#and part of it is just that the driveway is a very tight space so actually maneuvering it is tricky

[caterjunes]

well. i finally got up the courage to use the electric snowblower my brother-in-law got me when we moved here a year ago. because shoveling is too strenuous now. and it turns out using the snowblower, although much simpler than i'd feared, is also too strenuous. so that's great.

[knightjpg]

Brick by Brick

And like a dog who's learned a new trick Simon rings your bell the next day. Wasn't happy with how he left it, and wasn't that faucet leaking? He's got plenty of spare wood in his shed, don't you worry. What's that about the boiler making a weird noise? He'll take a look at it, might have something for the draft in the hallway too. Pay him? What are you talking about, he does stuff like this for fun. Don't sweat it, love. Just hand him that wrench.

tags: construction worker simon/neighbour reader

part 1 | part 2

Summer is the worst time of year for construction work outside. Up early before the birds are awake to try and beat the heat, arriving on site at six or earlier with bleary eyes and creaky joints from the day before. It means coming home at four or five with lots of day left to get through yet without the will or energy to do anything beside shower, eat, watch some telly, and sleep. 

The pay is good and it beats sitting in a cramped office all day, but when Simon gets home with aching knees and the thrum of a headache at the back of his skull it's hard to remember why on Earth he chose the career he's in. He's drenched in sweat, large dark patches adorning his pits and back. 

It's one of those days where very little can make him stray from his commute straight to home to collapse into his big falling-apart chair, but today it's not really up to him. A large moving truck blocks his driveway. The faded company logo against dirty white overtakes the entire view of his windshield, though Simon can see the back doors are still swung open. No one to attend to it, though. 

Simon noticed the FOR SALE! sign had gone, of course. Remembers feeling vaguely pleased, even, that the home next to his wouldn't be empty anymore, because he of all people knows exactly how quickly places can fall apart without anyone tending to it. But right now all he feels is tired, and hot, and really fucking annoyed. Just when he's clicked his belt loose to get out of the car and see if the dolt belonging to the truck is anywhere to be found, voices carry from the open front door. 

“...last. I'm afraid it's a little heavy, though, so maybe we should get the boxes out first?” 

And out steps the sweetest little thing he's ever seen. Hair tied up, tight little top, and shorts that give him ample view of your legs.  

Maybe summer's not so bad after all. 

You're talking to a bloke wearing a uniform that matches the moving truck and who looks flushed in the face from exertion. As soon as you clock Simon's car, though, you stop mid-sentence in surprise, and then quickly walk to him, brows furrowed apologetically. 

“Oh, I'm so sorry—you're trying to get past us, aren't you?” Simon gives you a nod, and you turn back to the mover. “Would you mind moving the truck up a little? I don't want it to be in the way.” 

There's precious little parking space ahead, so Simon rolls down his window and calls out to you, “Jus’ backing up a few yards s’fine.” He gestures to his driveway so you know that's where he's headed, and you flash him a smile and a thumbs-up in understanding. 

The truck is moved, Simon parks his car, and you pull another heavy-looking box from the cube. You never reach your new doorstep with it; Simon steps in and lifts it from your hands. You blink up at him, lashes fluttering sweetly with surprise. “Oh—are you sure? It's heavy...!” 

One corner of Simon's mouth tugs up. Tired as he is it weighs next to nothing, and he can't resist holding it with one arm, holding out the other. 

“Can take ‘nother if you need.” 

You laugh and assure him this is quite enough, then jog back to the truck while Simon pushes past the half-open door to his new neighbour's home. 

It's a mess, of course. Piles of boxes, scattered furniture, rolled-up carpets. Simon puts the box down in the living room, then saunters back outside to lift another from your hands. He does the same with the couch; the mover is struggling and Simon doesn't trust him not to let it fall and crash. And you're such a little thing. Just doesn't feel right, watching you rush around and struggle without stepping in. 

With Simon's help it's quick work. The mover thanks Simon before driving off, but he's not really listening. There's much more important things to pay attention to. 

You're pretty. Cheeks flushed from exertion, breathing hard, flyaway hairs from your ponytail sticking up in odd directions. Simon has to suppress the urge to smooth them away. 

"Thanks so much for the help,” you tell him earnestly. “I'm sorry we were in the way—we thought we'd have a little more time before people started coming home from work.” 

“S’alright,” Simon says. It's nearing evening, now, the sky above you glowing in pale pink and oranges hues. The little smatter of trees across from you rustles with a gust of summer wind.  

You introduce yourself and insist on giving Simon your number “in case there's ever anything you need.” Simon's more concerned about a young woman living all on her own but takes your number all the same, watching your pretty little fingers tap it in on his phone. 

“I mostly work from home, but I'm very quiet and boring,” you tell him with a smile. “You don't have to worry about noise.” 

For some reason that isn't the selling point it should be. When Simon stands inside his hallway, house empty and dark and quiet, he wishes he still lived in a shitty apartment with thin walls on the bad side of Manchester. Maybe then he'd hear your footsteps, or better yet, your voice. Instead the only thing waiting for him at home is silence. Heavy and thick, where he's ripped away from sweet sunshine and plunged underwater. 

-

Simon is halfway to falling asleep on the couch when the bell rings. He groans, drags a hand over his face, and glances up at the TV. The football match is still going. The camera pans over a cheering crowd, their cries distant and quiet. 

He mutes the thing entirely and heaves himself up to open the door. Swear to God, if this is the fucking salesman again... 

“Hi there.” 

You give Simon a little finger wave, your other hand cradling a round oven dish. When you shift on your feet the protective foil on top rustles noisily. 

You look a little more put together than you did yesterday—rested, showered, fed. Just as pretty. 

Although, speaking of fed... 

“Alright?” Simon asks, eyes on the oven pan. He's only catching a faint whiff of something, but whatever it is smells really fucking good. His stomach reminds him that the only thing in his fridge are a couple cans of beer.  

You nod and lift the dish with a shy little grin. “Yeah. Um. I wanted to say thanks again, for yesterday. And I wanted to test out my oven, so...” 

You hold the dish out for him to take. Simon's fingers brush yours, large meaty paws easily twice the size of your own. When he peels back the foil you add, “Shepherd's pie. I thought about cookies, but I wasn't sure if you'd like those.” 

The scent hits him, then, rich and hearty and buttery smooth. The dish is still a little warm. 

Fuck. When was the last time he ate something homemade? 

“No, I'll eat anything,” he says, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. He hasn't showered yet. Must look a nightmare. Does he stink? “Thanks.” 

Your whole face lights up, and Simon's neck feels hot. He averts his eyes to avoid your gaze and pretends to inspect the pie instead. Jesus, what is he, twelve? “I'm glad. I'll leave you to it, then.” 

D’you want to come in for a drink?  

It's on the tip of his tongue, but he can't get the words out quite right and gives you a brusque nod, watching you walk back to your own home before closing his door all the way. 

He eats at his kitchen table and finishes the whole thing in one go. Chases bits of flakey crust with his finger, licks up every leftover crumb. The meat is tender and juicy and for a while after the only things he smells is golden-brown potatoes seasoned with rosemary. 

He mourns it when it's gone, of course. Has half a mind to go over right now and ask if your cooking is for hire—Simon can't remember the last time he felt satisfied. When he ate not just for the sake of fuel or convenience but because someone wanted him to have something nice, something special. Is it special? Is he special? Are you going around the neighbourhood handing out cookies and pies to just anyone? 

Simon's sigh is loud in the silence and sticks to the kitchen walls. 

The pre-made frozen meals are fine, of course. Empty plastic containers fill up the rubbish bin. They're easy and cheap and most days Simon's glad just to have something warm in his stomach.  

And yet. 

The next day Simon stands at your door at six in the evening sharp, holding the clean dish in his hands. You invite him in for a cup of tea, because unlike him you have good manners, and you sheepishly apologise for the stacks of boxes everywhere. 

“S’alright,” Simon says, carefully manoeuvring around a large pile of books. “I don't mind.” 

And he doesn't, though he does feel like a bull in a china shop. Large and much too coarse for the little tea cup you hand him while the kettle whistles on the stove. 

“I'm afraid I don't have much to go with it,” you say with a flutter of your hands. “Do you like ginger snaps? I think I've got a pack somewhere.” 

You don't wait for his answer and pry open one of the cupboards. First come the ginger snaps, then the box of Earl Grey, which you hold up to him with a triumphant smile. “Unpacked the important stuff first.” 

Simon frowns and jerks his chin to the cupboard. “S’it stuck?” 

“Oh—yeah. They all are.” You give the wood a little knock. “It'll take me some time to get to fixing everything. The house went for a good price, but only ‘cause it needs some love.” You give him a rueful smile and get up, wiping your hands on your thighs. “I'm not all that handy, so I'll have to take it bit by bit.” 

Simon rises before you finish your sentence. "Let me see.” 

“Oh, no, it's okay. It's not a big deal, really—” 

Simon crouches down, slowly, to spare his knees, and tests the hinges. The wood is rotten in certain places, the hinges old and rusted. Rather than fixing it up it should be replaced entirely. You really better had gotten this place for good money, because this will take more than a bit of elbow grease to repair. He prods at the hinges, tuts, and looks up at you. 

“Ready to fall apart, this one. You said they're all like this?” 

You nod, worry creasing your brow. “I—yes. Well, the kitchen is. The bathroom seems alright. Is it worse than I thought?” 

“Might be. You have anyone look at this?” 

You shake your head. “I'm starting to feel silly about it now, but I was going to look up how to do it myself.” 

Simon straightens. “I'll go get my kit.” 

-

It's not as bad as he feared. Two cabinets need tearing down completely, but the others are worth saving. Simon warns you the repair job will fuck the wood, but you tell him it's no problem; you'll paint over it anyway. 

You feed him tea and ginger snaps while he works, asking him several times if he wouldn't like a break, hasn't he done a lot already? You feel terrible about having him work on his day off. Didn't he say he worked construction? He must be so tired, poor man. You insist he stay for dinner. “You've been so helpful—it's the least I could do.” 

Simon takes a breather to watch you cook. Chicken, pasta, summer salad. The sun sinks lower and hits you straight on from the kitchen window, painting the edges of you a dazed red-gold. An angel's halo. 

“You big on reading, then?” 

You turn down the heat and put a lid over the pan to join him at the table. Simon's eyeing the many books strewn about on top of boxes that say “pans” and “kitchen supplies”. Le Morte D’Arthur. Histories of the Kings of Britain. Beowulf. There's even one that prompts a vague, long-forgotten memory from his school days— The Canterbury Tales.  

“I am. Always have been.” You nod to the books. “I teach at university—medieval literature. But I'm working on my own research on the side.” 

Simon lets out a low whistle. His pretty bird is a clever one. Smarter than him, that's for sure. He might be big and strong but he's got bricks for brains. 

That's what his dad always used to say, anyway—that he's stupid. Those always were his kinder moments. 

“That explains all the books y’got.” 

“There sure are a lot of them, aren't there? I swear moving really makes you realise just how much stuff you own...” You shake your head. “I'll have to get a bigger bookcase.” 

“Think it's impressive.” 

Your eyes crinkle with a smile. “Not as impressive as knowing how to fix my cabinets! I don't know how I would've managed by myself.” You hop up from your seat to check the food, then ask over your shoulder, “Is that something you do a lot for work, too? Carpentry and the like?” 

Simon shakes his head. “We do the heavy lifting. Clearing a place out, laying the foundation. Johnny—my coworker, he's mostly on machinery. Kyle does transport and plumbing. I do the heavier handiwork.” 

You hum and start plating the food while asking him more questions. Is the pay good? Is his boss fair? Are his coworkers nice? 

Price's fairly strict is what he is, Simon answers, and you laugh again. He likes that. Likes that he gets you to do that. 

He wolfs down a plate of his pasta and devours the chicken. It's fragrant, roasted with lemon and thyme, bursts between his teeth. He tells you more about Johnny, that he's a cocky bastard who likes playing with electricity way too much, but that he's also a loyal friend. That he's a hard worker—that all of them are. 

When his plate is empty and he's eyeing what's left in the pans you push them closer without saying anything, and prompt him to tell you about that time a plumbing line exploded and Kyle got soaked from tip to toe in disgusting gunk. He smelt like sewage water for weeks. 

Simon doesn't even realise how much he's talked until his throat starts feeling rougher than usual. You make it easy somehow. If he'd thought you would look down on him because of your own job he needn't have worried. You're not at all like what he imagines when he thinks of professors, none of the stuffy superiority complex he's used to weathering when people find out all he does all day is chafe his fingers on hard cement.  

Maybe you're just good at faking it, but he doubts it. The sparkle in your eyes when you listen to him so intently has to be real. 

You send him home with a warm thanks and dessert, and Simon feels something in his chest lurch when you peer up at him through your lashes in the doorway, smiling and sweet. Can't remember the last time he went out for dates. Can't remember having the time or energy for it. 

And like a dog who's learned a new trick Simon rings your bell the next day. Wasn't happy with how he left it, and wasn't that faucet leaking? He's got plenty of spare wood in his shed, don't you worry. What's that about the boiler making a weird noise? He'll take a look at it, might have something for the draft in the hallway too. 

Pay him? What are you talking about, he does stuff like this for fun. Don't sweat it, love. Just hand him that wrench. 

There are days when it's hard, of course. Simon is only human, and spending days and days on sizzling hard concrete would wring anyone dry. The project is coming along nicely, but at the height of summer there's plenty of times when even the promise of your smile isn't enough to keep him from falling asleep on his couch—often on an empty stomach. 

But during the weekends he rings your bell dutifully. Six o’clock becomes something sacred in his mind, sweet relief after praying on his knees for hours smoothing out cement. It gets to the point where he turns down Friday drinks with the guys more than once because he's got something to go home for now, his pretty little bird that's never once mentioned a boyfriend of any kind. 

“You really should let me pay you.” 

Simon gives you a look before pushing his large shoulders further into the cabinet under the bathroom sink. “Should be the one payin’ you. I know I'm doubling your grocery bill.” 

He eats more at your place than his own these days. It gives him incentive to rush through a shower, dress like something resembling a human, then wait at your doorstep to be let in. Wagging tail and everything. 

Your cheeks darken and you duck your head. “No, um... It makes me happy. To see you eat my cooking, I mean,” you confess a little shyly. “I feel like I'm the one getting everything out of this. I hope I'm not keeping you from—from spending time at home, or with your family.” 

“S’just me, love.” Simon pauses, pretends to inspect the pipes. “Less you don't want me coming ‘round anymore.” 

“No, no,” you say hastily. “No, I like—I like the company. Really.” Your voice softens. “And I'm not just saying that because I appreciate the help.” 

Simon exhales, shifts a little to accommodate the strain in his boxers, and holds his hand out for the screwdriver. 

[aemondapologistfrfr]

Table 13 & Cherry Pie 2/2

modern!mechanic!benji x stripper!fem!reader

Part One

Summary: After you find your way in life you make a return to your hometown. A lot can change in two years but some feelings will always remain the same. 

Warnings: 18+ swearing, two drinks, oral(f), p in v, unprotected, 2% angsty bc i needed them back together so fkn bad

Authors Note: pt2 of @chainsawsangel request that i thought abt everyday 🤭

Word Count: 3.4k

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Two years since Part One

I sit in front of the vanity teasing my hair before I place the jeweled mask over my face. I know a lot of people expected me to leave this part of my past behind but I never minded the dancing. I always thought of it as an extension of my art and it helps give me inspiration. 

It feels like a lifetime ago that I fled my hometown. I drove to the city that night and went to the most upscale club. I walked in the front doors and sat at the bar with a strong drink. A woman introduced herself as the owner and consoled me as I cried and she offered me a job. My old boss would’ve sobbed at what I consider a slow day. 

My new boss stumbled upon my art one day and connected me with her friend who is now my art dealer. We’ve had this vision for my exhibit for months now and the night has finally come. The lights dim around the gallery and soft lights illuminate my canvases. A couple of my coworkers from the city club step into the space and float around the room as silk and mesh drip from our body. 

This was a very exclusive event and invite was by little black numbered cards. The whole room has an energy about it that invites hooded eyes and grazes of finger tips. Once our choreographed number ends we slip into the other room and pull off our masks smiling. We pull on evening gowns and head back out into the room. 

“Congratulations.” my art dealer hands me a chute of champagne. “This turned out better than we could’ve imagined.” she looks around the room. 

“Any offers?” I nibble my lip looking around at my canvases and the body’s moving from piece to piece.

“On every one.” she whispers and I shake my head downing my glass. 

“Thank you for everything.” I hug her and go mingle. 

“Look how far you’ve come.” I turn at my mother’s voice. 

“You made it.” I smile as my eyes start to water. 

“Of course.” she kisses my cheek before we begin to walk around my exhibit. 

A year ago she was able to ring the bell beating her battle. I cried for days and helped her settle back home. She urged me to move to the city instead of commuting and to embrace my new life. Now she’s here standing in my art gallery and we’re both full of life. 

“Are you still coming back for the weekend?” she asks as I walk her to the door. 

“Yes mom.” I chuckle hugging her. “I’ll be in town tomorrow.” 

“Do you still have your key?” she squeezes my hand. 

“Yes,” I laugh as she hugs me again. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” she smiles before slipping into her car. 

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

I sigh pulling into my old driveway and look at the house that holds so many of my memories. I get out and begin to pull my bags out of the car. I make my way to the front door. It pulls open and my mom darts out. 

“Oh sweetie! Welcome home.” she pulls me into a tight hug and I giggle at her dramatics. 

“Let me put my bags down. I have to grab some more stuff. Can you open the garage?” I hum tossing my bags in the entryway. 

I walk back to my car and start bringing some of my canvases into the garage. I only brought a couple just in case I get some inspiration to keep working on this installation I’ve had in mind for years. She watches me with a soft smile and ushers me into the kitchen. 

“I’m just so happy you’re home.” she tears up. “Even if it’s just for a little while.” I hug her again drying her tears before I head up to my room. 

I start to unload my bags and collapse to my bed. I look up at my ceiling missing my city apartment. I look through the room that used to bring me so much solace and now I can’t even stand to be in it. I huff and change out of my traveling clothes and slip into one of my favorite dresses. 

“Where are you off to young lady?” my mom smirks as I walk down the stairs. 

“I want some cherry pie.” I hum as I slip out the front door. It seems as if my body is on autopilot as I drive to the diner. This place has always been one of the muses in the back of my mind. I park outside and as I step in the familiar smell floods my nose. 

“Take a seat and I’ll be with you shortly hun.” I scold myself as my feet begin to carry me to the table that’s been haunting me for the past couple of years. I stop on approach and he looks up right as I’m about to turn around. 

“Y/n?” his voice makes my breath catch as he rises from the booth. 

“Benji.” his name falls from my mouth. 

“Do you want to sit?” he nods to the booth.

“I shouldn’t.” I nibble my lip looking him over.

“Please.” next thing I know I’m sliding into the seat across from him. 

“How have you been?” his eyes search mine. 

“I’ve been really good actually.” I smile softly nodding.

“And your mom?” his eyes look hopeful. 

“She’s been home for a year now and gets her strength back everyday.” I hum

“I’m really glad to hear that.” he smiles across at me. 

“Well, look who’s back in town.” my old coworker smiles at me. “Let me guess, cherry pie?” I nod my head laughing. “Do you want another slice as well?” she turns her head to Benji.

“Yeah, thank you.” he smiles at her and I’m wondering if he’s more than just her regular. I scold myself for even caring, I’m the one who left after all. She walks back to the kitchen and he turns his attention back to me. 

“Still getting the cherry pie?” I chuckle. 

“Of course.” his tongue glides along his lower lip. The silence between us isn’t necessarily awkward but charged as we look at each other.

“Here you two are. Let me know if you need anything else.” I notice the way her eyes linger on him before she turns and leaves. 

“So you and the waitress? Seems you still have the same type.” he throws his head back and laughs. 

“I’m still single, since you’re wondering.” he smirks and takes a bite of his pie. 

“I wasn’t.” I reply too quickly. “I just- I don’t know.” I shake my head taking a bite of my pie. 

“I’ve missed you.” his words slam into me. 

“Benji,” I sigh looking up to him. 

“I’ve heard you’re an artist now. Not that you weren’t before, I knew you painted, and you danced but-“ 

“Don’t stroke my ego too much now.” I cut off his ramblings. “Tell me, do you check up on me?” I rest my chin in my hands. 

“How could I not? The day you left has always been my biggest regret.” he looks to me sincerely. 

“Well, I should say thank you for getting me fired. You helped me get to where I am now.” I hum taking another bite of pie. I slice off another and reach across the table offering it to him. He looks up to me with a raised brow. “Open up for me.” his cheeks flush as takes the bite. 

“Who’s the shy cherry pie now?” I giggle leaning back. 

“Let me take you out on a proper date.” I try to ignore the butterflies in my stomach as he waits for my reply.

“When?” I tilt my head with a soft smile. 

“You tell me.” he nods his head. 

“Pick me up at my house at seven.” I hum fishing cash out of my purse. I toss a fifty on the table. “Leave a nice tip for your girlfriend.” I smirk before sliding out of the booth leaving him to watch after me as I leave. 

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Table 13: Is this still my cherry pie?

Cherry Pie: Yes, unless that’s what you call all of the waitresses these days.

Table 13: 🙄

Table 13: I’m omw to get you. Leave your attitude at home.

Cherry Pie: We’ll see.

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

My mom stares after me with a smile as I leave the front door again. I tell her not to wait up and I begin my way down the walkway. Benji walks to the passenger side and opens the door for me before getting back on his side. 

“You look beautiful.” he smiles before pulling onto the road. 

“Thank you, Benji.” I hum admiring him from the corner of my eye. “Your hair got a bit longer.” I reach over and run my fingers through it. 

“Do you like it?” he leans back into my hand. 

“It suits you.” I go to remove my hand and he grabs it with his own. 

“I really missed you. I can’t express how sorry I am.” he kisses my hand. 

“Why didn’t you reach out?” I squeeze his hand. 

“I wouldn’t have been able to handle it if you didn’t answer or if you wanted nothing to do with me.” he furrows his brows. “Then I never saw you around town again and next thing I hear you’ve moved to the city. I figured you wouldn’t want to hear from me and-“ 

“Benji,” I softly shush him pulling his hand to my lap. “I probably thought about you as much as you thought about me.” 

“Impossible.” he shakes his head pulling us into a restaurant parking lot. 

“How much did you think about me then?” I turn to him smirking. 

“Enough to make me go insane.” he slips out of the car and gets my door for me. We walk into the restaurant hand in hand and get seated quickly. 

“What was your favorite memory of us?” I rest my chin on my hands shamelessly admiring him. 

“Anytime you were so sleepy in the garage watching me work on your car.” he chuckles as I sip on my water with a raised brow. 

“Not what I thought it would be.” I hum nodding my head. 

“What did you think it would be?” he tilts his head. 

“I was thinking when I came around you for the-“ 

“Baby,” he shushes me with wide eyes and I feel my cheeks flush at the name. 

“You’re telling me you didn’t think about that at all?” I smirk at his tinted cheeks. 

“Yes, you’re still my fantasy.” he sighs wiping his face smiling. “I enjoyed every single second we had together.” 

“I did too.” I hum fondly. “And then you did what you did and..” I trail off shaking my head. 

“I’ll spend the rest of my life apologizing at your feet if you’ll allow me.” he holds his hands out to me. 

“I think I’ll let you grovel a bit more.” I lean back with a smile and he pouts. 

The waiter comes and takes our order and drops off our drinks. We tease each other throughout dinner and it feels as if no time has passed. I’ve been happy over the past two years but I haven’t smiled this much since I left town. As I look at the man across from me I feel my heart flutter. We stay long after our meals have been finished just talking. He picks up the bill and drives me home. 

“I’m so very thankful you came home, cherry pie.” the name causes my cheeks to heat and I’m thankful the sun has been down for some time now. 

“I am too.” I accept his hand as I step out of the car. 

“Can I walk you to your front door?” his smile bashful and I nod my head. “Can I see you again? Please.” the last word barely a whisper. 

“I thought you already see me in your dreams.” I hum teasing him. I turn back towards him as we stop at my front door. 

“Then can I take you on another date?” his pleading eyes search mine. 

“I suppose.” I sigh looking off trying to hide my smile. 

“When?” his fingers cup my chin turning my gaze back to him. 

“Maybe in another two years.” I look up to him with a smirk. 

“I’ll wait for you as long as I have to.” his words caress against me. 

“Tomorrow.” I nod. “Just text me when and where.” I realize how close we’ve gravitated towards each other. 

“Thank you.” our eyes linger on each other and neither of us move. “I’ll see you later in my dreams.” he kisses my forehead and my breath stops. “Have a goodnight, Y/n.” 

“Have a goodnight, Benji.” I fumble with the key and slip inside locking the door behind me. 

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Table 13: I had a great time with you today. I’ve missed you so much. 

Table 13: I want to pick you up at eleven. 

Cherry Pie: I guess I can be awake by then. 

Table 13: I can pick you up later if you need more sleep. 

Cherry Pie: I’ll just have to abandon the man in my dreams a little early. 

Table 13: I’m flattered you would make such a sacrifice for me. 

Cherry Pie: You should be. 

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

“Where are you taking me today?” I settle into his passenger seat. 

“A pottery painting shop.” he nibbles his lip. “If you want. If you don’t like that style of art we can do something else. Anything you want.” he shakes his head.

“Benji, that’s so thoughtful.” I turn to him with scrunched brows. “I would love to do that.” he turns to me with a smile. 

“Really?” he looks relieved. 

“Really.” I nod my head. I’ve never been taken on a date so perfectly catered to me before. Once we get to the pottery shop we make our way inside. We look through all of the different options. We pick out what we’d like to paint and grab a table. 

“I’ve never claimed to be an artist.” he warns picking up a brush. 

“Art is subjective.” I smile at him encouragingly. 

I watch him as he focuses on the details and smile to myself. I continue to steal glances at him as we paint in a comfortable silence. I fight myself everyday of to why I never came back for this man. I’m mad at what he did but I knew that his intentions were good. It was just poor timing. All of my internal battles cease when he sits back and admires his work with a proud smile. 

“I think I could give you a run for your money.” he taunts and a giggle erupts from my lips. 

“But I like you as my muse instead.” my cheeks burn as the truth falls from my lips. 

“Mm your muse?” he raises an eyebrow. 

“Let’s go to the city so I can show you something.” I chew the inside of my cheek.

“When?” he tilts his head.

“Now. Unless you have plans or-“ 

“No, let’s go.” he rises scraping the stool against the floor.

We’re on the road shortly after and I get jittery about finally showing someone the vision I’ve had for years. Some of the pieces are in my mom’s garage that I brought with but the ones that are done stay at my studio. It seems only right that he’ll be the first one to see it. 

“Turn left and park in front of the black awning.” I smile looking to my studio. I let us inside and as I’m leading him up the stairs I start to get nervous. “It’s still a work in progress.” I turn to him biting my lip. 

“That’s okay.” he nods smiling. “I’d love to see anything you’re willing to show me.” I open the door and we step inside. He stops in the center of the room taking in the scattered paintings. He walks up to each one as I trail behind him gauging his reaction. He stops at the last one and turns to me. 

“What do you think?” I feel my cheeks catch fire at his gaze. 

“Are these of us? Our time together?” he steps closer to me. 

“They are.” I nod my head. “There��s more.. I brought them home this weekend to see if I found any inspiration.” I turn and look at them all. “I’ve been working on these since I left that day.” I turn back to him and he’s on his knees looking to me.

“I’m sorry. I was stupid and arrogant. I won’t make excuses.” he shakes his head as I walk over to him. “I don’t deserve you.” he looks up to me with tears in his eyes. 

“Benji,” I cup his cheek. 

“I don’t deserve you.” he whispers again holding my hand to his cheek. “I want another chance with you. I’d do anything. I haven’t had enough time with you.” I look down at him as my own tears slip down my cheeks. 

“I’ve wanted you back since I got into my car that day.” I kneel before him so we’re face to face. “That day has also been my biggest regret.” the second the words are out of my mouth his lips are on mine. I melt into him before he pulls back. 

“I’m sorry. I should’ve asked.” he shakes his head backing up. I pull him back to me and press our lips together once more. I sigh into his mouth as his hands roam up my sides. We are a mess of lips and panting as we pull each other’s clothes off. He lays me back onto the cool concrete floor and I shiver. His hot mouth trails down my neck and stomach as I squirm. 

“I’d like to have a taste of my cherry pie, please.” I whimper at his words nodding my head. He licks through my wetness and I cry out above him. I push myself onto his face as his tongue lashes against me. He groans gripping my hips tightly. My fingers tangle into his hair and hold him against me as my pleasure starts to run through me. I arch off of the ground as I’m pushed over the edge by his tongue as his name falls off of mine. 

“I thought about that everyday.” he hums kissing his way back up my body. “I thought about the little gasps you made when I pushed into you slowly.” he chuckles as he pushes into me earning those gasps from my lips. “The way you scrunch your face when I grind into you.” I’m trembling underneath him as he repeats his actions. 

“Benji,” I grip onto his shoulders. 

“Hm?” he rolls his hips into me. “I never forgot the way you came around me.” my breath catches as he starts to pump into me. His lips crash to mine as our bodies move together slowly. My hips rock against his as I moan into his mouth. His fingers languidly swirl around my bud and my breaths start to come out quicker. 

“Fuck Benji, yes,” I gasp. He swallows down my sounds as my pleasure bursts through me. He keeps his pace slow as our tongues dance. I wrap my legs around him holding him close and we lose ourselves in each other. I’m so focused on the feel of him that my pleasure crashes through unannounced and I feel him fill me with his. 

“My memory never did you justice. You’re so much more perfect.” he slides out as he kisses me once more. We pull apart and slowly sit up and begin to dress again. 

“Don’t do anything stupid again to make me leave you.” I look to him intensely as he helps me rise. 

“I won’t.” he nods his head with a smile. “I promise.” he kisses me softly. “So what’s the name of this installation?” he kisses my forehead and looks at my paintings once more. 

“Table 13 and Cherry Pie.” he turns around and kisses me once more. 

