwards. In other words, the evening was essentially a break for the trainees, at least once they were finished with their mostly meaningless assignment, and had in consequence mostly gone on their merry ways to relax as they pleased.

Class was almost over by the time Yukiya and Shigemaru had managed to clean up the latter's assignment barely enough to be above reproach. They had just stood up, planning to get a snack from the kitchen, when someone else interrupted them.

“Hey, Yukiya! I've heard you have gotten quite popular lately, right?” One of their fellow trainees called out to them.

Yukiya turned towards him. “Wait, popular? What do you mean?”

“Oh, don't play innocent!”

“We heard about it, you know? That you've been getting love letters nonstop ever since the Boys’ Festival happened.”

“They must be from the girls working at Cherry Blossom Palace, aren't they?”

The group of boys looked at Yukiya, all wearing sarcastic smiles. “Well, what can you do? An esteemed nobleman like the star shooter at the Horse Racing Ceremony isn't like the rest of us mortals.”

——So they were jealous and wanted to tease him, huh?

At least then the discussion wasn’t likely to be that serious. Realizing that, Yukiya's lips curved into a wry smile. It wasn’t him who answered their provocations, however, but Shigemaru. “He has rejected them all, though, so I don't think ‘popular' is the right word for it, really.”

Still, Shigemaru’s nonchalant explanation was met with shocked screams. “You gotta be kidding me!”

“What are you? An idiot!?”

“Why would you even waste such an opportunity!?”

“Why become the star shooter if you’re going to do that then!?”

With everyone around snapping at him, Yukiya retorted with disgust. “I didn't really become the star shooter because I wanted to, you know. There just wasn't anybody else who could take on the role, so it fell on me in the end.”

At the moment, a certain young man was reading a book at a corner of the dining hall. His shoulders twitched uncomfortably the second Yukiya spoke, but none of the boys gathering around Yukiya noticed that. Instead, they let out a collective and overdramatic sigh of aggravation. “What a waste.”

“You could have, I don't know, met them at least once?” Despite not being the actual recipients of the letters, they all acted as if it were a personal offense. It was annoying beyond belief.

“But it would be a problem if I did that and they got actually serious about me,” Yukiya hastily argued back, and the mood of the entire hall noticeably dropped.

“This bastard……”

“You piece of shit……”

“You better pay for what you just said one day! And as painfully as possible, I hope……”

Everyone cursed him, their words full of resentment. Among them, only Shigemaru glanced at Yukiya's expression with clear curiosity. “Then, what kind of girl would you actually consider dating?”

“Huh? Shige, are you curious as well?”

“Sure I am! You never talk about these things.”

Faced with his best friend's unexpected interrogation, Yukiya scratched his cheek. “Uhm, well—She must have a birth family to rely on in case something happens to me. Her social status must be similar to mine, and the marriage must be politically advantageous in some shape or form. Plus, she must be able to assess situations calmly and to promise me she won't ever drag romantic feelings into the relationship no matter what. If it were someone like that, I would at least consider it. A bit.”

As far as Yukiya was concerned, his answer was simply serious and sincere, but the looks on everyone’s faces had all simultaneously gone stiff. “That—wasn't what we meant, you know?”

“It wasn’t anything that serious! Just say you like fair skin or a big chest or something.”

What the hell was wrong with these guys? This entire conversation was now genuinely pissing Yukiya off. “Who even cares about appearances? Everyone ages and gets wrinkles, so it doesn’t change anything? To embrace a beauty, just go to the Red Light District?”

Among an otherwise deafening silence, a low groan escaped from the lips of one of Yukiya's fellow trainees. “...... If I ever run into any girl daring to say that Yukiya is cool or something like that, I’ll just do her a favor and stop her right then and there. No matter what it takes.”

“Same here.”

“Oh, really? If my little sister said she wanted to date Yukiya, I wouldn't actually ask her to reconsider—”

“What the hell, Shige? You’re way too soft on Yukiya!”

“Aren’t you sorry for your sister? Because I sure am now!”

Everyone found themselves at a loss for words as Shigemaru gave Yukiya a somewhat troubled look. “Still, you would be marrying her, why forbid romantic feelings between each other? That’s such a lonely way to live, I feel.”

Yukiya laughed at that. He knew very well how cold-hearted he sounded, and his expression made it obvious.

“Sharing your life with someone just over some ephemeral passion won’t ever make you happy. Once the heat of love dies down, all that remains is a cold, hopeless reality.” That being the case, to not ever drag such feelings into the agreement was much more preferable. Those were Yukiya’s genuine thoughts on the matter. “Besides, politics are going to play a part in any wedding a noble like me could have. There's nothing lonely or fun about it. I don't want anything out of this hypothetical woman—and if she wanted something from me, then that would only trouble me.”

The ruckus surrounding him had been replaced with uncomfortable silence. Shigemaru, meanwhile, looked at Yukiya with pity in his eyes and murmured to him in a quiet and confidential manner, “I wonder, what kind of girl would make you actually fall in love……?”

“I don’t believe such a person will ever appear, and it's not like I want it either.”

Suddenly, a loud thump resounded across the hall. The young man reading, who had remained silent until then, had slammed the book against his desk and stood up in a rage.

“Akeru? What's wrong?”

Akeru, however, didn't pay any mind to the confused trainees questioning him.

“Chihaya!” he raised his voice with clear irritation. “The rain is but a drizzle now. Come with me, I’m going to train.”

In response to Akeru’s calling, Chihaya opened one of his eyes with clear annoyance—up until then, he had been leaning against the wall with his eyes closed.

Those who didn’t know the finer details of how they had met often concluded that Chihaya was Akeru’s attendant or something of the sort, given he was a lowborn and he attended the Monastery thanks to the support of the Western House, Akeru’s family; but the Unbending Reed Monastery was a meritocracy. The truth was very different—a genius like Chihaya couldn’t stand to watch as Akeru fumbled due to his tendency to lag behind in practical courses and so he curtly looked after him.

While Chihaya would have usually retaliated and poked some fun at Akeru for giving him orders like that, he didn’t this time. He seemed to have an inkling of why Akeru was so upset. His expression instead stuck on resignation, Chihaya followed after Akeru as he left the dining hall without ever opening his mouth.

Although there was rain, the drops didn’t have much strength and the sun was out with no wind.

The determining factor of a horse’s speed wasn’t so much its quality but rather its rider’s skill. Akeru sat on Chihaya’s back, who had transformed into a crow, and flew as fast as he could towards the shooting range. The wind howled as it slammed against his face. Once they reached the landmark Akeru used as a guideline, he lifted his body and drew the bow—but his aim was off and the arrow failed to hit its mark.

“Dammit!”

They passed by the target and Akeru raised his voice again. “One more!” But the giant crow didn’t caw in agreement, instead aiming to head back to the ground. “No, Chihaya, wait! Where are you going!?”

Chihaya glided down and threw Akeru to the ground with a shake once they had almost reached the ground.

“Ouch! What are you doing!?”

“Now, calm down.” Chihaya returned to human form mid-air and smoothly landed right in front of Akeru, who was lying on his butt. That done, Chihaya said matter-of-factly, “Rushing it won’t get you anywhere. Or do you want to fall off a horse again?”

As childish as he knew it was, Akeru couldn’t help but to pout in answer. “But…… If I stay like this, I may not even be capable of taking the Trial of Mist……”

“And you have more than half a year left before that. That’s not why you’re panicking—it’s Yukiya, right?”

Akeru couldn’t argue against that—Chihaya was right on the mark. After all, the first candidate proposed for the role of star shooter at the Boys’ Festival hadn’t been Yukiya, but the scion of the Western House and Masuho no Susuki’s younger brother—Akeru.

It was only once Akeru proved incapable to hit the target no matter what he tried that, left with no other alternatives, the role fell on Yukiya, who originally had no intention whatsoever to participate in the event. For Akeru, it had all been beyond vexing. So much so that he hadn’t even attended the horse racing event altogether, as the idea of acting as Yukiya’s opening performer together with the other noblemen was too much for him to bear.

Yukiya’s social standing wasn’t as high as Akeru’s, but he was still directly related to the current Lord of the Northern House and hence a proper member of the high nobility. However, he had grown up among the rural nobles of North, famed by their warrior clans, and so he was leagues above Akeru at skills in arms. Akeru hadn’t paid much mind to this difference back when they had first joined the Monastery, but the more time passed, the more obvious and wider the gap became.

“There’s no point in comparing yourself to Yukiya. If I had to guess, his eyesight is just that good.” Chihaya was usually a man of few words, so why did he have to become all talkative only at times like these? Or so Akeru inwardly thought in anger. Not like that stopped Chihaya from talking. “And that’s something you’re just either born with, or not. It’s not a problem that hard work can somehow fix.”

After they advanced to their second year, Akeru had gone through a growth spurt that had thrown off his sense of balance. While the same had happened to Yukiya—in fact, he had grown a lot more than him—he had seemingly surmounted the issue with ease. This wasn’t just a matter of eyesight—Yukiya’s talent was, no matter how one looked at it, superior to Akeru’s.

Chihaya sighed at Akeru’s silence. “Don’t you sulk like that. You may be worse than Yukiya at physical skills, yes, but at the very least you still have the better personality.”

He had a serious expression on his face, which actually made it harder to tell whether he truly meant his words or it was all just a joke. Quite the sloppy consolation.

“Thank you, I guess,” Akeru replied bitterly.

Then, Chihaya frowned. “Wait a minute….. Is there something else?”

“...... Nothing in particular.” Akeru looked away in a pointless attempt to avoid Chihaya’s gaze, knowing he could be strangely perceptive. Chihaya, meanwhile, glared at him in question, seemingly unwilling to back off that easily. “—Ah, fine! But you have to keep it a secret for now, got it? The truth is that my sister has gotten some marriage proposals.”

“Oh?”

“And the main candidate as of now is—Yukiya, apparently.”

