#and the car that killed ao3 in real life

[staryflowers]

(voice of someone who is unbiased) yuo should watch prime defenders

It's so fun only knowing stuff about it by osmosis though

[blublublujk]

good girl, gone bad

oneshot

word count: 6k

genre: established (secret) relationship

pairing: good girl y/n x bad boy jk

summary:

“I can’t believe anyone actually likes those stupid fucks. I mean, the hickeys, it’s like he wants everyone to know he actually fucks.” You stay staring just a tad longer at the buff (sexy) jock, short enough so that Karina won’t notice. This time the boy proudly parading the trail of hickeys down his neck smiles at you and parts with a quick wave, some blonde hair boy from the group laughs at him and shakes his arm teasingly. You can’t help but to smile too, it’s barely there, but he’ll know. You decide to turn around and follow her steps. “Yeah totally, me either.” What your best friend doesn’t know won’t kill her… right?

warnings: basically just pwp but plot went missing (oops!), swearing, smoker jk (i swear if anyone complains in my inbox i'll haunt you), explicit sexual content; jk has a huge dick ok, consensual recording/pictures, car sex (don't fuck in a car), hickeys, unprotected vaginal sex, dirty talk, spanking, squirting, breast play, blowjob, fingering, cunnilingus, come shot (on face), slut shaming (again lol), come tasting/swallowing, stomach bulge (my fault i love this one), choking, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie

a.n: sorry for a late update hope yall dont mind, but i just wanna get rid of all my drafts they are PILING. lol forgive me for only always writing about jungkook, but he's so easy to write about. he breathes, and i instantly open my notes app (im not even joking). this has been sitting in my drafts since his LA trip (iykyk) it sparked a conversation and i wrote it. i want that man bad... and im lesbian :D

ANYWAYS enjoy and STREAM GOLDEN for our golden bunny <3

p.s: i'll probably come back to this couple but its a oneshot for now... but wouldn't no nut nov be fun with this jk?? everyone say yesss. ok bye.

—> m.list

—> welcome me on ao3 & twt

—-

“Ugh, what a piece of shit.”

Before you even get to ask who, the motorcycle roars back to life across the parking structure belonging to the very one and only, Jeon Jungkook. A group of college jocks crowd around the man. There’s a cigarette between his fingers, he’s not paying it much attention though. He's deep in conversation, laughing at something one of them said, clearly more invested in the joke than anything else around him. 

As the laughter dies down, he looks over, eyes connecting while he brings the cigarette to his pierced lip, slowly inhaling the toxic fume. The terribly annoying (yet somehow sexy) tattooed jock on his loud motorcycle winks towards your direction, before selfishly exhaling that poisonous smoke into the air. Fuck, you really, really wanted to hate him too. 

“Yuck.” Karina gags with a scrunch to her nose, turning a cold back to them and you’re grateful to her because you almost get stuck in his lustful gaze. 

“Yeah… yuck.” You reply with no real meaning somehow managing to convince her you meant it.

“I hate him and his stupid friends. They are killing the Earth slowly and they don’t even give a fuck!” Karina argues in all her given glory and in her environmental science major mindset. “Plus those cancer sticks reek, why must the general public suffer because they can’t last thirty without them.”

Jungkook could last thirty without them. Way more than thirty when you were around him, especially when he was given something (or someone) to entertain himself with, but you couldn't say that aloud so the sudden thoughts stayed safe and sound in your head. 

“No, no they don’t. But what can we do?” There’s a sigh and then you clear your throat. “Should we get going now?”

Your arm wraps around hers, gesturing the way back to campus with a swift wave where you both had been meaning to study given that classes finally started cramping in heavy assignments.

“Yes, please.” Karina is quick to sharply turn her heel and walk back towards the building. “I can’t believe anyone actually likes those stupid fucks. I mean, the hickeys, it’s like he wants everyone to know he actually fucks.”

You stay staring just a tad longer at the buff (sexy) jock, short enough so that Karina won’t notice. This time the boy proudly parading the trail of hickeys down his neck smiles at you and parts with a quick wave, some blonde hair boy from the group laughs at him and shakes his arm teasingly. You can’t help but to smile too, it’s barely there, but he’ll know. You decide to turn around and follow her steps. “Yeah totally, me either.”

What your best friend doesn’t know won’t kill her… right?

—-

“You taste disgusting.” There’s a muffled laugh pressed into your lips, as your tongues meet halfway, meeting each other’s lips in a bruising wet kiss. Your ass grinds roughly against his lap, groaning into your mouth while you bring your ass flush down, feeling his soft cock harden below you. His right hand grips your right ass cheek, jiggling it in his hand, before smacking it (with love, of course!). 

“Yeah?” Jungkook smirks, bringing his mouth against your throat, sucking and licking everywhere there was space. He sneakily leaves little love bites behind even though he knows you’ll kill him for this later because you have somewhere to be after this. He even bites your ear lobe gently between his teeth, before he cockily whispers. “You love it though.”

The whimper that leaves your mouth should be illegal. It only drives Jungkook crazier. 

Both hands find purchase on your ass now, spanking you once again in each cheek. Though Jungkook was a bit disappointed he wasn’t seeing your flushed bare cheeks on top of him, but he guesses he can settle for now. “You gonna let me fuck you now baby?”

He gropes your asscheeks without any hesitation, still leaving wet kisses buzzing onto your skin, stealing a quick kiss from your raw-bitten lips. 

“Mm, only if you ask nicely.” You tease, dragging a finger along his jawline.

With this, Jungkook laughs, throwing his head back. Your hand comes to fist his hair, while he drops another wet smooch onto your lips. “You know I’d do anything for a piece of this ass angel.”

You smile into the kiss, grinding harder against his now– hard cock. You felt your folds leak of your own arousal. It was so undeniable. The attraction between you two, the desire to take each other apart, to be within each other’s arms. There was no place like Jungkook’s lap. Here you could stay forever.

“Imagine what people would say if they saw you like this baby.” Jungkook starts teasing, tugging your shirt off with no trouble. Your breasts catch his attention, noticing that you are wearing that black lingerie set he had bought for you last Valentine’s Day. “Fuck. Look at you baby.”

He squishes your breasts together, leaning up to kiss the uncovered tender flesh on both sides. You don’t even attempt to hold your moans back. “I– nghhh.”

“Did you expect to get fucked today princess? Hmm? Is this all for me?” Jungkook’s words work like magic, they drip off his sinful tongue like honey. You bring your body flush against his, burying your blushing face against his neck. “Don’t get shy on me baby, tell me. Did you wear this all for me?”

He purrs sweetly and you only nod, cheeks burning red. 

It's not like you were embarrassed of him, no in fact, you were happy to announce that the college campus’ certified bad boy is all yours and has been for the past two years. 

There was no exact moment to this, the attraction had always been there. 

You had first officially met Jungkook in one of your general ed classes. Statistics, to be exact, which he would have one-hundred percent failed had it not been for you passing him the answers mid exams. It wasn’t like that to begin with of course, it took you some convincing. To be fair and to your excuse, it was so hard to say no to those beautiful big brown eyes.

At first, you assumed he was doing this all, acting lost and playing dumb, to get into your pants which he succeeded. However you had enough dignity left to make him work for it. Until you realized those secret smiles, stolen glances, and subtle hand holds were much more than just a silly game. You had fallen for his charm, and against everyone’s advice to stay far away from him, you fell in love with the (not so terrible) bad boy and let him take over your heart completely. It happened so randomly and so all at once. It was confusing, new, but most of all, liberating. 

Being with Jungkook was so freeing and the thrill of being caught with him was so worth it. It didn’t matter what people thought of you or him, you both were willing to die on this hill of love. 

Jungkook, too, had fallen quickly. How could he not? There was nothing to dislike and everything to love. Your pouty scolds, he looked forward to. The stolen glances across campus were his favorite, a secret only you and him held close to heart. There were times where your cheeks would flush pink, because he would steal kisses from you behind the campus library. You were seriously his favorite person ever. 

“Jungkook stop! What if someone sees us?” You would whisper-shout, a pout would form against your will. 

Jungkook would just kiss your worries away again and again and then say. “You’re the cutest little thing alive baby.” 

“Are you trying to change the subject?” It was hard to speak between kisses, that and the fact that he would squish your cheeks together like the adorable boyfriend he was. 

“I don’t know. Is it working?” His reply was cheeky and lips would start trailing down your neck and then you determined, yes. Yes, it is working. Fuck it all. 

It’s safe to say, he was yours since the start of it all, as you were his. Wrapped in each other’s fingers before anyone had realized it, now you were inseparable. 

“Answer me princess.” Jungkook pulls you back gently, observing your flushed face. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

Of course, this only makes you blush harder, but you do manage to admit. “Y-Yes… I wore this only for you. Always for you.”

Jungkook smiles, pecking your cheek. “Then I’m the luckiest man alive angel.”

He cradles your face, before leaning in to kiss you. This time, you guys take your time. Your mouths stay closed, taking the time to really feel the plushy feeling against your own and enjoy each other’s presence. You felt as if you were floating in clouds. 

“Jungkook.” You mumble onto his lips and he hums, but that’s not enough so you call his name once more with intent. “Jungkook.”

He pulls back with a questioning look. “Yes, my love?”

“Can you please just fuck me already?” The words come out barely above a whisper, even after fucking you so many times, you could be so shy at times.

Jungkook breaks out into a bunny-like grin, holding back a stifled laugh. “So much for wanting to make me say please, look at who’s pleading now.” 

“J-Jungkook…” Your face goes hot again and he laughs once more, patting your ass softly.

“Okay. Okay, my love. Enough teasing, I’ll fuck you since you asked so nicely baby.” Jungkook takes his sweet time taking off his own shirt, and pulling your skirt off. It was a bit tricker, given you were both in your car which was not fit for two people even in the backseat, but you guys always made it work. 

You were still scared to ride to campus with him as much as he begged you to because it would blow your secret relationship, but fucking on campus has yet to be off-limits. Mainly because Jungkook fucks you all too well, and you aren’t one to say no to good dick (oops).

He attaches his mouth right above the bare skin of your left breast. He holds your tits in his hands, pushing them together, stuffing his face right between them. Jungkook makes sure to pay attention to both breasts (it’s only fair), rubbing your hard buds through the black lace which hardly covers them. You bite back a moan, feeling him rut up against your heat, his hard length pressing stiffly against you, your walls already clenching, desperate to feel him inside you.

His tattooed hand slips below, releasing the nipple he had been tugging on earlier. You feel the tip of his fingertips brush against your panties. “Fuck, you’re so wet baby. I can’t wait to be inside you.”

Surely by now, you were dripping onto the lace. His erection is still pressing against your inner thigh. “D-Don’t wait then.”

Your boyfriend smiles, bringing his lips to yours. “Behave. You’ll get some dick inside you soon.”

Like the brat you were, your eyes rolled back so used to being spoiled. He pays it no mind though because his tongue comes out again, licking your lips apart. Your tongues meet once more, this time you suck his tongue into your mouth, brushing it against the roof of your mouth. He taste quite bitter, it’s the cigarette from earlier, yet somehow and against all judgement, he tastes fucking delicious. Especially when a grunt slips from his throat, feeling you roll your barely covered folds against his fingers.

He allows this, putting more pressure with two fingers, feeling you drench his fingertips even through your panties. Jungkook pushes his tongue deeper into your mouth, spit mixing as he reciprocates the favor, sucking gently on your tongue. You tasted like the strawberries you had earlier for lunch and Jungkook groans, greedily swallowing the taste in your mouth. 

What an innocent sweet little thing you were and he was about to ruin you all. 

Cigarettes and strawberries. 

Quite the pair. 

You whine into his mouth, unable to hold back much longer. “Please, Jungkook…”

He smirks against your mouth. How much he loved the way you fell apart on his cock. Especially more, when he had barely had his hands on you and you were already begging for more. Jungkook pulls back, but not before you whine a soft “no.” He holds your cheeks in his palms, forcing you to look directly into his hazy eyes. 

“Imagine if people knew baby.” His voice comes out more sultry, rough around the edges. His thumb carrasses your cheek, patting your mouth open. “How much of a slut you were for this dick.”

His words make you mewl (he knows how much you get off to this thought), he slowly eases two fingers into your mouth, holding your chin in place. You made sure to suck on them as he liked, your tongue coming flat against them. 

Jungkook bucks his hips into yours, chest rising while he watches you suck, like the good girl you were. “Imagine if they really knew, baby? Such a sweet girl like you, with someone so dangerous and reckless like me. What would they say? Hmm?”

He pulls out his fingers, seeing them barely glisten under the light.

“I- I don’t know.” Your voice is dry and soft yet, you are incredibly horny.

“You don’t know? I have a few ideas.” Jungkook chuckles, hands brushing along your back. “Can this come off?” 

He tugs your bra from behind and you hesitate to nod permission. “Good, I wanna watch them bounce when I finally fuck you.”

By now, you have given up resisting him, so you moan pathetically as he shreds your bra with ease and takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking the tender bud into his tongue, flicking it and placing it between his teeth. He tugs and licks the sting away, watching with hooded eyes as you squirm against him. Your face burns imagining the idea. 

What if people knew? How would your friends react? They would surely be disappointed, Jungkook was good for nothing but trouble. Yet, he was perfect to you. You were willing to defend him from hell and back. Whatever it took for them to believe you. 

Jungkook moves to the other bud, placing it into his mouth, cupping and gripping your breasts. His mouth was hot and heavy against your nipple, his tongue caressing the hard bud. He squeezes them one last time before letting them drop, watching them bounce gently against your chest. Yup, Jungkook was the luckiest man alive. There was nothing better than this moment right here.

Heat travels your body quickly, feeling your own chest rise, struggling to breathe in the steamy car. Your boyfriend looks down, communicating with his eyes instead of actually saying anything, your hands quickly move to his belt, tugging them off and throwing it anywhere else. Desperately, you unbuckle his jeans, harshly pulling his boxer down, just enough to watch his dick spring out. The flushed, wet length smacks against his stomach, watching as his abs clench at the sensation. If you stare any longer, you’ll start drooling. “So good for me angel.” 

There’s no time to waste. 

“Wanna suck you off.” You breathe out, voice filled with desire and lust, clearly it takes over because usually his girlfriend was much shyer and timid, but that all disappeared when Jungkook’s cock was present. 

“Yeah?” Jungkook watches you drop on your knees, your pretty knees will for sure suffer the consequences of your horny choice, but there was no stopping this. He pats his thighs as he leans back to give you enough space. “I’m all yours, baby girl.”

Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek when he feels your warm mouth wrap around his dick. Your tongue comes out messily, practically salivating and dripping all over him. There’s probably not a single day that goes by that you aren’t sucking his dick, but it was quite the experience every damn time. 

“F-Fuck, I wish you could see yourself.” He struggles a bit because the sight is fucking sinful and if people knew you like he did, they wouldn’t believe the person in front of him. 

His personal little cockslut. 

You pop off for a second, hand still wrapped around his length covered in your spit. “Yeah? Then take a picture for me, Kook.”

Double fuck.

When you first started dating Jungkook, you were against any pictures at all. After time passed and to his luck, you came around and you would let him take pictures, but only if he promised your face wasn’t in the frame. Now, his camera roll is covered with images of you and your blooming relationship. You didn’t care anymore about covering or blurring your face out. His camera roll consisted of just about everything, pictures of you sleeping peacefully against his chest as you would nap, videos of you laughing on the random adventures he would take you on, but never images of you nude. Never ever was he allowed anything that could probably incriminate you both, even if he would beg, ever-so sweetly. It seems like you came around after all. Bless you.

“Fuck, don’t talk to me like that princess, you have no idea what that does to me.” He’s never heard you sound so fucking sexy. Jungkook bites his lip, recovering his phone that had dropped earlier on the carpet. “You sure about this baby?”

“Yes.” Then you are back on his cock and he shudders, already snapping a few pictures. Your eyes looked up at the camera, making a show out of it all.

Jungkook tries controlling his heavy breathing but with a sinful tongue like yours, it’s impossible. “Can I record this princess, only if you’ll let me, of course.”

You take him deeper into your throat and nod furiously on his cock. You trusted him enough, you knew Jungkook could never hurt a single soul, unless they tried him. Point is, he would never do anything to break that trust so hell yeah, why not add more to his long collection.

“God, you are so perfect baby. Made for me and only me.” Jungkook’s voice is nothing short of possessiveness. He presses record, caressing your hair softly, almost petting you for your work like the good girl you were for him. “Imagine if they knew how well you take cock baby. How perfect those plump lips look around my dick. You’re like a dream come true princess, my personal cockslut.” 

You moan around his length, loving the bitter taste on your tongue and Jungkook has to hold back from fucking your throat, though he thinks you’ll love it anyways. 

“Can I fuck your throat?” His voice is raspy and you open your mouth wider, nodding so prettily with dick stuffed in your mouth. Jungkook is careful when placing your hair in a little makeshift ponytail for the meantime and as best as he can with one hand as he starts to thrust into your warm mouth. “So beautiful and all mine. Isn’t that right princess?”

You don’t get to reply, but the vibrations of your moans that manage to run through his cock  answer for you and it almost makes him smile. What a good girl you were. Pretty things like you deserved to be spoiled and he couldn’t wait to give you the fucking world. 

And was he fucking loving the show you were putting on for him becoming more needy and desperate on camera, your eyes rolled as he brutally used your throat for his liking. 

Jungkook bites at his bottom lip as he begins to roll his hips with much more force, feeling your throat take him down with greed. “Fuck baby, your throat feels amazing. Taking me so good.” 

He lets you go when he feels you tap his thigh and you gasp for air, tears threatening to leak down your face. “W-Want you to come on my face.”

Your voice is hoarse and his eyes widen at your sweet request. 

“Aren’t you just perfect for me today baby. Just you wait, you’ll get the best dick of your entire lifetime.” Not that you would know since he was your first and he knows that, proudly carries that in his cocky ego, but you always believed him. No one could fuck you better than this, you were sure. You bat your eyes at his promise and he comes down to kiss you messily, the camera records jackshit, but it captures your whiny moans and the sound of your lips smacking against one another. He pulls off with one last kiss and adjusts the camera frame back towards you as he takes his hard length and slaps his swollen, wet dick along your cheek. “Open up princess, I’m really fucking close.” 

You take him in with no hesitation and go to fucking work. Slurping and licking all over his length, your chin dripping with saliva, but you don’t even care anymore because his grunts and whines keep you going. 

Every now and then you look up at the camera making sure you do your best to keep him coming back. You know he will probably rewatch this every night that you aren’t there with him. And your predictions are correct because Jungkook’s already planning on watching this tonight and jacking off to it while you are out with Karina doing God knows what. All he knows is his sweet girl will be doing something productive while he’ll be coming undone in your gracious honor.

“I’m close baby.” He groans sexily, and his breathing starts to become sharp. “Look up baby, right into the camera, gonna come all over that perfect fucking face.”

Doing as he says, you look up sucking him dry, your hands come to relieve what you can’t cover with your tongue. His hand pushes you off for a second. “Tongue out baby.”

He fucks his fist and it doesn’t take long before he squirts his load all over your face, grateful that most of it lands on your tongue, you swallow it all immediately, humming gracefully at the salty taste. 

Jungkook’s eyes are blown out as he catches his breath and lets his dick flop back down against his thigh, you look like a fucking sin and he must be the Devil because he’s about to commit about thirty tonight. “Give me a second princess.”

He says between breaths as he stops recording with one last picture of your come-soiled face, still breathing heavily as he throws his phone on the floor again, thankful that he has something for later. You giggle against him and he almost awes as you throw your head against his bare thighs into a laughing fit. “Okay.” 

He huffs a dry laugh and pulls you up. “Times up. Come here.” 

Jungkook is quick to capture you in a sloppy kiss, not minding the leftover mess of come on your face, he doesn’t wanna mess up his masterpiece just yet. You soon grow desperate in his arms, but this time he doesn’t mess around. 

“Lay down.” Your bare back lands on the seats and he shoves himself between your thighs. Again, it’s steamy and fucking cramped in your car, but you both couldn’t care any less right now. 

His tongue hits your slit not bothering to move your matching panties, but the effect is almost the same. He licks a long strip watching you soil the silky lace mixing his spit with your own arousal. 

You moan sweetly as your legs come apart letting him completely devour your heat. Jungkook pulls off, tugging your spoiled little black panties to the side and continues on with his mission. His tongue finds your clit and you swear you could come like this. 

“R-Right there. Please.” Your boyfriend doesn’t let up either, eating your sweet pussy like it deserves. His tongue flicks your bud, building the sensation in your tummy. Jungkook sucks on your clit selfishly.

His chin is covered in your arousal. He’s humming and moaning deep inside your pussy, your juices stick onto his tongue like candy and he greedily swallows the treat whole. 

“B-Baby.” Your voice is struggling like his was earlier, but it’s there. He lifts his face from your heat, eyes in a lust-filled trance. Jungkook knows he’s pussy-whipped, but at least he admits his problems!

“Yes, my baby.” Jungkook’s eyes are blown out and he looks just as wrecked as you are. 

“C-Can I take a picture?” He almost gapes at your request, the amount of times you took him by surprise today. At this point, he would let you do anything, fuck his morality!  

“Do whatever you want princess. Pictures, videos. I’m all yours.” He gives you his full consent and permission to do anything so you are quick to grab his phone (you’ll send them over to yourself later) and start snapping pictures while he dives back in for seconds. 

Jungkook keeps your legs open while you are a whimpering mess above him, struggling to get the best picture. You have no idea how he was doing this himself, the pictures come out blurry as he continues to devour you as if it was his last meal.

He also puts on a show for the camera like you did so nicely earlier for him. Jungkoook’s eyes hood as he stares up, he even winks for the shot. If college didn’t ever work out for either of you, this would be something to look into. Good thing that was not the case, at least for you, his little straight A student. 

“I’m g-gonna come.” This only makes your boyfriend go crazier between your folds. He drops eye-contact with the camera and instead solely focuses on that pretty pussy presented for him. Jungkook’s tongue is sin itself, not letting up once as more arousal drips out of you. He slowly teases a finger inside, building your orgasm quickly as he fucks you open with his middle finger. “I’m– nghh. Fuh-fuck!”

The sentence is never finished as you start to squirt onto his tongue, creating your own little masterpiece on his face. Jungkook has never swallowed anything down faster than right now and he’s loving every second of it. Completely pussy-whipped and all, but at least he’s happy!

Your boyfriend finally detaches himself from your heat and the sight is nearly adorable. His hair is now all fucked up and he’s a sticky mess everywhere (you are sure you look no better). 

“Yum, I could do that all day.” Jungkook shamelessly says. 