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

masterlist 🔌 

no bc writing this two parter was so fkn cute 

taglist ✍️

@clarityisnofun @gabriella-aesthetic @callsignwidow @llynx7 @violetiss3lfish @ka1afbr @akiko-oo @papichulo120627 @lizzylovebooks280501 @thatgirl101blog @ashovertheriver @zanygot7straykidsbonk @hueanhdang @malfoycassimalfoy @april-notthemonth69 @anaviieiraaa @p45510n4f4shi0n @neocockthotology @thereaderwitch @hardkiddonut @faenyra

[oristian]

S E C R E T S A N T A ; —

HO HO HO, I hope you enjoy your gift @thedeviltohisangel !! I really and very thoroughly enjoyed this piece and it really allowed for me to connect back with both Nesta and Cassian in such a unique way! It is currently just a one shot, but I have been entertaining the idea of writing a second part from the other perspective—I will be sure to let you know if I do so! Without further ado, I so hope that you enjoy this gift! AO3

SONG 01 — SONG 02

WARNINGS — Mentions of death, alcohol abuse, depression, and language

@acotargiftexchange

Redacted (I’ll name you later),

I tried to light you on fire, but the leather only singed; it did not burn. Rhys told me that it was borderline pathetic that I would not even use you for a day. What does he know? Perfect hair. Perfect reputation. Perfect family. I am the only stain in his life—The fucked up adopted brother that should have been left in that orphanage. They took pity on a little boy in rags, but little did they know how he would grow up to abuse their kindness.

Cassian

15 DECEMBER

“My name is Cassian, and I … I am an alcoholic.”

The group replied in a practiced, almost mechanical monotonous chorus: “Hello, Cassian,” accompanied by a few distracted grunts from the older folks. They sat in a loose semi-circle within the sterile, detached space of the YMCA gymnasium, the hum of fluorescent lights buzzing overhead and faded, yellowing motivational posters clinging to the paint-peeled block walls. Cassian sat at the head of the circle, occupying the lone backless metal chair, his body coiled tight, his teeth grinding. His palms, slick with sweat, scraped against the rough denim of his jeans as he tried to steady his nerves, the harsh light above him making everything feel too bright, too exposed.

The meeting had been in session for the better half of an hour, though Cassian had sat ram-rod straight, bitting down on his tongue as the others spoke. The sheer vulnerability of the group set him on edge, how comfortable these folks were with sharing their stories with absolute strangers.

“I killed someone.”

The words held a bitter aftertaste upon his tongue, his throat suddenly tight as the thoughts that had plagued him for weeks—months—finally breached the air surrounding him. The group was silent, save for the buzzing of the lights above-head.

Redacted,

That woman was there again, the one with the blue eyes. She never speaks. She wore something different this week—A large woven sweatshirt with a mini pegasus embroidered across the front. She looked damn funny with her blank expression and the grinning pegasus, but I liked it. It made her seem real. Human.

Cassian

05 SEPTEMBER

The light above the porch flickered as the car pulled into the driveway, a few moths knocking into the exposed bulb once, twice, three times before falling to the wooden slates below. The front door was ajar, a few stumbling individuals gripping the frame to steady themselves, and neon LED lights shifting between colors from the crack of the entryway.

Cassian whistled lowly under his breath before tossing his head back, downing the mini shot of tequila silver.

“The rules are as follows,” Rhysand began, pulling the key from the ignition and glancing at his the two men piled against each other in the backseat. “We leave by midnight, and no extra passengers allowed—Yeah, I’m looking at you, Cassian. Feyre would actually have my balls if I bring my car back smelling like cheap perfume again.” He adjusted the rear view mirror, sending a stare back to Cassian, raising a brow until his brother held his hands up in surrender, a wolfish grin tugging at his full mouth. “I got it. No girls, or else your balls will suffer—The imagery is great, by the way.”

The dreams all begin the same. A flash of light, a distant screech of wheels, and a scream so piercing it could cut glass. In this world, there is only the absence of pain—the broken ribs, shattered bones in his arms and chest, they do not exist. The repeated record scratch of that damned scream is pain enough. Recently, though, the dreams have begun to shift and something unexpected has seeped into the scene.

Hands; that of a woman. Hands that wrap around his wrists, thumbs that run against his scars, and lips pressed flush beside his cheek.

15 DECEMBER

Her eyes were the same shade of fresh fallen snow under the hue of midnight—an icy blue tinged with a ring of silver. She watched him as if she were undressing him, though not his clothes, him; down to the very essence of self that resided just beyond his ribcage. If his body were floating, she would be the gravitational pull that grounded him once more. Cassian felt breathless.

His hazel eyes darted to the chairperson, a dark-skinned woman with graying hair and wide-rimmed red glasses. “Call me Sandy,” she had said upon their first meeting, gripping his hands within her own and flashing him a yellowing smile. She was charming, albeit a tad bit spacey.

Sandy nodded towards him, a jut of her rounded chin, and gestured for him to continue speaking. Despite it all, she would listen.

Cassian cleared his throat and leaned forward, resting his elbows atop his knees, rubbing at his bruised knuckles.

“I used to say that it was, uh … That it was an accident.” His head was low, hair tumbling loose from his top knot and brushing against his face, and his gaze remained locked on the scuffed tennis shoes he wore. “The truth is,” his jaw clenched, “I chose to drink that night. I chose to take my brother’s keys. I chose to have that girl get in the car with me.”

Cassian trailed his fingers from his knuckles down to his wrist and back up, repeating the motion as he huffed a breath. “She told me no, at first. Said she was worried about the weather.”

Redacted,

That woman was at the coffee shop next to the YMCA before the meeting. She takes tea over coffee, Earl Gray, with two packets of sugar and a splash of cream—She doesn’t know that I saw her nose scrunch when she realized it was not sweet enough and she added four more packets. Seeing that content smile on her face was damn near worth nearly running into someone else.

She wore a leotard under her jacket. I wonder if she’s a dancer.

Cassian

11 OCTOBER

“You need to see someone, Cas.”

The mid-afternoon sunlight was a stark contrast to the previous pitch black, though his brother paid no mind as he drew the heavy drapes back. Cassian groaned, rolling over in his sheet cocoon and pulling his pillow over his head. Footsteps sounded across his room as his Azriel and Rhysand busied themselves with clearing the empty takeout containers and crushed beer cans from his furniture and opening windows to allow fresh air into the stuffy, pigeonhole apartment.

The pillow was ripped from his hands. Cassian slowly opened one eye, glancing blearily up at Azriel.

“I heard you got fired,” Azriel frowned, crossing his arms around his broad chest. He wore a dark-wash jean jacket, and Cassian had to remind himself that the temperature had begun dropping—though, it had been weeks since he last stepped foot outside.

“Eris has a big mouth. Did he tell you my shitting schedule, too?”

Rhysand slammed his fist against the wall, his teeth clenched as he turned fully to face Cassian. “You just are not getting it, are you, Cassian?” The light reflected off of his brother’s face, tears welling in his indigo eyes as he gripped the doorframe, his chest heaving from the exertion. “We’re fucking losing you right in front of us. You don’t give a shit, do you?”

The door slammed shut in his wake; the glass from the frames shattered as they hit the floor.

Cassian knew that he was dreaming—could see the headlights and hear the scream, but he was floating. Weightless. Adjacent to him was a cracked door, a soft ambient glow emitting from the viewport. Classical music poured from the opening. Despite himself, Cassian shouldered forward until the golden knob was gripped between his fingers.

And there she was, the light reflecting off of her fair skin and cascading down her braided bolden-brown hair. Her body moved as if it were made of liquid; up and down, around and back, as if the music flowed freely through her.

The dancer pivoted on her heel, facing him.

05 SEPTEMBER

Her body was pressed flush up against him, her back and his chest rutting together and he gripped her waist, her hips moving back towards him as the liquor and music removed their inhibitions.

Cassian knew that she was some younger girl from his graduate seminar, some advanced non-major that had too many credits and needed to be moved upwards to remain on scholarship. He had flirted relentlessly with her throughout the semester, but he knew that she prioritized her academics over romance and rejected him just as fiercely.

Until that evening, when she watched him walk into the foyer and pulled him onto the dance floor, maneuvering his hands so that he was touching her bare skin.

Fucking finally.

Redacted,

The physical therapy is much less humiliating, and moreso actually something that I look forward to. The doctor says that my recovery is progressing much faster than originally anticipated, though my damned knee still hurts. Everyday. Walking is fine, that is slowly getting easier.

I may never run again. That is my worst fear.

Cassian

15 DECEMBER

“There had been a flash flood warning that afternoon and it had started raining halfway through the party. The roads were wet and the visibility was too low. No one should have been driving that night.”

A hand pressed atop his shoulder, fingers squeezing assuringly. Cassian did not have to look up to know; she would always root for him, despite it all. Though, it was debatable if he deserved such kindness—such care.

“I had crossed lanes, couldn’t see the fu—I could not see the lines.” He could see it so very clearly in his mind; the solid yellow lines, the headlights, the night sky as the car overturned—

He watched her dance. The rhythmic movements of her body, paired with the dynamics of the scene, painted an artwork so beautiful that it brought tears to Cassian’s hazel eyes. He tapped his foot along with the best of the music, humming softly under his breath.

He yearned to dance with her, to take her hand within his own and sing a duet only audible between their bodies. Though, would she have him? A man with sins far deeper than scars.

What would she say if she knew?

12 OCTOBER

Cinnamon, and the scent of something full, aromatic and nutty, wafted in from the side kitchen as Cassian entered in through the door. The man shrugged off his overcoat and hung it from the rack before toeing his shoes off in their wake. From deep within the house, he heard laughter and the patter of children’s feet as they ran across hardwood.

“Uncle Cassian!” Something small, yet incredibly hard, slammed into his shins. Tiny arms wrapped around one of his legs and Cassian bit down on his lower lip, grinning softly as he glanced downwards at his nephew, Nyx. The soft blue eyes that stared back at him were reminiscent of Nyx’s mother, Feyre, but the wild grin on his face was all Rhysand—a mix so perfect of the two that even Cassian sometimes struggled to keep up.

Cassian roused Nyx’s dark hair and the toddler giggled, scrunching his nose and bringing his shoulders up to his ears. “Hey, buddy, I missed you.”

He was led into the living room where the other children were spread out on the carpet, various games and toys layed out around them. Cassian took a seat in the brown leather recliner and pulled Nyx up and onto his lap. Glancing upwards, he caught sight of Azriel and Gwyn playing a card game at the back table—though, Gwyn were on her second loss, it appeared, and she was instructing Azriel to show her the inside of his sleeves. Azriel smirked back at his wife, a teasing sort of smile, “I have no idea what you’re saying.”

“Uncle Cassian, I heard that you’re sick. Do you need to go to a hospital?”

Heart stuttering in his chest, Cassian met the worried state of his nephew. Despite himself, he allowed a small smile to form on his mouth. “Uncle Cassian is a little sick, Nyxie, but I will get better soon. Pinky promise.” Nyx furrowed his brow and puffed out his cheeks before leaning forward and pressing his lips to Cassian’s face. “There,” Nyx said as he smiled widely, “mommy says kisses make everything better!”

Cassian rubbed his fingers against his skin, his throat constricting. “Yeah, buddy,” he muttered after a slight pause, “they always do.”

Cassian,

I hope you don’t throw this away. Here is the number and address of a really good therapist. Her name is Alis and she really helped me after Tamlin. Please, if you do this for anyone, do it for yourself.

Alis — (XXX) XXX - XXXX

309 Rainbow Alley, Velaris, NC 23467

I love you,

Feyre

Redacted,

I am such a fuck up. I know that. My brothers know that. Hell, even my nieces and nephews probably know that. Do you know that, journal?

Alis knows too much—or, at least it feels that way. She has this look in her eye like she can see everything that I’ve hidden from everyone else. It’s weird, but sitting in her office, in that chair, I don’t feel afraid. I don’t feel like my chest is going to cave in.

She gave me this journal. Told me to write how I feel. Said it would make me better.

Cassian

05 SEPTEMBER

Pilfering the keys off of Rhysand was a simple task, especially with his brother passed out on a dirty frat house couch.

Cassian pivoted on his heel and jingled the key ring, grinning as the girl giggled into her hand, brushing her long hair back behind her ear. The goal was to get out of there, find something quick to eat—Cassian had a plan, and that plan included a greasy burger and fries from the local diner—and head back to her place where her roommate was out of town for the weekend.

It was pouring as they stepped outside and she had hesitated by the door, asking if Cassian was sober enough to drive—she had considered staying the night at the house, but Cassian had assured her that he was fine, that they would be fine.

“You’re gonna love the diner, baby,” he had said as they piled into the car. She had smiled softly at him and the reflection of the rain on her skin made her look almost ethereal.

Cassian stood, tired of waiting for the woman to come near enough—his fingers itched to touch her skin, to know her beyond the scene. She continued dancing, though, as he walked behind her. His breath caught as she spun, turning to him, her face merely inches from his own.

That face—that damned face, was the same of the woman from the meetings. The same sharp chin. The same steel blue eyes. The only difference was the lack of her braided updo; her hair was wild and free, framing her face and disappearing down the length of her bared back.

She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

“Please,” he whispered, desperation intertwining with his tone. “Please tell me your name.”

The woman only stared blankly at him for merely a moment longer before hooking her hair behind her ears—arched ears, covered in silver jewelry—and stood on her tip toes. Her lips pressed softly against his cheek before she whispered something faint in his ear. She pulled back, cradling his face in her hands.

“Find me in the next life, Cassian.”

01 NOVEMBER

The ticking of the time clock, paired with the soft waterfall noise of the bonsai tree figurine perched precariously on the edge of the mahogany desk, filled the silence.

Alis had long since finished compiling this session’s notes and she instead took to staring at Cassian, her brow raised and her lips pulled taut. He felt as if he were being observed under a microscope and he almost wanted to ask the woman for a blanket—something thick to wrap himself within.

“Have you been taking your medication?”

The medication was an anti-depressant, his second filing in the last thirty days, and it was the one thing in his life that remained consistent. “Yes,” he responded hoarsely. Morning and evening, the pill was the first thing he took before beginning any standard routine. It appeared to be working, in a way. Cassian felt less numb recently.

Alis nodded. “Good. Now, about the meetings I asked you to go to—Have you gone yet?” The meetings in question were hosted at the local YMCA, and Alis’ older sister volunteered as the chairperson. Alcoholics Anonymous. A group of others who may be able to relate to what he is going to, even if it was not to the same extent.

Though, Cassian has not felt the courage to step into that gymnasium. For the last two weeks, he had stayed silent in the adjoining hallway and only listened.

“I—I’m getting there,” was all he said, his focus falling back to the bonsai tree.

He has not dreamed since.

Redacted,

I think I am ready to talk about what happened. I cannot keep living like this, as a shall of who I was. I cannot change what happened, no matter how badly I want to reverse time and stop myself from taking those keys from Rhys. There is no bringing her back.

I have to live, even if the days get hard. I cannot let those hard days win.

I wonder why that woman is in the group. She never speaks. Is she like me?

Cassian

15 DECEMBER

“I swerved to avoid hitting the other truck and went over the guardrail. My seatbelt locked into place, but she had not been wearing one.”

Cassian licked his lips and finally looked upwards at the other folk, his eyes red-rimmed and his hands uncoiling from fists atop his thighs. “She died on impact.”

The blue-eyed woman stared back at him, quizzically, and he could have sworn something akin to sympathy softened in her gaze. Cassian almost wanted to ask her what she felt, what she thought of him, and where she could relate. Above all else, he wanted to hear her speak.

“She was twenty-two and a Master’s student. She wanted to be a doctor.”

Sandy once again placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, and Cassian placed his own hand atop her’s, squeezing as he offered her a small smile. “I cannot reverse what happened that night,” he said at last, the memory of that final, harsh scream ricocheting within his mind, “but allowing myself to waste away is benefitting no one. I need to live, if only for myself.”

Cassian stood, finally, despite the shake in his knee, and walked out of the gymnasium.

Redacted,

I wonder if I will ever name you. Thank you for being here for me. I would like to think that I am better now.

Cassian

24 DECEMBER

“Earl Gray, six sugar, splash of cream. Oh, and a vanilla scone.”

Cassian glanced over his shoulder at the woman, her brow raised high in amusement, as he handed the barista his debit card. “Memorizing my order now, huh?”

It had been an off-chance that they would run into each other at a local shop a whole town away from the YMCA, yet here they are—Cassian knew the fates above had worked overtime to make this work, and he would not miss such an opportunity. He flashed her a grin.

“Believe in coincidences, sweetheart?”

The woman rolled her eyes, but he could see the twitch in her lip as she forced herself to remain expressionless. Cassian gestured to a table in the back and was overjoyed as she followed suit.

Cassian held out a hand. “To formally introduce myself, my name is Cassian. I am twenty-four, working to be a physical trainer, and I love my family. I am allergic to pollen and Spring is the worst season ever created. I used to love to run, but I messed up my knee real bad.” The woman watched his outstretched hand for a moment, contemplating, before she took it into her own.

“Nesta. I’m a dancer without a studio and a sister without a family, but I’m—I am trying. To be better, I mean.”

Cassian’s hand shook in her grip, the memory of lips pressed against his ear and the whisper of a name—Nesta, Nesta, Nesta—said so softly, so lovingly, that he was nearly brought to his knees in a coffee shop. “Nesta,” he said, tasting the name upon his tongue. “Nes.”

He could have sworn that something sparked in those blue eyes as he said her name aloud.

Redacted,

I came across this the other day. It has been a few years, old friend. I missed you.

I asked Nes to marry me and she said yes. She wants a Spring wedding, but I sincerely hope that she is being playful.

I see Alis every week, even though the dreams are gone and the pills are finished. The pain in my knee never goes away, and that is the memory that grounds me to that night. Nes rubs a salve into the scars every night and kisses them. We dance together, as best as we can. Every night we turn the living room into our own personal studio and dance to the classics.

I wonder if she knows that we are the same.

Cassian

[lizardperson]

#4: coming home

[on ao3]

characters: daria & fiona rating: t cw: implied past suicide attempt mention wc: 473 prompt: reunion

---

Daria kept her eyes on the road in front of her, navigating through the afternoon traffic. She had taken the same route several times over the last few weeks, but it had never felt so endless before.

The silence was deafening.

"Do you want to get anything from the store on the way? Some kind of treat?"

"No, thank you," Fiona replied, then turned her attention back to staring out of the passenger side window.

So much for small talk.

Silence had never been a problem between them before, in fact they were always very comfortable with just not talking, but right now Daria desperately wished at least one of them would be a chatty person.

She turned on the radio, but the cheery pop music only made the silence louder, somehow. Changing the station twice didn't help the least, so she turned it off again. Daria glanced over to Fiona, stoically staring out of the window. She had gotten even paler those last weeks, and thinner, making her seem almost fragile. Like she could shatter any moment. How tired she looked…

Daria sighed and concentrated on driving. They would be home soon. Maybe everything would be okay, eventually. It had to be.

After another eternity, they finally pulled up in their driveway. When Fiona took her bag out of the trunk, Daria tried to grab it from her.

"Let me."

Holding on to the piece of luggage, Fiona frowned. "Daria, I can still carry my own bag. It was a psych clinic, not a real hospital."

"I know, I just…" Daria sighed and let go of the bag, gesturing towards the house. You almost died, though.

Inside, she got the sneaking suspicion that the deafening silence had followed them from the car.

"If you want to lie down for a bit before dinner…" Daria hesitantly suggested, turning towards the kitchen. Maybe a few walls between them would help, somehow.

Fiona suddenly grabbed her hand. "Daria."

Part of her wanted to break away, flee, bring some space between them. Because it actually hurt looking at the woman she loved, Daria realized. It hurt, and she was so tired of the pain.

Then Fiona gently interlaced their fingers, like she always did, and they stared at each other silently for a few moments.

"I'm sorry." Fiona's voice was soft. "I love you."

Daria could feel the lump build in her throat. It was so rare to hear her say those words.

She pulled Fiona into a tight hug, just holding her for a moment, inhaling that familiar smell, and pressed a kiss on the top of her head.

"Please don't leave me," Daria whispered into her hair, still trying very hard to keep it together.

"I won't. I promise," Fiona whispered back.

And right in this moment, Daria wanted to believe her so bad.

---

want to know how they met? - two ships of burning glass

[cinnaminyoons]

!!   jungkook

[ event masterlist ]

(no pairing situation)

zombie apocalypse

“hi! you need to leave. right now.”

!   wc: 11.5k

!   tags: half of this isn’t actually the zombie part, tlou!apocalypse, best friends to lovers, cursing, guts/gore/illness (mild)/injury (burn scarring; reader), death, guns + usa setting (am. spelling for “mom” but aus. variants elsewhere), tae speaks spanish (mex. to the best of my knowledge, sorry in advance) for no other reason except i miss my cyberpunk boy jackie welles. tae vaguely third-wheels

the day he lost you, he lost himself. the only difference was that he still walked.

"yn-hyung's eomma!" he shouts. "hello!"

it is a fine day outside. blue skies, fluffy white clouds, green lawns sprinkled with yellow daisies. there are two cars in the driveway of a two-storey house, and jungkook races upstairs, too small to reach the bannister. he holds onto the wooden bars and picks his way up the steps as fast as he can.

the woman is on the balcony. swiftly, she stamps out a cigarette and moves inside. "hello, jungkook! what are you doing here?"

he huffs as he manages to make it to the top, his parents following close behind. "i... i... brought games for hyung! to make him feel better!"

he lifts them up to show her. she smiles and giggles, stroking his hair. "that's very sweet of you, jungkook. he's in his bedroom – he's awake, but just in case, you should be quiet, okay?"

"okay, yn-hyung's eomma! bye!" he races off down the hall.

"your son is a sweetheart," she says affectionately, watching him reach up on his tip-toes to pull the door handle. jungkook's parents laugh and they move into the living space. "it's lovely to see you again. would you like some tea?"

"we'd love some," jungkook's mother says. "sorry for barging in like this. he wouldn't stop pestering us to visit so that he can 'make his friend happy'."

"oh, it's no problem at all. it's good to see our sons together. you know how my boy is." she smiles and shakes her head, pouring three cups of hot tea. "rebellious, that one. i hope yours can teach him some good things."

creeping into his hyung's dark bedroom, jungkook drops onto flat feet and pushes the door closed gently. he squints into the darkness and whispers, "hyung?"

movement; ruffling sheets; a sleepy voice. "jung... jungkook? what's going on?"

"i came to see you." he sets the game cards on your bedside table and clamber onto the bed with a huff, crawling up to you. "are you getting better?"

"i think so." you sigh. you sit up slowly. "i'm dizzy and tingly at the same time."

jungkook's little face falls. "oh." he shoots forward and his expression pinches in fright. "are you gonna die? please don't die! you're my best friend!"

you laugh, a little painfully, and clear your throat. "i'm okay. i'm not gonna die."

"oh. good." jungkook tucks his feet under himself. "can i hug you?"

"yeah. it's just a headache. it's not contagious."

jungkook darts forward and squeezes you tight. he squishes his soft cheek into your chest and snuggles into you, listening to the quick beat of your heart. "geez... you're really cold."

your arms close around his small shoulders. you bury your face into his hair. "sorry."

his huge brown eyes peek up at you and he kicks his legs with a soft sigh. "i don't like it when you're sick."

"sorry," you repeat.

after a while, he says quietly, "i brought you games. to keep you company."

"thanks, jungkook." your arms tighten around him. "i love you."

"i love you, too," he giggles. abruptly, he sits up with bright eyes. "i've got it! i'll marry you, hyung!"

"huh? why?" you ask cluelessly, watching him bounce on your bed. he lifts his fists.

"so we can be together forever! i'll protect you from everything that makes you sick. eomma says that other people made you sick, so i'll protect you from them! they will eat my fists," he says in a deep voice, puffing out his chest to mimic his action heroes.

you can't help but laugh, even though it makes your head ache. "kookie, you can't hurt other people. that's not what a good person does."

"okay," he breathes, agreeing so easily – his chest swells with the sound of your laughter. it makes frogs bounce around inside his tummy. "but i can still marry you, right?"

you roll your eyes. "no, silly. we're not grown-ups yet. we can't get married."

"yes, we can," he insists, sweet brown eyes growing wide. "i watched my parents do it! we just have to write our names, then boom, we're married! wait here, i'll get the paper."

he scrambles off of the bed, running to your bookshelf and grabbing your drawing pad. he nearly forgets the pencil, but turns back for it abruptly.

he jumps onto the bed and you hastily grab the pencil before he can hurt himself on it. he sets the pad down on your legs, grinning up at you with a smile so bright that you swear it emits sunlight.

"write your name. write it, write it," he says eagerly.

you do, slow and steady. there's a wobble in the middle from the dip between your knees, but otherwise, you're satisfied. jungkook snatches the pencil and you giggle at him.

his tongue sticks out of the corner of his mouth and a frown creases his brow. his handwriting is dark and shaky, and his last name is spelt wrong. still, he manages it, and you're so very proud of him – he's still in kindergarten, after all, and you know kids in your class who still use velcro shoes. jungkook, your best friend, knows how to tie his shoelaces every time.  

he gestures for you to tear the page out. you oblige, pressing your hand flat against the spine of the pad, and manage to do it with minimal accidents. a few creases shade the torn edge from your grip, but it's otherwise perfect.

jungkook stares at it with big eyes, his lips parted to reveal the two white nubs of his front teeth. he takes it from your hands carefully, as if he's holding the declaration of independence, and smooths it flat on the bed. lightly, he traces a large, wonky heart around both of your names.

he lifts it triumphantly, his eyes shining. "now i can protect you forever, hyung! i won't let anything hurt you, okay? i'll be like a superhero, lasering down everything that gets in our way."

you laugh softly, eyes crinkling, and let him fall back in your arms, squeezing him tight. he's so small, with soft, tiny hands and a tiny button nose. you like to poke it to see him scrunch it up in surprise.

"thanks, kookie," you say quietly, and he hums into your shirt. "i'll protect you, too – my superhero."

—

"loser says what?"

he startles. "what?"

you laugh, loud and obnoxious, and grab him by the shoulders, peering over to see what he's got in his hands. "gotcha, stupid. what're you reading?" you slip it easily from between his fingers. "what is it? anime?"

he scowls, reaching up for it. "it's manga, and give it back, you jerk! i was just getting to the good bit."

you wave it around, dodging his grabbing hands, and flick through it backwards. "whoa! how does she even walk around with those things?"

several sets of eyes swivel around and jungkook burns under their attention, tripping out of his seat and jumping for the book. you're older than him and therefore taller, and it's not hard to keep it out of his reach. "wow, jungkook... they're huge! i didn't know you had this kind of book."

"stop being such a bully!" he hops awkwardly, stretching for the book with a quiet grunt. "people are looking, butt-wipe!"

"what's this language i'm hearing?"

both of you whip around, gazing up at a familiar face: your homeroom teacher. her brow lifts in expectation as she places her hands on her hips. she's young and pretty, and you know a few boys with weird crushes on her, but she's a lovely teacher and doesn't even mind your whiteboard pranks.

"hi, miss williams," you greet with an innocent smile, and jungkook shuffles behind you, gripping your sleeve. discreetly, you try handing the book back. "what language are you talking about?"

she lifts an open hand, expectant. "give me the book, boys."

jungkook sighs and thumps his head against your shoulder as you sheepishly hand it over. "it wasn't anything bad, miss williams. promise."

"i'll see, yn. which page were you looking at?"

you flip a couple and point. on the page is a girl, around your age, in a uniform. she carries a massive gatling gun in her hands and a barrett .50 cal is strapped to her back, taller than she is. her face is twisted in rage as she extinguishes whole waves of evil vampires.

"don’t you agree, miss williams?" you ask helpfully. "those guns are massive. i don't get how she isn't falling over."

she closes the book and returns it with an exasperated sigh. she pats your head and you scrunch up your nose, fixing your hair. she smiles. "alright, you little rascal. you win this time. just keep it down, okay? other people might be reading, too."

"yes, miss williams."

"and you, jungkook."

after a second, he peeks around your arm, glancing briefly at you before meeting her eyes. his knuckles whiten.

she smiles again, this time gentler, and bows down to be level with him. "don't let him call all of the shots. maybe you should steal his book from time to time, too."

"miss!"

jungkook nods mutely, grabbing his book back while you stare at your teacher's retreating back, betrayed and flabbergasted. you notice the emptiness in your hands and turn around. jungkook is already sitting down again, searching for his lost page. you step over the bench and watch over his shoulder. your knee and shoulder touch his.

"so," you say, a lot quieter, "what's happening in the story?"

he brightens and grins at you, flipping back to the front to show you important scenes. "so there's this really shy girl, yumiko, who was adopted after her dad died when she was a baby, and she's actually the last living carrier of a special gene that makes her tougher, faster, and stronger than normal humans! after a bunch of monsters attack the city, she finds the journal he gave her and learns all the ways to kill them, and – oh, and she knows judo and how to box because her family owns a dojo... hey, why are you looking at me like that?"

you shake your head with a sweet grin, knocking your temple against his. "no reason. if we got attacked by a bunch of monsters, would you be my hero in shining armour?"

"of course!" he says, affronted that you'd think otherwise. "i might not have a machine gun, but i'll always protect you. we're best friends, and best friends should always stick together."

—

"oi, jungkook... jungkook, are you awake?"

he cracks his eyes open blearily at the whisper of his name. "no."

"good, okay. so, i had a thought – like, what if we go to homecoming together?"

"aren't you going with hailey? helen. helena...? whatever her name is."

"hanna. and not officially." you turn over, tucking your hand under your cheek. jungkook gazes back with one sleepy eye, most of his face squished into his pillow. "we haven't asked each other, yet."

he hums tiredly. "mm. then whassername... abigail. audrey. yeah. then audrey will want you to ask her. jay will want you to ask, too. um... erika and kat – from cheer, they said. yoojin from the boys' hockey team. y'know they're going to nationals? go kingfishers."

you wiggle closer, and jungkook bats your cheek to discourage you from getting any nearer. you do it anyway with a cheeky grin, visible even in the darkness, and jungkook hugs his pillow in defeat.

"don't wanna go with them." he gives you a pointed look, and you sigh. "look, i'm sure they're all nice people. i just... don't want to go with them. i want to go with you."

"why? yoojin's kinda cute."

you huff. "he only wants to go with me so he doesn't have to speak english all the time." you narrow your eyes. "wait, he's 'kinda' cute? do you have a crush on him, jungkook? ooh... jungkookie's got a big ol' crush...!"

he snorts, pushing your face away when you start making kissy sounds. "ew, gross. i spoke to him one time."

 "people have developed crushes on less," you point out smugly. "you've developed crushes on less."

he burns red and he hushes you quickly, slapping his hand over your mouth to muffle your laughter. "shut up! you'll wake my dad! i was young, okay? it didn't count."