Chihaya’s eyes went wide open.

“...... Now, that’s—” His words died down there, but Akeru could feel Chihaya’s condolences clear in the air. “To have that as your brother-in-law is……”

“It’s a humiliating prospect, but that’s still fine. But you heard how cruel he was when talking about a prospective wife…”

If his sister were to actually marry Yukiya, Akeru genuinely believed that she would lead a horribly unhappy life. However, his sister wasn’t yet aware of it and the ones actually moving the proposal forwards were their families, so Akeru couldn’t even protest. Hence, he ended up essentially running away.

Chihaya crossed his arms, apparently having grasped the subtext of Akeru’s words. “So that’s why you acted like that before.”

“Childish, right?”

“I do get why, though.”

Akeru, still on the ground, held his head in despair. He hated this entire situation. “What should I do if Yukiya and my sister end up actually engaged……?”

Chihaya was watching Akeru with pity in his eyes as he groaned pathetically when someone else joined the conversation. “—Well, you have no more need to worry, it seems.”

The voice came suddenly and out of apparently nowhere. Akeru raised his head in surprise. There, under the shade of the training hall’s building, he found a familiar face.

“Sumio!” He was an alumnus of the Unbending Reed Monastery. Despite his lowborn status, he had graduated as the first of his class and entered service as His Highness Wakamiya’s bodyguard. Sumio approached them, raising his hand in greeting as Chihaya did the same with his eyes. Flustered, Akeru stood up. “Sorry for my rudeness. Uhm, still, why are you here?”

“I was searching for you, actually. As I said just a moment ago, this concerns your sister’s marriage. It was canceled.”

“Eh—?” A screech escaped Akeru’s lips. “Canceled? What the hell happened?”

Sumio scratched his head bashfully. “Well, about that. We thought that Yukiya wouldn’t go against it as long as it was an order, so the matter was first brought up to Masuho no Susuki and—she absolutely hated the idea.”

⊛　　　　　⊛　　　　　 ⊛

Much like they had expected, letters written by the many young noblemen who had fallen in love at first sight with Masuho no Susuki arrived like a veritable storm to Cherry Blossom Palace. Everyone would ask for her to return to secular life and for being given the honor of taking her as their legal wife.

While Masuho no Susuki herself paid none of them any mind whatsoever, a request to discuss the matter from her master, Sakura no Kimi and Wakamiya was a different matter altogether. Apparently, she had meekly listened to their talk about marriage in complete silence at first. Her behavior, however, shifted the very second Yukiya’s name came up as the prospective husband.

“You have to be kidding me! Why else would Yukiya’s name even come up here?” Masuho no Susuki asked them with her big eyes wide open, as dumbfounded as she was furious. “And here I was wondering what prompted a formal discussion! I was willing to go through with it if it was all like, a huge issue coming up among the Four Houses with my marriage as the only real way to solve it. But, no! You’re telling me it’s with Yukiya of all people! Are you messing with me!?” Masuho no Susuki screamed, boiling with anger. “This is a pointless marriage, no matter how you put it! What were you even thinking to propose it?”

Sakura no Kimi had apparently not expected such an explosive reaction, as her bold and fearless self was nowhere to be seen. She was unusually pale. “Well, but you see, Masuho no Susuki! You’re at the peak of your beauty. I can’t bring myself to keep you here sequestered at Cherry Blossom Palace, so……”

“And that’s none of your business!” Masuho no Susuki spouted with anger, very much unlike her usual self as well. “I became a nun very much willingly, thank you, and yet you’re ignoring my wishes altogether and moving this entire thing along without me!?”

She glared at Hamayuu, her red, glossy lips twisted into a grimace. This time around, Wakamiya, with a somewhat troubled look on his face, tried to appease her instead. “Please, do at least try to look at it from the bright side instead. It’s because this isn’t a matter of necessity that we didn’t plan to move things forwards any further without your approval. We just thought that maybe, if it was Yukiya, you wouldn’t be wholly against the idea…”

The second Wakamiya said that, however, Masuho no Susuki’s expression went blank. “...... What did you say?”

“Am I wrong?”

“Who suggested such an idiotic thing?” she asked in a quiet voice. It made it all the more terrifying.

Even Wakamiya, ignorant as he was of the intricacies of romantic love, seemed to have realized how bad the situation was, albeit belatedly. He immediately closed his mouth, but his eyes wandered and, for a second, pointed in Sumio's direction. Masuho no Susuki turned around violently and glared at Sumio, who had been waiting on the side in silence.

“I see. Now that I think about it, you would be the only one in a position to say such a thing.”

Resigned to his fate, Sumio nodded lightly in acknowledgement. “My apologies, I have no excuse.”

“Why?”

“Your eyes were following Yukiya around during the Boys’ Festival.”

“That’s—I mean, yes, he did an impressive job as the star shooter, but I was moved seeing him all grown up as one would a little brother, not… it most definitely wasn’t like that. So you better keep all those vulgar suspicions off your mind!”

The more Masuho no Susuki spoke, the more she got worked up. Her lips were trembling and her eyes, the deep color of amber, were glistening.

“...... I’m extremely sorry. I jumped to conclusions.”

“I’m not forgiving you. This is an insult to both Yukiya and I.” Masuho no Susuki, who had just been taking slow breaths in an attempt to calm herself down, stood up in a fury as she pointedly glared at Sumio. “I’ve thought this for a while, but I can’t keep it to myself any longer after this. I have nothing but disdain for that side of yours, don’t come close to me ever again!”

After crying out those last few words, Masuho no Susuki shed a tear and left Cherry Blossom Palace.

“Hey, wait, Masuho no Susuki!” All flustered, Hamayuu went after her. Wakamiya and Sumio were left behind in an uncomfortable silence.

⊛　　　　　⊛　　　　　 ⊛

“—And that’s what happened. Masuho no Susuki made Wakamiya and Sakura no Kimi promise they wouldn’t ever again push anything marriage-related on her without permission, so I don’t think there will be any more engagements coming for the time being.”

Akeru couldn’t stop himself from breathing a sigh of relief. “I see…”

His heart broke for his sister—to think that she had hated the idea to the point of crying. Still, it was a much more preferable experience than to have such an undesired marriage actually happen. His mood lifted knowing the whole talk was no more, but he found that the anguish was now replaced by resentment towards Sumio, the very source of the problem.

“Still, why did you even think Yukiya was right for my sister? He’s a cold-hearted bastard—he said one of his conditions for a wife is to not bring love into the marriage. There’s no way he would ever be a good fit for her, right?”

While his tone came out slightly accusatory, Sumio didn’t seem at all bothered by that. Instead, he gave him a weak smile. “I know that’s what Yukiya says.”

“Then, why?”

“Well, it’s precisely because he says those things that I thought it would work out……”

Incapable of comprehending what Sumio was trying to tell them, Akeru looked at him dumbfounded.

“What do you mean?” Chihaya asked instead, and Sumio groaned in answer.

“Well, you see, if we’re talking about Yukiya’s harsh manners—in a manner of speaking, to me it feels like the logic at work is the same as Wakamiya’s when he asked Sakura no Kimi in marriage.” According to Sumio, when Wakamiya asked Hamayuu to become Sakura no Kimi, his words were tremendously cutting. “‘I’ll never be a good husband for you and it doesn’t mean I’m in love with you. Depending on politics, I may have to take on a concubine or I may have to betray you. Despite it all, you won’t be allowed to complain. If you’re still fine with it, then I’ll take you’—so he said.”

“Now that too is… quite the love confession.”

After hearing such a thing, what woman would gladly accept the terms? None, as far as Akeru was concerned. He couldn’t fathom what Princess Hamayuu was even thinking when she agreed to that.

“Well, it’s a terrible way to say it when you look at it from outside, right? But I knew the situation Wakamiya was in when he asked her that, so to me those words were just him being fully honest with her.”

Wakamiya had plenty of enemies at the Imperial Court and a change of government could happen no matter how much Wakamiya fought back and, regardless of his wishes, he could well find himself in a situation where his only real option was abandoning his wife. In fact, Wakamiya could easily be the one to die first. As a ruler, he could be in a position where calling someone special, whispering his love, was not allowed to him.

——‘Even then, would you still be my wife?’

“In those circumstances, promising her certain happiness would have been the same as deceiving her.”

‘It will be hard going, but I still want you by my side. I want you to choose me fully knowing where we stand’.

“Personally, I can place my trust much more easily on someone like that than on some irresponsible guy willing to spout sweet words he doesn’t mean. And as far as I see it, Yukiya is the same,” Sumio said quietly. “There were apparently some very difficult circumstances surrounding his birth and, on top of that, he swore his loyalty to Wakamiya. He has made his peace with not knowing what may happen to him tomorrow, but to not make a spouse unhappy means being careful like that.”

Akeru was left speechless. Meanwhile, Chihaya just watched Sumio intently with an unreadable expression.

Sumio sighed sadly. “Besides, and this is between you and I, I was there as Wakamiya and his wife thought of marrying Masuho no Susuki off without even the slightest concern for her own opinion on the matter. I wasn’t fine with that, as you may guess, so I just wanted things to at least go in a slightly better direction for her, but……”

It had, by all appearances, the opposite effect.

Still feeling conflicted after Sumio’s explanation, Akeru timidly spoke, “My sister must be of a mind to only be with someone she loves, so…… of course she would be angry at being paired with someone willing to say such horrible things, someone like Yukiya. Even if he has a proper reason for it.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Sumio murmured, frowning ever so slightly with his gaze distant, lost somewhere else. “...... And yet, the look in Masuho no Susuki’s eyes when she looked at Yukiya was so intense.”

He must have been looking at her a lot, Akeru suddenly noticed. Before he could follow that line of thought, however, Sumio raised his head and gave them a bright smile, full of energy. “Anyway, I just came to tell you that. You won’t need to worry about your sister for a while.”