“Mm, I’m sure.” You say coming down from your own orgasm, he gives you a few seconds to breathe as you set his phone down again. Jungkook takes his shirt from the floor and wipes himself clean. He does the same but it’s no use, the come that landed on your face has dried up and he doesn’t wanna scrub it off and end up hurting your precious face. 

Jungkook kisses your cheek affectionately as an apology. 

“There’s dry come on my face right?” You start to scold him, but he smiles with all his teeth apologetically and you forgive him at that moment. 

“Guilty.” He smirks, proud of his work, he thinks you truly haven't looked better. 

Wrapping arms and legs around your boyfriend you whisper innocently. “I was promised dick of a lifetime, unless… unless you lied to me?”

Jungkook scrunches his nose cutely while he looks at your perfect pouty face, doe-eyes begging to be fucked. “I never lie, not to you at least.”

He makes you laugh and he detangles your legs from his waist. “Now let me focus, I have a reputation to uphold.”

There’s no laughing once two fingers press into you and you gasp at the invading feeling, but the stretch only burns for a while before it turns into pleasure and you are whimpering at his touch. “Fingers so deep.”

He smiles and you throw your head back. “Yeah? My dick goes even deeper baby, I’m just making sure you can take it.”

“I can take it.” You breathe out against his pink lips. “I was made for you.”

The taller’s eyes nearly eat you alive, fuck you were so sexy. “That you were baby. My perfect little cockslut.” 

His fingers pull out of you brutally and you whine, but he kisses you roughly making you forget the loss. A hand wraps around your throat, squeezing it with purpose. You squirm in his hands and he pops off your lips. 

Fingers coated with your arousal trace your lips and you take them in greedily, sucking your own juices off the tattooed fingers, moaning at the delicate taste, his other hand still locked around your throat. 

“That’s my girl. All fucking mine.” You nod around his fingers and he finally lets go, gasping for fresh air. “‘M gonna fuck you now baby.” 

Your legs fly open in response, letting him have his way with you. 

“Do me a favor?” He asks while taking his hard length in his hand, jerking himself off while he awaits your response. 

“What?” You hum, confusion written all over your face. 

“Record this for me. I want you to see how I break you apart. How this pretty pussy makes a mess all over my dick. I want you to remember this fuck for the rest of your life.” His voice drops a few octaves and you can’t help but gasp and moan at his vulgar use of words. 

You used to be innocent, at least, that’s what Jungkook used to think. In a way, he thinks you still are. Untouched and pure, only for his eyes and his hands to touch. Jungkook is honored that he was your first, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. He was gentle and took care of you every step of the way. It was like that until you were begging and pleading for more. Sweet then, and sweet now.

He’s created a little monster, but he knows that your heart is pure and that’s what he loves most about you. 

“Okay, yes.” His phone is back in your hands and you click record, watching him line-up his cock. Jungkook groans as he disappears snuggly inside you. “Mmm.”

He lets you get used to the feeling and once he feels your breathing stabilize he starts to thrust himself with strong strokes inside you. 

Like the first time, you are struggling with the phone because you can’t stop shivering and shaking, you feel him in your guts and recording is much harder than pictures because it lasts longer and you can't stay still for that long. Not with dick inside you.

“K-Kook. I— oh.” You stop to moan when he hits your g-spot and he continues ramming that same spot over and over. “I- I can’t. Hand’s shaking.”

Your sweet boyfriend grabs the phone and lets you settle yourself. “That’s okay princess, I got you. Just lay there, I’ll take care of you.” 

He records himself ramming into you for a few minutes, watching himself disappear into you on camera. The taller one can't even believe this is his reality. How did this even happen and most of all with him of all people? He truly was the luckiest man alive! 

“‘S deep, Kook.” He fondles one of your breasts as he keeps a harsh pace, rubbing the hard nub with his thumb. 

“Yeah baby? Tell me where you feel it.” He whispers loving the way you tremble, your gaze struggling to keep up with his. 

“Right here.” You touch right below your belly, palm flat against the feeling of his cock inside you. “So so deep.” 

You mumble something else, but he doesn’t get to hear it because your high pitched moans drown everything out. He lets go of your breast watching them bounce as he continues to pound straight into your sweet spot. 

The camera catches it all though. The mess between your thighs look just as delicious on film as they do in real time. The sounds you make, the squelching noise that is being created by his cock going deep inside you, and most of all, it captures your beautiful face as it comes apart. 

He presses on your stomach right where your own palm rests and you strangle out a whine. “I- I can’t. T-Too much.” 

“You can take it. Remember?” His dick tears through you from the inside and you start yelling when he increases his pace. He’s fucking you mercilessly now and you can’t control the sounds that escape. “You were made for me, princess.”

“Yes, yes, I am.” You sound beautiful, but you would kill him if you guys got caught now especially in the position you guys are in. 

His firm hand finally comes off your stomach and instead two fingers go inside your mouth, muffling your screams and whines. 

The car rocks back and forth. He’s sure people know what the fuck is going on, the windows are foggy as fuck, for fuck’s sake, but you would hate him much worse for not finishing you off.

“Mmff, don— stopff.” He nearly giggles as you struggle to speak, but he keeps his promise quite well. He fucks you ever harder and deeper, his cock will surely fall off after this, but it’s all worth it. He slams inside, bottoming out fully before pulling out and repeating the same steps. “Fuhh-uk.”

“You like that baby?” Jungkook rasps feeling you squeeze tightly around him, which only means one thing, you are really fucking close. “Gonna come all over my cock princess?” 

“Mmff.” You are quick to nod and hum sweetly. He decides to pull his fingers out, spit dripping all over. “Yes, yes. Please, don’t stop. Harder Kook- ah!”

Jungkook almost forgets he’s recording and he centers the camera again, wanting to capture every last second of this. You are glistening all over, he’s made a complete mess of you, but he is no better. Jungkook is dripping sweat and yet, that doesn’t stop his mean and precise strokes against your velvet walls, stretching you in ways you didn’t even know were possible. 

The final straw is when you feel his messy fingers start toying with your clit and you are coming once again all over your back seats and wetting his cock just how he likes it. Being a squirter had its own perks with a boyfriend like Jungkook because that meant he never stopped fucking you until you completely had nothing more to give. 

Jungkook curses when he starts to see your orgasm trinkle out, he fucks you all through it though, feeling the water-like pressure against his slit. And it doesn’t take long before an orgasm catches up to him. 

“Inside.” You plead with a pout, eyes completely blown out. 

With one last curse Jungkook comes deep inside your walls. He catches his breath for a few moments before pulling out slowly, making sure to capture the dribble of his come which sadly hangs onto your hole. “Push it out for me princess.” 

“Nooo, we’re gonna make a mess Kook.” Jungkook shakes his head, a smile on his face because a mess has already been made. 

“I’ll clean it. Now, push it out baby.” You almost cover your face because you are sure you turned red, but you start to push his seed out of your hole and he’s tempted to fuck it back inside. 

“Fuck. That’s it baby. Perfect comeslut. Isn’t that right?” He stops recording once he’s gotten the shot he wanted and he starts to wipe you down with his shirt, lucky enough that he has a back-up hoodie to cover him after he’s done. 

“Yes, all yours.” 

You both smile against each other’s lips before he whispers. “I love you princess.” 

“I love you more.” 

“Impossible baby.”

—-

JK❤️: hiiii 🙂

me: hi baby :) everything okay?

JK❤️: marvelous 😇 i just came watching that video we took earlier ;))

me: baby! 😠  i'm out with karina! can you not talk about sex for two seconds while im out

JK❤️: sure! just came all over myself totally wasn't watching our sextape back ;)))

me: nice talk jungkook.

JK❤️: come home soon~~ i miss you :((((

me: love you too lol

JK❤️: not more than me. come home soon im serious!!!

me: i'll see you later jungkook. ❤️

JK❤️: 😠😠😠 

me: ❤️❤️❤️

[sytoran]

𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐒 | 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐧𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐭.𝟏

you, a regular law-abiding citizen, saved the gods by accident. now, the goddess of lust, natasha, is going to grant you a wish. you could've had just about anything, but looking at the ethereal being before you, there's only one thing on your mind.

pairing: goddess!natasha x dom!fem!reader (G!P)

note: hello, folks! this is the long-awaited goddess!nat fic for the milestone event! i am quite proud of this fic, ngl... got a bit too carried away with some parts ;)

word count: 2.5k

the milestone event | main m.list | join the taglist | AO3

When you jumped in front of a speeding car to save a cat on the road, you had absolutely no clue that the cat was not, in fact, a cat.

This not-cat was a species of flerken, and it’s name was Goose. Flerkens were extremely dangerous alien creatures. At least, that’s what the Goddess of Galaxies, Carol Danvers, told you.

Trust me, meeting an intergalactic space goddess with a pet killing-machine (that looked awfully like a cat) was about as chaotic and unbelievable as you would imagine it to be.

—

“H-holy fuck!” you yelled, jumping in your seat, as a glowing woman materialised before your very eyes, in your shithole of an office. 

“I do not believe I am holy, even though I am a Goddess.” The woman stated, watching with curious eyes as you tittered over your split coffee. Lifting your laptop and muttering curses, then sifting through the messed up paperwork.

“You’re a what?” You asked distractedly, still panicking over the mess that is your desk. “My boss is actually going to murder me. Or maybe I’ll murder myself first. I am literally- Yeah, okay, how the fuck did you appear like that? And aren’t gods supposed to be like, really huge? You look kinda…… human.”

“I am a goddess.” Carol reiterated with slight annoyance. A literal extraterrestrial being was in front of your eyes, and the only thing you cared about was your damn coffee? 

“We are beings you could only ever fathom from the depths of your imagination, powerful beyond measure. Which is also why we can shapeshift to look like regular human beings, so we won’t scare the shit outta you. Which seems to have still happened.”

You let out a dry bark of laughter. Carol wasn’t sure if you thought she was funny or you were about to burst into tears.

“So, why did you decide to visit me, ever-powerful, omnipresent, all-mighty being?” You asked, half-sarcastically, half simply given up on life itself. The report you had been working on for nearly an hour had been ruined by the fiasco earlier. 

You dropped into your chair, kicking your feet up onto your desk. Loosening your black tie with a weary sigh, you looked at the Goddess’ eyes and continued. “I’m a nobody. I’m an overworked and underpaid attorney. I run on caffeine. I don’t know why or how you’re here, but I really–”

“You saved us. The Gods and Goddesses.” Carol interrupts, firm and unyielding. “We owe you, alright? You get one wish.”

“One wish, to get whatever it is you desire. Anything. Anything at all.”

—

Your story was absolutely one of zero to hero. From an ‘underpaid and overworked attorney’, to having the fucking gods of the multiverse indebted to you, it seemed like a rather unorthodox situation.

“So… what do you want?” Carol had asked you. 

“Uhm, I don’t need anything,” you mumbled, fiddling with your loosened tie. “Like, it’s totally chill between us even if I saved your cat.”

Great. Real cool, Y/N. The middle school boys could never compare to your level of failed attempts at being cool.

“Goose is not a cat, alright?” Carol commented, offended. You mutter an apology. 

“So, what do you want?” she continued impatiently. “Humans thrive off greed. You mortals always want something. What is it, money? A fancy car? A boyfr– okay, not to be stereotypical, but you’re definitely not straight. So, women on your mind?”

You splutter at her outright but nevertheless true allegation. Carol gives you this blank stare that makes you feel stupid. 

“Well, I guess, as a woman, there’s something I do want,” you speak up after a while. Carol raises her eyebrows in interest. “Something I have wanted to try, you know.”

Leaning closer to whisper your deepest desire in the goddess’ ear, Carol’s eyebrows disappear into her hairline. Her impressed, intrigued, embarrassed, and taken aback emotions all morphed into one expression, almost steals a laugh from your lips.

—

“You want me to grant you a cock.”

The Goddess of Lust sits in her throne, a picturesque image of perfection, the statement falling from her lips with such ease. There’s a lilt to her voice you can’t decipher. You just nod, looking unfalteringly at the goddess, as if it was the most normal request in the world. 

The Goddess was slightly perturbed by your lack of, well, awe. There you were, standing in her grand palace, unfazed by the multi-million dollar chandeliers and gold-framed pictures, unfazed by her.

Natasha was just about the most exquisite sight people would kill to lay their eyes upon. Soft curls framed her delicately sculpted face like curtains to a stage, magnificent deep eyes and a more than well-endowed body to complement her pretty face. Her rose-gold dress of satins and sequins dripped with money. There was the thrall she exuded, of seduction so strong that had men and women falling to their knees.

Natasha was the Goddess of Lust for sakes, and the only thing you cared about was redeeming your wish?

She would’ve been annoyed, if not for how unfairly charming you were, standing with your hands in your pockets, a charming gentlemanly smile on your face.

“What kind of cock do you want?” Natasha resorts to ask, a playful smirk on her features. “I’ve seen some interesting ones over the years, intergalactic sex is far crazier than you would imagine. Ooh, do you want tentacles to-”

“Uh, no thanks.” You say hurriedly, a hand going out of your pocket to rub at your nose. It’s the first sign of discomfort or embarrassment Natasha’s seen from you. She grins. 

“Just a regular human one?” She clarifies, pouting at you slightly. 

“That’d be great, yeah.” You respond, back to smiling brightly. Natasha frowns. She knows that there’s something under that stupid gentlemanly facade you’re putting on. She’s craving to get a taste of it.

“What size?” The Goddess asks bluntly, like a Starbucks barista asking for your order on a Monday morning.

“A regular size would be fine, I suppose.” You respond in kind, nodding to yourself assuredly. Natasha winks at you. “Ah, a regular size, I see.”

Before you can decipher that cryptic response, the Goddess stands up, a pillar of superiority and authority. She snaps her fingers, and you’re being pushed back into a fancy chair. Where did the chair come from, anyway?

You forgo the answer to that question as the Goddess begins what you would assume to be the procedure. “Sit tight.”

A surge of pain presses against your crotch area, and you almost keel forward in shock, but the pain goes as quickly as it comes. 

“Wait….. that’s it?” You ask, almost disbelievingly. Natasha nods proudly.

You look down, hands resting on your belt buckle. 

You look up at the Goddess, and she only smirks. 

You pull down your pants in swift fashion, letting out a quiet ‘whoa’ at the bulge in your boxers. It definitely feels bigger than would be regular, but then again you don’t have much knowledge of a man’s cock per se.

“Thank you,” You say, pleased with the results. Trying something new in the bedroom would definitely bring more life to your desolate days.

All too quick for the Goddess’ liking, you’re putting your clothes back on and getting ready to leave. “Thanks for your help,” You say calmly, turning to walk down the long passageway.

God, you just wanted to watch her fall apart.

As you walk, you feel Natasha’ eyes burning holes through your back. Oh, the tension was palpable, building with each step you took. It was getting harder to walk, with Natasha’s thrall like a heavyweight on your shoulders, willing you not to leave.

As you stand before the tall doors, you come to a standstill. Natasha waits in her throne with bated breath, so many words fighting to fall from the tip of her stubborn lips.

Your hand pushes down on the door handle, and that’s the last thing you can do before Natasha snaps her fingers again, and the tension is broken like a snapped coil. Suddenly, you’re pressed against her, looking into her dilated pupils.

“You’re so annoying, you know? I’ve been so fucking horny, looking at you this whole time, and you were about to get up leave?” Natasha asks, her tongue coming out to dart at her pink lips. Her hands have grasped your forearms, but your hands are cinched around her waist, disabling movement.

“No,” you breathe, head moving down to trail open-mouthed kisses along the column of her poised neck. “I was waiting for you.” The Goddess throws her head back under your fleeting touch. 

“Fuckin’ tease,” she mumbles, and you smirk against her skin. You’re rough with her, too, knowing that she isn’t made of glass, sucking purple marks into the pale skin of her neck, shoving your knee between her legs to spread them wider.

“Too much clothes,” Natasha breathes, and then with a burst of magic you’re stripped bare of any article of clothing. Her hands fly to your cock instantaneously, wrapping her delicate fingers around your semi-hard member.

You grunt against her skin, struggling to find a better position to properly have her. Since she’s sitting in the throne and you’re bent over above her, you can barely have her the way you want. Due to your lack of magical power, you resort to doing things the hard way.

Your hands slide under Goddess’ dress, going under her thighs, and then manhandling her up. Natasha’s whines of disapproval turn on deaf ears as you sit yourself in the grand chair, plopping her onto your lap. You don’t miss the way her thighs are already slightly damp.

“Need you inside now, fuck,” Natasha growls into your skin, climbing onto your cock as your hands squeeze at her thighs. You proceed to rip the fabric off her skin, deciding that there’s too much clothing restricting you from getting your hands on her.

And boy, was that a sight you’d never forget. 

“Oh!” The Goddess cries, when you lean forward to wrap your lips around her hardened bud. Your hands don’t rest for a moment, squeezing everywhere – hips, thighs, breasts, ass — whatever you can get your hands on. She’s fucking exquisite.

The stimulation seems to work wonders for Natasha’s pleasure, as she engulfs your cock in her warmth with fervour.

You gasp lowly, a throaty sound escaping your lips. Her hips and ass go up and down, working her cunt around the girth of your cock, wet and warm and slick. You can barely keep up with how desperate she is, and the fact that you have this wonder of a woman falling apart at your hands makes your heart soar.

Matching the rhythm of short upward thrusts with Natasha’s riding makes her moan out loud, a pretty melodious sound that imprints itself into your brain all at once. You wanna hear it a hundreds of times more.

Natasha gets more messy with her riding, as you suck hickeys, light ones and fierce ones, into her collarbone and her neck and breasts. You can’t resist the urge to slap her on the ass as she rides you like it’s the last day she’d be on this universe.

“Ah!” The Goddess moans, and you grip her thighs and push her down hilt deep, and her eyes roll into the back of her head. You feel her cum around your cock, so needy and desperate and mindless, and that triggers your own climax. 

Natasha hadn’t even begun to open her eyes again before she ends up on the floor and you hovering above her, your hands fervently spreading her cunt open. You duck your head down, licking a long stripe up her puffy clit. 

The Goddess writhes, unintelligible moans falling from her lips as you proceed to give her the best fucking cunnilingus of her life.

You’re more than determined to make this an unforgettable experience for the Goddess who probably had sex every other day. 

Natasha doesn’t know what the fuck you’re doing with your tongue, but you’re ravenous and your carnal desire makes her even wetter than before.

She’s slept with plenty of people, human or not, but none of them had ever been this uncouth about her pussy. Oh, it nearly drove her mad, but she was already seeing stars.

Before the Goddess registers what’s happening, your hardened cock slides into her cunt with a flippant ease once again. Natasha lets out a filthy moan as she feels it throb inside her, clenching around you hard.

You slap her thigh in retaliation, but feeling the sudden strike of pain only turns her on further. “Gonna fill you up so good,” you pant. “You won’t be able to walk tomorrow.” 

Natasha takes it as a promise, when you spread her thighs and line your cock up with her pussy. The Goddess of Lust doesn’t think she’s ever wanted anyone this bad.

You enter her roughly, your previously calm exterior completely faded away. You fuck her deeper with each thrust, opening the Goddess up. Pounding into the woman’s cunt like a woman starved, you hear her beg and cry with each thrust.

“Oh, please! More! More!” The Goddes cries, nearly screaming your name every time your blunt head pushes against her cervix. You only get spurred on further, going at a pace so painfully fast you don’t know if you’ll be able to walk tomorrow.

You swallow at the sight of this Goddess, completely breathtaking in her state of unravelling. 

“My divine Goddess,” You say, leaning down to press a kiss against the bulge of your cock at her lower stomach. 

Those words in itself have Natasha uncoiling before you, your name falling from her lips like a sacred mantra. Her walls are wrapped around your cock so tight, her nails digging into your back so hard it nearly draws blood.

“My divine Goddess,” you repeat, eyes glazed over, reaching your own climax inside her. Natasha lets out a filthy moan, feeling each throb of your cock in her as walls of cum pulse inside her, again and again. 

God, it feels so good, everything everywhere all at once, your world becoming Natasha, Natasha, Natasha. 

You think you could stay like this forever.

—

A long bath and a trip to the Goddess’ bedroom later, you’re laying on her expensive silk sheets, hair smelling like rosemilk or whatever that shampoo had been called.

You honestly don’t know how this gorgeous woman’s been charmed by your awkward humour and the coffee stain on your work shirt, but you’re definitely not complaining as she nuzzles into your neck, humming in satisfaction.

“You sure that’s the first time you’ve ever had a cock?”

taglist: @natashamaximoff69 @ohsugar-honey-iced-tea @fayhar @bibliophilicbi @screechcat @rowanyaboats @nahnahnahwhat @the-night-owl-blr @nemowevoli @wannabe-fic-reader @natsxwife @wandsmxmff @enanna-h @jemilyswhor3 @manyfandomsfanvergent @jlsammy23 @spongebobs-tie1 @kiyozoe6778 @lovebelt05 @girllcver @godsfavouritelesbiann @natashaswife4125 @ezay @forthelesbians @wlwfanfictionss @forthelesbians @cowxpoke @supaheroine @saqua14 @olsensnpm @33_mrvl @gay4ols3n @knellyc30 @eatkobi @stitch26gp @cqllarbqne @lovelyy-moonlight @diannaswhore @wandaromanoff69 @shuriri4life @inluvwithfictionalwomen @Cooldogs02 @jedi-athen-orion @alyciaddict @blackqueensforeva @lovelyy-moonlight @gingerninja1993 @yourfavdummy @iliketigolbitties @scarlttolsn @blackbirdv98 @mxxnligxt @riomiyawakisstuff @alex4424 @0DeadandCold0 @mr.romanoff @mandy-asimp @idontwannabehereatm @daenerys713 @xxsekhmet @marvel_simp @maowlxslay @lizbugwanda @peggycarter3 @flositaa @dooblekhay @aliherrerasz @theo-021 @hopelesslyfalleninlove @secretbackrooms @natasha10273 @justyourwritter69 @theo-221b @wandaromanoff69

NEXT PART | series m.list

the milestone event | main m.list | join the taglist | AO3

[sidekick-hero]

it isn’t over, it’s just begun

Written for @steddiesmuttyseptember (prompts: backseat | clothes on | soft and slow | bruise) and @softsteddieseptember (prompt: Road Trip). This is super late, I'm sorry.

The biggest thank you to @firefly-party for reading over this and helping me make sense of English grammar and tenses. UGH.

6k | rated: e | warnings: (consensual) blood drinking | tags: vampire!eddie, monsterfucker!steve, dry humping, Steve takes care of Eddie

Read on AO3

“I’m dead, Harrington, not deaf! Haven’t I been through enough? Do you have to torture me with… with this? Crappy music from an even crappier movie? And here I thought we were friends!”

