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kaira-diaries · 1 day ago

Text

Intruders:

warning: violence // emotional distress // non-con touching // cannon type violence

pairing: fem!reader x in-ho

wc: 16.7k

summary: What if there were two intruders? Jun-ho and in-ho’s lover...

a/n: oof what if the intruder was also in-ho’s girlie..likeeee the heartache...I DON'T WANNA TALK ABOUT THE LENGTH. Also this is such a dramatic piece but I’m kinda here for it ??

-> Masterlist <-

You had been with the police department since the day you graduated from college, bright-eyed and full of ideals.

But if you were being honest, the job was never what your partner made it out to be. Jun-ho had painted it as something noble, something that gave you purpose—a career where you could make a real difference. But for you, the police force felt like a necessary evil, like a wound that would never entirely heal. Some days, you believed in the badge, but most days, you saw it for what it was—corruption hidden beneath polished shoes and pressed uniforms.

The moment that sealed your fate—the final, irreversible crack in the foundation—was when In-ho was stripped of his title, dismissed like he was nothing more than a piece of discarded evidence. And the cruelest part? It was your fault.

Three years ago, your body had betrayed you, liver failure creeping in like a slow, merciless tide. The sickness took everything—your energy, your independence, your hope. But In-ho, stubborn as ever, refused to let you go. He did what any desperate man would do when faced with losing the only thing he couldn't bear to live without. He pulled strings, made deals, and buried himself in debt.

Loans turned into bribes, and bribes turned into something much darker.

And for what?

By the time a donor was found—just weeks later—In-ho was gone. Not missing, not dead, just... vanished. No calls. No letters. No trace of the man who had burned his life to the ground for you. You could only imagine the weight of his shame, the crushing defeat of knowing he had sacrificed everything for someone who no longer needed saving.

But in the end, he had saved you.

He just wasn’t around to see it.

You told yourself it was the pain of losing his career—the one thing he had bled for, suffered for, given everything to. It was all he had ever known, and you had taken it from him.

But deep down, you knew it was more than that. He lost faith. Not just in the system, not just in the job that had defined him, but in everything. In saving you. In living the life he had so carefully planned. Maybe, in the end, it wasn’t even about his career. Maybe it was about you.

And maybe—just maybe—he hadn’t wanted to be around to watch you die.

Only, you didn’t.

You were here.

You were breathing.

The cruel irony of it gnawed at you, an ache that settled deep in your bones. Did he know? Had he ever found out that all his sacrifices hadn’t been in vain? Or did he disappear believing it had all been for nothing? Did he hate you for it? For taking everything from him and still being here? For living the life he destroyed himself to give you?

Jun-ho tells you otherwise. He insists his brother could never blame you, never resent you. But Jun-ho doesn’t carry this weight, this unbearable, suffocating guilt that clings to you like a second skin. He doesn’t lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling from an empty, frozen bed, wondering if somewhere out there, In-ho is doing the same—only his resentment keeps him warm.

You want to believe Jun-ho. God, you do.

But that doesn’t stop the pain from sinking into your chest, heavy and unrelenting, as though his absence is carved into the very fabric of your existence.

You traced lazy patterns through the mound of grilled chicken and roasted vegetables on your plate, the food growing colder with each passing second. Hunger hadn't found you tonight—just as it hadn’t last night or the night before. Beside you, Jun-ho ate with his usual fervor, scooping generous spoonfuls into his mouth without a second thought. Each bite was mechanical as if dinner were nothing more than a task to complete.

Across from you, his mother sat rigid, her eyes locked on the untouched chicken before her. Her fingers curled slightly around the edge of her plate, but she made no move to eat. Beside her, the empty chair loomed—In-ho’s chair. Though he hadn't sat there in years, his place at the table was still set each night with unwavering devotion. A clean plate. Perfectly arranged silverware. A glass of water filled just enough. She still clung to the hope that one evening, he would drift through the doorway, drawn by the scent of home-cooked food, his nose in the air, his expression a front of quiet satisfaction. But the chair remained empty, a stark reminder of absence woven into your nightly ritual.

"Y/n," his mother called softly, her voice threading through the heavy silence, pulling you from the fog of your thoughts.

You looked to your left across the table, meeting her gaze—warm yet heavy with sorrow. Her eyes, glassy with grief, searched yours as if trying to find the right words, the ones that might bring you even the smallest comfort. Slowly, she reached across the table, her fingers brushing against the back of your hand, a quiet plea for you to let her in.

Your breath hitched. You bit your lip, gaze darting past her, past the dining room, past the life that still moved forward while you remained frozen in time. The tears welled before you could stop them, blurring the dim light, making the world swim. You shook your head.

You didn’t want to talk.

Didn’t want to hear reassurances that felt hollow. Didn’t want to pretend you were okay when every inch of you was unraveling. Even now. After all this time.

Without another word, you pushed back your chair, the legs scraping against the hardwood floor in a sound that made Jun-ho glance up mid-bite. But you didn’t stop. You turned away, footsteps heavy as you left them to their meal, the scent of untouched food lingering in the air.

The moment your bedroom door shut behind you, you locked it—sealing yourself away from the world, from their pity, from the unbearable ache of his absence.

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔

You sat at your desk, eyes skimming over the words on your screen, though you already knew what they said. The article had been plastered across every major news outlet in the city, but this one—this one came from the most ruthless, the kind that spared no mercy when it came to public disgrace.

And they got every detail right.

Policeman fired for bribery.

Officer dismissed for fraudulent behaviors.

Police Officer Hwang In-ho canned for illegal bribery, lining his pockets.

Criminal.

The words seeped into one another, each one twisting like a knife in your gut. They made him sound like a violent convict, like some immoral officer who had lined his pockets instead of a man who had destroyed himself for someone he loved. For you.

Your stomach churned, a wave of nausea rolling through you. You couldn’t take it—not the truth of it, not the shame clawing at your ribs. With a harsh breath, you slammed your laptop shut, the sound echoing through the quiet room.

A knock at the door rang a moment later.

You blinked, your mind still tangled in the venom of that article, but you forced yourself up, dragging your feet toward the door. When you opened it, Jun-ho stood there, leaned against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. His expression was exhausted, dark circles etched beneath his weary eyes.

"Can I come in?" he asked, voice quieter than usual.

You hesitated for only a moment before stepping aside, opening the door wider. He slipped past you, the familiar scent of his cologne filling the air as you shut the door behind him.

You turned to face him as he sat on the edge of the bed, his posture weighed down by something you couldn’t quite name—fatigue, frustration, or maybe the same grief that sat heavy in your own chest. He patted the space beside him, a silent invitation.

You paused before sitting down, folding your hands in your lap, your fingers twisting together as if you could wring the blame from your skin.

Jun-ho cleared his throat, his voice low, careful. "You need to stop blaming yourself, y/n," he murmured.

You scoffed a hollow sound that barely left your throat. A bitter breath pushed past your lips as you shook your head. "I wish it were that simple, Jun-ho," you whispered. "But I can't."

The room fell into stillness.

Then, Jun-ho turned to you, his jaw tight, a flicker of frustration flashing in his eyes—not at you, but at the weight you refused to let go of. "It is not your fault you got sick," he said, voice firmer now, edged with something dangerously close to anger. "It is not your fault In-ho took bribes."

You swallowed hard, but he wasn’t done.

"He made that choice himself," Jun-ho continued, his gaze piercing, unwavering. "No one forced his hand. Not you. Not anyone. None of this is your fault, y/n."

But the truth—no matter how desperately he wanted you to believe it—didn’t loosen the vice around your heart. If anything, it only made it squeeze tighter.

Tears spilled silently down your cheeks, hot against your skin, as Jun-ho’s words settled over you like a heavy weight. He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck before softening his tone.

"Besides," he murmured, "I need your skill set."

You blinked through your tears, brows pulling together in confusion. A hollow laugh escaped you as you lifted a dismissive hand. "Jun-ho, I—"

He caught your wrist gently. "Just… listen," he said, his voice low, almost pleading. "A minute is all I’m asking."

You stilled, caught off guard by the urgency in his voice. The weight in his gaze was enough to pull you from your grief, just for a moment. With a slow inhale, you nodded.

His fingers loosened as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, worn card. "I went to his apartment today," he said. "The landlord said he hasn’t been by in a long time." He hesitated before holding out the card. "But I found this."

You took it carefully, fingers brushing against the textured surface. Three shapes were printed on the front—simple, yet unsettling in their starkness. Your stomach tautened as you flipped it over. An address. A date. A time.

Your pulse quickened. "Odd," you muttered, tracing the ink with your thumb again before looking back up at Jun-ho.

His expression had shifted. That familiar sharpness had returned—the one you had seen countless times before, when the two of you were knee-deep in a case, piecing together a puzzle no one else could solve.

"I want to find him, y/n," he said, voice steady, unwavering.

The room felt colder suddenly. You swallowed hard, glancing back down at the card.

For the first time in three years, you felt something other than guilt.

"And I want you to help," Jun-ho said, his voice unwavering.

You shook your head immediately, your grip tightening on the card. "He—he wouldn’t want to see me, Jun-ho," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "He probably doesn’t even think I’m alive."

Jun-ho exhaled through his nose, rubbing his hands together as if weighing his words carefully. Then, he looked at you, his expression unreadable. "Maybe," he admitted, but there was something in his tone that made you look up. Something steadier. "But what if he does?"

You let out a bitter laugh, rubbing your tired eyes. "Jun-ho—"

"No," he cut in, shifting closer, his voice quieter but no less firm. "Listen to me. I know my brother. He’s stubborn, and he’s proud. But do you really think he wouldn’t want to know that everything he did wasn’t for nothing?"

You swallowed hard. But he kept going.

"If there’s even the smallest chance that seeing you, seeing his brother, could bring him back to this family… to himself… don’t you think it’s worth trying?"

Silence stretched between you.

The card in your hand suddenly felt heavier.

Jun-ho sighed, running a hand through his hair before standing up. "I’m going," he said simply. "With or without you."

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, exhaling shakily.

And when you opened them again, you knew—you couldn’t let him do this alone.

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔

The sky stretched endlessly above you, an uninterrupted canvas of brilliant blue, unmarred by even the softest wisp of cloud. Sunlight streamed through the canopy of trees, dappling the forest floor in shifting patches of gold. The air was warm, carrying the fresh scent of pine and damp earth, mingling with the faint perfume of wildflowers that lined the trail.

You breathed it all in, savoring the tranquility, but your attention—like always—remained elsewhere.

In-ho walked beside you, close enough that your arms nearly brushed with every step. His presence was stable, unshaken as if he belonged here among the towering trees and whispering leaves. You watched him from the corner of your eye, studying the way the sunlight caught in his black hair, the way his expression eased when he glanced at the beauty enveloping you. He was breathtaking in the way that made your chest ache—so full of life, so unshakably kind.

You knew you shouldn’t feel this way. Shouldn’t let your heart stumble over the very idea of him. He was your partner’s brother. This was a line you weren’t meant to cross.

But god, it was impossible.

The forest path narrowed as you and In-ho made your way toward the lake, the sounds of the world around you muffled by the thick, lush trees. The sunlight flickered through the branches, and as the air grew cooler, you felt the weight of his presence more intensely. The water was near—still, calm, and inviting. You could see the glimmer of it through the trees, its surface reflecting the blueness of the sky like a mirror.

In-ho’s steps slowed as you approached the water, and he looked toward the lake beyond the dock with a quiet smile. “It’s even more beautiful than I remember,” he murmured, almost to himself, the sound of his voice low and dreamy.

You stood at the edge of the dock, the water below gleaming with a quiet invitation. The air felt pure between you and In-ho. You could feel his gaze on you, like a weight on your skin, but you didn’t turn to meet it just yet. Instead, you reached behind you and unbuttoned the top of your shirt, slipping it off, and then slid your shorts down to reveal your bathing suit.

You could hear In-ho’s footsteps pause, a soft intake of breath behind you. His voice was quiet, questioning. “What are you doing?”

You turned to look at him, a small grin on your lips. “I’m going for a swim. Unless you’re too scared to join me?” you teased, your heart racing at the way his eyes followed your every movement.

There was a brief silence between you two before In-ho’s lips curled into a smile. He shook his head slightly, his expression unreadable, before starting to walk toward you. But before he could get any closer, you didn’t wait for him—you jumped, diving into the water with a splash, the coolness instantly enveloping you.

The moment you resurfaced, you caught sight of the dock above you, the ripples of the water swirling around you. With practiced grace, you swam towards the edge, your hands finding the weathered wood as you pulled yourself up, water streaming off your skin.

In-ho stood there, looking down at you from the edge of the dock, his gaze softer than before but still intense. Your heart beat wildly as you stretched out a hand, holding it out to him, your fingers just inches from his.

For a moment, In-ho hesitated, his eyes meeting yours, searching your face. You could see the battle in his expression, but then he stepped closer to the edge, reaching out for your hand.

The moment his fingers brushed yours, you pulled him in, tugging him into the water with you. His surprised laugh echoed in the air as he splashed into the lake beside you.

You turned away from the dock, your eyes fixed on the water, waiting for him to surface. The seconds stretched longer than they should have before you saw the dark shape of In-ho break through the surface, shaking his head to clear the water from his hair.

When he emerged, his hair clung damply to his forehead, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the sight of it. The sound was light, carefree—until he wiped his eyes and looked at you, his face unwound, his expression somehow caught between amusement and something more in-depth. You felt your pulse quicken as you watched him, your body drawn toward him like a magnet.

Without thinking, your hand lifted, almost instinctively, to brush his hair from his eyes. The touch was delicate, gentle, but the moment it happened, you both froze. His eyes locked on yours, the softness in them catching you off guard. There was a stillness that passed between you, one that felt both fragile and inevitable.

His hand reached for your palm then his fingers curled around yours with a quiet passion. Slowly, he pulled your hand toward him, guiding you closer, his movements willful and slow, as if he was savoring the proximity. The way he held you felt different now—his grip was tender.

He gently guided your palm to the warm skin of his neck, his fingers pressing against your wrist, urging you closer still. You could feel the steady pulse beneath your hand, his breath shallow, quickening. At the same time, your other hand found its way around his neck, the back of his damp hair slick beneath your touch. The world seemed to narrow, focusing entirely on the space between you.

Before you could fully process what was happening, his arms slipped around your thighs, pulling you toward him with a strength that made your breath catch. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your bodies pressed so close there was nothing left between you—no distance, no hesitation. The lake water rippled around you, but all you could feel was the heat of his skin beneath your hands, the steady beat of his heart against yours, the weight of the moment that pulled you both into a perfect, suspended stillness.

In-ho’s fingers then moved softly through your damp hair, his touch light, almost reverent. He cupped your cheek, the warmth of his hand sending a shiver through you as he gently tilted your head to study you. His gaze lingered, taking you in like he was memorizing every detail—your flushed cheeks, the way your eyes seemed to sparkle in the light of the sun.

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you. “What?” you teased softly, a playful edge to your voice. “Are you going to compliment me, or just stare?”

His lips curved into a slow, teasing grin, his eyes still locked on yours.

“I’m just trying to figure out how you managed to look even more beautiful after jumping into a lake.” He ran his thumb lightly across your cheek, his touch gentle. “It’s not fair.”

In-ho’s expression softened even further, the playful glint in his eyes fading into wonder. His thumb lingered against your skin, tracing slow, gentle circles. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts as if weighing the words carefully before letting them slip out.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while now…” He hesitated for just a moment, his eyes searching yours, like he was trying to find the right way to say something that had been hidden for far too long. "I don’t think I’ve ever told you this, but… I’ve been in love with you for longer than I care to admit.”

The confession hung between you, quiet but heavy with sincerity. His voice was soft, almost fragile, like he was giving you something vulnerable. The weight of his words settled around you, stirring a whirlwind of emotions inside. You could hear the honesty in his tone, the deep affection, the care that he held for you in every gesture, every look.

“You know,” you started, your voice more subdued than normal, “I’ve been thinking about something too.” You searched his eyes, trying to convey everything you felt in that one moment. “You always worry about me and your brother, but… I worry about you, In-ho. Every day, every time we’re out there.”

Your voice trembled slightly as you continued, the vulnerability in your words matching the uncertainty in your heart. “I don’t think you understand how much it scares me, the thought of something happening to you." In-ho reached out, adding his other hand to your cheek, his touch steady. “I know you care, and I care about you more than you can imagine.” His eyes searched yours, intense and serious, but there was a soft kind of resolve in them that made your heart ache.

He leaned in slightly, his forehead pressing gently against yours. “Even if I disappear, even if I’m not here… I’ll always be with you. I won’t leave you, not really. You’ll always have a piece of me with you.” He leaned further in, pressing his lips to yours for a quick kiss, pulling back a moment later with another sweet, reassuring promise.

"No matter what happens, I’ll always be with you.”

A rough, urgent hand shook your shoulder, the pressure bringing you back to consciousness with a start.

Your eyes fluttered open, groggy from the haze of sleep, and you jolted upright in the passenger seat of Jun-ho’s car. The dim glow of the street light filtered through the windows, casting a pale glow on the dashboard. You blinked, still disoriented, trying to shake the remnants of the memory that had been pulling you under.

The weight of Jun-ho’s hand on your arm lingered for a moment before he released it and quickly reached for your hand. His grip was feeble, a contrast to the way his expression was tight with concern. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and almost hesitant, as if unsure whether to push you further.

You turned to him, your gaze meeting his, and you could see it—the groove in his brow, the way his lips were pressed into a narrow line. There was unease in the way he watched you, something familiar but hard to ignore.

You rubbed your tired eyes, trying to will the sleepiness away, and forced a small smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” you mumbled, your voice still thick with the remnants of slumber.

Jun-ho didn’t seem convinced, though. He hummed softly, his voice almost too quiet for the silence of the car. “You were doing it again,” he said, his tone carrying a weight that made your chest tighten.

“Doing what?” you asked, still trying to clear the fog from your mind.

He hesitated for a moment before withdrawing his hand from yours and reaching over to offer you a bottle of water. His fingers brushed against yours, cold against your warm skin, as he handed it to you.

“Whimpering his name,” Jun-ho said, the words coming out carefully like he was weighing every syllable. His eyes flickered toward you briefly before they returned to the harbor ahead, but there was something in the way he said it that sent a ripple of discomfort through you.

You glanced down at the bottle in your hand, but you didn’t bring it to your lips. Instead, you were focused on the sensation of his words. The reality of it stung, pulling at something raw inside of you.

You didn’t know how to respond, so you did the only thing that felt safe in that moment—you looked away, turning your face toward the window, hiding the flurry of emotions.

You cleared your throat, the sound catching in the stillness of the car as you tried to shake off the heaviness that paused in the air. You shifted in your seat, glancing out the window at the bustling port ahead, the soft hum of distant engines and the sway of boats cutting through the thick tension between you.

"What's the plan again?" you asked, your voice a little too tight, though you tried to mask it with a sense of casualness.

Jun-ho didn’t take his eyes off the road as he responded, his voice steady but carrying an edge of uncertainty. "We wait until 6 PM," he said, glancing down at his watch. His fingers brushed over the timepiece with a nervous habit. "Which is... three minutes from now." He paused, then glanced at your reflection in the window, his face softened but lined with an unreadable expression. "I wish I knew what to expect, but... I don't." The silence that followed felt thick, charged with the weight of unspoken things.

You looked back at him, your heart twisting at the concern etched into his face, and offered a reassuring smile, though it felt strained. "I'll do whatever you need me to do."

His eyes flickered briefly to you before he nodded, his jaw tightening, like he was carrying more than just the weight of the mission. He sighed, a quiet exhale that seemed to carry everything he hadn’t said. After a moment of hesitation, he spoke again, his voice softer this time. "What... what were you dreaming of?"

The question caught you off guard, and you felt your throat tighten as you fidgeted in your seat again. You ran a hand over your face, your fingers trembling slightly, the memory still fresh.

"That day at the lake..." you started, but the words caught in your throat. The weight of it—what had happened, the things you hadn’t said, the emotions you hadn’t let yourself feel—clung to your chest like a lead weight.

"When... when In-ho told me..." You faltered, unable to find the words that would make sense of it all.

Before anything else could slip from your lips, the sudden sweep of headlights caught your attention. The flicker of bright, glaring lights poured into the side mirror, sharp and blinding against the darkening sky. You jerked your head toward it, your pulse quickening as you recognized the unmistakable silhouette of several vehicles—vans, by the look of it—growing larger in the reflection.

"Jun-ho!" you gasped, your voice tight with urgency. "Behind us, there’s lights. Lots of them."

Without a word, Jun-ho’s face shifted from concern to something more focused—more dangerous. His eyes shot to the rearview mirror, and in one swift motion, he cut the engine, the car's hum falling silent. The tension in the air thickened, every second stretching as the sound of the approaching vans grew louder, their engines growling through the otherwise still night.

"Down!" he hissed, urgency sharp in his voice. Without thinking, you ducked instinctively, pressing yourself low against the seat, your heart pounding against your ribs. The world outside the car blurred into streaks of light, the headlights of the vans flashing in quick succession as they rumbled past.

Once the last of the vans disappeared into the port entrance, you and Jun-ho slowly sat back up, eyes locked on the convoy as it rolled steadily toward a massive loading ship. The hulking vessel loomed over the water, its floodlights casting long, eerie beams across the dock. The sound of metal groaning echoed through the air as ramps lowered, ready to swallow the vehicles into its depths.

You exchanged a glance with Jun-ho, a silent conversation passing between you—no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just action.

With a sharp nod, the two of you flung open your doors, slipping out of the car in one fluid motion. Your boots barely made a sound against the concrete as you sprinted toward the dock, keeping low, moving as one. The salty tang of the ocean mixed with the faint scent of oil and gasoline, and the rhythmic crash of waves was almost drowned out by the mechanical sounds of the ship preparing for departure.

Guns drawn, you pressed yourselves against the cold steel siding of a small storage building, hearts pounding in sync. Jun-ho exhaled slowly, his breath steady despite the tension crackling between you.

“What are we doing, Jun-ho?” you whispered, gripping your weapon tightly as you peered around the edge of the building.

He mirrored your movement, stealing a quick glance at the loading area before ducking back beside you. His voice was low but firm. “The vans are stopped.” His eyes flicked to yours, sharp with intent. “We split up. Get low, hide beneath a van, and let them take us onto the ship.”

You swallowed hard but nodded. This was reckless. Dangerous. But it was the only way.

Jun-ho reached into his pocket and produced a tiny comm link, pressing it into your palm. “Put this in your ear,” he instructed. “Keep me updated on your position at all times.”

You gave a tight nod, slotting the device into place as you prepared to move. But just as you stepped forward, Jun-ho’s fingers wrapped around your wrist—firm, urgent.

Your breath caught as you turned back to face him. His grip wasn’t forceful, but there was something weighted in the way he held you there, something implicit that flickered in his dark eyes. Worry.

“Stay out of sight, y/n,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And be careful.”

For a moment, the intensity in his gaze pinned you in place. There was something deeper there, something intimate that went beyond just concern for a partner. It was protective. Personal. A silent plea.

You let a small smile tug at your lips, trying to ease the tension. “Aren’t I always?” you teased softly, though your heart thrummed wildly against your ribs.

Jun-ho’s lips pressed together, like he wanted to say something more—but instead, he simply let go of your hand, his fingers trailing away with reluctant hesitation.

Then, without another word, you turned and slipped into the shadows, heart hammering as you prepared to vanish into the night.

The memories clung to you like a shadow as you ran through the darkness, each footstep light but filled with the weight of the past. The sting of salt in the air, the distant hum of the ship, the adrenaline surging through your veins—it all blurred together beneath the echo of a voice from years ago.

Jun-ho’s voice.

It had been a hard pill for him to swallow back then. The truth of your surface-level feelings for him. The way he had always been there—steady, watching over you with quiet devotion. You had known, even before he ever admitted it, that he cared deeply for you. Perhaps even loved you. But love had a cruel sense of irony.

Because your heart had never belonged to him.

It had belonged to his brother.

Your breathing stumbled as you recalled the night it all came spilling out—the raw, unfiltered confession buried in slurred words and whiskey-laced regret. It had been late, the bar dimly lit and nearly empty, save for the two of you. His fingers had curled around his glass, knuckles white, jaw clenched as he forced himself to say what he had buried for so long.

"You don’t even see it, do you?" he had murmured, his voice bitter.

"How much I lov—" He had cut himself off, shaking his head with a humorless laugh before downing the rest of his drink.

You had frozen, your heart squeezing painfully, because in that moment, you saw it all. The way his feelings had festered beneath the surface, hidden behind late-night conversations and lingering touches that you never thought twice about. And worst of all, you had seen the pain in his eyes as he realized the inevitable.

That you loved In-ho.

And that In-ho loved you.

Now, as time had squeaked by, Jun-ho had learned to hide it well. He buried it beneath layers of professionalism, sarcasm, and quiet understanding. It had become something unspoken, something he never let rise to the surface—except in rare moments. Moments like earlier, when his fingers curled around your wrist just a little too tightly. When his voice carried that same note of hesitation.

It still hurts you.

To know he was in pain. To know that no matter how much time passed, no matter how much he tried to pretend, a part of him still carried that weight.

And yet, as you ducked behind a stack of crates, heart hammering as you prepared to slip beneath one of the vans, you couldn’t afford to think about it anymore. Not now. Not when danger lurked just ahead.

But still…

It lingered.

You clicked the comm link in your ear, pressing it just enough to activate the line. “In position. About to make my move under the van.” Your voice was a whisper, barely audible over the distant crash of waves against the dock.

A faint crackle followed before In-ho’s voice came through, steady and controlled. “Stay low. On my mark, make your move.”

You pressed yourself against the cold metal of the crate, your breath hitching as you scanned your surroundings. The dim glow of overhead floodlights cast long, flickering shadows across the dock, stretching over the pavement like creeping fingers. Your pulse quickened as movement caught your eye in the distance.

A figure. No—figures.

Dressed in pink uniforms, their hoods pulled high over their heads, their faces hidden behind dark masks. They moved in pairs, methodical and silent, sweeping the area with slow, calculated strides. Rifles slung over their shoulders, their heads turned sharply from side to side, scanning the shadows, ensuring every corner of the ship’s perimeter was clear.

A chill ran down your spine. They were everywhere.

You clicked the comm link again, barely daring to move. “Jun-ho, watch your six.” Your voice was tight, urgent. “There are guards everywhere.”

A long pause. Then, his voice came through—lower this time, more serious. “Copy that. Stay hidden.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers flexing over the pavement as you readied yourself. The tension in the air thickened, your body coiled like a spring, waiting for the moment to move.

In-ho’s voice finally returned, quiet but firm. “Now.”

You took a sharp breath and made your move.

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔

The ship had long since left the dock, its massive hull cutting through the waves with a rhythmic hum. You could feel the vibration of it beneath you, the low rumble of the engine pulsing through the steel floor, through your bones. The scent of oil thickened the air, mixing with the faint tang of rust.

Curled beneath the van, you stayed as still as possible, pressed against the cold undercarriage, every breath controlled, every muscle tense. The ship swayed ever so slightly, the motion subtle but constant, a reminder that there was no turning back now.

Your comm link crackled to life in your ear.

"Hanging in there?" Jun-ho’s voice came through, laced with quiet amusement.

You exhaled softly, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see you. "We’re closer to your brother than we’ve been in three years, Jun-ho. What do you think?"

A short laugh came from the other end—warm but edged with something heavier. "Fair point."

Silence stretched between you for a moment, broken only by the faint sounds of footsteps above, boots thudding against metal as the guards moved across the ship’s deck. Your fingers curled into a fist against the hard ground.

Jun-ho’s voice softened. "I promise we’ll get him back, y/n."

You bit your lip, hesitation gnawing at you. "We don’t even know if he wants to come home," you whispered, barely daring to say it aloud. The thought had haunted you for years. "Or what his part is in any of this."

A quiet hum came through the comm, Jun-ho’s thoughtful exhale. When he finally spoke, his words were steady, resigned, yet resolute.

"If we find him, and he doesn’t want to come home… then at least we’ll know we did what we could for him."

Something in your chest tightened at that.

Because deep down, you knew that if In-ho chose to stay—if he had changed into someone neither of you recognized—you weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to let him go.

Jun-ho’s voice was quieter now, almost wistful, carrying an edge of something he rarely let slip.

“And maybe we could start fresh,” he finished, the words hanging between you like a possibility neither of you had dared to speak aloud before.

“We could quit our jobs, find something else—something that doesn’t come with a gun in our hands or a target on our backs. Leave it all behind… for good.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a slow-moving tide, threatening to pull you under.

Start fresh.

You had never allowed yourself to dream of that. Had never let yourself imagine a life beyond the chase, beyond the endless pursuit of justice, of closure, of the ghosts that never stopped following you. But now, hearing it from Jun-ho—spoken so plainly, so genuinely—it made something inside you ache.

A life where there were no late-night stakeouts, no whispered orders over comm links, no bulletproof vests or bodies lost in the shuffle of corruption. A life where you weren’t constantly searching for something—someone—just out of reach.

Could you really walk away?

Would In-ho, if you found him?

You swallowed hard, staring at the dim underbelly of the van, the vibrations of the ship’s engines thrumming beneath your body. Your voice was barely above a whisper when you finally spoke.

“Do you really think it’s that simple?”

Jun-ho exhaled, a breathy chuckle tinged with something almost sad. "I don’t know. But I’d like to think there’s a world where we could be more than just this.”

You closed your eyes for a brief second, allowing yourself—for the first time—to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he was right as the two of you lay beneath vans beside each other.

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔

Twenty minutes had passed, though it felt like an eternity, the weight of damp fabric pressed against you. The stolen uniform fit awkwardly, the material stiff, the sleeves slightly too long as if the previous owner’s presence still lingered.

You had moved quickly—silently. The guard never even had time to scream before your hands snapped his neck with a sickening crack. His body had hit the water without a sound, swallowed by the dark waves below. You hadn’t let yourself think about it. There was no time for hesitation, no space for second thoughts. Survival had demanded ruthlessness, and you had given it without question.

Now, standing in the dimly lit cabin of the ship, your heart pounded against your ribs, each beat a drum of anticipation. Shadows stretched along the walls, the flickering glow of old, buzzing lights casting uneven shapes across the steel interior. The hum of the ship’s engine vibrated through your bones, yet you still felt untethered—adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

You couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t move.

Couldn’t even call for Jun-ho. You were too close to the others.

For all you knew, he could be standing in the room with you, a breath away, just as silent, just as unseen. The air was thick with tension, each second stretching impossibly long. Your grip tightened into a fist at your side, your pulse hammering in your ears.

Then—the lightest touch.

A brush of warmth against your fingers, so delicate you almost thought you imagined it.

Jun-ho.

The tension coiled in your chest began to unravel, the weight pressing down on you, lifting just enough for you to breathe again. He was beside you.

The ship docked with a heavy groan of metal against concrete, the subtle sway of the water beneath you replaced by the rigid stillness of solid ground. The transition was seamless—no hesitation, no time to breathe. Orders were barked, movements synchronized, and like a well-oiled machine, you followed along, blending into the sea of masked figures.

You climbed into the driver’s seat of one of the transport vans, gripping the wheel with hands that didn’t feel like your own. The thick gloves made your fingers clumsy, but you forced yourself to focus. The weight of the uniform, the anonymity of the mask—it was suffocating, yet necessary.

As the van rumbled to life, you drove in a straight, controlled line, mirroring the other vehicles in the convoy. The facility loomed ahead, a cold monolith of concrete and steel, its high walls stretching endlessly into the darkened sky. The moment you passed through the towering gates, your stomach twisted. There was no turning back now.

The night blurred into a haze of orders followed and errands run. The rigid structure of the facility allowed no room for mistakes—no hesitation, no deviation. Guards moved like phantoms, silent, their every step rehearsed. You mimicked them perfectly, keeping your head low, your movements precise. Jun-ho was never far, always within sight but never obvious. A shadow among shadows.

At last, after what felt like hours, you were dismissed to your cabins.

You followed Jun-ho closely, his presence an unspoken reassurance in the vast, sterile hallways. Your masks were scanned at a checkpoint, a quick flicker of red light passing over the numbers now assigned to you. Attendance. A subtle but effective way to track who belonged and who didn’t. Your numbers were sequential—assigned side by side, keeping you close.

Now, you stood in front of your respective doors, the dim, flickering light above casting elongated shadows against the cold steel. You glanced sideways, watching as Jun-ho reached for the keypad on his door, his fingers moving with practiced ease.

You did the same, pressing the cool metal of the scanner, waiting for the soft beep before the lock released.

For a moment, you hesitated, gripping the door handle, your heart still racing from the events of the night. Then, you exhaled and stepped inside, shutting the heavy steel door behind you with a quiet thud.

The silence pressed in around you.