“You have my heartfelt gratitude.”

“But now that I’m here, I guess I may as well watch you train,” Sumio announced cheerfully.

Before Akeru could say a word, Chihaya answered, “We’ll be in your care then. Could you give him an example of what to do?”

“Sure thing. Are you fine with being the horse?” Silently, Chihaya transformed into a crow. Sumio looked at him with satisfaction and nodded. “Good. Then, let’s get going.”

Chihaya, with Sumio on his back, flew high into the sky. He took quite the long detour, putting so much distance between him and the training spot that it was almost overdoing it. Akeru found himself thinking about how they must have gotten quite far when, suddenly, the blurry shadow of a bird came into his sight. He let out a gasp.

While Akeru had seen Chihaya fly as a crow innumerable times during training, it was the first time he had seen him speed up like that. From what he was seeing, it had to be about as fast as his top speed without anyone riding him. It had to be too much—how was Sumio even going to shoot a bow while riding that fast?

The rider and mount approached Akeru by the minute, but Sumio was leaning towards Chihaya’s back so perfectly he was virtually melded into it, making it impossible to tell he was even there. Right as Akeru realized that, Sumio lifted his body from his mount, as light as a feather dancing on the wind.

In a matter of seconds, Sumio pulled out an arrow and shot it. It was so fast that Akeru couldn’t even tell how he had done so in the first place—his eyes couldn’t follow the motion. By the time he processed what had happened, Chihaya and Sumio had already flown past him like a storm, and an arrow adorned with white feathers had landed right in the middle of the target. Sumio was terrifyingly quick and precise.

“Did you get to see it properly?” Sumio asked as he and Chihaya returned and the latter relaxed his wings, but Akeru just stood there dumbfounded. He couldn’t believe what he had just seen.

“...... I didn’t quite get what I saw.”

Sumio jumped off from Chihaya’s back, and the latter immediately returned to human form. “No wonder. It’s the first time I managed to fly that fast when ridden.”

“Well, appearances aside, I’m part of the Yamauchi Guard, you know? It would be an embarrassment if I lost against a mere trainee,” Sumio laughed well-naturedly.

“You were even better than Yukiya. You could have well taken the role of star shooter at the horse racing ceremony instead!”

“Me? No way! I’m not a noble, remember?” Sumio retorted without hesitation and Akeru’s chest tightened as if someone had clutched his heart. “Hey, Akeru. I know Yukiya is brilliant, so I understand why you’re panicking. But some things people are just born with or without. There’s nothing more futile than to compare yourself and envy others over something like that, something you can’t hope to fix. So, don’t you think it would be better to consider what you can achieve with what you actually possess instead?”

——Most likely, the man in front of him felt the truth of those words much more acutely than Akeru ever did.

Akeru remained silent as Sumio watched over him—his eyes were so gentle. “Chihaya and I are above you as far as talent as a warrior goes, but no matter how skilled we are, when it comes down to politics, we have no footing whatsoever to stand against the men at the Imperial Court.”

“That’s……”

“You know what I mean, right? We don’t have the status.”

In politics, Akeru was acknowledged just by virtue of his birth. But being told so just made him feel like Sumio was mocking him. “But that’s—!”

“You were born as a noble here in Yamauchi and it’s fine for you to use that as your weapon. We have our bodies and you have your status, what’s the big difference? The problem here is what you use that weapon for, don’t you think?”

It felt like Sumio’s keen eyes were piercing him. Akeru, still unconvinced by his arguments, refused to answer.

“I think that it would be a waste for you to get greedy and attempt to do too much at once, coming out the other side achieving everything by halves and mentally crushed. You have the high status and the bright mind, plus a virtuous character to not let that go to your head. What you lack may look desirable, but you realize no amount of complaining will change that, right?” Chihaya clapped his hands wordlessly. His look was the one of someone who had been wanting to say that all along. “Akeru, you may not be able to become a good bodyguard, but you can become a good vassal. Are you really unhappy with that?”

It was as if Sumio was testing him. His question made Akeru feel like crying.

“...... No.”

“That’s good then.”

And yet—and yet! Akeru bit his lips. “Still, it’s so frustrating!”

“—It is, right? Frustrating,” Sumio repeated the word as he sighed, his tone giving him away.

Afterwards, once Akeru ran to retrieve the training saddle and Sumio was watching him go, Chihaya approached him without a sound. “Are you truly fine with this?”

Sumio turned around with a start. Faced with Chihaya’s silent stare, a forced smile appeared on his lips—the boy had seen through him, it seemed.

“...... It’s not like I can do anything about it.” It was the one thing he couldn’t help or change. No matter what he did. “She may hate me and give me the cold shoulder, but I at least thought it would be fine for me to wish her a bit of happiness.”

Ah, and yet—it was so frustrating.

As he spoke, Sumio slowly shot an arrow. An impressive shot that landed right in the middle of the target, as if it had sucked it in.

—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---

1: The original title is しのぶひと, in hiragana, which I'm interpreting by pure logic as 偲ぶ人. The main meaning of the verb 偲ぶ is to recall, which is what you may find in japanese-to-english dictionaries, but it has more than one meaning. The second, which I consider the intended here, is "心引かれて、思いをめぐらす。慕わしく思う" or "To muse of a heart stolen. To yearn."

2: The Boys’ Festival (端午の節句) or Boys’ Day celebration, also known as the Feast of Flags, takes place every May 5th in Japan. Within the story of Yatagarasu, it’s noteworthy for its second day being when Wakamiya, Yukiya and Kazumi go to spy on Cherry Blossom Palace and Yukiya is thrown down the cliff, being seen transforming by Asebi and the others. Wakamiya was, in fact, supposed to visit that day bringing the offerings.

3: Medicine Hunting (薬狩) was an actual component of the Boys’ Festival in ancient times, although it’s now lost to time. They would indeed get deers’ antlers, mugwort, irises and similar medicinal materials. The scent bags were also a historical element of the festivities, being made with the gathered materials with the idea of helping with keeping people healthy during the following rainy season. These scent bags would stay until September 9th, the Chrysanthemum Festival.

4: The term refers explicitly to Shinto rituals, but Yamauchi has no concept of Shinto.

5: The nine-colored deer (九色の鹿) has its roots as a sacred beast in a buddhist jakata tale, but it’s also known to appear in the Konjaku Monogatarishū (今昔物語集), a recopilation of japanese folktales written during the 12th century and other ancient tales. Much like the name implies, its fur is supposed to be of nine colors.

6: Sumio here is quoting the Romance of the Three Kingdoms. The specific excerpt (which has since become a saying in Japan) originally referenced Lü Meng, a general who came to serve under Sun Quan, during his youth. It’s essentially used to express that you must never underestimate how fast a young man can grow, both literally and metaphorically. “Outer book” here means any book coming from Outside of Yamauchi.

#yatagarasu #yatagarasu series #the raven does not choose its master #karasu wa aruji wo erabanai #Translation: Chapter of the Fireflies

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pankowcrumbs · 3 months ago

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The Sandcastle Pact X Elizabeth Olsen (Fem reader- Requested)

MasterList

Marvel MasterList

When I got Elizabeth’s text “Fancy a beach day? Just us. Like the old times.” I couldn’t help but smile.

It had been years since we’d spent a summer together like we used to. Back then, every July and August were stitched together with sand between our toes, salt-crusted swimsuits, and sunburnt shoulders. We’d build sandcastles for hours, invent ridiculous games with overly dramatic rules, and race into the waves with nothing but joy and sunscreen in our eyes.

Now we were adults, schedules crammed full, friendships often reduced to the occasional catch-up over text. But the second I saw her name pop up with that message, I didn’t hesitate.

Of course I’m in. What time?

The beach she’d picked was tucked away a hidden gem only locals seemed to know. It was quiet, peaceful, framed by dunes and swaying sea grass. The kind of place where time slowed down, where you could hear your own thoughts or simply let the waves drown them out.

Elizabeth was already there when I arrived, barefoot in the sand, hair tucked beneath a wide straw hat, sunglasses perched on her nose. She turned when she heard me, her face lighting up with that familiar, open grin.

“You made it!”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” I said, setting down my bag beside hers. “You even brought the old beach towels.”

“I dug them out of my mum’s attic,” she laughed. “They still smell like childhood.”

We laid them out under the shade of a half-tilted umbrella and kicked off our sandals. It didn’t take long before we were in the water, shrieking like kids again as we splashed each other and dove under the waves. The cool sea tugged at us gently, and for a moment, I forgot we were grown-ups with deadlines and real-world worries.

When we finally trudged out of the surf, hair dripping and cheeks aching from smiling too much, Elizabeth turned to me with a glint in her eye.

“Do you remember The Sandcastle Pact?”

I laughed. “How could I forget? Rule one: no grown-up ideas. Rule two: no peeking at the other person’s castle until time’s up.”

“And rule three…” she said, dramatically placing her hand over her heart, “The castle with the best moat wins eternal bragging rights.”

“Exactly,” I grinned. “Are we doing this?”

“Oh, we’re doing this.”

We dropped to our knees in the sand, grabbing at handfuls like we were eight again. For the next hour, we worked in mostly-silent concentration, only occasionally breaking into laughter when a wall collapsed or a crab scuttled a little too close. I felt the sun on my back, the grit under my nails, and the kind of pure contentment that only comes from being with someone who’s known every version of you.

When time was up, we revealed our creations. Hers had turrets made from upturned buckets, little shell flags, and a moat so deep.

Mine was crooked but charming, with a winding seaweed path leading to a central tower shaped like a cupcake a nod to the time we’d tried (and failed) to open a beachside “castle bakery” for passing strangers.

We declared it a draw.

“I forgot how much fun this was,” she said, flopping onto her towel beside me.

“Me too. I didn’t realise how much I missed it… missed you.”

She turned her head to look at me, her expression soft. “I’ve missed you too. Life just got busy.”

“It always does.”