Eddie’s voice grew louder as he ranted, his hands flapping dramatically, his wide brown eyes sparkling under the streetlamps they passed. For someone technically dead, he was so alive—full of energy and life in every way that mattered. Even with his too-sharp teeth, translucent skin, and the absence of a pulse, he was still, well, Eddie.

Not that Eddie agreed.

That’s why they were here now, on this strange road trip to Washington D.C. to meet some friend of Owens who supposedly had a solution for him. How, Steve wasn’t sure. And if he was being honest, he didn’t entirely trust this friend—or Owens, for that matter. They’d been screwed over too many times, and Steve wasn’t about to risk Eddie’s… non-life.

Eddie seemed on edge too, fidgeting and talking too fast, too loud, confined in the tight space of Steve’s trusty BMW.

“If the movie’s so crappy, how do you know Take My Breath Away is in it, huh?” Steve countered, smirking, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

As expected, the question left Eddie sputtering, before he huffed and crossed his arms, pouting.

Steve took pity and turned the volume down, but not before belting out the chorus at the top of his lungs. He couldn’t help but enjoy the way Eddie looked at him, his attention fixed solely on Steve. If he were being honest, that’s all he’d been craving lately—Eddie’s gaze, his words, his touch.

Steve was down bad.

They’d been driving for six hours, and Steve could feel the toll it was taking on him. He still wasn’t sleeping well—nightmares keeping him awake more often than not. The only thing that brought him any real comfort was when Eddie came back from his nightly hunts. It should’ve felt strange that the only time Steve truly felt safe from the horrors of the Upside Down was when the one "monster" they hadn’t killed or sent back to the alternate dimension was taking a shower in his en suite bathroom before crawling into bed with him.

Not that Steve thought of Eddie as a monster—just because he looked a little different and needed blood to survive didn’t make him one.

The only one who saw Eddie that way was Eddie himself. It had taken weeks to convince him to let them anywhere near him, constantly reassuring him that they knew he wouldn’t hurt them, that they loved him.

Eddie had only agreed to stop hiding in the woods if Steve was there, nail bat in hand, ready to strike at the first sign of danger.

That’s why Eddie was living with him now. And that’s why Steve was the one driving him to Washington to meet this friend of Owens.

“You don’t look so hot, Stevie.”

“Geez, tell me how you really feel, Munson,” Steve shot back, only slightly annoyed. Eddie sounded more worried than anything.

Eddie raised his hands in mock surrender, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Relax, you always look hot, big boy. But right now? You look beat. Wanna take a break?”

A break didn’t sound bad at all, Steve thought. Just to rest his eyes for a bit.

“Not your worst idea,” he conceded, much to Eddie’s delight.

Eddie’s voice turned theatrical as he declared, “I only have good ideas, I’ll have you know.”

Steve’s reply came without thinking. “Sacrificing yourself to the bats wasn’t.” The weight of his words hit him the moment the silence in the car became deafening—not even the sound of Eddie’s breathing, which was more habit than necessity, broke the tension.

Shit.

“Eddie, I’m sorry—”

“It’s fine,” Eddie cut him off, his voice flat, the humor gone. “There’s a path over there, leading off the road. Take it. We can park at the edge of the woods. You can rest, and I’ll... hunt.”

Eddie’s whole demeanor screamed for him to drop it. As much as Steve hated the tense silence hanging between them, he didn’t know what to say to make it better. He was sorry for how his words had come out, but the truth was, he’d meant them. Part of him knew it wasn’t fair—he hated what Eddie had done, but he also knew that, in Eddie’s place, he would’ve done the exact same thing. Saving Dustin, buying them time. Sacrificing himself because what was his life compared to theirs, compared to the world?

If Steve was being honest with himself, he’d admit that it wasn’t Eddie he was truly angry at—it was himself. He should have been there. He should’ve been smarter, faster. Better. But he wasn’t. He let them fend for themselves, and this was the result.

The car swayed as it rumbled down the gravel path, pulling him back from his spiraling thoughts. What happened, happened. There was no changing it now. The only thing they could do was deal with the aftermath.

Steve parked the car in a secluded spot, hidden from the road to give them some privacy. The second the car stopped, Eddie swung the door open and disappeared into the woods without a word. Steve sat there, staring after him, regret settling like a weight in his chest.

With a heavy sigh, Steve pushed open his door and went around to grab his nail bat and a blanket from the trunk. He crawled into the backseat, balling up his jacket as a makeshift pillow. The bat went under the driver’s seat, just in case, and he pulled the blanket over himself. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, and with the weight of guilt in his stomach and his mind racing, he doubted he’d be able to fall asleep.

But sleep had other plans. It claimed him within seconds, and as usual, Eddie was the last thing on his mind before darkness wrapped around him like a lover.

He came back to himself slowly, like wading through thick molasses, his senses gradually returning one by one. First, there was the awareness inside his body. He was thirsty. Hungry, too. A dull headache throbbed at his temples, and his neck ached from the awkward position he’d slept in. Everything pointed to him having slept far longer than he’d intended.

Next came his hearing—dulled ever since Billy Hargrove had taken a plate to his head, but still somewhat functional. He could make out the distant hoot of an owl and, if he concentrated, the faint sound of cars speeding by on the nearby road. Then there was something else—a rustling sound, faint and close by. He had to strain to hear it, and might’ve missed it if not for how near it was.

Steve kept his eyes closed, everything feeling too heavy and far away. But now, cautiously, he cracked them open just enough to survey his surroundings without alerting any potential threats.

The car was dark; the sun had set a while ago, from the looks of it. At first glance, it seemed like he was alone, and worry crept in about Eddie. But then the rustling sound came again, and this time his eyes landed on its source. Someone was sitting in the passenger seat, trembling violently.

“Eds?” Steve’s voice came out scratchy from sleep. He swallowed and tried again, softer this time. “Are you alright?”

The figure in the front seat—who Steve hoped was Eddie, though who else could it be—shook its head but remained silent. As Steve blinked the sleep from his eyes and they adjusted to the darkness, more details came into focus. Eddie was hunched over, knees pulled tightly to his chest, his feet up on the upholstery. Normally, Steve would’ve complained, but right now all that mattered was making sure Eddie was okay.

“Eddie, please, talk to me. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

He sat up and reached out to touch Eddie’s arm, but the moment his fingers grazed the fabric of Eddie’s jacket, Eddie recoiled, scrambling as far as the small space of the car would allow.

“Don’t,” Eddie rasped, his voice raw and jagged, almost unrecognizable.

Ignoring the warning, Steve inched closer, raising his hands in a calming gesture. “Eddie,” he repeated softly, using the name again because he remembered the first time they encountered this version of Eddie—feral, lost, barely recognizing them. Nancy had said to repeat his name often, to remind him of who he was. It became a habit Steve hadn’t been able to shake entirely.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me. Did something happen while you were hunting?” Steve’s stomach twisted at the thought. What if Eddie had hurt someone? Lost control to the instincts he barely understood? He should’ve been worried about whoever Eddie might’ve harmed—and he was, he was—but more than anything, he worried about what that guilt would do to Eddie. That it would push him to retreat, make him decide that he couldn’t be around people anymore. That he’d leave them.

Leave Steve.

At Steve’s question, Eddie finally looked up, and their eyes met. Steve’s heart lurched. Eddie's eyes were no longer the warm, familiar brown. They were red.

A whimper escaped Steve’s lips before he could stop it, and Eddie’s face—what little Steve could make out—twisted in what looked like pain. Steve realized, too late, that his involuntary reaction had struck at Eddie’s worst fear: that they saw him as the monster he believed himself to be.

“’M sorry, Eds,” Steve stammered, rushing to correct himself. “You just surprised me, that’s all. I’m not scared of you, I swear. I’m just worried for you. Let me help, please.”

With his back pressed against the glove compartment, cowering in the cramped footwell of the passenger seat, Eddie let out a dark, humorless laugh. “You have no idea what you’re asking, Steve. You should just take that trusty bat of yours and bash my head in. That’s the only way you can help.” His voice cracked, raw with desperation. “I… I don’t want to be a monster.”

“I’m not doing that, Eddie.” Steve’s voice was steady, even as his heart hammered in his chest. “You’re not a monster. You’re our friend.”

Eddie let out a bitter sigh, his hand fumbling for the car's overhead light. When it flicked on, Steve’s breath caught in his throat. Eddie looked more monstrous than ever—the sharpness of his teeth more pronounced, his skin drawn tight and pale, dark veins spidering beneath the surface. His red eyes glowed unnaturally in the dim light, and his trembling grew worse.

“I haven’t eaten in days,” Eddie confessed, his voice low and filled with shame. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bring myself to kill any of the animals out there. And tonight, when I finally got desperate enough to try… there were hunters in the woods.” He clenched his jaw, as if disgusted with himself. “I couldn’t risk it, Steve. I had to retreat before I hurt them. Before I would have... lost control.”

Steve’s heart twisted at the sight of Eddie—so vulnerable, yet fighting desperately to stay in control. It hurt to see the raw fear in his friend’s eyes, especially when there seemed to be nothing that Steve could do to make it better. There had to be something. Anything.

Eddie’s refusal to feed explained why the monstrous side of him was becoming more pronounced, more visible. The hunger must be unbearable by now, gnawing at him from the inside out. Yet, Eddie—the stubborn idiot—was willing to suffer rather than hurt another living thing. How anyone could see a monster in someone so kind, so selfless, was beyond Steve. He knew without a doubt that Eddie would starve himself to death before ever harming anyone.

But maybe it didn’t have to come to that. Not if Steve had anything to say about it.

“Maybe…” Steve began, choosing his words carefully, “you don’t have to control it.” At Eddie’s incredulous look, he quickly added, “I mean, what if you let yourself have blood—from someone willing to give it to you? You wouldn’t have to hurt anyone if it was, you know, consensual.”

Eddie blinked, his wide, reddish-brown eyes staring at Steve in disbelief.

“Could you repeat that? Because for a second there, it sounded like you were suggesting I should be drinking blood from a person.”

“It sounded that way because that’s exactly what I’m suggesting,” Steve said, keeping his tone calm. “Not just any person—someone who’d let you do it, of course.”

Eddie’s expression hardened as his voice rose, anger mixing with incredulity. “Are you out of your mind? You’re suggesting I just walk up to someone and be like, ‘Hey, can I get some consensual blood-sucking in? I can’t promise it won’t hurt, but you’d be doing me a real favor.’ Is that what you’re suggesting?”

The flare of anger in Eddie’s voice was almost a relief. It was familiar, a sign that somewhere under all that fear, the Eddie Steve knew was still there. Steve would take Eddie’s frustration over the emptiness he’d seen in him any day.

“Of course not,” Steve replied, his lips curling into a smile as Eddie’s shoulders sagged a little. “I’m suggesting you drink from me.”

You could’ve heard a pin drop in that moment, even with Steve’s less-than-perfect hearing. He was certain Eddie had even stopped breathing, not that he needed to. Eddie just stared at Steve like he’d suggested they strip naked, douse themselves in glitter, and run sparkling through the streets of Hawkins.

“Did you hear me? I. Want. You. To. Drink. From. Me,” Steve repeated, enunciating each word with deliberate conviction.

Eddie was already shaking his head before Steve had even finished speaking. “No! No, no, no. Absolutely not. You’re insane. I—Steve, please, no.”

It was like Eddie was going through the stages of grief—anger, denial, and bargaining. Robin had explained those to him once, and now Steve was watching them unfold before his eyes.

He knew he couldn’t force Eddie to do it, no matter how desperately he wanted to. The truth gnawed at him: a part of Steve didn’t just want Eddie to feel better; he wanted to be the one who made Eddie feel better. And wasn’t that a messed-up thing to feel?

“Please, man. You’re dying. I can see it, and you can’t go on like this much longer.”

The look of utter defeat was painful enough, but it was the resignation in Eddie’s eyes that twisted the knife deeper into Steve’s heart.

“I’m already dead, Steve,” Eddie said quietly. “I died that night, and I shouldn’t have come back. Not like this. I don’t want to live as a monster. If I don’t feed, maybe I can at least die as a human.”

His words were calm, as though Eddie had made peace with his fate, but the sadness lurking behind them hit Steve like a truck.

It made him furious.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re seriously gonna sit there, look me in the eye, and tell me it’d be better if you were dead?” Steve’s voice shook with raw emotion. “Newsflash, asshole—if you die, it would destroy the kids. Dustin worships your scrawny ass. Mike tries to grow his hair like yours. Max would play D&D just to have you DM the game. And it’s not just them. Nancy. Robin. Me. Did you ever think about that? We need you, Eddie. So don’t you dare say it’d be better if you died, because it wouldn’t. It wouldn’t!”

His chest heaved with the effort of getting the words out, his anger mingling with desperation. But as the weight of his outburst settled, Steve felt something shift—like a festering wound finally being drained. It left him raw, but somehow… cleaner.

For a second, he thought it had worked. Eddie moved toward him slowly, his hand outstretched. Steve noticed the darkened tips of Eddie’s fingers, the sharpness of his nails, more menacing than they’d been just hours ago. But Steve didn’t flinch. He stayed exactly where he was, letting Eddie come closer.

Eddie didn’t bite him. Instead, his fingertips grazed Steve’s cheek, soft as a summer breeze. “You’re crying?” Eddie’s voice was a disbelieving whisper, like he couldn’t fathom that the thought of losing him could bring Steve to tears.

“I don’t wanna lose you,” Steve whispered back, his voice thick with emotion. He didn’t care if Eddie could see everything he was feeling now—all the love and fear, laid bare for him to witness. If it meant Eddie would accept his help, if it meant Eddie would stay, then Steve would give him everything.

“You really mean it.” The wonder in Eddie’s voice made Steve smile, because it was so unmistakably Eddie.

“For someone so smart, you can be incredibly thick. Yes, I mean it. Now would you please get over yourself and bite me already? Jeez.”

Eddie’s startled laugh told Steve he’d said the right thing. “You do know I repeated senior year three times, right?”

“Yeah, and we both know that had nothing to do with you being dumb, dumbass.”

They both grinned at each other, the kind of goofy smiles that made Steve’s chest feel light. In that moment, all Steve wanted was to lean in and kiss Eddie—just close the gap and see what it felt like to finally do it.

But before he could act on that impulse, Eddie’s face suddenly twisted in pain.

“Eddie? Are you okay? What’s happening?” Steve’s voice rose with the anxiety building in his chest.

Through clenched teeth, Eddie managed, “I’m so hungry and you—” He stopped, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You what? Come on, man, I thought we were having a moment here. Talk to me!”

Eddie groaned, clearly struggling, and finally blurted out, “You smell so fucking good, okay? Happy now? You smell good enough to eat and it hurts.”

The weight of Eddie’s words hung in the small space between them, thick with tension. Steve had been through enough—beaten, tortured, fighting interdimensional monsters while babysitting a pack of troublemakers. He’d earned something good in his life, damn it. And if that “something good” was Eddie Munson biting him and drinking his blood to stay alive, then so be it. Steve Harrington would take it.

"Almost," Steve growled, his patience finally snapping. He framed Eddie’s face with his hands, pulling him forward into a kiss that had been months in the making. And Eddie went willingly—no, eagerly—letting Steve lick into his mouth with a muffled, desperate moan.

Without breaking the kiss, Steve leaned back, pulling Eddie with him into the back seat. Eddie followed without hesitation, lips still fused to Steve’s as if they couldn’t bear to part. Maybe it was Eddie’s newfound abilities, or maybe the kiss had awakened some hidden grace, but somehow, Eddie managed to climb into the back with him without so much as a stumble.

The heat between them was electric like a thunderstorm, a shiver of pure need running through Steve’s body.

As they sank onto the cool leather, Eddie’s weight pressed down on him, and for the first time in what felt like forever, something settled in Steve’s chest too—a deep sense of peace. He had craved this closeness for so long, the feeling of Eddie with him, on him.

“Eddie,” Steve moaned, finally pulling back to gasp for air. The moment their lips parted, though, he felt Eddie tense above him, realization dawning in his eyes. The danger of being so close to Steve, so close to his pulse, his heart pounding from desire, the blood rushing beneath his skin—it obviously hit Eddie like a freight train.

Steve knew if he didn’t act fast, Eddie would pull away, put distance between them when all Steve wanted was to be even closer. So he took the leap, pushing Eddie’s face toward his neck just as he wedged his thigh between Eddie’s legs.

“Please, baby,” Steve breathed, voice low and thick with want. “I need you to bite me. I want it. I want you.”

He didn’t care that he was begging—he only cared that Eddie wouldn’t leave him.

“Steve—” Eddie’s voice was strained, pained, and Steve felt the sharp graze of a fang against the sensitive skin of his neck.

Steve didn’t give him time to second-guess. He pressed his thigh upward, right against the growing bulge in Eddie’s jeans, and the movement knocked Eddie off balance. He fell forward, right into Steve’s arms, and Steve held him tight, refusing to let him pull away.

“I know you want to, so do it,” Steve urged, breath coming in shallow bursts. When Eddie still hesitated, Steve rocked his hips up and clawed at Eddie’s back, desperation leaking into his voice. “Do it!”

And then, finally—Eddie gave in. With a groan that was half-pain, half-relief, he sank his teeth into Steve’s neck.

It hurt.

But the pain wasn’t the worst part. No, the worst was the sucking—the sensation of blood being drawn from his veins. It felt foreign, unnatural, mixing with the burning throb of the open wound on his neck. The combination made his head spin, disorienting him in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

Yet somehow, despite—or maybe because of—the intensity of those sensations, Steve was painfully hard. His cock strained against his Levi’s, which already felt tight on a normal day. Now, they were almost unbearable, constricting, and he half-wondered if they’d cut off circulation to his legs soon.

It was confusing, how his body reacted to Eddie feeding on him, but what really sent shivers down his spine were the sounds Eddie was making. Quiet, needy moans muffled by Steve’s neck, soft hums of pleasure that Eddie probably wasn’t even aware of. And it wasn’t just that—Steve could feel Eddie mindlessly rutting against his thigh, the thick, hard length of him pressing into Steve like a promise.

Steve had never been this close to another guy’s hard-on before. The closest he’d come was watching Tommy H. jerk off beside him in his bedroom during a sleepover, Tommy’s eyes dark with something that had made Steve’s skin prickle. But this? This was so much better. It wasn’t just real—it was Eddie. And Steve had been halfway in love with him ever since that day when Eddie talked about Dustin, about how much the kid worshiped him, and how maybe Steve wasn’t such a bad guy after all.

The cramped space of the car was filled with the sound of their ragged breaths and soft moans, but they weren’t just Eddie’s anymore. Steve’s own sounds were growing louder by the second, the initial sting of pain transforming into a heady mix of heat and need. Each pull on his neck sent a pulse of pleasure straight down to his groin, making his cock twitch against the too-tight denim.

He had never felt anything like this before—this blend of pain and pleasure, of intimacy and raw need. And all he could think was how right it felt. How right Eddie felt.

Steve felt like he was drifting in a dream, the world around him soft and hazy, time slipping through his fingers like sand. He couldn’t tell how long it had been since Eddie’s teeth first pierced his skin—seconds, minutes, hours? Maybe even days. It was impossible to say, lost as he was in the slow, heated grind of their bodies. The friction between them pushed him higher and higher, though he wasn’t sure if it was the pleasure or the blood loss that had his head spinning. A distant part of his mind registered alarm at how weightless he felt, how far away everything seemed.

But Steve felt so good. Safe, even, wrapped in the arms of one of the most dangerous creatures he’d ever encountered.

It was Eddie who finally pulled back with a wet, slurping sound, his mouth leaving Steve’s neck as he gasped for breath. “Steve? Shit, Steve, come on, man, look at me.” Eddie’s cool hand cupped Steve’s cheek, shaking him gently, his fingers trembling as he turned Steve’s face to meet his gaze. When their eyes finally locked, Steve was relieved to see that the red had vanished entirely from Eddie’s eyes, replaced by the familiar warm brown that he had come to love.

“’ddie?” Steve slurred, his voice sounding weak, even to his own ears. He caught the worried look on Eddie’s face, the way his brows knit together and his lips pressed into a tight line, stained with drops of blood. My blood, Steve thought vaguely. Somehow, the idea didn’t bother him. Summoning the last bit of strength he had, Steve smiled and placed his hand over Eddie’s, still resting on his cheek. “’m fine. Promise.”

“You don’t look fine, Steve,” Eddie shot back, panic edging his voice. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Goddammit, why didn’t you stop me? Shit, I could’ve killed you.”

Eddie’s voice cracked with guilt, his words thick with fear and desperation. He sounded wrecked, not in the way the still-persistent throbbing in Steve’s groin suggested they both should be, but wrecked with the weight of what had just happened. But Steve didn’t care about that. He didn’t care that he was dizzy, or that his body felt light as a feather. What mattered was making Eddie understand that Steve wanted this. He wanted everything Eddie could give him—his hunger, his desire, his love. And in return, he wanted Eddie to take everything from him — his blood, his heart, hell, even his life. It was all Eddie’s for the taking.

A gasp slipped from Eddie’s lips, sharp and incredulous. “Eddie…” Steve’s voice was barely a whisper, his gaze soft and unwavering as he stared into Eddie’s wide, unblinking eyes.

“You don’t mean that,” Eddie whispered, his voice thick with disbelief.

Steve blinked, suddenly realizing he must have said it all out loud. Oops.

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, right? So far, Steve’s gut instincts had always guided him right, more or less. He was still alive, wasn’t he? That was good enough in his book even if the Robin in his head was rolling her eyes at him.

“I mean it,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “I know you don’t believe me, but I do. I want you. All of you—the good, the bad, the ugly.” Steve’s lips curled into a smirk, mischief lighting his eyes. “And if you haven’t noticed…” He rolled his hips deliberately, making sure Eddie could feel just how much he wanted him. “I was really enjoying myself.” To drive his point home, he shifted his thigh, pressing it against the unmistakable evidence of Eddie’s arousal. Above him, Eddie’s face contorted in pleasure, a low moan rumbling from deep in his chest.

Gotcha, Steve thought with a smug little grin.

“And I think you liked it, too,” Steve continued, his voice dipping lower. “So why don’t you stop worrying and get us both off, huh? I’m not sure I can right now, so it’s the least you could do to make it up to me, don’t you think?”

It was a bold move, pretending to be nonchalant when, in reality, Steve felt like he was hanging on the edge of a cliff, waiting to see if Eddie would catch him or let him fall. His heart pounded in his chest, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still as he watched Eddie’s face—those deep, whiskey-brown eyes wide with surprise, disbelief, and something else that made Steve’s pulse race even faster.

Then, something happened that Steve did not see coming at all.

Eddie laughed.

Not just a chuckle, either, but a real, belly-deep laugh that shook his entire body. The anxiety that had been etched into his features for so long, the haunted look he’d worn since coming back from the dead, finally melted away. In its place, there was warmth, the corners of his eyes crinkling as laughter spilled from his lips, dimples flashing in a way that made Steve’s heart clench.