For the first time since boarding the ship, you were alone.

If you were being completely honest with yourself, you were terrified.

You had faced danger before—walked through crime scenes stained with blood, pursued criminals through darkened alleys, wrestled with the weight of life and death more times than you cared to count. Murders, robberies, violent, gruesome killings—you had seen it all. But this was different.

This was something else entirely.

You weren’t the hunter here. You were the prey, trapped in an environment where the rules were unspoken but absolute, where one wrong move could mean the difference between survival and a bullet to the head.

Your breath was shallow as you sat stiffly on the small cot, the mattress thin and unyielding beneath you. The walls around you were bare, lifeless. Cold. A single dim light buzzed overhead, casting an eerie glow across the metallic surfaces. In the corner of the room, a small, unblinking red light glowed—a camera. Watching. Recording.

The soft crackle of the comm link in your ear startled you, breaking the suffocating silence.

It was as if he could sense your fear.

“Stay calm,” his voice was low, steady—a tether in the storm. “There are cameras in our rooms. Don’t show weakness. And whatever you do, don’t show your face to the camera.”

You swallowed hard, forcing the tension from your shoulders, willing your hands to stop trembling. “Copy,” you whispered.

A deep breath came through the link, then Jun-ho’s voice again, quieter this time. “For all we know… In-ho could be on the authoritative side in this facility. But if we’re caught, we have no idea what they’ll do to us. Best not to take any chances.”

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, pressing your lips together to suppress the flood of emotions threatening to surface. You had waited three years for this—three years of searching, of unanswered questions, of agonizing uncertainty. And now, you were closer than ever.

But you still had no idea what you were walking into.

No idea who In-ho had become.

The thought sent another wave of unease through you, but you shoved it down, exhaling slowly as you opened your eyes. Jun-ho was right. Now wasn’t the time for fear.

“For now, we take orders,” Jun-ho continued, his tone resolute. “We do what we’re told. Nothing more, nothing less.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. Your voice was barely above a whisper when you finally responded.

“Sounds like a plan.”

“For now, get some rest.” Jun-ho’s voice was softer this time, a quiet reassurance cutting through the barren emptiness of your room. “I’m close by, and it’ll stay that way until we get out of here.”

You wanted to believe that. Needed to.

The comm line crackled faintly, and then—silence.

The absence of his voice felt heavier than it should have, settling into the pit of your stomach like a stone. You sat still for a moment, listening—to the low hum of the ventilation system, the distant echoes of footsteps in the corridor, the rhythmic buzz of the fluorescent light overhead. Everything about this place felt unnatural. Controlled.

Shifting slightly on the cot, you let out a slow breath, your muscles aching from the tension of the day. You knew you needed sleep, but the thought of closing your eyes in this place, where danger lurked behind every corner, made your pulse quicken.

But Jun-ho was close and so was In-ho.

Swallowing back the unease, you lay down, curling slightly on your side to avoid facing the ever-watching camera. The mattress was stiff beneath you, the blanket thin and rough, but exhaustion was creeping in, dulling the sharp edges of your fear.

You held onto Jun-ho’s words, repeating them in your mind like a mantra.

I’m close by.

It’ll stay that way.

As your eyes fluttered shut, the hum of the facility droned on, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to drift into uneasy sleep.

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔

You sat snug on the couch, wrapped in the warmth of a soft blanket that cocooned you like a gentle embrace, the flickering light from the TV casting a soothing glow across the room. The pages of your book turned easily beneath your fingers, but the comforting scent of fresh coffee wafting through the air kept pulling your attention away. In the space beside you, In-ho sat casually, his presence a quiet comfort. Your feet rested in his lap, and his thumb absentmindedly circled the soft skin of your ankle, the movement both soothing and intimate, grounding you in the moment. His eyes were locked onto the TV screen, absorbed in the rerun of one of your favorite shows. Without hesitation, he'd dove into it once you shared it was something you loved—he was always so eager to understand every little thing that made you smile, laugh, or even cry.

It was as if everything you cared about fascinated him, and you found yourself smiling at the way he would learn about the things you loved, weaving them into the fabric of your shared life.

But as the scene unfolded on the screen, you couldn’t help but watch him. His features softened in the dim light, his attention rapt on the show, but there was something so peaceful about the way he sat beside you, as though this moment was as perfect for him as it was for you.

You must have been staring longer than you realized, because suddenly, his chin snapped in your direction, his eyes locking with yours, curious and alert.

"What?" he asked, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips.

You hummed softly, not needing to think about your response. "Nothing," you said, the words coming out as if they’d always been there. "I just enjoy watching you."

A quiet smile stretched across his face, and without another word, he scooted closer to you. The air around you seemed to shift as he leaned in, taking your book from your hands and tossing it casually onto the coffee table. His fingers gently spread your legs, creating a space for him between them as he lowered his head to your chest.

His body pressed against yours, arms wrapping around your waist, a warm, familiar weight, and you instinctively leaned down, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his temple. The moment was so quiet, so tender, and you allowed him to sink into the comfort of your embrace as his gaze returned to the show, now content to simply be near you.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, wrapped in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. His body was warm against yours, his weight familiar, grounding. The steady rhythm of his breathing matched your own, slow and easy, as though neither of you wanted to break the moment.

Then, without warning, he pressed a soft kiss to your breastbone, the warmth of his lips lingering against your skin. It was fleeting, but enough to send a gentle shiver down your spine. When he lifted his head, his dark eyes found yours, deep and searching, holding something heavier than the peaceful stillness that surrounded you.

“Let’s have a baby,” he murmured.

Your breath caught. The words settled into the air between you, delicate yet weighted, and your eyes widened in surprise. Your heart stuttered, your fingers unconsciously tightening against the fabric of his shirt.

You had talked about it once before—the possibility of starting a family, of what that might look like—but it had been just that: a possibility. A distant thought. Neither of you had brought it up again since then, and now, here he was, laying it bare, no hesitation in his voice.

You swallowed, your lips parting as you searched for something—anything—to say. Finally, you managed, “Are you sure?” The words came out barely above a whisper, tinged with uncertainty, with the weight of everything this meant.

In-ho pushed himself up, leveling himself with you, his face inches from yours. His hand found your cheek, fingertips brushing away a stray strand of hair, his touch impossibly gentle. He held your gaze, his thumb grazing the curve of your jaw, and with a certainty that left no room for doubt, he said,

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”

His voice was low, steady, laced with quiet conviction. The sincerity in his eyes sent warmth blooming in your chest, melting away the initial shock. He wasn’t just saying it—he meant it. Every word.

Your lips parted, but no words came. Instead, you just looked at him—at the man who had woven himself so deeply into your life, your heart. He was watching you so intently, waiting, searching your face for a sign, for an answer.

A breathy laugh escaped you, shaky and disbelieving. “You really mean it?” you asked, voice softer this time.

His thumb traced small, soothing circles against your cheek. “I do,” he whispered. “I think about it all the time. What our child would be like. If they’d have your smile, your laugh… your heart.” He exhaled, his forehead brushing against yours. “I want this with you.”

Your chest swelled, your heart a fluttering mess beneath your ribs. “In-ho…” You barely managed his name, your throat tightening with emotion.

“I know it’s big,” he continued, his fingers now sliding down to lace with yours. “And I know it’s scary, but I want to build that life with you. I want late nights rocking them to sleep. I want tiny hands reaching for us. I want to watch you love them the way you love everything—with your whole heart.” He let out a small, breathless chuckle, shaking his head. “I love you. And I know that if we do this… our child is going to have the most incredible mother.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. Warmth bloomed in your chest, spilling into every inch of you.

You squeezed his hand, the weight of his words wrapping around you like a promise. A future. A dream neither of you had fully allowed yourselves to grasp before now.

A slow, watery smile crept across your lips. “You really think I’d be a good mom?”

His eyes softened. “I know you would.”

Your throat bobbed with emotion, and then, in one swift movement, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close. He let out a soft chuckle as he melted into you, his arms winding around your waist, holding you as if he never wanted to let go.

“I love you,” you whispered against his temple, pressing a lingering kiss to his hair.

His hold on you tightened. “So… is that a yes?”

A quiet laugh bubbled from your chest as you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. You didn’t even have to think anymore.

“Yes,” you breathed.

His grin was instant, bright, and boyish, filled with something raw and beautiful. He kissed you then, deep and slow, pouring all of his love, all of his joy into you.

Your heart was pounding—so fast, so violently that it felt like it might shatter right through your ribs. The force of it ripped you from sleep, your body jerking upright as a sharp, gasping breath tore from your lungs. The room was dark, but your vision swam, unfocused, the remnants of the dream still clinging to you like phantom hands you couldn't shake.

It wasn’t a dream.

It was a memory again.

Another cruel, agonizing memory, dragged from the depths of your mind just to remind you of everything you had lost.

A strangled sob broke from your throat as your hands shot up, pressing hard against your face, as if you could somehow smother the pain, force it back down where it wouldn’t consume you. But it was already there, crawling through your chest, squeezing around your lungs like a vice. You sucked in a breath, but it was useless—shallow, shaky, burning.

Your skin was damp, slick with sweat, but you were cold. So unbearably cold.

You were tired. Tired of this endless torment. Tired of waking up like this, drowning in grief that refused to let go. Tired of being haunted by something you could never get back.

Your shoulders trembled, your body curling in on itself as wave after wave of sorrow crashed over you, relentless and merciless.

You just wanted it to stop.

Just for one night.

Just long enough to breathe.

But deep down, you knew—this grief, this heartbreak… it wasn’t letting go of you anytime soon.

_____________________________

The weight of the bodies in your arms was nothing compared to the weight in your chest. You knew where you were—what this place was—but the stark finality of it didn’t truly sink in until now. Until you were standing among the dead.

Your hands trembled slightly as you lifted another body, the limp form heavier than you expected. It wasn't just the physical strain—it was the sheer wrongness of it.

Here, life was taken without hesitation. Without ceremony. A single gunshot to the head—quick, efficient, painless, if such a thing could be called mercy. It wasn’t personal. It was routine.

You reached for the coffin cover, your fingers just brushing the edge—when it was suddenly snatched away.

Though Jun-ho's face was concealed behind his mask, his movements betrayed him—protective. Before you could even react, the room erupted into chaos.

A single gunshot cracked through the air, splitting the silence like lightning. Then—shouting. Struggling. The sound of bodies shifting, boots scuffing against the gravel.

Your head snapped up just as Jun-ho shifted closer to you, his voice a low whisper. “Back up. Stay behind me.”

Your pulse hammered against your ribs as you obeyed, instinct kicking in. You weren’t armed. Neither of you were. And that realization settled over you like ice.

At the center of the chaos, a player stood trembling, a stolen pistol clutched in his hands. His arm shook, but his aim did not waver. The barrel of the gun was pressed flush against the forehead of a guard.

“Take it off,” the player demanded, his voice raw with desperation. “Take off the mask. Look at me.”

For a moment, no one moved. No one breathed.

Then, slowly—hesitantly—the guard obeyed.

The mask fell away, revealing a face that was far too young for this place. Barely a man. Eyes filled with something detached and misplaced.

Your breath caught in your throat.

What was he doing here?

How could someone so young be a part of this?

But before those thoughts could fully form, the player made his choice.

A sharp inhale. A flicker of resolve.

Then—he turned the gun on himself.

The shot rang out, deafening. His body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

Silence followed. Heavy. Suffocating.

And then—boots.

Slow. Intentional.

The purest sound of authority.

Your head snapped to the left, just as Jun-ho’s did.

A man approached, his uniform a stark contrast to the others. Head to toe in gray, a mask black as the void concealing his face. He moved with eerie precision, gun already raised.

One shot.

The young guard barely had time to react before the bullet tore through his head, his body collapsing beside the player’s.

You inhaled sharply, the horror of it settling deep in your bones.

Then—the man spoke.

“Remember.” His voice was smooth, level—chilling. “Once they find out who you are, you die.”

His steps never faltered as he turned, moving past you without a second glance.

So close that his shoulder nearly brushed yours.

You stood frozen, every muscle in your body locked tight, your own breath feeling too loud in the deathly quiet.

Jun-ho exhaled slowly beside you, barely above a whisper. “We need to find In-ho and get the fuck out of here.”

You didn’t dare nod. Didn’t dare move.

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔

You sat cross-legged on your bed, the thin mattress barely offering any comfort, the tray of lukewarm food balanced on your lap. Mechanically, you took another bite, chewing without really tasting it, your gaze locked onto the official transfer papers resting on the sheets beside you. The crisp white pages were handed to you by an officer earlier that morning without so much as a second glance.

It had been two days.

Two days of dragging lifeless bodies across cold concrete, the metallic stench of blood clinging to your skin no matter how many times you scrubbed your hands raw. Two days of bowing your head, following orders, keeping your expression carefully neutral beneath the ever-watchful eyes of masked guards. Two days of stealing glances at Jun-ho as he maneuvered through the facility, shifting seamlessly between identities, slipping into the skin of a different man each time.

You had seen the way he carried himself—first as a low-ranking worker, blending into the sea of pink-clad figures, and then as a square guard, his stolen mask concealing the sharp determination in his eyes. He had taken the uniform off a dead man, stripping him of his role just as easily as the guards stripped their victims of life. All to get closer, to gather more intel.

And you—

You wanted to help. You wanted to be in the thick of it with him, to shoulder some of the weight of this dangerous game you were both playing. But Jun-ho had been firm, his voice leaving no room for argument.

"Stay back. Stay safe."

He preferred the target to be on him, for the guards to believe he was the only intruder. It was strategic, calculated—if anything went wrong, at least you wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire. At least one of you would still have a way out.

You exhaled, setting your tray aside, your appetite long gone. Your fingers skimmed over the edges of the transfer papers, the stark black ink of your new assignment staring back at you. A new role. A new place to hide in plain sight

Your fingers curled around the edges of the brittle transfer papers, your stomach twisting as you read the words again. You had been reassigned. Not to the usual mindless tasks—not to disposing of bodies, scrubbing blood from the floors, or following silent orders.

No, this was different.

You were to serve VIPs.

The second-to-last game was about to begin, and your role was clear: cater to them, offer liquor, serve food, be present—but unseen. You didn’t allow your mind to wander beyond that, refused to let yourself consider what else they might expect.

Because there were no rules here.

No boundaries.

No lines that couldn’t be crossed.

That thought alone sent a sickening chill through you.

The comm link in your ear crackled suddenly, making you flinch.

"What were you given earlier?"

Jun-ho’s voice came through, steady but cautious, like he was bracing for something he wouldn’t like.

You swallowed down the unease rising in your throat before answering.

“Transfer papers. They want me to serve the VIPs.”

A heavy silence followed.

Then, Jun-ho hummed thoughtfully, though there was a tightness to the sound, an unspoken weight behind it.

You forced yourself to continue. “Y’know… pour alcohol, serve food. Stuff like that, I guess.”

The words felt hollow as they left your mouth, as if saying them out loud might make them true, might make this role as simple as it sounded. But you both knew better.

"VIPs?" Jun-ho repeated, his tone skeptical. “You hear anything about them?”

You hesitated. “No, but they must be high-ranking if they’re given their own space, their own servers. And if they’re allowed to watch everything up close.”

Jun-ho didn’t respond right away, and you could almost hear the gears turning in his head. He had been careful since stepping into this place, but this—this was unknown.

"I don’t like it," he admitted at last, his voice quieter but firm.

You swallowed hard. “Neither do I.”

The unstated fear remained between you. Whoever these VIPs were, they were powerful enough to be protected, to be kept separate from the rest.

And that alone made them dangerous.

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔

The black dress clung to you like a second skin—too tight, too short, too deliberately designed to make you look enticing. The fabric hugged your upper thighs, the hem barely skimming the curve of your ass, leaving little to the imagination. Every step you took made the sheer tights shine against the chandeliers, a constant, unwanted reminder of how exposed you felt. The glossy black heels that fit around your feet were the tallest you’d ever worn, forcing you to adjust your balance with each step, each shift of your weight.

Your commanding officers had been meticulous in their orders: hair down, cascading over your shoulders, its purpose clear—conceal the clip of your black mask. The loose strands felt foreign against your skin, framing your face in a way that made you feel even more vulnerable.

But what unsettled you the most was the thick layer of makeup painted onto your face. Powder, contour, shimmering highlights, all meticulously placed to enhance features that no one would even see. And the lipstick—deep, blood-red, stark against your skin. A cruel joke, considering the mask that concealed everything but your eyes. You had questioned its necessity, but no one had answered. Maybe it was all about the illusion, the mere suggestion of beauty beneath the disguise.

Still, it made you nervous. The entire situation did.

But you couldn’t show it.

With steady hands, you balanced the silver tray of wine glasses and descended the grand staircase leading into the lavish room. Gilded walls gleamed under the warm glow of chandeliers, and the plush, oversized furniture was arranged like a decadent playground for the six VIPs lounging around, their golden masks gleaming in the dim light. Laughter and murmured conversation filled the air, but you barely heard it, your heartbeat thudding loud in your ears.

Two square guards stood near the walls, their stiff postures a contrast to the indulgent sprawl of the men before them. And then there was the captain.

The moment you stepped onto the marble floor, you felt his gaze.

His mask tilted upward, attention locked onto you as you made your way forward, tray in hand. You didn't know what exactly he was looking at—the length of your exposed legs? The way your hair fell in soft waves around your shoulders? Or maybe it was something deeper, something unreadable beneath the stark black mask covering your face.

You forced yourself to keep moving, the heels clicking against the floor, the weight of the tray steady in your grasp. But the weight of his stare made your breath catch.

So you did what you could.

You lowered your gaze, focused on the swirling crimson liquid in the delicate glasses, and moved through the room, offering wine to the golden-masked men who barely acknowledged you.

Your heart pounded in your chest.

This was only the beginning.

And you had no idea what was expected of you next.

"So how are your scores so far? Bet on any winners?" One of the VIPS asked as you bent down, offering a glass. The breeze you felt on your ass made your breath snag, but you moved on after the man took a glass.

"No. For some reason I keep picking losers." One of the other men said as you walked around. Your heels clicked loudly, drowning out the sound of the music playing overhead. You wished Jun-ho were here. You wished your partner were here.

The game unfolded before you in a spectacle of lights, glass, and muted screams, but you barely registered the horror playing out in front of you. Standing at the side of the opulent room, you kept yourself small, trying to blend into the background as much as possible. The other servers, dressed just as provocatively, moved silently, refilling glasses and catering to the whims of the men who sat reclined in their lavish seats, watching the brutality unfold with twisted amusement.

Then, a deep voice cut through the low hum of conversation.

"Don’t be shy, my lovely. Come on over."

The voice belonged to the man sitting at the front, closest to the captain. His golden elk mask gleamed beneath the warm glow of the chandelier, catching the light with every subtle movement. He was leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the armrest in a posture of complete leisure, his other hand outstretched toward you, beckoning.

Your heart sank...sank and sank until you thought it might crash onto the marble floor beneath you.

For a fleeting second, you hesitated.

And that’s when you felt it—an invisible weight, pressing down on you.

The captain’s mask turned in your direction.

Even without seeing his eyes, you felt his stare—heavy, unrelenting, a silent demand that burned into your skin like a warning. Your refusal to move, even for just a moment, had not gone unnoticed.

The air in the room grew suffocating.

Your fingers tightened into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms, grounding yourself against the sickening dread pooling in your stomach. Your legs felt like lead, but somehow, they moved.

One step.

Then another.

The distance between you and the elk-masked man closed too quickly, yet not quickly enough. You could feel the heat of a dozen gazes on you—some amused, some indifferent, but his… his was expectant.

When you finally stopped before him, he tilted his head slightly, as if studying you from behind the mask.

You swallowed hard, standing there stiffly, waiting for whatever was to come next.

But the worst part was, you had no idea what he wanted.

And that terrified you more than anything.

The man let out a low, satisfied groan as his eyes lingered on you, his hand reaching out to graze the curve of your calf. His touch sent a wave of revulsion through you, but you fought the instinct to pull away. With the captain’s mask fixed firmly on your back, every muscle in your body screamed to obey, to stay still, to endure.

You took a step closer, the warmth of his body radiating up to meet yours, but the touch only grew more invasive. His hand slid up your thigh with casual arrogance, his fingers pressing firmly into your skin. Before you could react, he pulled you forward, and you fell, unceremoniously, into his lap.

The shock of the movement knocked the breath out of you, his hands caressing the skin of your thighs.

He laughed, a breathy, self-satisfied sound, his hot, alcohol-scented breath washing over your mask. You could feel his grip tightening on your upper thigh as if claiming ownership, each subtle shift making you feel smaller, more exposed.

“Are you enjoying yourself, darling?” His voice was slow, deliberate, as if testing how far he could push you, his fingers making subtle circles along your skin.

You blinked, fighting to keep your expression neutral, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you. “Of course, sir.” The words were louder than you wanted, leaving your lips before you could stop them, the fake cheer in them tasting bitter and hollow.

His hand cupped your chin, his fingers digging in, forcing you to meet his gaze. You couldn’t look away. The nasty grin on his face sent a sick feeling twisting through your stomach.

“Don’t be shy,” he ordered, his tone thick with amusement. “Where are you from?”

You bit your lip, trying to steady the frantic beating of your heart. You told him where you were from, the words left your mouth before you could stop them, a reflexive lie that felt like sand in your mouth.

He hummed, pleased, his fingers tangling in your hair, yanking, and inquisitive as he pulled you closer. The force of his fingers in your hair loosened your mask, and for a split second, it made you panic. The black mask had shifted, exposing part of your face. Half of your vulnerability was now laid bare, that half of your face exposed to the captain.

Your pulse spiked, terror rising in your chest as half of your identity was half revealed to him.

You barely had time to react. The second your hand reached up to adjust your mask, it was too late. A gloved hand seized your wrist with unyielding force, yanking you from the VIP's lap. The VIP barked in protest, but it didn't matter. The sharpness of the grip made you gasp in pain, your breath caught in your throat as you were dragged across the room. The sudden motion left you dizzy, and for a moment, your legs struggled to keep up, stumbling as you fought to stay steady.

The force of the hand around your wrist was crushing, unrelenting, and you looked up—meeting the cold, piercing gaze of the captain. His mask bore no expression, but his silence was loud enough.

He gave a sharp order to the guard beside him, his voice low and commanding, “Monitor the game.”

The words sent a shudder through you, but you didn’t have time to process them.

You tried to pull away, to break free, but his grip only constricted. He was stronger, faster, his hold unshakable.

Every attempt to escape felt like an exercise in futility, and a sickening thought crept into your mind: this was it.

You weren’t the face on file for Guard 29. You weren’t supposed to be here. You were an imposter. The realization struck you like a punch to the gut, and a bitter taste flooded your mouth.

You could feel your heart hammering against your chest, but there was nothing you could do. Your commlink, hidden beneath your mask and tucked away in the other uniform, was useless now. You were trapped.

The hallway ahead was cold as he dragged you, the air viscous with the aroma of metal and the distant echoes of distant screams. The sharp sound of your tights ripping apart at the seams made you wince, the fabric tearing like a sickening reminder of your helplessness.

But still, you fought.

You kicked, thrashing against his grip, throwing punches with everything you had. The force of your blows landed against his body like hammer strikes against brick, but it was no use. The man’s hold didn’t loosen; he barely flinched, as if he’d endured much worse.

“Let go of me, you bastard!” you screamed, your voice ragged with frustration, fury, and terror. The words tasted bitter, but they were all you had left. You weren’t going to let him drag you to whatever fate awaited you in silence.

You weren’t going to die quietly. Not like this.

The sharp turn into the office space came so suddenly that it took your breath away. You barely had time to brace yourself before he shoved you forward. Your knees buckled as you hit the cold marble floor with a sickening thud, the impact leaving you winded and dazed. The sharp echo of the door slamming shut behind you sent a jolt of panic through your body, making you scramble to push yourself up, but before you could even fully react, his boots were already coming into view.

You barely had a moment to catch your breath as he raised his gun, stepping between your legs. The cold, menacing barrel of his gun was aimed directly at your head. The steely glint from his mask matched the deadly precision of his stance. "I've gotta say," he muttered, his voice low and mocking, "you're good. Posing as a guard, unnoticed, undetected." He leaned in, lowering himself to a crouch, his gaze never leaving you as if studying your every move, anticipating your next one.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you instinctively pulled back, trying to create distance, but his hand was quick, gripping your chin with a vice-like force. You gasped, feeling the sting of his fingers digging into your skin, and before you could think to resist, he jerked your head upward, forcing you to look at him. "Take off the mask," he ordered, his voice cold, without a hint of mercy.

Your body stiffened, refusing to comply. You shook your head, a flicker of defiance the only thing that kept you from completely losing yourself in the moment. But that flicker was quickly extinguished as he sneered under the disguise, tightening his grip on your chin. In one swift motion, he yanked the mask from your face, tearing it off with an aggression that made you yelp in surprise.

But, what you expected next… never came. The seconds stretched on, heavy and suffocating, as his looming figure remained just inches from your face. Your heart thudded erratically, and you could feel the pulse of it in your throat, your temples, as you stared up at his grey mask, the blank expression seeming to mock you with its indifference. Every part of you screamed for release, for the end to come—yet he lingered, cold and unmoving. You searched desperately for something to hold onto, anything that could make sense of this twisted moment.

Frustration began to burn deep in your chest. The silence stretched on, suffocating, like a weight pressing down on your lungs. Why was he doing this? It made your blood boil—this twisted game, this drawn-out moment where you could only wait. You wanted it over. You wanted him to pull the trigger, to end it so that Jun-ho could find you, could tear through this man and avenge your death with all the brutality you knew he was capable of.

And in a strange, twisted way, you were at peace with that.

To die for love, for the search, for In-ho.

But the silence dragged, leaving you trembling, caught between terror and resolve. You furrowed your brow in anger, the tension thickening with every beat of your heart. “Well?” Your voice was sharp, louder than before, filled with a raw desperation you couldn’t hide. “Pull the trigger!”

The words hung in the air, reverberating in the stillness. Everything felt like it was holding its breath. Even your own pulse seemed to echo in the silence. And then, just as you thought you might suffocate under the weight of it all, you heard it—the sound of his steady breathing, matching your own. Close. So close you could feel the warmth of it on your skin as it escaped from under the mask.

Then, with a movement so subtle it almost slipped past you, his gloved hand rose slowly, fingers brushing against your chest. The pressure was almost gentle at first, just above your breastbone, but the sensation was electric. It was like his fingers were pressing down on your heart itself, a cruel reminder of its erratic, chaotic rhythm. You sucked in a breath, caught somewhere between confusion and shock. You couldn't move, couldn't pull away, even as the unexpected intimacy of the gesture froze you in place.

His gaze followed the movement, dropping down to where his hand lay against you, as if studying the rapid beat of your heart. The sensation was so intimate, so stark against the brutality of the situation, that it sent a shiver racing through you. The closeness—the rawness—of it felt as suffocating as his presence, and for a split second, you wondered if he could feel your fear through the rapid thud of your pulse.

A long, agonizing minute passed, the tension hanging thick in the air, pressing against your chest until it felt like you couldn’t breathe. Without warning, he stepped back, breaking the heavy silence. His body straightened, the movement almost casual, as if the intensity of the moment had been nothing more than a fleeting amusement for him. He holstered his firearm with intentional slowness, the metal clinking as it slid into place, the sound almost mocking in the sudden quiet.

Then, without another word, he backed away, his steps echoing softly in the office space as he turned and made his way toward the door. Each step seemed to stretch out in time, the thudding of his boots on the marble floor a rhythmic reminder of how surreal this entire situation had been.

You remained frozen for a moment longer, your breath a shallow gasp in the stillness, your chest rising and falling in frantic succession. Your body, tense and shaking, finally released the breath you'd been holding in, the air filling your lungs in a rush of disbelief. What the hell just happened?

The question hovered in your mind, but it was tangled, incoherent, an unspeakable knot of confusion. Why had he—what made him do that? It was as if the whole encounter had just… slipped through your fingers, leaving nothing but the wreckage of unanswered questions in its wake.

You couldn’t make sense of it. You couldn’t even finish the thought before the weight of the moment came crashing back down on you. The fear, the confusion, the shock, all swirling in your chest like a storm. You had to get out.

With trembling hands, you pushed yourself up from the cold marble floor. Your legs were unsteady, as if the ground beneath you had suddenly become alien, but you fought to steady yourself. Your heels lay discarded at your feet, a reminder of how quickly everything had spiraled out of control. You grabbed them, the cold leather against your fingers grounding you slightly in the chaos of your mind. But even as you stood there, alone in the eerie silence of the office, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted—something had been left unsaid, unspoken.

And now you were left with nothing but the gnawing uncertainty, the unanswered questions clawing at your mind. Why had he stopped? What was he thinking? What had that... touch meant?

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔

The scorching heat of the shower cascaded over your skin, melting away the tension that clung to your muscles like a second layer. Steam curled around you in thick, swirling tendrils, fogging the mirror and turning the bathroom into a hazy cocoon of warmth. You stood beneath the relentless stream, arms draped loosely around your neck, head tilted back, eyes shut. For a moment, you allowed yourself to exist in nothingness, your mind a void save for the questions you knew would never be answered.

You told yourself to let it go. To forget. You had been spared, and that alone should have been enough. Shouldn’t it? Yet, no matter how many times you repeated it, the unease sat heavy in your chest. The doubt, the uncertainty—it festered.

With slow, deliberate movements, you ran your fingers over your body, ridding yourself of the soap that clung stubbornly to your skin. The water slithered down your form in shimmering rivulets, vanishing into the drain along with any lingering warmth. Reluctantly, you reached for the robe hanging on the wall, wrapping yourself in its plush fabric as you stepped onto the cool tile.

Your new quarters were a stark contrast to what you had grown accustomed to—spacious, luxurious, tailored to your liking. A bed large enough to swallow you whole. Soft lighting that bathed the room in an inviting glow. It was comfortable. Too comfortable. A gilded cage, perhaps, but a cage nonetheless.

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your damp hair. And then, as if summoned by your unease, your thoughts drifted to Jun-ho. What had he been doing? Where had his relentless pursuit led him?

Slipping into fresh underwear and a loose shirt, you moved with a quiet, mechanical precision, your mind elsewhere—trapped in the fragments of a moment that refused to fade. You sank onto the edge of the bed, your gaze fixed on the floor, but you weren’t really seeing it.

The memory pulled at you, insistent and unrelenting. You turned it over in your mind, again and again, dissecting every second, every detail—the way the air had smelled, the way your skin had prickled, the weight of something unspoken pressing down on you.

Your fingers twitched at your sides before moving of their own accord, palm drifting toward your chest, mimicking the movement you had witnessed. The touch was slow, deliberate, tracing the same pattern, the same pressure. A shiver rippled through you.

It felt familiar.

Your breath hitched.

Familiar... similar.

Your heart lurched, your fingers momentarily stilling against your skin as a strange, creeping sensation unfurled in the back of your mind. You hadn’t noticed it before—not in the heat of the moment, not when you were too caught up in surviving. But now, in the stillness of your room, away from the chaos, it clicked.

The way he moved. The way his fingers had pressed. The rhythm. The intent.

Recognition clawed at you, a whisper of something just beyond reach.

And then—like a sudden snap of a thread—realization struck.

It wasn’t just familiar.

It was something you had known before..someone you had loved before and love now.

Your head snapped up. A sharp inhale caught in your throat.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, barely able to hear your own voice over the sudden, deafening pounding of your heart.

It had been In-ho—right there in front of you.

A violent shudder ripped through your body as the realization settled, your limbs moving before you could think. You lunged from the bed, nearly stumbling in your haste, hands trembling as you threw open the closet. Your old uniform hung there, untouched, yet heavy with memories. You tore it aside, fingers finding the cool metal of your comm link.

Fumbling, you pressed the button. "Jun-ho? Jun-ho," you called, breathless.

Static. A moment of silence that stretched unbearably before—

"I'm in a fix here, y/n, make it—make it quick."

His voice was strained, fractured between labored breaths. In the background, the sharp crunch of boots against gravel, the distant clatter of shifting debris. He was moving. Running.

Dread seeped into your bones like ice water.

He’d been caught.

But there was no time for that now. No time to process the cold grip of fear tightening in your chest. He needed to know.

"The captain." Your throat tightened, but you forced the words out. "It’s In-ho."

Silence.

A long, chilling silence.

Then—his breath hitched, just barely audible over the crackling static. "Are you certain?"

You clenched your jaw, fingers curling into a fist at your side. You had never been more certain of anything in your life.

"I know it’s him."

The comm-link crackled again, his hurried footsteps echoing through the line. Then, at last, he spoke, his voice low and laced with something between bitter understanding and horror.

"Good to know," he panted. "’Cause that’s who I’m running from."

A pause.

"My own brother."