We lay there for a while, listening to the waves and the distant cry of gulls, letting the quiet fill in all the things we didn’t need to say out loud.

“I’m really glad we did this,” I murmured eventually.

“Me too,” she said. “Let’s not wait another ten years before the next sandcastle battle.”

“Deal.”

She reached out, her pinky hooking around mine just like we used to do when we were little. No words, just that small, binding promise.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting everything in gold. And in that moment, I wasn’t thinking about work, or time, or how rare days like this were. I was just a girl on the beach with her best friend, heart full, toes sandy, and a castle proudly crumbling beside us.

Some parts of growing up are hard. But some, like this they’re magic.

And sometimes, the best kind of friendship is the one that can still laugh in the sand and remember every silly rule you made up at age nine.

#fanfiction #reader #x reader #one shot #requested #elizabeth olsen x you #elizabeth olsen x female reader #elizabeth olsen x fem reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth #oslen #wanda #wanda maximoff #marvel #marvel cast

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madaqueue · 1 year ago

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eternally, yours

chapter 2 | protection

synopsis: 'forever' is a peculiar concept - how can something persist, unchanged, throughout time? when our bodies halt their aging, do our minds continue to evolve? do our hearts? choso was comfortable with his version of forever, one of solitary loneliness; that is, until he meets you. forced to confront the harsh realities of being human, the fragility of life, his definition of 'forever' changes as he stares down the barrel of eternity.

pairing: vampire!choso kamo x f!reader

themes/content: non-curse modern au. fluff. language, alcohol consumption, brief stalking/catcalling, mentions of blood. 18+, MDNI

word count: 2.8k

a/n: the gang (me) craving domesticity? it's more likely than you think!

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“Wake uppppp!” a giddy scream echoes across your bedroom as you suddenly jolt awake to a tiny body careening towards you. Megumi’s dark hair tickles your face as he leaps onto you, cushioned by thick blankets, their warmth suddenly ripped from you as he tears them down in an attempt to alert you.

“I’m up, I’m up!” you scream through a laugh as you hold him away from you, cautiously avoiding his injured shoulder still held in place with the dark-blue sling from the prior week’s hospital visit.

Megumi giggles above you, his dimpled cheeks gleaming down at you as he tugs at your hand, pulling you from bed. “I wanna go to the park, pleeeeeease?” he begs.

Ruffling his hair, eyes glancing over the scar digging across his forehead, you jokingly groan. “Okay, but just for a few hours, alright buddy? I’ve got plans tonight, remember?”

His toothy grin widens, an adorable high-pitched squeal of excitement leaving his throat as he hurriedly runs from your room to get ready, a chant of “Yay, yay, yay!” echoing down the hallway.

Rubbing sleep from your eyes, you are perpetually stunned by your brother’s energy, his unending optimism. In spite of his injuries, both visible and invisible, he opens his heart every single day.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

In the heat of the summer sun, you watch Megumi run and play with other kids, a childlike innocence as he leaps across the sand, giggles spilling from the playground. Cicadas chirp in the trees surrounding the bench you currently sit on, hidden under the shade of the overlaying foliage.

Running up to you, breathless, your younger brother manages a choked, “Can I stay a little longer?”

Rummaging through your bag, you toss him the water bottle you packed, his small hands grabbing it and ravenously chugging in insatiable gulps. Shaking your head, you apologetically stand to leave. “You know we can’t, big guy, I’m sorry.”

Despite the water already dribbling down his chin, he smiles, accepting your judgement. “Okay,” he grins. Grabbing your hand, his sweaty fingers intertwining with your own, he walks home next to you, the bounce in his step never wavering.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

As night settles, the hum of chatter fills your ears as you sway in place along the outskirts of the bar, surrounded by your friends. Condensation from your drink dampens the palm of your hand. Despite the high-energy buzz of their conversation, all you can focus on is Megumi.

Is he okay? Should you have left him at home?

“Hey!” one of your friends calls out. “It’s so good to see you!”

A weak smile graces your lips as you nod, a chorus of cheers joining in. “I can’t believe you came out tonight!” “It’s been forever!” “We missed you!”

Has it really been that long? Thinking back as you sip your drink, how long had it been? months? a year? since you allowed yourself to let go like this, to be with your friends, to just sink into the moment; until tonight, you had been too preoccupied taking care of Megumi.

And you still couldn’t even do that right. The thought nags in the back of your mind, guilt settling in your stomach, before a full shot glass is shoved into your hand by one of your friends. Excited yells erupt as you knock it back instinctively, hands suddenly tugging you onto the dance floor.

The music pulses through your body, hips swinging as you chant the lyrics to whatever songs the DJ decided to play. Foggy lights surround you, bright and alluring, pulling you further into the moment. Your body feels light as you hug your friends, pure and innocent bliss shared through your laughs.

When it finally comes time to leave, you part ways with your group, cheers roaring through them as you walk alone down the street towards your apartment, knowing it was too far to walk to your father’s home and too late to call a taxi.

It’s only a few blocks, you try to reassure yourself as the streetlight above you flickers.

Suddenly, footsteps are heard behind you.

It’s no big deal, people walk this way all the time. They’re probably just heading home, same as me.

When the footsteps pick up speed, your heart begins to race in your chest.

Shit.

“Hey sweetheart, wait up,” an unfamiliar voice calls from behind you, sneering in false sincerity at the nickname.

Shit, shit, shit.

Picking up your pace, you desperately try to maintain any distance with the stranger, your mind scrambling in panic. You can’t outrun him, you couldn’t physically beat him in a fight if it came down to it, what are you supposed to do? Just as tears threaten to spill over your lashes in fear, you see someone ahead of you on the street.

A man stands waiting at the bus stop, eyes downturned towards his phone that softly illuminates his face, a gym bag slung over his shoulder. Something about him sends an immediate wave of comfort over you, just enough to think of a semi-logical plan.

“There you are, babe!” you proclaim loudly, hopefully audible to the threatening stranger behind you. Walking confidently up to the somehow more intrinsically trustworthy man ahead of you, you toss your arms around his neck and grab him in a hug, something about his body familiar to you in a deep, indescribable way. “Please, just go with it,” you whisper into his ear.

Initially his body tenses, but as he feels your desperation through the tight grasp you have on him, he relaxes. “Do you need help?” he whispers into your neck.

“Hey, bitch, I’m talking to you!” calls the stranger behind you threateningly.

Nodding desperately, the scent of his cologne finally enters your senses, a spicy warmth tingling your mind as you search for where you recognize it from.

“Then we better make this believable,” he murmurs into you, his voice shockingly deep.

As he pulls you slightly away from him, your eyes finally scan his face as realization sets in - the black eyes, distinctive tattoo, dark hair pulled up - he was unmistakable, the man who had so caringly treated your brother when you were in the emergency room.

Before you can respond he’s leaning forward, his lips pressing against yours. Your eyes flutter closed instinctively as you push yourself into him, his hands finding their place on your lower back as he pulls you closer. Despite the cold of the night air his lips are warm, a soft tenderness to them as they part, allowing your tongue to enter his mouth as the kiss deepens.

Unbeknownst to you, Choso’s gaze remains fixed on the predator behind you, shooting daggers through him as the man scoffs. “Fuck you, whore,” he yells before turning around and disappearing into the night.

A wave of relief crashes over you as his footsteps retreat; yet, Choso doesn’t pull away, his lips lingering for a moment before you finally separate.

“Thanks,” you breathe out, heart still pounding despite the fear that no longer remains in you.

A smirk graces Choso’s features as he looks down at you, his eyes low. “Any time,” he purrs, the richness of his voice making you shiver.

As a moment of silence passes, you realize you’re just staring at him, suddenly processing the encounter. “S-sorry for kissing you,” you stammer, stepping away from him to create space.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he responds.

“I…I know you,” you think aloud. “You took care of my brother, Megumi, at the hospital?”

Pausing, Choso nods. Not that he needs to hesitate - he hadn’t been able to forget about you from the moment he saw you, finding himself standing outside the room you had been in, his feet holding him in the spot where you wrapped your arms around him that night. He hadn’t been able to focus on anything since then, thoughts constantly returning to you no matter what he tried. “I remember you,” he blurts out, hoping the confession isn’t too forthcoming.

Fortunately, a warm smile covers your face as you look up at him. “Dr. Kamo, right?”

He nods again. “But please, just call me Choso.”

“Okay, Choso,” you smile.

God, he thinks he could die right here just from hearing you say his name. The sweetness of your cadence makes his heart flutter as he pushes down a giddy grin.

“Well, thanks again, but I guess I should get home now,” you start to turn away from him, continuing your walk down the dim sidewalk.

Before you can get far, a hand reaches out and firmly grabs your wrist. You pause in your tracks, shocked by the raw strength of his grasp. “Wait,” he murmurs, releasing his grip as you turn to face him. “You can’t go by yourself - I mean, what if that guy shows up again? At least let me walk you home.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course,” he smiles. “I was just waiting for the bus, I’m really not doing anything more important than this.”

Warmth spreads over your body at his kindness, your head gently shaking as you agree.

A sigh of relief, so quiet you barely catch it, leaves his throat at your response. He can’t let you go, not when it’s so dangerous - who would be there to protect you?

Walking in place next to you, the few remaining blocks to your apartment are silent, but something about Choso’s presence puts you at ease, comfortable in the tranquility night brings. Finally reaching your apartment, Choso clears his throat as you turn the key to your door. “Well, I hope you have a good rest of your night, and I hope Megumi’s doing okay,” he speaks before moving to leave.

“Wait,” the word leaves your throat before you can catch it, now your turn to make the man pause in his steps. “I wouldn’t want you walking back to the bus stop all by yourself - after all, it could be dangerous,” you smirk. “Why don’t you just stay here for tonight?”