Eddie was so beautiful.

Eddie’s laughter faded, the echo of it lingering in the close confines of the car like the remnants of a shared secret. His gaze softened, the humor in his eyes shifting into something far more tender, far more vulnerable. “You’re unbelievable, Harrington,” he said, shaking his head, but this time his voice was filled with awe rather than disbelief. “Here you are, barely hanging on, and somehow you’re still making me feel flustered. What kind of guy are you?”

His fingers, cool but delicate, ghosted over Steve’s cheek, the sharpness of his nails a reminder of the monster Eddie thought he was. But the touch? That was all Eddie—the boy Steve had been falling for piece by piece. “You really want me to believe you’re okay with this? With me? After what I just did to you?”

Eddie’s voice wavered, his uncertainty spilling out despite the bravado. “You’re either the bravest or the dumbest guy I’ve ever met. Maybe both.”

Steve couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips, one that matched Eddie’s in its softness, despite the tension hanging between them. “I don’t hear you telling me I’m wrong, man. We’ve been talking about me—what I want. But what about you?” He paused, his voice gentle but probing. “What do you want, Eddie?”

Eddie’s reply came without hesitation. “You.”

Steve’s heart stuttered in his chest while the butterflies in his stomach went wild. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Then have me.”

Blessedly, this time, Eddie didn’t argue. He didn’t hesitate or question whether he deserved this—deserved Steve. He just did what Steve asked.

Pushing himself up on one arm, Eddie moved his other hand from Steve’s cheek, letting it trail down to palm him through his jeans. The earlier intensity had faded slightly during their conversation, but the moment Eddie’s hand found him, it was like lighting a match to gasoline. Heat surged through Steve, reigniting everything Eddie had stirred up.

Eddie's grin widened, his sharp teeth gleaming as he looked down at Steve, the dangerous undertone of it a sharp contrast to the mischievous, boyish excitement that always pushed Steve to keep up with his contagious energy. “I knew you’d be packing, big boy,” Eddie teased, his voice full of admiration and humor. “And all this for lil’ old me?” His fingers squeezed experimentally before running along the length of him, feeling the way Steve’s body responded, hardening further under his touch.

Steve, still a little lightheaded from the blood loss—made worse now that more of his blood seemed to be rushing south—blinked up at Eddie, his thoughts scrambled. All he could do was press his hips up, seeking more friction, his body moving on instinct even if his brain was lagging behind.

His hips began to grind against Eddie’s hand, slowly at first, trying to find a rhythm as Eddie held back, teasing, not giving him the relief he craved. Words failed him, but his body knew exactly what it wanted, each roll of his hips desperate and pleading.

“Didn’t anyone ever—fuck—tell you not to play with your food?” Steve groaned, hips stuttering as Eddie’s touch continued its slow, maddening exploration. It was risky bringing up the fact Eddie had just fed from him, but the elephant in the room wasn’t going anywhere, so why not address it now, while they were both caught up in the heat of the moment?

Eddie paused for just a moment, his eyes searching Steve’s with an unreadable expression. Then, he laughed softly, the sound low and rough, sending a shiver through Steve's entire body. "Oh, sweetheart," Eddie murmured, leaning closer, his lips brushing against Steve’s ear. "You have no idea how much I want to devour you."

Before Steve could even process Eddie’s words, Eddie shifted, settling between his thighs. The new position aligned their hard cocks perfectly, and they both gasped at the intense sensation. Eddie leaned down, nosing along Steve’s jaw until his breath ghosted over Steve’s ear. “Thank you, Stevie,” he whispered.

Eddie's hips rolled slowly, expressing his gratitude with each movement, though Steve wasn’t sure what Eddie was thanking him for. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the electric friction between them, the delicious drag of flesh against flesh. The weight of Eddie’s body should have made Steve feel trapped, but instead, it just amplified his need, igniting something primal within him. He was prey—and he loved it.

That thought made him cling even tighter, his legs wrapping around Eddie's waist to increase the friction. Eddie’s pace quickened, hips thrusting with more purpose, slow but insistent, like they were making love for real. Like Eddie was buried deep inside him. And suddenly, that’s all Steve wanted—Eddie inside him, closer, always closer. His teeth in Steve’s neck, his cock in his body. He needed to feel everything.

Steve’s fingers dug into Eddie’s back, nails scratching against the thin fabric of his shirt in a desperate attempt to mark him, to claim him the way Eddie had claimed Steve with his bite. Eddie didn’t complain—if anything, the scratches seemed to spur him on. His breath hitched, and he let out a string of grunts and moans, the sounds vibrating against Steve’s skin as Eddie whispered praises into his ear. He called Steve brave, kind, selfless, and so, so pretty.

Steve had experienced some incredible sex in his life, but nothing compared to this—dry-humping Eddie Munson in the backseat of his car, bodies pressed together, breathless, and needy.

A familiar tightness coiled in his groin, his whole body tensing as he teetered on the edge of release. But something was missing.

“Bite me,” Steve begged, his voice high and needy, almost desperate.

Eddie whimpered, his hips stuttering for just a moment. “Steve—”

Not willing to let Eddie pull away, Steve’s hand gripped his ass, urging him to keep moving, while his other hand pressed against Eddie’s neck, guiding him closer to his own neck. “I’m close, baby, so close. Please.”

As Eddie's teeth sank into his flesh once more, Steve's vision blurred, the rush of pleasure and pain so overwhelming it felt like his soul had left his body for a moment. He must’ve floated away for a bit, because when he came back to himself, he was no longer beneath Eddie but lying on top of him, his head resting on Eddie’s chest, while Eddie’s fingers gently combed through his hair in a soothing rhythm.

Steve must’ve made a sound, or maybe Eddie was attuned to the change in his breathing, because Eddie noticed right away.

“Hey, sweetheart, back with me?” Eddie’s voice was soft, warm, filled with affection.

“Mmm,” Steve hummed, feeling content and utterly spent. His limbs felt like they weighed a ton, his body heavy but blissfully sated. “Don’t wanna move.”

“Never?” Eddie chuckled, his laughter light and fond, and Steve could feel himself falling even deeper into this perfect moment, cocooned in the warmth of post-orgasmic bliss.

He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, his stomach growled loudly, breaking the quiet. Eddie snorted. “I think we have to move, darling. That sounded like a demogorgon.”

Steve groaned in protest, causing Eddie to give in with a soft smile. “Okay, fine. A few more minutes, but then we’ll get you something to eat and drink.” His hand drifted to Steve’s neck, thumb gently brushing over the already healing bite. “This took a lot out of you. Let me take care of you, okay? Like you did for me.”

Steve snuggled closer, the idea of being cared for by Eddie sounding better than anything. “Okay,” he mumbled.

Eddie pressed a lingering kiss to the top of his head, his voice barely a whisper. “Thank you, Stevie.”

[vaaaaaiolet]

When you call Leon late one night, he knows something's up with his best friend and mission partner of two years. You're breaking down and your shitty on-and-off boyfriend's nowhere to be found, but that's not Leon's business. He's just supposed to be a shoulder for you to cry on.

But Leon's not very good at staying out of business concerning you. Feelings get involved, and he finds out he has quite a sticky finger when it comes to phone calls.

f / m, friends / partners to lovers, angst + fluff w/ hurt + comfort, mutual pining, mild?? safe sex, phone sex w/ a twist, tw: shitty bf that's not leon but no cheating i don't condone cheating, porn w/ feelings + some semblance of a plot. oh, and happy ending :) mdni.

word count: 2.7k // read on ao3

a/n: YAY GRACIE ABRAMS RELEASED CLOSE TO YOU!! idk what happened with this fic LMAO it just got way out of hand. i’m also working on "and they were roommates!"; it's my summer goal to finish that series (you can really tell how employed i am). also if you catch the touch tank lyric, i <3 u

The phone on Leon’s nightstand buzzed impatiently the way demanding, intrusive phone calls do at 1 AM on weeknights. Jesus Christ. No one called him this late at night, nobody except his favorite mission partner who only had burning questions for him the minute the clock struck midnight.

In other words, you.

He ran a hand through his bedhead, picking up your call with half a mind to tell you off for real this time before his ears met wracking sobs. The snark sublimated off Leon’s tongue. 

“Hey, hey, is everything alright? What’s going on?” his voice rose steadily in pitch the more you cried. Worry thumped in his bare chest as he sat up on his knees, “Where are you?”

“Home, I’m at home, I- Leon, he’s with her, I don’t know what to do!” You sounded like you were drowning the way your words spilled out, punctuated with gasps for air. “He turned his phone off, and his-his friends said he wasn’t with them at the bar…” you hiccuped, “and I have the worst gut feeling, it feels like-” 

His stomach twisted as you heaved for breath. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.” 

Leon’s mind whirled. He knew, to his incredible unenthusiasm, that you’d been in an on-and-off relationship for the past two years. You couldn’t let go of your boyfriend from your training days. You’d sip apologetically from your drink and wave away Leon’s scolding each time you got left in the dust, only to bounce back the moment your boyfriend promised to do better. 

You’d been his saving grace in the field more times than he could count, and it was only because of his own woman in red that Leon could empathize where others rolled their eyes at you. You and him were the same. The only difference is that he’d given up on this part of life entirely while you clung tight. Leon had gone his separate way while you pined at the crossroads. 

But he was a selfish bastard, and he was a bit like you, too. Same coin. He gave you his shoulder to cry on and couldn’t help absorbing a bit of the blame for your needy heart.

“Stay right there.” Leon murmured, forcing his anger at your definitely cheating boyfriend into something softer for you to land on, "I'm coming right now, I'll pick you up and we'll talk about it."

“Don’t, Leon, it’s late. I just called to…God, I don’t even know. You have work tomorrow.” 

“First time you’ve been concerned about my work, calling this late at night.” he chuckled, interrupting your budding apology, silver keys jangling in his pockets. “Don’t worry about it. Pretend I’m already there. I got you.” 

You laughed through your sniffles, “Stubborn ass.”

His heart lurched. “Have to be one. I can’t have you thinking you can call me crying and I’d do nothing about it.”

The snow whipped at his windshield when he pulled into your driveway. Who the hell went clubbing on a work night at 1 AM, Leon didn’t know, but as he killed his car’s headlights, he figured your boyfriend was just the kind of good-for-nothing to pull it off. He stuck his hands in his pockets and trudged to your front door.

You cracked the door open after two knocks, just enough for him to slip into your dark entryway. Leon frowned in the darkness as he let you pull him by the arm into your living room where a few tea candles flickered on your coffee table. They littered its glass surface along with a few tissues. 

“I'm sorry about the dark,” you wiped your eyes with a sleeve, “Sorry about everything, really.”

If he’d lifted your mood before he’d cut the call, he didn’t have a clue now. You looked so small, drowning in a long-sleeve shirt and pajama shorts, socked feet fiddling with a crack in the floor as Leon sat you on your couch. 

He couldn’t think. He just enveloped you in a hug as fresh tears threatened to spill over your lashes. "No. We're not doing 'I'm sorry,' alright? You have nothing to be sorry for." He gave you one more squeeze before popping the million dollar questions: "What happened? What did he do? Tell me everything." 

You crumpled into his chest. “You were right, you’re always right, Leon. God, why don’t I ever learn? What’s wrong with me?”

I’ve never wanted to be more wrong in my life. Tell me no like you always do.

“He’s been angry.” You mumbled, “Secretive, defensive…he bought jewelry that I only know about from the receipts.”

“…how long?” 

Leon wanted to fix this. Make your should-be ex pay. Hunnigan could always deal with the fallout later. She’d wipe your boyfriend’s existence off the face of the planet if he asked. Nicely. Hopefully. 

“I didn’t want to disappoint you.” You lifted your head to meet his gaze and all he could do was watch tears glimmering in those eyes he knew so well. “I didn’t want to tell you he’s been like this for a month…to be honest, I didn’t care.”

Leon’s brain wasn’t catching up as you continued, “I just didn’t want to disappoint you.”

He raised an eyebrow. 

"Disappoint me?" Leon repeated. "Sweetheart, you would never disappoint me. You're my best friend, alright?" Damn, he’d pulled out the double-edged sword, but this way, he could get you to listen. The tingly feeling was back. "Look at me."

He cupped your chin in his hand. Studied your face. 

"Why would you ever think that?" 

“…because you said he wasn’t good for me,” you choked out, words tumbling from your lips the more you gained momentum. “Because I know how it feels to be loved because you treat me like that and he doesn’t, he never did, he-”

You stopped yourself with a shaky breath, blinking up at him like a deer in headlights because there it was. 

Here you both were.

The one line you were both afraid to cross. The line between friends and everything more.

Your hands flew up to his chest, flitting from the soaked fabric of his open shirt to cover your face as you backtracked hard. “I’d make everything complicated. You don’t need that, neither of us do with this job – you don’t need me to mess up the stability you have in your life. I’m supposed to make things easier for you, like an actual friend, and instead I just cause trouble. I drag you into my mess.”

Leon could roll his eyes right about now. Said the girl who watched his back at every turn. Saved him limbs and further replacements for said limbs. The girl who started breaking him out of his shell with laughter and light the minute she stepped into his life like a hurricane, after losing Luis and the shock of Krauser’s betrayal shut Leon further into the abyss. You were the chief reason he’d stopped chasing Ada like a lovesick puppy and started seeing her as an advantage in the field instead. And you as something more.

You filled his life with so much to look forward to that he simply didn’t have the time to let the negativity in. So it was only right that he cut you off, sealing his mouth to yours to even the exchange. An eye for an eye – heart for a heart.

"There." Leon breathed out after what felt like an eternity, heat rushing to his face. "Am I messing up your life yet?"

The broken pieces of your heart kicked up like the snowstorm outside the moment Leon’s lips touched yours. The breath knocked out of you as he lifted your chin ever so gently with just a finger, your head reeling to keep pace: Leon. Here. Kissing. Kissing you.  

Is he messing up your life yet? Oh, baby boy.

“You could never.” 

A stupid, giddy smile threatened to split your face in half as your heart beat double time.

“...but I’d let you if you wanted.”

“Then let me, sweetheart,” Leon practically begged, his ocean eyes searching yours.

“I’ll stop if you say the word.”

His calloused fingers tucked your hair behind your ear as he leaned in again, drawing a beautiful gasp out of you as his tongue brushed the seam of your lips. You let him in, tilting your head, nose almost bumping his the way you chased him after he let go, everything that was suddenly too much now not enough. Leon’s heart kicked gleefully.

He hooked his hands under your thighs as he pulled you onto his lap. The strength he’d built up from his missions finally came to good use.

You blinked up at him, hungrily, pleadingly. “I do want something more. More than what we’ve got.”

“The sentiment’s mutual.” 

Leon took advantage of the fact you hadn’t done a single thing to stop him so far, purring sweet nothings into your ear as he began nipping at your neck to coax out more delicious sounds. He could play you like an instrument in the hands of Juilliard graduate; make you sing with a touch.

“Leon…I was scared. Terrified. Didn’t want to- didn’t want to lose you if I came clean.” 

You let his hands slip under your shirt to palm at your breasts, followed by profuse thanks in the form of tender touches everywhere else he could reach. Sweet girl, melting like snow on his tongue. He flipped you onto your back as you reached for him, trailing kisses down your neck as he eased your shorts down the minute you nodded yes. Feverishly. 

Maybe the warmth of your walls sucking in his fingers was what he needed to piece together why you kept going back to your shitty boyfriend when what you wanted was Leon.

You were distracting yourself. 

It was all so stupid.

“You’re never going to lose me,” he groaned; pressed a kiss onto your inner thigh, his hand locking onto your knee to keep it from twitching as you arched with every pass of his thumb over your tiny bundle of nerves. “I can’t even believe I let you keep this up for so long. Shit!”

It was devastatingly easy to bring you to climax. He followed the angle of your back arching at his touch like a step-by-step guide as he gave you one last kiss, right over your soaked entrance, and rose from his knees to sit your trembling body back up. Leon murmured for you to reach for the wallet in his back pocket, and you laughed breathlessly as you fished out a condom, kissing the corner of the lopsided grin he shot you. Angel. 

That’s one more name he’d been itching to call you.

“Let me keep you, angel. I’ll treat you right. You know that already, don’t you?” Leon kissed the top of your head, rolling on the rubber as you straddled his lap with shaky legs. His hands easily spanned the curve of your hips as you bit your lip. He didn’t want to hurt you any more than you already had been. 

“I’ll be gentle,” he murmured.

“You want to be gentle with me?” you repeated, smiling.

Fair enough question. Leon blew apart bioweapons for a living. But he could be gentle when he wanted to be.

He couldn’t help but smile back. “Yeah. Wanna take my time with you, sweet girl.”

Leon kissed you one last time before painstakingly, slowly, lowering you on his length. Really, it was because he wanted to hear you whimper his name all the more. You’re beautiful. Gorgeous. Your cries filtered into his ears sweeter than birdsong. Oh, he was going to make sure you forgot your boyfriend ever existed. You were all inviting warmth, plush walls and silk, but Leon barely had time to suck in a breath at the spectacular fit of you on his cock because of the infuriating trill of your phone’s ringtone breaking the blessed silence.

“Shut it up, Leon, I don’t wanna hear- oh shit! Oh my god,” your frustrated expression morphs into one of shock as he flips the screen to reveal your soon-to-be ex’s caller ID, “Hang up, baby.”

Leon wanted to listen so badly. You even called him baby.

“Leon!”

“Sweetheart, you said you wanted me to mess up your life? We’re starting now.”

Your eyes flew wide open as he pecked your forehead and tapped the “answer” button, bucking his hips up just enough for you to moan out loud. Your saucer eyes fixed on the phone on the coffee table; your ex just got greeted with the most salacious sound you’d ever made in your life.

“Babe, what the hell?” went the tinny male voice, “Are you…okay?”

You were okay, alright. Leon was making sure of that. One more kiss to your jaw and you were whining right into his mouth. It was just too bad the phone couldn’t pick up the way your fingers tangled themselves into his hair, but Leon was confident your mewls made it through.

“I’ll apologize later, I promise, just let me do this for you.” he whispered, angling you so he’d hit that spongy patch of nerves deep inside. You promptly dissolved into tears. Good ones this time, begging him for just a little more, doing anything to trigger that switch.

Your soon-to-be ex, however, meanwhile resorted to shouting any insult he could think of from what sounded like the inside of his car. Frankly, it was killing the mood. 

“Hey, buddy?” Leon called out as you teetered on the brink of euphoria. “It’s fine. I’ve got her.”

The noise of your ex’s muffled surprise almost made you get up in alarm, but Leon wasn't about to have this moment taken away so soon. Now, it was a matter of satisfaction for him as your ex blustered, "I'm sorry, am I hearing this right? You've got her? Who the hell are you?"

“I’m Leon. You don’t know me?” 

“I don’t know any- wait. You work with her, don’t you?” 

Leon hummed agreeably, focusing his attention on making the phone an afterthought for you as you chased your high. “Maybe. I’m just doing what you couldn’t for the past two years, you know.”

“You bitch. You’re cheating on me with a coworker? Are you fucking serious? Unbelievable…you…I’m on my way. You two fuckers better be there, I swear to God, I’m going to ab-”

Leon tutted impatiently, pressing into your clit to hurtle you over the edge and drown out the tirade with your much more listen-worthy wails of pleasure. The phone call ended, without Leon’s help, only a few seconds after the last of your cries finished echoing in the living room. 

“Oops. Think we touched a nerve, sweetheart?” he chuckled, easing you off him as he swiped a tissue to clean you up. 

You glowered up at him – shit – only to break into an incredulous grin. His heart was mere inches from falling off a precipice. Good God, woman.

“You’re crazy.” you giggled.

“Yeah? And you want me anyway.”

“Love you, anyway.” 

He grinned. 

Leon didn’t stop you from slamming the front door in your now-ex’s face (oh, how he savored saying that). He also didn’t stop you from jumping into his arms the second your ex’s car pulled out of your driveway, your bulletproof breakup face traded for the smile he’d once tried to convince himself he wasn’t in love with.

Your voice was ecstatic. "I can't believe I just did that. Oh my god, I just did that!" 

"Wasn't that fun?" he laughed.

"Really fun." 

You got up on your tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. "You know, ever since I gave you permission to ruin my life, Leon, you've been doing the exact opposite," you mused, your fingers playfully catching on the hem of his shirt. 

“I plan on keeping that promise, baby. I didn’t even have to ruin your life for you to fall in love with me.”

You arched a know-it-all eyebrow.

“Okay, okay! Maybe a little bit.” he conceded, warmth erupting in his chest. 

Yeah. If this counted as ruining your life, Leon was just fine with no rest for the wicked.

psst! find more of my work here

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated :,)

[hectorthedoggo]

I will put this in ao3 and edit when i have the means to. but. @kani-miso it's 0009 sibs i thought of you and decided to make this 🎀🎀

UPDATE I ACIDENTALLY DELETED THE TAB WITH MY EDITS AO3 is going to kill me

“Alright. Milgram's up.” The creature stayed. Es stayed frozen from where they were sitting on the couch. Oh God. What's the consequences of my verdicts?

Wait. Up? This is Trial 2?

They disregarded that. It must be a mistake.

If these verdicts even are mine, I can’t tell. I've been dreading this. I'm scared. They clutched their arms, trying to gain some warmth, some friction, for what was to happen next.

Jackalope narrowed his eyes at them. “A nervous one, aren't you now. Anyways, so since the administrators decided that you were too unstable, you'll go free. Congrats.

Oh yeah, and the verdicts didn't really have consequences, it was just a little social experiment. It doesn't matter. Good luck surviving in the real world!”

What. What the heck is he talking about? “Wha- What do you mean- Who's the admin- wah!”

They felt a pulling sensation, and suddenly, they were standing in a Walmart™ parking lot. The only other person nearby was Mikoto Kayano.

But, nobody was dead. He was in his original clothes, but. Wait, where are we? What's this big sign that says ‘Walmart’?

What is a Walmart, and where the hell did Milgram go?

They also had a little pack with them, and upon opening it, there was a little message printed out. Nothing else.

‘mikoto is your legal sibling btw. gl lmao be glad I even gave you this note ur probably my favorite warden - Jackalope (professional child neglecter)’

At least the pack looked cool looked cool…

Es was about to have a mental breakdown. Why did Milgram leave me like this? Is this what I am to them?

“Woah, what happened?” Mikoto wondered, “Hey, Es. Did you do this? Is Milgram over? Did they identify it to be a mistake?”

They started shaking. They threw me out like garbage. I…

“Es?”

They sniffled at the situation. I’m… garbage. Because, as my usual logic says, I am what Milgram deems me to be.

“I- I have no idea…” they extended the last vowel to emphasize how little idea they had.