"he had a nice smile, though. and a cute laugh. plus, he was even shorter than you – i bet that gave you a bit of an ego, didn't it?"

"i'm not short," he hisses, pouting furiously. "you're two years older than me – of course you're taller! go stuff yourself. i'm going back to sleep."

grumpily, he turns over, tugging the blankets up around his chin. you stick your cold feet directly onto his legs and giggle as he jerks and whips around, sitting up so quickly his head spins. you poke his cheek with your index finger repeatedly, still giggling like an idiot at the extent of his reaction. it felt like the entire bed shook.

"i'll bite your fingers off," he threatens, dodging blindly in the darkness. "they're like carrots. i can bite through carrots."

"yeah, you can. with those big-ass front teeth, you'd like carrots, wouldn't you?"

he lunges at you. you grunt at the impact and tackle him to the bed, locking your arms around his middle and tucking your head under his arm – just like gym class. he writhes like a snake – or, more accurately, he flails like a trapped bird, all limbs and indignant squawks.

"you're heavy," he complains, pushing your shoulders down. when that doesn't work, he reaches back for your hands, prying your fingers off of him. "get off, hyung! i need to – ugh – make you regret what you said! i'm not a freaking rabbit!"

you keep him down easily. sports is your jam, and jungkook is built like a twig. a very bony twig, but a twig nonetheless. "you know that you can swear around me, right? it's not like i'm gonna tell anyone. you know what the word 'fuck' is. you're fourteen – every fourteen-year-old knows 'shit', 'fuck', and 'damn', at the very least. the last one's only for bible-study kids, but whatever, it counts."

he hushes you, glancing instinctively at his bedroom door. "he’s gonna hear you. shut up."

"he’s miles away. he’s not gonna hear me." you grin, letting him out. he grumbles, dusting himself off and crawling back under the covers. "actually, you never answered me. do you want to go to homecoming with me, or nah?"

"no. you're just gonna run off to your friends and leave me alone by the punch table like a dumbass."

you nudge him. "hey, look at you. that's the closest you've gotten to swearing. i'm proud of you." you sit back, leaning against his headboard and gazing around his dark bedroom at the shape of familiar furniture. "and i wouldn't do that. you're way more important than those fuckers with rich parents. they only tolerate my presence because i'm irrefutably good on the team and they'd never make it off of school grounds if i left."

"bringing out the big-boy words. you're so dreamy."

"which one? 'fuckers' or 'irrefutably'?"

"the second one. your parents must be so proud. d'you think they'd be mad if i duct-taped your lips shut and then hit you in the mouth?"

you scoff, affronted. "only if you'll hit me in the mouth first, then tape it. if i end up with blood in my mouth, i'd rather not swallow it."

"eugh."

"exactly my point."

you lean back, tipping your head backwards until it touches the wall. a scattering of glow-in-the-dark stars seem to swirl and move when you stare at a certain spot for too long. "so... you wouldn't want to go to the homecoming dance with me?"

"i didn't say that," he replies.

"you did. you even said 'no'."

he tuns his face away. "well, i was obviously joking..."

your gaze snaps to his dark silhouette. "so you would? go with me, i mean?"

"duh, hyung. i want to steal all of the expensive chocolate. you promised you'd sneak me in."

you sigh, dragging a hand over your face. "i don't mean it like that, jungkook. i mean it as in... would you go to the dance with me as my date?"

he turns over his shoulder, his face drawn and sleepy. "but we're both boys."

"you didn't seem to have much of an issue about it when you said yoojin wanted to go with me. you've also exclusively had crushes on guys, jungkook. it's kinda gay, dude."

he harrumphs, turning back around and shuffling deeper into the covers. "yeah, but i thought you're supposed to go with a girl. to match your tie to her dress, or whatever. like, how would we even do the, uh... the little flowers?"

"corsages? well, we could match them to the colour of our suits," you suggest, "or get the same flowers and match that way."

"complementary colours," jungkook murmurs. "same flowers, same design, just different colours. i think that'd look nice."

you smile to yourself, shifting down until you're snuggled deep in the soft, thick linens. "yeah, i think it would."

comforting silence falls in jungkook's bedroom for a while. his breaths are soft and even, and you wonder if he's fallen back asleep. he might not even remember this conversation tomorrow morning – you'll have to ask him again.

"hyung?" he whispers, a gentle exhalation of breath. he sounds almost... nervous. nervous, yet curious. "you awake?"

"yeah."

"can you ask me again?"

"ask you what?"

he sighs and flips around to face you, pushing his messy hair back from his forehead. his eyes shine in the darkness, and the edge of his face is rimmed by yellow light from the hallway, seeping in through the bottom of his door. "ask me to the dance. like, properly."

you turn your head. his eyes are trained on you expectantly.  "oh. uh, i didn't plan anything fancy..."

he shrugs. "it's okay. i don't mind. just ask me."

you hum, grinning at his insistence. "alright. will you, jeon jungkook, go to the homecoming dance with me as my date?"

he smiles, too. it's smaller than yours, and he's glad that it's dark in the room – his warm cheeks would do nothing to aid him. you already tease him enough as it is. "yes, hyung. i'll go to the dance with you."

he tucks his face into the crook of his elbow, shivering slightly and tightening his grip on his pillow. you notice and shuffle closer. he leans into you, resting his face against your neck, and folds his arms around your waist. you throw an arm over his shoulders and tangle your legs together, squeezing him tightly as you bury your nose into his soft hair. 

he smells like his shampoo – berry, because he said the scent made him hungry and it would encourage him to eat more and therefore grow more. you only grinned, patted his head, and told him to keep dreaming. he nearly threw the bottle at you in the store.

bang!

you both jump, bolting upright. it sounded very close – just outside.

"what was that?" jungkook's voice wavers. 

 "i – i don't know. did an owl hit the window?" you say uncertainly.

"big freaking owl," he whispers. he glances at you. "should we check it out? what if it's hurt?"

you nod, frowning. "you first, then, hero." you reach down for the duffel bag near the dresser and pull out a jacket, throwing it on. after a moment, jungkook follows, waiting for you by the bedroom door. you join him, and he cracks it open.

the hallway outside is lit by a single tall lamp at the end. jungkook steps out, peering into his parents' room. he glances back and shakes his head.

"dad's gone."

"maybe he went to investigate, too," you suggest, but it's weak. you heard no footsteps outside the door, and the floorboards by jungkook's room are notoriously creaky.

his hand searches for yours as you shuffle through the dark house. all of the curtains are closed, and the only light that illuminates the house are the pale lines of grey moonlight curving past the edges of blinds and the nightlights near the bathroom and kitchen. the shadows are tinged an eerie blue.

"what do we do if it's actually an animal?" jungkook murmurs. "do we call someone?"

"i guess... we'll find your dad after this."

you move towards the back of the house, where the noise came from. you push back the curtains.

an empty green backyard. the rotary clothesline spins slowly, creaking on an angle. the neighbour's dog begins to bark madly.

"i swore it came from here," you mutter. you turn. "jungkook?"

he steps out of the laundry room at the end of the hall. "i'm here. dad's not, though." he raises his voice. "dad? dad!"

in the distance, something booms, low and rumbling. you jump and jungkook runs back to you, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards a window. amongst the lights of the city, a pillar of fire billows into the night.

"oh, god," jungkook whispers. "i hope no one was hurt..."

"i'm sure they're alright," you reply hoarsely, struck by the colour of the flames. against the darkness, the licking flames almost look like warped, tensed hands, scratching and scrabbling for the heavens. "dad – your dad. maybe he went for your mom."

another boom rattles the windows, far closer than the last. you yank jungkook away from the window, hugging his shoulders to your chest, but the shockwave passes, and the glass steadies. slowly, you straighten, watching the fire spread to nearby buildings.

"that one's way too close for comfort," you laugh nervously, your pronounced adam's apple bobbing. "i'm gonna call my mom."

he nods rapidly. the landline sits between the kitchen and the living room, and you dial your home. your fingers drum against the table as the line rings and rings.

the line clatters. "hello?"

your heart drops back into your chest. you grip the phone. "mom! did you hear those explosions? are you okay? they're really close to jungkook's house and his dad's vanished. what's going on?"

"baby, just stay calm, okay? i need you to take care of jungkook. stay away from the windows and don't go outside. there's some sort of sickness going around and everyone's – they're not alright. wait for david and listen to him. he'll get you out of the city and we'll meet up, okay? i love you, baby – protect ju—"

the phone beeps in distress. it's dead.

the dog stops barking.

"mom?" you try, anyway. she doesn't reply. you lower the phone and your eyes flicker back to jungkook – he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, rubbing his arms.

"so?" he ventures. "what did she say?"

"i have to stay with you and your dad. we're gonna meet up when we get out of the city – she said that people are getting sick. badly."

police cars' sirens wail past the windows, and the flashing lights veer across the room's walls past the curtains.

jungkook gulps, his knuckles turning white. "sick? what kind of sick? are we sick?"

"no – no, we're not. we're okay." you squeeze his hand reassuringly. "let's go pack our stuff – mom said we have to leave the city and that your dad'll take us."

"o-okay, hyung."

in the backyard, a figure lumbers towards the siding doors behind you. jungkook squints, confused – are they hurt? do they need help?

they slam their fists against the glass with a cracked scream.

you flinch and jungkook stumbles away with a gasp. it's a young man – a familiar one, with shaggy brown hair and a bloody blue shirt.

"daniel?" jungkook stammers. he flinches as fists beat against the glass, bitten-off fingers leaving trails of wet black blood. "h-he needs help...!"

you grab his wrist and pull him away from the doors. "don't! mom said to stay inside. he might be sick!"

he screeches on the other side of the doors. he's not wearing any shoes, and his ankle is crushed and broken, twisted at an unnatural angle. he doesn't seem to care.

"what kind of sickness does that?" jungkook whispers, clutching your shirt. "rabies?"

he throws his shoulder at the glass with his arm raised by his side. his fingers point towards the glass and snap backwards against his knuckles with a sickening crack.

"leave, jungkook, we have to leave!"

"leave to where? dad's still missing!"

 "i don't care where. we'll just – hide and close all the doors!"

at that moment, the side door flies open. jungkook's dad stands in the doorway, haggard and fully dressed. he staggers in, slamming the door behind him as daniel screeches – jungkook races up to him.

"dad! are you okay? you're bleeding!"

"it's not mine," he pants, grabbing jungkook by the arm and you by the shoulder. "c'mon – your mom's still in the city. we'll pick her up on the way out."

jungkook's eyes widen in realisation as david scans the porch and the street outside – dark and empty. a woman wails somewhere a few houses over. the car sits in the driveway, and david snatches the keys off of the buffet table beside the front door.

you pull open the door for jungkook and he slips in. you follow, and the engine revs and rumbles as david kicks it into motion. from around the house, daniel limps after the car with an outstretched hand, pale and black-veined. his face is contorted with empty, consuming hunger, snarling like a feral animal. he treads on the bloody stump of his broken ankle, dragging it at a right angle to his leg.

you tumble as the car pulls out of the driveway, crunching onto the loose gravel in the gutters, and fumble with the seatbelt, crossing it over jungkook's chest. his wide eyes and stiff shoulders are a clear precursor to his anxiety attacks.

you lean over, offering your hand. jungkook takes it with both of his and places it in his lap, crushing it tightly. you grip his fingers slowly, then release, over and over. his breathing steadies as he copies the rhythm.

"w-what... what if mom catches it?" he asks shakily. "she's gonna be close to everyone who's sick. will she become... like that? like daniel?"

"no," replies david, and you hear the waver in his voice as he ignores the road signs and takes the road into the city. "she won't. she's a good doctor – she'll know how to keep a patient sedated."

"he didn't have a foot but he was still chasing us, dad! i don't know if sedation will work for that kind of sickness," jungkook says in a small voice. "do you know where it came from?"

the car crests over a hill. david's blood-spattered hands shift around the wheel. "they're saying only people from the city are at risk. we're okay. how are you, yn? you holding up alright?"

"i'm fine." you glance at jungkook. "i managed to call my mom before the line went dead. she says you're going to meet up with her outside of the city. is it better outside? or is it everywhere?"

"i don't know," he sighs, pressing himself back in the seat. his crumpled dress shirt has the red imprint of a smudged hand on the shoulder. "there's no cell service and no signal anymore. before that, the alert said that there's a lockdown on the city. i think the, uh, illness is local, but i can't be certain. i just need to make sure you get to your family safely."

you nod with a swallow, sitting back. watching that man slam himself into the door... it was as if he didn't care for his body, and the way he lurched was as if he was pulled on strings. like a puppet.

the city streets burn with fires the size of buildings. the stench of rot and fear seeps into your pores. cars billow with smoke, wrapped around telephone poles. a flurry of action and reaction – people scream as pale, sickly hands tear at flesh and muscle, open maws snapping and snarling. a man begs for help, and you turn jungkook's face into your shoulder as three mouths gnaw at the stumps of his arms and leg. he screams, high and piercing, as their blunt fingers punch into his stomach, curling and pulling.

bright headlights. your eyes widen. "look out—!"

"jungkook, it's time to wake up."

pale light. the weight of a hand on his shoulder.

his eyes flutter open.

taehyung's lips tick up, a sympathetic shimmer in his eyes. "good morning. sun's out. you, um, talk in your sleep."

jungkook sits up. rolls his neck. it cracks and he winces. "so i've heard. did i annoy you?"

taehyung shakes his head, retreating as jungkook reaches for his jacket, which he'd folded beneath his head for the night. "no. i generally don't get much rest." he takes a seat on the edge of the busted couch, faded grey with age. springs poke up out of the yellow stuffing. he watches jungkook pack up his backpack and check his ammo, sliding the handgun into the back of his jeans.

"who's yn?"

jungkook's eyes flick up sharply.

taehyung folds his hands and nods, diverting his gaze. "sorry."

jungkook finishes packing up in silence. he feels it like the present – your hands on his, the uncertainty of your eyes but your reassuring smile. sometimes he still wakes up and expects to see you next to him, snoring away while his father flips pancakes in the kitchen.

"i think we should hit the mall," taehyung suggests eventually. "there might be something of value there that we can keep."

"and risk getting overrun by infected? fat chance."

taehyung flips his knife idly. "órale. but it's called risk and reward for a reason. if everyone thinks like you, the place could be a treasure trove."

jungkook shrugs on his backpack. he nods. "fine. we need medicine, anyway, and i think i saw a pharmacy in there. if i'm bitten, don't use it on me. i'll head off my own way."

taehyung's brow twitches into a frown. "okay."

 ten minutes later, they find themselves in the pharmacy jungkook spotted earlier. it was full of painkillers and antibiotics, bandages and anaesthetics. it was like heaven. the security shutters had been pulled down, but the rusted locks were easy to break – the darkness inside smells stale and dry and there is no sign of the infected or their spores, which is a nice reprieve from the groaning and clicking echoing in the mall outside.

jungkook holds his breath as the twitching shadow of a clicker passes dangerously close to the entrance. the characteristic spine-tingling vocalisations freeze taehyung in place, daring not even to shift the bottle of pills halfway to his backpack.

the shadow pauses right by the shutters. it screeches. jungkook can imagine the soundwaves rippling off of the environment, bouncing back to the awful bony protrusions bursting out of the front of their skulls.

it shuffles away, clicking with each step. a bottle smashes.

a runner screams, alert, the sound shocking through the mall. the sound of a hundred infected stumbling towards the source stampedes past the pharmacy, and jungkook's eyes widen as the agile shadows flit by under the security door.

at the other end of the mall, where they entered, a man yells out – in pain or fear, jungkook doesn't know. multiple gunshots fire at once, and different voices call out in a blind panic: who made the noise? where are they coming from? they're surrounded!

then, all at once, the shouting stops. no bullets fly.

taehyung creeps towards the security door. he lowers himself to his stomach, peeking beneath the sheets of steel.

he lifts his head, meeting jungkook's gaze. he shakes his head.

jungkook releases a silent breath. fuck. they'll have to find another way out.

on the bright side, most of the infected should now be concentrated around the main entrance. the only problem? according to the deteriorating map, the mall only has two exits: one blocked by the swarm of infected, and the other below ground in the parking lot. said parking lot was flooded, and the nearest entry into it was through a massive, gaping hole in the middle of the tiled floor, where years of rainfall through the broken glass ceiling had worn away the ground into a sinkhole.

after triple-checking the store and soundproofing their bags, they slip under the shutters one at a time, taking it in turns to lift the shutters just enough to get their shoulders through. a clicker lurches out of a fashion boutique – or what was once a fashion boutique. the mannequins in the window are still dressed in stylish dresses, and the poster of a thin blonde curls off of the wall.

before the clicker can force a searching screech through its ruined vocal chords, taehyung slams his knife into the centre of its blooming fungal growth, twisting the blade until its bony fingers stop pulling at his clothes.

runners bleed. clickers do not. jungkook used to fear runners the most, hearing them sob and whimper with intact voices. he used to wonder who was crying – the fungus, or a human?

he does not wonder such things anymore.

taehyung descends into the hole in the floor, his gun in hand. his torch swivels over the dark interior, and the water is clear and has no bad scent, meaning that it could be coming from somewhere else – like an exit.

taehyung beckons jungkook down. jungkook clicks on the torch slipped into the strap of his backpack and drops over the ledge, his fingers slipping on the wet tiles. he wipes his palms on his jeans, reaching for his handgun.

his eyes flicker over the looming shadows. the reflection of their torchlight in the water keeps prying at his attention, too much like the flash of bioluminescence to ignore.

tentatively, jungkook steps into the water from the collapsed section of the mall, his gun aloft. he takes another step, and another, until the ground flattens out. the water laps around his calves, and the slushing of every movement is far too loud.

something skitters.

both flashlights whirl in its direction. near a submerged car, visible only from the top of the rusted hood upwards, the water ripples.

the parking lot must spiral down into several floors, given the height of the water on the car. there might be a way out deeper down – maybe the water comes from the nearby river.

they can't investigate. not when they're not alone.

jungkook turns over his shoulder and jerks his head towards the shadows. taehyung nods, shifting his hand on the grip of his gun, and steps into the water behind jungkook.

there are so many pillars, and a significant number of cars and corners. they move through the darkness with their weapons up. jungkook's heartbeat thuds in his veins.

in the far corner is a rusty rolling door, wide enough to fit two cars. the ground begins to incline, and jungkook prays to whatever god there may be that past the door is daylight. he turns, his boots leaving prints on the dry concrete, and scans the garage. nothing moves.

he slips his gun into his belt and crouches, leveraging his fingers under the edge of the door. taehyung glances over his shoulder as jungkook grunts softly, straining. "need help?" he mutters.

jungkook tries again, pulling until his arms begin to tremble, and huffs as he leans back, lifting his torch and scanning the top of the door. the gears are rusted shut – worse than the door itself. old fungal growth crunches in the corner and the body collapsed in the corner is a jumble of bone, far past any danger of infection.

"we're not getting out this way," he replies quietly, rising to his feet and grabbing his gun. "we need to find another exit."

"what other exit?" taehyung asks. "the map gave us two, and neither is viable."

"yeah, hold on..." jungkook wracks his brain. the cold, damp, wet silence of the lot isn't helping, and he keeps spotting movement in the corner of his eyes that vanishes when he looks over. rippling water and the flash of eyes smooth out once he squints in its direction. he worries his lower lip between his teeth.

his eyes widen. "maintenance. there might be a maintenance tunnel we could use, or some sort of back entry for stock and shipments. it wouldn't be on the map but there’s bound to be one around."

"ah, por supuesto. we'd just have to head back up for that, get lucky and find a 'staff only' door that isn't locked up, actually leads to something, and not get swarmed by those damn runners while doing it all,” he states with a sarcastic edge, his jaw taut. something slinks past his shoulder and he whips around, aiming down the sights at disturbed water. his torchlight catches the flash of a desiccated hand and the edge of a blossoming fungal flower around the corner of a pillar. a single vein of bioluminescence reflects in the water, then vanishes.

he inches back towards jungkook, his boots splashing with every shift. his eyes dart around. his grip tightens on his gun. “¡madres! i don’t think these fuckers are gonna leave us alone for much longer. they’re doing the creepy fucking thing with their heads. i‘m gonna have to start shooting soon and i don’t wanna see how many there really are.”

"we either go up, or..." jungkook's gaze swings over back the way they came, towards the submerged car. "i think i saw a door there. open. how much to bet that it's our maintenance tunnel?"

taehyung's eyes follow his. his shoulders slump. "we're gonna have to swim...?"

shrugging, jungkook steps in front of him and licks his lips. he reaches up, pulling his dark curls to the back of his head. "you'd rather deal with clickers, runners, and hunters – or stalkers?"

taehyung's lips tighten. after a beat, he trails after jungkook. "i fucking hate this..."

swimming is the easy part, even when the water exceeds the height of the doors. the hard part becomes evident once they find solid ground.

the stench assaults jungkook's senses. his eyes water from the stink of decay, like overripe fruit and something far worse. he covers his nose and mouth, but nothing blocks the foul odour of cadaverine in a hallway of fresh, rotting bodies.

there are no flies – most of the damage seems to have come from the rats that squeak and disappear into nooks and crannies the moment that torchlight shines on their fat little bodies. behind him, taehyung retches, coughing and leaning heavily against the damp wall.

jungkook inspects the bodies. some lay face-down as if they'd fallen while running. others sit up against the walls, a variety of rifles, machetes, and bats scattered near their hands. the grey skin seems to have sunken closer to the bone as if the muscles beneath had been sucked out. several chests have been torn open to reveal half-eaten innards.

jeans, jackets, hats. civilians. hunters, most likely, based on the size of the group.

without a word, jungkook grabs taehyung's arm and pulls him through the bodies lining the curving hallway. they begin to thin out once jungkook makes a few twists and turns, and the maze-like tunnels all look the same. jungkook only stops once he can open his mouth without gagging.

taehyung looks ill. his face is pale under the beam of the torch.

"that was a massacre," jungkook says. "it wasn't starvation – or thirst."

taehyung nods unsteadily. "there were so many... so many bodies."

"they were hunters, taehyung. they were bad people."

taehyung glances back the way they came. "i guess so..."

jungkook takes his arm again, leading the way as he searches for something to tell him where they are. the walls are slick with algae, and some tunnels have collapsed with the weight of the water. jungkook knows they're getting somewhere when the sound of trickling water begins to fade.

at last, after several inclines, a set of steps, and several ducks through broken walls, the walls begin to dry, and the air smells fresher. hope sparks in his chest and taehyung feels it, too, hurrying forward in front of jungkook.

they turn a corner. the tunnel opens up into a dead end.

jungkook sighs, turning back to retrace their steps and try another route. but taehyung, ever the optimist, surges forward and inspects the walls closely, pressing his hands to the cold concrete. he squints upwards, following a series of rusted copper pipes.

"hey, jungkook."

he pauses. "what?"

"i think there's an opening up here, but i can't reach it. can you boost me?"

"an opening?" he doubles back. "where?"

taehyung points. over a shallow ledge, a darker section of shadow retreats into the wall. "boost me up, brother."

jungkook laces his fingers together and braces against the wall. taehyung isn't heavy, but he's still soaked thoroughly, and the wet slide of denim makes jungkook grimace. taehyung feels it, cursing in spanish as he shuffles along the narrow ledge.

he slides off his backpack. "hey, hold my bag. i need the space. be careful with that – it’s my baby."

“damn, i’ll catch it, alright? no need to get your knickers in a twist.”

“será mejor que sí,” taehyung mutters to himself. his hand vanishes into the hole but stops abruptly, sliding along what seems like a wall – until he gives a hard shove, and the wall creaks and gives way.

taehyung's face scrunches as he presses both hands against it, managing to shove his arms around the corner. he pulls, and it slides with a scrape.

pale light sneaks through the gap.

"hey, we're getting somewhere," taehyung pants, shaking out his hands as he draws them back through the hole. "catch me if i fall, okay? this pretty face deserves to live."

he grips the edge of the ledge and drops his body over it, then swings his legs up on his other side. he sits up, hooking his hands around the edges of the hole he'd cleared, and pushes his weight against his feet, planted firmly on the blockage. slowly but surely, it gives, and with a final grunt of effort, taehyung creates a gap large enough to squeeze through.

"et voilà, or whatever," he laughs breathlessly. "gimme my bag. my gun's in it."

he snatches it out of the air, hugging it to his chest and sighing in relief. "thank god, you're safe. my precious baby. if anyone steals you, i’ll unleash hell on ‘em."

he stuffs it through the gap and follows it, slipping most of his body through but turning onto his stomach halfway through. he lowers a hand. "i hope you're not as heavy as you look, ese. otherwise, i might have to leave you behind."

"like hell you will," jungkook scoffs, stepping back for a run-up and catching his hand. "get out of the way and shove that thing a little more."

"yeah, yeah." he disappears, and now that jungkook's close, he can tell that it's wood – some sort of cupboard or drawer. "ugh, heavy piece of shit... can you fit your ass through that?"

"i think so."

for once in his life, he's right. he blinks, his eyes adjusting to the light, and notices he's in an apartment: old, stained, but dry and clean. the kitchen is full of food supplies, plus a camping stove – jungkook pulls out his gun.

"check the bathroom. i'll take the bedroom," taehyung mutters, following jungkook's lead.

the bathroom has been modified, jungkook notices. a tank of water rests on a few sturdy planks, its tap facing down into the shower, and an empty bucket sits under it. the mirror above the sink is cracked and dirty at the seams, but wiped down enough to see his reflection for the first time in a week.

dirt, mud, and old blood stain his clothes. his skin, golden-brown, looks surprisingly clean – that dip in the parking garage did wonders. the only thing he has to worry about now is the potential for worms that eat his eyeballs.

he exits the bathroom at the same time taehyung returns with a fresh outfit, rubbing down his hair furiously with a t-shirt. the clothes are too large – his raised arms reveal his thin hips and the tight belt he has to use on the jeans. he'd been skin and bones when they first crossed each other's paths, and jungkook didn't want to ask why.

"there're enough for you, too," he says when he spots jungkook, "in the wardrobe. i took dibs on the leather jacket; i hope you don't mind."

"it better not smell like corpses," jungkook replies wryly, peeking into the bedroom. it's small, with a bed and a cabinet. the cabinet has the distinctive shape of the bottom of a television printed into its wood from the sun.

he opens the wardrobe, not expecting much. it's hard to find practical clothes that fit, and every year, it's even harder – not just the search, either. he remembers finding tiny onesies displayed at a memorial altar in a dirty, peach-coloured bedroom, with a faded mobile swinging above a crib. the candles were long dead, and the shattered photo frame of a woman and a little, pink-faced newborn sat central to it all.

he shakes his head, pulling on his still-damp boots. no time to think about that kind of thing.

"we're close to a q-z, did you know?" taehyung comments when jungkook emerges, dressed in a hoodie and a thick flannel jacket. he gazes out of the window, one leg swinging absently. "right there. you can see the lights."

"you can head there if you like. no idea if they won't just kill you on sight, but once you're in, the soldiers will do all the shooting for you."

"and fight over stupid ration cards?" taehyung clicks his tongue. "bullies and assholes, all of 'em. i'd rather get into a knife fight with a moose."

"you'd never win. do you know how fucking huge moose are?"

"no, man, it's easy. you just grab their antlers and hang on while you stick 'em in the eyes and go right for the brain."

jungkook scoffs, though it almost sounds like a laugh. taehyung quirks a smile, turning towards the quarantine zone once more. his face slackens, and he leans back against the window sill. "can we just... stay here for a while? i'm really tired, ese."

jungkook sighs. "we can't. especially not here. someone lives here, and i'm sure they won't take kindly to our presence. we'll be goldilocks, and based on the size of these clothes and how much food they have, i don't doubt that this person could take on a bear and win."

"imagine," taehyung chuckles, "you saying that, and then it is a tiny child you could punt like a football."

"yeah, there're no kids here."

they whip around, reaching for their weapons, but the man in front of them tilts his head, as if in challenge. in his hands, held low at his hip, is a military-standard twelve-gauge shotgun. he steps forward, blocking taehyung's backpack on the bench. "hi," he says without a smile. "you need to leave. right now."

"hey, carnal! ¿qué se te ofrece?" taehyung chuckles mirthlessly, eyeing his bag behind the stranger's heels. he raises his open hands. "i've got medicine. if you'll give me my shit, i'll give you a bottle of penicillin, and we'll be on our way."

jungkook tenses at taehyung's casual, almost threatening tone. the fucker has a shotgun out – it would rip through them like wet paper.

his gaze flickers between them. a shiny scar crosses the side of his face, trailing down into the collar of his jacket. "don't need it. why are you wearing my clothes?"

jungkook's heart drops like a stone. fuck! fuck fuck fuckity fuck! "let's just all relax." he lifts his hands slowly. "we're sorry for barging in. we got lost and this was the only exit we could find."

taehyung's eyes flit to the hole in the wall. he points, as if snitching on a misbehaving classmate. "did you know you had a hole there?"

the man moves the shotgun in his grasp, shifting into a more casual stance, almost friendly. jungkook closes his eyes.

they're going to die.

"i know," he says. "leads to the q-z. helps me smuggle shit in and out. you'd be amazed at the gold they'll give me for a pack of cigs."

"i would kill for a cigarette," taehyung sighs wistfully. "you wouldn't have one on hand, would you?"

the man glances between them, his tongue sliding over his front teeth. his lips twitch, nearly a smirk, and he kicks taehyung's bag back towards the bench in the kitchen. "come sit, you two. been a while since i had guests."

taehyung nudges jungkook when he moves past, keeping his hands in sight as he pulls out a chair in the kitchen. he places his palms on the table, widening his eyes emphatically at jungkook.

with a slow exhale, he obliges, taking the seat nearest to the stranger. he copies taehyung, clasping his hands loosely in front of him.

the man swings his bag off of his shoulder onto the bench, unzipping it. he sets his shotgun beside him, not taking his eyes off of them. "so, you're q-z people wanting out? still doesn't explain why you've stolen my clothes."

"we're not," jungkook replies. the man picks up a square white packet, plucking a single stick from it, and lights it with a steel lighter from the pocket of his jeans. the tip flares to life, burning bright orange, and he places it between his lips. "we're from out of town. didn't mean to get anywhere near here."

he pulls the cigarette away, exhaling a curling bloom of grey smoke. "and where did you mean to go? i'm pretty good at getting places i ain't supposed to be. i could help you."

he steps closer, extending the cigarette to taehyung. he eyes it and licks his lips nervously, but accepts it, placing it between his lips under the stranger's watchful eye. he nods, leaning back, and taehyung allows the bitterness of a fresh, proper cigarette to warm his lungs.