Joy bubbles in Choso’s chest, exuberant at your offer, but some part of his psyche, in the very back of his mind, screams don’t do this. He shouldn’t - he’s been forced to go to the blood bank an extra two times already since the night he met you, unable to clear his mind until his body was filled with the blood of others. Would he be able to restrain himself now, with you this close?

Swinging the door open, you prod in his silence. “C’mon, it’s late, and it’s dark, just come in Choso.”

Any remaining resolution crumbles as you say his name, a soft “Okay,” falling from his lips as he steps inside, “but I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“Deal,” you grin, flicking the lights on.

His eyes roam over the space, the gentle scent of vanilla hovering through your home. Something about it feels so warm, so unmistakably you.

Suddenly embarrassed at the state you left things in, only able to notice the pile of unwashed dishes in the sink and dirty clothes strewn across your couch, you instinctively push him further inside. “I’ll, uh, go grab some blankets,” you mutter, stepping around him and making your way to the bedroom, pushing piles of your own mess away as you move.

Kicking off his shoes, Choso’s mind races as he settles into your couch, clouded with you, you, you. His fingers gently trace his lips, remembering the way yours had been on them not long ago. He remembers their softness, the slight cherry taste in your mouth, how warm and perfect you felt in his grasp.

“Here,” you toss him a pillow and some blankets from your room, “let me know if it’s too cold or anything for you tonight, or if-”

“It’s perfect, thank you,” he hums, voice barely above a whisper.

“Goodnight, Choso,” you smile before turning back into your room.

“Goodnight.”

Adjusting to form a makeshift bed in your living room, he tries to push down his recurrent thoughts of you, a futile effort. You felt so small in his hold, having to lean up to reach your lips to his, the way your fingertips grazed the back of his neck. The plush comforter above him wafts more of your sweet smell into the air, further intoxicating.

While he doesn’t need to sleep, he spends the hours of the night caught up in ideas of you, his palm resting over his face to cover the place where you kissed him, a feeling he vows to never forget.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

In the morning, his dream-like state is suddenly interrupted by the sound of clattering from the kitchen. Soft curses leave your lips as pans tumble through the cupboard, metallic clanking echoing through your apartment as they hit the ground.

Choso stirs from his place on the couch, rubbing his eyes to focus on you.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” you explain, a sheepish grin on your face.

The sweet smell of syrup suddenly hits him, eyes glancing over to the stove where a mass of pancakes has accumulated.

Walking across the room to stand next to him, you hand him a white mug, the dark fluid in it a stark contrast to the bright ceramic adorned with small, hand-painted flowers. “I didn’t know if you liked coffee, but I just figured I’d make it for you-” you babble.

“Thank you,” he cuts you off, a soft grin forming across his tired features. Lifting the mug to his lips he takes a sip, the warm liquid pouring down his throat.

You know it’s too hot to drink, yet Choso doesn’t seem to react - maybe he just likes hot coffee? Shrugging off the insecurity, simply grateful he accepted your show of affection, you return to your place in front of the stove.

The man rises, his muscles straining against his clothes as he stretches. Your eyes cover his body before you force yourself to pull your gaze away from his taught chest, biceps rippling under his skin-tight shirt. There was something nearly poetic about him, something ancient sculptors strove to capture mirrored in his form.

Still slightly drowsy from the respite of his dreams, he finds himself walking across the kitchen until he hits the counter, seating himself at one of the barstools.

“I hope you’re hungry,” you laugh softly as you fill a plate with pancakes, setting it in front of him. After a moment you flip a few onto your own, pulling the plate across the table to sit next to him.

Again, a comfortable silence falls upon you as you eat your breakfast. Something about having him here, in your home, his hair undone and body relaxed, feels natural, a routine you could see yourself slipping into.

Yet, next to you, Choso struggles to hold himself together. Why today, of all days, did you have to wear those shorts to bed? Moreover, why that t-shirt, one that so perfectly drapes the contours of your body? The domesticity, the familiarity, makes his heart ache for a comfort he can’t have, one he knows he doesn’t deserve.

But the way you kissed him, the way you formed to his body, felt like it was something you had shared for years. You had seen him, felt him, and still chose to be near him; would you still be with him if you knew it all, knew everything?

“Choso,” your voice pulls him from his mental cloud, “if you don’t like my cooking, you can just say so.”

Eyes widening, he finally focuses his gaze downward, observing the mass of flour and syrup beneath him. His fork had been absentmindedly cutting at the meal you served - one he, of course, didn’t have to eat - turning it to mush before your eyes. Guilt overtakes him, the fear of your hatred consuming him before a giggle echoes through the room.

“I’m just kidding, Cho,” you laugh, playfully punching his shoulder.

The nickname, a pleasantry he had never been afforded, fills his body with an impossible warmth. How had you managed to do this so easily, so effortlessly?

Turning his head, he finally focuses on you. “I’m sorry, i-it’s good,” he stutters.

Another laugh leaves your lips, the sound bright against the darkness of the early morning. “Y’know, if there’s a place with food you like better, you could just ask me on a date there.”

You weren’t sure what had come over you, a novel confidence brewing in you as you continued glancing at the man next to you. Some part of your heart was drawn to him, unable to let him leave, needing his approval of you, his desire.

You open your mouth to counter the offer as his silence settles, fearing you had overstepped an unspoken boundary between you, before his voice hits your ears. “Next week?” he asks, his voice low.

“Deal,” you smile at him.

A childlike grin tugs at his cheeks as he looks at you, disbelief fighting with adoration as his eyes cover your form. “Deal,” he repeats.

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carminecherry · 10 months ago

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THE SUMMER HEAT, THE COOL CAFE | mikey sano

this is part one of the series kill the lights

⇝ PAIRING: timeskip!biker!mikey sano x fem!reader

⇝ SERIES SYNOPSIS: after moving by yourself to tokyo, you black out at a party and wake up with a new friend. as she sweeps you up in her fast-paced city life, you feel yourself falling deeper and deeper for her mysterious brother. but something dark is brewing in the city. as his past threatens to resurface, mikey must fight not only physical enemies but the mental battle of his feelings for you. he can't resist you , but could he ever forgive himself if something happened to you? he'll love you selfishly and protect you savagely.

⇝ PART ONE LENGTH: 2.8k words

⇝ PART ONE WARNINGS: N/A (18+ minors do not interact):

all characters are 20+; Alternate Universe! Canon Divergent. you go out for coffee with emma after meeting at a mutual friend's house party. a friendship blossoms, but you can't seem to get a certain biker out of your head.

⇝ AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have been haunted by this mikey fic for almost a year! I hope you all can enjoy the drama and popcorn fiction of the world of the mikey-verse. we'll keep it fun and flirty and I PROMISE the build up will be worth it ;) it starts off slow, but there is gratuitous smut later in the series. keep an eye on the tags and stay safe! <3

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU ARE A MINOR. BY CLICKING THE READMORE, YOU CONSENT TO VIEWING ADULT CONTENT.

The city has become a concrete jungle. The summer sun roasting the land beneath it. Lavishing in its task; making the hours creep by ever so slowly. Even after the sun goes down, the heat sets into the earth like a deep rot.

You step out of your apartment, the distant star glaring down. The buzzing of the cicadas makes the heavy, humid air vibrate in an unpleasant way. You always hated summer and summers in Tokyo were a special hell. The way your clothes would cling to your sweaty body. How the muggy, wet air thickened your breath. And that's all before you consider the insects.

One of the few blessings of living in the city was that there weren’t as many bugs here as in your childhood home. However, you didn’t have a parent here to kill or catch the scary ones that would occasionally make their way into your apartment and you didn’t have the heart or stomach to deal with them.

A particularly ferocious looking cockroach had been in your sanctuary last night, which meant you had spent the better part of an hour making a very convincing argument for it to walk out of the balcony door. All the while, praying nothing else would fly in. Cursing and mentally tallying the money pouring out into the hot summer night as your AC ran at full blast. Fall couldn’t come soon enough.

Today was particularly blistering. Your phone already growing hot in the short distance to the train station. If you hadn’t made plans in a better, more social mood, you could still be curled up under your AC. You cursed the gregarious version of yourself from the other night. The crowded train swaying, other passengers bumping into you with each motion. But It was too early in the friendship to flake now.

You had met her through a mutual friend at a house party. You were still relatively new to the city and didn’t have a community yet. Blessedly, it turns out you had a good friend from university living close by. Earlier in the week, out of the blue, he had reached out. The two of you had studied hard and partied harder as undergraduates. While he seemed to be making something of his fashion design degree, if his immaculately curated luxury loft were any indicator of success, you were busting your ass to make ends meet.

Your job at the small combination cafe and bookshop was aesthetic and cozy but ultimately a placeholder until you found a job in your industry. Maybe you should’ve done Fashion Design after all.

You wanted to catch up with him the other night, maybe even do some networking at his house party, but you had barely been able to get two sentences in before he was called off to talk to other party-goers. This had left you in your worst, admittedly nicely decorated, nightmare.

This solitude and anxiety had led to you sipping awkwardly from one too many drinks. But the alcohol had eased your nerves enough for you to talk to another girl at the party. Regrettably, much of your conversion had been lost to the liquor, but meeting for coffee today had been nailed down before you lost too much of your sense.

You winced in embarrassment, rubbing away the ghost of your hangover from the other night. You hope you hadn’t made a fool of yourself, and if you had, you hope that she doesn’t remember it either.

Just then, your phone buzzed with a notification. Emma, the girl from the party’s name flashes on your phone screen. You tapped it quickly and read,

“I’m so sorry, my ride fell through but I got another one. I’m running a little late but I’m on my way!”

Thank god. Your heart had dropped seeing the preview of the message, thinking she was about to cancel. You quickly type back,

“No sweat! I’ll see if I can snag us any of the good seats ;)”

You don’t imagine it’ll be too busy since it’s that golden window after breakfast and before lunch, but the “good seats” are always the first to go. The thought of having to sit out on the balcony in this weather makes you cringe. The train lurches to a halt and you get your elbows up, worming your way out of the crowded car. The joys of Tokyo living.