They threw the note on the ground --- or at least tried to, it just flew away, right into Mikoto’s hands ---, and started to sob.

The tables had turned. Mikoto looked like he knew why he was here, Es didn’t (nande boku ga koko ni iruyo). It was genetic.

Meanwhile, Mikoto had gotten the note, and he read it. “Wh- huh?”

He stared over at Es. “Es, this is a mistake, right?”

“That is the least of my worries right now, pudding boy!” they snapped at him, instead channeling their sadness into aggression.

He completely disregarded their feelings, to the point where he might not have even heard them. “Right… my mom did mention that our father got remarried. Wah, Suu! You’re my little sib!”

He went up to their grieving form, and gave them a little fistbump, lifting up their unwilling arm to do so. Why did he do that? Last time we touched, John was beating the shit out of me.

A random car pulled up into the Walmart™ parking lot, and the window unrolled. 

It was a woman with brownish hair, who looked like Mikoto. “Oh, you’re the other sibling that your father was talking about. You two can just get in the back in the car, your sister’s taking shotgun. Nice to meet you!”

Why the fuck does Mikoto’s sister have a shotgun? Are they all like this?

Mikoto followed in with them, and buckled in. Es had no idea what was going on.

They could not find the seatbelt, too busy processing the upheaval of their life in the past 5 minutes.

“Yo, sib. The seatbelt’s over there.” Mikoto smiled and gave a thumbs up, like a reliable older brother. “I saw it.” I did not see it.

They touched it, and got stung by the heat. Their, wait, no, Mikoto’s sister turned back at their sound of pain, turning off her phone. “Ah, yeah. It’s summer, don’t touch it.”

They scowled, forgetting their dread in the face of the overheated car seatbelt.

The car chimed, and the keys jingled. “Alright, folks! You two seem pretty tired from wherever the heck you disappeared to. Would you wanna go home, or get some ice cream?”

The sister turned around, and smiled a little wide. “My dear siblings, do you know the answer? There is a correct one.”

Es scowled. “What the fuck is an ice cream. Why is the cream ice?”

“Are you serious?” She scrutinized their face, finding the truth, “Step on it, Ma.” She went back to her phone, probably texting her friends about this weird kid in a warden outfit that was apparently her sibling now.

Mikoto looked over at Es and shrugged, like a comical cartoon character. Like a ‘what can you do?’.

I won’t allow these insolent- wait, these aren’t prisoners. Unless the sister girl did something with that shotgun of hers. It would run in the family, I guess.

Wait, that would mean that I’m also violent. Nevermind.

The 11th cell came to mind, and they dismissed it. Wrong kinda fic, buddy. We staying fluff here.

“So, Mikoto. And, what’s your name?”

“Es. I think?”

The woman put on her strict mother voice. “... okay. Mikoto and Es. What was so important that you had to completely disappear for like a years. No note! Job gone! You could’ve died, for all I knew! Es, sweetie, I’m sure it was Mikoto’s fault. He’s such a bad influence.”

Es raised their hand to ask a question, slightly flustered from the pet name. She indicated that they could speak.

They decided to just reveal it all. “Um, Mikoto committed murder… eh, Mikoto, he has DID and was stressed from his job, hence the murder. And I was the warden of the prison that held him and 9 others.”

Mikoto lost all of his composure at all of his darkest secrets being revealed, the dramatic guy he was. “What… Es, don’t… I… that’s not… I don’t have DID? I was doing… I was doing just…”

He seemed a little overwhelmed at the prospect of having to unpack all of the luggage that Es laid out, so another guy came out. “I am not straight. Oh- sorry, hi, I’m John. I’m the guy who totally committed the murder 100% trust guys c’mon vote mikoto innocent 2024-”

I already had to deal with that yapping last interrogation. Es shut him up with their hand. He waved it away. “If you’re gonna say that shit about Mikoto, Es hasn’t been going to bed at a healthy time or eating healthy.”

They were betrayed at his reveal. “I can’t believe you.”

“We’re going to fix that, Es. You’re going to get the regular kid treatment.” The mother nodded, eyes steeling. Oh no, not the normal teen treatment!

John had some other stuff going on behind there. Maybe Mikoto’s cheesiness had rubbed off on him. “As soon as we get out of this car I’m giving you a hug.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Yes.”

Speaking of unwarranted physical contact. “Oh yeah, mo- Mikoto’s mother, um… John beat me up in Trial 1.”

“SNITCH?!”

“What’cha gonna do about it?”

“Give you another hug.” He deviously grinned, knowing that wasn’t the answer they expected or an answer they liked.

“I won’t allow it.” But, they weren’t the warden anymore. They couldn’t deflect affection as well as they used to.

The sister was unbothered by this discourse. Perhaps it hasn’t quite set in. “I guess I got two extra surprise siblings. Cool.”

-

When they got to the ice cream store after a prolonged amount of awkward silence, the moment the car doors opened, the chase was on.

Es nearly ran into oncoming traffic to escape any chance at being loved, as one does, but John grabbed them and lifted them up by their elbows, giving them a hug once they were out of the street.

“Jeez, you’re light. C’mon, we’re getting ice cream and you aren’t gonna kill yourself.”

“‘M not!” They kicked their legs to try and get the man off of them. But, they had about the strength of a 5 week old kitten compared to him, without the claws.

He plopped them down, Es seething about their lack of power they had here.

The sister turned off her phone, finally, and turned to Es. “Okay, I just wanna make sure. Were you joking earlier about not having ice cream before?”

“I’m the prison warden of Milgram, I don’t need-”

She interrupted them before they could start monologuing and crying about how Milgram didn’t exist anymore. “You’re getting Birthday Bash.”

“What- but it’s not my birthday?” It could be, for all I know, but she’s doesn’t have to know that.

“Ok, what is your birthday?” Dammit.

“Great question!” Es stared into space, tone full of sarcasm. Milgram never tells me shit.

“Mikoto or whoever the hell you are, do you know their birthday?”

“Nah.” John responded. “By the way, um, this kid was the one who named me John, because they thought it would be funny to be a know-it-all and reference some English name.”

She looked over at Es. “No offense, but you suck at naming. I think we were all thinking that.” We…

Es tried to defend their horrible naming skills. “What?! Who else was gonna name him?”

Mikoto’s mother decided to join in the conversation, but left after putting her two cents in. “Me. Or Mikoto, since he’s where John came from.”

John smirked. “See, Es! But the name has stuck, so you owe me.”

Es crossed their arms, huffing. “I don’t owe you anything. You beat me up that one time, so if anything, you owe me!”

He couldn’t exactly find a defense for that, so he took their hat off their head and held it as high as he could reach, exposing their hat hair. “Hey!”

They jumped to get it, but to no avail. They looked pathetic.

Meanwhile, Mikoto’s mother and sister had already gone in to order. Order, like what a judge says?

It’s all a law reference.

John grinned. “You're a silly little creature, Suu.”

“You're not Mikoto, stop that.” I do not like that weird ass nickname.

He put on an innocent face. “What do you mean? I'm Mikoto, and I love my company so much! Hahaha, I would never commit murder. This must be a mistake!”

Es was somewhat surprised. “That's stuff he actually said in his first trial, how did you get it so accurately?”

“I hear this guy's internal monologue.”

That’ll do it. “Ah.”

 He threw their hat into the air while they were distracted, and they stepped back in surprise. He caught it. “Nice hat.”

“Get away from-”

The rest of the family brought over ice cream, and Es was handed a mash of colors in theirs that seemed unnatural.

“Is this food?”

“Eat it.” John asserted.

They shrugged. If this is poison, at least I don't have to worry about Milgram and all that stuff.

Worst case scenario, it doesn't kill me and it tastes bad. I'm not sure what my best case scenario is. Dying? It tasting good? We’ll see.

They bit down on the food with aggression, and it tasted… amazing, other than the fact that it was cold.

“What the heck is this? In a good way?” They temporarily forgot about their slight suicidal ideation.

“Bro has never heard of the wonders of overly processed foods…” the sister commented, smirking.

Why is she calling me bro? Huh? If I question her, will she bring out the shotgun? I'm scared of her. She’s my older sister now, isn’t she…

To be honest, Kotoko was scarier. I’ll be fine.

She wasn’t addicted to her phone, though… wait, right. Kotoko kinda was.

They grinned, and momentarily forgot their troubles in the face of their action. I’m so much better than these people. This tastes good. Mmm… ice cream… I like it…

They did get a brain freeze, and brought their hand up to their forehead in pain.

They got their head patted by John, who had somehow consumed his (larger serving of) ice cream. “Do you want the rest of that?”

“Yes?” They answered.

He grabbed a spoon, and took a bite of their ice cream. “Wow, this tastes nice.”

Es disliked the younger sibling experience. “Give me my hat back. I didn’t forget about that.”

“No.” However, he made a mistake: it happened to be in grabbing range. They quickly snatched it, and grinned in pride.

But, while they were distracted with John, they forgot about their other older sibling, who took a sizable amount of their precious ice cream.

I just discovered ice cream. Will they stop stealing it?

-

They were next in a car, making sure to avoid the seatbelt this time. About ⅓ of their ice cream had been usurped, and they didn't have the strength to defend it.

But, it wasn’t that bad. These people are nice…

I… I guess this is my life now? It’s not that bad.

Finally, there were no catches to this fact.

They would have to buy new clothes, the warden outfit was scratchy.

[absurdthirst]

Mafia Love {MobBoss!Joel Miller x PlusSized!F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 21.8k

Warnings: Drinks, murder, abduction, drugging, forced marriages, mentions fat phobia/fat shaming, insults, body image issues, food/eating, dirty talk, rough sex, oral sex (female and male receiving), safe words, choking, degradation/dirty talk, multiple orgasms, miscommunication, angry Joel, confessions of love

Comments: Assistant District Attorney, witness to a crime, you are forced into marriage with the head of the Miller crime family, Joel Miller. Hating how you are forced to save your family and tied to a man who could kill you, or worse, make you fall for him.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Joel Miller MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

"God, it's so good to just relax. I finished that big case and now I can let loose." You tell your friend Gianna whose birthday it is. She picks up her glass, clinking it against yours. 

"Cheers to that." She grins, knowing how work takes over your life. It was inevitable, being a lawyer is hard work and you rarely get time to enjoy your personal life.

You finish your drink and stand up after grabbing your clutch, "I'm gonna go to the bathroom." You tell Gianna. 

"Do you want me to go with you?" She asks and you shake your head, "no. Enjoy yourself." You tell her, offering her a smile before you make your way through the gyrating crowd. It takes a few minutes but eventually, you find the bathrooms. Huffing at the ever present line for the ladies, you wait and check your emails. Eventually, you use the bathroom and check your makeup. Once exiting the bathroom, the line has disappeared and you frown, suddenly feeling a little sick. The exit door is right there and you need air. You stumble out of the heavy door and that's when you see the man drop to the ground, blood splattered everywhere and you try to scream but nothing comes out. The man holding the gun is surrounded by a few others who move fast to rush after you but you manage to catch your nails in the exit door before it closes and you fling it open, rushing through the crowds, pushing your way through until you run out the front of the club. There's a taxi passing and you grab it, getting in and exhaling shakily, tears stinging in your eyes. You just witnessed a murder. It's too much to handle and you cover your mouth to silence the sob. You've seen a lot during your cases but nothing firsthand like that. You fumble to grab your phone from your clutch so you can call the police. "Fuck." You choke when you discover the battery is dead. "Shit." You tilt your head back to rest it on the seat, knowing you will have to phone the police tomorrow. 

**** 

The next morning, you wake up with a headache, both from the booze and the horror you witnessed. The way the man's brains scattered on the concrete will stay with you forever. You grab your phone, biting your lip, and trying to decide if you should phone the police. You work for the DA's office after all. Surely they will believe you. You falter, knowing your story is ridiculous. You had a lot to drink, so was it real? Or part of some booze-induced nightmare? You aren't sure. Deciding to go for a walk to clear your head and get some coffee, you get up and get dressed. The air is cool and fresh and you are walking through Boston Commons when the car pulls up beside you. Two men get out and you try to run but it's too late. They grab you, dragging you into the black SUV and before you can scream, the needle is pushed into your neck. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and you wonder if you're going to die.

****

“Goddamnit Tommy.” Joel growls, curling his hand around his bourbon glass so hard it’s a wonder that the crystal doesn’t shatter. Glaring at his younger brother and wondering why his mother cursed him by making him promise to look after him on her deathbed. “I’ve fuckin’ told you about keeping that shit private.” Tommy’s latest incident is his most reckless yet and now they are in hot water. “She’s a goddamn D.A. This wouldn’t have happened if you had kept it to the warehouse like I fuckin’ told you to.”

Tommy shakes his head, “we were tryin’ to track him down. He’s a goddamn state senator. He owes us millions. He didn’t give a fuck when he was benefiting from our networks, gettin’ drugs and weapons.” Tommy reasons, “I was impatient. He owed us too much.” Tommy growls and Joel hisses. 

“This is the fuckin’ shit that sent us runnin’ from Texas.” Joel growls, knowing he’s spent years trying to establish the new network in the north east after leaving Texas once his mama had died and left the estate to him. 

“She won’t be a problem. The guys are getting her now and there’s a solution.” Tommy says and Joel snorts, “we ain’t killin’ someone else. Especially a D.A. We will be raided before you can say lawyer.” 

Tommy shakes his head, “marriage. A spouse can’t testify against their husband.” He says and Joel scoffs, “last I remember, brother. You’re married to Maria.” He says and Tommy shakes his head, “not me. You. You marry her.”

Joel is speechless, staring at Tommy like he’s lost his mind for a few moments and expecting the bastard to start laughing like it was some kind of joke. He doesn’t. “No.” He spits, hating the mere idea of marriage and being tied to someone again. 

“Think about it.” Tommy jumps in again, leaning over and clapping him on the shoulder. “She can’t testify about something that happens with her husband. She can’t be coerced into giving them anything.” 

Joel snorts, “but she can be coerced into marriage? Tommy, I swear our mother dropped you on your head.” The bad thing is that it would make his problem go away and that makes him frown even deeper.

“She’s pretty. I looked her up. She’s your type. She - she has a sister and a niece. We could threaten them. Coerce her into marrying you and then when the case is dropped, you can divorce her. It’s a great idea, even you gotta admit that. She won’t be able to testify against our family and we continue doing our shit. The fuckin’ Firefly assholes in New York would love to see us in the clink.” Tommy growls just as Tess walks into Joel’s office. 

“You have a delivery waiting for you in the garage.” She says, confused and suspicious when Tommy looks back at Joel. 

“Come on.” Joel gruffs and the younger Miller brother follows him through the house. 

“Go away.” Joel growls at Tess when she tries to follow.

****

Your head aches, your eyes feel heavy and you try to open them, hearing male voices and you suddenly remember what happened. Grunting, you try to move but your hands are tied behind your head and your eyes are blindfolded. “Wha- where- I” You rasp, throat so dry that you can’t even speak.

Joel stares at you, his dark expression not giving away his inner thoughts. Hands crossed over his chest, he knows he looks imposing. Or he will look imposing when your blindfold is eventually taken off. You are pretty. Just on the other side of plump, you are curvy and lush in all the right places. He admires you for not crying immediately when you stiffen, realizing that you are being held captive. He nods at Tommy, giving him permission to remove the blindfold.

You blink rapidly when the blindfold is removed and you look up to see the man you witnessed kill someone and the other is broader, his eyes dark and intimidating and his arms crossed, making his muscles bulge. He has gray hairs weaving through his locks, a scruffy beard, and you know he is capable of killing you with a flick of his wrist. You swallow, throat so dry with fear and you look between the men. “I- are you going to kill me?” You gasp, terrified about what’s going to happen to you.

The naked fear in your eyes gets to Joel. He doesn’t have a problem killing, he’s done plenty of it. Except he’s having a hard time imagining you laying there lifeless. Tommy steps forward. “You were in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He tells you apologetically, pulling his gun out from behind his back. 

Joel knows his impatient brother will pull the trigger. “You’re gonna marry me.” Joel announces. “Or I’m going to kill your sister and your niece.”

You are shaking, the gun pressed against your temple is still there as the older one declares you’re going to marry him. “You- you - oh my God. Why- why marry - why do you want to marry me?” You ask, voice shaky and your lower lip trembling as the one you saw kill lowers his gun and you inhale deeply, still scared but relieved the gun isn’t aimed at you.

“I- I wouldn’t be married to you. You are the one who I witnessed murder someone.” You huff at Tommy, not wanting to be lectured about the law. 

“It’s still family and if I go down, so does Joel. You won’t be able to testify against the family.” Tommy argues and you look up at Joel when he growls, “enough of the law bullshit, yes or no? I have men outside of your sister’s place in Maine. 1256 Florence Lane. Your niece goes to Bellview Elementary?” Joel rattles off and your eyes widen, knowing that these are dangerous men. You can’t risk your family. You will figure out how to escape. For now, you just need to comply. 

“Fine.” You spit at Joel, “I’ll marry you. If you kill me, there’s no guarantee you won’t go after my family anyway. I need to make sure they are okay.” You barter, knowing that this is your reality until you figure out your next moves.

He watches you for a moment and then nods. “Fine.” He agrees, straightening slightly. “We will get married in two days. I will have my men pack up your things and bring them to the house.” He tells you without any emotion in his voice. “Tommy, take her to the blue suite and let her clean up. Get her some breakfast.”

You are in shock, reeling from the news that you are going to marry a man you don’t even know. Nothing beyond his name and his job. The younger one, Tommy, unties you and grabs your arm. “Maybe not so rough.” You huff as he guides you out of the garage and through the house. It’s beautiful. Not what you expected at all and you know you aren’t in the city. You stumble as he drags you along the halls until you are shoved into a room, it’s blue like the name dictates and you take a moment to admire the decor. There’s no way two men decorated this home. “Can I call-?” The door is slammed and locked and you slump against the wall as tears sting in your eyes. You’re trapped.

“Goddamnit.” Joel huffs, walking into his office and dropping down into his chair and rubbing his eyes. The fucking Fireflies are all over his ass and FEDRA was breathing down his neck. 

“What’s wrong with you?” A sarcastic snort comes from a chair off to his left and he sighs, opening his eyes to find Ellie staring at him. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Bored.” Ellie shrugs, spinning one of the chairs he has in his office. Her legs kicking out as she grins. “What’s died and crawled up your ass?” She asks him, tilting her head with teenage curiosity that tends to drive Joel insane.

“Nothing you need to worry about.” He grunts, looking at the girl of one of his former Lieutenants. He had gotten killed, and Joel had taken responsibility for the girl. He sighs, knowing he should warn her about you. “There’s a woman gonna be living here. Don’t bother her.”

Ellie’s eyes widen. “A woman? For what? For who?” She asks, ever curious and wondering if she’s going to be with one of the girlfriends or if she is going to be a worker. “Me.” Joel says and Ellie can’t help it, she throws her head back and laughs. “You? You? Please. Don’t joke like that Joel. You’re gonna give me a heart attack.” She sasses and Joel rolls his eyes. 

“She’s going to be my wife.” He explains and Ellie nearly falls out of her chair. “Wife?”

“Yes, wife.” He hisses irritably, wondering how the fuck he could get her to shut up. He should have never said a word. “It’s a temporary thing, so don’t get attached.” He warns her, knowing that despite his warning, Ellie will do what she pleases and he can almost guarantee that as soon as she leaves his office, she will go find you.

Ellie shakes her head, “you? With a wife? Oh boy.” She stands up and slaps her knees. “Well, I’ll see you around.” She says, determined to find you and discuss the fact that you are going to marry Joel. Joel grunts and she swiftly exits his office, running through the house until she hears sobbing. She knocks on the door and you shuffle back, stopping your crying to worry if someone is going to kill you. “Who- who are you?” You ask the teenager, confused by her appearance.

“I’m Ellie.” She announces, walking in nonchalant and dropping into a chair to face you. “And you’re the woman Joel is going to marry. Why? He’s so fucking old? And he’s…..Joel.” She thinks you’re pretty, even though it’s been obvious that you’ve been crying. “That doesn’t mean you have to cry about it though.” She looks at you curiously, waiting for you to answer.

“Joel is…your dad?” You ask and she shakes her head, “no, oh hell no. No. He - he was my dad’s boss. My dad was killed in a car accident when he was chasing someone. It - my mom died when I was born so yeah…tragedy kid. Joel felt sorry for my orphan ass and took me in.” She shrugs, “not a bad place to be taken in.” She gestures to the bedroom, “although I’m not Sarah.” She murmurs and you frown, “who’s Sarah?” 

Ellie curses, “oops. Said too much. Maybe ask Joel. Yeah so, uh, why are you marrying Joel?” She asks and you sniff, wiping your eyes. 

“Because he’s gonna kill my family if I don’t.” You whimper and Ellie snorts, “Joel might seem like a bear and sure he’s dangerous, he’s killed, but it didn’t used to be that way. His uncle was actually in charge of the Miller household and Joel used to be a contractor but when - well, ask Joel about Sarah and Helen, uh, and yeah, he wasn’t always this way according to men I’ve spoken to.” Ellie explains and you realize you have even more questions. 

“I - I can’t risk my family. Even if I have to sacrifice myself.” You murmur and Ellie nods in understanding. “Well, welcome to the fam.” She grins, “I like you already.” She declares and you offer her a soft smile, “thanks. It was nice to meet you.” You tell her and she nods, backing out of the room. 

You sit there for another few moments before you decide that if you can get to a phone, you can phone your sister and warn her then maybe you can escape. You creep to the door, listening and when you don’t hear footsteps, you make your way into the hall, figuring there must be a house phone somewhere and your guess is the kitchen. You sneak downstairs, trying to find the kitchen in the ridiculously large house and you grin in triumph when you find the kitchen is empty and there’s a phone on the wall. Picking it up, you dial your sister’s number that you have memorized for emergencies and it starts to ring.

The light on Joel’s desk phone lights up and he sees that the kitchen phone is in use. He had expected you to try to call your sister. He picks up the handset and speaks into the phone. “If you tell her, our deal is off and she becomes a liability.” He growls into the phone, listening to it ring once more and then the sound of your sister’s voice comes over the line, answering.

Your heart pounds when your sister answers and the urge to call for help is on the tip of your tongue but Joel’s growled warning echoes and you greet your sister. “This isn’t your cell?” She asks and you clear your throat. 

“It died. I just - I, uh, I’m using a friend’s phone. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” You say and she is suspicious. 

“Whyyy? I love you but you’re so busy with work. You never call.” She says and you hate that she’s right. 

“I was thinking of you guys and wanted to see if you’re doing well.” You lie slightly and your sister smiles against the phone, “we are doing good. The brat has a spelling test tomorrow so she’s been studying.” She says affectionately and you grin against the phone. Your niece gets everything she wants but she’s a good kid, brat has been her nickname since she was a baby. 