The words hit you like a blow to the chest.

"What will he do?" you asked, voice tight, barely above a whisper.

Jun-ho’s breath was ragged through the comm, his footsteps uneven as he moved. “My brother wouldn’t kill me—wound me, maybe, for interfering, but he’d give me a choice.”

You swallowed hard, pacing across your room in frantic strides, fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt. Your mind raced, grasping at possibilities, at outcomes that felt just out of reach.

He kept talking, his words clipped, focused. “I gathered evidence. Enough to damn this place.”

Your breath hitched. That was more than you expected. More than you dared to hope for. “What do you plan to do?”

“If I can, send it to the chief,” he said. “But depending on how this goes, I’m at a loss.”

You stopped pacing, lowering yourself onto the edge of the bed, gripping your knees. The weight of the situation pressed down on you like an iron vice.

"If I'm out…" He hesitated as if forcing himself to speak the words that felt like an admission of something too final. "You’ll have to do this on your own."

You understood.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “I know. Just… be careful.”

The moment stretched, taut, and suffocating.

Then—shouting.

Distant, at first. Then louder. Urgent.

Jun-ho sucked in a sharp breath, and the line cut to static.

Silence.

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔

By the time the next day arrived, you still hadn’t heard from Jun-ho. The silence should have been suffocating, but deep down, something told you he was okay. You held onto that instinct, clinging to it like a lifeline.

You stood beside one of the other servants, a woman taller than you, her posture rigid, almost militant. She barely blinked, her gaze fixed ahead as the VIPs began filing into the lavish hall, their presence thick with arrogance and indulgence. The air was laced with the scent of expensive cigars, aged whiskey, and the faintest trace of sweat beneath perfume.

The commanding officer barked his order, and without hesitation, you moved. A decanter balanced on your tray, the liquid sloshing gently as you navigated the room, pouring drinks with quiet precision. You slipped between the gilded chairs and velvet-draped lounges, your movements careful, practiced, invisible.

And then—you froze.

At the top of the grand staircase, In-ho stood, his presence an unshakable force in the room. His gaze locked onto yours, dark and unreadable beneath the polished mask. For a moment, time seemed to stretch, a silent pull between you two that no one else in the room could feel.

Then he moved.

He descended the stairs with the kind of effortless grace that sent unease curling in your stomach—not because you were afraid. No, not this time. This time, you were ready.

You forced yourself to breathe, finishing the pour of whiskey for the VIP in front of you with a steady hand before feeling the undeniable pull—In-ho’s silent command as he brushed past, his presence dragging you in his wake.

Without hesitation, you followed.

His strides were long, purposeful, but you matched them with ease, moving step for step beside him as the two of you slipped into a familiar office space. The heavy door shut behind you, muffling the sounds of indulgence and excess from the other room.

Silence settled between you.

You stood in front of him, your heart hammering against your ribs—not with fear, but with something else, something deeper. Slowly, instinctively, you reached for your mask, fingers brushing against the metal clips. Your fingers unclipped it, the cool press of it lifting from your skin as you pulled it away, revealing the face he had once known so well.

You let the silence stretch as you slowly took in your surroundings. The office was just as you remembered—dimly lit, with sleek, modern furniture that seemed almost too polished, too calculated. The faint scent of leather and aged wood lingered in the air, mingling with the ever-present sterility of power.

Your eyes landed on a bottle of tequila sitting on a side table, short empty glasses arranged beside it, as if someone had abandoned a half-formed thought. Without a word, you wandered toward it, perhaps to keep your distance, to keep from overwhelming him. The soft rustle of your clothes was the only sound breaking the quiet.

Lifting the bottle, you poured yourself a drink, the clear liquid swirling in the glass. You weren’t thirsty. Not really. But you needed something to do with your hands, something to tether you to the moment before it swallowed you whole.

You refused to let emotion surface, refused to let him see the way your chest ached with longing, the way the sight of him after all this time sent a ripple through the carefully constructed walls you had built around yourself. He wouldn’t see it.

But you knew—deep down, you knew.

Despite the unreadable mask he was wearing, his chest was tightening. His breath had caught, just for a second. He was in disbelief.

Spinning on your heel, you leaned back against the counter, the cool surface pressing against your spine as you raised the glass to your lips. The burn of tequila trailed down your throat, sharp and grounding.

Your gaze found his, unwavering.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” you murmured, voice even.

He exhaled slowly, a sound barely audible, yet heavy with something unspoken.

“It feels like I have,” he admitted, his voice lower than you remembered, rough around the edges as if it had been worn down over time.

Your fingers tightened around the glass.

You pursed your lips, steadying yourself. “After you disappeared, I was lined up with a donor.” Your voice was quieter now, the weight of those words pressing against your ribs. “Received a new liver a few days later.”

Almost instinctively, your hand drifted to your side, fingers brushing absentmindedly over the spot where the scar rested beneath your shirt. The memory of it—of pain, of survival—flashed through you like a distant echo.

But In-ho didn’t move.

His mask remained fixed on you from across the room, cold and impassive, an unbreakable wall between you. You searched for something—anything—beneath it. A flicker of recognition. A hint of emotion. Some sign that he wasn’t as unaffected as he wanted to appear. But he gave you nothing. Just silence.

The lump in your throat tightened. You set the glass down, the quiet clink against the counter sounding impossibly loud.

“…Can I see your face?”

The words left you softer than you intended. A plea, despite yourself.

Three years.

Did he even look the same?

Had time been kind to him, or had it taken its toll?

For a moment, he didn’t respond. The space between you felt impossibly vast despite the room being small. Then, slowly—so slowly—you saw the slightest shift in his stance, something unreadable pressing at the edges of his silence.

Then, without a word, his gloved fingers rose to the mask.

A sharp click echoed in the room as he unlatched the clasps.

Your breath caught.

Slowly, he lifted it away, revealing the face you hadn’t seen in three years.

Time had changed him.

His sharp features were the same, but there was a hollowness to them now—a weight that hadn’t been there before. Faint lines traced his forehead, shadows lingering beneath his eyes. His gaze, dark and piercing, met yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

But the thing that hit you hardest—he looked tired.

More than tired. Worn. As if he had been carrying something heavy for far too long.

You swallowed hard, unsure what to say. You had pictured this moment a hundred times, imagined what you might feel—but none of it compared to the reality of seeing him now.

His lips parted, but no words came. He just looked at you, his throat bobbing with a swallow.

“…You’re really here,” he finally murmured, almost as if he didn’t believe it himself.

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “I am.”

His eyes flickered down—to where your hand rested over your scar. Something passed through his expression, too quick to catch, but you saw it. A flash of guilt. Of something deeper.

Then, just as quickly, he forced it away. His mask may have been off, but the walls he had built? Those were still standing.

You exhaled, shaking your head slightly. “You don’t have to act like this doesn’t affect you, In-ho.”

“It doesn’t change anything,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction.

You tilted your head, studying him. “Doesn’t it?”

His silence was answer enough.

You pushed off the counter, stepping toward him with measured strides. "Where's your brother?"

His gaze flickered for a moment before settling back on you. "On his way back to the mainland."

You hummed, absorbing the information.

"It was his idea you know," you admitted, shifting your weight. "To come and find you. I wasn’t going to, but—"

His expression remained unreadable, his eyes dark and steady. "Why?"

You hesitated, fingers curling against your arms as you crossed them over your chest.

"Because I was afraid," you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Afraid of your resentment." The words carried a weight that pressed against your ribs, threatening to crush the breath from your lungs.

You kept your gaze low, the weight of your emotions pressing against your chest, threatening to spill over. A tear welled in the corner of your eye, but before it could fall, you felt a hand brush against your shoulder, its warmth dragging slowly up to the back of your neck. You looked up to find In-ho standing in front of you, his face a mask of control—until his eyes met yours. For the first time, you saw something flicker there, a crack in the wall he’d built.

"What I did... wasn't your fault," he murmured, his voice softer than you'd expected. The words hung in the air between you, and you swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself.

You took a tentative step closer, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. The sting of the tear that finally escaped your eye didn’t matter—nothing mattered as much as his presence, the sincerity in his touch. You felt the warmth of his hand cupping the side of your face, his thumb brushing away the tear as his other hand settled on your waist. His fingers tightened, a silent plea for you to stay close, to listen.

"I've loved you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, "still, as much as I did the day I left. As much as I did when you were on your deathbed."

His throat bobbed with the effort of holding back more, and you could feel the weight of his words pressing against your own heart. His forehead gently met yours, the contact sending a shiver through your body as he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, as if trying to breathe you in.

"But, you need to go back home," he said quietly, but there was an undeniable ache in his voice, a pleading note that left you breathless.

You pulled back, your heart pounding in your chest as you took a step away, eyes searching his. "Not without you," you said, your voice steady despite the storm inside.

In-ho’s eyes flickered, a flicker of something hardening in them as he shook his head. "I need to finish my job here," he replied, his tone final, almost resigned.

You furrowed your brow, confusion creeping in. "Your illegal job, you mean?" The words tasted bitter on your tongue, but you couldn’t hold back. You had to understand.

He shook his head again, more forcefully this time, before reaching into his pocket. His hand moved with purpose, his fingers brushing against the edge of something—then he pulled out a small badge, its gleam catching the dim light. The police badge. Your eyes widened in shock. "You... you’ve been undercover?" The words barely escaped you, a whisper of disbelief, but the weight of the truth sank in as the badge glinted in your eyes.

Without a word, In-ho pushed it back into his pocket, as though the revelation was nothing more than a passing detail. "The games are finished after today," he said quietly, his voice a mix of relief and resolve. He stepped away from you, the movement stiff, purposeful. His fingers wrapped around the mask he had worn so often, but now, as he picked it up, it seemed like a symbol of everything he had been hiding.

"Once I'm done, I’ll come and find you," he added, but his words, though laced with promise, didn’t ease the ache in your chest. You bit your lip, uncertainty gnawing at you, keeping you rooted to the spot. "How can I be sure?"

He paused, the question hanging in the air between you. His gaze softened as he looked at you, raw emotion slipping through the cracks of his composed exterior. "Because," he whispered, stepping closer, his voice a quiet confession, "I just found out the woman that I love is still breathing. And here, standing in front of me." His words hung in the air. Before you could react, he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, and pressed the softest kiss to your lips. It was a kiss you had dreamed of for three long years—a kiss that seemed to erase every doubt, every moment of longing that had consumed you. It was gentle, tender, as if he was afraid to break something fragile.

When he pulled back, his eyes held yours for a heartbeat longer, as if he needed to make sure you were real, that the moment wasn’t just a dream. He reached up, his fingers brushing against his face, clipping the mask back on with a quiet finality.

Then, without another word, he grabbed your mask—his movements quick but deliberate.

"I’ll see you again, y/n," he promised, his voice low, but resolute.

And just like that, he was out the door.

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔

It had been three months. Three peaceful, tranquil months that felt like a dream, the kind you weren’t sure you’d ever wake from. The sun hung high in the sky, its warmth spilling across the water, making the world glow in a golden haze. The sky above you stretched wide, impossibly blue—bluer than it had ever been in your memory. You sat on the edge of the weathered wooden dock, your legs dangling freely, toes just skimming the surface of the water with each gentle ripple. The coolness of the water kissed your skin, a quiet reminder that you were truly here, truly present.

Beside you, In-ho sat, his gaze lost in the horizon, his profile framed by the light of the sun. He looked calm, peaceful even—so unlike the man you had once known. The man who had been lost in the shadows, in the chaos of things he couldn’t talk about. And yet, here he was, beside you, in this moment that felt like it could stretch on forever.

You should have been looking at the view, taking in the beauty of the world around you, but you couldn't. Not when he was sitting so close, not when every breath he took was like a promise that this time, he wouldn't disappear.

Your eyes remained locked on him, tracing the familiar lines of his face, the gentle curve of his jaw, the way his hair ruffled in the breeze. You held his arm firm, your grip strong as if you were afraid he might float away, as if this—this peaceful, perfect moment—was nothing more than a fleeting dream.

But it wasn’t a dream. It was real. You reminded yourself over and over, the mantra repeating in your mind like a lifeline.

Real.

#hwang in ho #hwang in ho x reader #front man x reader #front man #in ho squid game #fanfic #squid game season 2 #the frontman #squid game fanfic #fan fiction #the front man x reader

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chosove · 1 day ago

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Like a Friend | g.s

synopsis. Gojo fell in love with Utahime’s stepsister the second he saw her. Unfortunately for him, you were taken. You were also about 3 years older than him. It wasn’t fairing well for Gojo since you’d always see him as the awkward kid you grew up with.

warnings. Literally none LOL I think this is cute but let me know😼 I think some parts are suggestive but other than that I fink it’s good?!

an. Um this is my first time writing like a proper fic…bare with me🥲 let me know if u like it…if not don’t tell me dawg. if this is liked I will make more parts

wc. 2k-ish

Satoru still remembers the first time he saw you.

Or rather, the first time you saw him.

He was standing on your front lawn with Utahime in front of him, a hand of his reaching behind her head to slip her hair from the accessory she held it in. He’d just arrived home after his first day of junior high school, deciding to blow off some steam upon seeing his favorite upperclassman.

“Give it back, Gojo!” Utahime shrieked, one hand gripping the hair now hanging down her shoulders after being freed from the bow she’d tied it into.

Satoru smirked as he continued to bounce the accessory above the older girl's head, laughing at her attempts to reach the ribbon.

“Aw c’mon ‘hime, ya gonna cry?” He taunted, delighting in the cherry red color her cheeks were painted with, her face contorting into pure rage.

“This is not how you treat those who are older than you!” Utahime shouted at him, now lunging towards his neck with her arms stretched out as he held her back with a hand on her forehead.

Before he could come up with a quick retort, he heard a voice speak behind him.

“Hmmm? And what would you know about respect, Utahime?”

Gojo lost focus when he turned towards the source of the sweet sound, heat rising to his cheeks as he made eye contact with the girl he identified as Utahime’s new stepsister (like really new. like, ‘6 months ago’ new. not that he kept tabs on Utahime- he’d just remember if he saw a pretty girl). Using his state of awe to her advantage, Utahime kicked at Satoru’s knees, knocking him to the ground before landing on him with a grunt and pulling her ribbon from his hands.

“First of all, you’re only like a year older than me. Second, do NOT group me in with him.“ she grimaced as she spoke the last word, a disgusted nudge of her chin towards the man on the ground.

You scoffed at her remark, finally looking towards the eyes that were burning a hole into you. “whatever you say ‘hime.“

Gojo blushed fiercely as you continued to make eye contact with him while saying the same things he did. “Doesn't really seem like you two hate each other right now…I’d go as far as saying I see a spark.”

Realizing the position he was in, he quickly shoved Utahime off of his body, ignoring the grunt that left her as she fell onto her back.

“Ew!” Gojo shouted, turning to you once he’d gotten up. “S-she wishes she were my type, as if.”

Did he just stutter?

Sure, he was a loser that loved digimon and unexplained physics problems, but usually he was the one to make people stutter. Even if he used too much axe body spray and had the odd pimple or ten- he was undeniably beautiful.

You smirked at his shy demeanor, a drastic change from the boy who had just been tormenting your younger sister in a way you thought only yourself capable of.

You turned once again towards Utahime. “You coming for dinner or you just gonna play with your boyfriend all night?” your voice teased, giggling at the anger emanating from your younger sister.

Glancing away after seeing her nod, you made eye contact with the young man in front of you- his intense gaze scanning all your features as if to memorize them.

“You’re really good at getting on her nerves y’know. She talks about how much she hates you like, all the time.”

You leaned in towards his ear before continuing. “Don't worry, I’ll put in a good word for you.”

Before he could emphasize that they really were just friends (even if Utahime says the opposite), you were skipping off to the door of your house.

It was that day he fell for you.

It wasn’t until about…eight years later Satoru realized he was not gonna get over you. He also realized after all these years, that maybe he wasn’t that normal about his crushes. Not in the “I’m sooo crazy, I found her moms facebook!” way- no, it was much worse.

“Listen Satoru, y’know I’m gonna support your weird shit like you do mine” Suguru sighed, shaking his head in disapproval as they continued walking deeper into the Victoria’s Secret you worked at. “But isn’t this kinda…too much? How do you even know she’s working today? Or wait, how do you even know she works here?”

Satoru rolled his eyes as if his best friend had just asked the most obvious question. “I looked at her schedule? Duh?” he scoffed, pausing to look at a matching set he just knew you’d look perfect in. Did you own anything from here? Were you required to wear this kinda stuff since it was your job? Your whole wardrobe was probably filled with lacy sets that would just be so easy to rip-

“Dude,” Suguru spoke while waving his hand in front of Satoru’s face. “I’m gonna ignore the borderline stalker shit you just said, plus the fact you’re gonna cream your pants while touching some discount thongs, but why would she even talk to the creepy guys from her neighborhood?”

Suguru had endured every awkward stage Satoru went through- mostly because he was right next to him for it all. From their secret obsession with soap operas and cheesy rom-coms, all the way to those nights of stealing their parents alcohol which would end with Satoru crying as he wondered why you wouldn’t like him back- Suguru stayed.

Unfortunately for Satoru, the boyish charm of this crush wore off when Satoru started doing lowkey scary shit like finding out where and when you worked, for example.

Gently setting down the lingerie he had made a mental note to buy as a first date gift for you (he wasn’t getting ahead of himself, you were gonna be head over heels in no time), he shook his head at his best friend.

“Suguru, Suguru, Suguru” he sighed, placing his hands on his friends shoulders in exasperation. “Obviously you know nothing about love- first of all” Satoru began, puffing his chest out to signal he had no shame over his crush-turned-obsession. “Girls love surprises and grand gestures. This is like, two in one. Second, I didn’t STALK. I mean sure, I did beg Utahime to use the washroom since I ‘conveniently lost my key’ just to get into their house…but thats like, cute.”

Satoru was glad to finally put an end to Suguru’s disapproval when he saw his friend's mouth agape, proud of his actions which were 100% reasonable to him. It wasn’t until he felt a soft hand snake around his shoulders that he realized Suguru still thought he was psycho, it was just the person he was psycho about that made Suguru’s jaw drop.

“Moving this fast with our little ‘hime, hm?”

Snapping back, Satoru flushed deeply at your implication, also wondering how much you’d just heard.

“N-no way!” Gojo nearly shouted, hands desperately waving in front of him to indicate that the only person he’d ever consider in Utahime’s family was you.

You giggled at his wide eyes as you shoved his shoulder, the melody of your laughter becoming his new favourite sound. “I’m kidding ‘toru,”

Oh.

Oh God.

He really was gonna cream his pants- would it be weird if he called you a nickname too? He had so many he wanted to try out, plus he had the practice to back it up- he spent so many nights trying out the different pet names he could call you while he thought of caressing your body, the sound of your voice crying toru toru toru ringing in his ears as he-

“I’m assuming you’re here for a girl though, yeah?” you questioned, watching as the boy behind him shoved Gojo forward. He got so lost in his thoughts that he forgot the main topic of all his wet dreams was right in front of him.

Awaiting his nod of confirmation, you reached across him to grab a light blue pair of lingerie, body pressed against his while you dug through the bins of lace behind him.

He’d be more excited over the color and the fact it matched his eyes if it weren’t for the fact he could feel your tits pressed right against him.

Would it be wrong if he took a peak? Maybe he could pretend to fall and ‘accidentally’ land face first into your chest.

“This one’s my boyfriend's favorite.” you sighed dreamily, fingers running against the frilly edges while you reminisced on what he assumed to be very mediocre nights with your boyfriend.

Huh.

“Looks good on, but even better off” you spoke, outlining the pretty floral details detailing the set. You leaned in to speak in his ear, “plus, it’s super easy to remove, if you get what I mean.” finishing with a wink.

He gulped and nodded at your (far too extensive in his opinion) knowledge.

“S-sounds good, can you ring me up?” Satoru asked, grabbing the set from your hands and racing to the register.

You and Suguru both stared at his broad back nearly falling on his way to the checkout, a curious smirk forming on your lips before you strolled over to the counter. It felt weird seeing the little kids next door grow into…men. Of course Satoru was buying lingerie- he’d grown so handsomely into his lanky feature, now filling out the shirts that you swore were baggy on him just a few years ago.

You carefully scanned the set, folding it oh so prettily before placing it in the sleek black bag, finishing the purchase with a hot pink tissue paper to cushion the bag. Satoru watched your hands methodically do this process as his mind went a hundred miles a minute.

No, Satoru didn’t know what size it was.

Yes, he was devastated at the fact you had some sleazy, lowlife boyfriend (who wasn’t him).

Yes, he was painfully hard from your proximity and suggestive language.

As far as priorities go for him, his goal right now was to successfully make it out of here without you seeing the heartbreak on his face or the fact he got a boner after being near you for like 5 minutes.

It felt like years before you finally passed him the card machine, beginning to speak but quickly being cut off as a beep! rang out and the bag was ripped from your hands. “Did you need a recei-“

“NO THANKS GOTTA GO SEEYOULATERMAYBETHANKSBYETHANKS” Satoru shouted, crumpling the package in his hands and speeding out the doors to his car, Suguru on his tail.

It wasn’t until he was out of the mall that he finally took a breath, the realization that fuck, he actually didn’t have a chance with you? really hitting him.

Yeah, he was a creep who sometimes stared with his mouth open for a bit too long when you would ask him something. And okay sure you saw his awkward phase with braces, then the lisp he had from retainers, then braces again because he didn’t wear his retainers- but still, he was attractive enough right?

Preparing for a scolding from Suguru for almost leaving him behind, Satoru didn’t hide the heartbreak written across his face.

“Hey, I’m sorry man…There’s so many girls who’d die to get a chance with you, don’t worry” Suguru comforted, patting his friends back as he rested his head on the steering wheel.

mumbling something to the floor of the car, Satoru groaned loudly before finally picking his head up. “Not worried. just annoyed. Gonna be harder now.” Satoru whined, closing his eyes as he recalled the way you bit your lip and squeezed his arms. Was he imagining it or did you need him just as bad?

Hearing no clever retort from his friend, Satoru turned his head to find Suguru with pure confusion etched on his features.

“Fuck it. Never let your boyfriend stop you from finding your husband, right?” Satoru spoke, key turning in the ignition as he was filled with a new dedication.

One way or another, Satoru was going to make you see how good you two would be together.

Preferably an easy way where you confessed your love to him first so he didn’t have to fold, but somehow nonetheless.

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temis-de-leon · 3 days ago

Text

Shy gn!reader who has never dated anyone before the Dateables

Characters: Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon and Simeon (x reader, separately)

Main Masterlist

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3

Romance Anon: You're welcome! I missed you too 🩷 I'm glad you enjoyed writing it because I enjoyed reading it 🤭Did you get a request? It's headcanons for Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon, and Simeon react to shy gn s/o telling him how they never dated anyone before him. Thanks!

A/N: I'm not entirely convinced with Simeon's part, so perhaps I'll edit it in the future

Diavolo

Since trust is a steady pillar in every healthy relationship, what truly cements the fact that you two belong together is, for him, that no one else in all the realms knows you better than he does. Add that to how fascinating he finds you and you will soon see yourself uncovering more layers than you thought you had.

However, he isn’t exactly sure if the subject of exes is one he enjoys to the fullest.

It was well after classes had ended that the conversation took place, nearly the end of the year and both enjoying each other’s company in the empty council’s room, and you were discussing how different it would be to experience RAD’s holiday festivities as a couple, having gone from strangers to friends to lovers. The topic of expectations was unavoidable.

Diavolo, who was raised sheltered, has minimal experience and believes that experimenting and deciding what you both like together is the best course to follow.

Would PDA be okay when you're surrounded by all the other students? If so, at what levels? Would you rather stay with him from the beginning or would it be better to spend time with the brothers and the rest of your friends to enjoy the celebrations before leaving the group for some quality time together?

Of course, the idea of you having expertise on the matter with a potential ex-lover doesn’t exactly bother him; you are desirable and attractive, so it would’ve been completely normal.

As long as you’re happy with him, he will thank whatever came before for putting you in his path.

But… what? Did he hear correctly?

You’ve never had a partner before him?

Diavolo was obviously surprised at the confession and, almost immediately after, also honoured and flattered. How could he not, when his beloved chose him above everyone they had ever met before?

This doesn’t change his perspective on you or your relationship, though.

Since he was already planning on being your last partner, being your first as well doesn’t make that much of a difference.

Barbatos

There’s a lot to unpack with this demon. From his past to his private life and his truest, sincerest feelings about life around him, everything is covered with calculated precision.

Since he is not in complete control of his life (not that he resents serving Diavolo; on the contrary), keeping so much of himself hidden helps him feel at ease. More secure about his moves and at a higher position.

You may ask to satisfy your curiosity, of course. You’re his beloved partner, someone who he wouldn’t date if he didn’t trust; but that doesn’t mean he’ll tell you the whole reality at once. He likes giving you breadcrumbs for you to create theories and, if you amuse him enough with them, he’ll also grant you little head nods and shakes that could help you put together the truth.

Having your whole attention and obvious excitement focused on him makes his heart beat a tad faster.

On the other hand, you are as open as a book. Blame it on your shyness and the stuttering that betrays you when you try to be all mysterious and suave.

And also, Barbatos is highly perceptive.

He already suspected from the early stages of your relationship that he is the first romantic partner you’ve ever had, so your eventual confession on the matter doesn’t change anything; neither your relationship nor his opinion of your persona.

It doesn’t matter that the sole reason he’s the best… man you’ve dated in your life is because he is the only one.

What’s most important is that he sets the bar so high that you don’t even think about the possibility of ever being someone else; not before him and certainly never after him.

Solomon

Discussing this topic with him might get a bit intimidating. Not because of how he could react, but rather… You know… seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines? Sure, most of them were probably purely political arrangements, but it was still quite the harem.

He calls himself ridiculous on the matter just to make you feel better.

And also because it is ridiculous, but that’s beside the point.

He is immortal, famous for his search for knowledge, his consequential wisdom and his overall vast experience. Thinking he’s had partners before you (some of them not necessarily human) is the logical thing to do. You’re not even his first apprentice either!

However, receiving your affection might’ve been the best thing that has happened to him in the last couple of centuries, something he makes you aware of quite often, so worrying about his romantic history is pointless; there’s no need.

He loves you now and will do forever, even if things go wrong and you don’t let him anymore.

By the time you’re comfortable enough to tell him your harmless secret, not only does he see right through you, but he will also act like he doesn’t.

He’s sitting by his desk in his laboratory and you’re standing right behind him, arms around his neck while your hands mindlessly play with the golden tassels of his cape. You try to act nonchalant when you force the words out.

“Did you know you’re my first boyfriend? I mean, not boyfriend, just my first- you know, my first. Partner. Ever”

“You don’t say? I would’ve never guessed, MC”

You let out an offended gasp, but he can only laugh at it.

Your embarrassment is cute and he wants to see more of it. After all, it wouldn’t be your relationship without a bit of teasing.

Simeon

The way he loves you is so natural and genuine that it makes you feel like you've been together since the beginning of time. You kind of forget this is your first relationship and thinking about your lack of experience simply does not happen anymore; it's a potential insecurity that eradicates itself rather quickly.

Of course, the fact that this is also his first relationship helps a ton.

Despite being one of the oldest amongst all your friends, he's the one with least experience. It isn't something he has actively searched for, Simeon is not opposed to romance and love, but family has been (and continues to be) a major plot point in his life.

He has raised and trained other angels, fought and lost his own brothers and poured his heart and soul in a series of books that gained more fame and recognition than one could possibly believe.

While a potential partner was always something he could've had, his interest on the matter was never there.

However, Simeon has never known anyone like you before and probably never will ever again. Meeting you felt like fate and, when the time came, giving your relationship a shot was the natural step to follow.

You're an old married couple, except there's no bickering.

Whether you are someone with more or less experience than him regarding romance is not something he thinks about too much. Each relationship is different and he is more than thrilled to experience and discover what works for you both.

Simeon loves and prioritizes you just as much; being your first isn't something extremely meaningful, just a reminder that your story together starts at the same point.

And that's exactly what he tells you the moment you comment on the topic.

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom

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lesservillain · 1 day ago

Text

inmate!eddie munson x reader

cw: smut, pregnancy talks and all that come with it, mentions of nausea and vomiting, hospitalization, i think that's it?

wc: 19k

a/n: finally. it's finally here. this has been a two year in the making project for me and I am so happy to have this out. on the outside was my first ever fic and i can't believe i'm actually saying good bye to these characters. i hope you all enjoy.

“Eddieee?” You call out for your fiance from where you stand in front of your refrigerator.

You were about to change out the calendar for the new year, head pounding as if you had celebrated the New Year drinking with everyone else despite your sobriety. Eddie had only had a few beers, but he woke up this morning feeling fresh as a daisy in comparison to how sick you felt.

At first you were worried that maybe you had caught the flu. You hadn’t been feeling the best for a couple days, but chalked it up to how hard you had been working right before winter break to get all your students' grades in on time for the end of the semester. You’d also volunteered to chaperone the winter formal where, unfortunately, one of the students spiked the punch. Thankfully Eddie had been your chaperone date and handled the situation for you while you got sick in the bathroom hoping that you weren’t going to relapse after 18 months of sobriety.

But, now that you’re looking at the calendar all marked through, including the ones with a red dot for your expected period days and little pink hearts on the subsequent fertile days, you realize that those days came and passed without notice.

“What’s up, sweetheart?” Eddie asks as he pulls the new Iron Maiden hoodie you got him for the holiday over his head, curls bouncing as they are freed. Bear follows right behind him, coming up to you expectantly as he sees his box of treats sitting on top of the fridge.

“Babe, did I have a period this month?”

His head cocks to the side as he looks at you, eyes squinting and tongue poking out as he thinks about all the crazy shit that has happened this last month. With your crazy schedule and his extra hours at work, the two of you had barely had time to spend together, making it up to each other once your break had finally hit. But as he wracks his brain, he doesn’t recall you asking him to bring you home any sweets or crying any more than usual.

“Um, not that I can remember,” he says with a shake of his head. He watches as your eyes widen, a toothy smile spreading across your face before you cover it with your hands. It takes him a moment to figure out what has you all giddy, but when it hits him he’s flying to you, almost tripping over Bear as he wraps you up in a hug to spin you around. “Holy shit, please tell me you’re telling me what I think you’re telling me,” he says for lack of better words, brain short circuiting with excitement, placing you back down on your feet.

“I mean, I can’t make any promises until I take a test,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, not wanting to get your hopes up after having your heart broken so many times before.

“Can you take a test now?” Eddie asks with a childish excitement.

“I think so,” you say flipping between the calendar pages, now crushed from Eddie's embrace. Upon further inspection, you realize you’ve actually not had a period since October. It makes your head reel back, but you keep that information to yourself just in case. “Let-let me go take one,” you say shakily, nerves starting to get to you as you swiftly walk to the bathroom. The door barely closes before you’re digging under the sink for a test, cursing when the box you had under the sink comes up empty. “Shit,” you curse, throwing the box into the bathroom trash can with force.

“Are you okay?” you hear from the other side of the door, followed by a whine from your dog. You startle the both of them with the force you use to swing the door open.

“I took the last one already,” you say with frustration, “I’m all out!”

“Well, come on, lets go get your shoes on,” Eddie brushes your frustration to the side, grabbing your hand and leading you out to the couch. He grabs your boots for you, unlacing them so he can put them on your feet. You can’t even stay mad at your own shortcoming when he’s treating you so well.

“Eddie, I can put my own shoes on,” you say with a chuckle. His big brown eyes look up at you with faux offense, still grabbing your foot and slipping it into the boot.

“I don’t think so, princess,” he says with a playful sass that you’ve grown fond of, because it really only comes out when he’s in a giddy mood like this. “I can’t have you doing anything that may make the baby uncomfortable, like bending over or lifting a finger.”

Your breath hitches at his words. The baby. The one that may or may not be making a home inside of you right now. Eddie’s baby, with you.

Bile threatens to travel higher as you look at how he’s beaming in front of you. Eddie’s never known the heartbreak that you’ve known when it comes to these things; wanting something so bad and yet your body doesn’t comply. He’s been so patient and understanding since you’ve started trying. Everything that you wish you had all those years when you were with Henry, which only made you want to give him a baby more. Anyone so kind, caring, and self sacrificing as Eddie deserved everything he’s ever wanted and more.

Every month that you’ve sat silently sobbing as you stare at the one lonely line while he snores into his pillow none the wiser has been another twist of the guilt covered knife in your gut. He doesn’t ask about it, even if he sees the wrapper sticking out between the tissues you used to clean your tears. But he tends to you with acts of kindness and service, his love language with you.

The same love language he displayed as he put on your shoes. Same as when he went out to start the car for you, opening the door and fastening your seatbelt, making sure it’s not too snug across your lap. He let you grab your tests, meeting you at the front of the store with a bundle of flowers hidden poorly behind his back. He makes you walk in front of him so he can “surprise you” when you get to the car.