"just to the shopping centre nearby," jungkook explains. "we were looking for supplies, but a horde of infected cut us off. we found a tunnel and eventually ended up here."

his head tilts, and he crosses his arms. jungkook manages to retain eye contact despite his head shouting at him to submit and defer.

"you didn't happen across some hunters who were torn to pieces by a pack of clickers, did you?"

they glance at each other in alarm. jungkook's hands itch for that cigarette. "we... did. we heard it happen from the pharmacy."

the man hums. "you're not here to join the q-z, you're not here to escape the q-z, and you're not about to try to kill me for my shoes. i've made worse acquaintances. either of you fancy a can of bacon for dinner?"

"i might kill you for your shoes," taehyung butts in, taking another drag from the cigarette. "we could be hunters."

the man chuckles, and it's a surprisingly nice sound. it's melodic and warm. "hunters don't come in twos, and they certainly don't try to bargain as a first plan of action. now – bacon?"

they swap a glance, and jungkook notices the hesitance in taehyung's expression. hesitance means doubt, and doubt means that some part of him wants that bacon.

jungkook responds eventually: "sure. we'll take it." his eyes flicker again to taehyung, and he cracks his knuckles one by one to soothe his nerves. "you wouldn't be able to spare a drink, would you? my, uh, companion – he could use some water."

if he blinked, he'd have missed the slight shine in the man's eyes as he turns away. "yes, of course. here."

he tosses a water bottle taehyung's way, who catches it with the cigarette between his lips. hastily, he passes it to jungkook, barely getting all of the smoke out of his lungs before he chugs the water, sculling half of it in one breath. he pants softly, closing his eyes.

"you too, ponytail." a mug slides towards jungkook. "i don't have another bottle, but the water's safe."

he doesn't even stop to think. his paranoia lies silent at the sight of water, and it flows down his gullet before another thought passes through his mind.

it's been days since he last tasted clean water. it's the best thing in the world – better than cigarettes, better than bacon – and he feels its effects immediately, clearing his mind and making it easier to formulate his thoughts. it no longer feels like an effort to string together a sentence.

it's almost like a drug. when he comes to, he notices the man staring at him with an unreadable expression.

he reaches out. jungkook's body doesn't flinch, as if it knows, intimately and intrinsically, that he means no harm.

his callused thumb brushes a trail of water from his chin. his touch lingers, as if trying to figure him out – trying to find familiarity in the unknown.

he pulls away. "sorry. you... look like someone i knew."

it's a while before jungkook finds his voice. "oh," he whispers. he clears his throat, sitting up. "it's fine. we've all lost people we loved." he lifts his gaze, finding the stranger already looking back at him.

he seems to snap out of it, pushing himself off of the bench. he opens the cupboard and takes down a couple of cans of food, placing them on the table. "take these with you. if there's nothing else you need, you should take the north exit. patrols don't take that path and i cleared it out a few days ago, so you shouldn't encounter much for the first few miles. keep north and you should be out of the city before nightfall."

"thank you," taehyung says after a moment, glancing at jungkook when he doesn't say a word. he's staring at the man as if he's seen a ghost. "thanks for the food and water. and the cigarette." jungkook is still holding it. "we'll get out of your hair. ahem. you coming?"

his gaze snaps to taehyung's. he hurries out of the seat. "uh, right. yeah."

he extends the cigarette. the stranger takes it with a dip of his chin. he places it between his teeth, and the end burns brightly in the thin afternoon light.

as they take the front door, something buried deep and unmoveable in jungkook's psyche tugs at his will. he pauses. he turns, watching as the man puffs a perfect smoky ring into the air. it twists and curls before dissipating.

his lips part.

it slips past his teeth, your name. your name, like candied cherries – like round ice cubes, like sugary fruit jellies, a bittersweet novelty he dreams of each night.

you gaze at him with eyes of glass: eyes of stained glass, the towering panes of martyrs and patron saints – shattered, cracked with neglect and smothered by cold, grim nights.

but, when morning inevitably rises, the remnants of colour paint the pews with the glow of the sun, and jungkook is struck by every poetic, shallow, beautiful thing you have ever made him feel.

your eyes narrow, and the ashes from the butt of the cigarette flutter down to rest on the stone countertop as you stand straighter. "what'd you say?"

"jungkook," taehyung hisses through his teeth. "what are you doing?"

"that's your name," jungkook says quietly, stepping closer, "isn't it... hyung?"

your eyes flicker over his face – his eyelids, his nose, his jawline, the crease at the corner of his mouth and the soft upward tilt of the corners of his lips.

your thumb strokes the outline of his jaw, and he feels the tremble against his skin. he closes his eyes, pressing your palm to his cheek. the soft sound of your sharp inhale tugs at his heart.

"you're alive," you whisper hoarsely, raking your gaze over him, again and again, to carve his image into the back of your eyelids. the pale scar on his cheek is still there. "all this time, i – i thought—"

"it's okay, hyung," he sniffles, his eyes stinging. he throws his arms around you and you crash into each other, fingers digging painfully into each other's shoulders – flesh and bone, warm and beating. "you made it, too. we both made it. i'm so proud of us."

you close your eyes, burying your nose into his neck. he smells like sweat and effort, and his damp hair is full of grit. but he's warm and real, trembling in your arms as if you're ten years old all over again.

"my jungkook, my little jungkook," you murmur, chanting his name like a prayer, your lips pressed against his skin. you chuckle, and your eyes are damp. "not so little anymore, huh?"

he giggles wetly, his smile wobbling, and shakes his head. "'m always your kookie, hyung. 'm always your protector – i promised, didn't i?"

"you did," you exhale shakily, learning the new shape of him, where his shoulders align and where his face best fits against your neck. "my fierce little hero... i'm so glad you're home."

—

jungkook stares down at you, watching the even rise and fall of your chest with soft eyes. he cups your cheek in his palm, his lips twitching up as you lean into it unconsciously. his smile fades as he traces the outline of the burns trailing up your neck and lower jaw, ending just shy of the corner of your eye. the skin is soft and shiny, stretched with the years gone by.

he should have fought harder to stay with you.

in the corner of the room, sitting up between two cabinets, taehyung quietly refills his clips, sorting out the ammo they managed to come across. you had shared your stocks with them, and they'd been amazed at how much was stacked up in your wardrobe – apparently, trading for bullets was one of your main systems of barter.

"you should be sleeping," taehyung says, snapping the filled magazine into his handgun. he reaches for his bolt-action rifle, emptying the chamber. "i said that i'd take first watch."

"i don't feel tired," jungkook murmurs, brushing your hair from your lashes. "you can rest, if you want. i just..." he draws in a shaky breath, reaching down for your hand. he grips it, the slender tendons in his hand tensing and shifting. "i want to make sure he's alright."

taehyung speaks up: "how do you know each other? was this before... before everything went to shit?" he lifts his eyes above the rifle. “he your boyfriend?”

jungkook strokes shapes into the soft skin between your thumb and forefinger. "i've known him since before i could talk. i always loved him – but puberty makes everything weird, you know?" he chuckles to himself. "we weren't dating. not really. i was fourteen and scared of my own shadow, and i trusted the wrong people. they took me away from him and forbade i ever try to see him again, 'cause he wasn't one of us. they said they'd kill him if i tried. i thought i'd gained a family, but all i did was lose the only person i had left."

absently, he plays with your hair. touching you, feeling the warmth of your breath and the solid weight of your body, is the only way he can prove to himself that he isn't haunted by dreams of you.

"he's my everything," he whispers, his lips barely moving. his smile trembles and he lowers his head, pressing the backs of your knuckles against his lips and forehead. "my everything..."

your fingers squeeze his – gently, firmly. "don't blame yourself, hero. you did what you thought was right."

"i thought i could protect you," he sniffles. "i saw how they treated you, hyung. if – if i had a gun, if i had friends, i could get you out of there. but you were – you were hurt, i wasn't strong enough to carry you, i had no idea how to care for you... so i just... i just..."

out of the corner of your eye, the shadow of a man moves quietly out of the room. the door is no more – he moves into the kitchen, as far away from the bedroom as possible.

you hush him gently, sitting up. your knees cage his, and he feels small – tiny, young. as if everything bad will disappear if he hugs you hard enough. your lips nudge his cheek, warm and softer than he'd imagine. the scar shifts when you smile, so familiar that it aches like a bullet, but you no longer wince, no longer buckle under the pain.

he turns his face towards you like a flower to the sun. he slips his fingers around your nape, guiding your lips to his.

he's never kissed anyone before. it's never been a priority, what with all the infected chasing his guts. but, god, how he's thankful you are his first.

he's messy, awkward, bumping noses and clicking teeth. you tilt your head and pull him into you, his ear bordered by your thumb and forefinger. the lobe still has the tiny pockmark of an earring long gone – he'd been so excited, beaming with pride at the fact that he could now partake in his mother's morning ritual of choosing what silver matches which shirt.

you part, panting softly against each other's lips. the faint pale light filling the room illuminates him like a ghost – a memory, blurred around the edges.

you chuckle softly, stroking his cheek. the pad of your thumb swipes gently over his lower lip. "you really stink."

he laughs, giving your wrists a brief squeeze. "sorry. swam through shit to get here."

you lift a brow. "actual shit?"

"i fucking hope not."

you grin, taking the point of his chin between your fingers and bringing him to your lips once more. he sighs into it, fingers curling tightly in your thin grey shirt. your jacket is heavy around his shoulders, and feels kinder, warmer, than what he chose out of your wardrobe. he doesn't know why – you've certainly worn that jacket before, and he knew it belonged to you. he doesn't know why stealing things off of your back makes him feel more loved than stealing things off of your shelf.

"do you remember?" he whispers. "when we were little?"

"what about it?"

he bathes in your presence, your warmth. your hands are rough and callused, covered in scar tissue, but so are his. both of you have been through hell and back to stand where you are now. but where that is? it's together, standing in the same building, the same room, breathing the same fucked-up air that likes to carry extinction on its back.

"we promised we'd protect each other, forever and ever," he hums, linking his fingers with yours. he compares hand sizes with a soft smile. "well, i promised, at least. you might've just said it to stop me from throwing a tantrum. i'd like to keep that promise... if you'd let me."

"jungkook..."

"i know, i know," he interrupts hastily, "you don't want me to get hurt. but it's the end of the fucking world – if we're all gonna die, i'd rather die beside you than with that idiot outside. i don't even know spanish. i don't think he knows that."

"you took two years of french, you can guess," you snicker good-naturedly. "but, if you need it, i am here. here is an offer – why don't you ask the kid outside to join me and you? you seem to trust him and he's got balls of steel, talking like that to someone pointing a shotgun at their chest. i could, well, teach you my ways."

"your ways?" he tilts his head. "smuggling, you mean?"

you shrug. "it's definitely better than being a scav and surviving on moss and tree bark. if you really wanna leave – well, i won't stop you. but i'm not letting you out of my damn sight. might run off on me again."

"i won't run," he promises, placing a kiss on the curve of your throat. "and i'll only tell taehyung your offer if you can get him to stop talking like he does. he says the same phrases in spanish all the time, and i'm never closer to understanding what they mean."

you nudge his shoulder. "you call me 'hyung' all the time, hero. bit hypocritical, don't you think?"

he lets out a dismissive noise. "yeah, okay..."

"that's what i thought. now be a dear and go offer him a place to stay. you'll be in danger of getting shot at a little more, but the payoff's pretty good. i haven't had to worry about running out of ammo since i began, and quite a number of people are willing to trade their rations."

he smacks your shoulder as he stands. "so that's how you haven't yet been whittled down to a stick. you promise people the impossible."

"not impossible." you rise to your feet, following him. "i say i'll get them out of the city and i do. their survival beyond that is none of my concern."

he giggles softly, lacing your fingers together. "hard-ass. i like that in a man."

"yeah? i like a man who—"

an emphasised cough.

both of you turn. sitting on the windowsill, his boots rocking a chair back and forth on its hind legs, is taehyung. he lifts his hand to the cigarette between his lips. the end flares brightly in the dim room.

"so," he puffs through a cloud of smoke, "i take it that you've made up. or made out. both, probably." he turns towards jungkook. "you got a plan, brother? it's getting dark out."

briefly, jungkook goes over it with him. his eyes widen further with every sentence.

"smuggling? you want me to be discreet?" he asks. "that's like asking a fish to climb a tree. i don't think i can – i'm sorry. i'd just put both of you at risk."

"once upon a time, jungkook couldn't sleep without a nightlight, but now you tell me he's the one storming into flooded parking lots festering with stalkers. i'm sure i can get you to shut your mouth for an hour or two while we go trade with a couple of my people."

"we?" jungkook glances at you.

 you cross your arms, lifting a shoulder. "you wanted to learn. just so happens that i have a deal lined up for later tonight with a few guys inside the q-z. it's easy," you tell them when they share a dubious glance. "i'm heading out at first light to deliver the package. consider tonight a taste of tomorrow – if you decide you want in."

"i'm with you until the end of time," jungkook murmurs, resting his head against your shoulder. "gross poetry coming from me, i know. but it's true."

you kiss his temple. he smiles into your shirt.

"ah, for fuck's sake, nos van a meter al bote," taehyung mutters. he flicks the short stump of the cigarette, drained as far as he dares, into the ashtray, stamping out the flame. "do they even arrest people anymore? or is it just a small-calibre to the head?"

you reach forward, catching the chair before it slips and falls. you right it, pushing it under the table. "i wouldn't know. i've never been arrested."

"but you've been in there, right?" taehyung gestures to the quarantine zone. "surely you've seen someone get cuffed, and not in a sexy way."

"the last time i was in one of them, i was a teenager," you say simply, "and confined to medical. you can trust me, taehyung – i've been doing this since forever. besides, would you rather die from a bullet to the brain or be torn apart by a pack of clickers?"

he mutters begrudgingly, "the former." he jumps to his feet, stretching high above his head until his back pops. "very well. you've got me. i'll be your third wheel, but promise me that any and all displays of affection will be kept private – or at least in a corner that i am not in. ¿queda claro?"

"yes, it's clear," you say, amused. "alrighty, then – grab only what you'd need to protect yourself in case we're cornered. the rest you can leave behind, and i promise that it'll be here when we return."

while taehyung empties his backpack, swapping his rifle for a fine-looking machete he'd found in your room, you take jungkook by the hands, pressing your forehead against his. he hums softly, closing his eyes.

"i've missed you like hell," he whispers, stroking the delicate skin of your inner elbow. "i feel like i can do anything, now."

"careful, hero," you chuckle, pressing your lips to his to relish in his beating, tangible solidness. "you might just burn the world to keep us warm."

[stxrshxpxd]

“you taste so good”

pairing: 90s damon albarn x reader

warnings: halloween fic. smut featuring blood!!!

word count: 2k

promt: damon and reader grew up together in the same small town. now they're in their twenties and have come back for a class reunion party, but something about damon is very different.

The moon stared back at me in threefold through the reflection in the window to my left. She was half full and a deep yellow hanging just above the horizon. Next to her was the vague outline of Damon’s body in dark colours. We were wandering down the street I used to walk every morning to get to school. It amazed me to think that I had felt just about every possible emotion of mine on this very street. The town was quiet tonight and even though almost every house was lit from inside all the light around us felt dim and couldn’t compete with the sheen of the moon.

“Don’t you think it’s cold?” I asked Damon to my right as he walked through the chilly October night in nothing but jeans and a loose long sleeve. I focused my gaze on the crescent of his face illuminated by the moonlight, and noticed, for a fragment of a second, that his right eye gleamed in a peculiar way. It was like a tiny flash that came and went within the space of my heartbeat. It puzzled me but Damon absently shook his head and shrugged.

“I’m okay.”

We kept passing spots where we had played and hung out as kids, but they all seemed strangely eerie now. I suppose that was to be expected though, walking through your hometown at night in the middle of autumn. But Damon was strangely eerie as well. I hadn’t seen him since we were nineteen and we were now pushing twenty-six. Naturally a person might change in that time span but I could’ve never expected Damon to grow up to be so quiet and sombre.

As we reached the end of the street, faint music began to crawl into our quiet space. Its source was the reason we had come back home; for a reunion party with a bunch of our old school mates. It seemed the party was already in full bloom and it was nearing midnight.

As we approached the house we entered a sphere of stronger light and I automatically turned to look at Damon again. I was insatiably amazed at his face having adulted considerably since I last saw him, his cheeks hollowed out slightly and his jaw and cheekbones more prominent. His hair was longer and darker and fell in stripy lines down his forehead, and there was a short but even stubble gracing the lower part of his pale face. The better half of our teen years I had had feelings for him on and off and it was all coming back to me quite quickly, despite it not really feeling like it was the same person walking beside me.

I went to speak but was interrupted by a loud shriek that made me inhale and swallow my sentence in a gasp. Turning my head to the front door I was met with another old friend; Tanya. Tightly gripping two wine glasses in her hands, she tiptoed out onto the driveway in just her socks, and emptied her chestful of excited giggles in my ear as she engulfed me in a tight hug.

“Y/N, it’s been a lifetime! Gosh!”

“A six year long lifetime!” I gushed along with her and she kept laughing and hopping around on the spot, trying to stay up on the balls of her feet.

“Why are you so late? What were you and Damon doing in the bushes?” Tanya taunted and I rolled my eyes with a smile as she gave Damon a big hug too. He hugged her back with one arm and gave her a calm smile.

“God, I didn’t think it was possible you’d get even more handsome. I had almost wished you’d go downhill after graduation,” Tanya sighed excessively with a stroke of his emaciated cheek. She flashed me a playful grin and wink and then dragged us both inside. I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy coming over me at the sight of her caressing his face, but soon it was suppressed when I met all the familiar faces inside.

I spent about half an hour just hugging people and telling the story of what I’m up to nowadays a hundred times over, as well as getting drinks shoved into my hands. They were going down easy and after my second tequila shot with old footballer dreamboat William Bailey, I had just spotted Damon again. He was standing on the other end of the room with a beer in his hand and looking straight at me. He didn’t appear especially fazed but I felt a strong, odd feeling of jealousy, and even possessiveness, coming off him. It felt like there was an invisible rope tightly wound between us across the room. I laughed gently at his grave expression and waved him over while filling another shot glass to the brim.

Damon somehow walked slowly but was at my side in less than a second. I ignored the weird feeling that had settled in my stomach and blamed it on the alcohol, as I forced the shot up to his lips and he allowed me to pour it down his throat. With not one bit of flinching he swallowed and looked down at me with a leering smirk and half-lidded eyes.

“I missed you a lot, Y/N,” he said nearly under his breath, yet I could hear it clearly over the loud music. The longer I stared into his oceanic eyes the less of the party I heard and saw, and the harder it became to look away. I thought for a second that peculiar gleam in his eyes was back but it had vanished again by the next time I blinked.

“I’ve missed you too,” I responded in a small voice.

He tucked a wayward strand of my hair behind my ear and let his hand linger by the side of my face. I wanted to lay my cheek in his palm and let him hold the weight of my head as I kept staring into his eyes, but I refrained. I wondered if there had been something funny in one of my drinks, as I felt like I was entering some sort of trance when Damon stepped closer to me. I asked myself if I was breathing still and had to force a deep inhale. Then I held my breath because Damon had closed his eyes and I couldn’t help but do the same as I felt his lips interlock with mine.

“Y/N,” his silky voice echoed in my head despite him not taking a second to disconnect from my lips. In fact he caught my bottom one between his teeth and bit hard, making me gasp and causing my insides to flutter. I was nearly pulled out of my trancelike state at the sudden pain and faint metallic taste spreading in my mouth, but then my name rolled off his tongue again.

“Mm,” I hummed, eyes still drunkenly closed and balance thrown off in the safety of his arms.

“Let’s get out of here,” Damon whispered in my ear and the whisper seemingly multiplied as it did laps around my brain. I soothingly sucked on my bruised bottom lip and nodded, opening my tired eyes to find his lustful ones.

He led me out of the party slowly, our hands interlocked between his back and my front. A short meander through the house later we were outside again and I didn’t say anything for a long while as he led me down the street. Crossing the lawn opposite the church, I realised where he was heading, and before I knew it he had pushed my back against a cold metal pole in the heart of the local playground. I couldn’t tell you how many times Damon and I had sat on the swings behind me in our teens, and how many times I had dreamed about him forcing his tongue into my mouth like he was doing now. It felt like I had lived half a life after getting out of our hometown and I thought I had gotten past everything that was here, but feeling Damon’s hands harshly kneading the flesh of my sides I felt about sixteen again.

Damon responded to my small moans with groans of his own as he pressed his body against mine and grinded his clothed semi into me. I threw a few anxious glances at the houses all around us to see if there was anyone watching us where we stood in the sea of light from the scattered streetlights. Quickly my attention was stolen by Damon again, him clamping my lower lip between his sharp teeth. He did it harder than I might’ve wished for but it got mixed up in my brain with the pleasure of his hand having found its way between my legs now, and I decided that I liked it.

As his lips moved on down to my neck the pain caught up with me and so did the taste of blood. I sucked on my wounded lip and swallowed my own blood, yet for some reason I was still moaning ecstatically. It was beginning to feel like I wasn’t controlling my own body. Another sharp pain exploded from my neck and spread through my body in an instant, but I heard myself beg for more before Damon had even pulled his teeth out of my raw skin. I thought his teeth looked sharper than normal, but then again my mind was a complete haze.

“You have such beautiful skin, Y/N,” he whispered hoarsely and glanced up at me with his gleaming eyes. No matter how many times I blinked they didn’t go back to normal now. And my blood rested on his lips and down his chin. His hand dug inside my trousers instead and his freezing fingers quickly resumed circling my hot wetness.

I couldn’t tell if the growing feeling in my stomach was me about to pass out, or throw up, or if I was reaching my orgasm. I forced my eyes open when I felt him grab my hand and kiss down my forearm towards my palm. A few sticky, deep red kisses later he sunk his teeth into my palm as well and my stomach turned. My core was on fire with the feeling of my high building and my hand and arm ached as Damon kissed my bleeding wound, lapping up my blood. I couldn’t take my eyes off him nursing my shaking hand, and then suddenly I couldn’t keep from screwing my eyes shut when my high flooded my body. Shaking and whimpering, I began to feel lightheaded and the tiny stars that I had seen on the insides of my eyelids faded quickly. Everything turned black and I felt like I deflated, and all I could hear was Damon’s low voice.

“You taste so good.”

[90ekz]

butter me up ☆ g. satoru 

1:35 ───ㅇ───── 3:47 : black reader, lovesick!gojo, choking (m. receiving), name calling (baby, slut), biting, degradation, slight objectification, overstim, kink discovery, switch!gojo, jealousy/claiming, lowercase intentional, nipple play.

an. i hope yall like this cause i feel like it sucks so bad but 😵‍💫😵‍💫 enjoy!

he did it on purpose.

satoru knows how annoyed you get when he wears those tight compression shirts. he knows just how much you hate the way other people ogle at him, but come on.

he’s only wearing them to work out!

“come on, it’s just for the gym. you’re being dramatic.”

you rolled your eyes at his lack of empathy. satoru’s problem is that he doesn’t know just how attractive he is. sure, he’ll fake cocky just to be annoying, but he doesn’t really know.

he’s completely unaware of the way women eye his bulging arms and chest. satoru is a complete beefcake, and he’s bouncing-off-the-walls happy at the chance to show that off.

especially with these dumb fucking shirts. asshole.

“just for the gym. sure.”

“if it’s that serious, then come with me,” your interest might have been ever so slightly peaked at this idea.

“and, well… if you get jealous at any point, i’ll make it up to you. how ‘bout it?”

satoru placed both hands outside of your body, leaning into your personal space with that.. dumb smile on his face. you hoped that he could tell how hot your face was getting.

“whatever.”

you were nervous.

part of you was hoping that you were wrong, just so you didn’t have to sit through an hour and a half of watching your boyfriend get eyefucked by other women.

but another part of you really wanted to see what kind of apology satoru had in mind.

he rubbed circles into your thigh the whole ride there, often times brushing against your clothed slit. you heard him chuckled lowly when you brushed him off.

when you arrived, you kept an eye out. as he started one of his sets, he noticed how hard you were scowling. he paused to stroke your chin delicately.

“‘gonna get wrinkles if you keep that up. ‘s okay baby.”

you couldn’t help but melt into his touch a little bit. it was annoying, he always knew how to sweet talk himself out of any situation.

you didn’t see much of anything to be concerned about, especially since you were focused on your own workout. you were pretty satisfied to say the very least, cause no one needed to be eyeing your man but you.

satoru was looking increasingly more smug as time passed, even full blown grinning by the time you two were leaving, until some girl he apparently knew came up and literally barreled herself into his plush chest.

she chatted with him while occasionally squeezing his biceps as if it was second nature, not even sparing you a glance.

thankfully, satoru spoke up about how you two needed to get going, but the damage had already been done.

the car ride was eerily quiet on both ends, brief words only being exchanged when he pulled into the driveway.

“told you.”

“that had nothing to do with the shirt, though! she’s just touchy!”

you knew satoru was a friendly person, so you couldn’t be too mad at him. but you still had the right to have an attitude. at least for a little bit.

he trailed behind you into your apartment muttering profuse apologizes. you weren’t hearing him. you just slumped into the couch.

“the silent treatment? really? i already said im sorry, ma. what else do you…” before you could react to his words, satoru was smirking and peppering kisses on your neck.

he knew how sensitive your neck was, and you immediately had to choke back your giggles.

“st-stop! what are you doing?!”

“i did say i’d make it up to you, didn’t I,” satoru grinned down at you from his position, and you couldn’t help but feel shy at the clear glint of something suspicious in his eyes.

“mm? how so?”

“you tell me.”

you knew those words. the silent permission for you to take control, to have your way with him. they weren’t spoken often. it made you smile, knowing he was letting you, that he was trying to be better.

you eventually ended up on top, and found yourself reaching under satoru’s shirt to caress his chest. he groaned as soon as your delicate fingers came into contact.

“what would all your lil fans think if they saw you like this? hmm?”

“f-fuck.” you could feel his cock hardening against your back at this point, all from the stimulations to his nipples.

he’d always been sensitive there. satoru violently twitched under your touch as your tongue swirled around his buds.

“cmon.. get these off already.” he tugged at your pants stubbornly, causing a smirk to slip on your lips.

“don’t rush me slut. you said you’d make it up to me, right?”

you couldn’t possibly miss how a shiver violently wracked his body at your degradation. you didn’t know he was into that, guess he was hiding huh?

your pussy ground down onto his cock while you watched for all the little sounds and movements you could draw from him.

satoru whined at each movement against his cock, loudly begging you to just put it in already. “aww, poor baby… you want me to help you?” satoru nodded hastily, not wanting to wait another moment to be inside you.

when you finally pulled your pants and panties from your silky pussy, satoru couldn’t help but smile. you were wet enough for him to slip right inside you, which he did. he cooed at your reaction to the stretch.

“where’d that attitude go? you seem like you want my help more than anything..”

you couldn’t respond, considering how busy you were pulling your hips up and slamming them back down. you couldn’t figure out if that motion was too much for you to continue, but satoru made the choice for you.

his hips pistoned into yours suddenly, successfully knocking all the thoughts from your brain.

“shit—look at you, baby, such a mess f’me.”

“fuck—‘toru, g’nna break me!”

the room was spinning with the force of how hard his cock was splitting you open, leaving you with nothing to hold onto. your hands eventually found satoru’s neck, and you didn’t miss how breathy his voice got.

“fuck, fuck, fuck! ‘perfect baby, ‘s perfect..”

you squeezed a little harder, resulting in those pretty blue eyes rolling to the back of his head, which only pushed you that much closer to the edge of release.

satoru’s cock pushed against that soft, spongy spot inside of you one, two, three times and you were spasming around his cock with no warning.

he breathed in deep once your hands got loose enough, but he didn’t dare stop his thrusts.

“want every one to know ‘m yours baby. only you—shit!”

when your teeth sunk into his shoulder, satoru melted, finally spilling deep inside of you. overstimulation set in your bones as you felt his raw cum fill your womb.

you were so ruined, and satoru wasn’t any better.

“d’you accept my apology?”

“hmm. depends on if you do one more favor for me.”

watching women look at satoru wasn’t as been when they were staring in jealousy at his bite marks, cause they knew who made ‘em.

[gerrystamour]

here i have found some peace of mind [chapter five]

Rated E | Steddie

[ FIRST ] [ PREVIOUS ]

Since Steve is transmasc and I am transmasc, I base a lot of his deal on my own. This means: - I use a mixture of feminine and masculine terminology for his anatomy. - Steve does not have bottom dysphoria and is generally okay with vaginal penetration. - Steve's libido is very similar to my own. CW: There is even more smut in this chapter, more phone sex to be exact.... Now with ART by the AMAZING @sentient-trash !! It is nsft, so crops only here, and the full image is viewable on Simon's Spicy Twitter and on Ao3!

[ READ ON AO3 ]

now i'm going out into the wild

Steve could barely sleep the night before Corroded Coffin was set to arrive. It didn’t help that he and Eddie decided to try and give each other some space ahead of actually meeting each other. They hadn’t spoken over the phone since they both jerked off together. They were still texting every day, but they both thought it smart to keep their distance, just a little bit.

He hated it, if Steve was honest, but he would tolerate it for the few days he had to.

The band’s stay was planned out and that almost made it worse for Steve.

At around two in the afternoon, Chrissy would arrive to collect the keys to their rooms and tour the property a bit with Steve. The band was going to be at the venue to do a sound check and rehearsal, then they had a late-night talkshow to appear on, so they wouldn’t be arriving at the property until well after Steve’s shift ended.

But the band would absolutely be on-property when Steve arrived for his shift the next day. They had some filming to do around Chicago, but that was slotted for part of the morning and would be done by the early afternoon.

For most of Steve’s shift on Friday, Eddie would be nearby, and Steve would have to not think about that. But he would cross that very horny bridge when he got to it.

When two in the afternoon rolled around, Steve found himself standing in the lobby with Will and Hopper, the head of security for their property, waiting for Chrissy’s arrival.

“Would both of you just stop bouncing?” Hopper finally snapped at them, and they immediately froze. “You’re going to make me nervous if you keep this up.”