“Good. I’ll, uh, I’ll have to take some time off to come see you guys.” You say, tears stinging in your eyes because you know that won’t be likely, especially if Joel kills you. 

“That sounds good. Just let me know. Oh shit. I gotta go. The cat just got out.” She curses and you smile, knowing the kitten always tries to escape from the photos she texted you. 

“I’ll talk to you later. I love you.” You tell her and she snorts, “love you too. Talk later.” The line goes dead and you lean against the wall, inhaling deeply and glad that your family are alive. You have to keep them safe. They are all you have left.

“Come to my office.” Joel hangs up the phone and then stares at it for a moment. He knows you are upset. He knows you would rather do anything but marry him, and he really doesn’t want to marry you. But he will in order to make sure that Tommy doesn’t go to prison. He leans back in the chair and waits for you to arrive, not exactly sure what he is going to say to you.

Your hands tremble as you set the phone down. You don’t know where Joel’s office is and try a few doors until the double doors open and Joel stands there, face like thunder. He gestures for you to walk inside and you do, silently praying to whoever will hear you that he won’t kill you right now. You decide to stand tall when you’re in his office, not wanting to die a coward if he does kill you. “Ellie unlocked my room.” You declare, wanting him to know how you got out, “and I wanted to make sure you kept your word that my sister is safe.”

He knows that silence intimidates, so he doesn’t say a word, just watches you. Waiting until you squirm slightly and start to speak again. “After we are married, you can have your phone back.” He decides. “Call her everyday. You keep your end of the bargain, I’ll keep mine.”

You cross your arms, “how do I know you won’t just kill me anyway?” You ask and Joel steps closer to you, looming over you and you inhale sharply as his dark eyes meet yours. 

“I may be a monster but I am a man of my word.” He promises and you nod, swallowing harshly. 

“Are you- do you expect us to have - once we are married, do you expect sex?” You ask, wondering what he wants from you.

Joel snorts, insulted by the horrified expression on your face. “No, darling.” He sneers, rolling his eyes. “You don’t have to fuck me. I’ll make sure that I satisfy my primitive urges so I don’t drag you off by the hair to fuck you.” He knows he’s being harsh, but it’s better that you just steer clear of him rather than trying to get to know him.

You blink, tears stinging in your eyes as you feel unexpectedly rejected by the gruff mafia boss. You understand, he probably has a line of beautiful women waiting to fuck him and you’re…you. “Right well, I guess we both know where we stand. I’ll head back to my room. You’re having my things brought here? How do you- wait, dumb question.” You stop yourself with a humorless chuckle as you step away from him to head towards the door. “I need to call my work too. Tell them I’m sick or - or something.”

Joel considers telling you no, but he is aware of how seriously you are taking his threat. “Fine.” He motions towards his desk as he wonders why you suddenly teared up. You should be jumping for joy that he promised not to touch you. “Make the call right here.” He demands.

You nod, walking over to his desk and you pick up the phone to dial the D.A’s office. “The line is untraceable before you try anything.” Joel tells you and you nod. The receptionist answers and you ask to be put through to the office. You tell your team that you have to go to your sisters. Family emergency and you don’t know when you’ll be back. The excuse is flimsy but you’re hoping Joel and his family will let you go once enough time has passed. Your team wishes your sister well and you put the phone back in the cradle. 

“I didn’t tell them anything.” Your eyes meet Joel’s, your back straight in defiance as you ponder your future here. You won’t let him walk all over you.

“I heard.” He assesses your fatigued look, the puffy, red rimmed eyes and the way that your eyes narrow when you think he’s not paying attention. He strides over to his desk and pulls open a drawer, pulling out a bottle of aspirin and setting it down before opening another drawer and pulling out a crystal glass to take over to his bar and get a bottle of water out of the fridge. He pours you a double whiskey and brings it and the water over to set down beside the aspirin. “Hair of the dog.” He tells you. “Helps with the hangover and the drugs they used on you.”

You are suspicious of him suddenly being so nice but then you realize that he probably doesn’t want you to hate him when you’re going to be living in his house. You’re going to be his wife for the foreseeable. “Thanks.” You open the bottle of aspirin, knowing you should be concerned about the pills, but the man could’ve shot you. You don’t think poisoning you is his style. You grab the whiskey, downing it as the reality of being his wife crushes you. You always imagined you’d marry for love, not to keep alive. “Thanks.” You say again as you set the crystal glass down.

“Are you hungry?” He had given his housekeeper, who normally cooks for him, the day off since he didn’t know how you would react. But if you are hungry, he won’t let you starve. There are plenty of nights he makes himself an egg sandwich when he works late. Or the kid wakes up hungry and demands he make something.

You bite your lip, “I, uh, I usually skip breakfast. I can just grab a granola bar or an apple.” You shrug, not wanting to put him out and you shouldn’t eat a lot if your wedding is in a couple of days. You’re certain he wants a beautiful wife, even if it’s a fake one.

Joel frowns, and the silence between you is enough that he can hear your stomach growl. “Right.” He huffs, shaking his head. “Follow me.” He demands, striding towards the door of his office and throwing it open so he can take you back to the kitchen.

You follow him through the house, downstairs and you see several men roaming the estate. When you enter the kitchen, he gestures for you to sit down. “Seriously Joel, I don’t need a big lunch. I- I should be making you something. Seeing as I’m supposed to be your wife in a couple of days.”

“You can cook for me then.” He tell you shortly, turning towards the large stainless steel commercial fridge. “Unless you plan on poisoning me.” He huffs, looking over his shoulder as he opens the door. He’s joking, but his voice is still pitched down and gruff.

You shift to sit down at the counter and watch him. You never imagined that a man like Joel would be able to cook anything. You watch his muscles move under his button down and you know you shouldn’t find him attractive. You should be revolted by him but you aren’t. He grabs some things out of the fridge. “Any allergies? Anything you hate?” He asks and you shake your head, “no. I’m pretty easy to cook for.” You tell him and he nods, walking over to the pantry. “You have a beautiful home.” You tell him, trying to make some conversation.

“It’s a house.” He offers, pulling out some things and then turning back towards you. “It’s safe. It’s imposing.” He adds, smirking slightly. He doesn’t mention that it’s not really a home. Not in that traditional sense. He hasn’t had a home for a long time. “Pasta is good for a hangover.” He tells you. “That okay?”

You bite your lip, knowing you shouldn’t but you are starving. “Sure. That sounds good.” You offer him a small smile, grateful that he doesn’t seem to want to kill you anymore. “I met Ellie. She seems…a handful.” You chuckle softly, already sensing that he doesn’t seem like a man who has patience.

He rolls his eyes. “She’s a pain in my fucking ass.” He grumbles, even though he would kill for that kid without any hesitation. It doesn’t mean that she doesn’t annoy the shit out of him every chance she gets. He pulls out a cutting board and a knife to start chopping garlic and onions.

You can hear the affection even if he grumbles and that calms you a little. A bad man wouldn’t take in an orphaned teenager. “She said you seem like a bear but you didn’t used to be this way.” You tentatively ask, “she loves you. So…so I don’t feel as in danger as before. I trust her.”

“You trust a little brat you met for five minutes?” He asks, raising a brow as he pauses in the mincing. “Interesting. Is that a skill you picked up in the D.A.’s office?”

You snort, “I’m a good judge of character. I’ve dealt with the worst of the worst cases and I have a good gut instinct.” You defend yourself and Joel turns to look at you, knife in hand. 

“And me? Do you trust me?” He demands with a frown.

You lean closer, refusing to be intimated. “If you wanted to kill me, you’ve had several changes including now. I don’t trust you but I know you’re not going to kill me. Otherwise why would you marry me?”

You have a point and he nods once before he looks back at his task. Sautéing the onions and garlic in olive oil, he adds crushed tomatoes and fresh basil from the garden that Ellie decided to grow in the backyard. It was more accurate that the gardener grew it, but she likes to take the credit for it. “It would save me a lot of headache if I did kill you.” He tells you, his back to you at the stove.

You stare at him, watching him cook and finding it horrifically sexy. You should not be attracted to this man, this self proclaimed monster, but he’s so capable and you find yourself trying to reason with kicking out every moral you have. “I- I agree it would.” You don’t argue that point. It would be easier to kill you. “However, the Boston PD aren’t dumb. They will find evidence of the state senator's murderer. It’s a big case, high profile. They won’t let it slide.”

“They won’t have an eye witness.” He reminds you, turning towards you and cocking an eyebrow at you in challenge. “Might even be a good thing that my wife is a D.A.” He chuckles roughly.

You huff, crossing your arms on the counter. “They will check cameras.” You counter and Joel snorts, “you think we aren’t professionals, darlin’?” He asks and you bite your lip. 

“What’s the end game here? Keep me hostage as your wife until when?” You ask and Joel turns to look at you.

“When enough time passes and we know they have dropped the case.” He says, “maybe you can even help with that.” He raises his eyebrows and you scoff, “I can’t do that. I- I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I dismissed a case without cause.”

“There is cause.” Joel reminds you. “Tommy got rid of a piece of shit. Who cares? He was embezzling money from the state. He deserved to die for lying to the people he claimed to serve.”

“And he deserved to die for that?” You counter and Joel scoffs, “well and the human trafficking. I deal in drugs and weapons. People decide to use those things whether I smuggle them or not but I draw the fucking line at little kids, at women. No way. I’ll kill anyone who deals with that shit.” Joel growls and your eyes widen, unaware of the senator’s dark side. 

“Shit. I- I didn’t know.” You whisper, staring across the room.

“Now you do.” He tells you bluntly, salting the pasta water and humming when it starts to boil. “What you do with that information, that’s up to you.”

"Well, nothing I can do if I'm married to you, is there?" You counter but you decide that you could tip off a journalist, expose the senator. You know it's bad to speak ill of the dead but the people deserve to know the truth. You watch Joel continue cooking until a bowl of pasta is in front of you. "This looks - wow." You blink rapidly and look up at Joel who sits beside you with his own bowl. "It looks amazing." You compliment him just as a woman walks into the kitchen, her eyes immediately narrowing when they land on you and Joel.

“Joel.” Tess frowns slightly but her lips twist into an insincere smile. “Who is this? And why is there a D.A. Attorney sitting in your kitchen eating pasta?” She knows who you are, she just wants to know why you are here. 

Joel says your name, and then points to Tess. “This is Tess. She’ll be here sometimes.”

You can see from her expression that there’s more than that between them. You set your fork down and stand up, offering your hand to Tess who narrows her eyes at you and doesn’t shake your hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” You say, your smile falling a little and you step back towards the counter to sit back down. 

“We are getting married.” Joel says nonchalantly and Tess sputters, “married? What the fuck, Joel? What - when - why?” She asks, confused by the announcement.

“Two days.” Joel flicks his eyes up to Tess and then back down to his food. He cares about her, how could he not care about a woman who had been with him through his brutal assumption of power? Still, things are easy with Tess, uncomplicated in the way he likes although he knows she’s always wanted more. “Tommy.” He tells her, as if that will explain the reasoning behind the marriage.

Tess scoffs, “he got you into this? I should’ve known. Fuck me, Joel. She’s a D.A. She’s gonna - this is bullshit.” Tess shakes her head and Joel sighs, not wanting to get into this. 

You clear your throat, “I witnessed something I shouldn’t have. I- I am marrying Joel so I can’t testify against the family. This is to protect the family.” You reason for Joel, knowing you’re still struggling to come to terms with it but you don’t want Tess to be angry with Joel when he could’ve killed you.

“To protect the family.” Tess snorts and shakes her head. “Right. This is going to go well.” She says and arches a brow at you. “Do you know what you are getting into with him?” She asks, hooking her thumb towards Joel. “What he’s done and what he’s capable of?” 

Joel grunts, narrowing his eyes. “Tess.” He growls, annoyed that she’s trying to scare you off of this.

You straighten your spine, “I don’t, but I think I can imagine. I know the Millers aren’t good men but my family is on the line and I can’t allow them to be hurt because of me. Whatever he has done or who he is, we are getting married and that’s that. I- I understand if you’re hurt but this isn’t my choice. I have to do this.” You plead with her to understand where you are coming from.

Tess’s gaze slides towards Joel questioningly and he shakes his head. “It’s done.” He tells her. “Don’t ask any more questions.” He grunts and nods towards you. “Finish your dinner.”

Tess can’t help but lash out, “fine. Marry the fat bitch. Don’t come crying to me when it all goes wrong.” Tess hisses and you are about to take another bite of pasta when you pause, setting the fork down as Tess spins and makes her way out of the kitchen.

Joel sighs and shakes his head. “Don’t listen to her. She’s pissed because she is the one who spends nights in my bed.” He reveals. You nod but you don’t pick up your fork to eat. It pisses him off because he knows that you didn’t eat enough to assuage that hunger. Cursing under his breath, he spins your chair around and reaches for you. Hoisting you out of your chair and onto his lap.

You squeak when he drags you into his lap. “Joel!” You gasp, shifting to move off of his lap but his arm wraps around your waist, keeping your back against his chest. “You need to eat.” He says and you shake your head, “I’m sure someone in your position wants a perfect wife. You don’t - I can grab an apple and go back to my room.”

Joel picks up the fork and spears some of the pasta and holds it up to your mouth. “Eat.” He grunts at you. “I don’t care about having a perfect wife. You are fine just like you are. Soft and lush.” His cock twitches underneath you.

You are shocked at the compliment, your eyes darting to his as you take the bite from the fork. His hand rests on your thigh and you swallow obediently, eyes closing for a second. The very act of him feeding you has your stomach twisting with arousal. It’s wrong. So wrong, yet you start to get wet as he feeds you bite after bite, his hand squeezing your thigh every now and then.

“Good girl.” He tells you when the plate is empty and you’ve finished every bite. He squeezes your thigh and pats it once he drops the fork back onto the plate. “Don’t ever starve yourself. You eat and eat what you want.”

“Yes sir.” You murmur, your eyes meeting his and you see the years of anguish in them. You want that to melt away. You wonder what he’d look like if he was happy, what he looks like when he smiles. You get so lost in your thoughts you don’t even realize you’ve leaned in to kiss him. The man you should hate for taking everything away from you yet he just showed you more kindness than most.

He sees that you want to kiss him. Lost in the moment, the intimacy and he knows you will regret it. Joel pulls back and pats your leg again. “Good.” He tells you gruffly and watches you pull back in shock at yourself. He knows it was the right move to pull back, to not take advantage of the situation. Of you.

You blink, shocked he didn’t kiss you back. You feel sick with embarrassment. He must think you’re pathetic. Trying to kiss the man who has kidnapped you and is holding you hostage. You shift off of his lap, clearing your throat. “I’m gonna - I need to - oh God.” You gasp out and rush out of the kitchen, face burning with mortification and you know he could take advantage of that moment. Any hand you could’ve played is gone and he holds all the cards.

Joel sighs as he stares at the doorway that you disappeared through. He knows you are upset now, apparently he had been supposed to kiss you. He doesn’t know why you are upset since you had appeared horrified about sleeping with him. He stands and starts to clean up, wondering if he will see you again tonight.

You keep in your room for the rest of the day, surprised when your things are placed in your room. Boxes and suitcases. It seems to be everything you own except your furniture. You sigh and start to get out your essentials, placing them in the en suite bathroom. Dinner is left at your door after you made it clear you weren’t coming to dinner and you eat in peace, contemplating the fact that you’ll be Mrs. Joel Miller in 48 hours. You think about why you wanted him to kiss you. Sure, he’s attractive with his gruffness and the gray scattered throughout his hair and beard. You shouldn’t want him to kiss you. You should hate him. The confusion has your head hurting until you fall asleep on top of the sheets, too exhausted to even get under them.

Joel wakes up early. Groaning slightly at the stiffness in his joints and the aches and pains that come with getting older. He sits up and looks over his shoulder at the empty bed. Tess didn’t come back last night, so he had slept alone. Actually preferred it that way considering he didn’t know what to do with you. He opens the door to the bedroom out onto the back patio and decides he will take a swim to limber up before getting to work.

You wake up, back aching from sleeping in the same position all night and you glance around, disorientated until it hits you what happened. You sigh and shift to sit up, stretching. You realize how trapped you are here and you groan when you remember the way you tried to kiss Joel. Today, you’ll stay in your room. You shift to look out of the window after opening the curtains and that’s when you see Joel about to get into the pool. Your jaw drops at his broad shoulders, the way he rolls them and stretches his strong arms. “Shit.” You hiss, understanding why Tess was so pissed off at you becoming his wife. You wouldn’t want to give that up either. Not that she’s giving it up. You know Joel will still sleep with her even after you are married. With that thought, you head into the bathroom to get ready for a day of unpacking.

After Joel showers and dresses, he heads into the kitchen, seeing Ellie sitting at the counter but you are nowhere to be found. His housekeeper is cooking breakfast and he huffs. “Make enough for another tray.” He tells her, knowing that you will skip eating if he allows you too. He will bring you the food himself and make sure you eat.

You get dressed and ready and decide to stay in your room. Just because you have to marry him doesn’t mean you need to be with him constantly. You sigh when there’s a knock at the door and open it to find Joel there with a tray. “I brought you breakfast.” He says awkwardly and you step ahead so he can enter the room. 

“Thank you.” You murmur, watching him for a few moments.

Joel sets the tray down and corrects the small flower vase that had tipped over with a single flower on it. Wondering why the housekeeper had added it. When he looks up, he sees that you are watching him and drops his hands to rub on his pants. Almost nervous and hating how you make him feel that way. “I’m sorry for yesterday.” He grunts. “I should have- I know you just - that you regret that. Just don’t worry about it. I’m not going to touch you since you seem so worried about it.” He wants to punch himself for sounding like an idiot. “Anyway…eat.”

You don’t say anything, you just nod and watch him as he shuffles towards the door. “Joel.” You murmur and he turns to look back at you, “I don’t regret it. I regret how you reacted and that’s it - I made a fool of myself.” You confess and he nods, not saying anything else as he exits your room and shuts the door behind him.

Joel strides down the hall and stops a few steps from the door and sighs. His shoulders dropping and his head hanging slightly. You didn’t make a fool of yourself, and he wanted to kiss you. But he doesn’t want you to kiss him, touch him, if you are doing it because you think it will keep you safe.

**** 

You exhale shakily, glancing at Ellie who is standing near you outside the courtroom doors. You are dressed in the only white summer dress you own and you are nervous to marry Joel. You phoned your sister this morning to make sure she was okay and you reminded yourself that you are doing this for them. No one else. You are doing this to keep them safe. You inhale deeply when the doors are opened and you walk fast down the “aisle” to get to Joel. There’s no music, no flowers, nothing fancy. Just you and Joel alongside Ellie and Tommy as your witnesses.

The magistrate obviously knows you, his eyes widened when he had seen your name on the marriage license and Joel is worried. He might ask you something and you tell him that you are being forced into the marriage. He frowns as he waits and when the door opens, he turns to see you walk down the small path to him, looking lovely and perfect in a white dress that sways when you walk and he thinks you are beautiful.

You recognize Garrett who is officiating the wedding and you offer him a smile as you move to stand beside Joel. Your sister and your niece flash in your mind and you greet Garrett. “It’s good to see you.” You offer and his eyes dart between you and Joel. “I- I didn’t know you were planning on getting married.” He says and you swallow, giving him a shaky smile, “life is unexpected. It has been a whirlwind.” You confess and he nods, looking down at the paperwork.

Joel shifts slightly, taking your hand and squeezing it. Both in warning and because he wants to touch you. “You look beautiful.” He tells you quietly, although he knows the magistrate can hear him. “I’m a lucky bastard.”

You know he is acting on Garrett’s behalf to make this seem real and you swallow harshly, “you look good too.” You murmur, liking the way his hair is slicked back and the button down he is wearing. You turn back to Garrett who begins the service and you stare at Joel, trying to figure out what he’s thinking about.

Joel wants to rip that dress off your body and see if you are as soft and sweet as you look. If your thighs are pillowy when they squeeze his head as he feasts on you. If your ass jiggles as he slams into you again and again. If you would look as wrecked as he imagines as he fucks you. His jaw clenches, reminding himself that this is a wedding in name only, although there is a bridal set in his pocket that easily costs more than your last five years as a D.A. “You ready?”

You nod, knowing you have no choice. You have to protect your family. You need to do this no matter how much you hate getting married to a man you don’t love, a man you don’t know. “Yes. I’m ready.” You whisper and Garrett starts the service. You repeat the vows, the words feeling heavy on your tongue, and you listen to Joel gruffly repeat the vows. You aren’t expecting a ring so you’re surprised when he pulls the box out and hands it to Tommy after taking out the ring he slides onto your finger a moment later.

Joel repeated his vows, remembering another wedding a lifetime ago and he concentrates on getting the ring on your finger so he doesn’t hurt you. The magistrate tells him that he can kiss his bride and Joel doesn’t waste any time pulling you into his arms and bending you back while he kisses you with a passion that surprises even him.

You gasp into his mouth and your palm is on his chest, feeling his beating heart as he steadies you and you are breathless, lips tingling from the kiss. Garrett clears his throat and offers you his congratulations. “Thank you.” You murmur, glancing back at Ellie who sticks her thumbs up to you. Tommy offers you a stiff nod and your hand shakes a little as you sign the marriage certificate.

Joel bends down to sign the certificate after you. “I want this filed as soon as possible.” He tells the magistrate with a small wink. “Want it legal and for her to be able to change her name.” As customary, he slides the man a large payment for his services, and turns towards you to pull you to his side. “Isn’t that right, honey?”

You smile but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Yes baby. Can’t wait to be a Miller.” You lie, knowing this will end badly. You hope Joel will let you leave before you get too deep into this. Garrett nods, taking the envelope and pocketing it in his jacket. “Yes sir. I’ll get it filed as soon as I leave here.” Joel shakes his hand and you bid Garrett goodbye, letting Joel escort you out of the room and through the courthouse. 

“Congrats.” Ellie says with a grin, coming forward to hug you and you can’t deny the teenager you’ve already grown fond of. 

“Thank you.” You smile and Tommy approaches, leaning in to kiss your cheek, “welcome to the family.” He gives you a pointed look and you clear your throat, “perhaps we can have dinner. I’d like to meet your wife, Maria.” You say, wondering what she’s like to be married to Tommy.

Joel grunts and wraps his arm around your waist. “Next week.” He tells Tommy, making it an order. “This week, I’m unavailable. We have to have a ‘honeymoon’, so you’re in charge.” He pins his younger brother with a cold stare. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

You’re surprised to hear that he wants a honeymoon. “But I thought - we weren’t going to - can I go home? I mean, we are married now. On paper. It doesn’t mean that I can say anything to anyone legally. Can I go back to my life?” You ask Joel softly, his grip tightening on your waist.