Eddie practically jumps out of the car to help you out as you arrive back to your house. Bear jumps between the two of you as you two run back to the bathroom, letting out loud giggles and squeals as Eddie pretends to chase you into the bathroom. You close the door on him, catching your breath and wiping tears from your eyes as he bangs on the door for you to let him in. Bear barks at him and Eddie laughs calling him a traitor. When you hear them walk away, presumably so Eddie can let Bear out, you pull the box of tests out of the bag.

Taking a deep breath, your hands start to shake as you set everything up, reading over the instructions regardless of how many tests you’ve taken. You didn’t want to mess this up. Not this one. Every time someone told you that you would just know when you were pregnant, you thought you knew what they meant, only to be met with the negative test. This time felt different, though. Every tick of the clock was another butterfly in your stomach. And with the closing seconds, you felt your breathing pick up, chest tightening with anticipation. You stand up, hand hovering over the wrapper of the test. Counting one, two, three, before pulling the wrapper away.

Eddie sits on the edge of the bed, petting Bear on autopilot. He wasn’t sure how long these tests normally take, but after 10 minutes he was starting to get nervous. What if you were pregnant? It’s a good thing you found a house with a lot of space. He wondered what color you would want him to paint the nursery. Would you want to wait to find out what you’re having or would you want to find out as soon as possible? He would want to know right away, but would wait if you wanted him to. Is your car safe for a baby? He’ll just have to pick up some extra hours to get you a new one. Oh, god, would you want a minivan like Nancy and Jonathan…though, it does come in handy if you have multiple kids. Would you want more kids after this?

Bear’s ears perk up under Eddie’s touch as the door to the bathroom clicks, the door opening much more gracefully compared to before. He’s on his feet immediately, slightly shuffling as he waits for you to come out. Any thoughts he had before the door opened are immediately evacuated from his mind as he sees the vacant look on your face, the tears flowing freely down your cheeks being the only hint of emotion he can gauge from you.

His legs move on their own, pulling you into him as your knees buckle. He holds you up as the sobs shake your whole body in his grasp. Everything is automatic for him as your wails echo on the bathroom walls. Lowering you to the edge of the tub, he starts the shower, letting the water warm up as he undresses you, and then himself. He climbs into the tub, pulling you in with him so that the water hits the both of you as you continue to cry.

“Eddie!” Your voice is frantic as you call his name from the kitchen. You hear him running down the hall, a loud thump and a curse towards Bear as the two of them round the corner into the kitchen.

When you answered the phone, you assumed it was going to be Dustin telling you that he and his new girlfriend, Maggie, would be leaving soon for your double date that he and Eddie worked really hard to find reservations on Valentine’s day for. Instead, you were met with the urgent voice of Wayne’s boss, Bill, who informed you that Wayne had passed out on the line again.

Eddie folded where he stood, spiraling into old memories from close to a decade ago. Bear laid next to where he kneeled while you got the quick details from Bill before hanging up. Quickly, you lead Eddie to the couch so you could lace his converse, pull his Iron Maiden hoodie over his head, and get him out the door and buckled into the passenger seat.

About halfway to the hospital he finally breaks down, almost scaring you off the road when he cursed loudly, slamming his fist against the window. You let him get it out, offering your hand for him to take when he was ready, which he grabs almost immediately. Pulling your hand against his lips, he kisses your knuckles between sobs, eyes fixed out the side window.

As you pull into Hawkins General, you let Eddie out at the door so he can get inside as fast as possible. Soon after you park, you make your way up to the room that you were told Wayne was in. You were expecting to walk in and find Wayne still unconscious with Eddie a mess by his side.

Instead, you could hear the two of them bickering from the hallway. The sound was bittersweet, a smile on your face as you walk in and see a very exasperated Eddie pacing and a disgruntled Wayne sitting cross-armed in the hospital bed like a petulant child. You noticed the oxygen tubes in his nose, and he looked generally worse off than he did when you saw him two weeks ago for Sunday dinner.

“Why don’t you ever listen to me!” Eddie exclaims, not noticing that you’ve walked in the room yet.

“What did he not listen to this time?” You say jokingly as you walk to the other side of Wayne’s bed, leaning in to give him a hug that he returns with an old man grunt.

“Not just me,” Edde starts, “We both told him to go get that cough looked at and he never did. Well guess what? His stubborn ass has fucking pneumonia!”

“Wayne,” you look at him with concern. His eyes remain focused on the foot of the bed, ignoring that he’d been caught. “You’ve had that cough since Christmas. And I remember you promising me that you’d go and get checked out.”

The old man lets out a sigh that turns into a cough. You place a hand on his back and rub up and down, eliciting an eye roll from Eddie as he watches you baby his uncle.

“Listen, I’ve been meaning to go, but I just haven’t had the time.”

“Oh, you have to be joking. You couldn’t find time between your shows to pick up the phone and call the doctor?”

“Eddie,” you give him a pointed look.

“You can’t be--”

Eddie’s words are cut off by the doctor pulling open the curtain to Wayne’s room. The balding, older man greets you all, confirming some information with Wayne before going over some more of his test results.

“Everything else came back fairly normal. Your blood pressure was a little high, but that’s to be expected. Just make sure you keep up on your blood pressure medication. Don’t want to have a stroke and a heart attack within a year, right?”

The doctor is the only one laughing at his joke. Eddie’s eyes snap to Wayne, who grumbles “shit” under his breath. But Eddie keeps his mouth shut, letting the doctor finish and leave before finally speaking.

“So, when the hell did you have another heart attack, Wayne?”

“Eddie,” Wayne rolls his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No,” Eddie says, waving his hands in front of him, “I know that I don’t live with you anymore, but I think it’s only fair that you tell me if you have another fucking heart attack!”

“After what you did last time, you really think I’d tell you?”

“Damn it, Wayne! Don’t hold that shit above my head!”

“Okay, okay,” you move around the bed to stand between the two of them. “That’s enough, you two. Wayne, I get why you might be discouraged to tell Eddie that you had another heart attack, but you have to understand that things are different now. Shit, even I’m hurt that you didn’t say anything.” He looks up at you with a wounded expression.

“And Eddie,” you place your hands gently on either cheek before tightening your grip, “You need to stop yelling before you get us kicked out.” His expression drops to annoyance, grabbing your wrists lightly and pulling your hands away. “Wayne only wants what’s best for you, just as you want what’s best for him. So…why don’t we talk about what we’ve discussed before.”

His eyes meet yours, mood shifting between you as he nods his head, reaching out to take your hand in his. When you turn around, Wayne is eyeing you both suspiciously, letting out another cough.

“Wayne,” Eddie starts, “When we got the house, the two of us sat down and talked about what we would do if you had another heart attack. Or if anything major happened to you again. And, um, we decided that we would want you to move in with us if--”

“No.”

“Wayne--”

“Nope.”

“Just hear us out,” you plead. He looks at you out of the corner of his eye. “Please?”

“...Fine,” he says with a huff.

Eddie smiles slyly at you, thankful that he has you around to be on his side.

“Uncle Wayne,” you start, hitting him in that soft spot when you call him uncle, “We would really like for you to move in with us. Not to take away any of your freedom or anything. Actually, you’d be more free…because we also want you to retire from the plant.”

Wayne’s brow raises at your suggestion.

“Eddie and I make enough money between us that you wouldn’t need to work unless you wanted to. You’d have all the free time to fish and hunt and watch your trash TV. Which, may I remind you, we have that big TV in the living room now. Plus, Bear would love to have someone at home with him all day.”

He grunts again. Bear loves Wayne, but Wayne is steadfast in his dislike for Bear, even though you’ve caught him giving him people food and the occasional scratch behind the ear.

“You sure y’all want me to move in? Won't get to have all your alone time together anymore,” he asks, seeking confirmation of your proposal.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that, pops,” Eddie says with a smile, “We’ll figure that out ourselves.”

The next month weeks flew by for you and Eddie. You’d been busy prepping your sophomores for the upcoming state testing that takes place the week before Spring Break as well as running yard sales during the most uncharacteristically warm winter that Indiana was giving you to get rid of any of Wayne’s extra stuff. There was also the babysitting for Chrissy and Jason you’d been doing while they remodel their kitchen. And that was just your schedule, as Eddie had a slew of his own obligations on his end with work and prepping the house for Wayne to move in.

The two of you found it almost impossible to have any time together. Almost being the key word here, because Eddie could find time to bed you like it was his job. The week before Wayne finally made his big move, the two of you were on each other like rabbits at any given moment.

Now Wayne was fully moved in. He opted to rent the trailer out for cheap to a single mom who was looking around the park for something that she could afford for her and her son. He finished his last week at the plant, his boss and coworkers throwing him a surprise retirement party at the pool hall they like to frequent. Eddie and you decided to get a hold of his longtime friend down in Florida and sent him away for a week to have a buddies trip and to “get some more vitamin D in your system after working the night shift for so long” according to Eddie.

Eddie may or may not have purposely planned Wayne’s trip during the same time that you’d be off for spring break, but wouldn’t admit that to you. He just wanted to get you all to himself so bad, eating his words to Wayne about having alone time together. The only thing making him feel a little less crazy about the whole thing is your little remarks about how it would be even worse if it was a baby you were bringing home, and that at least the two of you are still getting a full night's sleep. So, he sucked it up until the day finally came that he was to take Wayne to the airport.

He quietly gave your sleeping form a peck on the cheek that morning before the two of them left, not wanting to wake you since you loved to sleep in on your days off. You’d been feeling sick again, similar to how you felt right before the winter break a few months back. Eddie was worried that they were putting too much responsibility on you by having you teach two grades at the same time, but you assured him that you could handle it, that once you were off for the summer that you’d feel better.

You woke up around 11 am with a headache so bad it made you sick to your stomach. You’d been having them off and on for about a week, barely able to stand the fluorescent lights of your classroom or the smell of the coffee pot in the break room. At least your sophomore students spent most of the morning testing, and by the end of the week you were playing a movie for all of your classes as an excuse to keep the lights off.

After puking up bile for 20 minutes, your stomach gave you a break so that you could make yourself look presentable enough for the doctor’s office. Eddie made you promise him that if you weren’t better by today that you would go and get checked out. So you shove some buttered toast into your mouth and cross your fingers in hopes that you’ll make it to the doctor without having to pull over and spill your guts.

Thankfully, the urgent care in town wasn’t busy and you were taken back to a room fairly quickly. The nurse asked you a slew of questions in a monotone voice as your mouth watered from the wave of nausea that hit you again. When you jumped up suddenly to wretch in the small trash can on the floor, you heard her say something about a pregnancy test in a passive manner.

“Pregnancy test?” You ask between heaving breaths.

“Yes, dear,’ she says nonchalantly as she continues to write on her stack of papers. A different feeling filled your stomach then, coating it with nerves that seemed to distract you long enough to get you off the floor.

Ever since the let down from New Years, you and Eddie hadn’t talked much about kids other than some off hand comments here and there. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to keep trying, but the two of you decided to go with the flow and let things happen if they happen.

At least that’s what you told anyone who asked.

In your head you’ve been beating yourself up all over again, just like you did for so many years, which is probably only making you more sick. You almost tell the nurse not to even bother with the test, but she seemed like she wasn’t having the best day so you just let her take your blood and be on her merry way.

When the doctor finally comes in, he gives you a quick look over and tells you to take some benadryl for your symptoms. It left you feeling annoyed, wishing you had just stayed home and done that yourself instead of wasting your time coming in.

As you leave he tells you he’ll call you later in the day with your test results and any other instructions that he seems necessary. It’s not exactly what you want to hear, but you didn’t protest as you signed some consent forms at check out, just wanting to get back to your bed.

When you woke up a little while later, you had to admit that you did feel much better than in the morning. Maybe you were just getting to an age where your allergies were getting more sensitive.

As you amble into the kitchen, the flashing light from your answering machine catches your eye. You press play as you open the door to let Bear out, listening to the machine play as you start to pull out everything to make a late lunch before Eddie gets home from his half day at work.

You have 3 new messages.

First new message.

Beep.

Hey guys, it’s Dustin. I was calling to see if we could get a game set up for Friday? The guys and Erica are going to be in town and we’ve been talking about playing a game with everyone together again. Will said he would DM if you didn’t want to, but we’d like to have you back in the throne if the missus could get us into the theater room. Give me a call back as soon as you can and let me know. Bye!

Beep.

Second message.

Hey, sweetheart. Just wanted to let you know I got to work okay. I’m gonna stop and pick up a pizza on the way home, so don’t worry about cooking dinner tonight. Want you to be as relaxed and rested as possible for what I got in store for you tonight. Love you, baby.

Beep.

Third message.

Hello, this is Dr. Mando calling for…in regards to her test results. Everything came back negative in regards to your flu and strep tests. Blood work wise the only elevated result was for your HCG, which puts you around 9 weeks pregnant currently. We recommend you follow up with your OBGYN from this point on for any more treatment. If our results are needed for their records please have them fax a request form to-

[REWIND]

-ep tests. Blood work wise the only elevated result was for your HCG, which puts you around 9 weeks pregnant currently. We recommend you follow up with your OBG-

[REWIND]

-only elevated result was for your HCG, which puts you around 9 weeks pregnant currently. We-

[REWIND]

-hich puts you around 9 weeks pregnant currently. We recom-

Bear scratching at the door pulled you from your trance as you played back the message over and over again. You didn’t want to walk away, afraid that if you left the machine that the message would somehow disappear. Or that if you played the message again the words would change. Or that you would wake up and realize that you’re having a benadryl induced dream while you’re still asleep in your bed. But the feeling of Bear’s fur brushing against your leg throttles you into reality.

You are awake right now.

And for the first time in your life you’ve been pregnant for more than 6 weeks.

With haste, you pick up the phone line and begin to dial the first person who you know can help you.

Keeping secrets from Eddie was a challenge. His intuition when it came to you was almost scary. At times it felt like he knew you better than you knew yourself. Which, honestly, he might. But, it doesn’t help when he wants to be with you every waking second of the day. Something that you want, too, but every time you look at him you have to duck your head or avert your gaze to keep yourself from blurting out the news to him.

It’s also been incredibly hard to deny all of his advances.

He’s not pressured you to do anything with him, never has, but you can tell he’s letting your rejections get to him in a self doubting way. Even when you did give him head hoping it would be enough, his pouty lip almost got you when you told him not to return the favor.

You do feel for him. The two of you had been planning to have quite the week with Wayne being out of the house. But even if you could have sex with him, not wanting to risk anything with how rough he can get at times, you honestly weren’t in the mood anyway. Benadryl was the only thing helping with your nausea and headaches so you were constantly drowsy. And now you were getting terrible acid reflux on top of it, going through tums like candy.

When you told Eddie that you made an appointment with your primary doctor for Friday morning, he insisted that he take you in case there was anything he could do to help. You told him not to worry about it, keeping from him that the appointment was actually with your OB. You felt guilty when the ultrasound tech handed you the grainy pictures of your little baby because you know that Eddie would have wanted to be with you for this moment, but it would all be worth it tonight as long as everything went to plan.

When you and Eddie pulled into the closed high school later that day, you were greeted by the now familiar, smiling faces of your fiance’s long time friends. It wasn’t often that all of them could get together like this between work, school, and their own families. But even with all of their big ages, the atmosphere as they all embraced each other was of childlike giddiness. You were included in the rounds of hugs and pats on the back as you had been accepted so openly by everyone over the course of yours and Eddie’s relationship. The tightest hug was from Eddie’s best friend, Jeff, the two of you share a knowing look with one another as you part.

Once everyone files inside, they begin to work together to set the old theatre room set up like they had back in the day. It was funny to watch them move around each other out of muscle memory, with a few more grunts and groans than they likely let out all those years ago.

And as they start to play, the energy in the room becomes electrifying. There isn’t a single person sitting by their second hour in, voices talking over each other as the room is divided over combat choices. Even if you only had a basic understanding of what was happening, you were very much entertained where you sat next to Eddie at the end of the table.

It was a sight to see Eddie in his element up close. The passion he has for this game was on another level. There’s no way that it was anything less than cathartic for him to be in a state of power like this, playing every part as if he was performing for an audience, using his whole body and voice to play each character as if he was truly in the fantasy world he created.

It made you tear up a bit, having to discreetly wipe your eyes to hide the emotions so as not to make him worry or pull him out of his game. But the images in your head of him playing pretend in the backyard with your child has a lump sitting in your throat. The two of them with pillow cases as capes and sticks as swords slaying dragons (Bear) while you watch them from the kitchen window.

You end up having to excuse yourself to the restroom, needing a moment to collect yourself in your newly hormonal state. You barely make it into the hallway before the water works start, bee-lining for the closest restroom so you can let it out. Anyone passing by would probably think you were crying over some devastating news with the way you were blubbering and wailing.

You do your best to clean yourself up, but you know Eddie will be able to tell you’ve been crying. So instead of going straight to the drama room, you decide to go to your classroom and work on some assignments for your classes on Monday.

After a while, a knock on your door startles you, head whipping to see your man standing at the doorway to your classroom with a concerned look on his face.

“Hey, is everything okay?” He asks as he takes a few steps to stand by you at your desk. “Were we boring you with our nerdy game?”

“No, not at all!” You stand from your desk with a shake of your head. “I just wasn’t feeling well and needed a little quiet, that’s all.” You give him a reassuring smile, taking his hand in yours. He raises it to his lips and kisses the knuckles, taking a moment to admire your ring before letting your hands fall, still clasped between the two of you.

“We’re taking a break right now,” he says with a suggestive tone you know all too well. There’s a mischievous look in his eyes as he glances up at the clock on the wall. “Need to be back in five minutes,” he leans into you, dipping his head to speak low in your ear, “Think that’s enough time for me to get you on your desk like last time?”

You feel the heat flush to your cheeks at the mentions of your previous inappropriate endeavors in this classroom. For a brief moment you consider his proposition, but ultimately you pull away with a sympathetic look.

“As fun as that sounds, you and I both know 5 minutes isn’t enough time for you,” you poke his chest and he gives you a shit eating grin, “And I would be mortified if any of your friends walked in on us because you took too long to come back to your game.”

“It might be too long for me,” he draws out the last word as he runs his hands up and down your sides, “but I think I could take care of you if you’ve got room for me under that desk.”

His brows move suggestively as he waits for your response, which is just a playful roll of the eye and a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Eds, but I’m okay.”

“Well, alright,” he sighs heavily, his tone laced with faux disappointment, “I guess I’ll just starve.” You throw your head back with laughter at his dramatics, him joining you with a fit of giggles of his own.

You decided to return to the game with him, everyone getting swept up once again in the game's energy that Eddie puts out into the room. The enjoyment is clear with how engaged everyone is, jumping up and down or yelling out like a group of your students rather than a room full of adults.

Erica and Dustin get into it over a decision in game, and you get to witness Eddie’s potential Dad Mode as he defuses the situation with no one getting their feelings hurt. You can’t help it, but for the rest of the game you subconsciously note little things that he does that may be a preview for how he’s going to handle parenthood with you. And when the group wins against whatever big monster Eddie had them fighting against, you can feel the ache in your cheeks from all the smiling you’ve done while observing them.

“Alright, alright, let’s get this shit cleaned up,” he says as they start to tease him. He gives you a look that you can only interpret as “I totally let them win” before he starts putting away his things.

“Hey, look what I found,” Jeff suddenly speaks up from across the room. He’s holding up a box that you know has some of their club's shirts in them for the new members. You feel your heart drop into your ass.

Shit, it’s happening.

“Looks like they’re still using your old design, Eddie.” Jeff says as he plops the box down on the table. You feel your heart pounding in your chest as you focus on not passing out.

“Guess you can’t fix perfection,” Eddie quips back, which elicits a few groans in response.

“Do you have a shirt?”

Your eyes flit to Will where he’s moved to stand next to you. You look at him for a moment before shaking your head, still unable to open your mouth.

“Oh, good idea, kid,” Eddie says as he places a hand on your shoulder. “You sat through a whole game, so that makes you an honorary member.”

You look over to Jeff, who gives you a subtle nod to signal that everything was good to go. It’s not exactly what the two of you had discussed, but this seemed a little more natural for the situation.

As you rise from your chair, you’re able to let out a small “okay” before walking to stand next to Jeff. You take a sharp inhale when you see it, the small bundle of material folded at the top of the other shirts.

All eyes are on you as you reach down into the box. You pretend to look through the pile before grabbing what you really want, pulling it out of the box and holding it up with both hands. It’s the first time you’re seeing it yourself, the small onesie version of the Hellfire shirt that Eddie made almost 15 years ago, black quarter sleeves and all. It’s exactly what you imagined, and you’re so, so thankful that Jeff was able to bring your vision to life.

“What do you think about this one, Eds?”

The words roll off your tongue without you thinking, your mouth moving on its own as it’s tired of waiting for your brain to catch up. Flipping the onesie around for the table to see, your eyes find Eddie’s. You watch in real time as the emotions come and go from his features; ignorant joy, confusion, and realization.

“No way!” You hear Dustin shout, too focused on Eddie to pay him any attention though.

“Dude holy shit!”

“Hell yeah man! It’s about time!”

“I call dibs on babysitting!”

“Are you serious?” His voice cracks, a loud sniffle escaping as his body starts to shake. Fat tears roll down his reddening cheeks that he tries to wipe with his sleeve. “Is this real?”

You nod, your own tears coming back once again. “Ten weeks,” you say as you exhale, doing your best to hold it together.

Eddie moves quickly to be by your side, taking your face in his hands and crashing his lips into yours. Collective oohs and awes swirl around you at the display of affection between you. When he pulls away he uses the collar of his shirt to wipe the tears from his eyes, letting out an airy chuckle.

You hold the onesie out for him to take, and he holds it in his hands with such delicacy, as if it's the baby itself.

“When did you find out?” He asks with a sniffle, not taking his eyes off the little article of clothing.

“On Monday, after my appointment.”

“You’ve known since Monday?” He almost seems upset, but there’s no way he could be mad at you right now. “Well, I guess that explains a lot.”

“I’m sorry, Eds. Trust me, it was really hard not to say anything. But, I feel like it finally paid off. All thanks to Jeff.”

You turn to gesture to him, and Jeff takes a small bow. “Happy to do my part for my future niece and or nephew. Just gotta let me know if I need to make another one in case it’s twins.”

“Twins?!” Eddie looks at you with wide eyes and an even wider smile.

“It’s not twins. Here,” you walk over to your purse and pull the strip of pictures from your purse. “See for yourself.”

Eddie takes the picture from you and examines them. Excited laughter takes over him. “Holy shit, I’m gonna be dad!” The gang surrounds him, congratulating the both of you.

“What if he sees it and doesn’t get it?”

“Babe, the sign literally says ‘Welcome home Grandpa’. I know he’s old but I’m sure he’ll catch on pretty quickly.”

Eddie and you stand at the end of the gate in the Indianapolis airport waiting for Wayne to make his way down the tunnel. The two of you thought it would be fun to surprise him about his promotion when you pick him up, making a day out of it to find him a new mug to surprise him with as well. Eddie holds the gift bag in one hand while you hold the sign, both of you skimming the crowd of people for the balding Munson in the mix.

“There he is!” Eddie nudges you, pointing into the crowd, “Hold it up so he can see!”

You raise the sign above your head as Eddie waves to get Wayne’s attention. Even from where you’re standing you can see the old man smile, then quint to read your sign. He’s almost to you before the look on his face changes.

“What the--What the hell did y’all do while I was gone?” Wayne drops his bags and wraps his arms around the two of you.

“Technically it was before you left,” Eddie laughs, returning his uncles embrace.

“Is that why y’all sent me away then? Do I gotta move back out to make room in the house now?”

“No, of course not,” you laugh, handing him the sign to look at.

“We’re not about to kick out Hawkin’s next great babysitter,” Eddie says as he puts a hand on Wayne’s shoulder. The older man huffs out a laugh, smile wide as he runs his fingers over the word grandpa.

“So that’s the real reason you wanted me to move in,” he says, looking at the two of you again. “I thought I was supposed to be retired?”

“Well, I hope your time off was enough because we’ll need you on duty in about 9 months.” Wayne shakes his head. Eddie hands Wayne the gift bag and he opens it to find the mug inside.

“I love my Grandpa,” Wayne reads from the mug, a hand going to his eyes as he wipes away tears. “Shit you guys. I’m so happy for ya.” Tears start to well up in your own eyes and you pull Wayne in for a side hug.

The three of you make your way home, discussing your future with the baby the whole way. Talks of all the diapers you’ll need to get, who will get up in the middle of the night to feed and change diapers, names and all the other fun parts that come with being a parent.

“So we gotta paint soon,” Wayne says from the passenger seat. “Do y’all have a colour picked out?”

“Since we won't know the gender for a while,” you say from the back seat, “we talked about painting the baby’s room a light green for now. We can always paint it again later down the road.”

“That sounds nice,” Wayne says with a nod. “We can pick some up this weekend and I’ll paint while the two of you are at work. It’s warm enough out that I can open the window so the smell won’t get to ya.”

“You sure you wanna do that by yourself?” Eddie asks, turning into the driveway.

“Sure, gives me a break from the couch. I know the two of you are gonna be busy so might as well make myself useful.”

“We would really appreciate that, Uncle Wayne,” you say, putting a hand on his shoulder. He turns back to look at you, resting his hand on yours.

“What’s wrong?” Robin says from her spot next to you at the bathroom sink. The two of you, plus Steve and Eddie, had decided to take a trip to the mall today. This was your third trip to the restroom since you’d been there and you could tell Robin was getting suspicious.

“If you have a UTI or something you definitely need to go to the doctor, you know?”

“I’m fine, Robin.” You dry your hands, tossing the paper towel in the trash. “I just had a lot of coffee this morning,” you lie.

The truth was that you were planning on surprising her and Steve today with a pit stop in the baby clothes store that Missy and Nancy had gone to when you went shopping with them a few months ago. It was a newer store and you knew that it would be fun little way to tell them your news.

“You have to lay off that stuff,” Robin voices her concern. “I’m pretty sure I heard it makes your boobs shrink.”

“I don’t think so Bobbie.”

The two of you reconvene back with Steve and Eddie who were waiting for you on a bench. Eddie looked like a real dad with sitting there with the shopping bags in his hands. You took a moment to admire how long his hair was starting to get before they noticed you.

“Ready for our last stop?” Eddie says, suddenly standing up. He’s had a nervous air about him this whole trip, and you don’t know why. Steve and Robin are going to be over the moon when you tell them, but you suppose it’s just because he’s excited.

“Yeah, where did you want to go?” Steve asks, looking between you two.

“Oh, just a shop over by where we parked.”

The four of you make your way toward the other side of the mall. Eddie and you both stop at in front of the Baby Gap, Robin and Steve pausing when they realize you’ve stopped.

“You good?” Steve asks.

“Yep, we just need to pop in here.”

Steve and Robin look up at the store and share a look.

“Does Nancy need stuff?” Robin asks quizzically.

“Nope, we just need to get some things for ourselves,” you say, staring at them hoping it will click.

“What do you guys need at Baby Gap?”

“Duh, what else do they sell here, Steve?” Robin nudges him. And then she looks at you with wide eyes. “Oh my god, you guys are buying baby clothes?”

Eddie and you both nod excitedly. Robin squeals, bouncing up and down. Steve still looks confused.

“Why are we excited?”

“They’re pregnant, dingus!”

Now it was Steve’s turn to look at you with saucers for eyes.

“Nuh-uh,” he says with a grin.

“Yes, sir,” Eddie nods, putting an arm around you.

Steve grabs Robins arm and shakes it, still looking at the two of you. “No way!” He says excitedly. “About damn time!”

“How far along are you? Do you know the gender yet?” Robin asks in quick succession.

“I’m about 12 weeks. We won't know the gender for a little while longer, but Wayne already picked out the nursery room color for us.”

“Oh I bet he was over the moon to find out,” Robin coos.

“He was. He’s very excited to be a grandpa.”

“Grandpa Wayne, oh my god.”

“Do you have any names picked out?” Steve asks.

“We don’t have any names yet,” you say, looking up at Eddie, “But we’re open to ideas.”

“Well, Steve is a good name—Ow!”

“They’re not naming their baby after you Steve.”

“It was just a suggestion!”

“Besides, Robin is more gender neutral anyway.”

“Eddie.”

Brown eyes dart from the TV and over to where you stand in the doorway. Eddie shifts and stands, walking over to you with urgency.

“What's wrong, sweetheart?” He asks with concern.

You sniffle, looking up at him through your lashes. “We don’t have any pickles…”

Eddie sighs in relief, glad that your tone wasn’t due to something serious.

“We don’t,” he confirms, looking down at you. “But I’m guessing we need to remedy that?”

You nod, and Eddie can’t help but giggle. The stage of weird cravings had started a week ago and you’d been asking him to buy you the most random foods. Bananas and hot sauce, sour cream that you ate from the tub, and now pickles.

“Can you get strawberry ice cream, too?” You ask sheepishly.

“Of course,” he assures you. “Anything for my babies.”

Your emotions get to you with that, and you can’t help but cry. Eddie would be concerned if this hadn’t become a semi-regular occurrence for you now. He simply pulls you into a hug and kisses the top of your head.

Bear makes his way over to you, looking up as the two of you embrace. You’re both sure he knows something is up, because he’s been by you constantly since you found out you were pregnant. It's almost like he’s standing guard to make sure no one gets near you.

“I’m okay, Bear,” you say, dropping down to squat at his level. He pants as you give him ear scritches, enjoying every second of it. Eddie takes the opportunity to grab his shoes and put them on.

“Anything else you might want me to grab while I’m out?”

“More milk? And probably more cereal for you and Wayne. I think I ate the last of it earlier.”

“I’ll get you your own box.”

Bear rested at your feet as you graded papers at the dining room table. It was getting close to the end of the school year and you didn’t want to let being pregnant put you behind.

Most of your kids were passing, which was a relief to you. It was a hard year but teaching two grades was an experience that you were glad you got to have. Thankfully the school was able to find a replacement teacher for your sophomore class next year, thanks to a recommendation by yours truly.

“It’ll be so nice for you to have someone like Will teaching with you,” Eddie says as he finishes making you lunch.

“It's going to be a big change from middle school, though,” you say as you set down your grading marker. “It was for me at least.”

“Will’s smart, he can manage. Plus he’ll have you for support.”

“Only for the first few months. Then I’ll be gone for most of the year.”

You had an appointment a few weeks back to find out you were due around Halloween. The irony of it all was that you probably got pregnant right after you had taken the test back in January. Life works in mysterious ways you thought.

“True, but he can always call here if he needs something. Plus, I’m sure the other teachers are going to love him.”

“Oh they will. I just hope they don’t treat him too much like a kid.”

Eddie puts a plate in front of you and takes a seat. “He is still young,” he says before he takes a bite of his sandwich. “Buy that will probably make him more relatable to the kids, ya know?”

You nod, taking a bite of your own food. The nausea has started to subside now that you were in your second trimester, which made it easier to eat foods that you weren’t necessarily craving. Still, you took your time eating so not to trigger anything.

“Are you excited for tonight?” Eddie asks, taking a chip from your plate and popping it in his mouth.

“Yes, I can’t wait to see their faces.”

Eddie and you finally decided to start telling more people about your pregnancy now that you were in the second trimester. Chrissy had been begging you for a double date for weeks now and you’d been putting her off so that you wouldn’t spill the beans too soon. So tonight was going to be the big reveal.

Chrissy had become a really good friend ever since she sold you the house. She was a busy mom and successful realtor but she always made time to call and check in on you. It honestly was hard not to tell her when you’ve told your other friends, but you wanted to be sure you’d make it to the second trimester before telling too many people per the doctor's suggestion.

So when you and Eddie arrived at the Golden Lamb, you could already feel the butterflies in your stomach. Thankfully you were too soon to be showing so they wouldn't know right away.

“I honestly thought it would be hard with a fifth, but Chrissy has been nothing but a superstar about it all,” Jason says as you all share an appetizer. You were barely talking because the food was so good you just kept eating it.

“Awe, so have you!” Chrissy says, beaming at the praise. “Jason’s been doing great making sure the boys are on their best behavior while I’ve been recovering.”

“How is that? The recovery, that is.”

You look up at Eddie when he asks the question.

“It’s hard, I’m not going to lie. But when you’ve done it before it definitely helps to know what to expect. You guys will know one day.” Chrissy winks at you.

“Yeah, about that..”

“You’re pregnant.”

You freeze at her words. Chrissy brings her hands to her mouth and gasps.

“H-how did you know?” You ask bewildered.

“I knew it! I could just tell when I saw you!”

“Woah, congratulations, man!” Jason reaches his hand across the table for Eddie to shake, which he does.