Taking a deep breath, Steve glanced at his phone and then back out to the driveway. A taxi was rolling to a stop, and then Chrissy hopped out of the back. She bent at the waist to talk to the driver a bit more, her whole body shaking with a laugh before she waved and shut the door. When she turned around and started to walk in, her eyes landed on Steve and the wattage of her smile dialed up several notches and he couldn’t help but match it.

“Chrissy, such a pleasure to finally meet you,” Steve greeted, stepping forward and offering a handshake.

“Oh, screw that,” Chrissy scoffed, dodging his hand and pulling him into a tight hug. Without really thinking about it, Steve returned the embrace with a laugh. “It is amazing to finally be here!” she said, and as Steve pulled away, he caught Chrissy lowering her phone with the front-facing camera still going.

Meeting her eyes with a raised eyebrow, Chrissy feigned an innocent look, shrugging a little bit.

“Just letting the boys know I got here just fine without them,” she said, addressing all three of them now before she sent a message with a few quick taps. From Steve’s vantage point, he could see that she had only sent a picture, and from the multiple responses that flooded her screen, it was a groupchat.

In his hand, Steve’s own phone began to vibrate with several rapid-fire texts.

Steve looked back at Hopper and Will, and they were both watching him and Chrissy with similar yet completely different suspicious looks.

“Alright, that’s settled! Hi!” Chrissy greeted as she tucked her phone into her purse, holding her hand out to Hopper. “Chrissy Cunningham, pleasure to meet you!”

“Jim Hopper, head of security around this place,” Hopper responded, accepting her hand with a firm handshake.

When Chrissy turned to Will, he somehow managed to rein in some of his bewildered excitement to shake her hand as well. “Will Byers, front desk supervisor, huge pleasure to meet you,” he said pleasantly, smiling shyly when she tugged him closer to say something quietly in his ear.

When she stepped back, she winked at Will before turning to look at Steve. “So! The rooms?” she asked, and Steve gestured toward Will.

“Actually, Will is going to take point on this tour, with Hopper. I’m just along for the ride,” Steve replied, winking at the wild look Will gave him. So maybe Steve didn’t tell Will he was leaving the tour up to him, but he knew the kid could handle it.

“Amazing! Lead the way, Will,” Chrissy said brightly, and immediately fell into step with him as he gestured toward the elevators.

Hopper stopped Steve before he could follow the two of them right away. “You’re not messing around with a client, right kid?” he asked in a low voice and Steve flushed.

“Chrissy? No!” Steve replied, and at Hopper’s stern expression he continued, “Seriously Hopper, nothing is going on between me and Chrissy. We just talked a lot while preparing, so we’re friendly now.”

“That’s why she took a selfie while hugging you? I’m old but not blind, Steve,” Hopper bit out before smiling at some guests that walked past.

“Yes! We’re friendly, possibly even friends, I don’t know because I’ve kept things strictly professional with Chrissy,” Steve repeated, and maybe he was wording things specifically to make them not baldfaced lies. Because, yes, he was strictly professional with Chrissy. He was not with ‘Chris’.

Hopper frowned down at Steve before shrugging. “Fine, I’ll drop it,” he said, and Steve could tell he was not actually going to drop it, at least not completely.

The tour went by quickly, Will quickly slipping into his element and brushing off the nerves. He was chatting and joking with Chrissy by the time they had returned to the lobby. Hopper had excused himself from the tour midway through, claiming he had to do his rounds but honestly, he was just bored.

“I’ll go get the keys for the rooms,” Will said, stepping away and hurrying to his desk in the back office.

Chrissy turned to Steve with a bright grin. “Eddie wanted to skip sound check, by the way,” she said, nudging Steve with an elbow. “He’s very excited to see you.”

Steve blushed as he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m really excited to see him, too,” he replied.

“I just—thank you,” Chrissy said suddenly, intensely sincere as she grabbed his elbow gently. “For giving him a second chance. I haven’t seen him this happy since we were in high school.”

Steve blinked down at her, unsure of what to say to that, but luckily was saved figuring that out when Will reappeared with a big white envelope.

“Here you are, the keys and information letters,” he said with a smile, handing it to Chrissy.

“Perfect! You guys are just on top of it!” Chrissy gushed, tucking the envelope under her arm to fish an envelope of her own out of her purse. Holding it out to Steve, she said, “This is a gift for being amazing. I am giving these to you because I always gift these to the amazing hotel employees that help us.”

Steve could feel Will vibrating next to him as he accepted the envelope and opened it. Inside were two tickets to the concert, and he could see a big VIP stamp on them. Will peered over Steve’s shoulder and gasped loudly in his ear.

“The meet-and-greet with those is after the concert. It’s a little bit more intimate since there’s only a handful of these tickets,” Chrissy explained, and when Steve finally looked back at her she was smirking. “You don’t already have plans, right?”

“Well, I mean, now I do,” Steve said with a laugh, waving the envelope and Chrissy clapped happily.

“Yes! I was hoping you would accept them!” Chrissy said before shifting the envelope of keys so she could pull Steve into another hug. “Last one for the road, and a real one, too. Now that I’m not pranking Eddie.”

Steve laughed and returned the hug before separating. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Chrissy,” Steve said warmly as he pulled away.

By the time Chrissy finally left in another taxi, Will was actually bouncing.

“Steve, please…” he started, grabbing Steve’s arm. “The second ticket…”

“Yeah, I was thinking of bringing Henderson,” Steve teased, grinning when Will gasped.

“Steve!”

❖

When Steve got home, he had to fight the urge to immediately check the text messages from Eddie. He needed to get changed and then eat first or else he would get wrapped up in texting him and do neither. So that’s what Steve does, changes and eats, and even manages to go through their mail before he shuts himself in his room.

Eds [sent at 14:07]: wthhhhhhhh 😭😭😭 why is chis hugging u 🤬🤬🤬 isnt that unprofessional 😬 Eds [sent at 14:11]: stevie pls im legit so 😭😭😭😭😭😭 abt this rn baby that is my hug wtfffffff 😩 Eds [sent at 14:13]: whyd chrissy have to go meet u AFTER ur lunch break 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 this sucks that im gonna have to wait until you get home now to get even a reaction 😩 Eds [sent at 15:23]: ugh we have some stupid 🤬 fucking 🤬 talkshow 🤬 to go on tonight my leg is ✨ fuckn killing me ✨ rn Eds [sent at 16:31]: the beds at ur hotel are fuckn next level babe 🥴🥴🥴 wtf it feels like a fuckn cloud 😴☁ Eds [sent at 16:56]: guess what time it is babe ❗❗❗❗❗❗ ✨UGLY 👏🏻 ASS 👏🏻 BUG 👏🏻 TIME 👏🏻✨ this was out at the smoking area it made garebear cry 😔 true story 😔 Eds [sent at 17:21]: the redhead that parks cars is so fuckn mean 😬 i adore her 🥰 i want her for our bus driver immediately❗❗❗❗❗ she actually made garebear cry 😔 real true story this time 😔

Steve’s face hurt with how big he was grinning by the time he finished reading the texts.

Steve [sent at 20:07]: You absolutely cannot steal our best valet. You wouldnt last a week w her and u know it

When Eddie didn’t immediately respond, Steve knew they must have been actually busy, so he grumbled as he searched for something to occupy his time before he could go to bed.

One thing he thought of was to listen to Corroded Coffin’s music, study up on it so he wasn’t completely out of place at the concert the next day. He could always watch the music videos he had been pointedly ignoring, especially the one that still was from…

How bad could it be? Steve had watched more than a few sexy music videos and been just fine after. It’s just a music video, that was probably the sexiest shot from it, it would be fine.

Except Steve didn’t really consider the fact that, of all the sexy music videos he had watched in the past, he didn’t have an imminent date with the vocalist.

The name of the song was Dark Altar, and as he remembered from the five seconds he had watched a month ago, it started with Eddie crawling naked out of a hole in the ground, his body covered in mud, viscera, and some sort of slime. It should’ve been disgusting but with the way Eddie’s eyes were hooded as he crawled, and his veritable mane of curls framing his face in a mess that made Steve imagine burying his hands in it and pulling…

Steve knew with absolute clarity only thirty seconds in that he absolutely would not be able to be normal about it, already shifting his legs open as his dick throbbed. However, he was completely enthralled by the video, watching as the scenes switched between Eddie writhing on a forest floor, seemingly naked, and sitting atop an ornate altar wearing only a pair of leather pants. There was something about Eddie being barefoot that was adding to the entire appeal but Steve couldn’t get his flustered brain back on track to figure that out.

When the priest began showing up in shots, the video definitely took a turn toward overtly sexual, with the scenes of the priest getting more and more compromising, and not even just with Eddie. The rest of the band also had their own moment with the priest character. There was one scene that Steve actually worked very hard to pause because it went by so fast he almost doubted it happened. Sure enough, there was a two-second scene in the music video of the whole band with the priest that promptly melted Steve’s brain.

The angle of the shot was from the end of the altar where Eddie was laying on his back with the priest kneeling in prayer while straddling Eddie’s hips, a rosary hanging from his clasped hands. Eddie was reaching up and raking his claws down the priest’s chest, ripping through his shirt and skin, drawing blood to the surface. Behind the priest, Jeff was pressed close as his hands wrapped around the man’s hips, sliding under the waistband of his pants. On the right, Gareth was kneeling on the altar, pulling the priest’s head back to rest on Jeff’s shoulder by a fistful of hair. On the left, Grant was climbing onto the altar and had a clawed hand wrapped around the priest’s throat, just above his collar.

With a shivery groan, Steve took a screencap of the paused scene, resolving to hopefully find a more high definition still if it existed. Pressing play again, Steve finished watching the music video, shivering as his arousal filled his gut with heat.

Just as the video was coming to a close, Steve’s phone vibrated with a text from Eddie.

“Speak of the devil,” Steve breathed with a small chuckle to himself at his joke, closing YouTube and opening his texts.

Eds [sent at 20:23]: idk what ur talking about 😒 red will love me u’ll see 😤 Eds [sent at 20:24]: u eat dinner big boy 💕💕💕??? u better eat if u haven’t 😠😘🥰

Smiling fondly, even with how much his dick was throbbing and how wet he felt, Steve debated how he should text him back. They were giving each other some space before seeing each other in person, especially following them having phone sex, Steve knew that. It had been his idea, even. But Steve wanted to hear Eddie while he got off again.

Steve [sent at 20:24]: hey you busy? wanna call you Eds [sent at 20:25]: 🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬 stupid talkshow in like 15mins 🙃😩 i'll call u later? 👉🏻👈🏻

Steve couldn’t help the bubble of disappointment that rose in his chest at that, though it made sense. He knew Eddie’s schedule for the day, so he should’ve known better than to ask.

Steve [sent at 20:25]: i'll be in bed by then, nvm Eds [sent at 20:26]: ☹ whats up baby u okay?

At Eddie’s question, Steve knew he had to confess that this was a horny call he wanted to have. He could have a bit of fun with it, couldn’t he?

Steve [sent at 20:27]: just watched the music video for Dark Altar Eds [sent at 20:27]: 😏 oh???? Eds [sent at 20:28]: 😏 and?? 😏😏😏 ur thoughts??? 😏

Steve shoved his pajama pants and boxers down to mid-thigh and pulled his shirt up to expose his chest and stomach. With a groan, he typed out his message and the moment he sent it, Steve rolled over to grab his favourite vibrator out of his bedside table drawer.

Steve [sent at 20:28]: thinking I can’t wait until I get to take u home on Saturday Eds [sent at 20:29]: 👀👀👀👀👀👀❗❗❗❗❗❗

With a huff, Steve turned the vibrator on and worked the head of it against his dick gently, whining a bit.

Feeling a bit mean, Steve took a picture of himself from the chest down, pink vibrator in his hand and his nakedness obvious. With the way his pants and boxers were still around his thighs, pulled tight across the open space with the spread of them, a shiny, wet spot of slick was clearly visible in the shot, revealing just how much the music video affected him.

There was a moment where he hesitated sending the image, the lewdness bringing a hot flush to his ears, but it was only a moment. Hitting send, Steve pressed the vibrator into his cunt and turned it up.

Steve didn’t get a text back right away, and that was fine. That just meant that Eddie had probably been pulled away, that he would see the picture when he was done with the interview. The image of Eddie dealing with his little issue had Steve moaning and working the vibrator in his cunt more deliberately, more determined, angling it to vibrate against his g-spot on every other glide inward.

It was still disappointing that he couldn’t hear Eddie’s voice while he got off, and a bit deliriously, he opened Spotify to put on Dark Altar.

The priest in the music video was just similar enough in his appearance that Steve could easily imagine himself in his place. Steve could pretend that he was the one being grabbed and clawed. It was him straddling Eddie’s waist or nuzzling his mouth against Eddie’s crotch, or surrounded by four attractive men as they manhandled and fucked him.

So lost was he in his fantasy that Steve almost missed when his phone vibrated with a new message from Eddie. Opening the message, he saw that it was a voice note and let out a happy little sob. Immediately, he got a bit more comfortable, pressing play and dropping his other hand to tug at his dick while he fucked himself desperately with the vibrator.

“Jesus H. Christ, Stevie, you can’t do this to me while I’m wearing leather pants and about to go on a talkshow,” Eddie’s voice growled, making Steve’s breath catch in his throat and the coil in his gut finally, finally pull taut. “I’m half-hard and surrounded by people and about to go on TV, and honestly that’s turning me on so fucking much.”

Steve gasped at that, the thought of Eddie being seen so turned on, that he was going to be on TV in that state, and it was because of him… Steve moaned, eyes fluttering and rolling back as his orgasm barreled forward, ready to crash through him.

“You’re talking about taking me home on Saturday, but Stevie, you keep up this teasing? I’m gonna have to do something about it tomorrow after the concert,” Eddie groaned quietly. “Would fuck you in the middle of the VIP event if I had to.”

That was it for Steve.

With a sob, he came, his cunt clenching desperately around the vibrator. Steve stopped fucking himself with it and instead angled it just so, pressing it into his g-spot while he worked his dick, dragging himself through a second orgasm almost immediately after.

Not even letting himself recover or turning the vibrator off, Steve reached up to his phone and started recording his own voice note. It took him a few seconds to catch his breath, still shuddering from the aftershocks of his releases with each exhale having a small vocalization.

Finally, after a thick swallow and a contented groan, Steve pulled the vibrator out of his cunt and said, “Careful, Eds, I might hold you to those pretty promises…”

Ending the recording, Steve sent the voice note and panted up at the ceiling, finally turning the vibrator off and laying it across his tummy. With a smirk, Steve took a picture of his vibrator laying across stomach, shiny with slick that was smeared across his skin and sent that as well.

Steve felt good, floaty, but also deeply exhausted and he knew he had to get cleaned up and probably change his duvet cover because, yeah, things felt pretty slick downstairs.

But for the moment, he just happily imagined Eddie’s reaction to the voice note and photo, idly fantasizing about the next day.

❖

“Eddie, we’re on in like two minutes, stop being weird on your phone with your boyfriend,” Grant hissed and Eddie groaned.

With a sigh, Eddie quickly adjusted himself in his pants and turned to join the others. Luckily, he was exaggerating a bit about how hard he was to Steve, but it was a close thing.

“Dude, you know he’s gonna be fucking ruthless if you’re mooning over Steve up there,” Gareth warned Eddie as he joined them just before the doorway onto the stage. “Remember when Grant was still chatting up that stage tech?”

Eddie grimaced. “Yeugh, yeah, I remember,” he said, looking skyward with a little smile. “But I mean, we didn’t really help at all.”

“Of course we fuckin’ didn’t, and you can bet you’re nonexistent ass that we won’t help you out if you put your little thing with Steve on his radar,” Jeff interjected, leaning over Eddie’s shoulder with a sidelong smirk. “Turnabout is fair play and all that.”

“What the fuck ever, let’s get this over with,” Eddie sighed as they were announced, and he led the way out, waving at the studio audience as he made his way over to the couch.

They were on The Late Show with Murray Bauman, a dreaded talkshow for most celebrities because Murray was an asshole. He was a former investigative journalist who decided to put down the pen and take up torturing celebrities with his smug grin and sweaty, balding head.

And boy, was his grin smug tonight.

“Hello, boys,” Murray practically sang as they got settled on the couch, Eddie closest to him with Grant on his right, then Gareth and Jeff. “Long time, no see!”

“Not nearly long enough, Murray,” Eddie said with a dimpled grin.

“Take it up with your agent, Edward,” Murray deadpanned before they dug into the interview.

They talked about the new album, the tour, the openers they had on board, how much the bus sucked and what they were looking forward to most when the tour ended.

At some point, Eddie felt his phone vibrate, but he ignored it, then it vibrated again immediately. Steve sent two messages, one right after the other, and Eddie had to sit there making banter with Murray Bauman. Pretty soon, only thoughts of those text messages were passing through his mind, wondering what they were, and it wasn’t long before Eddie forgot he was literally sitting on a couch on a talkshow and checked his text messages.

In his defense, it was almost nine at night and his Adderall had worn off two hours ago.

Of course, it was a voice note but also an image, and though Eddie only glanced at it, he caught enough; Steve with a pink vibrator across his stomach, the smooth surface of it shiny with slick.

Eddie dropped his phone into his lap immediately, feeling his ears go hot as his cock throbbed in his pants. Lifting his bad leg to cross it over the other and hopefully hide his growing boner, Eddie turned his attention back to Murray.

To his utter dismay, Murray was watching him, his eyes bright and his grin malevolent.

“No,” Eddie said pleadingly.

“Well, that little moment is a good enough segue into my next question,” Murray drawled before the Steeeeve Spotting intro from their Tour Diaries started playing loudly in the studio. Which meant that the sounds of Grant, Jeff, and Gareth moaning and wailing Steve’s name filled the studio. It was too clean to have been pulled from the YouTube video, so Steve leaned over and glared at Gareth.

“You fucking traitor,” Eddie said sourly, without any heat.

“You brought this on yourself, Eddie,” Gareth shot back.

“You see, Edward, I reached out to Mr. Emerson here to ask for that brilliant little theme song and your bandmate was quite protective of it. Well, of you mostly, however! I made him a deal that he agreed to the terms of, and now here we are!” Murray said dramatically.

“What deal?” Eddie groused, covering his face.

“If you could make it through the entire interview without checking your texts, this wouldn’t even be brought up,” Jeff said, leaning forward around Gareth to grin as Eddie flipped him the bird.

“So, Edward,” Murray began gleefully. “Let’s talk about Steve.”

“God, let’s actually not talk about that menace, I’m begging,” Eddie said, grimacing at Murray’s laugh.

“I’m sure he is a menace, huh. Care to share those texts with the rest of the class, Edward?” Murray pressed, propping his chin on his hands and batting his eyelashes.

“Absolutely not,” Eddie replied immediately, sucking in a deep breath and shaking his head. The boys began to giggle amongst themselves next to him, and Eddie elbowed Grant before reaching across with his cane to hit Gareth and Jeff’s shins. “No, nope, no way.”

“You’re going to be on my show and look at your text messages, and not share?” Murray asked with exaggerated hurt. By now the audience was laughing almost nonstop.

Eddie sighed. “Yep, that pretty much sums it up,” he said with a firm nod.

“Edward!” Murray gasped loudly. “Are you sexting on my couch right now?”

The audience was roaring with laughter, and maybe Eddie played up his embarrassment a little bit, visibly going through five stages of grief before saying, “Technically, no.”

“Looks like they’re sending voice notes, Murray,” Grant said, his voice close to Eddie’s ear as he leaned over.

It was at that point that Eddie realized that his phone, while in his lap, was not locked and the screen was facing up, easy for anyone to just peer over his shoulder and see.

“Traitors! All of you!” Eddie cried and it quickly devolved into chaos as the boys began play-fighting over the phone.

Murray called the commercial break, and the four of them did not stop their stupid wrestling over the phone until Gareth went to bite Eddie’s hand but managed to catch the phone. One of his sharp incisors nailed the screen just perfectly and a huge chunk of pixels went dead.

“Oh shit, dude,” Gareth said, immediately pulling away and holding his hands up. “I’m sorry.”

Eddie stared at his functional but busted screen before looking around at the cameras. “You caught that right? Like video evidence that I managed to keep this phone in pris-fucking-tine condition for a month and it was these assholes that broke it!” he said dramatically, holding up his phone screen for the cameras to see. Eddie had remembered to minimize his texts, so it was just his homescreen up.

Eddie knew his homescreen was Steve, one of the partial selfies Steve sent him during the past month. Only part of his face was visible, just a crooked grin, a spattering of moles on tanned skin. He was throwing Murray’s team a bone with that, since he would die before he showed the pictures Steve had sent him.

By the time they got back to the hotel, after the talkshow and grabbing something to eat, it was close to midnight and Steve was definitely already in bed.

Eddie pouted, standing in the middle of his hotel room and staring down at his phone. Steve being asleep and not available to play did nothing to dissuade his half-hard cock, however. With a roll of his eyes, Eddie changed into pajamas and brushed his teeth, trying to will his arousal away.

But he just kept thinking about the picture that Steve sent him, and the voice note right before it, and his dick was very interested in that line of thought. With a thick groan, Eddie shuffled over to the bed and collapsed face-down, sucking in a breath as he rocked his hips against the heavenly mattress.

“No, fuck that, I’m not coming in my fucking boxers again,” Eddie snapped at himself as he finished crawling up to the pillows and rolled onto his back.

Not wasting any time, Eddie shoved his pants and boxers off his hips and down to his knees, sighing as his cock was freed. Wrapping his hand loosely around it, Eddie stroked it slowly, gently coaxing it to full hardness as he pulled up his texts with Steve and hit play on the voice note.

Immediately, Steve’s desperate, panting breaths poured out of the speakers of his phone. A whine was released with every gusty exhale, and each little sound had a spike of arousal driving through Eddie so sharply, he couldn’t help his own whimper.

There was a low tone under Steve’s voice, and for a moment Eddie thought there was interference in the line. Then Steve let out a contented sound, something between a moan and a sigh, as the tone got louder, becoming much more of a buzzing sound, like a vibration. Realization hit Eddie like a freight train as he looked at the picture of the  vibrator laying across Steve’s stomach, still dripping with slick, probably still warm from his cunt. His own cock throbbed.

“Careful, Eds, I might hold you to those pretty promises…” Steve hummed just before the voice note ended and Eddie furrowed his brow. What promises? He didn’t even remember what he said before the talkshow, as if he blacked-out and muttered filth like some horny Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde situation.

Going back to his own voice note to refresh his memory, Eddie nearly choked as he promised to fuck Steve the next day, even go so far as to say he’d do it in front of everyone at the VIP event. Which was, apparently, something Steve was open to at least fantasizing about.

Eddie groaned, still stroking his cock loosely, and started a new voice note. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Stevie? Could bend you over the couch and fuck your dripping cunt in front of everyone, and you’d scream for it. Make you sing so pretty for my cock, huh,” Eddie groaned into the phone, squeezing the base of his cock as his release built a bit too quickly.

Taking a moment to just catch his breath, Eddie had to think about something a bit more mundane than fucking Steve in a room full of strangers and how hot that made him. With a fortifying breath, Eddie started another voice note.

“Maybe I’d really want you to feel me, though, maybe just use your cunt to get my dick wet enough and fuck your ass instead, huh? Is that something you’d want? Nice thick cock as far into your tight ass as I can get it?” Eddie said, the words coming out more as a whimper. “Would you be able to take it without my fingers, do you think? Would love to try.”

Eddie had to stop recording again to settle down, his orgasm barreling forward as the images he was painting became intensely vivid in his mind.

“Can you imagine it, gorgeous? Me splitting you open on my cock ‘til you’re sitting back on my lap? Your legs spread wide and showing off your dripping cunt and perfect dick?” Eddie asked breathlessly in the next voice note, biting his lip around a shivery whine. “Bet everyone would wanna turn with that pretty, wet hole. You’d probably let them, too, but I wouldn’t. Not this time, at least. This time, both holes are mine, right sweetheart?”

The rest of the fantasy was clear in Eddie’s mind—Steve’s ass bouncing on Eddie’s cock while Eddie reached around him to hook his fingers inside Steve’s cunt and massage his g-spot ruthlessly, not stopping until Steve’s hole was slicked with Eddie’s load—but Eddie was too turned on to keep voicing it.

With a hiss, Eddie switched to his camera, recording as he took his cock much more firmly in his hand with a low moan. It wasn’t going to take long, but honestly that was fine. He had been half-hard at least for hours, why should he have to wait to come any longer?

His motions were quick, determined, done with teasing and coaxing. This was about coming now, about release and relief. Eddie’s release slammed through him, dragging a shattered whine of Steve’s name out of his chest. It felt like he was coming forever, panting and whimpering at each ragged pulse of his cock as he painted his own stomach and chest with his cum.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to see you, baby,” Eddie gasped before ending the video and sending it.

Eddie knew he had to get back up and get washed up, or at least grab a tissue and wipe the worst of the mess up. At the moment, however, Eddie was happy to stay spread out across the middle of his bed with cum cooling on his skin, excitement for the next day absolutely vibrating through his core.

❖

Steve was admittedly distracted the next day.

On the surface, he was excited for the concert, for finally meeting Eddie, even just to hold a conversation with him in person. To see the way his eyes lit up as he talked excitedly up close, to hear his voice without the interference of a variable connection and speaker.

He was also nervous, even though he knew it was silly. What if they didn’t have any chemistry when faced with each other? What if all they had was sexual chemistry and once the barrier of the phone between them was removed, they couldn’t stand each other on a personal level?

And then the other thing keeping Steve distracted was the multiple voice notes and video he woke up to, which were all sent after midnight when Steve was sound asleep. Steve had to throw himself into a cold shower to get to work on time.

“Stop spacing out on me, Dingus,” Robin groused, and Steve jumped and looked over at her. They were standing at the marketplace in the lobby, debating which sandwich they were going to share because neither of them felt very hungry. Plus, none of the events that day were having a lunch, so they couldn’t even scavenge a meal in Dustin’s office. “I’m about to start carrying a spray-bottle around. Hose you down every time you get that faraway look in your eyes and blush on your face.”

“Shut up, that is not what’s happening,” Steve shot back, his ears and the back of his neck going hot.

“That is definitely what’s happening, liar,” Robin shot back quietly as she grabbed the turkey club. “Remember, our rooms share a wall so it’s not like what you do in there is a huge secret.”

“Please shut up, oh my god,” Steve groaned, grabbing a couple sodas before following her to the small line at the front desk to pay.

They were chatting about something else when something at the entrance of the lobby caught Robin’s attention and she laughed. “Don’t look now, Steve…” she trailed off, and immediately Steve looked over his shoulder.

Chrissy was the first person he actually noticed, and for a second he almost called her over. But then she turned to gesture for the four men goofing off behind her to hurry up, her hand motions exaggerated and comical. It took a moment for the dots to connect—Chrissy was the tour manager for a band of four men, the four men with her were in that band, Eddie was in that band—but when they did, Steve’s eyes landed on Eddie and he froze.

Even from this distance, Eddie was clearly far more handsome and alive in person than what cameras could convey. His smile was huge with deeply set smile lines and dimples that Steve wanted to kiss so badly. If he wasn’t rooted to his spot next to Robin, he would’ve walked right across the lobby that very second and pulled Eddie into a kiss, his status of employment be damned.

Chrissy and Gareth noticed him from across the room at the same time, and while Chrissy very clearly was about to try and distract Eddie, Gareth’s shit-eating grin said he had other ideas. Eddie was midway through a sentence when Gareth slapped him hard in the chest, and pointed directly at Steve.

“Gareth!” Steve could hear Chrissy complain at the same time Eddie grabbed at his chest with his free hand and whined, “Ow, my nipple.”

Then Eddie followed the direction Gareth had pointed and his eyes met Steve’s. For several moments, Eddie blinked in his direction while he was still walking before the similar dots seemed to connect in his head—he was at the hotel, Steve worked at the hotel, Steve was in the lobby right there—and came to a stilted, clumsy stop.

They stood and stared at each other until Steve smiled in a way that felt stupid and lifted a hand to wave, which was more of a finger wiggle and he hoped it came off as smooth and flirty. At his movement, Eddie flushed and took a jerky step toward him before Chrissy stuck her hand in front of him.

“No, you don’t! You are not getting that man fired,” Chrissy hissed, and Steve laughed even as he blushed.

Eddie looked down at Chrissy with a pretty pout before turning his attention to Steve and mimed holding a phone to his ear. “Call me later?” he mouthed, as he started back toward the elevators again.

Steve just flushed and nodded quickly before looking back at Robin. She was staring at Steve with a look of such exhausted disgust that he couldn’t help the burst of laughter that bubbled up from his chest.

As Robin and Steve settled in their seats in the staff cafeteria, Steve couldn’t help as his thoughts drifted to going upstairs to Eddie’s room. He was clocked out, and if he used the staff elevators he could avoid the cameras quite easily. He could be in and out before the end of his lunch break and no one would know. Well, Robin would know but she’d never rat him out.

With a sigh, Robin dragged her fingers through the condensation that formed on her can of soda and flicked the water into Steve’s face.

“What the hell, Robs?” Steve gasped as he jolted out of his daydream.

“Don’t you dare do what I know you’re thinking of doing,” Robin said, and when Steve opened his mouth to argue she held up a finger. “I know what you’re thinking because that’s exactly what I would be thinking if someone I’ve been having rowdy phone sex with for a month was literally upstairs in a room with a big bed and a soaker tub and luxury shower—”

“Robs, you’re not helping at all,” Steve groaned, covering his face and scrubbing roughly.

“Not really trying at the moment, Dingus. This is actually kinda fun,” she admitted, and when Steve dropped his hands, she was grinning.

They were interrupted by Will sitting down next to Robin, his expression serious as he put his phone down on the table in front of Steve and hit play on a paused YouTube video. Immediately, Steve heard the Steeeeve Spotting compilation audio and he blushed, pausing the video quickly and turning wide eyes on Will.

“Care to explain?” Will asked haughtily, and Steve grimaced.

“How are you just seeing these videos now, kid?” he asked in lieu of answering Will’s question.

“I was too depressed about missing the concert to watch the Tour Diaries, but since I have a ticket now I binged the whole series last night,” Will explained flippantly before asking, “So?”

“Please don’t tell your mom,” Steve groaned, crossing his arms and dropping his forehead onto them.