“No.” Joel shakes his head, hating how hopeful you sound. “A lot of people would try to hurt you to get to me.” He tells you. “You stay at the house, safe and secure. But you can have your phone back. Go anywhere you want to go, as long as you have someone with you.”

You deflate but at least you can regain some of your freedom. “Can I go back to work?” You ask and Joel sighs, “yes but you cannot take the Senator's case.” He orders and you nod, excited to somewhat get back to your life. “Fine. I can do that.” You promise, “but you want a honeymoon first?” You ask and he nods. 

“We are married, I’d like to know you a little better.” You weren’t expecting that but you reach for his hand to hold it in yours, “okay. We can do that.”

Joel leads you out of the courthouse and towards the dark SUV that is waiting. He turns to Ellie and smirks at her. “Ride back with Tommy.” He orders her, making her whine and roll her eyes as he opens the door for you.

You shiver at his tone and let him guide you into the SUV, the ring sitting heavy on your finger, and you dread to think about how much it cost. “You didn’t have to get such a beautiful ring, Joel. We aren’t married for real.” You remind him after you settle in the swat.

“Doesn’t matter.” Joel grunts. “You’re my wife. One day, ten years, you’ll have a ring that is appropriate for a woman who is standing beside me.” He explains. It’s not about the statue, he could honestly give a shit less. However, he plans on letting you keep the ring, as a way to apologize for this mess, so you deserve something pretty.

You nod, knowing that he might be a smuggler by trade but to the rest of Boston society, he’s a wealthy man who has social standing, even if he doesn’t want it or desires to attend the events. He would never be turned down if he wanted to go. You glance at him then at the ring. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.” You admire it, feeling the strange weight on your finger. It’s unusual and you aren’t sure how to feel but you place your hand on your lap and look out of the tinted window.

“As far as the honeymoon,” Joel tells you, pulling out his phone. “I know you don’t want to fuck me, and I don’t expect you to, but if we don’t have a couple of weeks where you and I are alone, people will question.” He explains. “We can stay at the house, just not receive visitors and I will let Tommy handle the business. That way we can say we just spent the entire time in bed.”

You bite your lip, wanting to admit that you wouldn’t mind fucking him. Crazy how 48 hours can change everything. His gruffness and his innate strength make your stomach twist with desire but you know he doesn’t want you. He has Tess. That much was made obvious. “Sure. I- i can take a couple of weeks off. I already told work I’d be away. What about…I’m sure Tess will want to be in your bed so how are we going to handle people possibly seeing her leaving your room?”

“The staff will be sent home.” Joel reveals. “And Tess is still pissed at me, so I might just be sleeping alone.” He had tried to have her come over, and she’d refused. Making some snarky comment that he had ignored and she just decided to leave him hanging. It’s been a few days and will be a few more until she decides to come back. He will just have to deal.

You feel a little relieved that the staff won’t be there to watch your every move and the fact that Tess won’t be around relaxes you even more. She clearly hates you for being with Joel, even if you aren’t actually with him. “I can cook tonight…if you want. Since the housekeeper will have been sent home.”

“Whatever you want.” He isn’t too concerned about it. “We can order in if you don’t want to cook or whatever.” He is actually looking forward to a couple of weeks to relax and not worry about things. Maybe he can swim every morning. “Think of it like an at home vacation.”

You turn to look at him again, “I don’t see you and vacation going well together.” You tease and he snorts, “no. I- I haven’t taken a vacation in so long.” He confesses and you lean a little closer, “then let’s make this a vacation. I’ll cook tonight. I want to cook for my husband.” You say, wanting to find a middle ground if this is your reality until he decides to divorce you. 

He nods, “whatever you want darlin’.” His nickname makes your heart pound and you lean back in your seat, watching Boston pass by as you exit the city. 

**** 

You bite your lip as you mash the potatoes, the chicken rests after you roasted it, and you wonder if Joel will like the white wine you have chilling in the fridge.

In his study, Joel shuts down his computer and sighs softly. He’s married. Again. The narrow golden band on his finger feels foreign and yet he remembers the first time he had one on his hand. It had been such a happy time for him, quickly turning to heartache and sorrow. Pushing back from his desk, he exits the office and follows the delicious smells towards the kitchen, wondering if you were enjoying cooking or if you were trying to stay on his good side.

You glance up when Joel comes into the kitchen, putting the final touches on the dinner as you set it down on the kitchen table. He has a formal dining room but you refuse to sit there miles apart at opposite ends of the table. “It smells delicious.” He compliments you and you smile, “good. Come sit. I - I hope you like white wine. I wasn’t sure which one I should get and the cook left the chicken in the fridge so I- yeah.” You finish lamely when he doesn’t interrupt you.

“White wine is good.” He doesn’t care for wine most of the time, but you seem so nervous that he won’t pour himself a glass of bourbon like he usually would. “You didn’t have to do this.” He reminds you quietly. “Although I’m eager to see if you decide to poison your husband on your wedding night.” He teases.

You chuckle, setting the gravy down and you look at him after you sit down. “What a story that would be for a Lifetime movie.” You tease and notice his glance at the wine. “You don’t like wine.” You state and want to hit your forehead, “let me - what else do you want?” You ask, standing up from the table.

“I’ll drink the wine.” He tells you but you shake your head, “what do you normally drink with dinner?” You ask, making him sigh. “I normally have a glass of bourbon with dinner.” He admits. “I like the burn of the whiskey better than the tartness of wine.”

You want to please him, as ridiculous as it sounds since he essentially blackmailed you into being his wife, yet you still want to win him over. Perhaps it’s the years of insecurity, wanting him to want you so you don’t feel like a total failure at love and relationships. You see the bar over in the corner of the kitchen and you stand up, touching his shoulder as you walk over to grab a crystal glass and pour him a healthy measure. “Here you go.” You say as you set it down and sit back in your seat.

“You didn’t have to get that.” He insists, even as he takes the glass and immediately takes a sip. “But thanks.” He motions towards the plate in front of him. “It looks delicious.” He’s already noticed that your plate is much smaller than his and he wants to call you on it, but he doesn’t.

“Thank you. I love cooking. I don’t get to do it too often between work and living alone. I usually grab something on the way home. It’s nice to have something homemade and this kitchen - it’s a dream. Every spice. Every utensil. Anything a cook could want or need.” You compliment him.

“It’s yours to use.” He promises you. “If you enjoy cooking, indulge. Use this time to do whatever you wished you had time to do. I hope to spend a lot of time out by the pool.” He admits as he forks up a bite of the mashed potatoes and groans when they hit his tongue.

You shift slightly in your seat at the way he groans. The way his eyes flutter closed makes your chest swell with pride and you wonder when this started to feel real, like you really are married. You start to eat and imagine him swimming like you saw him earlier. You’d love to join him but you doubt he’d want that, to see you like that. “I will. I have missed cooking a lot and the pool sounds like fun. You don’t seem like a man who takes any time off.”

“I don’t.” He cuts into his chicken and there is another groan at the roasted poultry. “I work long hours and have little time for pleasure.” He agrees after he swallows. “Perhaps this is what I needed. A couple of weeks lounging by the pool with my new wife. Tell me, do you sunbathe nude?”

You snort, unable to stop yourself and he stares at you. “Oh you’re serious? Shit. I - really? I- I don’t think anyone would want to see me sunbathe nude. I can barely get into a swimsuit without crippling anxiety.” You chuckle, trying to make it appear like a joke when it’s anything but for you.

“Why?” Joel frowns as he looks up at you from cutting another piece of chicken. “You have great looking tits from what I can see and your ass is nice and round.” He tells you. “I bet you’d make a dead man’s cock hard.”

You are shocked as he nonchalantly tells you what he thinks and your heart pounds, your stomach twists with pleasure. "You - you think that I - my ex...he dumped me because I gained too much weight. He tried to force me to the gym, tried to give me a raw vegetable diet like I was a goddamn rabbit. I- I just - it's been a while since anyone was interested in me."

“Then you were dating a boy, not a man.” He grunts, shaking his head. “There’s not one inch of you that isn’t sexy, darlin’.” The slight Texas twang comes out when he tells you that and he points towards your plate. “So don’t you dare not finish your food because you think I will be repulsed.”

Your jaw drops slightly and you stare at him in surprise. His words have you wet, turned on by the twang and the way he essentially orders you to eat. You’ve never known a man like him. “Thank you.” You whisper, a soft smile on your face as you pick up your knife and fork. You start to eat, watching Joel eat his own meal and you realize that there’s more to him than the criminal killer you assumed he was when you were tied up in his garage.

The meal is finished in companionable silence and when he’s done, Joel drains the last of his bourbon. “That was amazing.” He admits honestly. “I don’t remember the last time I had a home cooked meal like that. Don’t get me wrong, Kathleen is a good cook, but there’s something about your cooking that just….adds to the flavor.”

You smile, “that’s the love.” You tease, knowing you aren’t even on a friendship level let alone anything else. “I made dessert too.” You hum, standing up and grabbing the empty plates. You set them on the side and walk over to the fridge to take out the small cake you had made while waiting for the chicken to cook. You slice it up and set the plate in front of Joel.

“Cake?” His brows shoot up in surprise and he can’t help but smile. “It’s been a long damn time since I’ve had cake.” He admits, reaching out and taking hold of your wrist. “Stay right here and share this with me.” He orders you. “It’s our wedding cake after all.”

You are touched by his sentiment and you let him pull you onto his lap. “I didn’t think of it as a wedding cake but - it’s vanilla and raspberry.” You tell him softly, watching as he picks up the fork and brings the cake to your mouth. You take the bite he offers, wrapping your lips around the fork as he feeds you for the second time since you arrived at his home.

Joel grunts, watching your mouth and your tongue when you swipe it over your lips and imagines you with your mouth wrapped around his cock. Something you wouldn't want, but it makes him twitch. He smirks at you. "How is your cake, sweetheart?" He asks curiously.

You hum, nodding, “it’s good. Even if I do say so myself.” You smirk and reach for the fork so you can cut off a bite and lift it to his mouth. “Try it.” You tell him softly and he leans in to wrap his lips around the cake.

The richness of the vanilla and the tart sweetness of the raspberry melts on his tongue and makes him close his eyes as he groans. It's a simple cake, made even better by its simplicity and he can't help but think that it is a lot like you. You are rich and sweet and complex in your simplicity. "Perfect."

You enjoy his reaction, feeling warm from his dark gaze when he opens his eyes. “Good. I'm glad you like it.” You shift to get him another forkful and you bring it to his lips, enjoying feeding him.

His hand slides down and he squeezes your hip, enjoying the generous flesh and the softness under the pretty white dress you are still wearing. It makes him think of pushing the plate off the table and setting you up on it and having you for dessert.

You lean closer, letting him take the fork from your hand as he cuts off a piece and brings it to your lips. “Thank you.” You murmur after you swallow the bite, leaning in to kiss his scruffy cheek. He grunts and you lean back, “I don’t want to do something stupid but I want to make this work.” You reveal, looking at him.

His dark eyes seem to look into your soul and he presses his lips together. "You don't know what it's like." He warns you. "I'm not gentle. I don't do gentle. I fuck. Hard. Until you can't walk and your cunt aches for days after I'm done with you." He sets the fork down. "You should go back to your room. Stay away from me so I don't hurt you."

You swallow harshly, your eyes focused on his and your chest heaves. “I- I-” You choke, unsure of what you want. Part of you wants him to wreck you. Another part of you wants to stay away so he doesn’t hurt you. He’s not soft, he’s made that clear time and time again. “I’ll go.” You manage to choke out, shifting off of his lap and you glance back once before you scurry out of the room and away from the man you suddenly want more than anything else but you don’t know if you’d be able to handle him .

**** 

The water is cool and the shade keeps everything at a pleasant temperature. Joel’s sunglasses protect his eyes and he is able to keep his eyes on you as you float on top of the water with a frozen drink in your hand and a smile on your face.

You can’t believe how your life has changed within a week. You’re married. To Joel Miller, Boston elite and a notorious yet - unknown to most - mafia boss. You had some anxiety coming out to the pool wearing your bikini but no one is here apart from Joel and you can feel his eyes on you even behind his sunglasses. The evenings since your wedding day, you’ve cooked or ordered in and he’s talked to you, told you what his favorite movies are. Surprisingly it’s not The Godfather, and you have watched tv together like a real married couple. It’s hard to believe how different he can be when he doesn’t have to be the boss, the big brother, the father figure to Ellie who has eaten dinner with you a few times before sleeping over at her friend’s house. “What are you staring at?” You ask him playfully, knowing he thinks you don’t notice his eyes on you.

Joel’s lips twist into an amused frown and he pulls his glasses down his nose to look over them. “I’m staring at my wife’s tits.” He confesses with zero shame. Tess has come back around and he’s fucked her since he’s been married to you, but he still craves you. Reaching down and adjusting himself as he smirks at you.

You see his motion and chuckle, shaking your head as you take another sip of your drink. You want to believe his attraction to you but you’d seen Tess leaving yesterday morning and you’re not dumb. You know he is still fucking her. It makes your decision to not sleep with him the first night you were married validated. “At least you’re honest.” You hum, shifting off of the floaty after you set your drink on the side and you dip under the water before appearing again. “I’m gonna get another drink, do you want anything?” You ask Joel. 

“A beer would be nice.” He says and you nod, walking up the steps to exit the pool, water running down your body as you reach for your towel.

“I didn’t know you were turning the pool into an aquarium, Joel.” Tess appears under the shade of the porch, a mocking expression on her face that has Joel immediately pissed off. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He growls, seeing you scramble to cover your body when you had just been so confident as you waved your ass towards him when climbing out of the pool.

Tears sting in your eyes as you rush into the house but not before you hear Tess say “wanted to see if the fat bitch was still here or if you killed her.” You choke on a sob as you walk into the kitchen, dripping water on the floor but you don’t care, knowing that Tess will be Joel’s number one. You’re only married on paper and these past few days don’t change anything for him. He wants her.

Joel growls and slides into the pool so he can wade angrily towards the steps. “The fuck is wrong with you?” He demands, shaking his head. She laughs as he climbs the stairs and he grabs her arms and shakes her. “Go the fuck away.” He growls, furious. He’s spent the last week with you and has grown to like you a lot. Not just physically, but he likes spending time with you. “Get the fuck out of here if you can’t keep your bitchy thoughts to yourself.”

“You know you don’t actually want her. It’s me who’s in your bed, baby. Why- why wasn’t it me? Why can’t you ever say it back?” Tess asks, her eyes growing watery as she stares at the man she loves, has loved for so many years. “Why can’t you give yourself to me like I have to you, time and time again.”

Joel sighs, closing his eyes and he can’t say the words. He cares about Tess, but he doesn’t want to love her. He frowns and looks into her watery eyes. “You knew the score when you hopped into my bed.” He reminds her. “It’s physical. If you don’t like that, you’re free to walk away.”

Tess rears back as if Joel just slapped her. Hearing the words she’s always known to be true but hoped they weren’t is painful and she shakes her head. “Whatever. Go fuck the whale. See if I care. I’ll go call Jack.” She scoffs, mentioning one of Joel’s men who has always flirted with her. She steps back from him and walks back into the house, passing the kitchen and she storms out of the house. You sniff and grab Joel’s beer, composing yourself after you hear the garage door slam and you are surprised to see Joel standing in the doorway. “Tess left before I could say goodbye.” You murmur, wanting to be the better person, even if you want to go to your room and sob at her insults.

“Yeah.” Joel frowns and steps closer to you, taking the beer and setting it down on the counter to grasp your chin, making you meet his eyes. “She’s jealous.” He tells you. “Don’t listen to her.” He knows you will take her insults to heart and he wishes you wouldn’t.

You scoff, “jealous of me? Why would she be jealous of me? I- I saw her the other morning leaving your room. I know you are fucking her and it’s none of my business but I thought- I thought we were getting a little closer. Even if we aren’t married for real, I’d at least like to be friends. I know you don’t want me like that. I know I don’t - I know you don’t want me.” You finish with a shaky inhale.

Joel chuckles, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “She’s jealous because I do want you.” He reveals. “Because I’ve had to fuck her since you haven’t wanted me to touch you.” He takes your hand and brings it down to his crotch, letting you feel his hard cock. “Don’t tell me that I don’t want you when this is how I stay. I’ve been hard since you walked out in that fucking bikini.”

Your eyes widen when you feel how hard he is and your eyes meet his, seeing the desire in his dark gaze. Fuck, he wants you. You swallow harshly and remove your hand from his crotch. He moves to step back, thinking you don’t like that he’s hard but you reach up to remove the towel you have wrapped around your body. “I want you to take me to my room. I want you to fuck me. I want you to wreck me and leave me aching for days.” You tell him, knowing that you need this, you need to feel all of him. Your hand finds his crotch again, squeezing him through his wet swimming trunks.

Growling and twitching against your hand, he grabs your wrist and drags you closer to him. “One last chance to back out.” He warns you, his lips almost brushing yours. 

You whimper and shake your head. “I want you, Joel.” You tell him and he groans, pressing his lips to yours. Your hands slide up his damp chest, wrapping around his neck to press yourself against him as his tongue slides into your mouth. It’s rough and messy but it has more than your bikini dripping wet. His hands slide down to grab your ass, squeezing the supple flesh and you moan into his mouth.

Joel presses you into the counter. The beer is forgotten, swimming forgotten. All that he cares about is touching you. One hand slides under your bottoms to squeeze your bare ass and grip it roughly, while his other hand moves to tear your top off your body, eager to see your tits.

His obvious hunger for your body makes you feel like you’re on fire and he tosses the wet bikini top to the floor. It hits the tile with a plop and his hands are cupping your tits after he pulls back to look at them. “Joel.” You gasp when he pinches your nipples. There’s no tender touches, he’s all in and he’s rough like he warned you.

“Fucking great.” He moans, leaning down and biting the top of one tit before sucking harshly on the skin. Determined to lean bruises under your skin to remember him by. “I knew they were great tits.” He moves down to pull your nipple into his mouth and bites down on it harshly before soothing it with his tongue.

“Baby.” You whine, tangling your fingers in his wet hair. “I - oh God.” No one has ever treated you like this, so roughly, but you fucking love it. His hands are squeezing your tits, tilting them so he can wrap his lips around your nipple, alternating one then the other until they are hard and sore under his touch. “Oh God. I need - take me upstairs.”

“Yeah?” Joel confirms it once more, smirking as he pulls off your tit with a wet pop. “You need me to fuck you, sweetheart? Destroy your little pussy until you can’t walk? Then maybe you’ll believe that you’re sexy.” He lets go of your breasts and brings his hand down harshly on your ass, making it jiggle when he slaps it. “I want you naked the second we get in that room. And I want you to spread out on the bed so I can devour your pussy.”

Your body feels like it's on fire and yet you feel like you could melt into a puddle at his words. That twang comes out and sends your heart pounding. "Fuck. I - Joel - oh God. Yes." You pant, unused to such dirty words. Your previous partners were tame and didn't smack your ass or treat you like this. You step away from him on shaky legs, needing a second to catch your breath and you turn to look back at him, channeling a more confident version of yourself. "Come on then, Miller. I want you to destroy me." You order, walking through the kitchen to the second set of stairs that lead to the bedrooms above.

Watching your ass shake in front of his face makes him reach out and slap it again. Grunting as his cock twitches and he can’t wait to have you on your knees while he’s pounding into you. He knows you’ve probably never had someone fuck you roughly, but he feels like you could take it. He hustles up the last few stairs and reaches out, grabbing you to pull you back so he can grind his cock against your ass, throbbing hotly. “I can’t wait to see how well you take me.” He growls in your ear.

You shiver, feeling like he’s hunting you down and you love it. To feel so desired. It’s more than you’ve had before. You force yourself to continue the last few steps to your assigned suite and his hands are on your waist as you open the door. He gropes your ass and you bring his hand to your bikini bottoms. “Take them off.” You order, wanting him to see all over you despite your stomach twisting with nerves that he might not like what he sees.

The strings seem to dissolve between his fingers and he flings the fabric away from your body. One hand grabs the extra skin around your stomach, groaning as he sinks his other hand between your thick thighs and pushes his fingers between the curls covering your cunt. “Fuck, you’re so hot, so wet.” He grunts, sliding a finger through your slit and back until he’s pushing a thick finger inside you.

You gasp, your hands grabbing onto his shoulders as he starts to finger fuck you. Quickly adding a second finger and you whimper, leaning your weight against him. “Oh God.” You pant and he shifts to walk you back towards the bed. You willingly lay down and groan when his fingers slip out of you. You close your legs, suddenly self conscious to be on display for him like this.

“Open them.” Joel’s voice is rough and he is impatiently pushing his wet swimming trunks down. His hard cock springing free and bouncing as he kicks them away. “I want to see your cunt, every inch of you.”

Your eyes widen at the sight of his hard cock, thick and leaking pre-cum and you are shocked at how turned on he is. His cock throbbing and an angry red. You swallow harshly, spreading your legs to show him every inch of you. Your fingers tangle in the sheets as your heart thumps.

“Fuck.” Your cunt glistens with arousal and he can’t help but twitch, making his cock bounce again. Kneeling down on the bed, he spreads your legs wider and pushes the two fingers back inside you when he lowers his head to bury his face in your folds.

“Oh shit!” You yelp when he sucks on your clit. You never imagined Joel would be a man willing to give oral and you are pleasantly surprised. His fingers curl inside of you on each pump and you moan, unable to stop yourself from reaching down to tangle your fingers in his salt and pepper locks. You bite your lip, trying to keep quiet and soon his free hand is gripping your jaw, his tongue leaving your clit throbbing and slick with his saliva. “Why are you biting your lip?” His rough voice demands and you lick your lips. 

“My - I’ve been told I’m too loud. I- he said it was like a banshee.” You confess, knowing your exes have done a number on you.

Joel turns his head and he bites your thigh until you yelp out in surprise. “Every goddamn sound belongs to me.” He growls, his dark eyes fixed on yours. “I will hear them.” This time, he spits on your pussy, watching it slide down through your folds and the dives back in with the vigor of a man starved.

You cry out, cunt gushing at the way he spits on your flesh like he owns you and in a way he does. "Joel!" You squeal when he sucks on your clit, his fingers pumping even faster and you can hear the squelch as your pussy weeps for him. "Oh God. Oh God." You pant, getting closer and closer.

Joel flicks his tongue, sucking his saliva back into his mouth and groaning when you roll your hips down onto his face. He loves how soft you are, how tangy and sweet you are on his tongue. His fingers curl and press deep, stretching you out for his cock.

"Fuck, baby." You pant, chest heaving and you reach up to squeeze your own tits, shifting onto your elbows so you can watch him. Seeing that dark gaze, knowing that his fingers - ones that are capable and have killed - are curled inside of you, making you feel only pleasure...it all sends you over the edge. You cry out and clamp down on his digits, your pussy gushing as you cum fast and hard on his face.