“Oh I can’t wait! Our kids are going to be best little friends!”

That made you happy to hear. Chrissy’s youngest and even Nancy’s youngest baby weren’t going to be too much older than yours. He or she already has friends waiting for them, and that made you feel a sense of joy in your heart.

“Do you know the gender yet?” Jason asks.

“We find out in a couple weeks,” Eddie says proudly.

“Are you hoping for anything or just feeling blessed regardless?”

Truth is you’d gone back and forth or whether or not you wanted a boy or girl. You’d be happy with either, but the idea of a little girl to dress up would be fun. You know Eddie wants a boy, but has also expressed that he’s just happy to have a baby with you.

“I’m just happy to be this far,” you finally say. “Although I think a girl would be fun.” You add that last part in without looking at Eddie.

“Oh a little girl!” Chrissy squeals. “I always wanted a daughter but I’m happy with my little team of boys. But if you have a girl I will be living vicariously through you.”

“Hey, we can always try again.” Jason says, giving Chrissy a little nudge. She rolls her eyes at him. You know she would be happy to have more kids, though.

“I personally want a boy,” Eddie announces, looking at you.

“Oh, man, boys are so fun. Our house is like a madhouse, but it’s totally worth it.”

“Which reminds me,” Chrissy chimes in, “Jacob wants to learn guitar. I was wondering if we paid you if you wouldn’t mind giving him lessons?”

Eddie is taken aback at this request. A Carver kid wants to play guitar?

“Y-yeah, sure. That’s your second oldest, right?”

You were pleasantly surprised that Eddie remembered, even after all the times you’ve drilled the names and ages of their kids into his head.

“Yep! Little Jacob wants to be a rockstar someday,” Jason adds.

“Hell yeah, that’s awesome,” Eddie says, nodding his head. “Just let me know when works for you guys.”

“We were thinking about dropping him off after church on Sundays? Maybe he can spend an hour or so with you?”

“That would be perfect,” you say, nodding to Eddie.

“Obviously not when you have the baby, we can wait until after that if you want. “

“No, it should be fine,” you say, “Bring him over whenever. It will probably be easier to start now before the baby anyway.”

“Thanks, man, I really appreciate it,” Jason nods to Eddie. “By the way, have you ever heard of a band called Stryper?”

“Eddie! Quick!”

Eddie looks over at you as you come darting to him. He watches as you take his free hand and spin him around, toothbrush still in his mouth as he was getting ready for work.

“Wha es et?” He asks through a mouth full of toothpaste.

Wordlessly, you take his hand and place it on the side of your bump. The both of you are still as you wait for something to happen. After a few beats, you start to feel disappointed.

“I swear I felt them kicking,” you say dejectedly, letting go of Eddie’s hand.

“What, really?” He asks after spitting the toothpaste out of his mouth.

“Try again and maybe press down some?”

“Will that hurt it?”

“No, I don’t think so. Maybe agitate them a bit.”

Eddie puts his hand back on your barely there bump and presses down on it. It’s still for a few moments, and nothing happens. You let out a frustrated huff and cross your arms defeated.

“I really did feel them.”

“I believe you, sweetheart. That’s so exciting,” Eddie says rubbing your arms with his thumbs,

Then you feel it again.

You gasp, grabbing his hand again and moving it to the spot where you felt the movement. Eddie’s hand rested there and you waited another moment. Nothing.

“Damn it--”

Then it happened again. Eddie’s jaw dropped as he felt it that time, too stunned to speak.

“Wooooah,” he finally says, looking up at you.

“I know, right? Isn’t it crazy?”

Eddie puts both hands on your stomach and rubs it, kneeling down to be eye level with it.

“Hey there,” he says, eyes focused on your belly, “I don’t know if you can hear me but I’m your dad and I think it’s really cool that you have such strong legs. Maybe you’ll be a drummer like your Uncle Garreth. That would be super bad ass. Especially if you’re a girl. Girl drummers are awesome.”

“What if they’re a boy?” You ask him. “Then you’ll be a kick ass boy drummer for all I care. I really want you to play guitar, though. Gonna teach you that as soon as you can hold your head up. Babe, should be make him a battle jacket?”

“If we make him one now he won’t fit in it for very long. We should probably wait until he’s older.”

“Damn, oh well.” Eddie sighs as he straightens up. His arms wrap around you and pull you in close, letting his chin rest on the top of your head.

“You have no fucking clue how excited I am.”

“I think I can take a guess.”

The room is quiet, dimly lit with the soft glow of the low lights and the monitor that sits next to your seat. Your feet wiggle back and forth, a nervous movement as you sit and wait for the ultrasound technician to enter the room. Eddie was sitting beside you, his own leg bouncing in anticipation.

Today you would find out the gender of your baby. The excitement was enough to keep the two of you up late into the night talking about what it will be like to have a baby boy or girl running around the house. All the baby proofing you would have to do was enough to make you feel like your house might actually be a deathtrap, even when Eddie assured you it wasn’t that bad.

A gentle knock on the door had both of your heads turning to it. “Come in,” you say, and the door opens moments later. The same technician from your last appointment walks in and you’re relieved to see a familiar face.

“Good morning,” she says as she closes the door behind her. “Are we ready to find out what you’re having?”

You and Eddie nod, a fresh batch of goosebumps rising on your skin. The technician moves around the room and does whatever she needs to do to get the monitor ready.

“Go ahead and lay back, and lift your shirt just over your belly,” she says as she pulls a bottle from the counter. As you lean back, she shakes it upside down a bit and squirts some on her finger, wiping it off on the paper towel sitting on the counter.

“Now, this may be little cold at first, but it will warm up as I move the wand, okay?”

“Okay,” you say, a nervous smile on your face.

“It doesn’t hurt, does it?” Eddie asks, grabbing your hand.

“No, not at all. I’m just going to put a little of this jelly on her stomach and press this wand to it so we can see the baby. You ready?”

You nod and the cold jell hits your stomach with a sound from the bottle.

“Now here comes the wand…” She places the ultrasound wand on your stomach with a light pressure. The screen of the ultrasound machine starts to blur as she moves the jelly around on your stomach. Once she slows down, you’re able to get a more clear picture of the baby growing inside your belly.

It looked weird. Like a baby, but not at the same time. But when you saw it’s little arms moving it made a lump form in your throat.

“Awe, they’re waving at you,” the technician says, holding the wand still.

“Where?” Eddie asks, a clear look of confusion on his face. “I can’t read any of this.”

“See this right here, that’s the head,” the technician points to the large orb on the screen. “This is it’s spine, and this is it’s legs. Right here are it’s little arms.”

“Woah,” Eddie says with a smile as wide as Texas. “Hi little guy.”

“You’re such a dork.”

“What, I want to be polite!”

“Everything is looking good and they seem to be measuring on time, but I can’t say for certain until the doctor checks everything out. I’m going to take a few pictures and then we can check the gender, okay?”

You nod and let her do her thing. She moves the wand and pushes a few buttons on the keyboard, over and over, until she finally moves the wand to where it looks like the baby’s butt would be. A hot wave crashes over you as you realize that this is it.

“Okay, baby is not cross legged so I can see perfectly. Are you ready to know?”

Eddie turns to look at you for your approval. He nods, and you take a deep breath.

“Yes, we’re ready.”

“How was the appointment?” Wayne says as the two of you walk in the door, Bear relaxing over his feet.

“It went really well. We got some new pictures to show you.” Eddie walks over to Wayne and hands him the small print out of pictures the technician gave you to bring home. Wayne grabs his glasses and puts them on, still holding the small prints close to his face.

“Wow, this really looks like a baby now, huh?” He says, looking over to you. Your hand rubs your bump, now starting to show a bit. You’re happy it didn’t come in until after your school year ended, lest the students ask you a million questions.

“What else do you see?” Eddie asks the older man. Wayne looks over the pictures again, eyeing them up and down.

“What’s this last picture?”

“That is your grandson’s little Munson.”

Wayne looks up at Eddie, then over to you. As it all starts to make sense to him, he suddenly jumps up from his chair and jumps around.

“‘T’s a lil boy?! Hot dog, I got myself a new fishin’ buddy?!” His arms wrap around Eddie in a surprise hug as he jumps up and down more, rocking Eddie in the process.

“We had a feeling that you’d say that, so we went and got this.” You pull a bag from behind your back and present it to him, a very obvious smaller version of a fishing pole sticking out of it. It was made for kids, but you’re sure it would work when the baby is big enough.

“I can’t believe this,” Wayne says wiping tears from his eyes. “I would have been this happy if it was a girl, too. But it just feels so--”

“Real?” Eddie says.

“Yeah. I just can’t--I mean, damn it’s really happening.”

“Eddie started crying when she told us,” you say as you lean into him.

“How could I not? I’m gonna have a mini me running around the house!”

“Don’t I know it. I’m putting all this work in for 9 months and I know he’s going to come out looking exactly like you.”

“Hopefully he’s more tame than Eddie was,” Wayne adds, shaking his head. “Eddie used’aa bounce off the walls when he was a toddler.”

“Oh, great, can’t wait for that,” you say with a smile. You truly didn’t care what the baby was going to be like. You hoped he was just like Eddie, in every way.

“Ugh, it’s so hot,” you say as you fan yourself. Even with the shade of your front porch you were still sweating in the unrelenting July heat. It was the hottest summer Hawkins had felt in a while and of course you just had to be almost 30 weeks pregnant right now.

“We can go inside,” Eddie says from the chair next to you, flipping through a mechanics magazine.

“No, the fresh air will be good for the baby.”

“Not if you’re frying in the process. Come on, we can wait for them inside.”

As if right on que, the familiar red beater truck pulled up behind yours in the driveway.

“Hey, the party is here!” Grant shouted from the driver side window.

“Lets get this shit built!” Garreth yells as he pops out of the passenger side, Jeff following after him.

“Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna help?” Jeff says as Garreth and Grant start to unload the back of the truck of the boxes that were in the bed.

“I was expecting you all to do the heavy lifting. We are pregnant afterall.” Eddie says as he places his lemonade down, standing up from the chair. Jeff pshes him, slapping a hand on his back before the two of them start moving boxes inside.

The boys had all agreed to help put together furniture as long as they could drink and listen to rock music the whole time, neither of which you minded but you appreciated them asking. You’d been craving some wine during your pregnancy but had been good enough to not indulge yourself, especially after you’d done so well with your sobriety.

“You boys needa hand?” Wayne asks from the front door.

“Naw, we got it pepaw,” Garreth calls, holding the other and of a large box that him and Jeff are carefully maneuvering between the cars in the driveway. You held the door open for them as they entered into the house, stopping to kick their shoes off per your house rule of no shoes in the baby’s room.

Once the boys got everything inside, they immediately plugged in the stereo system and began to fill your house with Pearl Jam’s “Ten” album. Eddie Vedder’s vocals made good background noise as you cleaned up the house. Well to the best of your ability.

Your bump had grown big enough that it was starting to become more difficult to do certain things, like bending over and squatting. But you could still handle most of the chores with out much of Eddie’s help. It was working with chemical cleaners that worried you the most, so you looked into some more natural cleaning remedies and hoped that they were doing what they were supposed to do.

“Anyone ready for lunch? I’ll order some pizzas if you want--Wow, look at you guys go!”

The room was already starting to come together as the furniture was being built. It looked like Eddie and Jeff had the crib almost put together as Grant and Garreth tackled the dresser. You thought this was going to be an all day endeavor but they may get it all done in a few hours.

“You guys are some pretty good handymen!”

“Thanks, babe,” Eddie says as he holds a couple pieces together for Jeff to screw in. “Once we get these big pieces put together we’ll work on getting the shelves up.

“Were you saying something about pizza?” Garreth asks with nails between his lips.

“Yeah, I’ll go ahead and order some. Any special requests?”

“Can you get some cheesy bread, too?” Grant asks.

“Absolutely. Well, I’ll leave you boys to it.”

“Love you, babe!”

You say a quick love you back before waddling down the hall to the kitchen.

After a quick pizza break and some trash TV with Wayne, the boys all erupted into hoots and hollers from the baby’s room.

“What’s all the commotion?” You ask walking into the room.

“I think we’re done!”

You look around the room and really take it in. It looks pretty much complete, sans some decorations and the things you plan to get from your baby shower. It hits you that you’re going to have a baby in this room with you in just a few short months.

“Awe, babe, don’t cry.” Eddie walks up to you and wraps his arms around you, swaying you back and forth.

“It just looks so nice. Thank you guys so much,” you say through sniffles.

“Of course, momma,” Jeff says, patting your shoulder.

“Anything for the newest member of Hellfire,” Grant adds.

“And the future frontman of Corroded Coffin 2.0,” Garreth says.

Eddie backs away from you and you take the opportunity to wipe away the tears from your eyes. It was so nice knowing that your baby was already so loved.

“Oh, yes! Just like that!” You moan out into your bedroom, your cries bouncing off of the walls and straight into Eddie’s ears.

He has you just how he likes you; on your back and with your legs spread wide for him. Either of your legs in his grasp to hold up so you don’t have to. Your pretty little head is resting on the pillow while he does all the work of making you squirm under him. Your hands hold your large stomach as his hips crash into yours with each thrust.

He’s doing his damndest not to be rough, but he can’t help that you look so pretty when he fucks you hard. The way you talk so dirty when no one’s around gets him going in a way he can’t even describe other than feral. Each call of his name by you sounds like music to his ears that he wants to play on repeat.

“Fuck, baby, look so good like that,” Eddie groans, watching your swollen tits bounce. “My beautiful girl, all big and round for me.”

“Yes, just for you, Eddie,” you say, your hands flying to the pillow to grip it as he picks up his pace. Eddie takes your leg and rests it on his shoulder, guiding his free hand to your stomach to hold it in place while he fucks you into the mattress. Something about you being pregnant with his child was turning him on to no end. Just the thought of his baby being inside of you drove him crazy.

“Oh, shit I’m gonna--”

“Do it, baby. Cum for me.” Eddie brought his thumb to your sensitive clit and started rubbing sloppy circles in it. Everything with you was so much more sensitive since you’d gotten pregnant, and Eddie loved to take advantage of that whenever he could.

Eddie felt it in your body as you came, the way you clenched around him, legs shaking, eyes rolling into the back of your head. He wanted to take a picture to keep forever. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Eddie says suddenly, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he reached his peak. You watch as he comes undone inside of you, filling you up with his spend.

“Oh my god,” Eddie stutters out, head thrown back as he recovers from his orgasm. “That was insane.”

“Come’er,” you reach your hands out for him. He obliges, sliding out of you slowly and plopping down next to you in the bed. He wraps you up in his arms and holds you close, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Are you okay?” He asks, hand landing on your stomach.

“Mhmm,” you hum, catching your breath.

“I still can’t believe it. That we’re going to be parents.”

You place your hand on top of Eddie’s and rub your thumb into the back of it. It’s quiet for a moment, but then the two of you feel the baby moving inside of you and laugh.

“Guess he didn’t like all that movement,” you say, watching the way your stomach is pressed from the baby inside you.

“Sorry, bub,” Eddie says with a laugh, “Can’t help that your mom is hot.”

“Hey, thank you for coming!” You wrap your arms around Claudia and Dustin as they exit your house from the back door.

Today is the day of your baby shower and the backyard was already full of guests as they all pile in. Eddie was manning the grill, your brother and his wife talking him up as he cooked the dogs and burgers for everyone. Elanor and your nephews are running around with Bear while Nancy and Robin catch up. Steve and Mike were talking about cars the last you checked in on them. Max, Jane, Lucas and Will are helping set up some last minute decorations. And the band boys were chatting while they set the fire pit up for s’mores later.

“Thank you for inviting us. Here, I made these myself for the little one. There’s something in there for you, too.”

“Awe, thank you, Claudia. That’s so sweet.”

“I’ll take that,” Wayne says as he takes the bag from Mrs. Henderson.

“I helped pick out the colors, by the way,” Dustin says before he leaves to go join the boys at the fire pit.

“How are you feeling, dear?” Claudia asks.

“I feel surprisingly great. Other than my feet swelling in this heat, I don’t think I can complain. Well, besides the nightly gymnastics routine this one seems to want to do whenever I go to bed.”

Claudia laughs, “Yes, Dustin was the same way. It’s like they know when you’re trying to rest.”

“It really does!”

“Mrs. Henderson!” Steve calls out to her and Claudia excuses herself.

Wayne makes his way over to you. “Got an awfully full table of gifts over there,” he says.

“I know, I’m in shock. I knew people would get us stuff, but I didn’t think it would be so much. Hopefully we have room for everything.”

“We’ll make it fit, I promise ya that,” Wayne says with a chuckle.

He looks at you for a moment before leaning in.

“Can I tell ya a secret?”

You whip your head around, shocked to hear that Wayne wants to gossip with you.

“Uh, duh. Lay it on me.”

“Okay,” he starts, “See that girl your brother brought with him. I think you said that’s his wife’s sister?”

“Oh, Tenisha? Yeah she was one of my best friends growing up. She’s just really shy.”

“I can see that by the way she’s been keeping to herself. But, I’ve been watching everyone here, right? Well I think she’s been boring a hole into Harrington since he walked in the door.”

This revelation sparks your interest. Tenisha had a hard time branching out due to her introverted nature, so she didn’t have many boyfriends growing up. For a while you thought maybe she didn’t even like other people all that much.

But, this news was something you could work with.

“Good to know,” you say with coy smile, brain wracking with ways to introduce them.

The rest of the party showed up as time went on. Chrissy and Jason came with their kids, and you got to hold baby Jeremy while she talked your ear off. She even brought you a whole trunk load of old clothes from her boys that you’d be able to use for your baby.

Missy even showed up with her baby, little Henry junior. He looked a lot like Henry, so much that it was almost off putting to you, but you reminded yourself that this party was the celebrate your own baby with the man who loves you now.

“This is a really nice house,” Erica says to Eddie as you help pass out food and refreshments.

“Thanks, man. We’ve really put our all in making it our home these last few months.”

“I’m willing to bet that the missus did most of the decorating,” Jason chimes in.

“Obviously,” you say with a sarcastic tone. “I think the place would be covered with band posters and guitars if Eddie was in charge.”

“Hey, a few decorative guitars wouldn’t be a bad thing,” Grants says in Eddie’s defence.

“Thank you, Grant.”

“It’s going to feel even more like a home once the baby comes,” your brother says. “Don’t you think, Nish?”

Tenisha looks up from her plate like a deer caught in headlights. You want to scold your brother for calling her out, but you know he’s doing it because you told him about her eyes for Steve.

“Y-yes,” she says, voice small, and you’re proud that she was even able to get that much out. She stands still for a moment before suddenly beelining it for you.

“Where’s your bathroom?” She whispers to you. Just as you look toward the house, you notice Steve is heading in that same direction.

“Hey, Steve!”

He stops and looks around to where he heard his name being called, landing on you.

“Can you show Tenisha where the bathroom is?”

Tenisha’s eyes go wide, but you ignore it when Steve agrees and beckons her over. You watch as she wordlessly makes her way over to him.

“Hi, I’m Steve. I don’t think we’ve met,” he says as he follows behind her into the house.

You look around for Wayne to see if he saw your quick move and you found him already looking your way, giving you a thumbs up.

The rest of the party went off without a hitch. Games were played, all the gifts were opened, and you even got to have some cake that Eddie had custom made for the occasion. And, much to your delight, Steve essentially stuck by Tenisha’s side the rest of the night, talking to her about god knows what. She seemed not to mind though, a smile on her face the whole time.

You felt like you were about to burst. People had been chatting you up for over an hour at this point and you were starting to have to go every 30 minutes or so it seemed. When you finally had the chance to excuse yourself, you all but sprinted to the rest room.

Once you relieved yourself, you went to wipe, but thought you felt a strange texture when you did. You decided to check the toilet paper, only to be met with the sight of bright red blood.

Your heart sank at the sight. Getting up you checked your underwear and found nothing there, so it hadn’t been bad enough to spread. But still, you were only 36 weeks at this point, still a whole month out from when the baby was supposed to come. This shouldn’t be happening.

“Eddie,” you say out of instinct. “Eddie!”

You run out to the backyard and find your husband talking with his uncle by the fire. He looks over at you and waves, unable to see you clearly from where you were at the back door.

“Eddie!” The urgency in your voice caught his attention and he immediately popped up from his chair and came trotting to you.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Eddie, I’m bleeding.”

“W-what? That’s not supposed to happen now is it?”

You shook your head and Eddie immediately started to panic.

“Uncle Wayne!”

Wayne jumped up from his chair and ran over to where you two were standing.

“What’s goin’ on?”

“She’s bleeding.”

“Bleedin’! Well that doesn’t sound right. You oughta go to the emergency room. Now. I’ll get everyone going.”

You both nod and Eddie takes you by the hand, grabbing his keys off the counter as you enter the house. He barely lets you grab your purse before he’s pulling you into the car and peeling out of the driveway.

Once you get to the hospital, they take you back right away and get you hooked up to a monitor to listen to your baby’s heart beat. There was a sigh of relief when it was strong enough that it could be easily found by the nurse helping you. They ran some tests on you and did a quick check to see if you were dilated at all.

“Nothing yet,” the doctor says. “Not abnormal for you to not be dilated at this point. Have you had any contractions?”

“No, not yet. Should I be?” You ask with concern.

“Not necessarily. Sometimes women experience what feel like contractions at this point, but you’ll know the real thing when the time comes.”

“Why would she be bleeding right now if the baby wasn’t coming?” Eddie asks, hand clasped with yours.

“Well,” the doctor starts, “There are several possibilities, but it’s hard to say for sure. We’ll probably keep you here for monitoring for a few days just to make sure we don’t need to start the delivery process early.”

“Start it early? Will that hurt the baby?” You ask.

“Not at this point. We consider the baby developed enough at this point that delivery is a safe enough option for you. We would just give you a shot of steroids before hand to help with the development of the baby’s lungs before hand. But, for now, we think that you should get some rest.”

The doctor leaves the room and you and Eddie are left there to listen to the sound of your baby’s heart beating. Eddie’s grasp on your hand tightens, and for a moment you think that he might have started crying. You look up at him and are surprised to find that he’s actually laughing.

“Why are you laughing right now?”

“Because,” he raises his head to look at you, “Only my kid would try and pull something like this the day of his party. I always used to ruin my birthday parties because I would get so excited to get gifts.”

That did make you laugh. Which apparently made your son mad because you felt him kicking you, leaving you to sigh in relief. At least he wasn’t in any immediate danger. Though, you were not looking forward to staying in the hospital for a couple days.

“Do you think I’ll be out in time for Monday?”

Eddie looks at you in disbelief. “I don’t think your students are going to mind a substitute for a couple days while you’re in here.”

“I know, I just don’t want to leave them with a bunch of work to do. I’ve been slacking a bit these last couple weeks.”

“I’ll grade the damn papers myself if it means you’ll relax for a couple days,”

“Oh, god, we wouldn’t want that,” you laugh.

You got to go home on Tuesday. It felt cooler out compared to Saturday, so Eddie brought you a sweater to the hospital to keep you warm. The fabric was tight over your large stomach as you walked out into the late September air.

The bleeding eventually stopped on its own and the doctors decided it would be best to let you go home and finish out the rest of your pregnancy. Which you were relieved to hear because that bed was super uncomfortable.

“I just want to go home and take a nice long shower,” you say from the passenger seat. “Then maybe a good nap.”

“Whatever you need, princess. I know that was rough on you,” Eddie says with a hand in yours as he drives.

“It was rough on you, too. I know you were mad they wouldn’t let you stay.”

“They better let me stay when the baby is born. I’ll stand outside the hospital all night if they don’t.”

“They will, Eddie. We already asked, remember?”

“I know. But what if they find out I’m a felon and change their minds?” You can hear the concern in his voice.

“Eddie, they don’t care. Just don’t do anything stupid and there won’t be a problem.”

Eddie scoffs, “You think I would do something stupid?”

“Of course not,” you laugh, “I’m just saying is all.”

Eddie turns into the drive way and cuts the engine. He hops out from the driver side and runs around the car to open your door for you, lending you a hand to help you out of the car.

The two of you enter the house and you immediately head to your baby’s room. It’s filled to the brim with all the gifts you received still needing to be put away from your shower. The need to nest kicks in and you enter the room.

“Woah, what are you doing?” Eddie says, watching you as you start to fold some of the baby clothes.

“It’s a mess in here,” you say, placing a blue nighty into the dresser drawer. “We need to clean up.”

“We can do that later.” Eddie wraps his arms around you from behind and you let out a whine.

“But what if the baby comes tomorrow? He’s going to think we’re slobs!”

Eddie turns you around to face him, holding you with a hand on each arm.

“Later, sweetheart. Let’s get you in the shower and down for a nap first.”

You let out a sigh but ultimately give in.

“Aren’t you due today?” Will suddenly says between bites of his salad. The two of you had a shared lunch and had been spending it together since the beginning of the school year.

“Technically I was due Tuesday,” you say after a long chug of water, “But he doesn’t seem to be ready to come out yet.”

“Have you been feeling anything yet? Like the labor pains?” He asks.

“I’ve had a few contractions but nothing too major. The doctor said it’s normal for babies not to come on their due dates, but I’m ready for him to be out of me now.”

You rub your huge bump. It didn’t seem possible that you were this pregnant. You hadn’t seen your feet properly in weeks, but you certainly can feel them aching. The back pain was out of this world, and all you wanted to do was sit down. But at this paint sitting didn’t seem to be much relief either.

“I’m sure you are. I can’t even imagine what it must feel like.”

“It feels like I’m carrying a 30 pound boulder in my stomach is what it feels like,” you laugh.

But the laugh is cut short by a sharp pain in your lower stomach. Another contraction was hitting you today and this one took your breath away. You hiss, bending slightly as you try your best to work through it. But this one was lasting a lot longer than the others.

Will jumps up from his seat. “Are you okay?” He asks as he hovers over you, hand on your shoulder.

“Yeah, just,” you blow out air from your mouth, “This one just really hurts.”

“Shit, is it time?”

“I…I don’t know.”

You couldn’t say no for sure with how this one was feeling. Was it time?

“Do you want me to call Eddie?” Will says before walking over to the phone.

“No, no it’s starting to stop now,” you say, leaning back in your chair. “I’ll keep an eye on the time and if it gets worse then I’ll call him.”

“Maybe you should go home, just in case,” Will says with concern.

“I think I’ll be okay.”

But you were not okay. After the third contraction, you decided to call Principal Higgins and let him know what was going on. He told you he would take over your class and that you should go home for the day.

“Hawkin’s Auto Body, this is Sarah speaking.”

“Hi Sarah, is Eddie available?”

“Oh, hey! Yeah, let me go get him!” The receptionist put you on hold and you felt another contraction hit. They were starting to become close together, around 8 minutes apart.

“Babe?” You hear from the other side of the line.

“Eddie, I think it’s time,” you say through gritted teeth.

“What? Really? Where are you?” His tone is frantic and you hear some crashing noises.

“I’m at work. I’m having contractions.” You whine as the feeling grows stronger in your pelvis.

“Oh my god, okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can. We’ll take your car, okay?”

“Okay, I’ll be waiting.”

After you hung up with Eddie, you braced the cold October air and made your way to your car. You turned it on and sat in the passenger seat while you waited.

Looking in the rear view mirror, you can see the car seat installed in the back seat for this exact occasion. Eddie was smart to put it back there in case the baby came earlier. Ever since your hospital trip, he’d been on top of everything when it came to the baby’s arrival. He helped you decorate, took you shopping for any last minute items you needed, and even prepared a hospital bag for you that sat in your trunk.

It didn’t take long for Eddie you whip into the school parking lot. He found your car and made quick effort to find the nearest spot to park. After he killed the engine, he booked it to your car and hopped in the driver seat.

“Are you okay?” Was the first thing he asked before buckling his seatbelt.

“At the moment, yeah. But the contractions are getting closer and closer together as time goes by. I’m due for another any minute.”

“Well, lets’s get going then, momma,” he says, shifting into gear and pulling away.

Eddie got you to the hospital in record time. They wheeled you in, mid contraction as they took you immediately to a laboring room. Everything was a blur as they got you in a gown and prepped you to be checked. When the doctor came in, the first thing he did was check to see how dilated you were.

“You’re already at 4 centimeters,” he said as he pulled his hand away. “I’m surprised you hadn’t come in sooner.”

“She was being stubborn,” Eddie said. He was upset that you had gone on having contractions for so long without calling him sooner.

“I was at work. I didn’t know it was going to get this bad--ooooh!” Another contraction.

“Well good news is that once you get to 5 centimeters things tend to go faster, so you shouldn’t be in labor for too much longer. Did you want to get an epidural?”

“God, anything to help with these pains,” you moan as the contraction wracks through your body. It felt like all your muscles from the waist down were tightening all at once. You were starting to sweat from the pain.

“That looks like fun,” Eddie says as he sips from his little cup of water.

You were bouncing on the exercise ball that the hospital provided for you to try and speed up the labor. The epidural kicked in and though your legs felt funny, the pain had subsided greatly. You still felt the contractions but they weren’t nearly as debilitating as they had been all day.

“It feels like a work out, but I think it’s helping.”

“I’m so excited,” Eddie says before walking over to you, both his hands out for you to take. You place your hands in his and do your best to stand, stepping closer to him until your belly touched his. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips.

“I am, too. Insanely nervous, but excited.”

Suddenly you felt a sharp pain between your legs. The sound of water hitting the floor took you by surprise. You felt like you needed to sit down so you reached back for the bed and sat on the edge.

“Shit, babe, I think your water broke!” Eddie ran to the door and yelled out for a nurse to come to your room.

Shit, was this really happening?

Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. The nurses and doctor entered the room and it was clear that it was go time. They got you in position on the bed and you could feel something happening between your legs.

“I see the head!” One of the nurses shouted.

“Push, momma push!”

“Oh my god.”

Eddie was shaking beside you. You could feel the trembling in his hand as he held yours. But you didn’t have time to focus on him as you put all your effort into pushing.

You squeezed his hand tight as you did your best to push, feeling the pressure building as you do.

“Yes, keep going! He’s starting to come out!”

“You got this, sweetheart,” you hear Eddie say shakily.

“One more good push!”

You put all your strength into pushing. It was the hardest thing you’ve ever done in your life. There was so much pressure building up and then—

The sound of cries.

You opened your eyes and he was there. The nurses held him as the little baby covered in goo and fluids…was crying.

“It’s a healthy baby boy!”

“Hellooo!”

The sound of Wayne’s voice echoed in the room. He took a step in and Eddie waved him inside.

“Come on in, Grandpa,” Eddie says from his seat next to you. Wayne mozies into the room, a vase full of flowers in hand.

“I brought these for the lovely new momma,” he says, setting them down on your bedside table.

“Thank you, Uncle Wayne,” you say, admiring the flowers.

“Is that my little man over there?” He asks, moving closer to the bed.

You take the bundle in your arms and turn him to face Wayne. “Oh my god,” Wayne’s hand comes to his mouth as he cracks the widest smile.

“Do you want to hold him?” You ask, lifting your son a bit towards him.

“Can I?” Wayne asks, stretching his arms out. You make the slow exchange and Wayne just absolutely lights up. “Wow, I can’t believe it.”

“I know, it’s crazy isn’t it?” Eddie says, standing up to walk over to them.

“I’m sorry ta break it to ya, sweet girl, but this boy is all his daddy,” Wayne says with a chuckle.

“Wait until you see his hair,” Eddie says, gently pulling the little cap off of his sons head to reveal small poodle like curls underneath.

“Oh boy, we’re really gonna be in for it with you, ain’t we?” Wayne asks your son. “Your daddy’s gonna get all the karma from how he was as a kid.”

“All I know is he’s going to get away with murder when it comes to her.” Eddie says nodding to you.

“Is that so? That in love already, huh?”

You nod your head. It was true. As soon as the nurses laid him against your chest you felt that immediately wave of love come over you for your little one. He might as well have hung the moon and stars because he was perfect in your eyes. You weren’t even mad he looked exactly like Eddie. Quite the opposite. Your head swirled with all the trouble that the two of them were going to get to. And they would get away with it by batting their big brown eyes at you.

“Did ya come up with a name for him yet?”

This question made you look to Eddie. You’d been telling everyone that you weren’t sure what name you were going to come up with, but the truth was that you had a name for the baby all along.

“As a matter of fact, we did,” Eddie says walking over to the bed side bassinet. He pushed it over to Wayne, turning it so that the name card was visible to him.

Wayne stepped closer, leaning in to see the name without his glasses.

“Wayne…Wayne Lee Munson. Well…that,” Wayne’s body shook with a sob, “that’s my name.”

“And we thought it would be the perfect name for the next Munson.”

“Ed…” Wayne started to cry. He held your son close and wept. “Little Wayne Munson. Has a nice ring to it.”