“Dude, I’m not going to tell my mom. I’m just mad you didn’t tell me!” Will said, though there wasn’t any heat in his voice. “I can’t believe you’re dating Eddie—”

“Whoa, kid, we’re not—it’s not that serious,” Steve said quickly, looking up at Will and Robin snorted.

“It’s definitely that serious,” she stage-whispered to Will and he laughed.

“It’s not! We haven’t even met once in person. That’s hardly dating,” Steve insisted.

“Okay, baby Byers, settle this for us,” Robin said dramatically, and Steve rolled his eyes. “Steve has been talking to this guy on the phone almost daily for three months, for sure texting him daily for a month, and have had weird phone sex at least twice—”

“It was once, last night didn’t count—”

“I actually heard last night, so it definitely counted,” Robin interrupted, and Steve rolled his eyes as she continued, “And they have a date tomorrow. Would you say that counts as dating?”

“You’ve had phone sex with Eddie Munson?” Will asked in a starstruck whisper and Robin flicked cold water at him too.

“Focus, Byers!” she said, and Will shook himself off.

“Yeah, that sounds like you’re going pretty steady, Steve,” Will agreed and Robin puffed her chest out.

“Nancy also agrees with me,” she bragged pointedly as Nancy walked into the staff cafeteria and slid into the seat next to Steve.

“Of course, I do,” Nancy said easily, pulling her food out of her lunch bag. “What exactly am I agreeing with right now?”

“That Steve is Eddie’s boyfriend,” Will supplied and when Nancy raised her eyebrows at him, Will shrugged. “I watched Corroded Coffin’s YouTube channel.”

“Then yes, I do agree with Robin, completely actually,” Nancy confirmed, grabbing Robin’s soda to take a sip. “I’ve been saying it since Steve almost blew it—”

“Hey! I didn’t almost blow it!” Steve whined and Robin mimicked his pout.

“You kinda did, Dingus. Like, I can say that now you’re about to get your happily ever after,” Robin said, like a traitor.

“Wait, what happened?” Will asked, leaning over the table.

Steve shook his head quickly. “I’ll tell you on the way to the concert, okay? Not on-property, and you don’t repeat a word of what I tell you, got it?” he said firmly, and Will just grinned and nodded excitedly.

Finally, the conversation changed thanks to Nancy complaining about a client not returning a signed proposal for an event they wanted to hold and Steve could daydream about his not-boyfriend upstairs in peace.

❖

Steve barely got his car started before he called Eddie. Apparently, Eddie was just as excited for the phone call because the line only rang twice.

“Hello, gorgeous—”

“Jesus, Eds, a video? Are you kidding?” Steve breathed, thinking back to the video Eddie had sent last night of him jerking off, and he spread his own legs as his dick and cunt pulsed hotly between his thighs. He thought about the voice notes, and the fantasy Eddie described, but that was a bit intense to get into for a quick jerk-off in his car.

“Oh, didn’t you like it?” Eddie asked knowingly, and Steve groaned.

Looking around the parking garage, Steve could see he was parked in a secluded corner with no one parked around him. Plus, there were plenty of spaces closer to the exits of the garage the people would pick before they parked next to Steve. Pulling open his belt a bit noisily, Steve felt a little thrill at that thought of getting caught, too.

“I liked it, just haven’t had a chance to do anything about how much I liked it,” Steve hummed, undoing his fly one-handed and gasping as he shoved his free hand into his pants. Briefly, he thought about connecting his phone to the Bluetooth in his car to better hear Eddie if he decided to join him, but he decided that was probably not the best idea.

“Stevie, what time did you leave work if you’re home already?” Eddie asked, his voice thick as he listened to Steve’s gasps as his fingers moved on his dick.

“Not home, still in the parking lot at—ah! At work,” Steve sighed, arching off his seat a bit as he edged himself.

There was silence on the other line before Steve heard the noisy jangling of Eddie undoing his belt. “Oh fuck, Stevie, holy shit if I had time—fuck,” Eddie gasped, and there was more rustling before Eddie groaned thickly. It was the same low noise Eddie made in the video from the night before when his hand wrapped around his thick cock, and Steve couldn’t help but make his own happy sound of pleasure in return.

“What, Eds? If you had time, what?” Steve asked breathlessly, getting himself close but backing off again.

“I’d come out there and fuck you right there in the parking lot,” Eddie said, and Steve could hear the chains on Eddie’s clothing hitting each other with his movements. Then Eddie made a frustrated sound before spitting, and his low sounds became less strained.

The sound of Eddie spitting, regardless of the reason, pulled a moan so wanton from Steve, it was embarrassing. On the other end of the line, Eddie chuckled.

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s so dirty. You like being spit on, baby?” Eddie moaned, and Steve couldn’t help the way he sobbed.

“Yeah,” he confessed shakily, his release building rapidly, especially when he considered the reality that he was going to be seeing Eddie later that evening.

“Fuck, that’s—you’re unbelievable, can’t believe you’re real,” Eddie whimpered, whining as his breathing picked up. “Can’t wait to see you, Stevie, fuck you’re so gorgeous. Couldn’t breathe when I saw you earlier.”

“Eds,” Steve sighed, blushing hot and dark at Eddie’s words, and the hand on his dick worked faster, deliberately driving himself to the edge for the last time.

“Fuck, say my name again, baby, please,” Eddie whined, his breathing laboured and loud in Steve’s ear.

“Eddie, I’m so close,” Steve sobbed, his eyes rolling back as the coil in his gut pulled tight, just at the edge of snapping.

“Oh shit, Stevie, I’m gonna—oh, fuck,” Eddie gasped before he let out a grunt that quickly devolved into sweet whimpers that Steve knew punctuated each pulse of cum that was milked out of Eddie’s cock.

Hearing that directly in his ear was more than enough for Steve and he tumbled over the edge himself almost immediately, nearly shouting Eddie’s name as his dick throbbed under his fingertips.

The two of them sat there panting in each other’s ears for several minutes before Steve started laughing deliriously, Eddie immediately following.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Eddie, I’ve never been this fucking horny for someone in my life,” Steve admitted before he could stop himself.

“Fuck, me neither, Stevie,” Eddie agreed breathlessly.

Steve thought back to the voice notes, the lewdness of the fantasy bringing a deep blush to his face. “The voice notes were—they were really good, too,” he admitted after a few moments, swallowing thickly.

“The voice notes—? Oh! Oh yeah, shit, I forgot I actually said all that,” Eddie laughed, and he sounded a bit embarrassed.

“Well, I’m glad you did say all that, because I’m pretty sure I’m gonna be thinking about that for the rest of my life,” Steve laughed, his ears hot with his blush.

In the background at Eddie’s end, he could hear knocking on a door. “Yeah! Be right out!” Eddie called before sighing heavily. “Shit, babe, I’ve gotta clean up and go.”

“Yeah, uh, same. I’ve gotta get changed and pick-up Will,” Steve said with a sheepish laugh as he pulled his hand out of his pants.

Eddie laughed for a moment before sighing. “I’m excited to see you tonight,” he said, his voice so soft and shy that Steve’s chest ached with affection.

“I’m excited to see you, too,” Steve replied, biting his lip as he considered just how deep his feelings for the rockstar already were.

There was another knock at Eddie’s end. “Gotta go, love, see you later.”

Eddie hung up before Steve could respond, leaving him to grapple with the new pet name on his own.

[ NEXT ]

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[gojocumdumpster]

”Take all of me, I just wanna be the girl you like.”

I have no clue what the fuck i’m doing..just gonna do another story but for daddy jackie might do a part 2 depending on how i feel and how this story goes. Also sorry for not being active so much school assignments, sports,cooking class,band, ect ect..

Type of story:🎂

Afab reader

Songs to listen to while reading: partition by beyoncé.

You were invited to a pool party by one of your close friends, she had a house to herself and a huge backyard with a pool, hot tub, and some space in the back that had fresh green grass. You been to her house before to hang out and do projects for school and study as-well, this wasn’t new she loved to party. “Hey y/n! You coming to my pool party at 8?!” she said over the phone. “Yeah i’m getting ready right now.” It was 7pm and you were getting ready for the pool party. You had a crush on this dude name Jack. Jack hanma. He was big, buff and tall not many girls or people in general liked him, but on the other hand you did. “I wonder if he’s coming” you said in your head.

You had got up from the couch and headed over to your bedroom, you had went into your closet and saw this cute bathing suit you bought online not so long it was a bikini (in any color) it was your favorite color too. “The baddest bitch is on her way.” you said grabbing the bathing suit. You got done changing and went to go look in the mirror, there you saw a bad bitch with a swimsuit who hugged you tight showing off your curves. You put on sunscreen you grabbed your beach bag that had a towel,sunglasses a hat and your phone. You put a pair of extra clothes over you and headed out, your friend lived in a gated neighborhood you typed in the code and the gates opened.

When driving to your destination you saw huge ass houses that were literally mansions, you pulled into the street she lived at and you instantly knew which house was hers because of how much cars there were and because you’ve been over there countless of times. You parked on the side of the street since her driveway was full, you got out and you could hear the music from the backyard, You walked up to the front door with your purse on your shoulder. You rang the doorbell a couple of times because nobody could hear you but the door opened in the background were people dancing with drinks in there hands, games, food…ect. When you opened the door your friend had opened the door, “Hey y/n! Thanks for coming!!!” she said opening the door for you to come in, you walked in and boy was it crowded.

You went upstairs and into her room and took your extra pair of clothes off and walked off in your bikini. Everyone turned there heads as you were walking outside. Outside had people doing water ballon fights, water guns, people in the hot tubs and the pool. There were also beach chairs with umbrellas that you could rest on, you placed your sunglasses, towel and phone down. You walked towards the pool and sat down on the edge placing on your feet in the water. You were having a blast talking to friends and making jokes. That was until you saw a familiar tall blonde figure walk out. And there he was, Jack hanma had came to the pool party he had swim trunks and a towel.

You friends were smirking at you as they rolled there eyes laughing at you, he had placed his stuff down on a beach chair that was next yours. You were just like a statue staring at him with every chance you had. Jack wasn’t really a social person so it wasn’t very common to see him at places like this. This is your chance y/n. Just get your ass up and go talk to him. You said repeating in your head, you had got up and slowly walked towards him. He was laying down on the beach chair watching everyone. You had walked to him fiddling with your fingers. He had looked away and looked at you and then at your body and back up lifting one eyebrow up at you. “Is it okay if I can sit here?” you said nervously. “Yeah sure.” His voice was always deep, “So what made you come here because I never see you at events like this.” You said confused, “Well I haven’t done anything for a long time so I wanted to see what was the hype about.” He said looking at you.

You guys continued to talk as time passed you started to go checkout the bar with Jack. There you guys talked about y’all’s interests and other things, but that vodka drink got you real good. There were doing karaoke and people were hopping on the stage singing and dancing there hearts out. “Jackkkk I think i’m gonna go on the stage” You said hugging his muscular arm. “Okay have fun” he said chuckling. He watched you in the stage until this one particular song came on. And did you steal the mic? Yes you did. You were singing your heart at and people were cheering you on. Your favorite part was coming on, you saw jack smiling at you crossing his arms. You looked him directly in his eyes and sang. “Take all of me, I just wanna be the girl you like.”

[total-killer-brainrot]

Unrelenting

“Apologise and I might let you fuck me.”

His face went red. It was so cute. This man had surely never apologised in his life. And here you were demanding he beg for your forgiveness. It took an embarrassingly short time for him to come to terms with the request.

“Im-”

You cut him off. Pulling your knife out of your garter and pointing it at him.

“Ah ah… on your knees babe. Show me you're really sorry.” You felt giddy with power as he sank to his knees. Looking up at you with the most adorable look. A mix of regret, embarrassment and arousal. “Oh Johnny…” You purred. “This is a good look for you…”

---

Johnny becomes obsessed with you after your last roadside interaction. You might be just as obsessed with him.

---

All my fics are also on AO3

Not Beta Read. Rating: Explicit. Length: 5,048. Ship: Johnny Slaughter x You. Fem!Reader. Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Blood, Stalking, Masturbation, Murder Kink, Blood,Hate Sex, Submissive Johnny, Dom/sub Undertones, Grinding, Degradation, Begging, Praise Kink, Cunnilingus, Body Worship, Hair Pulling, Vaginal Fingering, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Biting, Rough Kissing, Soft kissing, Love Confessions, Out of Character Johnny

---

Hurt Pride: Part 1 | 2 | 3

---

WARNING: There is a VERY minor scene of SA before the smut starts. Nothing happens past kissing. But if you are uncomfortable with that please skip it. Everything with Johnny is consensual.

---

It took him two whole hours to get back home. It was fully dark by the time his truck cruised down the dusty familiar driveway. To be fair, part of that was fighting humiliation as he jerked off in the middle of that old country road. It was an unsatisfying finish. Which only humiliated him more. And another hour at least of that journey was sitting in his truck thinking. About her. The sneaky little fox that bested him at his own game. And then every time he pictured her pressing that cute little knife of hers to his throat his jeans would get uncomfortably tight again. And the process would start all over again. 

Only Sissy, Nancy and Junior were home when he finally arrived back. Sissy only gave a curious, and judgmental, look to his limp. But he ignored her. Nancy on the other hand fussed over him. Which was the last thing he wanted right now. Insisting he ‘lay down’ and ‘rest’ and some such bullshit. He didn’t need to relax. He needed to find his mystery killer. She plagued his thoughts. He refused to elaborate on his injuries to Nancy. He knew she was just worried about him, but there was no way in hell he was going to willingly face the embarrassment of sharing all the… intimate details with her. 

He had to find her. He didn’t know how, if it was even possible at all. But he would. His existence couldn’t continue without this damn girl. He would find her. And marry her. Or kill her. Depending on how he felt in the moment. 

-

You panted heavily. Body slick with sweat and blood pumping so hot through your veins that you felt like you were on fire. Every fibre of your being was buzzing with adrenaline and pure pleasure. You were sure that you must look like a mess. Hair wild and a spaced out happy look on your face. Though you were sure that the man below you didn’t care in the slightest. He was dead after all. And dead people didn’t really care about much. 

You ran the hand that wasn’t covered in blood through your hair. Smoothing it down as you checked the entrance to the dark alley for any witnesses that you may have missed. Stepping over his lifeless body, avoiding the ever flowing pool of blood that threatened to ruin your nice shoes, you slipped easily back into the shadows to clean up. Wiping off what blood you could off your blade, hands, and dammit, your nice shoes. The bastard had gotten a splotch of dark red right on the heel. 

It took a moment for you to realise you were scowling. That worried you. Typically after a fresh kill you were buzzing for days. But lately it just hadn’t felt the same. Of course, the kill itself was just as euphoric as ever. Driving a blade through someone's gut and watching the life leave their eyes was a feeling you could never quite describe. It fueled you. But instead of riding that high until you made it to the next town, you would find yourself itching for another hit far sooner. Sometimes even on the same night. You cursed as you looked down at your shaking hands. The adrenaline ebbing away and leaving you nervous and paranoid. 

You blamed that stupid Johnny fella. You should have killed him. Your head hadn’t been right since you left him on that backwoods road. Every time you sliced into a new victim you found yourself disappointed that they screamed in pain instead of letting out those delicious little moans that you couldn’t stop thinking about. 

A frustrated groan bubbled out of you and you stormed back out to kick the lifeless body lying before you. 

“Fuck! Fucker!” You plunged your knife back into him. Again and again. Fuck this horrid man who had ruined murder for you. You couldn’t even finish a simple kill without him entering your thoughts. Now you were disappointed that your victims didn’t act like him? You were obsessed! It was ridiculous. You had to get this stupid redneck out of your head before he ruined you properly.

-

It had been over a week and Johnny was a mess. He hadn’t been able to bring anyone home for dinner. He was getting sloppy with his duties around the old farmhouse. And everyone could tell. They must have thought he was losing his mind. Every time he pictured her perfect face, twisted with pleasure and determination as she rode him. Putting him in his place… He spent a lot of time uncomfortably adjusting his pants. It wasn’t fun. 

With an angry yell he slammed down the hood of the car he had been trying to fix for days now. Nothing was working for him. He nearly shoved Sissy right over as he stormed back inside and up to his room. 

“Watch it!” She glared as she jumped out of his way. “Just go get your dick wet already! Stop making it everyone else's problem!” 

He could kill her. He should kill her for even daring to tell him what to do. The audacity. She was just assuming he was pent up. Usually after a week or so he did get irritable. Especially if Drayton had been on his case about bringing home girls to eat that he had just… spent the night with. But this wasn’t like that. She wasn’t like that. He would never share her with them. If anyone was going to end her life, it would be him. 

Back in his room he grabbed a bag, shoving a few clothes and minor supplies in it. His lucky knife, of course. And a few other knives as well, just in case she wanted to have a little fun when he found her. And he would find her. He had decided. He was a tracker. Hunter by nature. He had never had a chase where his prey had such a head start. But he had also never had a victim so important. 

-

Crappy motels like this made you miss having a stable home. In your line of work, going home at the end of a long day was just a fantasy. You wondered how many nights spent sleeping on a cheap, lumpy mattress, or the back of your car, or on a victims couch, you had left in you. One day you would settle down. Maybe marry a nice guy. Kill him later. Play the sad widow at his funeral and live off his money for the rest of your life. That sounded nice. You smiled at the thought as you stared up at the water stained ceiling above you.

You were almost out of Texas now. You had spent far too long in this damned state anyway. Once you were out you could refresh. Forget… him. And move on to better things. 

But now you were thinking about him again. Replaying his needy moans as you threatened to cut him up. Your hands drifted lower with a frustrated sigh. He had been so pliant in your hands. Not only would he have let you slit his throat right then and there, he would have liked it. You allowed that scenario to play out in your mind. Gutting him as he whined, cumming untouched before bleeding out beneath you. His last words begging you for more. 

Your back arched off the bed as your fingers moved faster on your clit. Pausing only to discard your panties.

He had filled you so well. Like two perfect puzzle pieces. Your fingers would never be enough again after experiencing that cock. But they would have to do for now. One slipping inside as you pressed your thumb over your clit. Quick, dirty and rough. Exactly what you needed. Trying to keep your moans down as you allowed him to take over your brain. You knew he would do anything just to make you happy. And that sent you wild. Of course he would kill for you. Would you kill together? The very notion only made you wetter. 

You turned your head to press it into the pillow as you felt your orgasm crest and reach its peak. Hands shaking as the wave of pleasure hit you. But it petered out too quickly. It wasn’t satisfying. You groaned into the pillow. Now you were just messy and still frustrated. Nothing gained.

-

It wasn’t easy. But it wasn’t as difficult as he had thought. This was different from tracking footprints across his own property. He had to play it smarter. Asking at gas stations, around town, desperate to know if anyone had seen this woman. And just his luck. They had. The thing with small towns is that people notice when someone new arrives. Especially someone odd. And no one was more odd than a serial killer on the run. 

In less than two days Johnny was in the same town as her. He just knew it. He had never been this far away from home. But he was across the state. Nancy must be so worried. But she would understand. Once he brought her home it would be clear to all of them why he had been acting so strangely. She could join their little family and kill and butcher to her heart's content.

When he spotted her car in the parking lot of some old motel his heart nearly stopped. He was so close. But he didn’t want a repeat of last time. He would have to play this smart. He couldn’t rely on his old tricks to catch this one. So he parked out of town. Close enough that carrying a body back to it wouldn’t be difficult, but far enough that it would be unlikely that she would spot it. Then he made his way back on foot. Finding a hidden spot to watch the motel for her. She would come or go at some point. And he would know. His body thrumming with excitement at seeing her again.

-

It was hard to tell if your makeup was even in the dirty mirror of your dirty motel bathroom. You just had to hope. You adjusted your dress. A short little thing that, while it was a tad outdated, was still cute. More suited to the discotheques of the early 60s rather than today's modern age of 1973. But you still looked good. Great even. Enough so that perhaps you could knock out two, maybe even three tonight before retiring to your bed.

As you exited your room you felt a prickle up the back of your neck. Like you were being watched. You surveyed your surroundings slowly. But didn’t spot anyone. This wasn’t an unusual occurrence. Being a wanted murderer on the run tended to lead to some casual paranoia. And while it was against your better judgement, you brushed it off. You had been in this town for less than a day. No one knew you. There was no way anyone had any suspicions about you yet. Tomorrow perhaps they would bring up the mystery new girl in town when they whispered gossip about the bodies discovered that morning. But you would be gone by then. 

You shook your hair out to rid yourself of the feeling. Then started walking down the street to the small nightclub you had spotted when you arrived. Despite the town’s size and desertedness, the club was bustling. All the local youth letting loose on a Saturday night. 

Before even hunting for a target you allowed yourself to relax. Have a drink, just one of course, to keep a clear head, and dance. The music was good. Loud and funky. Very few radio stations in the local area played new music. Mostly news reports and oldies that didn’t particularly interest you. So it was nice to enjoy some good tunes and let your hair down for one night. Who knows when you would get this opportunity again. 

-

She was even more perfect than Johnny remembered. Her hair styled, makeup done. That dress was far too short to be fair. He was shocked that every guy that saw her wasn’t bending over backwards to get in her panties. Not that he would let any of them. He owned that pussy even if she didn’t know it yet. But surely it went against even cosmic rule that existed to let a woman as perfect as that pass you by like it was nothing.

-

You were grinning. It had been weeks since you had smiled genuinely without a dead body at your feet. The music beating inside you intune with your heart. And you had spotted a victim. He kept glancing at you. Giving a smarmy grin and a wink whenever you meet eyes. Gross. But useful. After a while of making eyes at him from across the club you nodded for the bathroom. His eyes widened for a moment in surprise before nodding quickly and following you inside. 

His hands were on you as soon as the door was locked. You gasped as he pushed you up against the sink, his lips pressing against yours sloppily. You placed your hands on his chest, trying to push him off so you would have a chance to think. To grab your blade. But he gripped both your wrists, groaning as he pressed closer to you.

“So… pretty…” he mumbled between messy kisses. He was strong. You hadn’t been expecting this. He looked easy. But you couldn’t pull your arms away. And he wasn’t giving you an opportunity to speak. Panic rose in your throat for a second but you pushed it down. You were better than this. You had been in much more dangerous situations with much more dangerous men. Johnny flashed into your mind. Then he flashed in front of your eyes. 

The scum on top of you squeaked, then gurgled as blood splattered across your face. You blinked in surprise as he was pulled off you. The knife lodged in his throat being tugged out roughly and plunged back into his chest. You could only watch in stunned surprise as Johnny butchered him. He looked manic. Already covered in blood. Eyes wide and crazy as his knife punctured the man's stomach over and over again. It took you far too long to sink in that he was here. In front of you. Crammed in this tiny club bathroom with you. Killing your mark. You scowled as he stepped off the mutilated body. He looked up at you, grinning eagerly. The smile faltered when he saw your furious expression. 

“What the fuck Johnny. He was mine.” You spat through grit teeth. He stared at you for a moment. Confused by your reaction. It took him a moment to snap out of it and glare back.

“You’re kidding right? I just saved your sorry ass.” He jabbed a bloody finger into your chest as he got in your face. Crowding you back against the sink again. Though this time you didn’t mind so much.

“ Saved me? Excuse you. I had that under control. Who are you to decide when I need saving?” You jabbed him back. He was so hot. Inches away from your face and covered in blood. You were already soaked. 

He kissed you.

You kissed back.

He was rough, controlling. But one harsh bite to his bottom lip and he backed off. Allowing you to take charge of the kiss. It made you smirk. Even all hyped up on the kill he would submit to you easily. 

You pressed a knee up between his legs and he groaned weakly. Rutting against it like he hadn’t cum in weeks. By the desperate look in his eyes he probably hadn’t. His hands roamed over your body. Desperate to commit it to memory as he grinded against your knee. You laughed against his lips.

“You’re like a fucking dog…” You gripped his hair to pull him back, forcing his neck to crane back uncomfortably. He panted heavily. Blood smeared with your lipstick across his mouth. “Chased me all this way just to steal my kill and rut against me like a needy mutt…” You were being mean. But you knew he liked that. Especially since he was starting to whimper. So quietly you could barely hear it over the music from back in the club. 

You pushed him off you, lifting yourself up to sit on the edge of the sink. Keeping one leg up, pushing against his chest to keep him away from you.

“Apologise and I might let you fuck me.” 

His face went red. It was so cute. This man had surely never apologised in his life. And here you were demanding he beg for your forgiveness. It took an embarrassingly short time for him to come to terms with the request.

“Im-”

You cut him off. Pulling your knife out of your garter and pointing it at him.

“Ah ah… on your knees, babe. Show me you're really sorry.” You felt giddy with power as he sank to his knees. Looking up at you with the most adorable look. A mix of regret, embarrassment and arousal. “Oh Johnny…” You purred. “This is a good look for you…”

He took a deep breath, glancing down at the body laying lifeless next to him before back up to meet your eyes.

“I’m… sorry. I thought… I thought you needed help. He was touching you! What… What was I supposed to do? Watch him have his way with you? Darlin’ you know I couldn’t do that…”

You stayed quiet for a while. Watching him fidget uncomfortably under you glare.

“Have his way with me?” You repeated. Digging your high heel into his chest a little harder. Just to make him uncomfortable. “Baby, what if I wanted him to fuck me?” Of course you would never. But watching it dawn on his face was a wonderful feeling. As he realised he may have just interrupted a perfectly regular hook up. 

Your heel trailed down his abdomen to press up against the bulge in his jeans roughly. Making his breath hitch. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment as you held it there. His hips jutting forward ever so slightly as he fought the urge to grind against you. 

“You’re lucky you're hot. Because I will allow you to make it up to me.” His eyes shot open once again. Eager to please. You nearly burst out laughing. But you managed to keep your cool. Your empty hand reached out for him. “Give me your knife.”

Johnny hesitated. His blade was as much a part of him as his own arm. To give it up would be to give up part of himself. He would never even consider it if it had been anyone else. But you… who had haunted his dreams since you had met. Who had ruined his life, and saved it, at the same time. He placed the large blade into your waiting palm. A symbol of true trust. If you were to kill him now, he would accept it. He wouldn’t want to go any other way. As a fellow killer, you understood the true significance to this action. You placed the blade carefully in the sink behind you. Safe for now, and out of his reach.

“Good boy.” He practically glowed at the praise. And you had to hold yourself back from getting on the floor with him and kissing him like your life depended on it. Instead you calmly spread your legs. Removing your heel so he could move once again. “Eat me out, and I might let you fuck me after. If you do good.” 

He nodded quickly. The instructions set in stone in his mind. You were expecting him to get to work right away. Chasing the prospect of his own pleasure. But instead he started slow. Lifting one of your legs and slowly kissing up your calf to your inner thigh. His tongue darting out to clean up any blood splatter left there. Savouring the taste just as much as you savoured his lips. He was gentle as he guided your hips up, allowing him to tug down your panties. But instead of diving right in he returned to pressing gentle kisses over your inner thighs. His large hands resting under your knees to keep your legs lifted and spread apart. 

You bit your lip gently. Closing your eyes to the soft touches. Nearing your core then moving away before he ever reached it. He was so good at driving you crazy. A whine escaped your throat and you felt him leave you. But before you could scold him you felt his lips close over your clit. Sucking for a brief moment before licking over the sensitive bud.

“Oh fuck…” you breathed out, your free hand reaching down to grip his hair tight. Making him groan against you. Sending wonderful vibrations through your clit and up your spine. You rolled your hips up against his tongue with a soft moan. You thought you maybe felt him smile. Probably proud of making you crumble at his touch. You were still in total control of course. But you allowed him this. Let him command your body with his touch. 

Your gaze returned to his face. Surprised to see he was watching you closely. You grinned down at him, before breaking again with another moan. He mumbled against you quietly.

“Can I use my fingers?”

You raised an eyebrow at his request. “You may.” Biting your lip as you felt those gorgeous long fingers prod at your entrance. Quickly tacking on at the end before you lost yourself again. “Good boy for asking.”

He preened, slipping two fingers inside you easily then returning his attention to your clit as he curled them slowly. You rocked up to meet his mouth. Your gasps and whines filling the small room. He was watching your every move. Discovering exactly how you liked it and repeating it skillfully until your head was fuzzy and your thighs were shaking. 

His fingers curled once again, hitting that sweet spot inside you just as he put the right amount of pressure on your clit. You came. Hard. You pulled his hair much harsher than you meant to as your orgasm rocked you. But he loved that. Moaning with you as you rolled your hips against his tongue and rode the wave of pleasure. It was exactly what you had needed. That itch you had been trying to scratch since you had left him on the side of the road finally sated.

You leaned back until your head rested on the mirror behind you. Body going lax as he gazed up at you from between your legs. You smiled down at him as you got your breathing under control. His mouth and chin were wet with your slick. He seemed to also be out of breath. So caught up in your pleasure that his own arousal was hitting him all at once. He didn’t even try to touch himself. So obedient.

“So good baby…” You cooed. Gesturing for him to get to his feet and sitting up properly to reach for his belt. “So… good…” You mumbled between kisses. Tasting yourself on his lips. Tugging his jeans and boxers down just enough. Your leg hooked over his hip to pull him closer. Abandoning your own knife so that you could cup his cheek and tug on his hair at the same time. Kissing him deeper. Blood and arousal on his tongue driving you wild. His hands on your hips, lifting you and pulling you close enough for his cock to slide inside of you. Not as much of a stretch as last time. As he had fully prepared you with his fingers and you were already dripping from your orgasm. Still it nearly knocked the breath out of you. Eyes rolling back into your head as he paused inside him. 

He broke the kiss to rest his head against your chest with a low groan. You ran your fingers through his hair and scratched his scalp gently. Allowing him a moment to enjoy being surrounded by you again.

“Needed this so… so fucking bad…” he gasped out against your collarbone. Lips pressing lazy kisses there as he moved, slow, shallow thrusts inside you. “Please… let me cum this time… Please…” you glanced down, surprised he was begging with no prompting. He shook his head gently. “I think I will finally lose my mind if you don't let me…” You could tell he was being sincere. He was so whipped that he couldn’t face another day without finishing inside you. 

That mean streak inside you flared up though. With a soft hum you tilted your head. Watching him struggle to contain his arousal. 

“If you fuck me good, baby, then sure.” 

He broke with a groan, pulling out almost entirely before slamming back into you. It took your breath away. Then he did it again before you could even recover from the first one. Building a fast and relentless rhythm. Your head dropped back against the mirror once again with a long 

moan. His cock splitting you open in the best way possible. 