You idly make your way to your destination, wishing there was some sort of breeze to ease the waves of hot air rising from the concrete. The streets are dotted with only a handful of other people; everyone else must be smart enough to stay inside today. There are a few cars on the road, the way the wind shifts around them as they zip past throws off an uncomfortable, hot gust.

You turned the corner to cut back to some of the side streets, there were usually less cars there; more pedestrian friendly. You’d usually opt for a cozier, more hole-in-the-wall type of cafe like the one you worked at, but Emma had insisted that she wanted to try the new seasonal drink at this place.

This location was often not as busy as you would expect from one of the most popular coffee joints in Tokyo. Well, the world. But ever since tourists started coming back to Japan, it was becoming more difficult to anticipate the crowds. You rounded the corner and neared the big wooden doors.

The cicadas were noisy as hell, even here. You noticed there was something masked by the buzzing. A revving? The sound rapidly approached and in moments was bearing down on you. You jumped back, securely on the sidewalk as a motorcycle screeched to a halt. The sudden appearance of the two riders on its back catching nearby eyes.

The driver of the bike was dressed head to toe in black, matching his sleek black bike. You could practically see the heat waves rolling off of the leather biker jacket that stretched across a broad back and tightened over what were sure to be muscular shoulders.

You questioned how and why anyone could wear that getup in this weather. The smaller figure on the back was more sensibly dressed in light, loose clothes, the outfit accentuating their feminine features. She tugged off her helmet, golden locks tumbled free of their confines.

“Jesus! It’s too hot to be wearing a damn helmet, Mikey! I think it messed up my hair” she whined, shoving the helmet into the hands of the figure named Mikey. She tossed her hair a few times in an attempt to fluff some life back into what was matted by the helmet. She was stunning regardless. He made no move to take off his headwear, the visor an impenetrable black, betraying no feature of the face beneath.

“That’s a long way to say thank you.” He returned dully. She gave him a shove as she hopped off the bike. Turning on her heel she offered, “Thank you.” The words dripped in sarcasm. He nodded, seemingly satisfied despite the tone. Emma turned again, eyes finally locking on you. They’re a pretty honey color slightly darker than her hair.

“EEE! Oh my god! It’s so good to see you!” She squeals, rushing over to hug you. The sudden physical affection catches you off guard. You hope she doesn’t feel how sweaty you are. “Hey~ I thought you were going to be late?!” You respond, giving a gentle squeeze back before slipping from her grip. You continue with a smile, “It’s great to see you too. Thanks for meeting up with me today.”

She smiles back. She has a pretty smile that crinkles her nose and shows off her straight, white teeth. She’s as beautiful as you recalled from the party, despite your memory being hazy. As you admire the features of the woman in front of you, you feel a prickling on the back of your neck. That feeling when you know someone is watching you and you feel the world zoom in on the space around you.

Your eyes dart up and land on the figure still seated on the bike. His stance unnaturally still. Despite the visor still blocking your view, you knew those were the eyes boring into you. You smiled awkwardly and offered a small wave to the figure sizing you up. He made no move to respond. Emma registered the situation and turned back to face Mikey. “You can go now.” In a tone so icy you almost forgot you were in the armpit of summer.

“I’m gonna have Draken pick me up so don’t worry about hanging around.” With that she waved him off dismissively. There was a beat before her words registered and the biker’s head snapped forward, nodding sharply before revving his engine. You felt the reverberation in your bones. Then, in a bolt of jet black, he was gone. Your eyes lingered in the space where he’d been.

“Sorry about him. He’s not good with new people.” Emma says, shaking her head and holding the door open. You step into the massive cafe, the cold air a welcome embrace. “It’s all good. Was he at the party the other night too?” You ask, eyes surveying the crowded room for an open table. “Nah, he had to work late. He’s also not much of a party person, believe it or not.” She says, lacing the end of her statement with sarcasm. “What?! No way!” You feign surprise. She shoulder bumps you playfully as the two of you make your way up to the second floor. You like her already.

Your mind replays their interactions from before and the dynamic wasn’t giving that of a romantic relationship. “So, how do you know him?” You ask, your eyes turning to the pretty blonde. “Oh! He’s my brother, Mikey!” She said with a hearty laugh. “Sorry! I should've introduced you!” She apologizes. “It’s all good! He seemed like he had somewhere to be.” Your offer. She rolled her eyes, “He’s always rushing off somewhere, I’m surprised I was able to catch him today to give me a ride.” You look around the second floor for an open table to no avail. You say a prayer to a certain green mermaid that there will be seats on the third floor.

“That’s brutal though. Working late on a Friday night and having to rush around on a Sunday.” Your homebody shudders at the thought of working on the weekends. “Yeah, well he’s too much of a busybody to sit around doing nothing. I don’t think he’s been relaxed since we were kids.” Her gaze drifts and you get the sense that conversation has reached its end.

“Anyways, the party was a lot of fun! How do you know Yuuki?” you ask, changing the subject. “Oh, he’s actually friends with my boyfriend Draken and, I guess, acquaintances with Mikey.” The word acquaintances seemed to be doing some heavy lifting and the nosy side of you wanted to know more, but you locked onto the juicier topic.“Oh~ Boyfriend.” You tease. Of course a girl as pretty as Emma would be taken. “Does he have any single friends? Any cute ones? Could he hook me up?” You continue.

She laughs, “Not many I think he would vouch for, but I can let him know there is an interested party.” Score! In more ways than one, there is an open window seat calling your name on the third floor. You set your bags down to claim the space. You sink into the plush seats to test them out, heavenly. She returns your question, “How about you, how do you know Yuuki?”

“We were friends in university, we had some classes together. Actually, I was surprised to hear from him when I moved to the city. You know, we haven’t really talked since graduation. I don’t even know how he knew I moved here to be honest...” You say with a dry laugh.

Come to think of it, you hadn’t questioned when his message slid into your DMs. Welcoming you to Tokyo and inviting you to his house party. Truthfully, you thought he might’ve been shooting his shot. He’s cute and the two of you had a little will-they-won't-they that never played out in university. But his complete dismissal of you at the party had been signal enough.

“Either way, he used to throw ragers at his place back on campus and it seems like he’s perfected the craft here.” As you continue, Emma’s eyes drift out the large floor to ceiling windows and a scowl flashes across her face, too quick for you to notice. She whips her phone out under the low table and skillful fingers fly across the screen, stabbing out a message that is delivered before you end your sentence. If you listened closely, the sound of a bike might’ve been heard over the ambience of the crowded cafe.

You’re pulled out of your reverie by Emma, clapping her hands as she stands from her seat, sparkles in her eyes. “If you’re looking for a good party you found the right girl. I’m actually working as a promoter right now. If you ever want to go out, shoot me a message. I’ll put your name on the list!” A wide smile stretching across her face. “Only if you promise you’ll be there with me.” You counter, flashing your best puppy dog eyes. “It’s a deal.” She winks, “Let’s get our coffee before the line gets any longer.” You rise from your seat, the promise of caffeine is an attractive one and the two of you make your way to the counter.

***

Coffee had been perfect. What nerves you had about meeting Emma had melted in her warm aura. She was walking sunshine. The afternoon had been filled with laughs and knee slaps, It had felt like home. Before you knew it, the day had gotten away from you. With a promise of coffee next Sunday, the two of you made your exits.

Another biker pulled up in front of the cafe. His build is slightly taller than Mikey’s. His bike was cool and looked more retro from what limited knowledge you had. Emma practically glowed as she skipped to the man. Wrapping her arms around him. He pulled off his helmet as he steadied his bike, balancing the woman embracing him.

His features are severe and strikingly handsome. He has a muscular and imposing build. His bleached hair is cut into a kind of shaggy mohawk. The hair on the top of his head is longer and braided while the sides are shaved to the scalp. You notice he has a large tattoo that curls behind his ear and goes down his neck. Between his physique, the bike, the ink, he might’ve looked scary if he didn’t look like he was about to melt. His eyes were soft and locked on the woman in his arms. What you wouldn’t give to have someone look at you like that. Especially if it was a guy who looked like him.

You exchanged a brief introduction and he gave you a firm handshake, his expression unreadable when facing you. You said your goodbyes and watched as the two of them rode off. You had a nostalgic feeling lingering in your chest. Happiness from the day mixed with something else. Is it loneliness? You couldn’t quite place it as you made your way back to your apartment, the heat getting the better of you. The cicadas were beginning their nightly choir as you neared your door. You had noticed many things that day that played in a loop in your mind.

The way Emma’s hair shimmered like gold when it caught the sunlight, the way the thrum of people in the cafe had made the top of your drink shimmer with vibration, the new spider web woven into the nook between the station sign and the wall near your exit, even now how the sky was streaked with magenta and tangerine hues as the sun dipped below the horizon.

You’d always find yourself drawn to bright, shiny things. Not daring a glance to the shadows that creep along the periferie. What you can’t see can hurt you. That's a hard lesson. One you were bound to learn sooner or later. It was too late to change the trajectory as your door closed securely behind you. Everything was already in motion and, without realizing it, you’d been tugged into the current. Nothing would’ve changed, but if you had turned and glanced at the shadows, you might’ve seen the black silhouette of a biker in stark contrast to the vibrant summer world.

#mikey sano x reader #manjiro sano x reader #manjiro x you #mikey x reader #Mikey Sano #Mikey Sano smut #tokyo revengers x reader #tr x reader #tokyo revengers fanfiction #tr smut #tr x you #carminecherry fics

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mrsjellymunson · 1 year ago

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Knock At The Cabin [Flip Flopped version]

Written for @munson-blurbs and @corroded-hellfire’s excellent Flip Flopped summer writing event, challenging writers to explore what might’ve happened to their story if a plot point had taken a different direction.