“Well look at that little man there. He looks jus like you, don’t he?” Al Munson’s voice rang through the other side of the phone’s receiver. It wasn’t how you wanted to meet your future father in law, but you knew this visit meant a lot to Eddie so you went along with it.

He told you his dad wasn’t a violent man, but he sure looked like it. Eddie looked so much like him, down to the way they both hunched over a bit when they sit. It was almost scary to think about what Eddie could have become if he hadn’t gotten out of prison when he did.

“I’m glad you guys came out,” Al says, “Was worried I wouldn’t get to see ‘em til he’s ten.”

“We’re glad to be able to make it. I’m sure you’re excited to meet him.”

“And the misses, too. Eddie’s told me a lot about you in his letters.”

“Hopefully all good things,” you say into the receiver that’s between yours and Eddie’s head. Al laughs, and it sounds like a raspier version of Eddie’s.

“Oh, yeah. You’re gonna make a great Munson. Wish I could be there to see it.”

“I wish you could, too, dad.”

“We’ll make sure you get lots of pictures.”

“I’ll be lookin’ forward to it,” Al says, leaning into the glass. “Lemme get a better look at’em.”

Eddie moved the phone to his ear as you reposition, standing slightly so you can show off your baby. You watch as his lips move but can’t hear what he’s saying.

“Yeah, that’s what everyone says. I feel bad for her because you know how I was as a kid…Yep, Wayne said the same thing.”

Al’s hand touches the glass near where you’re son is. It makes you feel for him. A man stuck in a cage, just outside of reach of what he wants.

“Okay, old on,” Eddie says holding the phone out to you. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Oh, really? Okay.” You swap with Eddie, handing Wayne to him and taking the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey there, darlin’,” Wayne says. “Just wanted to ask you a few questions.”

You felt your stomach turn. Was he going to grill you on if you were good enough for his son?

“Now, I won’t say anything, and you can give me simple answers if you want. But I want you to answer truthfully.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, is my boy treating you right? He’s not been hittin’ on you or anything?”

The line of questioning took you by total surprise.

“Oh my god, no,” you say shaking your head. “Eddie is the sweetest man I’ve ever met in my life.”

Al smiles the same as Eddie.

“That’s what I wanted to hear. Now, he’s been pullin’ his weight around the house, too, right?”

“Absolutely,” you assure him.

“Good, good. Been helpin’ with the little one?”

“Yes, more than I ever could have asked for.”

Eddie was made for fatherhood. Even at his most tired, he still does whatever he can with Wayne. Changes him, helps bathe him, cleans up so you can feed him. He cooks and cleans. Any little thing you ask he does without a single complaint.

“Wonderful. Eddie’s a tough one, so but I’m glad to see he has a soft side to ‘em. If he ever gets outta line, you just go ahead and give me a call, got it? I got some people on the outside who will set him straight for ya.”

“I don’t think I’ll need to, but I’ll keep that in mind,” you chuckle.

“Alright, darlin’, go ahead and give me back to Ed.”

You hand the phone back over to Eddie and do another swap with Wayne.

“What the hell did you ask her, old man?”

Al laughs on the other side of the glass. You let the two of them talk it out for the rest of the visit. You weren’t sure the next time you three would be able to make it out to see him, so you made sure to say your goodbyes before leaving.

The house is warm and filled with the smell of food cooking from the kitchen. As you do your best to prep, Eddie is sitting snugly on the couch holding baby Wayne in his arms. They’re watching A Charlie Brown Christmas on the tv; well, Eddie is narrating everything for Wayne. But Wayne seems to love listening to Eddie talk, starting up at him with those big brown eyes that you love so much.

“Don’t look now, but I think we’re being watched,” Eddie says to Wayne, pointing at you.

“I can’t help it, you guys are just so cute.”

You’re about to check on the food again when you hear a knock at the door.

“Come in!” Eddie shouts from the couch.

The door opens and begins to fill with familiar faces. Dustin and Lucas enter first, bickering about god knows what, followed by Mike, Jane, Max and Will who look fed up at the former two.

“Hey guys!” You say as you approach, offering to take coats as they come in. Eddie stands up from the couch and walks over to Dustin and Lucas.

“Whatever you guys are going on about can end now,” Eddie says as he hands the baby to Lucas, “and you can hold this one while I go take a piss.”

“I’ll take that, thank you,” Max says as she slips between Dustin and Lucas, taking your son in her arms and walking away. “Awe aren’t you just the cutest!”

“Hey, he was handing him to me,” Lucas says with a scoff.

“You’ll have your turn later, Auntie Max needs her baby time now.”

Lucas pauses for a moment before leaning into Dustin.

“She looks pretty cute with a baby, doesn’t she?”

Dustin elbows Lucas, “Make your own then, sheesh.”

“Can I see him?” Jane says as she walks up to Max, who shows him off to her.

“He seriously is so cute.” Max says, lightly bouncing Wayne in her arms.

“Thanks, I think so, too,” you chuckle.

Another knock at the door takes your attention away from the girls for a moment. You shout for them to come in and the door opens to reveal Steve and Robin with two handfuls of gifts.

“Oh my god, let me take those,” you say rushing over to them. “What is all this stuff?”

“It’s for the baby, duh,” Robin says, handing you some of the stuff from her hands.

“All of this is for Wayne?”

“Not all of it,” Steve says, making his way to your tree to set his gifts down. “There’s more in the car.”

“You guys are ridiculous,” you say, shaking your head.

“Woah, Santa came early,” Eddie says as he rounds the corner. He walks over to Robin to take the rest of the gifts and joins Steve by the tree.

“We said we were going to spoil him,” Robin says with a shrug.

Suddenly something small runs into the house, past you and onto Mike’s leg.

“Woah!”

“Uncwel Mikey!” Elanor squeals.

“Is this where the party is?” Jonathan says as he enters the house, followed by Nancy and baby Amelia.

“It smells so good in here,” Nancy says as she gives you a side hug.

“Thank you! You guys didn’t have to bring anything,” you say, eyeing the tin of cookies that Jonathan was holding.

“It was nothing. I was in a baking mood, so those aren’t the actual cookies that are in there.”

“Well come on in and set them in the kitchen. I need to check on everything anyway.”

Nancy and the baby follow you inside to the kitchen, Jonathan hot on her heels. “I’ll be back for you,” she says when she passes Max holding baby Wayne.

As you enter the kitchen, the timer for the turkey goes off. You grab your oven mitts and pull it out of the oven, prepping the thermometer to check that it’s cooked all the way.

“Wow, you made a whole turkey?” Nancy says impressed.

“I wanted there to be enough for everyone” you say, reading the temperature, “and it was cheaper than a ham. Got it on sale actually!”

“Looks good!” Jonathan says, setting the cookies on the table.

“Holy shit, Steve she made a turkey!” Robin yells from the kitchen doorway.

“I thought she didn’t know how to cook?!” Steve shouts from the living room.

“I’ve picked up a few things being a housewife, Steve!” You shout back at him.

“Hows motherhood treating you?” Nancy asks, moving to stand next to you.

“Honestly,” you start, “it’s been a crazy ride.” You pause for a moment, thinking about all the sleepless nights and endless feedings. But you think about your sweet baby and the man who has been helping you make it all possible and sigh. “But, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

“I know what you mean,” she says bouncing Amelia on her hip. “It’ll get harder when you have another, but it really is worth it.”

Another? You hadn’t really thought about having another baby just yet. You were still in the throws of first time motherhood that you barely had time to think about anything else. But, who knows, maybe you’ll have another. One day at a time.

You hear a commotion from the living room and assume the rest of the boys have arrived when you hear their collective voices.

“There’s my man,” you hear Jeff say.

“God, he looks just like you, Eddie,” Grant says, making you smile.

“Yeah, I apologize to her for it every day,” Eddie says with a laugh.

Nancy and Robin help you finish everything up in the kitchen while the rest of the party is entertained by your son in the living room. They all take their turns holding him until he ultimately started crying and needed his momma.

“Alright, dinner is ready, everyone,” you say from the doorway. Walking over to Steve, who was currently holding Wayne, you extend your hands to take the crying baby.

“Shh, it’s alright, mommy is here,” he says, gently bouncing Wayne in his arms.

“Damn, you’re a natural, Steve,” you say as you take Wayne from him.

“You think so,” he says standing up from the couch. “I’ve always wanted a big family.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” you say with a sly smile, “How are things going with Tenisha?”

“Great!” He says, clapping his hands together excitedly. “The long distance sucks, but Robin and I are going to drive out to see her for new years.”

“That sounds like it’ll be a good time!” You say and he nods. Wayne lets out another cry and you’re reminded that it’s time to feed him. “Go and get some food, I gotta feed the little one.”

You walk back into the bedroom and let Wayne nurse for a bit, calming him down instantly. A few minutes go by and you hear a knock on the door.

“I’m not decent,” you shout to the door.

“It’s just me,” you hear Eddie say as the door begins to open, him shuffling inside with a plate in his hand. “I brought you something to snack on while you’re in here.” It was more than just a snack. Eddie had made you a whole plate and brought it to you.

“Awe, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Actually, I did,” he says with a chuckle. “Or else there might not have been anything left for you by the time you were done.”

“So everyone likes the food?” You ask with a bit of hope in your voice. Eddie nods, and you sigh with relief. “Thank god.”

“It’s honestly really good,” Eddie says bringing a roll to your mouth. You take a bite and had to admit he was right.

“Eddie,” you say in a wobbly tone, feeling tears starting to well in your eyes.

“Yes, my love?” He says turning to look at you.

“Thank you so much,” you say with a sniffle.

“The roll was that good?” He asks with a laugh.

You shake your head, “No, no, I mean…Just thank you. For everything. I’ve never felt so complete in my whole life and it’s all thanks to you.”

Eddie goes to open his mouth to say something, but closes it. He suddenly sits up from the bed, walking over to his nightstand and opening the drawer. He pulls out a piece of paper and looks it over before holding it to his chest.

Walking back, he plops back on the bed and clears his throat. “Um, this is something I’ve been working on for a while,” he says fidgeting with the paper. You look at it, then back to him. It was covered in his sloppy hand writing and you were instantly brought back to all the letters you’ve shared between the two of you. The ones that brought you together.

“It was originally going to be my wedding vows to you, but it’s gotten so long that I don’t think anyone is going to want to sit and listen to me while I talk on and on. So I just…I guess I’m ready to share it with you now.”

“Okay,” you say barely above a whisper, extremely intrigued as to what he has to say.

“Alright, here it goes,” Eddie says clearing his throat again.

“To my future wife,

It’s always going to be hard to put into words exactly how you make me feel. I could write poetry, could write you a song, could buy a plane and fly the words across the sky. But none of that will ever be enough. So I’ll do what I do best and write you this letter.

Not a day has gone by since we met that I don’t think about you. Even when I was still locked up, the thought of you played on my mind a lot. To me, I felt an instant connection with you. It might not have been love at first, but I knew that you were going to mean something to me. With every passing letter that turned into phone calls, that turned into us meeting for the first time, I only realized that you were put into my life for a reason. And that reason has become clearer with every day that I get to spend waking up next to you and being blessed by a God I don’t believe in with the grace of your smile.

Now that I have you in my life, I don’t think I can ever imagine a life without you in it. I want to spend every possible moment with you that I can, even the bad ones. I can’t wait until the day we’re old and grey and sitting in our rocking chairs on the front porch while we watch the sun go down. Because then I’ll know that I have lived a full, one by your side.

Now that we’re going to be parents, which I still can’t believe, I want to make sure that I’m there for you no matter what. We probably won’t get married until after the baby is born, but I hope you know that we don’t have to do things the traditional way. I’ve never been normal, but I think you know that by now. So lets just do things how we want to from here on out.”

“This last part I wrote recently,” he says, pointing at the paper, avoiding looking at you.

“Wow, I really can’t believe we’ve earned the title of mom and dad already. Nothing could have prepared me for first time parenthood, but I’m glad I have you by my side to go through it. You’ve been nothing short of amazing as a mom and I couldn’t be more proud of you. I think Wayne has been the missing puzzle piece that we didn’t even know we needed in our lives. He rounds out our family in such a positive way that I sometimes feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. That’s how too good to be true my life with you feels. I don’t know what the future holds, but no matter what happens, I know that you and I will be able to work it together as a team.

I guess I should wrap this up and give it to you before Wayne goes to college. Just know I love you so much and I always will. Never forget that, my love.”

Eddie turned to look at you, not even surprised to see the mess you’d become. Tears streaked your cheeks and you were holding in a sob that kept trying to escape.

“E-Eddie…” you say, leaning into him, finally letting it out with a little cry. “That was so sweet. I don’t even know what to say.”

Eddie kisses the crown of your head before resting his cheek against it.

“You don’t have to say anything. I already know how you feel. You make sure I know it every day. This is just my own way of saying thank you.”

You held your baby tight in your arms, suddenly overwhelmed at the life you’d been given. The man next to you loved you and you loved him. You were going to get married and spend the rest of your days together. As a family.

thank you all so much for reading!

#eddie munson #on the outside #inmate!eddie munson #inmate!eddie munson x reader #dad!eddie munson #dad!eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson st #eddie munson stranger things

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wheredidhiseyebrowsgo · 1 day ago

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hi - do you have any fics with scenes like the one in "but the world won't stop turning" where derek time travels and meets his mom? in this one she knows it him by scent (in her time he's 7-ish) and they just have lunch and talk bit. it's very bittersweet. i was hoping there might be more like it?

Hi anon. Let's see.

But The World Won't Stop Turning by thepsychicclam

(1/1 I 19,906 I Explicit I Sterek)

Derek glances at Stiles, who is watching him with a curious expression.

“Oh shit,” Stiles exclaims as comprehension dawns on him. “Everything makes sense now. Derek, I know what the witch did, she cursed you with – “

But before Stiles is able to finish his sentence, everything fades away and Derek is surrounded by darkness.

***

A Chance Worth Taking by ash_mcj

(1/1 I 1,885 I General i Sterek)

When Derek woke up, he thought he was in a dream.

There were posters littering the familiar forest green walls that he hadn’t seen in years—Star Trek, Black Eyed Peas, even a Destiny’s Child one he had completely forgotten was on the back of his bedroom door that he’d stolen from Laura’s wall when she’d left for college. A burgundy and white letterman jacket was slung over his desk chair, bold letters spelling his surname and his basketball number across the back with Beacon Hills Cyclones Basketball on the lower half.

This wasn’t possible—this room had burned to ash years ago, and his nightmares almost never featured such simple scenes as this one. There were no foreboding feelings, no sharp smell of smoke, no guilt-inducing screams.

And just as he was about to dig his clawed hand into his thigh in an attempt to wake himself from this maybe-dream, he remembered. ___

[or: with the help of some magic, Derek and Stiles go back in time—giving them the opportunity to save not only their future pack, but also the first one Derek lost]

Days Like These. by Missy_Moo

(6/23 I 8,801 I General I Sterek)

Derek and Stiles mated right after Stiles finished highschool, they had been trying for a baby ever since. Unfortunatly nature was against them and everything they tried had failed. Until their third and final round of IVF, they were pregnant! Deaten finds the spell to send Derek back to stop the fire on the very same day that they find oout about their pup. Now its Dereks choice, his new family or his old one.

Or where Derek goes back in time stops the fire, forgets about Stiles and has to find his mate all over again. While Stiles pouts his way through a virgin mary style pregnancy.

Blood of my Veins, Bone of my Body by DaoOfGay

(4/? I 10,679 I Explicit I Sterek)

Derek Hale was a stupid and very proud teen. He always regretted the words he told the one that was his Soulmate... That day was the day he threw away his chance at happiness while pushing someone down a path of no return.

He regretted it so much...

Now, at such old age, he lived a lonely life. His friends, family, and others he loved- he pushed them away slowly, and he didn't even notice it. So, as he died alone, all he wanted was to go back...

"-rek, tell me this freak is lying and that you two aren't Soulmates-"

He hadn't even come to his senses- everything was so weird, but when he heard those words, his entire being screamed and he opened his mouth to say: "Of course we're Soulmates-"

There was only silence in the school cafeteria.

Back to the Beginning by erraticallyinspired

(7/? I 18,532 I Teen I Sterek)

"The last thing he can remember is turning his back to Jennifer-Julia. It was stupid, of course, because she was the Darach and knew perfectly well how to handle werewolves. [...] He has to be dead."

Jennifer knocks Derek out in the elevator, but he doesn't wake up there.

A Simple Wish by monkeyihihji

(5/5 I 23,022 I Teen I Sterek)

In less than seven days, his girlfriend had randomly broken up with him and kicked him out. He was forced to move back home to a family that seemed to not really want him. His bed was too small. And his former childhood best friend--who he just figured out he was in love with--was with someone else. Happy Birthday, Derek. It was a great week, really. The candle flickers and seems to mock him. He takes a deep breath and blows.

"I wish I could go back and fix this whole mess."

Time To Say Goodbye by matildajones

(1/1 I 34,323 I Teen I Sterek)

Derek finds an older version of himself at his front door, along with Stiles, a boy from the future.

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #time travel #anon

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forwhomthewordsflow · 2 days ago

Text

Lean On Me

modern music teacher!eddie munson x art teacher fem!reader

18+ ONLY MDNI!!!

warnings: minor emergency room situation, injury, fluffy x100, allusions to smut, a lil more coach!steve harrington

author's note: definitely did not write this one clocked in at my desk…i just can’t stay away from these guys. this is not proofread so please be gentle if there are any mistakes :) also, i’m no medical professional so i’m not exactly sure if this is how one would treat a bruised foot…just go with it. ALSO!!! I had to give our art teacher a last name, and the polls chose 'Ms. Heart.' cute right?

please let me know what your thoughts are on this series!

word count: 3.9k

Ms. Heart🎨: The kids are saying they saw Coach Harrington carrying you out to the parking lot…tell me they’re kidding

Mr. Munson🎸: “Carrying” is an exaggeration…

You see the “Incoming FaceTime Call” notification pop up on the screen of your phone and hurry to shut your classroom door. Even though it’s nearing the end of the day, and this is technically your planning period, sometimes kids still like to come in and hang out in your classroom. You had a feeling that Eddie wouldn’t want any students around to hear this call though.

Your anxiety is momentarily forgotten when you see his handsome face on your screen after answering the FaceTime call. Even after almost three weeks of knowing him, it still surprises you how gorgeous the man is. You’re focused on the curve of his sexy grin, but you can't help but notice the subtle winces peaking through it. You can tell he’s in the passenger seat of a truck, Steve’s truck you’re guessing, and your theory is confirmed when the man in question grabs the phone from Eddie’s hands and puts it up to his face.

“Well hello there Ms. Art Teacher! You’ll never guess what your guy got himself into now–wait a second,” he turns to look at Eddie with an appalled expression ,”Why is your lady’s name in your phone ‘Ms. Heart’?”

Eddie snatches his phone back from Steve’s hands and can barely hear the sound of you laughing from the other end. You and him both know that you put your names in each other's phones as your ‘teacher names,’ just in case someone were to see a notification and get suspicious. You still have yet to go public with your new relationship, and Eddie is counting down the days until he can let everyone know you’re his girl.

“Will you stop calling her ‘my lady’? You sound like a douche.”

Steve lets out a triumphant laugh. “Yeah, right. This douche is getting laid on the regular pal. I’ll hear your opinions on my vocabulary when you can say the same.”

Eddie looks back at your face on his screen, noticing how you’re blushing at Steve’s words. He throws you a wink, just to see your reaction, and he isn’t disappointed. You turn even redder and throw your free hand over your face to cover your smile.

Steve’s words don’t bother you exactly, but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been devoting a lot of time to thinking about whether or not Eddie cares that the two of you haven’t slept together yet. It’s not that you don’t want to, of course you want to. You’ve been wanting to climb that man like a tree since the moment he first spoke to you at orientation. There just hasn’t been time to even approach that topic with the school year starting and the craziness of it all.

You and Eddie are smiling bashfully at each other through the screen when he grunts in pain. The phone shakes at the same time, and you remember that Steve is driving Eddie somewhere.

“Fuck, man. Can you try not to drive into every pothole you see?”

Steve scoffs, “Yeah sure. Lemme just swerve around them and into all the other cars on the road. Then we’d both be injured.”

Both? Both? Meaning one of them already is?

“Eddie?” you ask. He can tell by the sound of the question that you're on the verge of panic, so he smiles at you through the screen.

“Yes, sweet girl?” You can hear Steve’s fake gag in the background at Eddie’s use of the pet name for you, but it doesn’t stop the lovesick smile from trying to make its way onto your lips.

Eddie finds it particularly entertaining to try out all the different pet names on you to see which ones will make you blush the hardest. He says he keeps an Excel spreadsheet so he can track the data…but you’re pretty sure he’s lying. Okay, maybe 75% sure.

You point a finger at him sternly. “Quit trying to distract me. Tell me what’s going on please.” Eddie would have to be a fool to resist your sweet request, so he gives in.

“There may have been a little incident while I was putting away equipment after 6th period…”

Steve guffaws, “Yeah, I’ll say. Your man dropped a 40 pound speaker on his foot!” Eddie’s hand slaps to his forehead with a groan, he had planned on breaking the news a little gentler to you, and perhaps in a way that didn’t make him look like a total idiot.

Your mouth drops in horror, “What?”

Eddie instantly jumps into trying to calm you down, “Honey, it’s really not that bad–”

“–I heard a crunch!”

“Steve! Please.”

You take a deep, grounding breath. “Eddie, just talk please.”

Eddie reaches over to smack Steve before speaking. “Steve was in my classroom because we were planning on moving a couple speakers out to the fields for the game tonight. The one I was carrying slipped and landed a little bit on my foot, that’s all.” He tries his best to speak calmly to keep you from panicking, but it’s hard to ignore the throbbing pain in his right foot.

“Eddie! Are you okay? How bad does it hurt?” You wish you were with him instead of pacing around in your empty classroom.

“I can barely feel it sweetheart, I’d rate it a three out of ten.”

Steve scoffs loudly, “Okay buddy, that’s not what it sounded like when I was carrying your ass out of school.”

Eddie turns to fix Steve with a glare, “I still had one foot on the ground, dude. You were not carrying me.” He turns back to look at your face through the screen, “He wasn’t carrying me.”

You hear Steve laughing off screen and Eddie rolls his eyes. You can’t help but to laugh a little too at the absurdity of it all. “Where are you heading to?”

“We’re going to the ER. Personally, I think that’s a little dramatic, but mama bear over here…”

Steve passionately chimes in, “It’s important to treat every injury with the same level of seriousness, even the minor ones!”

“I actually agree with him on this one, Ed.” you say with a soft smile. Eddie swoons internally.

He’s able to overlook your choice of Steve’s side due to your use of the nickname. You’ve been a bit hesitant about using pet names with him the way he does with you, but you’ve assured him time and time again that it’s only because you’ve never dated a guy who actually liked any of that stuff before. You’re working your way up to Eddie’s level of nicknames, and ‘Ed’ has been a recent development in that process. Eddie loves it.

“Gimme the phone man,” Steve’s hand juts into the screen expectantly, swiping the phone from Eddie’s grasp. “Hey Ms. Artsy, do you think you’ll be able to give this guy a ride back home? Our first home game is in a couple hours, and the boys can’t play without their coach.”

You had almost forgotten about the football game tonight. Your students had been amped up all day long about it, convincing you to help them paint signs to hold up at the game during class time. You were planning on asking Eddie if he wanted to go, but you weren’t sure how he felt about attending a school event together. The status of your relationship wasn’t necessarily a secret, but still not very many people knew.

“Of course I can! I just have to clean up a bit and I’ll be right there.”

“Thanks, teach.” Steve hands the phone back to Eddie, who’s been sulking in the passenger seat because he missed your face.

You smile at him, “Hang tight, I’ll see you soon okay?”

Eddie smiles, “Okaayyy–!” His voice cuts off in a pained grunt before the call ends, leading you to assume that Steve had once again hit a pothole.

You’re a ball of nerves as you pull in to park outside of the emergency room. Thankfully, you’re the type of person who keeps their car relatively clean, but that didn’t stop you from doing a once over just to make extra sure there wasn’t any mess. Why were you so anxious to drive with Eddie? Maybe the stress from the past hour just has you wound extra tight.

Nervous as you may be, you can’t help but to walk with a bounce in your step as you approach the entrance. Seeing Eddie is always the highlight of your day, and you couldn’t wipe the growing grin off your face if you tried. You just hope he isn’t in too much pain, your heart lurches at the thought of him being hurt in any way.

Thanks to impeccable timing, you spot Eddie and Steve walking down the hallway you’ve just entered into. You notice the papers in Steve’s hands, and the crutches that Eddie is already seemingly irritated by. Your eyes meet as he looks up, and the crease between his furrowed eyebrows is gone in an instant as a smile lights up his face. Steve can’t help but smile along as he watches Eddie hobble a little faster on his crutches towards you.

God, he missed you today. He loves the color of the top you’re wearing, the way your jeans hug your thighs, the curve of your smile, and he might just love you too, although he probably shouldn’t tell you that part just yet.

Steve checks his watch for the hundredth time since he and Eddie had arrived at the ER, running a hand through his hair anxiously. He hands you the papers the doctor gave them with care instructions and pain medication prescriptions before you can even say hello.

“Okay, team. Kick-off is in thirty minutes, and I gotta jet.” He looks to you, already in ‘coach’ mode. “Here are the papers from the doctor, the do’s and don'ts for a bruised foot bone, care instructions, ya-da ya-da. His prescription can be picked up after 6, there’s a pharmacy around the corner that’s open til 10.”

You take the papers from him and nod your head, trying to commit all the information to memory.

“Wish me luck guys!” Steve jogs away, fist pumping the air. “Go Tigers!”

You turn to face Eddie, the both of you wearing matching smiles and shaking your heads at Steve’s theatrics. You move a bit closer to Eddie, yearning for a hug but not sure if it’s a good idea.

As if he can read your mind, Eddie grins, “Can a hurt guy get a hug? I’m not able to hug you back at this moment but I’ll make it up to you later.”

You step into his space and wrap your arms around his waist, laying your head on his chest and breathing him in. How does he still smell so good after teaching all day long?

He rests his cheek on the top of your head, wondering the same thing about you. How could someone’s hair possibly be this soft and smell this amazing? This. This is what he’s been waiting for all day long. God, you feel so good pressed against him like this. If he wasn’t such a gentleman, he’d let the stirring of his cock in his jeans distract him from the pain in his foot, but unfortunately the two of you are still standing in the middle of the ER.

“Shall we?”

“Yup!” You reluctantly pull away from his warmth and move to his side to walk with him. You notice him holding his black Dr. Marten’s boot by its laces in one of his hands, then you look down to see his right foot, heavily wrapped in tan bandages.

“Be honest, does it hurt?” you ask as you take his boot from him so that he can have a better grasp on his crutch.

Eddie sighs, hanging his head. “I mean, it’s definitely throbbing still.”

“Aw, you poor thing.” You reach up to brush a stray curl out of Eddie’s face, and he can’t help but to lean into your touch like a dog when you use that tone of voice.

You hope he’ll let you take him back to your house instead of his own. The idea of taking care of him and doting on him has you smiling already.

“Wanna go back to my house?” Eddie feels his ears perk up at the thought of getting to go to your house again. “I can take you back to yours to get some clothes and stuff, but I don’t like the idea of leaving you there alone when you can’t drive yourself.”

Eddie knows he wouldn’t necessarily be alone, but having Steve Harrington as a roommate often feels like living alone. Not in a bad way of course, it’s just that Steve is rarely ever at home unless he’s with a woman for the night or hungover in the morning.

“You sure you want me at your place all weekend long?” Eddie’s giving you an out. He’s fully aware that the two of you haven’t spent the night together before, and the last thing he wants you to think is that he expects anything from you.

“Why wouldn’t I? We’ll be super lazy together. We can watch movies, eat junk food, take naps…it’ll be awesome.” You look up at him with a giddy smile and Eddie knows he would agree to anything you said.

“Sounds perfect,” he murmurs against your forehead before pressing two kisses there.

“I parked just ahead in the front row, I didn’t want you to have to go very far but I can still pull the car up here if you feel like you don’t want to go that far. You must be exhausted.”

He feels his chest warm, you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever seen. “I’ll be fine, baby. I can make it.” He has to work hard to focus on operating his crutches and not your sweet smile, it would be very un-cool of him to fall flat on his face in this parking lot right now.

He manages to make it all the way to your car, putting his crutches in your backseat and hopping over to the passenger side. You make sure to open the door for him, not moving until you’re sure he’s safe in the seat and buckled up. You hope he doesn’t think your hovering is annoying.

Eddie thinks your hovering is adorably sweet.

As soon as you get in and start the car, Eddie asks to see your phone.

“Sure,” you fish it from your purse and hand it to him, “Passcode is 0102. You gonna DJ?”

“Nope, your car, your tunes honey. I’m just putting in my address so you know where you’re going.”

“I remember where you live, Ed,” you giggle. “I’ve been to your place before, remember?”

Of course he remembers, you let him cook you dinner twice and both times you fell asleep in each other’s arms halfway through ‘Back To The Future.’ Maybe this weekend you’ll finally be able to finish it.

“Well, alrighty then. I’m sorry I ever doubted you, my lady.” You laugh at his dramatics and reverse out of the parking space.

“You’d be wise to never do it again, good sir,” you reply in a medieval accent similar to the one Eddie spoke in. He’s thankful that you’re distracted by navigating yourself out of the parking lot and not able to see the way his face flushes and his jeans tighten around his groin at your reciprocated dramatics. You’re so hot when you talk nerdy to him. You’re so hot all the time.

Eddie sits back and takes in the image of you driving, one he’s never seen before. He chuckles a bit at how proper you’re sitting, back straight and hands at ten and two on the wheel.

“Ease up, baby. You’re not being graded right now,” he laughs.

You laugh along, a little embarrassed. “I know, I drive like a dork.” You look over at him, exasperated. “I just don’t feel prepared if I’m slouching or driving one handed! You never know what could happen.”

“Careful, you’re starting to sound like Steve “Mama Bear” Harrington,” he teases.

You scoff and roll your eyes, still smiling.

“Can you put on some music please? Driving without it weirds me out.”

“Sure,” Eddie chuckles, opening up the ‘Spotify’ app on your phone. “Uh-oh, look who’s in the hot seat now. Time to take a peek at your ‘On Repeat.’”

You laugh but hold your head up proudly. “Peek away Mr. Munson. I’ve got nothing to hide, I am who I am.”

“Yeah we’ll see about that,” Eddie mumbles as he locates the playlist and hits shuffle. He can’t believe his ears when the opening chords to ‘One Of These Nights” by Eagles play from your speakers. His head snaps up towards you, and you can’t help but to burst out laughing at the bewildered look on his face.

“You know, I actually feel like a total asshole right now. This is an amazing song.” He looks at you like he’s proud of you, and your chest feels warmer.

By the time the song is nearing its end, Eddie’s trying to catch his breath from attempting to hit the highest notes and you’re breaking your “ten and two” rule by clutching your stomach because you’ve been laughing so hard that it hurts.

Eddie vaguely recognizes the next song as a showtune, but doesn’t comment on it because he’s too caught up in you.

You, still laughing out loud with your widest smile and the setting sun outlining your silhouette in a golden-orange glow. He can’t believe he’s in your car, that you’re driving him around, the goddess that you are. You’re ethereal. Other-worldly.

You’re starting to look concerned.

After coming down from your laughing fit, you turn to find Eddie staring at you with a dazed and confused look in his eye. Being that he’s fresh out of the Emergency Room, you’re instantly a bit concerned for his well being.

“Eddie? Are you feeling okay?”

He blinks a few times before responding, “S-sorry, it’s just…you are so goddamn beautiful.”

Will you ever get used to this floaty warm feeling in your chest? Luckily for you, he says this while you pull your car into his driveway. You put the car into park, and lean your head back onto the headrest, no doubt sporting a smile that’s as lovesick as you feel.

You look at him and whisper, “Thank you.” Shy fingers reach out to take his hand that rests on your center console, and he’s quick to hold on tight. Without breaking eye contact with you, Eddie brings your hand up to his mouth and presses two warm kisses to your knuckles. He then uses that hand to pull you towards him, stopping when your faces are only inches apart.

“Thank you for driving me,” he whispers, unable to look away from your soft lips.

“You’re welcome,” you sigh, wishing he would just kiss you already.

Eddie’s loving the effect he has on you. He notices your chest rising and falling faster, the breathy tone of your voice, the darkness taking over your eyes.

He finally leans in and presses his lips to yours gently. This kiss is much softer than your first one, there’s no urgency or tenacity. This kiss lets you know that there will be many more to come. You can’t remember a time where you’d been handled any gentler than this. Eddie’s holding your face like you’re a rare jewel, like you’re priceless and valuable, and he kisses you like he’s trying to worship you.