Johnny moved how his head rested on your chest so that he could bite and suck at your collarbone and shoulder. If you were in your right mind you would tell him off. Maybe even punish him a little. But you couldn’t bring yourself to even bother. Allowing him to claim you in a small way. Now it was his turn for his moans to fill the room. So lost to your warm tightness that he was drawing near his peak fast. Shuddering as each thrust nearly threw him over the edge. Though a thought kept nagging at the back of his mind. If he came before you, even though you had cum already, you would be angry. And leave. Again. But on the other hand, if he made sure you finished a second time before he could even once, you could leave him hard and helpless once again. Neither option was appealing. But he had never once taken his own pleasure over his partners. Even in such a vital situation as this. 

All the pretty victims that had fallen to his lucky knife he had at least granted the decency of a good fuck beforehand. And even though there was no chance he would kill you now, he wanted to make sure you were fully pleased. His own sanity be damned. He bit down on your shoulder hard at the same time as his thumb found your clit. 

You were already so sensitive. And the sudden shock of pain and pleasure very nearly had you tumbling into another orgasm. Your thighs squeezing his waist as you cried out his name. Your nails clawing down his back. This all only encouraged him to thrust faster. Harder. Fucking into you like his life depended on it. Despite your efforts to stay in control of your own body you reached your second peak embarrassingly fast. Arching your back against his chest as another wave washed over you and sent your reeling. 

“Oh my… Johnny… Fuck!” You clenched around his cock and heard him let out a shuddering groan. He was so pent up. So frustrated over the last couple weeks of chasing you down. It all came to a head and a weak whimper escaped his throat as he finished inside you. His thrusts faltering before slowing to a stop inside you. You were too out of it to even care.

You both rested there. Panting heavily and entangled in eachothers arms. You pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek and felt him smile where his head laid on your chest. It was an oddly soft moment. Soft for a post sex cuddle in a dirty nightclub bathroom with a dead body lying on the floor at your feet. 

Johnny slowly pulled away from you. Staying inside you but leaning back to look you in the eyes. He had an unusually sentimental look in his eye. And despite how little you had known him, you knew it was worrying. 

“Come with me…” he whispered. As if he spoke too loud he might scare you off. “Please. I won’t hurt you… I promise, darlin’. I just need you… always.” He pressed a soft kiss to your lips before you could answer. You smiled gently. You had never wanted to be tied down. But maybe things could be different. You held his face carefully and pulled him away from you. Making him look you in the eye.

“Johnny baby… I like you. I really do. I…” You paused, thinking over your words very carefully. “I think I do want to be with you. But you can’t ask me to give up the things I love.” You glanced down at the body at his feet and gestured in frustration. “I don’t need ‘protecting’ or whatever you buff macho brain has come up with…” He blinked in surprise. Then barked out a nervous laugh.

“Are you kidding? Baby doll, that's why I want you.” He kissed you again and grinned almost menacingly. “I want to watch you kill… I want to do it together. I promise I won’t ever get in your way again…” his hands drifted down to your hips. “My family would… well I wouldn’t say love you… they’re not too fond of outsiders… but once you show them what you can do, baby. They’ll understand your value.”

You snorted and raised an eyebrow. “You got a family of backwood killers out here in the middle of nowhere Texas? Why am I not surprised…”

He grinned. Proud to finally share this with you.

“Come with me. We can make hell.”

You were interrupted by a loud pounding on the door. The two of you had been occupying the club's only bathroom for far too long now. You glanced at each other nervously.

“Get us out of here safe and you have a deal.”

He kissed you once again, reaching behind you to pluck his knife out of the sink.

[jessicawestonauthor]

Secrets and Shadows: Escape to the Lake - Chapter 2

Quaint. 

That’s the best word to describe her camp.

I take my time walking around the perimeter. 

It doesn’t take much time, it’s not a very big place. 

Just the right size for a woman and her daughter on the run.

After seeing her and her daughter at the store, with no vehicles in the parking lot, I knew I had enough time to do a quick sweep of the property before they would get back.

I look through the windows and can see that the main part of the camp is an open space with a combined kitchen and living room. There’s a door off the kitchen that must lead to the bedrooms. I can’t imagine there are more than 2 with the size of this place.

Everything is locked up tight. I can tell by the ancient-looking hardware, that the lock on the door facing the water will either be a breeze to pick or that it will be too rusted to budge.

No bother, I’ve never found a place I can’t get into

I make sure to get back to my camp long before they come strolling down the dirt road, singing a song that resembles something I think I recall hearing on the radio.

They seem alone in their own little world, oblivious to anyone or anything around them. Not a smart move on her part

This might be easier than I thought. 

***

Christ. What is she doing here?

Up my driveway walks Gabrielle Newman, 28 years old. Gabby is what her friends call her, but I’m not a friend and I don’t need her to figure that out. 

I look around to make sure I haven’t left anything within view of the door that might make her suspicious, or give away that I know who she is and why she’s here.

Shit.

I pick up a pile of papers off the table and rush them into the spare bedroom where I have even more papers and photographs laid out on the bed. 

The knock comes quicker than I anticipate, 

Faster than she looks. I’ll have to remember that.

I look around one last time before answering the door, leaving the chain secure. 

“Can I help you?” 

“Hi, I’m your neighbor, Gabby,” she moves her hand slightly, like she wants to shake, before setting it down again when she realizes the door isn’t opening any further.

She looks flustered, It’s a good look on her

“I’m so sorry to disturb you, but my daughter left an inflatable toy in the yard when we went to the store earlier and I think it may have blown over into your beach area, would you mind if I took a look?”

“Yeah, sure” I reply, more gruffly than I intend, and then add “Is there anything else? I’m a little busy at the moment”. 

Her green eyes sparkle in this light

Jake. Get it together. You have a job to do

“N-no, that’s all, thank you.” she stutters as her face reddens. 

She turns and heads toward the water, her wavy brown hair bouncing on her shoulders as the sunlight reflects off her blonde highlights. 

I watch as she makes her way down toward the shoreline and there, caught in a tall blueberry bush near the rocks, she finds the toy. 

As she heads back toward the driveway, it looks as though she might come back to the door, perhaps to let me know she had found what she came for. She pauses for a second and then changes direction. 

I must have made it clear I wasn’t in the mood for company or any other pleasantries. I watch as she continues down the dirt driveway and then disappears down the path toward her cabin.

As soon as she is out of sight, I close the blinds on all of the windows.

That was close. I need to be more careful in case she shows up again unexpectedly.

-----------

Shadows and Secrets: Escape to the Lake

"Gabby's husband died when he fell out of a second-story window, leaving Gabby to pick up the pieces and try to make life better for herself and her daughter Hanna. Months of putting up with an unknown stalker sending her "gifts" and increasingly disturbing text messages lead Gabby to pack up her daughter and travel to a camp her family owns on a lake in northern Maine. Everything seems wonderful, however, things start to go wrong after a new neighbor moves in, and then tragedy strikes."

Read the first 3 chapters for free now - New chapters drop every Friday!

[datauthorress]

Transformers: REDACTED [chapter 3: shelby - part 3]

pairing: optimus prime / original female character / megatron, ratchet / original female character, thundercracker / original male character / skywarp, cyclonus / original male character, sideswipe / original male character / sunstreaker, knockout / original female character / breakdown, ultra magnus / original genderfluid character

summary: megatron has been missing for one year. the autobots can’t find him, until a weak energon signal makes the autobots realize he’s in the care of a kind human who decided to take him in, but there’s more to the young human than it seems.

rating: e

a/n: original story with some bases from transformers: prime and a few other series. takes place in early 2023.

march 6th, 2023

         when shelby went outside the next morning to check on her property, she wasn’t surprised to see the minimal damage. to be honest, she had thought everything was just some wild dream, but the fractured ribs and the bandaged hand told her otherwise that everything that happened the last few days had not been some crazy dream.

         even sorrel pinched her a couple of times to make sure.

         “make sure you rest today, no heavy lifting,” sorrel had told her before he had left for work. “tripp will be your baby-sitter and if you disobey the rules, i’ll make sure you won’t get out of bed for a week,”

         “uh-huh, sure,” shelby had snorted.

         sorrel was not joking. and neither was tripp. tripp stayed close, but didn’t get too much into her space because he didn’t want to crowd her. with tripp’s help though, she fed all of her reptiles and made sure their cages were clean.

         “we’re getting a snake tomorrow,” shelby said.

         “what kind?” tripp asked, glancing at her with a grin. he adored snakes.

         “a mini albino ball python,” shelby replied, stroking the chin of abraxas, the large green iguana that was hers. the reptile closed his eyes into the chin rubs, enjoying the attention. “she was surrendered by a family, but wasn’t taken care of very well. so the humane society got in touch with me and asked if we could rescue and take care of her until she found her forever family,”

         “poor baby, i can’t understand why people get a reptile if they can’t take care of it,” tripp sighed, holding a crested gecko in his fingers.

         “it’s the same as any pet,” shelby said, shaking her head.

         shelby heard a beep come from her phone and she pulled it out, noticing the notification that someone was coming up her driveway. she pulled the camera feed up and gave a soft smile when she saw the familiar red and blue peterbilt truck.

         “that must be optimus,” she said, giving abraxas one last stroke under the chin before she headed outside.

         the large semi pulled up in front of the house, parking. “good morning, shelby,” optimus spoke politely.

         “good morning to you too, optimus,” shelby said with a smile. “i’d invite you inside, but well, you won’t fit,”

         “i have a solution for that,”

         shelby was confused for a moment before she began to notice something happening in the air. they looked like particles, twinkling particles that began to clump together. her eyes widened slightly and she watched in awe as the particles began to take form, that of a tall human man.

         when it finally came together, the man in front of her appeared to be in his 40’s, and was tall (a complete foot taller than her) and he had blue-black hair that was short, with a few strands falling across his forehead, with neatly placed facial hair of the same color on his chin. his eyes were the same bright blue of his giant form. the human form had broad shoulders and was at least over twice her size. he was wearing a pair of silver-gray trousers with black boots, a skin tight black shirt and a red and blue jacket over it that had the symbol of the autobots on the bicep of the jacket on both sides.

         the man smiled at her kindly and shelby couldn’t help the soft flush that crossed her features. “w-wow, uh….very….very nice, is this a human form?” she asked, a stammer in her voice.

         “holoform,” the man replied, optimus’ deep voice coming from it. “similar to a hologram, but much more physical and we can interact with humans on a smaller level if need to,”

         “i see,” shelby said, quickly able to remove the blush from her features. “would you like to come inside?”

         he nodded and shelby invited him inside, to where they headed into the foyer first, which led out to a large hallway and an open room next door which was the dining room. shelby led optimus across the hallway into the biggest room of the house, the grand room. the ceiling was a two story, and had one large couch with two recliners, a glass coffee table and a large flat screen television on the wall. the room had a large area rug in the middle, as well as a grand piano in the corner and large, sliding glass doors that led out onto the deck.

         “your home is beautiful,” optimus commented, glancing over at her.

         “thank you,” shelby smiled softly. “it came like this, completely finished and i love this place. my bedroom is next door, due to having a bum leg, so stairs aren’t an issue for me in the house for the most part. tripp’s and sorrel’s bedrooms are upstairs and they each have their own bathroom, as well as i do. i even have my own office and everything,”

         tripp walked out of shelby’s office, cradling one of the crested geckos in his hand. he stroked the reptile’s head with his thumb and glanced over at optimus. “hello, optimus, was it?”

         “yes, and you’re tripp, correct?” the autobot asked.

         “that’s me,” tripp grinned slightly.

         “what do you have in your hands?” optimus asked, curious.

         “oh, this is zippy,” tripp said, introducing the crested gecko in his hands. “she’s a crested gecko,”

         “i run a reptile rescue,” shelby informed. “most of them have been with me a couple of years now, but some of them have gone to their forever homes,”

         optimus turned his attention to the ground near shelby’s feet and shelby glanced down to see abraxas’s front claws attached to the back of her pant leg. she chuckled softly as the iguana began climbing up her leg.

         “how fascinating,” optimus mused with a gentle smile. “what kind of reptile is that?”

         “this is abraxas, he’s a green iguana. i’ve had him for…three years now. he just had a birthday not too long ago,” shelby replied, reaching up to gently stroke underneath the iguana’s chin as he came to take his place on her shoulder. “ah, have a seat, optimus. i’d offer a drink, but i assume you don’t eat human food?”

         “no, i don’t,” he replied, taking a seat on the couch not too far from her. “we consume energon as our source of sustenance,”

         “ah, that kind of sucks. most human foods are amazing,” shelby replied, setting her cane beside the couch.

         tripp took a seat in one of the recliners, so he could pay attention to what was going on.

         “how is megatron doing?” shelby asked.

         “i figured you were going to ask that,” optimus smiled. “he’s doing very well. ratchet said he’ll make a full recovery in a week’s time.”

         “that’s great!” shelby smiled. “i’m glad he’s going to be just fine,”

         “i cannot thank you enough for everything you’ve done for him, and us,” optimus said, reaching out to gently touch her hand with his gloved one. it wasn’t inappropriate, but merely a touch of thankfulness. “if it wasn’t for you, megatron would have never returned to me,”

         “i’m glad i found him,” shelby said, feeling her heart flutter a bit at the gentle touch. “he was pretty beat up and gave me the scare of my life when he woke up,”

         “i can imagine,” optimus chuckled softly.

         “megatron said you and he were….sparkmates?” she asked, trying to make sure she had the wording right.

         “yes, think of it as….a human marriage,” he replied, nodding. “when two cybertronians sparkmate, they are connected to each other for life. and when one sparkmate dies, the other’s spark is forever damaged, as in a permanent broken heart, per say. the one living would never be able to move on,”

         “that’s quite a commitment,” tripp commented.

         “it’s strange to think that humans aren’t like that,” shelby said. “well, most. i’d say about sixty percent of humans eventually get divorced, or the term of breaking a marriage. some fall out of love, some cheat on their partners, others just…leave and don’t ever come back,”

         “i cannot imagine my life without megatron,” optimus said softly. “we have always been close, even when the war drove us apart…but we came together to save our race and it brought us even closer together,”

         “how old are you…if you don’t mind me asking?” shelby questioned, raising an eyebrow.

         “not at all, let’s see….the last time i checked, in human years, over twenty-five million years old,”

         shelby gasped and tripp choked.

         “did i say something wrong?” optimus asked, confused by their reactions.

         “n-no, not at all,” shelby said, clearing her throat. “it’s just…we’ve never met someone with such age behind them…us humans have a life expectancy of about eighty to ninety years on average, while some have lived past one hundred,”

         “basically you blink and our lives are over just like that,” tripp said.

         “and practically anything can kill us,” shelby added. “even a small cut can turn into a fatal infection,”

         “how awful,” optimus said with a frown.

         “you get used to it after so many years. tripp and i are only about a quarter through our lives,” shelby said.

         optimus released a soft humming noise as he listened, nodding after a moment.

         “so, you said yesterday that you were appointing someone to watch over the property?” shelby asked, changing the subject.

         “yes,” he nodded. “during the day, i’ve appointed sideswipe and sunstreaker, who are brothers, to watch over the property during the day and cyclonus at night. sideswipe’s alt-mode is a smaller form, as well as sunstreaker’s. cyclonus kept his cybertronian alt-form, which is a jet. with that, a device will also be connected onto the highest point of the roof of your home. it will send out a protective force field around the house and the ten acre property. your property will not be detected by decepticon surveillance,”

         “so someone will be here 24/7?” tripp asked.

         “yes,” optimus nodded. “come outside,”

         the holoform dematerialized in front of them, and shelby let out a whistle before she and tripp went outside. optimus transformed and a small panel opened up on his chest, to which he pulled out a spherical device that had what looked like a rod on top. being careful, optimus set the device on the highest point of the house and it clicked, attaching itself to the roof. it glowed green and shelby watched with awe as a beam of light shot out from the rod. it went high up into the air and with a quiet boom, what looked like a transparent wall began to come down on all sides like a giant sphere. she could see it go down all the way to the ground and then it vanished, as if it was never there.

         “anyone but a decepticon will be able to see your property,” optimus informed her.

         “you didn’t have to do all of this, optimus,” shelby said with a soft smile, glancing up at him.

         the cybertronian got down onto one knee and reached out with a hand, curling his fingers until only his index finger was stretched out and the tip of it gently touched her chest. “we are in your debt, shelby. you risked your own life to help one of our own, out of the kindness of your own heart,”

         shelby’s body rocked back slightly when the massive finger touched her chest. “even if i knew what megatron was before i took him in…i still would have,”

         “you show bravery and compassion,” he said softly, his blue eyes glowing softly. “you are worthy of being an autobot, a dear friend,”

         shelby glanced over at tripp, who exchanged a glance with her. tripp grinned softly and nodded.

         “thank you, optimus. i appreciate your words,” shelby smiled.

         “good,” he said, with a bit of mirth in his voice. “cyclonus will arrive here around 6 PM. there will be twelve hour shifts between watching the property and if anything happens, we will be alerted immediately,”

         “sounds like a plan,” shelby nodded. “can you do me a favor?”

         “of course, what is it?”

         “can you tell megatron to make sure he’s resting? or i’ll kick his ass,” she said.

         optimus chuckled. “i’ll let him know,”

         optimus transformed into his semi-mode and both tripp and shelby waved as he drove off down the driveway.

         “well,” tripp said.

         “yeah,” shelby nodded in agreement.

         later that day, shelby was starting noodles for dinner when she felt her ‘tingling senses’ go off. it was a thing that came with her mediumship abilities, able to detect other presences that come within vicinity of her.

         “tripp, can you watch the noodles?” shelby asked, calling for tripp in the living room.

         “yeah, what’s up?” he asked.

         “my tingling senses are going off,” shelby replied, grabbing her cane as she made her way to the front door.

         shelby made her way outside and glanced up, the wind running through her hair. she watched as a large purple and silver jet with unfamiliar symbols on the surface, lower itself down on a large clearing in the corner of her property that wasn’t too far from the house. this must have been cyclonus.

         shelby approached the jet cautiously as it turned off and then began to transform. the cybertronian, once fully transformed, was bigger than optimus and even bigger than megatron. he – well, she assumed it was a he – had large silver horns that protruded from his head and bright, red eyes that same color as megatron’s.

         “hello,” shelby said politely.

         “hello, you must be the human that optimus spoke of. shelby, was it?” the being asked.

         “yes,” she replied. “cyclonus?”

         “yes,” he nodded. “i was assigned to watch over you and the property during the night,”

         “yes, thank you. we appreciate it,” shelby smiled.

         “and i thank you for finding megatron,” cyclonus said, putting a hand on his chest. “i have known megatron for many cycles and i was relieved to hear he was being cared for,”

         “it was the least i could do,” shelby said with a nod.

         cyclonus gave one more nod before he transformed back into his jet mode and went dark, staying on high alert from what shelby could tell. she made her way back into the house, where sorrel had just walked in, arriving home from work.

         “what’s the jet in the backyard?” sorrel asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

         “that’s cyclonus,” shelby replied. “he’s our night watch. you okay?”

         “yes, just a rough day at work,” he replied tiredly.

         “dinner’s just about done,” shelby said, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek.

         sorrel made his way upstairs so he could shower, while shelby headed back into the kitchen to finish cooking up dinner. she felt her phone ping and she pulled it out of her pocket, opening up the notification to see a text message.

         [text to shelby]: hello. optimus relayed the information to me about you kicking my aft if i didn’t rest.

         shelby grinned softly and sent a message back.

         [text to megatron]: yes, i did. you better be resting.

         [text to shelby]: you are too small to be kicking my aft.

         [text to megatron]: get your holoform out and i will kick your ass.

         [text to shelby]: there she is.

[alecsalamander]

the resa lives au

David dies on a Wednesday.

A tragic accident, says the nice man with the hard eyes, a fault somewhere along the brake line. It could have happened to anyone at any time – these things happen, she’s told, explanations coming where apologies should lie instead. If it helps, they tell her, he most likely didn’t suffer.

They tell her a lot, and all of it is exactly what she needs to hear. She doesn’t believe any of it.

It’s a perfectly normal and logical event: a man drives a car with a good hundred thousand number of miles on it, and the brakes fail. He dies on impact. She knows they’re lying because she knows – knew – David. Ever since she told him she was pregnant he was determined to keep them both safe; he never would have let the brakes in the car get worn like that. Not a car Lacey rode in.

She also knows because she was supposed to be in the car with him, but climbed out of the seat still in their driveway and said, with a kiss to her husband’s cheek, that it didn’t feel right leaving Wendy alone with the baby.

When she gets home that night, she turns on the shower to hide the sounds of her sobbing. She cries for exactly twenty-five minutes until the timer on her watch beeps, and then she throws up twice, and then she goes to sleep.

In the morning, she requests the paperwork for her Chapter 5-8.

When the team had been relisted to reserve, it wasn't the influx of free time or the relaxing of a great number of rules they had lived and breathed for the last five years that had been the greatest appeal – it was the sudden offering of something that felt like permanence. They were no longer required to live on base, or even in the same block; as long as they were within an hour of base, the government didn't much care where they decided to set down roots. She and David had put in an offer on a two-story, three-bedroom brownstone in a historic neighborhood of Boston that first week, and Wendy had gone with them.

(It was one thing to share space when they were required to be in a stricter geographic radius and another entirely when the decision was an active choice, but Resa had known exactly what she was doing. She'd told Lacey about the house in the same breath she'd asked Wendy to move with them, smiling when she'd immediately turned her bright green gaze with a gasped "Uncle Wendy is gonna live with us?" she knew he would never be able to say no to. It ended up being a bigger blessing than any of them could ever have known, because David was dead only a month later and Wendy was already there to keep their family together.)

Her discharge has only just come through when she sits down at the table with a second folder of paperwork. “Wednesday Bishop,” she says calmly. He looks up from his breakfast at the sound of his name, an action mirrored immediately by Lacey; Resa takes all of three seconds to wonder if the toddler even knew her uncle’s full name before now before continuing. “David has called you my partner in crime for years now. Wanna make it literal?”

He chews, and swallows, and meets her stare unblinkingly. And then, with his surety that always makes her think about magic, he agrees. “Absolutely.”

She's already cried for her twenty-five minutes this morning, but feels a few tears leak through the tight walls she keeps around them. The thing is, she knows if she lets herself cry for real she’ll probably never stop – she misses David like she’s forgotten how to breathe, like she’s been cut in half, like some very vital part of her is missing. She misses David in a way she knows is not ever going to get better, not with time or healing or however people talk about grief and the process. In a way she knows will be a bleeding, open wound until the day she dies. But she also knows that Lacey doesn’t understand any of this and probably won’t for years now, and she can’t be a good mother with this gaping, aching hole in her but she can’t be a mother at all if she loses herself to crying. And so she indulges, twenty-five minutes when she first wakes up alone and another before she climbs into a too empty bed, and the rest of the day she’s—

Well. Not fine. Functioning, maybe.

She feels a few tears leak through and she squeezes her eyes shut to stop them, and she tries very hard to smile. “I wanna commit insurance fraud.”

And Wendy just takes it in stride, nodding and chewing and swallowing. “Teresa Williams,” he says in that same calm tone, and this is the magic of certain people, the way they know people and notice everything and just understand without being told. “It would be my absolute honor.”

The thing is, David is dead and so is every part of her heart that isn’t entirely devoted to her daughter, but the rest of the team is not. The condolences came like a tidal wave when the others found out, and the concern hasn’t stopped: is she doing okay, does she need anything, can they help, what about Lacey. And they understood, of course, why she fought so hard for the discharge, but there’s still a good three years of an elaborate lie to uphold.

Lacey is sick, of course, and very terribly chronically so. And she just lost her very good insurance.

“In sickness and health,” Wendy quirks as he signs the necessary forms, and the nice courthouse lady witnesses, and then they’re married.

They’d discussed it, in the three days of lead up, drafting it out like one of their ops. Wendy had plans on top of plans on top of plans, and Resa was hemorrhaging grief and fear and just wanted it to stop - of course they’d discussed it. They were married because she needed to pretend that she needed the insurance, and because she needed his help to keep Lacey safe, and because neither of them had ever bought the story that David’s death was an accident. And because they were a family no matter what, just not a traditional one – they were married but Wendy was still gay and Resa was still so in love with Dave that it was like he was still here sometimes, and neither of those facts would ever change. They were married because they were best friends who loved each other, and loved Lacey even more.

They don’t wear rings and Wendy still lives out of the guest bedroom, and his FCP still has him listed for deployment should the need arise, but they’re married in the eyes of the insurance companies and the United States military, which feels pretty fucking official.

It’s for Lacey. It’s to keep her safe. Neither of them can see it as something they’ll come to regret.

For their first wedding anniversary, and the first anniversary of David’s death, Wendy takes Lacey to spend the weekend with his family up in New York.

Resa turns off all her alarms and allows herself to cry herself unconscious.

The first time Lacey calls Wendy 'Dad,' she thinks it might be the thing that breaks her.

It's not, it turns out – the thing that breaks her, that is.

Lacey greets Wendy at the door with a screech that sounds more like a dinosaur than a child as he tries to kick off his boots in the entryway. "Daddy!" she screeches, delighted, and throws her arms around his legs, "you're home!" The latest hadn't been a deployment, not a proper one at least – he hadn't left the country but he had been gone for almost six days, and while Resa knows he can't officially tell her anything she also knows he'll tell her everything as soon as Lacey is asleep – but she'd missed him all the same. And Wendy, acting on instinct and ingrained habit, scoops her up into a hug before he's fully processed what she's said. "I missed you," she says in her sweet little voice, and Resa watches the exact moment where she loses Wendy to a war they have no hope of winning.

His smile drops, and his face shutters. There was always a coldness to him, when they were on missions together. A detachedness. Something that kept him divorced from all the parts that made him their Wendy, and allowed him to be Thorn's second in command. It's something she knew he had likely developed in his childhood, though he never talks about it, and honed it his time as a sniper.

It's who he becomes now.

He kisses the top of Lacey's head, because there's no part of him that can separate from how much he loves her, and he gently sets her back on her feet. And then, with military precision, he about faces and disappears up the stairs to his room.

She finds him there later, when she's got Lacey fed and settled in for the night, sitting in the dark; he's still in the heavy, non-descript uniform they wear when they're stateside, and he's staring unblinkingly at the top of his dresser. At the framed photo of the three of them from that first tour, before they had Lacey, when they were still a family but hadn't made it official yet. "I'm not replacing him," he says, voice cold and detached and nothing like their Wendy. "I don't want to."

She thinks, in that moment where she looks at the man she considers her brother and doesn't recognize whoever looks back, that she would almost prefer to have found him in his own twenty-five minutes of crying and heaving and mourning.

"Wendy," and he flinches when she touches his arm. "Wes." She kneels on the floor by his feet like she’s in church, praying a little, and bows her head against his leg. “Lacey has loved you from the moment she met you. Losing Dave didn’t change that.”

“I’m not—“ he starts again, and stops. Her father, she thinks he’s going to say, which she thinks might be the worst possible reaction. Wendy is not Lacey’s father except in every way that he is, legally and emotionally and in her very young, very loving eyes. It’s easy to forget, sometimes, just how simple it is to hurt the ones we love most. “Trying to replace him,” he admits quietly, desperately; it’s a battle he’s always going to lose, fighting himself like this. 

What strikes her hardest, right there through the heart on the floor of her best friend’s bedroom, is the way Wendy hates himself for loving their daughter so much. 

“Wednesday Bishop,” she glares up at him as fiercely as she can, wielding his full name like a weapon. He blinks, surprised, and doesn’t look away. “David loved you enough to bring you home to meet Lacey, and enough to make you her godfather. Why would he be mad that you love her just as much as he did?”

Wendy lets out a single, shaky breath and then collapses, curling around her kneeling form, and she feels the sharp sting of tears to match the ones they’re both pretending haven’t made their escape from his eyes. She thinks, maybe, this can count for her twenty-five minutes today, the way they both mourn the fact that Lacey won’t ever remember a time when she called anyone but Wendy ‘Dad.’ She was young when David died, too young, barely three; she’ll know her father because neither of them will let her not, will keep his memory warm and alive in their home, but she’ll never remember him. And if she, in all her now five-year-old capacity for love and logic, chooses to bestow the title on the man who loves her like one, well.

It’s so easy, after all, to hurt the ones we love most.

The next morning, Wendy scoops Lacey up into a second, much happier hug. He kisses each of her smiling cheeks and, when her nose wrinkles in a giggle, the tip of that as well. “I missed you, sweet pea,” he tells her. “Did you look after your mom for me?”

“Daddy,” she tells him seriously. Too seriously for a child her age, and she’s so much like David sometimes that it’s like he’s still here with them. “I’m five. I can't even reach the phone.”

The twins agree to watch Lacey for the evening (and for fifty dollars. Each.) and they go out on their first – not Date Night, because they aren’t dating. They’re married, and have been for years, but it’s something so platonic and forgettable even that it still catches both of them by surprise, the few times it comes up. – child free night since Lacey’s first birthday. Resa drags him to a bar she’d found months ago, some place she’d passed once during a shopping trip and had always wanted to come back to. The vibes were strong, she’d told him then, and again when he’d balked on the sidewalk outside. And it wasn’t like he could argue with her; Wendy knew about magic because it was job to, to know absolutely everything he could, because then he could keep his family safe. But he didn’t know about magic the way Resa did, didn’t feel it, didn’t have it speak to him in whatever language it had chosen for her. They weren’t visions, she explained to him not long after he found out. She didn’t see the future, or even a possibility for it. It was just a feeling in her gut, like what most people thought they had, only hers were always right.

Her gut had told her to trust Wendy, the very first moment they met. It had also told her to get out of the car, and to go back inside and stay with him and Lacey.

Wendy trusted her gut more than he had ever trusted anyone in his life.

And her gut told her that this was a place she wanted to visit, and he trusted it, he did, only—

“This looks like one of those overpriced hipster places,” he tells her mulishly. Through the door is all exposed brick and Edison bulb light fixtures, and too many people. “It’s for the twenty-somethings.”

She stops pulling his wrist long enough to duck back into his space, tipping up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “You’re a twenty-something,” she reminds him gently. Neither of them ever really remember the fact that Wendy is a decade younger than she is, mostly because he hasn’t been allowed the chance to act any definition of young since he was Lacey’s age. “Come take shots with me out of stupid tiny mason jars.”

The shot glasses are just normal shot glasses, and the bartender looks absolutely disgusted with her when she half-jokingly asks if they have the small jars.