WC: ~1k

CW: Not much in this part, but overall the series is 18+ so minors DNI. Post-S4, dark themes, hurt/no comfort, canon-typical distressing images, canon-typical brandishing of weapons but no actual violence, mentions of someone vomiting but it’s not described.

Summary and A/N: Thanks so much to Bug and Red for creating this event! I decided to revisit Knock At The Cabin, and see how Part One might have played out if the gang had a very different reaction to their surprise visitor.

NB: Spoilers below the cut - if you want to catch up on the story before reading this, read the Prologue, the original Part One and Part Two

There, hunched, shivering, soaked and covered in mud, is your friend. The one who’d died saving the town. The one they’d buried only a few days ago, after he’d been lying on a slab in a lab somewhere for weeks.

Eddie.

The increasingly noisy wind blows leaves and rain horizontally across the stoop. Inside the hallway, there’s silence. You all crowd at the door, mouths agape, and initially, none of you move.

You take in your visitor’s appearance. His hair is lank, wet, muddy and full of twigs and leaves. He stands, shoulders sagging, in filthy, soaking clothes, the wet material dragging his frame down further. He’s barefoot, his feet muddy and bloody.

His cheeks are gaunt, his lips grey, not the plush, rosy pink that they once were. He looks thinner than you remember, and his skin was always pale, but it seems lighter now, almost translucent.

Eddie finally lifts his eyes to you all. They’re sunken, red-rimmed, and have lost their usual sparkle.

None of you consider what events or twists of fate might have brought Eddie to you, only caring in this moment that he’s here, standing in front of you. He should be dead, but somehow he's here!

Dustin shoulders his way between you and Steve and takes his first good look at the strange visitor. At first he’s confused, incredulous, but this rapidly gives way to pure terror, as he lets out a high pitched screech over the sound of the rain. He abruptly turns on the spot and runs down the hallway, yelling,

“Zombie? ZOMBIE!”

Robin screams, hands coming to cover her mouth as she backs away from the doorway a couple of paces.

Steve reacts defensively, raising his nail bat as he steps outside, placing himself between Eddie and the party. Lucas takes Steve’s lead and grabs an old walking stick from a stand by the door, moving to join him and brandishing it like a weapon.

Steve yells towards Eddie over the noise of the rain,

“What are you? One of Vecna’s foot soldiers?”

Lucas continues, jabbing the stick at the air in front of him,

“A demon? A lab-grown demogorgon? Get back!”

Will is swaying, rubbing at the nape of his neck. Robin and Jane try to comfort him, the three of them clinging to each other in tears.

You hear quick footsteps behind you and glance back to see Mike rushing to the kitchen, followed by the distinctive sound of someone throwing up.

Steve spreads one arm out and signals for Lucas to get behind him, hustling him back through the opening, slowly retreating as he yells over his shoulder,

“Everyone get inside. Now!”

You watch as Eddie stumbles backwards, eventually stepping off the stoop.

You seem to be the only one who’s concerned rather than terrified. You try to shoulder your way through them all to get outside, see Eddie properly, but the movement of their combined retreating bodies pushes you back into the hallway, and you’re unable to get a proper look at him, let alone go out to him.

As soon as everyone’s inside Steve slams the door, locking and bolting it and scanning for something heavy to brace it with.

Without looking around, he barks,

“Robin, get the satellite phone.”

Robin, wide-eyed, stammers,

“B-but we’re only supposed to use that in an emergency.”

Steve continues, his voice becoming more high-pitched,

“Well, I’d say that someone coming back from the dead qualifies as a fucking emergency, wouldn’t you? Call Owens. Now!”

Everyone scatters into the cabin. Robin tries to find the equipment Owens gave you when you moved here. Will and Jane comfort each other on the sofa and Jane wraps a blanket around her friend's shoulders. Lucas and Steve find bookcases and tables to put against various windows and doors. Dustin sits rocking near the back door, holding his knees to his chest, whilst Mike cleans himself up in the kitchen.

You’re the only one who moves to the living room window to look upon your friend.

He raises his head, initially simply staring at the closed door with a blank, stunned expression.

You place a palm against the glass, feeling like it’ll get you closer to him somehow. It’s enough to draw his attention, and as your eyes connect his brows draw up and you see a look of rejection and fear pass across his features.

You breathe his name quietly against the glass, and it fogs up a little.

His expression briefly turns to sadness, before he drops your gaze and runs a hand down his filthy cheek. Shuffling backwards for a few steps, he turns and shambles off into the rainy night.

He takes a few longer steps before pausing to look over his shoulder at the door again, and that defeated expression turns into a scowl as his brows furrow and his lips slowly curl up into a snarl. The softness in his eyes is completely gone, and is replaced with a steely black glare.

He turns away then, and you see him break into a jog. He’s bouncing his shoulders and flinging his hands out to the sides as if he’s building himself up for something.

He runs so far down the lane he almost reaches the highway. You nearly lose sight of him, and he appears only as a dark silhouette.

Suddenly the shape shortens as he drops to his knees, raising his face to the swirling grey sky and spreading his arms wide as brief flashes of lightning begin to light up the clouds.

The wind buffeting the trees increases, and starts to send larger branches, twigs and more leaves to smack against the roof and windows of the cabin

It’s almost enough to drown out the inhuman bellow Eddie emits.

But you hear it…

If you’d like to read the original series that this comes from, it starts here 😊

Thanks so much for reading!

My masterlist

As always, comments and reblogs make my world spin - I’d love to know what you think of this.

Series taglist (open): @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician @ali-r3n @eddiemunsonshandcuffs @jasminelafleur @corrodedcoffincumslut @kthomps914 @iletmytittiestitty-russ @findmeincorneliastreet @tlclick73 @sapphire4082 @razzeith @cupid-club @storiesbyrhi @eris-rose-86 @micheledawn1975 @bl0ssomanddie @veemoon @sunshinepeachx @writinginthetwilight @guiltyasquinn @madaboutmunson @airen256 @idkitsem @em0220 @kookygranger @fanfics-i-find-here @the-unforgivenn @b3lladoonna @skrzydlak @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @80s-addict @abellmunsonmovie @definitionwanderlust @amandahobblepot @daisy-munson @sheneedsrocknroll92 @maedesculpaeusoubi @munson-blurbs @wonderlanddreamer @daisy-munson @kellsck @eddiemunsonshandcuffs @babydollface1165 @3rd-conchord @probablyin-bed @kurdtbean @mediocredreams (if your name is crossed through I couldn’t tag you - let me know your new url if you want to still get notifs)

#flip flopped #flipflopped #alternative plot line #knock at the cabin #KATC #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson #Eddie munson x fem!reader #post S4 #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #dark fic #dark!eddie munson #hurt/no comfort #open ended

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thosefuzzywordfeelings · 1 year ago

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Coming Home To You (Full Version)

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

cw; oral (f receiving), fingering, reader has a vagina, alcohol use (reader is fully able to consent), slight cum play?

Warm droplets of summer rain hit your skin as you stood just outside the bar, pay phone pressed to your ear as you spoke to your boyfriend. It was almost hard to hear him over the sound of the cars driving over the wet tarmac but you had to let him know you were safe.

In the least controlling way, Steve always asked you to call him whenever you went out at night, if it was to a bar or somewhere out of town; he’d sit by the landline, fiddling with the cord until he knew you were okay and what time you’d be back. Whenever he’d get home from grocery shopping or filling up the tank of his car, he’d slip a few quarters in your jacket pocket; knowing they’d be in there ready for your next night out. And so here you were, scrunched up next to the phone outside the only bar worth visiting. It was a little ways outside Hawkins so you’d let Steve know what time you got there and what time you were hoping to get home.

“I should be home in maybe, an hour? ‘Chelle just bought a whole other round of cocktails and I simply can’t afford to miss out. They have little tiny umbrellas in, Steve.” You said excitedly, briefly hearing him chuckle softly down the phone.

“That’s great baby. I’ll leave the light on, alright? Just…get home safe.” Steve said softly, smiling down the receiver as if you could see him before the two of you exchanged ‘love you’s and ‘byebyebye’s.

Walking back into the bar, the baseline to ‘West End Girls’ began to play, as you swayed back over to your friends, immediately sipping the cocktail that was placed in your hands. Wincing slightly, you looked at your friend.

“What is in this?” You giggled, carrying on sipping as your friend explained it had a gross but delicious mix of vodka, schnapps, some kind of fruit and more juice. Vodka? Good luck to Steve when you got home, you thought to yourself. Nonetheless, it was great and spending time with your friends was worth the sting of the headache you knew would spike in the morning. Since you'd all graduated and moved apart, it wasn't often you got to go out and meet with everyone at once. So the drinks were poured, the dancefloor was temporarily inhabited with you all and the bar tab was well used.

Time flew by and you checked the clock above the bar, noticing it said one a.m instead of midnight even though you'd sworn you'd just looked and it was eleven-thirty. Scrambling to get your coat and bag together, you made your way to the front door; tight hugs and cheek kisses exchanged as you said goodbye to your friends. "Steve needs me home." You yelled over the music. Now, there was no curfew on you, Steve would just want you home regardless, but the vodka and the homesickness churned through your veins; probing you to head home a little earlier than usual. The cab ride was fast, as you thanked the driver and got out, taking a big breath of fresh air as you looked up at the apartment building before you.

Steve hadn't taken his eyes off his book in a while, only to check the clock on the bedside table. No matter what, he'd wait up for you; wanting to see you tucked up under the sheets with a smile on your face before he'd even dream of closing his own eyes. The clock was now showing one-thirty a.m, and he knew it wouldn't be too long and you'd be back. As if by some sort of telekinesis, your keys would rattle in the doorway and you'd push the door open with a creak. Even though you knew he'd be up, you tried subtly to keep quiet. Putting your bag and coat down, you kicked off your shoes and headed towards the dim amber light illuminating the halllway.