It feels like your lips are dancing together, this feels practiced and choreographed and natural.

You’re so going to fall in love with this man.

He pulls away after what could’ve been five hours or five seconds, either way it’s far too soon. Your mouth chases his lips, making him chuckle softly as he drops kisses onto your nose, cheeks, forehead and chin.

You smile, thoroughly enjoying being doted on like this.

Eddie backs away once and for all, smoothing your hair out of your face with both hands, his smile matching yours.

“So pretty.”

You blush harder, if it’s even possible, and let out a happy sigh.

And with both hands on either side of your face, Eddie obviously uses this opportunity to smush your cheeks together so that your lips pucker.

“Even prettier,” He leans forward and plants one on you, “Let’s get inside, I can hear my bed calling our names.”

He quickly corrects himself when he sees your eyes widen, “F-for a nap! I’m tired, you’re probably tired. Nap time.”

Eddie is sure he’s totally mortified you until he spots you trying to hide your bashful smile and pink cheeks as you undo your seatbelt and get out of the car. Maybe you’d be into more than nap time? Why the fuck did he call it ‘nap time’?

You’re an idiot, Eddie. That’s why. She’s not going to fuck you while you have a stupid bruised and use words like ‘nap time.’

He’s still shaking his head at himself when you open the passenger door, looking at him expectantly. Oh that’s right, you’re going to help him hobble to his own front door, because he’s an idiot who dropped a goddamn amp on his fucking foot.

Eddie hits his head backwards on the headrest with a sigh, “I feel so un-cool right now.”

The sound of your laugh eases his pain a little.

“You’ll live. C’mon, big boy,” You chuckle, smirking and looking down on him from where you stand outside your car.

You open the door to the backseat to grab his crutches and your purse, and Eddie starts to question himself as he feels his dick twitch at your use of the new nickname. Perhaps it’s something the two of you can explore down the line…he needs to stop thinking about sex with you or else he’ll pop a very obvious boner and scare you off.

A quick recalling of the mental image that’s seared into his mind of Mrs. Bedson, the 57 year old choir teacher, bumping and grinding with the tennis coach at last year’s prom does the trick. Eugh. Eddie shivers at the memory.

You pop back up with his crutches under your arm, reaching your other one down to help him up. He doesn’t need the help, but he takes your hand anyway because it feels so right to hold it.

You unlock his front door with his keys, and then the two of you head inside. After placing your purse on one of the hooks in the entryway while simultaneously toeing your shoes off, you turn to him with a teasing smile.

“Nap time?”

He laughs, “Yeah, yeah. Nap time.”

TAGLIST:

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malk1ns · 3 days ago

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february 1 vs predators, 3-0 win

a shutout? for us? is that allowed?

there is an unspecified age gap in this fic—i don't know exactly how old geno is in it, but he's younger than mario (b. 1965) is. mario purchased the penguins in fall 1999, about a month before he turned 34, and geno can't have been too young to be financially involved in that, so...maybe he's around jagr's (b. 1972) age? that would make him somewhere in the neighborhood of 15 years older than sid. let's go with that.

also in this world he got his hair transplant done when he was way younger and it's thrived ever since. i like picturing him as a silver fox 😋

When Zhenya went in with Mario on putting up money to keep the Penguins in Pittsburgh, he never imagined a day where he’d be spending more time around the team than Lem did.

It was an easy decision at the time. The team was so badly mismanaged, and Zhenya had no desire to see the Penguins forcibly moved because their owners didn’t know how to manage a TV deal or sign sponsors. He didn’t want to move, and more importantly the fanbase didn’t deserve it. He figured he’d put up the money and let the lawyers figure out whatever they needed to to so he could keep playing, and when he retired he’d have a nice little stream of income no matter what he wanted to do.

He had no interest in the care and feeding of a professional hockey organization, not like Mario did. Mario stayed out of the GM’s day-to-day business for the most part, but whenever Zhenya met him for dinner, it was clear that the Penguins still ruled his life, the same way they had when the two of them were playing.

Zhenya stayed in Pittsburgh for Mario while he was playing. Even back when he was purchasing the team, he always assumed he’d move back to Russia, showing up for big events and (hopefully) Cup wins, but living his own life and enjoying himself.

Well, things don’t always work out the way we imagine. One knee surgery, and then another, ended his career earlier than he’d planned, and Mario talked Zhenya into sticking around and helping with player development before he could tuck tail and run back to Russia.

Almost twenty-five years later, and he’s still here. Oh, he travels plenty—there’s no point in retiring if you’re still beholden to coming into work every day, after all. Especially early on Zhenya spent probably more than his fair share of time flitting between tropical islands and enjoying the fruits of being young, athletic, and rich. But Pittsburgh had worked its way into his blood and bones, and he always comes home.

He’s been home a lot more frequently since about 2008.

Attending games as team owner is fun. He has his own box that he gets to invite whoever he wants into, and fans are still so eager to take pictures with him, starry-eyed over both the Cups he brought the town when he and Lem were still playing and his ‘team savior’ status. For years, he and Mario would sit and watch games together, waving when the cameras panned up to them and chatting.

Now, Mario barely comes anymore. Zhenya was more than happy to sell when Ron and Mario approached him about it—he’d still own some shares, he’d been assured, enough to have his opinion considered, but the brunt of decision-making would be removed from their shoulders. Zhenya was fine with that. They made a tidy profit, Zhenya still gets treated like royalty at PPG and anywhere in the league, and the responsibility of running a team that’s reaching the end of its golden age is no longer his.

He’s not clear what, exactly, went wrong between Mario and the guys with FSG. Mario won’t talk about it, and Zhenya doesn’t care to hear anyone else’s side of the story.

The result is, Zhenya’s the most consistent link to the old days that the fanbase has. In Mario’s absence, he’s found himself at more games over the last couple of seasons than probably the previous decade combined. He still watched, obviously, kept up with the team and was there for the players when necessary, but he was a more frequent presence at practice, helping out the coaching staff or chatting with the Euro scouts when they were in town than putting on a suit to sit in his box.

It’s exhausting. Zhenya’s face hurts from smiling politely some nights, and he’s sick of shaking hands with rich businessmen who want to take a picture with him but don’t actually give a shit about what he has to say.

There are perks, though.

His team is back from a long road trip, and Zhenya’s looking forward to seeing them play in person. He’s spent a lot of time with Kyle Dubas this season learning about his plan for the future, and losing is part of it, but as hard as the bad losses are there are always bright spots.

Halfway through the second period, Zhenya gets to watch one of his favorite bright spots in person for the first time in almost two weeks.

He’s always liked watching Sid score from one knee. It’s a statement goal, a fuck-you to a league that spent the first few years of Sid’s career beating the shit out of him and expecting him to say thank you and shut up. He never did.

“Damn,” Hörnqvist says with feeling as Zhenya leans back in his seat and whistles. “I forgot how that looks. How is he still so good?”

Zhenya shrugs, tracing Sid’s path across the ice to go down the fistbump line. He can make out Sid’s sharp smile from all the way up here, and his stomach flips over.

He’s missed watching the Penguins in person, yes. He’s missed Sid more.

“Robot, maybe,” he says in answer to Horny, who laughs loud and bright.

Zhenya spent a lot of time around the team during the back-to-back years. They had so many injuries, and when Mario gave Jim the go-ahead to fire Johnston in 2015 the team had been fragile. He’d gotten to know those guys really well, and he’s always liked Horny. When he confirmed he’d be in town for his bobblehead night, Zhenya had been quick to invite him to sit up in the owner’s suite.

They’ve been having a good time. Horny’s just as exuberant as he ever was, and Zhenya’s been able to relax instead of putting on a show for whatever bigwigs FSG saddled him with that night. He’s even let himself have a few drinks, wrinkling his nose at the wine on offer but downing it anyway.

Mario’s horrendously expensive taste in wine crept up on Zhenya after all these years, even though he tried to resist it.

He’s distracted the rest of the game, chatting with Horny and leaning around the wall to take a selfie with some kid in the next box over with half his mind down on the ice, on Sid’s fantastic goal and how he looks after a good win.

The Penguins secure the shutout, and when the jumbotron flashes Zhenya and Horny on the screen, the crowd goes wild. Horny waves and flashes his megawatt smile, and Zhenya gestures to him with a flourish, applauding long and loud right in Horny’s ear until Horny’s shoving at him playfully.

It’s perhaps not dignified for an owner to get into a fake wrestling match in his suite while on camera, but the crowd loves it, and Zhenya’s done much more embarrassing things to please the people of Pittsburgh.

He wants to make his way down to the locker room, but that’s not his place anymore, no matter how much he wants to congratulate the guys. Zhenya’s far removed enough from the current roster that his presence makes a lot of the guys nervous, and that’s the last thing he wants.

It’s easy enough to wait by Sid’s car with his hat pulled low over his face instead.

“Forgot where you parked?” comes Sid’s teasing voice, and Zhenya pockets his phone and straightens, opening his arms.

Sid doesn’t even look around the parking lot before he steps into Zhenya’s embrace.

“Missed you, лапочка,” Zhenya murmurs into Sid’s hair, running his hands over Sid’s back. “Long trip.”

Sid sighs against Zhenya’s chest. “Tell the league to not do that to us next year,” he requests with a little whine, sagging into Zhenya’s hold.

Zhenya laughs. The league doesn’t listen to him. They don’t like foreign owners.

“Good goal,” he says instead, stepping back and cupping Sid’s face in his hands. Sid looks tired, which is to be expected, but his eyes are bright. “Everyone in arena likes, Horny says to me how’s he still so good, like, maybe he’s not human.”

Sid grins at that, an echo of the same sharp smile Zhenya saw on the ice. He’s as humble as they come, but Zhenya’s praise has always gotten him to puff out his chest a little. “And what did you say?” he asks, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head.

He flirts like he did when he was 18 and desperately trying to catch Zhenya’s eye when they would stay late to practice face-offs. Almost 20 years later and with a head full of graying hair, and Zhenya’s as much of a sucker for it now as he was then.

“Mmm,” Zhenya says, grabbing at Sid and reeling him back in, taking a big exaggerated squeeze of Sid’s ass. “I tell him I know you’re real boy, I check very carefully almost every day.”

Sid makes a sweet little sound in Zhenya’s ear. “Take me home,” he requests, and Zhenya drags him over to Zhenya’s own car, installing Sid in the passenger seat and tearing out of the player’s garage.

Sid has a lot of responsibilities. He’s carried an unfair burden ever since he stepped into the league, eighteen years old and the weight of an entire league on his shoulders. He’s risen to the challenge time and again with maturity and grace, wise beyond his years and an example for kids all across North America who dream of making the show.

With Zhenya, he has a space to let them go.

It took a few years before Zhenya did more than just look. He felt like a dirty old man at first, although thankfully that feeling has waned over the years, and he refused to touch Sid until after they lost to the Red Wings in a game six heartbreaker on home ice and Sid showed up at Zhenya’s house, red-eyed and shaking and needing to get out of his head.

It’s real, Zhenya knows that. It’s not some latent perversion, although Sid’s youth and relative inexperience had been appealing. Nearly twenty years later, though, Zhenya would dare anyone to call what they have anything besides true love.

That doesn’t mean he and Sid don’t like things a certain way sometimes.

Zhenya drives with his palm high on Sid’s thigh, digging his fingers in and listening as Sid’s breath speeds up the closer Zhenya’s fingers get to his dick. He doesn’t dare look over, but he can picture Sid’s face well enough.

Sid’s hard by the time they pull into Zhenya’s driveway. He lives further back in the woods than Sid and Mario do, tucked into a large copse of trees that makes his house practically invisible from his neighbors, and Sid likes the privacy, the way he can kiss Zhenya in the front yard and nobody will see them.

When Zhenya cuts the engine, Sid practically crawls over the center console to get at him. They didn’t fit in Zhenya’s little sports cars like this even when Sid was younger and not as bulky as he is now, but it doesn’t stop Sid from trying his best.

“Baby, inside,” Zhenya urges, fumbling for his seatbelt and kicking his door open. Sid’s hot on his heels, and when they’re inside the house he pulls Zhenya down into a kiss before they can even get their shoes off.

“I missed you watching me,” he breathes against Zhenya’s mouth, and Zhenya groans, wrestling them out of their jackets and dragging Sid to his office. He knows what Sid wants when he gets like this.

There’s a leather armchair in the corner that Zhenya’s had for longer than Sid’s been a legal adult. It’s huge and broken-in and comfortable, and Zhenya has it positioned so that it has a great view of his trophy case. It’s a nice reminder of everything he’s accomplished, when he wants to relax and read a book in here.

Sid likes it for different reasons.

Zhenya sinks into the chair, loosening his tie and sprawling his legs wide, tipping his head back and groaning as he palms himself through his trousers. Sid makes a desperate little sound from where he’s standing by the desk, and Zhenya cracks an eye open and pats his thigh.

Sid crawls into his lap, straddling Zhenya’s legs and scrambling to undo Zhenya’s fly.

“Shh, shh, calm down,” Zhenya soothes, bringing his hands to Sid’s waist and drawing him down. Sid’s frantic against him, but Zhenya nips at his plush mouth and holds him in place until he calms down, letting Zhenya kiss him until their lips are tacky with spit.

“Please,” Sid gasps when Zhenya pulls back, and Zhenya untucks Sid’s shirt from his pants, undoing each button and kissing at the bare skin underneath. Sid’s skin is covered in goosebumps by the time Zhenya tosses his shirt to the side, and he bats Zhenya’s hands away in favor of getting his pants and underwear off on his own.

Zhenya stays dressed. Sid likes it that way, always has.

A lapful of naked Sidney Crosby is as much of a temptation as it was back when they first started hooking up, but Sid knows what he’s doing now, knows how best to grind against Zhenya to make him arch his back moan. He knows that Zhenya likes the press of Sid’s teeth against his neck, that if Sid scrapes along Zhenya’s sides he’ll shiver and practically beg for more.

Zhenya knows a few things too now, though.

Once upon a time, he liked to have Sid facing the other way. He’d make Sid look at Zhenya’s wall of trophies, everything he did for the city while he was on the team, and whisper dirty promises in Sid’s ear of what he’d do if Sid accomplished the same. Sid used to come like a rocket when he did that, young and squirming in his owner’s lap, desperate to prove himself on the ice and in the bedroom.

Sid’s done everything Zhenya’s ever asked of him. Now, he likes to look Sid in the eyes instead.

There’s a little table with a drawer on one side of the chair, and Sid fishes the lube out and pours some into his hand without breaking away from where he’s sucking on Zhenya’s neck. Zhenya unzips himself, pulling his pants aside enough to draw his dick out from his briefs.

It takes Zhenya longer to get hard now than it used to. He has a bottle of little blue pills in the bathroom upstairs just in case; Sid tried to tell him not to worry about it, but Zhenya wants Sid all the time, and he’ll be damned if he lets his body deny him something that he wants. It’s not a problem tonight, though—he’s hard and wet at the tip already.

Zhenya thinks Sid doesn’t realize that he licks his lips every time he looks at Zhenya’s erection. Zhenya’s certainly never going to tell him.

The first stroke of Sid’s hand makes Zhenya moan, and he has to close his eyes and breathe deep to focus. He only has one per night in him these days, and he wants to make sure he can give Sid what he needs.

Zhenya knows that a lot of what Sid likes in bed is because Zhenya taught him to. It’s a little heady, knowing he’s shaped Sid’s sexual preferences that permanently. It means that when Sid lifts up and lowers himself onto Zhenya’s dick without so much as a finger for prep, Zhenya knows he can take it.

Sid’s always liked a challenge. His nostrils flare and his face screws up as he sinks down until Zhenya’s fully in him the same way they do when he’s shooting the puck from a difficult angle. Zhenya likes watching him like this, working for something, pushing himself to his limits to get what he wants.

When he starts to move, Sid’s thighs shake. He was on the ice for over 20 minutes tonight, after all. Normally Zhenya likes to make Sid do all the work, enjoying the view of Sid riding him in the middle of his office, but tonight he takes pity on him, fucking his hips up to meet Sid halfway, making him gasp when Zhenya gets him just right.

Sid never lasts long after games like tonight’s. He gets so worked up from hockey still, especially when he’s had a dominant game. Zhenya would tease him, but he’s the same.

“Look so good out there,” he praises, sliding a hand up Sid’s thigh and closing it around his dick. “So strong, nobody stops you when you’re play like this. You get to your knee, everyone knows it’s a goal.”

“You like me on my knees,” Sid says through gritted teeth, moving faster. He’s so tight around Zhenya’s dick, and hot, and he’s staring greedily over Zhenya’s body, at the hint of bare throat where Zhenya loosened his tie, his forearms where he’d rolled up his sleeves. “You’d put me there all the time if you could.”

“Fuck,” Zhenya swears, squeezing the head of Sid’s dick and making him gasp. “Yes, I would. You want? Sit under my desk while I do work, suck my dick until I say you make me come.”

“Oh my god,” Sid moans, curling forward and bracing himself on Zhenya’s shoulders as he comes into Zhenya’s palm.

Zhenya’s so close that it almost hurts, but he works Sid’s dick through his orgasm, smearing the come back onto his skin until Sid pushes his hand away and starts moving again.

When they were both younger, Sid used to ride Zhenya until he was hard again, agonizingly slow until Zhenya was sweating and begging underneath him. Now, though, they’re both tired, and too old for extended edging sessions, so Sid grits his teeth and doubles down until Zhenya pulls him down and grinds up into him, coming with a grunt.

Neither of them move for a few minutes, breathing hard as they come down. Zhenya rubs his hands between Sid’s shoulder blades and lets his mind drift.

Sid has two years after this season, probably. The team will want him to stick around; he’ll want that too, to have a hand in mentoring the next crop of players hoping to bring the Cup back to Pittsburgh, to stabilize the franchise through the transition.

Times are different now. When Zhenya was a player, what he’s thinking about right now was so impossible it would be laughable to even think about.

Now, though, he lets himself imagine Sid sitting in the owner’s suite with him, tucked in the chair next to his with Zhenya’s hand on his knee. He thinks of them waving to the crowd, and the way a tasteful gold ring might glint in the arena lights from Sid’s left hand.

They haven’t talked about it, not really. But Zhenya thinks Sid’s probably a sure thing.

#sidgeno #hockey rpf #my writing #my fic #24-25 series

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 23 hours ago

Text

Fire on the Mountain - Chapter Two: Gods and Monsters

Pairing: Otto Hightower (House of the Dragon) x OFC (Lia Costayne) Warnings: Angst, arranged marriage, canon typical sexism. Word count: ~10.2k

Chapter summary: A terrible secret threatens to bring an abrupt end to Lia's friendship with Rhaenyra and Alicent, and Otto finally shows his hand with regards to his intentions for her.

Author's note: Header by @foxinthegodswood who also beta read this for me - this story would be nothing without you. Thank you for the care and attention you have put in both myself and my writing. I love you.

“My darling Lia,

I hope you are faring well. By the time you read this, it shall be your name day. I can hardly believe that you are now fifteen. It seems as though it was just yesterday that you were placed into my arms, red faced and squawking – Ser Otto tells us you are growing into quite the young beauty, I hope that we may lay our eyes upon you ourselves soon. Alas, we cannot make the journey to the capital to deliver our warm wishes in person. I have recovered from my fever, but my health remains delicate – I must remain abed until I have regained my strength. Short walks in the sea air are helping to keep my spirits lifted, but I fear a journey across the continent would be too much for me. I hope you understand. Please do not be disheartened, and try not to worry.

Enclosed is a gift for you – a token of our love, but also a reminder of your house, so that in your absence you do not forget it. “The First to Rise”. I hope you shall wear it with pride. Your father and your brothers, Robert and Leon, send their love and their well wishes. I hope you are conducting yourself in a manner that would make us all proud.

Happy name day, my only daughter.

Your loving mother,

Lady Dyana Costayne.”

Lia allowed the parchment to flutter down upon the table top;she had read it so many times now that she was certain she could recite it by heart. Once more, she snatched the brooch from the now torn paper it had been wrapped in, turning it around in her fingers, watching as the silver of it caught the light. It was a chalice, one of the symbols that adorned the sigil of House Costayne. It was pretty, but pretty was not enough to placate the hopeless sense of abandonment that plagued her. She allowed the brooch to drop heavily on top of the letter it had accompanied, just as its shape began to blur from the tears that obscured her vision.

It had been six months since the King’s tourney for his now deceased son, six months since Lia had first received news of her mother’s ill health and learned that her family would not be attending. Each month since had delivered news that was much the same;sudden bouts of fever that left her mother confused and bedridden. She knew she should not be surprised that they would not come to see her for an occasion as trivial as her name day, the last time she had seen any of them had been when she had first arrived in King’s Landing. They had come to enjoy the hospitality of Viserys, and to offer Otto their congratulations on his recent elevation to the position of Hand of the King – it had not even been a visit to see her.

She remembered the smell of almond oil that had clung to her mother’s hair and skin as she had pulled her into a tight embrace. It was cloying and sweet, and overwhelmed her senses. She had not seen her mother for two years and, at the age of eight, such familiarity following a long separation was jarring. It had left her feeling sick. A similar nausea settled within her stomach as she cast her eyes away from her writing desk, breathing deep in a desperate bid to will away her melancholy. She would not cry upon her name day, even if she felt she had every reason to. Not a single person, save for her immediate family, appeared to have remembered, and their gift seemed so impersonal; a simple brooch did little to ease the weight of loneliness that fell upon her delicate shoulders. Though, how could they have given her anything else? As her gaze fell upon her bed, taking the crisp, white linens that were pulled taut at every corner, it occurred to her that she was more familiar with every thread that had been woven together to make up the sheets upon where she slept than she was the face of the woman who gave her life. She was as much a stranger to House Costayne as they were to her, and what could you possibly gift someone unknown to you that would hold any meaningful sentiment?

Lia rose from her seat, leaving both letter and brooch discarded upon her writing desk, and walked towards the floor length looking glass that was propped against the wall nearest the privacy screen where she dressed each morning. She leaned towards the reflective surface, dabbing beneath her eyes with the pads of her fingers, ensuring no trace of her sorrow remained before she faced the world. She turned her head, ensuring her raven curls remained fastened into a tight bun at the nape of her neck; satisfied that they had not shifted, she smoothed her hands over the bodice of her powder blue gown, and headed for the door.

Rhaenyra almost fell against her as she opened it, her own hand in the motion of pushing it inwards. Lia rolled her eyes as she caught the other girl by the shoulders, steadying her in the doorway.

“Gods, ‘Nyra, do you ever knock?” she asked exasperatedly. It was a rhetorical question; Lia already knew the answer was a resounding no. Rhaenyra was a princess, and now the heir to the Iron Throne. She never had to ask permission, she just took what she wanted, including her own friend’s sense of privacy.

“You are so ugly when you scowl,” Rhaenyra teased, a soft smile upon her lips as she raised her hand to stroke her fingers across the peachy softness of Lia’s face. “Come with me.”

Her gaze was soft, yet imploring, her blue eyes sparkling with mischievous intent and, as she withdrew her hand, Lia could not help but notice the state of her fingernails – they were clean. It was not unusual for Rhaenyra to stroll about the castle clad in her riding leathers, stinking of dragon, with her hands caked in grime from the pits in which her mount, Syrax, resided. Today, however, she smelled of bergamot. The faint scent clung to her skin, her long silver hair falling about her shoulders but not quite obscuring the loose peplum that adorned the cream coloured gown she wore. She had either just come from a meeting of the small council or was on her way to one. It seemed she was taking her duties as heir seriously. It was an odd sensation to see Rhaenyra lend any sort of care to what others thought of her, like telling the tide not to turn or the moon not to wax and wane.

“Where are we going?” Lia asked, stepping out into the corridor and pulling the door closed behind her.

“To choose the newest addition of the Kingsguard,” Rhaenyra replied, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Lia wanted to protest, to tell her that it was not her place to decide such things, her involvement was needless. The words died upon her tongue as Rhaenyra interlocked the fingers of her left hand with those of Lia’s right. Her grip was loose yet intimate, allowing for their arms to swing gently between them as they walked. In that moment, as they held hands, all of Lia’s sorrow surrounding her name day seemed to vanish, her entire world narrowed to the sensation of Rhaenyra’s hand in hers. A sense of calm settled over her as she stole glances at her friend as they walked purposefully through the winding labyrinth of Maegor’s Holdfast.

‘I hope you will hold my hand forever.’

“Will Alicent not be joining us?” Lia asked as they stepped out onto the balcony that overlooked the inner courtyard of the Red Keep.

“No,” Rhaenyra replied with a dismissive wave of her hand, stepping onto the set of wooden steps that had been placed in front of the stone balustrade to allow her to see over it better.

Lia wanted to press the issue, however, off to their right was Ser Harrold Westerling, his gaze steely, and posture rigid as he stood tall in his armour and white cloak. His presence did not broker a welcoming atmosphere for idle gossip, so she fell silent, allowing her gaze to sweep across the men gathered below, awaiting their audience with the princess.

It struck her as she looked upon them that they were spread out in a similar fashion to how cyvasse pieces are placed upon a board. She wondered if she called out for a dragon to remove an elephant from the board if they would assemble themselves to mirror the move as it is played in the game. She smiled to herself at the thought, blue eyes sparkling with amusement, until she felt the familiar weight and heat of a hand upon her shoulder, causing her to startle slightly. The smile disappeared from her face, her gaze remaining fixed ahead as she willed her heart to cease its sudden thumping against her ribs.

“Is there something that amuses you, Lady Lia?” Otto asked quietly, the subtle disapproval in his tone unmissed by her. His breath was warm against her ear and the gentle brush of his beard against the exposed juncture of her neck sent a shiver up her spine.

She had not been anticipating the Hand’s presence, and silently cursed herself for not having a witty response as she meekly shook her head, a timid sounding “no” leaving her lips.

Otto hummed in acknowledgement, stepping away from her to stand beside Rhaenyra’s elevated platform. She could still feel his hand upon her shoulder like a brand – it happened every time he touched her of late; a gentle hand upon the small of her back to guide her as they walked together, the soft brush of his fingers upon her temple as he tucked away an errant curl, they all left a blaze of heat in their wake, an uncomfortable coiling in Lia’s belly that made her cheeks flush and her mouth run dry. She hated it. She craved more of his touch while simultaneously never wanting for him to ever lay a hand upon her again.

As Ser Harrold called out each of the Knight’s names, listing off their attributes and history of service and battle, Lia’s attention was not focused on the men below, but instead how Otto loomed over Rhaenyra, whispering to her.

“You might thank him for his leal service,” she heard him advise.

She knew that as Hand of the King it was Otto’s duty to help with the recruitment of the Kingsguard, to ensure the best possible knight was placed in service of protection of the ruling monarch, and yet she could not shake her jealousy, nor could she understand it. As Otto leaned conspiratorially towards the princess and she in turn lifted her face to his, Lia was grateful for the long bell sleeves of her gown, for they hid the way her hands balled into angry fists. He used to whisper like that to her. Ever since he had begun orchestrating visits between Alicent and the King, it seemed she was of no use to him; she could not tell him anything he did not already know. A bitter, acrid taste rose up in her throat, enveloping her tongue. She was certain that if she were to speak now then every word would hang in the air, dripping with poison.

Forcing herself to look ahead, she bites back a scoff as Ser Criston Cole steps forward. The very same knight that had looked up at Rhaenyra during the tourney, and requested her favour with moon-eyed adoration. Lia’s head snapped to the side, wide eyed in disbelief and annoyance as she heard Rhaenyra state him as her choice.

“He is the only one to have known true battle, the rest are tourney knights,” she reasoned to Otto.

It was so like Rhaenyra to pick someone who fawned over her, and it was becoming more than apparent to Lia that her presence here was not really needed at all. She pushed away from the balcony edge, stepping quietly back through the doors of the Keep. There were enough reminders of her own unimportance, what with Rhaenyra being named heir and Alicent secretly courting the widowed king, without Lia being given another reason to feel like a spare part.

She walked the winding halls until she found her way to the Godswood, seating herself against the peeling white bark of the trunk of the Heart Tree, and turned her face up towards the vivid red and orange canopy of its leaves. The ground was hard beneath her, the roots lumpy against her backside, doubtless dirtying her skirts, yet she could not find it within herself to care. The sun shone warm and dappled through the branches, drawing Lia into a doze she was powerless to resist, yielding to the heaviness of her eyelids as they drifted closed.

“There you are.”

She awoke to the sound of Alicent’s voice and the gentle touch of her hand upon her shoulder, giving her a careful shake. Her eyes blinked open, vivid blue meeting those of warm brown and, for a moment, she wondered where she was.

‘Such a pretty view, have I died and the Maiden has come to guide me?’

Her brow furrowed in confusion as she took in her surroundings, green grass and gnarled roots in place of soft sheets and pillows. Realisation settled upon her as she looked back up at her friend who wore the slightest smile of amusement upon her lips as she gently plucked a stray crimson leaf from Lia’s dark curls, allowing it to flutter delicately to the ground.

“What are you doing sleeping out here? Rhaenyra and I have been looking for you,” she scolded gently, offering out a hand to help Lia to her feet.

Lia gratefully accepted her outstretched hand, moving to dust off the back of her dress as she stood. Her voice was still sleepy, nonchalant as she answered Alicent’s question while craning her neck behind her to see if her skirts were muddy. “‘Nyra wanted me to help choose a knight for the Kingsguard.It was boring so I left.”

Alicent’s loud, disapproving sigh drew Lia’s attention back to her. She turned, eyes raking over her friend from head to foot. She was wearing another of her mother’s dresses – this one a deep, royal blue with cutouts spanning the length of each sleeve. To Lia, she looked ridiculous, a little girl playing at dress up to appear more grown up than she actually was. She held her tongue, deciding it was not worth the quarrel for her to tell her so.

“Come,” Alicent said, her tone leaving no room for argument as she looped her arm through Lia’s, “your presence is needed elsewhere.”

Lia groaned, yet allowed herself to be led away. “I have had just about enough of my presence being needed today.”

“You will enjoy this, I promise,” Alicent smiled, tightening her arm in Lia’s reassuringly as they walked.

The solar had been filled with wildflowers, delicate hues of pink, yellow and white adorning every available surface. Lia took in the beautiful sight, eyes wide and lips parted in quiet admiration. Rhaenyra stood before the rounded table at the room’s centre, a wide smile upon her face and her hands clasped in front of her as Lia entered.

“You thought we had forgotten, did you not?” Rhaenyra teased, stooping to grab a silver platter laden with lemon cakes and Tyroshi honey fingers and carrying it towards her and Alicent.

“You did all of this for me?” Lia asked in quiet wonder as she turned in a full circle to admire the flowers, before looking upon the assortment of sweet treats held out before her.

“Happy name day, Lia,” Alicent said fondly, finally releasing her arm and reaching up to place a flower crown upon her head of raven curls.

The three girls reclined upon couches set in a semi circle around the table, the cakes and pastries now placed back upon it. Lia watched in quiet amusement as Rhaenyra leaned forward, plucking the candied lemon slices from each square of cake, placing them whole into her mouth. She had always had a larger appetite for everything than her and Alicent, and Lia supposed it was an inevitability of being royalty – when you were worth more, you needed more, an unbreakable cycle, an inherent hunger.

“So, how shall we spend the rest of our afternoon?” Lia asked, plucking idly at the tassel fringe of a cushion she held against her torso, as she sprawled out on her side against the plushness of the couch.

“I thought we might go to the sept,” Alicent offered, her attention focused upon a daisy that she twirled between her fingers. Her head rested against the cushions of the settee she laid upon, her legs bent at the knee.

Lia bristled at the suggestion, unable to stop her disgust from making itself apparent on her face as her features twisted, lips drawing downwards and nose wrinkling as she turned to look for any hint within Alicent’s serene expression that would suggest she was making a rare jest. Lia found none, but was mercifully spared the need to object by Rhaenyra.

“Why ever would we want to do that?” she asked haughtily, licking honey from her fingers as she lounged upon her front, silver hair falling forward around her like a silken curtain.

“I would like to pray for my mother,” Alicent said matter of factly, moving to sit up and swinging her legs over the edge of the couch, “and I thought we might pray for yours too.”

The room fell silent, and Lia immediately felt rotten for having reacted negatively to Alicent’s suggestion. From the way Rhaenyra slowly moved to prop herself up on her elbow, her gaze downcast, it was apparent the sentiment was one that was shared.

“The sept it is then,” Lia agreed softly, tugging her flower crown free from her hair as she rose to stand.

Despite the drafty, old stone of the Grand Sept, it was stiflingly hot within as they descended the steps, the heat of the candles burning bright within making sweat prickle upon the back of Lia’s neck. Alicent led her and Rhaenyra towards the large, circular dais that sat in the room’s centre, the top of it laden with lit votive candles. White wax dripped in enormous stalactites from the edge.