She returns to the same bar a few weeks later, alone this time, because the vibes are still strong and she’s learned to never ignore them. It’s the middle of the week this time, and mid-afternoon; the only people inside are the professional drunks and the bartender from last time, who recognizes her immediately. “Hold on,” he tells the man he’s currently serving, and turns around to disappear into the back. The swinging door marked ‘Employees Only’ slams closed in a way far too loud to be anything but deliberate.

Apparently he had been offended at her joke.

Before she can decide if she’s self-conscious enough to want to leave, gut feelings be damned, the door slams open in the opposite direction and the bartender stomps back out and immediately over to her.

“You disgust me,” he tells her around a smirk that doesn’t seem to match his words, and he sets two very tiny mason jars on the bar in front of her. “How do you feel about whiskey?”

She laughs, loud and unbridled. “I’m more of a tequila drinker,” she tells him honestly, even though it’s not even four in the afternoon on a Wednesday, and waits for him to pour them each a shot. He toasts her sarcastically before downing the liquor without flinching, and he would look very unapproachable if he hadn’t somehow procured these two particular glasses since she’d teased him about them. “Teresa,” she doesn’t offer her hand but she does the empty glass back, and he doesn’t take it.

“CJ,” he replies, and deposits the second tiny jar next to hers. “Don’t bring those fucking things back next time. I don’t want management to get any ideas.”

She laughs again, and the feeling in her gut settles.

For their second wedding anniversary, and the second anniversary of David’s death, Wendy and Lacey go north to see his family again.

And Resa, after crying for twenty-five minutes, decides to get spectacularly drunk instead.

She goes to the bar with the vibes, because she’s still feeling a little bit lost and there’s something very safe about the way her gut leads her here, and she finds a seat at the bar without having to fight for it. “I need an entire pint of tequila,” she tells CJ as soon as he notices her, and he shrugs and reaches for one of the glasses normally reserved for beers.

“Where’s your husband?” he asks, because they usually come here together. Not often, maybe once a month or so, but she drops by during the day every other week – Lacey spends a few days a month with Wendy’s sisters, the only socialization she can get outside of school, and Resa spends those days at the bar nursing a single shot and chatting with the bartender, hating the way she’s too scared to even miss her little girl.

“New York,” she tells him honestly. And then, because it feels right, “It’s our anniversary. He took our kid to stay with his parents.”

CJ twists off the pour spout and half-fills the pint glass with tequila with the same uncaring air he seems to do the rest of his actions with – he talks to customers like they’re friends, or enemies, and never seems bound by any sort of convention. But he also still works here, so she guesses it’s either excusable or enough of a gimmick that no one cares enough to complain – and pushes it across to her. “I’ll get you wasted but I won’t fuck you,” he warns her, seriously. “Your husband knows where I work and he’s got that vibe.”

 “That vibe?” she asks.

He shrugs, unrepentant. “There’s something a little fucked up about him. About both of you, but I think you like me too much to come back and kick my ass.”

She laughs – she does like him, and they are both a little fucked up. “We’re not getting a divorce,” she says instead, but takes the glass of too-much alcohol. “They just went to visit family, and I stayed here. I—” It would be easy, she knows from the calm in her stomach, to tell him. That he might even understand. But the feeling in her gut is never as strong as the worry that haunts their household’s every waking moment, and so she falls back into the same spontaneous lies of Lacey’s childhood. The half-truths. Just enough information for someone to feel trusted. “There was a death in the family.”

He hovers for a moment, like maybe he understands more than she thought, but ultimately turns when the next voice demands his attention. “My offer still stands,” he leaves her with. “You know where to find me.”

She doesn’t get drunk that night.

She fucks him instead.

It feels better than crying and mourning, but mostly like she’s cheating on David somehow.

The story is still that David died in an accident.

That first year after his death, she loses contact with several of the witches she grew up with. The casual connections of emails and message boards where they’ve reconnected, or never lost contact to begin with, taper off in conversation like life has simply gotten in the way. They’re of an age now, most of them married and having children if they haven’t already. It doesn’t raise outward suspicion, like they simply have less time online. But then, in the encrypted messaging system that the majority of them use, an entire network that exists right beneath Thorn’s noses, familiar names go silent mid conversation and never speak up again. Over time, the usernames default to offline.

And then, in the second year, she loses even more. The tenuous connections that remain speak of a similar fear, of their numbers dwindling as they watch; she knew, of course, the unspoken directives that lurked behind Thorn’s mission statement. She knew better than anyone, because she had lied her way through acceptance of it in order to survive, to keep herself and her family safe, and had lost her husband anyway. But it had never been this sudden, or this widespread, or—

Well, it had always been overseas before. Acts of war, or arguably enough. It had never been American citizens vanishing from their homes.

She knows David’s death wasn’t an accident because he kept the car as safe as was humanly possible, and also because he kept a thumb drive of the truth in a hidden space in their home. Names and stories of witches who died, and where, and the orders that sent them there. Records of those who had been victims of the fear of magic, and those who had died without ever being proven of magic at all. Years of information damning Thorn and it’s government to the deepest circles of hell, and David had died for it.

One morning, almost three years after losing him, Resa digs out the thumb drive. And, because David is still dead and so now are too many of the witches they’ve known, she borrows Wendy’s laptop and she starts compiling the last few years.

Lacey starts kindergarten, and she and Wendy fight for the first time since they met.

He thinks she should be homeschooled, even offers to handle it himself – there’s too many lies binding her to the confines of their home, a child too sick to meet, for any form of schooling to be safe. She’s also, and much more importantly, still not quite cognizant of the fact that the things she can do – and if there is a limit to her powers they haven’t found it yet, and that scares her most of all, the way that not even their own kind seems to know what to do with anyone of her ability – aren’t normal and shouldn’t be seen or spoken of. There’s no way to explain to a six-year-old that the things that come as naturally to her as breathing or laughing could get her killed.

And Resa gets it, she does. She wants Lacey safe more than anything else, more than logic or rationality. But she’s also a witch, raised by them and around them, and Wendy’s experience is limited by his outsider perspective. Lacey and Resa and David are the first witches he’s ever known. He doesn’t understand that they’ve been hiding in plain sight for centuries, and that Lacey has already had any chance at a normal childhood taken from her just from the sheer bad luck of being born where and when she had been. So Resa argues for a regular normal public school, a place with regular normal kids, where Lacey can hide in a crowd of peers and, for a few precious hours a day, get a form of socialization that doesn’t come from her parents or her aunts or her only remaining grandparents.

Lacey starts kindergarten, at a regular normal school, and Resa and Wendy exist around each other in stony silence for a day or two, and then one day she comes home smiling so brightly that the entire house feels a few degrees warmer, and she tells them that she made a friend.

Something about their six-year-old carefully explaining the concept of what a friend is, because she’s never been exposed to it and thinks that it’s new and strange and exciting, silences Wendy’s argument for her safety. Because Lacey can be safe or she can be happy, but not both.

Not yet.

Their third anniversary, and the third anniversary of David’s death, comes all too quickly.

Wendy packs their bags like usual, ready to take himself and Lacey out of the house so that Resa can fill the space with everything she’s sacrificed, but sits down with her the night before he’d planned to leave. “Do you want to come?” he asks her in the quiet hours after Lacey is in bed, slinging an arm across the back of their couch in invitation. She accepts, curling against his side, and thinks about it.

David’s loss is still a hollow space in her chest, is still raw and aching, but feels more like a deep bruise – it hurts, down to her bones, but it’s no longer a sharp pain. It’s something softer and deeper, more a part of her, like her body found a way to heal around the feeling. She still misses him so much that it’s hard to wake up in the morning, but she also has three years of a life with her – their – family to cushion it. “I,” and she wants to agree, but hesitates. “I don’t know.”

He hmms a quiet, contemplative noise and hugs her closer. “Do you want to fuck the bartender again?” he asks seriously, even though he’d laughed at her for nearly five minutes when she’d told him about it.

There’s no hesitation this time. “Absolutely not.” The worst part about that night had been how they’d become something like friends after, and now she never goes to the bar outside of her once or twice a month with Wendy because she knows CJ’s schedule and meets him for lunch instead.

“Maybe we don’t go see my parents,” he offers. “Maybe we go somewhere, just the three of us.”

It’s a strange new step for them, existing as a family of three off paper and outside their home. So much of their life is built on a series of lies that it’s easy to forget, even for them, the truth at the heart of it.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Lacey starts first grade and turns seven and for a very brief year of their lives everything is normal.

Wendy is home more, which Lacey loves (and Resa greets with a cold sort of horror, that his missions are keeping him stateside now), and the three of them are doing more traditional family things together. Vacations, mostly camping trips or small B&Bs in isolated New England, and day outings. They go to art museums because Lacey loves to look at the colors, and natural history museums because she loves to touch things that are older than her. She learns to swim and to ride a bike and to skip rope.

For one brief, shining year of their lives, everything is good.

Everything goes to hell the year Lacey is eight.

The thing is, she was never under any assumptions that this would be a forever thing – she and Wendy (and David. So many of their plans were ones he put into place) bent their entire lives around shielding Lacey from the world, and from notice, but they never once thought it would be permanent. The hope was that they could get her to adulthood, a teenager at least, someone who could understand the importance of keeping hidden. That maybe, before it ever came up, they could change the world for the better. There were plans for it, of course.

Thorn was intimately familiar with their planning.

She’s not sure when the suspicion began. It could have been as early as her birth, as the nebulous timeline they tried so hard to stick to but it was hard, remembering so many lies made up on the spot like that. It could have been much more recent, a niggling of doubt that the last few injuries Wendy came home with seemed to stay there. He tried his best to hide the way Lacey would heal whatever she could see, but some things were impossible to lie about. The way his ribs had healed in under a week, for one. The black eye that washed off in the shower, for another.

She’s not sure when the suspicion began, only that it was far too along before she or Wendy noticed it.

He’s in closed-door meetings, filling in for Adam as they get the briefing for their next deployment; Adam is still injured from the whatever happened on their last mission, the one where Wendy had come home with multiple broken ribs and a haunted expression. It was the first time he refused to tell her what had happened. She’s walking Lacey to school, because that’s a thing she’s into now – it’s not an impossible walk but it is one that’s just a little too long for an everyday event, but Wendy has been gone for five days now and next week is spring break and it’s looking like they’ll have to cancel some of their plans and—

The walk was supposed to be a treat. A little something to cheer Lacey up.

And the thing is, it works. Her sunshine child is bright and beaming after only a few blocks, and practically skipping when they turn onto the street with her school. “Can I do it myself, Mom?” Lacey asks, all wide eyes and a pleading expression that is so much like her own. She means the crosswalk to get onto school grounds, a well-marked street crossing with flashing lights and an attendant (one of the lunch ladies, Lacey said the first time they walked and saw her in her neon vest). It’s her newest mark of independence, crossing by herself. They’ve let her do it a dozen times by now. And she wants to say no, that it’s not safe, only it always has been before. And Lacey has been so sad, missing her dad and perhaps their plans for vacation.

Which is why Resa doesn’t hesitate to let her do it again today. She smiles at her daughter and kisses her goodbye, to have a good day at school, and nods gratefully to the attendant as she moves to escort Lacey across the quiet residential street.

They’re halfway across when the van screeches through, sending the attendant flying. It’s five years away from war that has her hesitating, frozen at the horror of the broken body before her. She blinks, just a heartbeat before seeing Lacey is unharmed before the door of the van wrenches open and she sees the familiar man grab her.

Another blink, a single heartbeat, and they screech away.

She’s running before she even realizes it, her phone pressed against her ear. It rings out once, twice, three times and she hangs up. Calls again. The line rings once and she’s hung up again, redialing. It rings three more times before she slams the phone closed with one hand. The van is two blocks ahead, driving faster than her desperation.

Wendy calls immediately.

“Efnysien stole the cauldron,” she tells him like she used to, when she was a soldier and he was the only authority she swore allegiance too. And then, when the words fall out to trip up her feet, sending her to the pavement, “Oh god, Lacey. Adam took Lacey.”

Whatever Wendy says in response is lost to the noise that punches out of her chest, a noise that doesn’t sound like any words. Any language. Like something far older and more primal than language, something that doesn’t even sound human. It sounds very much like it feels, shattering her ribcage on the way up. She screams and she sobs and she curses and, by the time the first of the bystanders has reached her, she thinks if she looks down she’ll find pieces of herself left behind in the street, broken like the poor crossing attendant.

Instead, she wrestles every part of herself that is a mother away, and she remembers the training from her previous life.

She stands. Shakes off the hands and the questions. Brushes blood and gravel and dirt from her knees. Pockets her phone.

They’d planned for this.

Wendy was over fifty miles away when she’d called him. He’s home in fifteen minutes.

“I called Ronnie,” she greets him at the door, a furtive glance down the street as she moves just enough to hustle him inside. The door is closed and locked behind him, deadbolt and chain. “Felt right.”

He nods. There’s nothing else to say.

Another five minutes and Ronnie is knocking at the door, a series of short and long – alpha charlie. All clear. Wendy opens the door this time with the same level of paranoia, chain and lock and calculating glances left and right before he allows the man to enter. Ronnie shuffles through the too-small gap offered to him and stays in the entryway, looking around with barely disguised interest; they’ve lived here for over five years now and never had anyone over, least of all their team. Resa watches the way his eyes stray to photos of Lacey, the ones they keep at home rather than the ones they send through email and text – the ones where she looks healthy and vibrant and alive. “Aren’t we supposed to be grounded for another two weeks?” is the first thing he asks. Resa hadn’t told him anything except their address and to come over immediately.

“Adam took Lacey,” and there’s that coldness again in Wendy, that battleground steel.

Ronnie blinks, and pauses, and seems to search for his next words very, very carefully. “I can only think of one reason he would do that,” he settles on finally, because he’s the most like Resa and David of the entire team. He’s always been a little bit more one of Wendy’s people than he’s been the government’s. She thinks, if anything, that’s why she called him.

The steel sharpens. He’s still her Wendy, she can see in the way his shoulders relax and he turns his back to the front door, but something has changed in his voice; there’s less of a challenge and more of a conviction. A promise. “I’m not letting him kill my daughter.”

None of them are naïve enough to think he wouldn’t. Theirs is a career of watching him with other people’s daughters (and sons, and parents, and—)

Ronnie’s voice sharpens to match. “Pretty fucking hypocritical, Wes. You’ve never cared who Adam had us killing until it was your daughter.” Resa has never quite known the exact relationship between the two, but she’s suspected for years; in this moment she knows with utter certainty, just as she knows it’s over. “What’s that one quote JFK used, about good men doing nothing? You’re just as guilty as any of us.”

The space between them is quickly widening; it’s not a physical distance, but more the sort that drives people apart.

“Enough!” she snarls at them both, earning their immediate silence. Resa was a wife and a mother, but she was also a soldier. “Enough. Adam has Lacey and we’re taking her back, and we’re blowing the entire thing open after. Which side of that operation do you want to be on?”

Ronnie contemplates her presence, even though he’s known her for almost ten years; it is, she acknowledges, the first time he’s known her as a witch. Takes in her torn jeans and the evidence of a generally happy life. And then his entire body shifts, and he’s at attention but no longer on alert – it’s how they always were before a mission, some mix of calm and keyed up. “You’re blowing Thorn public?”

She thinks about David dying in a crash, and about all the acquaintances she’s lost contact with. She does not think about Lacey. “Wendy hasn’t been doing nothing,” she feels the need to defend him. “He’s been telling me everything, and I’ve been making sure there’s a paper trail. Dave started it. We have everything going back to the 90s, and no matter what happens today it goes to the press in twenty-four hours.” She knows none of them will walk away from this clean – there’s too much blood attached to Thorn’s actions to not cover their hands as well. But she figures there’s a big difference between the ones who pull the trigger and the ones who pull the curtain and, well, she’s willing to risk it.

Wendy is staring at her, calculating; he knows there’s no third person in this plan, not really. Ronnie will be a welcome addition but he’s not written in or out, and she’s all but promising that the world will know about witches and their attempted extinction regardless of their survival. Instead of calling her bluff, he backs it – backs her. “Help us or don’t,” he says without meeting Ronnie’s eyes. They both look over and around the other, but not at. Not anymore. “But it ends tomorrow.”

Ronnie agrees. She knew he would; she’s known from the moment she looked at the phone in her hand and trusted her gut.

She knows CJ works Fridays, and knows he comes in before lunch to nap in the back; usually to sleep off Thursday night in preparation for Friday night. When she doesn’t see him at or behind the bar, she grabs the closest bottle and shatters it against the floor.

“What the fuck,” he calls out before he’s even pushed through the door from the back, and then again when he sees her and what she’s done. “Teresa, what the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m in a hurry,” she doesn’t explain, and hands him the thumb drive that she’s willing to die for. That David did die for. She gives it to him without hesitation because something brought her here all those years ago and only ever stopped pushing her when she took the time with him; her gut has never been wrong but it has often been vague. She’s not surprised when he takes it and immediately wraps it in a fist, like he also feels the need to protect it. “If I don’t come in by noon tomorrow, I need everything on this to go online. Send it to the news, the police, I don’t care. Get it out there.”

There’s always been something about CJ, about the way he interacts with her – she thinks maybe, right now, she finally gets it. He takes the thumb drive and her half-assed explanation, and his usually uncaring air is replaced with something serious. “My dad,” he tells her, and it’s somehow the most personal information she’s ever gotten from him. CJ tells her his every thought as it happens, a stream of words without a dam to stop them, but they’re just as shallow. She knows who he is on the surface, but never anything more real than that. “He’s a cop, he can get it to the right people.”

“Hopefully I see you soon,” and her gut doesn’t tell her to say goodbye.

In the end, it doesn’t matter who CJ gets the thumb drive to. They blow the whole thing open themselves.

And also two-fifths of the Pentagon.

She and Lacey leave DC before the smoke clears. Wendy gives both of them an exhausted, grateful hug before he gives Resa the car keys and tells her that he’ll handle it from here. She passes the news vans only a block or so away and wants to turn around, wants to wrap him in her arms and press kisses to his cheeks because he is her brother and her best friend and he is stepping into the spotlight to keep Lacey safe, and she is so thankful for him that she has to pull over, just for a minute. “Your dad has to talk to some people,” she tells Lacey, mostly quiet from the ordeal; she had flashed a quick smile of her old self at being allowed to sit in the front seat, but slumped against the window too soon after. “He’ll be home later.”

Lacey doesn’t answer. She hadn’t expected her to.

It’s only a little before noon before she pulls up in front of the bar – the roads had been mostly clear with everyone at home, glued to their televisions. The last sixteen hours had played out across the news stations as first a terrorist attack and then something like a political coup. And then, unexpectedly, as the shattering of lines between fiction and fact. It was a security guard who turned the tides, recognizing Adam at some point and placing him as the one who had killed his brother.

It was easy to forget that magic came from blood, not from books. That if one member of a family was a witch, they all were.

The security guard recognized Adam, and he had put his gun away and thrown out his hands instead, and he had burned. The cameras caught everything. He wasn’t the only one who worked there, either – it was like her argument with Wendy, years before, about kindergarten of all things. Their kind has been hiding in plain sight for centuries. The number was small, but it was enough.

The bar is quiet when she enters, the televisions mounted behind the bar all turned to CNN with the volume on low, subtitles scrolling across in frantic bursts. A few of the dedicated alcoholics of the neighborhood are watching, transfixed. So is CJ. “Hey,” she slides onto an open stool at the bar, and offers a hand to help Lacey climb onto the one next to her. “I owe you one.”

CJ stares at her the same way he had been at the television – a little bit of awe and a whole lot of disbelief – and doesn’t comment on the fact that she’s very obviously brought a child into a bar. “I owe you… a million, probably.”

She can’t help it. She laughs. It’s been the longest day or so of her life, but something about CJ has always felt very ridiculous but very safe. “CJ—”

“Catalin,” he interrupts. For the first time since she’s met him his face is soft and open, and she realizes very suddenly that she’s seeing him when he cares. “My name’s Catalin, I—” and here his mouth opens and closes a few times. His eyes are gold, warm like honey, and he looks incredibly young. “You took down the Witchhunters.”

There’s very few people on earth who know them by that moniker – people on the team, or the witches they hunt. Everything makes sense now. “I knew there was a reason I liked you,” she grins at him softly, because maybe the entire world knows about them now but it’s hardly safe yet, and however many of their kind remain need as much softness as they can find. “Lacey, baby, meet my friend Catalin.” She strokes her daughter’s hair, grateful that she’s here and healthy, and watches that spark of familiar light come back into her eyes.

“Hi Cat,” she bestows the nickname with her wide toothy grin, and is rewarded with the first real smile Resa has ever seen from the man. “Can I have a beer?”

The smile falls but his eyes are still warm, and he stares at her incredulously. “No the fuck you cannot.”

Lacey sighs and hits him with the wide, pleading eyes she learned from Resa. “I’ve had a long day,” she tells him. “I got kidnapped by Witchhunters and my mom and dad blew up a building, and then I had to sit in the car for like a billion hours.”

“You don’t need a beer, you need to do shots.” He nods and digs out three shot glasses, and he makes three very small Shirley Temples. Lacey looks absolutely delighted. “Alright brat, sănătate,” and he clinks his glass against hers, and then against Resa’s, and he shows her how to do a shot.

Wendy catches up to them two hours later, looking wrung out in a way she can’t even imagine. He slides onto the stool at Lacey’s other side just in time to watch her take another Shirley Temple shot, and he looks at her like she’s hung the moon. “Hey CJ,” he finally greets the bartender. “Any chance I can get one of those?”

Cat laughs. Resa has told him most of the story by now, the way that she and David joined Thorn to try and take it down, the way that Wendy joined them without question. The way that David died, and the way it wasn’t an accident. The way she and Wendy were married but more like siblings, about the insurance fraud and they way they juggled raising a child and a witch at the same time. “Like I told the ladies, your whole fucking family gets whatever they want for free as long as I’m behind the bar,” he says sincerely, and he jerks his head at the television screens. CNN is still discussing Wendy’s interview, the way he confirmed that witchcraft was real and that the government had attempted to obliterate it. His record helped; he was respectable and believable. “We gotta stick together, right?”

Wendy huffs a noise that isn’t a yes, but isn’t a no. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he says dryly, “but I’m not actually related to this one.” This one is the way Lacey leans into his side and beams up at him, ivory and gold – she looks mostly like Resa and a little bit like David, and nothing like Wendy. She does, however, take after him in mannerisms.

Resa watches the exchange and tries to get Wendy’s attention across the space between them, because she’s absolutely sure that Cat has noticed that and most other things about Wendy as well.

He grins, soft and crooked; Resa has known him for four years now and considered him a friend for three of those, but she thinks today is the day she truly meets him. The air of uncaring sarcasm is mostly gone, aside from the sharp parts of his humor that she thinks are the most real, and his face seems more open. Eyes more expressive. She understands him better than she ever has before – she feels the same weight lifted from herself. She’s been carrying hers and David’s and Lacey’s for years. “All the more reason for us to stick together. You’re gonna need as many of us as you can get.”

Wendy takes the Shirley Temple shot he’s been offered with a wry, “One of you is more than enough, thanks,” and toasts Lacey before swallowing.

[chaseadrian]

congratulations on 500!😍

could i please request “I’m gonna be honest with you. I’m really horny, and you’re really hot. Can we fuck? Like, now?” with adrian chase pls?

thanks so much!! hope you enjoy! :) <3

rearview glances

pairing: adrian chase x f!reader rating: explicit, minors DNI word count: 1.1k+ summary: adrian is a horny shit who can't wait for you to drive home before needing to jump your bones.

"I'm gonna be honest with you. I'm really horny, and you're really hot. Can we fuck? Like, now?"

Adrian's voice caught you off guard from the backseat as you drove him home. He'd been relegated there ever since the incident with the coffee. One burned tongue and the entire tray was on your lap, pooling in the cupholders, and soaking into the fabric. It was a miracle you hadn't crashed.

Now Adrian sat in the backseat and all future trays of coffee were buckled into the passenger seat tightly.

"What? Adrian I'm driving?"

"I know, but you look so hot in the rear view mirror. Very focused."

You glanced back at him, his eyes glistening and flicking around the parts of your face he could see in the mirror.

"Thank you. But you're gonna have to wait until we get home."

"Ugh" You heard the spandex in his costume slide against your backseat, and glanced once again in the mirror to see him slumped down with his arms crossed. He wasn't pouting, but you saw a little frown forming on his lips slowly.

You pressed down on the gas a little harder.

And when you made it home, he was diving between the front seats, curling his body in the tight space so his mouth could reach yours. You'd barely gotten to take the keys out of the ignition, the warmth of his lips on yours sending shockwaves through your fingers, and the keys clattered to the floorboard with a jingle.

"You're eager." You spoke between kisses, threading your fingers into the back of his hair, tugging on the dark strands but holding his head steady against yours.

He just nodded against you, glasses smudging as they knocked against your face. His hand slid up your thigh, pushing your dress away, fingertips gliding over the fresh goosebumps.

"Come to the backseat?" Adrian pulled back, his hair wild and cheeks flushed.

"You don't want to go inside?"

"You said I had to wait until we got home. This is the driveway of home." He raised an eyebrow, and slithered through the space, dropping back into his original seat.

You laughed, unbuckling so you could squeeze through the space and join him. Your head knocked against the roof of the car, and you all but fell into the backseat, hand instinctively reaching for Adrian to steady yourself.

"Are you okay?" He asked, eyes widening.

"Yeah, yeah. Just kiss me." You rubbed your head and leaned back in, the pain subsiding as the butterflies in your stomach kicked up with every second Adrian kissed you. His tongue stuttered against yours, your breaths growing hotter and heavier by the moment.

The sound of clinking metal made its way into the silent space, and Adrian pulled you onto his lap, his firm erection between your stomachs.

"Like, really eager."

"Shh." Adrian pressed his thumb against your lips, and you closed them over his finger, tongue swirling around the rough skin. His other hand snuck down between your legs, a smile overtaking his face as he touched you.

"I think wearing no underwear makes you just as eager, don't you?" His voice was deep and quiet, like worn leather boots shuffling over gravel, and you melted into his touch. He ran his thumb over your clit, hard enough to get you wet but soft enough to leave you wanting.

You moaned as he dragged his thumb from your mouth to your cheek, pulling on your skin to bring you in for another kiss.

"You wanna sit on my cock?" Adrian's voice was rougher, spoken into your mouth, more controlled than usual. His breathing was steady, if a little arrhythmic, and you shuddered at the feeling of his thumb digging harder into your skin.

Nodding against him, you wriggled as his hand between your legs pressed down harder, circling your clit as your arousal grew.

"What?" There was a smile in his voice, a tease. He'd started this entire encounter but he was also pulling the strings, making you ask.

"I need you inside me." You whispered, gasping as he pressed two fingers inside you, pumping slowly, letting the pressure build. "Fuck, Adrian."

"What? I'm doing what you said." His lips stayed just away from yours, just away from giving you what you want.

You whined at the feeling, just enough to keep you satisfied but not enough to keep you sated.

"I need your cock inside me. Please." Grinding your hips, the immediate absence of his fingers drove you mad. He grabbed you by the back of your neck, bringing your ear to his lips.

"That's my sweet girl."

Adrian lifted you up, lining his cock with your entrance, and guided you down by your hips. You both gasped, and Adrian's eyes screwed shut, lips falling open in a perfect grimace. He held his hands on your hips, rocking you back and forth on top of him.

It wasn't long before he was fucking up into you instead, one of your hands on the roof of the car, keeping yourself from hitting it with every thrust. Your other hand was clutching the fabric of his suit over his bicep.

The windows were just starting to fog up as Adrian was losing his cool, the grip on you tighter and burning along with the pressure of his cock. He'd pulled your torso to him, lifting your sundress up over his head so he could kiss your skin, dragging his lips over your chest.

You felt his hot breath hitting harder with every thrust, and you knew he was close. The welling orgasm in your stomach was close to spilling over just the same, and you tugged your dress off his head, crowding down as well as you could to kiss him.

With the feeling of your lips on his and your cunt clenching around his cock, Adrian lost it entirely, whining into your mouth as his orgasm rocked through him, spilling out from between your legs. You ground on him harder, your clit grazing against his now slick skin, broken kisses now shattering completely as your own orgasm overtook you.

You shook against him, and he held you close, bringing your head into the crook of his neck. He hissed as you bit down on the curve of his shoulder, his own fingernails digging into your skin, grounding you as you came down from the orgasm.

Both of you sat there, heavy breaths clouding the windows further, until you pulled away from him. Smiles and laughter broke the near silence, still struggling to catch your breaths, absorbed in the afterglow, basking in love.

He pressed a kiss to your chin, "Okay. We can go inside now."

[cabinporn]

We just got an email from our friend @kamilbialous who wrote: “My wife and I scraped some money together to purchase some raw old growth/2nd growth forest, that felt very remote and private on the property, but it is still close to a small town of about 2000 people. Tofino and Ucluelet are end-of-the-road towns on Vancouver Island, that have historically been resource towns, but have transitioned to tourism mostly, in large part due to the beauty of the landscapes and beaches, wildlife, and also surfing. Peace Cabin is 500sq ft, and 13ft tall. It's approximate 14'x35', but it has proportionately large covered decks that amount to almost the square footage of the cabin itself. Our zoning partially limited the size we could build for a cabin, but it was such a welcome challenge.  Functionally, it had to be able to sleep 2 couples comfortably without sacrifices to either party - so no crawling up into a tiny loft above a steaming kitchen. We wanted a large bathroom given the tightness of everything else, and then a really functional kitchen/living/dining. The exterior decks provide covered sitting and entering space from the rain. Heat is from radiant concrete floors, building envelope is super tight to keep energy requirements low. A gas fireplace inside and wood outside for cabin vibes. Design-wise, for a tight space we borrowed some things from sailboat aesthetics, the table is permanently mounted to the floor on a steel pedestal, built-in kitchen, with apartment-size appliances. The sitting/living zone is also built-in like an L-shaped sailboat settee. Benches throughout make everything modular so you can sit on them or use them as coffee tables. The bedrooms are like little recharge capsules - just big enough for a comfy queen-size mattress and 3 big windows. You go in, close the door, and are immediately surrounded by trees and silence. We named it @peacecabin years ago when we first started putting in the first driveway/trail. It is remarkable how peaceful it truly turned out, as remarked by our friends and guests. It's my favourite place in the world.” More photos on @cabinporn.