"It's just me." You giggled as you pushed the bedroom door all the way open. And there he was. The most gorgeous man you'd ever seen, your boyfriend of almost two years although somehow everytime you saw him it was as if you'd stumbled upon a Greek god. Steve's eyes lit up from over the rim off the book, crinkling as he smiled up at you.

"Hi baby. Did you have a good night?" Steve spoke softly, sliding an old bookmark in the spine of his book and laying it on the bedside table. His hands folded up in his lap as he elant up against the headboard. Youd lean against the dresser, nodding with a sweet smile.

"Mhm..we danced and danced, and drank, then drank a little bit more. 'Chelle bought this round of, uh, like a fruity, bitter, sting-y, vodka cocktail and it was so good." You'd giggle, looking up at the ceiling for a moment as you tried to regain your composure a little bit, the alochol wearing off slightly as you found comfort in your safe space.

"Oh, so a very good night then, hm?" Steve replied with a smirk, sitting up a little straighter. Looking back down at him, you returned the smirk. Whenever you'd had cocktails, whether Steve was with you or not, you'd have had him within the hour of drinking and digesting them. Something about the spirits brought out a wild one within you, but also maybe it was the way his eyes darkened at you. Or the way his hair fell over his face a little. Right now, it was the peek of chest hair spilling out from the plain navy tee across his torso, the shadows of the lamplight against his freckled neck.

"Yeah…a good night…" You'd mumble, too focused on drinking in his features like you were dehydrated, his body the mirage of water in a hot desert. And boy, was he hot. You reached behind yourself, trying and failing to undo the zip of your dress. Steve reached out a hand, gesturing he'd help you with it. His eyes had a twinkle to them, a knowing of how turned on you'd become just from looking at him.

"Come here, baby. Let me do it." He spoke softly. His eyes too were raking over your body, watching the smoothness of your thighs as you knelt on the bed in front of him. Steve brought his hands up to your outer thighs, stroking them softly as they slid up to your hips, twisting them gently to get you to turn around. Spinning messily on your knees, you chuckled as you backed up and sat on them in front of him. His hand pulled your hair to one side, lips pressing against the curve of your neck and shoulder.

"Missed you." He whispered, fingers dragging down the zip of the dress as he pushed the straps down off your shoulders. With a sigh of relief, you spun round and crawled onto his lap. This was where you dreamed of coming home to, right here, sat on his thighs. Tangling your fingers in his hair, Steve stared up at you in awe - as he always did - fingertips digging into your waist.

"Missed you more." You giggled, as you finally let your lips press against his. Steve couldd taste the remnants of cocktail on your tongue, smiling into the kiss as he scrambled to push the bedsheets off of his legs and grip your body tighter to his. Within a split second, he had you laid out on the bed before him. You let your thighs drop open, needing him between them immediately as he looked down at you with that same smirk again. Leaning just above you, those chocolate irises would flicker over yours, taking in every furrow of your brow while his hands fumbled with the hem of your bunched up dress.

"Gonna show me how much you missed me?" Steve whispered against your lips, pulling your thighs up around his waist. You nodded sweetly, deepening the kiss and dragging him down closer to you. Something about the way Steve's demeanour changed when he needed you as much as you needed him made your body pulsate. It's like he could switch on this fiery, charged energy, mirroring yours.

"You know what I think, baby?" Steve asked, a saccharine sweet tone to his voice while his lips kissed small kisses along your jaw. Responding only with a light whimper, hips bucking up against Steve's, Steve would giggle at your neediness, his hands pinning your hips down against the bed. "I think - it's cute."

"What's cute?" A breathy whisper left your mouth as your hand knotted itself in the back of Steve's hair.

"When you walk through that door - all pretty - and desperate - " Steve mumbled between kisses, his lips parting as he let his tongue drag along the warm skin of your neck, " - just for me."

"Only you, Steve. Love coming back home to you."

His eyes darted up to yours whilst his mouth kept kissing down the crevice of your chest, tongue riding along your sternum as he smiled with a low "mhm". There it was again, the darkening of his eyes. Carnal brown, you've decided is the shade. A deep brown, bordering black, and it never left your own eyes even as he kissed along the inner of your thighs as they settled on his broad shoulders. Steve had your dress bunched up entirely around your waist, the top pulled down and crumpled as his hands flipped up the hem of the skirt.

"This is what I look forward to, you know that?" Steve mumbled against your bikini line, tracing the lace lining of your panties with his fingertips after he reached his arms around to settle on your hips. He knew this teasing would be worth it, he could see the dark dampness of your arousal glistening against the lace centimetres from his mouth.

"What?" You breathed out, leaning up on your elbows to watch him tease and touch you.

"Reminding you who's this is." Steve mumbled faux-sweetly, smiling kindly up at you before reaching his thumb down and running it over the swollen nub underneath your panties. A choked moan left your lips at the sudden contact, lip pulled between your teeth at this newfound confidence from your lover between your legs.

"Isn't it crazy?" He continued on, drawing small circles against your clit with the pad of his thumb, his eyes not leaving your face as he leant his head on your thigh cutely. God, he was beautiful. He didn't need you to respond, knowing your mind was too foggy with the faint sensations he was giving you. Steve could see it in your eyes, the way they were slightly glassy with lust as you stared down at him and his movements. The way your chest was heaving a little faster, subtly but noticeable enough to him.

"You're out there with your friends, dancing, sipping those fancy little cocktails - " Steve spoke lowly, his tone almost a sing-song as he hooked his fingers in the hem of your panties, adjusting himself up onto his knees so he could pull them down and off your legs. They were thrown somewhere in the room, you could care less, as you followed Steve's movement only.

"Dancing the night away on these pretty legs -" He carried on, settling on his stomach between your legs again as he kissed along your hipbones and along your mound gently. Hands coming to hold your hips down as he knew you'd buck up immediately, your cunt growing tired of the teasing. Steve could see your essence dripping down dangerously close to the sheets and he smirked, wetting his own lips with his tongue as he himself painfully held back from devouring you.

"And no matter who lays their fucking eyes on you, on this? It comes home to me. Hm?" Steve almost moaned as he watched your cunt spasm around nothing but the ownership that left his mouth. He couldn't help himself now, his tongue flattening against your slit as he licked a stripe up to your clit. When the bittersweet taste of your arousal finally hit his tastebuds, he couldn't hold back the feral moan that left his throat.

"God, you're all fucking mine. Beautiful, little pussy is all mine." He moaned almost as desperately as you had been as he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking softly as he gave into his urges, giving you exactly what you let your mind wander off to when you were out with your friends; your boyfriends pretty tongue. Rutting your hips against it, guttural groans left your throat as Steve hummed contently against your clit.

"Steve, please - fuck -" You whimpered softly, letting your elbows drop and your head fall back against the bed. Your hands tug at his chestnut strands tightly, pulling out deeper moans from Steve's throat.

"Show me." He pulled back to say, bringing an arm around from your hips and underneath your thigh; his middle finger gliding through your glistening slit, before pushing inside gently and curling up to press against the spongy spot that left you breathless. "Show me it's mine."

You were speechless, his mouth immediately latching back onto your clit and sucking a little harder this time, combining with the finger beckoning inside you. You were tightening around his digit and he felt it.

"That's it. I can feel you honey. What if I press right -" Steve asked softly, his tone a stark contrast to his actions as he pushed a second finger inside and curved them both up against that one part that always brought you to the edge.

"Oh fuck - right there." You mewled, hips grinding down against his fingers as your eyes tried to focus; they were hazy as your soul tiptoed on the brink of cloud nine and earth.

"Yeah? What's gonna happen if I keep pressing right there baby?" Steve taunted, fucking his fingers a little faster into that spot as he kept his tongue playing with your clit.

Your eyes rolled back and closed, as you were barely holding on to the overwhelming sensation. "I'm gonna come - if - I'm - " You stutter softly, trying to lift your head to look at him, but you know if you caught a glimpse of him with his lips wrapped around your clit and his fingers fucking into you, you'd be gone.

"You're gonna come? That's my pretty girl. Coming home to me, and coming all over my fingers. Just as she should." Steve moaned, setting his mind and only goal as making you come for him. He could feel you tightening around him, seconds away from release as he sped his fingers up, matching the pace as he flicked his tongue at the same time against the swell of your clit.

With one last vibrating moan against your cunt, you were gone. Numb everywhere else but your lower half; your clit throbbing against Steve's tongue as he sucked it into his mouth one more time, his fingers slowing down so he could relish in the rhythmic spasms around them. His spare arm held your hips as best it could, but Steve craved your squirming. His eyes travelled up your body as he watched you come, humming sweetly against you as he felt more of your essence coat his palm and his chin. Just how he liked it.

"You're so good to me, sweetheart." Steve whispered as he pressed his lips to the crook of your thighs and hips, kissing along your tummy and back up the route he came down not too long ago. Stilling his fingers for a moment as you recollected yourself and opened your eyes, his spare hand stroked the sweat-dampened hair from your forehead. You smiled up at him dazily, post-orgasm bliss etched onto your face. Letting your tongue fall out against your lower lip, Steve furrowed his eyebrows in confusion at your expression.

"What's this now?" He asked with a slight chuckle.

"Let me taste myself." You'd whisper, before resuming your expression. Steve's aching cock twitched in his pyjama pants as he gently slid his fingers from inside you and straight onto your tongue. He watched intently as you lapped up the clear dew from his fingers, feeling a deep need building. Instinctively, his hips ground down against yours as you wrapped your lips around them, sucking hard as you smiled and kept your gaze on his.

"Want me to really show you I'm yours?" You'd purr, letting your hand reach down to grip the stiff outline of his cock through his plaid pants. Steve's eyes fluttered shut at the contact, knowing you were going to ruin him and yet be the death of him simultaneously. Nonetheless, you were his.

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington #stranger things smut #s4 steve harrington #Steve x fem reader #Steve Harrington x you #joe keery smut #joe keery characters #smut

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