“I come here to be close to my mother,” Alicent told them, taking a wick and lighting her own candle, “I thought perhaps you could do the same, Rhaenyra?”

Lia shifted uncomfortably, twisting the rings upon her fingers as she looked upon the flames. The Hightowers were a pious house, and though the Costaynes followed the faith of the Seven, they did not observe quite as strictly as those they were sworn to – at least Lia did not.

“I would not know what to say,” Rhaenyra confessed, clearly sharing in Lia’s discomfort as she hesitated beside her friend.

“Then do not say anything,” Alicent insisted, giving her sleeve a gentle tug, “just contemplate quietly.”

Lia’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as Rhaenyra complied, kneeling beside Alicent and clasping her hands in front of her. She wondered if in some unknown realm, leagues away, a god of Old Valyria looked upon Rhaenyra’s actions with disdain. She pondered how Daemon, or even Viserys would react if asked to do the same, and fought the urge to smile.

“You too, Lia,” Rhaenyra said, turning her head to look up at her.

“I have no one to pray for,” she admitted, shrugging slightly, “none of my family have…have died.”

She felt almost embarrassed to allow the last of the words to leave her mouth, as though she was being prideful in flaunting something she had that they did not. If either Rhaenyra or Alicent felt that way, they did not show it.

“No one needs to have died for you to pray for them,” Alicent explained, keeping her hands folded in prayer as she turned to look at Lia. “Just kneel with us.”

Lia gave a slight nod, sighing softly as she knelt beside Rhaenyra. She placed her hands together and closed her eyes, but she did not pray. Instead her mind wandered to the last time she had visited this very same sept with her mother, when her family had visited King’s Landing all those years ago.

“Now, Lia, you must light a candle and pray for our safe travels back home,” her mother had urged her, pushing her towards the dais with a firm hand upon her back.

Lia had not prayed for her family’s safe return for the Whispering Sound. Instead she had prayed that her family could stay with her, so that she could be as happy as both Alicent and Rhaenyra were, surrounded by loved ones.

Her prayer had gone unanswered, and her family had left the next day. From that point onwards, Lia never prayed again, deciding that if there were any gods at all that they had decided she was unworthy of listening to, in which case she thought they were unworthy of speaking to.

As Lia made her way back to her chambers, she was met by Otto. He strode purposefully towards her door, drawing up to his full height in front of her as she paused at the sight of him. Her hand stilled its movements upon the door handle as she looked quizzically at the small wooden box he held in his hands.

“I had not forgotten what day it is,” he told her, the corners of his eyes crinkled in softness as he looked down at her. “Forgive me for leaving it so late, I have been otherwise occupied, but I have a gift for you.”

Lia’s eyes moved from the box, up to Otto’s face and then back again, a mixture of nerves and suspicion fluttering in her belly at the kindness and warmth he regarded her with. “What is it?”

“Allow me to show you inside,” he gestured towards the door, and Lia nodded, pushing it open and stepping forward as he followed close behind.

She watched curiously as Otto made his way towards her writing desk,her maidservant having long since tidied away her brooch and the letter from her mother, and set the box down upon it, taking a seat in the same chair that she had sat in that very morning.

“Come closer,” Otto gestured, before reaching for a sheet of parchment and the lit candle that sat upon the table.

Lia stepped towards him, her body feeling like a tightly coiled spring. She had never felt so uneasy in his presence before, and a part of her longed to flee from the room, to burst into Rhaenyra’s bedchamber just as the princess had done to her that morning, and demand sanctuary from the uncomfortable sensations that swirled within her body.

She bit back a gasp as Otto’s hands reached for her hips, firmly but not forcefully guiding her to perch upon his knee. It was nothing she had not done before – as a child, she and Alicent had shared Otto’s lap countless times while he read to them from history books. Alicent had always paid rapt attention, while Lia usually fell asleep, lulled into unconsciousness by the comforting scent of sandalwood that seemed to permeate Otto’s very essence. Sitting on his lap now, however, caused a stirring within her that made Lia’s cheeks blaze. She was so tense she feared she may shatter apart at the slightest touch.

“I had this made specially for you,” Otto explained, clearly oblivious to her discomfort as he pulled a block of golden yellow wax from the box and melted it over the candle, letting it drip onto the parchment he had in front of him.

As it pooled upon the page, Lia could see that it was the same shade of yellow as her house colours. Without realising, she leaned back against him, allowing her back to rest against his broad chest as he took a stamp from the box, encouraging her to grip the wooden handle as he wrapped his much larger hand around hers to guide it.

The contact made her breath hitch, and she sat frozen, only able to focus on the sensations of his warm, calloused palm against the back of her hand, and his sturdy thigh pressing into the underneath of her clenched thighs.

Otto pressed the stamp firmly into the wax, holding her hand there for a few seconds, before pulling it back. “If you press too lightly, the stamp will not take,” he explained, “there, can you see that?”

He let go of her hand, taking the stamp from her as she leaned forward over the desk to examine the impression that had been left in the wax. It was a circular sigil, and she recognised within it two roses from that of House Costayne, however, in place of chalices there were flames.

“What are those?” she asked, hovering her finger over a flame, careful not to press it into the still solidifying wax.

“Ah,” he rumbled from behind her, and Lia was certain she could hear a smile in his voice, “those are the beacon flames of House Hightower.”

“But why?” she asked, her brow furrowed in confusion as she twisted around in his lap to look at him.

Otto smiled softly, but his expression gave nothing away. “You will make much use of this, I am sure,” he told her, patting her softly on the hip as he made to move from his seat.

Lia sprang off of him as though she were a cat on a hot roof, though found herself suddenly heavy with disappointment at the loss of his proximity.

“Now, get to bed,” he said cooly, standing and smoothing his doublet, his expression once more becoming the look of stern disapproval she had grown used to, “the hour is late.”

She lifted the parchment as he strode from the room, examining the rose and flame sigil, pondering its meaning. She was overcome by the sense that once she discovered the truth of it, she would not like what she found, and allowed the page to slip from her fingers. It fluttered to the tabletop just as the door closed heavily behind Otto.

Lia came to stand beside Rhaenyra the following morning, as the princess looked out upon the gardens from the wall walk of the Keep. Despite the gentle breeze and warm sunshine that shone down upon them, making the lush greens of the gardens seem more vibrant than usual, Rhaenyra’s expression was pensive, her gaze hardened, mouth pinched in the way it did only when she was annoyed. Lia followed the line of Rhaenyra’s sight, catching a glimpse of Viserys walking beside Laena Velaryon. Laena looked tiny compared to Viserys, and Lia could not help but silently wonder what the King would want with a child.

“Lord Corlys has seen fit to offer a betrothal between his daughter and my father,” Rhaenyra said, as though sensing Lia’s thoughts, her tone was clipped with annoyance, her eyes never leaving the gardens below.

“She is only twelve though,” Lia said, her eyes widening in horror, trying her best to push the images that flashed through her mind away, none of them pleasant.

“Well, apparently, Rhaenys has told her that she will not have to bed him until she is fourteen.”

Rhaenyra turned to look at Lia then, and though her expression remained angry, there was a desperate sadness held within the depths of her gaze. Lia tilted her head sympathetically, reaching out to give her friend’s arm a reassuring squeeze.

“He named me as his heir, why must he remarry?” she asked, her voice trembling with emotion.

Lia did not know how to answer that, but knew her silence would offer little comfort either. “He is not attempting to replace you,” she offered gently, “but he is the king, he is expected to take a wife.”

Rhaenyra scoffed, shaking her head as she looked back towards the gardens, her expression hardening to anger once more.

“If not Laena, it will be someone else eventually,” Lia told her.

Lia followed as Rhaenyra walked away. She had meant to offer comfort, but it was obvious that in speaking the truth she had unintentionally hurt her. As they rounded the corner of the wall walk, Rhaenys came into view, sat upon a wooden bench, clearly observing the same view that they had just been.

“It bothers you, does it not?” she asked Rhaenyra with a cat-like tilt of her head.

Lia shot Rhaenyra a look of apology as she slipped away, acknowledging the elder princess with a bow of her head before going back inside. She had never felt comfortable in the presence of Rhaenys. Much like the ferocious Red Queen, Meleys, whose back she flew upon, Lia always had the sense that Rhaenys possessed the ability to tear people apart, though with words instead of rending jaws and blistering fire. She had no desire to hang around for the inevitable dressing down that Rhaenys would give her friend, lest the attention be turned upon herself. Silently, she withdrew without even a farewell to either woman, and slipped into the halls.

Alicent balked at the sight of Lia, her eyes widening slightly and her lips pressing into a tight line as they happened upon each other in the empty corridor.

“Another present for me?” Lia asked teasingly, lifting the lid of the small wooden box that Alicent held in her hands.

“Must you be so nosy?!” Alicent snapped, snatching it away and slamming the lid closed once more, but it was too late, Lia had already seen what was inside.

She recognised the small stone dragon from the model of King’s Landing that Viserys kept within his apartments. Rhaenyra had snuck them into the room when they were younger, and they had giggled raucously as they had moved the little models about the makeshift city streets, finding the very idea of a dragon visiting the Street of Silk so funny that tears of laughter had rolled down their rosy cheeks. It had been less funny when Ser Westerling had happened across them and they had received a scolding for their trespass, mercifully lenient owing to the princess’ involvement.

“Why do you have that?” Lia demanded, her stare piercing as it fixed upon Alicent’s.

“It is none of your business,” she answered simply, leaving Lia to stand there and watch as she walked away.

Really, she did not need to ask, she knew Alicent had continued her visits to Viserys at the request of her father. It was a secret she hated keeping, and for that reason alone she hoped that Viserys would agree to marry Laena Velaryon. Her friendship with Rhaenyra and Alicent would never be the same again if Otto had his way.

Lia kept a distance from Rhaenyra and Alicent over the next few days. She loved them both dearly, but Rhaenyra’s petulance regarding the inevitable betrothal of her father and Alicent’s continued secret courting of him put her in a position that made her squirm with discomfort. She preferred to exist in solitude than endure a situation where she would unleash chaos by speaking the truth or be complicit in deception if she did not.

She sat upon the settee in her chambers, her legs tucked beneath her as she leaned back against the window sill. The early afternoon light that streamed in illuminated the pages of the book she read, the tome perched precariously within the fingers of her right hand – it was a tale of a heroic knight, rescuing his lady from the clutches of a monster.

Lia scoffed as her eyes trailed over the part where the knight valiantly draws his sword, challenging the beast that holds the maiden captive.

“Wait until he realises she is friends with a princess and rides off to save her instead,” she murmured quietly to herself.

She looked up as a soft knock fell upon her door, snapping the book closed. “Come,” she called out, watching curiously as a timid looking page boy opened her door the smallest of fractions, peering through.

“Apologies for the intrusion, my lady. The Lord Hand has requested your presence in his apartments.”

“What for?” she asked curtly, annoyance prickling at her at the hesitation in the messenger’s tone and body language. It was borne of politeness, she was sure, but she found it far ruder to have to address a floating head than she would if he simply stepped into the room.

“Forgive me, my lady, he did not say.”

The boy’s expression was simpering, apologetic and, unable to stand his presence a second longer, she dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “I shall be there momentarily.”

It was a short walk from the space that Lia occupied within the castle to where Otto resided. She knew the route well, could have traversed it with her eyes closed, and yet she found herself dragging her feet, prolonging the journey. The memory of him pulling her into his lap burned fresh in her mind, if she closed her eyes she could still feel the press of his chest against her back, the touch of his hand as it guided her own. It was not the proximity that she wished to flee from, however, but the way she craved more of it.

“Did the messenger not impress upon you the need for haste?” Otto asked, brow pinched in annoyance as she entered his apartments, keeping her spine rigid against the solid wood of the door as she closed it gently behind her.

“I am afraid he did not,” she said, eyes raking over him from head to foot. He stood before the lit fireplace, which served as the only source of light in the large chamber. He cut a formidable silhouette within the gloom of his surroundings, dressed in the green of House Hightower, strapped into the iron plating that protected his middle.

She wondered how he had looked in his youth, when he had served as a knight, if he had been as stern then as he was now, or if he had charmed his way into the heart of Alyrie Florent with kisses to the hand and demands of her favour.

His lips pressed into a tight line, an expression that made Lia immediately want to grin triumphantly as she knew she had frustrated him. “I need you to assist me with my armour,” he told her, beckoning her closer.

Lia stepped towards him, the heat of the fire coupled with the feverish blush that broke out across her pale skin made her want to claw herself free of it. Instead, she busied herself with tightening the straps that held his faulds fastened. “It looks as though your squire has done most of the work for you already,” she commented, “could Alicent not help you with the rest?”

“Alicent is with the king,” he replied firmly.

Lia was grateful for the fact that Otto had his back turned to her, so that he missed the way her eyes flashed with anger as she glared at the back of his head. He was not even trying to hide it from her anymore.

He turned, holding his arms out towards her, and she reached over to the table where his gloves rested, picking one up and focusing on the feeling of the supple leather beneath her fingertips as she tugged it gently over his large hand. “Where are you going, anyway?” she questioned, attempting to mask her fury with curiosity as she lifted her eyes to meet his intent gaze.

“To Dragonstone,” he replied, as she helped him into his other glove, “and that is all you need to know,” he added quickly, as if sensing she would press for further information.

He was right of course, a thousand questions raced through her mind – what could he possibly need upon that desolate rock? It sat empty, the seat of House Targaryen that Rhaenyra would inherit one day and do as she pleased with. Otto had no business being there.

She sighed, allowing her gaze to drop as she stepped away from him, but Otto was quick to follow, closing the space between them as he gently grasped her delicate jaw in his hand, urging her to look back up at him. The leather of his glove was soft and warm, and she fought the urge to nuzzle into it.

“It is important that you grow accustomed to assisting in this manner, Lia,” he told her earnestly, “it will become a routine for you sooner than late.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion, unable to make sense of his meaning. He raised his other hand to rest upon her cheek, cradling her face as his expression softened considerably, his hazel eyes searching the blue of her own. “You will be good while I am gone?”

Her breath hitched, it felt as though all the air had been stolen away from her lungs. She placed her hands against his chest, her fingers clutching the thick quilting of his doublet, as she forced herself to grin, an attempt to dissipate the tension. “I am always good.”

Lia could still feel the press of Otto’s gloves upon her face as she leant against the balustrade of the wall walk that overlooked the gardens. Despite the crispness of the air, her skin still felt heated, even though more than an hour had passed since Otto had departed from King’s Landing.

“You look as unhappy as I feel,” Rhaenyra’s voice startled Lia from her thoughts, and she turned her head to see the princess coming to stand beside her, resting her forearms upon the stone ledge as she leaned forward to look out to the horizon.

“I would rather not speak of it,” Lia sighed, turning her attention back to the gardens below. “And what of you?”

“My uncle,” Rhaenyra said bitterly.

“I suppose that makes a change from it being your father,” Lia smirked, “but what has he done? Your father told him to return to the Vale.”

“Since when has Daemon ever done as he is told?” Rhaenyra scoffed. “He has stolen the egg meant for my brother and taken up residence upon Dragonstone.”

Lia’s lips parted in shock at the realisation, as the reason for Otto’s swift departure now made sense. She could not envision Otto being able to convince Daemon to stand down without there being significant bloodshed – the two men despised each other. She knew Rhaenyra was well aware of this too and, as she turned to look at her, she could see from the determined set of her jaw and her piercing gaze that it was not something the princess would leave unchallenged.

“You want me to talk you out of doing something stupid?” Lia asked, turning to face her fully.

Rhaenyra shook her head, pushing away from the balustrade and reached for Lia’s hand, keeping it clutched between both of her own. “I would go to Alicent if I needed to be convinced not to do something. I am asking for your support, and your silence in this.”

Lia sighed, her shoulders sagging as she cast a withering look at her friend. “‘Nyra, I–”

“Lia, please,” Rhaenyra begged, her brows arched in a look that bordered upon despair. “My uncle will listen to me, you know he will, but I need to leave here without my father or Alicent knowing, because they will try to stop me. If they ask after my whereabouts I need you to lie. Promise me – promise me – that you will give me time to get to Syrax before you say anything.”

In answer, Lia tugged her hand free of Rhaenyra’s, and pulled her into a crushing hug. The scent of bergamot mixed with smoke filled her nostrils as she pressed her face into her long, silver hair. “Please, please be careful.”

Come nightfall, neither Rhaenyra or Otto had returned yet, and Lia’s thoughts raced, anxiety coiled like a serpent within her belly as she sat up against the pillows in bed, unable to shake the idea that Daemon had hacked them to bits with Dark Sister.

Her door being gently pushed open followed the soft knock upon it, and Alicent stepped tentatively through it, the pink of her nightgown so pale it could easily be mistaken for white in certain light. She held her hands in front of her, her cuticles picked bloody as she stared at Lia with uncertainty in the depths of her brown eyes.

“It has been a long time since I have fallen asleep without both my father and Rhaenyra here,” she explained quietly, shifting nervously from foot to foot, “and…forgive me, it was a childish thought…”

“No, wait!” Lia called out, as Alicent turned back towards the door. “It isn’t childish, I do not wish to be alone either.”

Lia pulled back the covers, patting the space beside her, and Alicent’s face softened, a small smile tugging at her lips as she moved towards the bed and climbed in beside her friend. For a long moment, Lia was convinced that Alicent would simply fall asleep as the silence stretched heavy and uncomfortable between them. Her fingers stroked idly at the soft linen of the bed sheets until finally Alicent spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you think I am a good person?” she asked.

Lia huffed back a soft laugh, as though it were the most ridiculous question in the world. “You imbecile.”

‘You are the best of any of us.’

Alicent smiled, though it was a tight and uncomfortable thing that did not reach her eyes. “I fear Rhaenyra will no longer think I am…”

“I am guessing you know where she has gone?”

Alicent gave a slight nod. “Word of it got back to Viserys from the dragon keepers. He is furious.”

Lia glanced sideways at Alicent, it puzzled her how she could speak so casually of the king, as though she was being allowed to peer in on a secret that she had no business knowing.

“Do you wish to marry him?” Lia dared not speak his name or title, to mention either would be to fabricate it into something tangible, something that could not be undone.

“My father wants me to,” she replied simply, clutching the bedcovers tight against her chest.

“That is not what I asked,” Lia chastised softly. It had always irked her the way that Alicent made a habit of avoiding speaking her own thoughts and desires, simply existing through the whims of others. “But you know, Laena may end up being the one, and then…then you would be free.”

“I am not sure free is a word I could ever use to describe myself,” Alicent leaned in, resting her head upon Lia’s pillow, and Lia moved closer. She had no words of wisdom to offer, nothing that could quell the worry in Alicent’s heart, she simply hoped her presence was enough. Sinking down into the bed, she allowed herself to be lulled to sleep by the comforting presence of being cuddled near to the closest thing she would ever have to a sister.

Lia squealed, her heart practically leaping in her ribcage with happiness as she flung herself towards Rhaenyra the next morning. She had strode towards Lia in the courtyard, a proud smirk upon her face, still clad in her riding leathers. She was dirty and smelly, and the stench of brimstone was an assault on Lia’s senses as she crushed the filthy leather of the princess’ chest against the pristine brocade of her own. It mattered not, she had never been more pleased to see her.

“You are a sight for sore eyes,” Lia teased gently as she pulled back, discreetly checking Rhaenyra for any sign of injury.

“I am unharmed,” Rhaenyra reassured her.

“And the egg?” Lia asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Back where it belongs,” Rhaenyra’s glove clad hands tugged Lia by her forearms into the nearest alcove, her voice becoming hushed. “I have been thinking about what you said, about Laena.”

“And?” Lia urged, unresistant to Rhaenyra’s manhandling of her. She cocked her head impatiently.

“It occurred to me when I confronted Daemon how easily he could have cut me down, to reclaim his position as heir, what he believes is rightfully his,” Rhaenyra explained, never relinquishing her grasp of Lia. Lia wrapped her slender fingers as best she could around the sleeves of Rhaenyra’s riding jacket, an attempt to mirror the gesture. “I am all that stands between Daemon and the throne. Perhaps…perhaps it would not be so bad if my father were to remarry, if only for any subsequent children he sires to push Daemon further down the line of succession.”

Lia felt relief wash over her like a refreshing wave, heaving a gentle sigh. “It gladdens me to hear that, it is inevitably going to happen at some point, whoever it is–”

“It must be Laena,” Rhaenyra insisted, and Lia’s relief dissipated so quickly it may as well have never existed at all, “it would unite the last of the Valyrian houses in the realm and ensure the continuation of our bloodlines.”

Lia gave Rhaenyra a tight smile, hoping desperately that her face did not betray the secret she harboured for Alicent, nor the disgust that roiled within her belly at her friend’s explanation. The incestuous customs of House Targaryen had always seemed strange to her, and something she avoided paying any mind to as much as possible. “Of course,” she said quietly, “it should be Laena.”

“Where are you going?” Lia asked, her arms dropping limply to her sides as Rhaenyra pulled away from her and turned to walk inside.

“To receive the scolding I am owed,” she called over her shoulder with a smile.

‘Gods, please let it be Laena that Viserys chooses.’

The next time that Lia saw Otto, he was striding towards the small council chamber, with Alicent at his side. He did not spare Lia a second glance, his steps quick and purposeful as his daughter hurried to keep pace with him. Alicent never attended meetings of the small council, and as she passed Lia, their eyes met for the briefest of moments. Lia immediately knew from the haunted look in Alicent’s stare and the grim line her mouth was pressed into what was about to happen – Viserys had made his choice.

She felt sick to her stomach, and though she knew it was better to stay away, she was unable to resist the pull towards the closed doors of the chamber. Lia kept a safe distance, so as not to be told to go away by the white cloaks posted outside to keep watch and prevent intrusions. She paced nervously, certain she must be wearing down the stone of the floor as she walked back and forth, twisting the rings on her fingers as she silently prayed to any god who might listen that Viserys would choose the Velaryon girl, and not tear apart the only thing in this lonely place that brought her any joy.

After what felt like an eternity, Lia froze, her pulse racing as the doors to the chamber burst open and the hulking frame of Corlys Velaryon stormed down the corridor, his dark features twisted into an expression so angry it was almost a snarl. It was not the face of a man who had just been given the news that his daughter would be queen; it was the face of a man spurned. Lia’s heart sank like a stone in a pond. For the second time in her life, Lia affirmed that if indeed the Seven did exist, they were deaf to her pleas.

Rhaenyra hurried out shortly after Corlys, and it was the sight of tears streaming down her cheeks that finally spurred Lia into action as she moved towards her friend.

“I hate her, I hate her,” Rhaenyra choked out, not resisting as Lia wrapped her arms around her, pulling her close. They remained that way, awkwardly stumbling through the Keep, back towards Rhaenyra’s quarters, as Lia attempted to hush Rhaenyra and soothe her angry sobs with gentle words and calming sounds. The pair were so fixated on one another that neither stopped to notice if anyone else in the castle might take note of their commotion, and if they had then neither Lia or Rhaenyra would care.

Rhaenyra came to perch on the edge of her bed, eyes red and watery as she swiped at the tears upon her ruddy cheeks with jerky, angry movements.

“I am afraid I do not have a handkerchief,” Lia said softly, sitting beside her, their hips grazing slightly. It was a meek attempt at comfort, to lighten the mood, to take Rhaenyra’s mind and her own off of the fact that their happy little trio had been torn asunder. It was unsuccessful.

Rhaenyra’s fists bunched in the skirts of her golden gown, exhaling heavily to calm herself. Her voice trembled as she spoke. “My father is going to marry Alicent. Alicent! Of all people, how could she do this to me?”

Lia reached out, placing a hand over one of Rhaenyra’s hands as it continued to ball up the silk of her dress, and squeezed gently. “It was not her choice. Her father made her.”

She realised what she had said the moment Rhaenyra recoiled from her, blue eyes widening momentarily as she snatched her hand away, as though scalded by Lia’s touch. “You knew.”

It was an accusation, not a question, and Lia could not bear the weight of it. She turned away, placing her hands in her lap as she lowered her gaze. Shame was never an emotion that Lia had worn well, and in this very moment she had never felt uglier than beneath the scrutinising stare of one of her dearest companions.

“You knew and you did not tell me,” Rhaenyra’s voice had grown quiet, voice laced with spiteful anger, the beginnings of a dragon drawing back to spew forth fire.

“It would not have made a difference if I had,” Lia admitted sadly, a look of pleading in her eyes as she finally raised her head to face her.

Rhaenyra was too far gone in her fury to be reasoned with. Her eyes narrowed in contempt as she regarded the girl next to her with something akin to hatred. “Out,” she commanded.

Lia shrank back slightly, but made no further attempt to move, her heart twisting painfully in her chest as tears of her own blurred her vision. “‘Nyra, please–”

“Out! Get out!” Rhaenyra shouted angrily, jumping to her feet and shoving forcefully at Lia. Lia stumbled backwards, grasping fruitlessly at the princess as fat, hot tears rolled down her cheeks. “Get out!”

Lia managed to duck out through the door, quickly closing it behind her just as a hair brush clattered loudly against the wood. She made no attempt to compose herself, walking quickly through the winding corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast, with a hand clasped over her mouth to muffle the sobs that forced their way out of her throat, threatening to choke her. As Lia rounded a corner, she came face to face with Alicent, her own eyes tearful as she pulled to a stop, looking utterly miserable as she stood in front of Lia.

“I am sorry,” Alicent whispered, her fingers plucking absentmindedly at her fingernails as she clasped her hands in front of her.

Lia breathed a watery sigh, lifting her eyes to the ceiling as she smoothed a hand over her curls.

Not now. Not now. Not now.

“So am I,” Lia finally told her, meeting her stare, “but right now…right now I cannot bear to look at you.”

She moved around Alicent, walking away, not trusting herself to look back, selfishly focused upon her own upset. Lia knew that the moment she looked upon her friend’s sad, vulnerable face her resolve would crumble to ash and she would shove all she felt aside to comfort her. Right at this moment she needed to wallow in her own misery, not tend to anyone else’s.

Lia wallowed for weeks, existing within the Keep as a mere spectre, mourning the loss of her friends. She knew that she should reach out to Alicent, that she must be feeling every bit as scared and sad as she was, if not more – after all, she was having to marry a man she had not asked for. But she could not bring herself to take the first step and bridge the chasm between them, the idea of doing so felt like a betrayal to Rhaenyra. She had not spoken to Rhaenyra since she had demanded that Lia leave her room, and Lia doubted that appearing to have taken Alicent’s side would shift them closer to reconciliation. She felt stuck, trapped in her own misery, and she knew that Otto Hightower was to blame – the man who had pushed his only daughter towards the king, in the pursuit of his own ambition. She avoided him as much as she could, speaking to him as little she could get away with, not trusting herself not to erupt at him just as Rhaenyra had done to her. The confusing rush of heat she felt whenever in his presence had not gone away, but it had been dwarfed by bitter resentment.

The morning of Alicent and Viserys’ wedding, Lia caught sight of Alicent as she walked past her chambers. The doors had been left open, to allow for the scurry of maidservants all coming and going as they attended to her, readying her for the ceremony.

Alicent stood elevated upon a wooden step stool, in front of a full length looking glass, draped in a backless gown of ivory lace. Her auburn curls were piled high upon her head, adorned with a high set tiara inlaid with iridescent pearls and sparkling diamonds. She looked beautiful, but it was not this that struck a chord with Lia, it was how tiny, vulnerable and alone she appeared. She still looked every bit the little girl playing at dress up, just as she had in her mother’s clothes when her courtship with the king began. But this time Lia was not left fighting the urge not to mock her, this time she wanted to offer comfort to her friend, because she looked absolutely terrified.

Lia stepped into the room, silently unapologetic as she was met by the frustrated huffs of the maidservants she pushed past in order to get to her friend. She came to stand beside her, meeting Alicent’s gaze in the reflective surface. Alicent remained upon her step stool as a stout woman knelt before her, placing hasty stitches into the hem of her dress, but she reached out an arm, draping it around Lia’s shoulders and pulled her against her waist. Lia clung tightly to her, as though grasping a lifeline after weeks of being set adrift.

“Do you hate me?” Alicent asked quietly as she continued to look at Lia in the mirror.

“You imbecile,” Lia breathed, hugging her tighter. ‘I love the bones of you.’

The ceremony itself was a tense affair. Despite the fact that the grand sept was filled to capacity with well wishers for the impending nuptials, Lia’s gaze was honed in upon Rhaenyra, who sat on the opposite side of the aisle to her. Lia could practically feel the ire radiating off of her. The princess kept her gaze fixed ahead, eyes filled with malice as she watched her father drape his cloak around Alicent’s shoulders. Her lips were drawn into a petulant pout as she kept her arms crossed around her middle.

“You ought to be watching the wedding, not the princess,” Otto leaned in to whisper to her from where sat beside her.

Lia scowled at the flush of pink that dusted across her cheekbones at the brush of his beard against the shell of her ear, and wordlessly turned to face the front. She would not grant him the privilege of her attention or her response.

She barely touched her food at the wedding feast, but the same could not be said of the wine. Seated between Otto and his son, Gwayne, at the head feasting table, Lia did not look at either of them, her attention focused solely upon the jug in front of her. She repeatedly lifted the pewter receptacle to fill her cup with Dornish red. The burn in her throat was a pleasant distraction to the misery that sat further down the table on either side of Viserys. She found the gradual lightheadedness helped her to care less about how subdued Alicent appeared, to pay no mind to Rhaenyra’s sullen face. Were it not for the jaunty tune being played by the musicians in the corner of the hall, the atmosphere could easily be mistaken for a funeral and not a wedding.

“Perhaps you might speak to Gwayne?” Otto urged gently as he leaned in to speak quietly to her. “He has traveled from Oldtown to be here today.”

“I have nothing to say to him,” she said, her tone dripping with petulant defiance, content to ignore the red headed young man beside her.

As she reached forward for the wine jug again, Otto gently grasped her wrist, staying her hand. “I think you have had enough,” he warned, the stern intonation one she was painfully familiar with.

“Allow me to respectfully disagree,” she slurred slightly, a lazy grin spreading across her face as she finally turned to look at Otto, “must you be so boring?”

“Up. Now,” Otto commanded, rising from his seat. Though he kept his voice low enough for only her to hear, the anger that blazed within her eyes as he stared expectantly down at her left no room for argument.

A stone settled in Lia’s stomach as she rose from her seat, unsteady on her feet as she followed him through a side door, into a quiet and empty passageway of the Keep.

He rounded on her as the door closed behind them, the anger in him now at a simmer instead of boiling over. “You are in your cups, and I think it best you retire for the evening, lest you embarrass yourself.”

“I am not yours to command,” Lia bit back, staring up at him defiantly, even as she swayed with the effects of the wine, her limbs feeling much too heavy to cope with the fuzziness that clouded her mind.

“Must you always be so disagreeable?” he demanded, nostrils flaring in irritation.

“Must you always ruin everything?!” she shouted back, hating the way her voice wobbled as a lump formed in her throat.

Otto furrowed his brow, eyes searching her face in confusion. “What exactly do you mean?”

Inhibitions lowered, Lia allowed the floodgates to open, hiccuping around sobs as she lunged towards Otto, slapping her hands weakly against the crushed forest green velvet of his doublet as she raged at him. “You have married Alicent to Viserys! You made her! You took away my friends! Alicent will be queen, but what of me? What of me? You have forgotten me!”

He caught her wrists, holding them tight against his chest, until the fight left her, and she slumped against chest, crying quietly. Only then did he release her, his arms coming to wrap around her, holding her gently against him. The smell of sandalwood surrounded her, soothing her, and she allowed her eyes to close as he gently stroked her hair.

“My darling girl, I could never forget you.”

His voice was the gentlest she had ever heard him sound and she pulled back slightly, her large tearful eyes meeting the soft understanding reflected in his as he looked down at her.

“I wanted to wait until the wedding was over to tell you, but it seems there is no point in delaying any longer,” he said, his hands coming to rest upon her shoulders.

“Tell me what?” Lia asked, feeling dread begin to coil within her belly.

“When Gwayne returns to Oldtown, you will go with him. The two of you are to be married.”

Otto broke the news with a prideful look upon his face, eyes glittering as he smiled down at her, as though bestowing a great gift upon her.

Lia felt the bottom fall away from her world, her heart and stomach dripping endlessly with it.

‘I do not want this. I do not want this.’

She felt as though she could not breathe, the urge to tear at her bodice to ease the restriction of her ribs became almost overwhelming. Pulling out of Otto’s grasp, Lia turned and ran, wanting to put as much distance between herself and the unwelcome news he had just delivered as possible.

For the third time in her life, Lia found herself beseeching to gods she did not believe in.

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