Joel groans as you come apart for him, his tongue slowly working you through it as the pressure around his head is perfect. He throbs against the bedsheets and watches you in rapture.

You slump back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling as your chest heaves and you absorb the pleasure racing through you. You haven't felt like this before. You close your eyes and feel Joel shift after withdrawing his fingers. His wet fingers caress your hip and you open your eyes to look up at him. You offer him a lazy smile and he chuckles, "it ain't over yet, darlin'." You nod, shifting to sit up and you reach out to wrap your fingers around his cock.

Hissing at the pressure, Joel resists the urge to rock his hips forward. Letting you explore his cock since he had just done what he wanted with your body. “Fuck.” He groans when you squeeze him. “Give me a word.” He demands, making you frown, “what?” 

“A word, a fucking safe word.” He demands. “In case it’s too much.”

You haven't dealt with this before but you've read about it in those smutty books you'd stay up at night reading. You pause your movements as you consider the safe word. "Apple." You tell him, glancing over at the painting on the wall of the fruit bowl. "Apple." You repeat, looking back at him and resuming your grip on his cock.

“Apple.” He nods once, knocking your hand away from his cock and lunging over you. Your legs are hooked under his arms as he presses into you and folds them back. His hand guides his cock towards your wet entrance and his tongue slides into your mouth as he pushes forward and fills you in one harsh thrust.

You gasp around his tongue, his cock pushing deep and hard enough to take your breath away and you can't believe how thick he feels inside of you. Your hands come up to grip his shoulders, covered in healed scars, and you moan into his mouth when you adjust and he starts at a quick, but harsh pace.

“Shit, shit, darlin’.” He growls as he fucks into you with strokes that are meant to punish just as much as pleasure. Your soft body cradles him and absorbs the pressure with a beautiful jiggle. “Knew you could take me, fuck that pussy is tight.” He huffs. “Like a vice, god, you feel good.” He groans.

"Y- you too." You whimper, closing your eyes as you let him fuck you hard and fast. You feel like you're on fire with pleasure and it's only the beginning. "Pu-pussy is yours." You murmur in your haze of lust. His ring on your finger, his cock inside of you, you feel like you belong to him and for the first time since you arrived, it feels right.

Joel growls, your words just making him rock his hips faster. Wanting to pull more words from you. Wanting to hear what all you will give him as his cock shreds up inside you. “Mine.” He agrees. “My pussy, my soft, curvy girl.” He hisses, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth to keep from blowing his load at how sexy and fucked out you look below him as you hang on and take everything he gives you.

Your mouth hangs open, moans escaping your lips without any filter as he thrusts into you hard enough to push your body further up the bed. You reach for his hand, "Joel. I want - I need you to - to choke me. My ex - never wanted- I want you to." Joel stops thrusting, so shocked at your request. You bring his hand to your throat, "I don't want you to just grab my throat. I want to feel you fucking me, I want to feel my own heartbeat. I need you to own me."

A shudder rolls through him, his cock twitching deep inside you as his fingers wrap around your throat. He had never expected you to say something like this and he is eager to see how you react. “Filthy little slut.” He coos mockingly, tightening his grip until you gasp and then slowly pulling his hips back. “Couldn’t get what you need from your loser ex?” He smirks darkly. “I’ll give you what you need.” He promises.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he fucks you hard, his hips slamming against your ass as he bends you over even more and his grip tightens on your throat to make spots flash in your eyes. "Fuuuu-" You can't even talk, only groan breathlessly as he pushes against the back wall of your cunt. Tears push out of your eyes and your cunt squelches as you get closer. Your eyes meet his, a delicious smirk of satisfaction on his face, and he leans in to press his forehead against yours. "Cum for me baby." He orders and you can't hold back or deny him. You choke as you cum, unable to catch your breath as your orgasm rips through you, destroying you and gripping Joel's cock like you never want him to leave your body.

Your orgasm is breathtaking. Making him groan and his eyes roll back at how tight you clench around him as you soak him in your juices. Your name leaving his lips as he has to increase the pressure to fuck you through your orgasm. “Shit, there you go.” He pants. “Fuck that’s pretty, so wet. That’s it baby.” He knows he’s not going to last long, so he pulls back, pulling out of you completely.

He lets go of your throat and you struggle to catch your breath, your body shaking in the aftermath of your orgasm. “Hands and knees.” He orders and you nod, struggling to shift from your back but you manage it. Kneeling on your hands and knees for your husband. Your cunt dripping as you display yourself for his hungry gaze.

“Fuck, baby.” His hand slaps your ass once, twice before he is shuffling forward to sink back into you. Watching as his cock pushes deep, he holds your ass and pulls your cheeks apart to watch your other hole flutter. “Gonna fuck your ass one day too.” He grunts before he starts moving again.

You moan, falling forward onto your elbows as he resumes his harsh pace. "Fuck. Joel yes. I'm yours." You promise, lost in the lust and the way he's making you feel. "It's yours. Whatever you want." You promise as he presses his thumb against the puckered hole.

“Yeah?” He grunts, slamming his hips against your ass and watching your body shake from the force. “Let me have what I want? Anytime I want?” He demands. 

“Yes, yes, anything you want.” You pant out quietly, making him chuckle. He sinks the tip of his thumb into your ass and reaches down to grip your neck roughly as he increases his pace.

"Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck." You pant, his fingers digging into your throat from his grip and you want to look back and see him but you can't when his grip is so tight. "Yes! Yours. Yours." You ramble breathily as he slams into you again and again.

There’s a voice in the back of his mind telling him that he shouldn’t be so possessive over you. That it should just be an itch to scratch. He ignores it as he pulls his thumb out of your ass and slides his hand underneath you to rub your clit. “Cum for me.” He orders. “Cum for me baby, wanna feel it.”

You nearly collapse forward but the way he is gripping your throat keeps you upright and you grind back onto him when his fingers rub your clit. "Fuck baby. I'm gonna - again. Oh God. Fuck!" You squeal, clamping down on his cock again. "Please cum. Cum for me." You beg, wanting to hear him, wanting him to have pleasure too.

He grunts, desperately close to cumming but he hadn’t asked you about birth control. He doesn’t know if you are taking it and he can’t risk getting you pregnant. Not when this is a temporary marriage. He manages another four or five thrusts before he is pulling out, letting go of your neck to pump his cock. “Fuck, fuck, fuck baby.” He moans, hot spurts of his seed painting your ass as he gasps for breath.

You feel a little disappointed that he didn’t cum inside of you but you know it’s likely for the best considering you’re only married on paper. You glance back at him as he squeezes his cock and you can’t help but shift around, taking his spent cock into your mouth to taste his length covered with your juices and the saltiness of his seed. Your eyes meet his as his chest heaves and you watch him as you suck him clean.

“Shiiiiiiit.” Joel hisses, his spent cock twitching and he loves how dirty you look with his cock in your mouth. “Next time, I’ll fuck your throat.” He pants. “Fuck, how was it, darlin’?” He asks, pulling his hips back and waiting for your answer.

You look up at him before you shift back onto your haunches. “It was - I’ve never been fucked like that before.” You admit, biting your lip as your eyes focus on him. “Did you- did you enjoy it?”

“I did.” His hand caresses your hip and he can see how self conscious you are. “Let me get a rag and clean you up.” He smirks. “Bet you couldn’t walk to the bathroom right now anyway.”

You shake your head, limbs feeling like jello and you shift onto your stomach as you watch him walk into the en suite bathroom. You close your eyes, feeling exhausted, and you flinch slightly at the feel of the cold rag on your skin as he cleans you up. “I have an IUD by the way. If…if you want to cum inside of me next time.”

“Shit.” Joel shakes his head. “If I had known that…..” he wouldn’t have pulled out at all. He finishes wiping you clean and caresses your ass before he slaps it. “You wouldn’t mind me cumming inside you?” He asks, wanting to make sure.

You shake your head, “I wouldn’t mind but…are you still going to sleep with Tess?” You ask. Nervous that he’s going to continue sleeping with her and coming to your bed at the same time. The woman who has insulted you at every turn, it makes you sad and angry that she says those things and you hope he doesn’t want to continue fucking her.

His eyes go flat, dark and angry as he thinks about what Tess had said. “No.” He huffs, shaking his head. “That won’t be happening.” He made up his mind, he’s married. He’s decided he’s going to be a faithful husband while he’s married to you.

You are relieved, relaxing even more into the mattress and you watch him as he shifts to sit down on the bed beside you. His entire form is awkward now and you find it a little endearing. “Good. I- I want to make the best of this while we are married. I want to get to know you.” You tell him, knowing you have to compromise if you’re here for the foreseeable until he gets tired of you. Maybe he will kill you or maybe he will let you go. You hope he’d just let you go.

Leaning back against the pillows, Joel searches for a compliment. “You were really wet.” He tells you lamely. “Tight.” He grunts, wondering if he can get more ridiculous. “Do you like to cuddle after sex or sleep?” He asks.

You can tell he’s not used to aftercare or pillow talk so you take pity on him and shuffle off of the bed, legs wobbling slightly. “I like to shower. Um, you can stay if you want but I’m sure you’ve got things to do.” You say, biting your lip and you internally cringe at how awkward it is now that the lust has been satiated.

It feels like he is being dismissed and Joel frowns, shuffling off the bed. "Sure." He nods. "Enjoy your shower." He will clean up the pool area and order dinner. "Don't worry about cooking tonight. I will order us some dinner. How does Chinese sound?'

You turn back to look at him, “sure. That sounds good. I like anything so order a selection, babe.” You say and step into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You turn on the shower and sit down on the toilet, burying your face in your hands. Things just got a lot more complicated and you’re not sure how to handle it. You know you’re going to end up getting hurt in the end.

**** 

Joel's snarl is curling his lip back and the only thing keeping the headboard from beating against the wall is the fact that your hands are wrapped around the posts, his own hands covering yours as he fucks you. "Fuck, fuck, you've got to cum." He pauses mid thrust to push up onto his knees a bit more, wanting to push deeper into you. Flat on your stomach while he fuck you into the mattress, your moans are hampered by the pillow and he lets go of one hand so he can rip it out from under you and toss it down on the ground.

“Oh God, Joel. I- fuck. I’m gonna - you’re gonna make me - oh shit! Shit!” You squeal as you turn your head so he can hear you, his cock pushing deep and you can barely breathe when your orgasm slams into you. It’s devastating and you love it. Fuck, you love it. “Cu- cum. Please. Want - want to feel it.” You beg but he denies you, working you through your orgasm and pushing you onto another one that has your body shaking from overstimulation.

He's learned that despite you wanting him to cum right after you do, you love having multiple orgasms. Your past lovers obviously not doing a very good job when they fucked you, Joel leaves you unable to use that vibrator that you keep in your bedside drawer. Unless you count the time he had fucked you while pressing it to your clit. "You've gotta give me another one, baby." He smirks, biting down on your shoulder.

You shake your head, “I can’t. It’s too much.” You choke and he bites down on your skin again. 

“You can. One more. One more than I’ll fill this tight little cunt up.” He promises and you whine, fingers gripping the headboard even more. He thrusts a little harder, his hips smacking against your ass and you can hardly catch your breath. 

“Shit. It’s - oh God. Too much. So good. Baby. Baby. I’m gonna cum again.” You warn him, clenching your eyes shut as your toes curl.

He grits his teeth and continues to hammer into you, wanting to feel you cum. It’s becoming an addiction. Watching you, feeling you, hearing you come apart for him. There’s an honesty you can’t fake when you cum for him. The first gush of your juices makes his hips stutter and he groans. “Fuck, I’m gonna fill this little pussy up.” He vows. “Want you to drip me while you shake your ass all over my kitchen.”

His words push you even further and you clamp down on his cock, soaking him with a cry of his name. “Fuck yes baby. Oh fuck.” You croak, voice broken from the moans he’s pulled from you tonight. “Please. Please. Pleaseeee.” You beg as you ride your orgasm, desperate to feel him spill inside of you.

Letting go of the bed, his arms push underneath you to hold you tight. Wrapping his legs around yours as he rocks into you over and over again until he is burying his cock deep. Groaning your name into your ear as he spills rope after rope of his hot seed into your womb.

You close your eyes, enjoying the feel of him on top of you and you could easily spend the rest of your life like this. That thought would terrify you if you weren’t drunk with pleasure. You sigh in bliss and he kisses along your neck once he’s still, his cock still twitching inside of you. “So good, baby.” You murmur, reaching back to slide your fingers through his hair.

He knows he’s heavy, pinning you down but you don’t complain and he doesn’t want to move. “Fuck.” He grunts, burying his face in your neck and trying to catch his breath. “Could sleep right here.” He murmurs, kissing your pulse and feeling all the stress and pain fade away.

You smile into the sheets, “me too.” You haven’t shared a bed with him yet, just sex before you both retreat to your own quarters and you wish he would cuddle you or something. “Do you maybe….maybe you’d like to stay tonight? In the same bed?” You ask tentatively, worried that he’s going to reject you.

Lifting his head, Joel’s brows shoot up. “Yeah, uh, are you sure?” He asks. He’s always come to your room, you’ve never been in his, but he wants to stay. “I don’t want you to offer if you’d rather be alone.”

“No. No. I want you to stay.” You promise, nodding your head against the sheets and you shift onto your side so you can look at him after he pulls out of you. “I want you to stay. Maybe we can watch a movie?” You suggest, reaching out to brush his hair back.

Joel secretly likes watching movies and he nods. “That will be good. Do you want to shower first, or need some water?” He knows you want a little bit of tenderness after sex.

You swallow, “water would be good, babe.” You offer him a smile, “and a shower.” You decide, wanting to feel clean after he’s wrecked your body again. “You wanna shower with me first?” You ask, knowing he isn’t one for that kind of intimacy but you always attempt to reach out to him, to make this marriage work in more ways than sex.

“That will work.” Joel nods and moves to climb out of the bed. “I’ll start the water, let it warm up.” He pauses and then leans in for a kiss before he stands and strides towards your en-suite. It’s getting harder to not soften towards you, especially since you are so sweet.

You are surprised that he wants to shower with you when he usually goes off to clean himself up and check on the business with Tommy. You watch his ass as he walks into your bathroom and you bite your lip, loving how hot he is. Even more so he doesn’t think he is. He thinks he’s too old but you love the salt and pepper. He grabs you a water and you are soon in the shower together, grabbing the body wash to clean each other off.

“Your body wash smells flowery.” Joel makes a face on principle, but he squirts it on a loofa and suds it up to wash your body. “That’s why you always smell so good.” He grunts to himself. “Love your smell, especially your wet pussy.”

You smile, pleased that he likes how you smell. It’s ridiculous how much you like hearing him compliment you. He’s such a gruff, cold man and any way you can crack his icy exterior has your heart melting for him. “Love how you smell too. Smoky and like whiskey. For now though, you’re gonna smell like roses.” You tease, sliding your hands along his chest.

He snorts and shakes his head. “Just means I need to fuck you again before we go to sleep.” He smirks and winks at you. There’s not been a day that has passed since that first day that he’s not fucked you at least twice. Most of the time, it’s hours between sessions since he’s no longer a teenager, but he’s been rising to the occasion.

You chuckle, “it’s a good thing I have the IUD otherwise you would’ve knocked me up by now and we both know that would be a disaster.” You snort and run your fingers through his wet hair, massaging his head. “I like this.” You admit softly, “what this has become.”

“I do too.” Joel admits, his hands squeezing your waist. You’ve grown more comfortable and playful as the days have gone on and his lust for you continues to grow. It also helps that he’s already seen you tell the police detective that you couldn’t help him when he came knocking about the murder. He doesn’t voice the idea that you could stay on, aware that you miss being a lawyer, a district attorney. He couldn’t ask you to give that up, or continuously look the other way.

Your heart flutters at his confession and you lean up to kiss his jaw. You have been keeping track of the case at the district attorney’s office and have seen that there is no evidence to link the murder back to Miller’s, so you are confident that the case will dropped soon and when the case is dropped, you can probably ask Joel if you can return to your previous life, but you find yourself reluctant to do so when deep down you are in love with the man who has become your husband. You rinse off after five minutes and Joel is quick to get you a towel grabbing one for himself to wrap around his waist. “You get dressed, baby. I’ll go get us some water and snacks. We can watch a movie. Pick whatever you want, just as long as it ain’t a damn romcom.” 

You snort and nod, “sure thing babe.” You get dressed in your sweats and soon enough, you are cold around Joel watching a movie until you fall asleep on his chest.

Joel strokes your back gently as you sleep, smirking at the jokes in the movie. He likes this, feeling more relaxed than he has in a long time. His informant tells him that the case is stalled and will soon be dormant. Now he doesn’t want to give you up. He’s gotten used to you puttering in the kitchen and you spend a lot of time in his study, reading if he needs to do something.

**** 

You decide to wake up early. Joel doesn’t spend the night in your bed even after two months of marriage but you don’t let it bother you too much, knowing he has his reasons and he’s opened up to you far more than you ever thought possible. You sneak out of your bedroom across the hall from Joel’s and that’s when you see Tess. Sneaking out of Joel’s room, her hair all over the place and her clothes wrinkled. Your heart breaks and her smirk makes you feel sick. He slept with her. You aren’t enough for him. He doesn’t want you. You swallow harshly, not wanting her to see how affected you are. “Morning Tess.” You choke out and she hums, “morning.” She grins and makes her way downstairs, leaving you speechless in the hallway.

Joel wakes up and for a moment is confused when he sees the spot next to him is rumpled like someone slept there. Then he remembers. You had already gone to bed, Joel staying late to talk to Tommy about business and Tess had shown up. She had been wasted and practically sobbing about you and Joel abandoning her, trying to kiss him again and again until he finally convinced her that he wasn’t going to touch her. She had begged for just one more night sleeping beside him and he had relented, knowing she was in no shape to go home. Tucking her in and making sure she didn’t throw up until about four this morning before he had finally fallen asleep.

You pour your coffee with tears stinging in your eyes and you allow yourself the breakfast you make to be your time to be upset about Joel sleeping with Tess again. After you finish breakfast, you decide you aren’t going to sit around and wait for him. He has let you go eventually if he wants to be with Tess. You make your way to your room, locking the door, and you call your friend, deciding to make plans for tonight. No longer will you sit around pining for your husband that will never be capable of loving you. You’re going out tonight despite Joel’s rules. Your sister and niece have gone to Florida for the weekend so you know Joel hasn’t had his men follow them. Joel knocks on your door but you tell him you’re working and he leaves you alone. You don’t leave your room for lunch and around eight at night you get ready and decide to drive into the city to meet your friend. Joel will still be busy with his own work since he’s gone back to running the family business so you know he won’t miss your presence.

There’s something wrong with today and Joel is in a pisser of a mood. He’s not seen you all day and he hates it. He’s gotten used to seeing your pretty face, sharing a smile or hearing you tell him a joke in hopes to see him smile. Ellie slunks into his office around nine, pouting and dropping into a chair. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?” He demands.

Ellie says your name and Joel frowns, “what about her?” 

Ellie scoffs, crossing her arms, “she’s gone into the city and I asked to go but she said she was going to some club with her friend. I was too young to go.” Ellie pouts and huffs, rolling her eyes, “I hate being a kid. I can’t do shit.”

“What do you mean she went into the city?” Joel drops the paper he was reading and sits up in his chair, a scowl on his face. “What fucking club, she’s in her room.” He swears Ellie likes busting his balls and making him sweat. “Don’t start that bullshit lying again.

Ellie shakes her head, “I’m not fucking lying. She’s gone out. Said something about the place Tommy and her met. I don’t know, man. That’s what she said and she looks fucking fancy. Dressed up and shit.” Ellie snorts, knowing Joel will be pissed with you leaving the house. Joel growls, realizing she’s telling the truth and she holds her hands up, “don’t shoot me. I’m the messenger.” Ellie says and Joel pushes back from his desk. 

**** 

You sway to the music, feeling like you are free for the first time in nearly three months. You are excited to enjoy yourself and let loose, especially after seeing Tess this morning. Your heart is broken, knowing she would always be Joel’s number one despite him sending her away and you try to lose yourself in the music and the drink, trying to drown your stupid feelings.

“Come on! Come on!” He hisses, slamming the wheel of his car as he curses the car in front of him. He doesn’t know why you decided to leave the house without telling him, especially because he wouldn’t have let you go alone. If you needed a night out, he would have taken you. But not back to the fuckin place you had witnessed a goddamn murder. He pulls up outside the club, screeching to a halt and jumping out of the car to storm through the security and into the club to find you.

You are swaying your hips when you feel hands squeeze your flesh. You gasp, turning your head and seeing a man pushing up against you and you shake your head, trying to step away from him but his fingers dig deeper into your skin. Before you can react, he’s being shoved away from you and your eyes widen when you see Joel grab his collar, his teeth bared as he growls at the man for touching you and not letting you go. The music is loud and you can’t hear what he says as his hand comes back and you grab onto his arm. “Joel. Stop. Not here. Not here.”

He almost flings you off and punches him anyway, but your eyes are wide and frightened. “Don’t ever fuckin’ touch my wife again.” He spits, shoving the asshole away from him. The man nods and quickly disappears into the crowd. Joel turns towards you and his scowl is fierce. “What the fuck are you doing here? You didn’t tell me? What are you thinking?” He shouts.

You scoff, “I thought you’d be with Tess. Why did you follow me here? I wanted one fucking night without being trapped in your goddamn house!” You shout back, the music blaring around you.

“Tess?” He frowns even harder, hurt that you don’t want to be around him. “What the fuck are you talking about? What does Tess have to do with you sneaking out? You wanted to go out? I could have brought you to a better club.”

You shake your head, pushing his chest, “you fucked her last night. Don’t lie to me. I saw her leaving your room this morning. She fucking smirked at me.” You shout at him, shaking your head and turning it to hide the tears welling in your eyes.

His eyes widen, realizing that you must have seen Tess leaving this morning. You get two steps away from him before he’s chasing after you, grabbing your arm and turning you around. “I didn’t fuck her!” He shouts back over the music. “I haven’t fucked-“ he shakes his head and lets go of your arm. “Never mind, you won’t believe me anyway.”

You swallow harshly, “I- I need some air.” You tell him, pushing your way through the gyrating crowd, your clutch in your hand and you inhale deeply once you’re outside in the cool air. Joel isn’t too far behind you and you wipe your eyes, looking over at your husband. “I don’t know why you followed me here tonight.” You scoff at Joel who shakes his head. 

“I have enemies, baby. If one of them had followed you…got to you…” He trails off and you chuckle humorlessly, “well, they would’ve done you a favor. Gotten rid of me. Saved you the job.”

“I’m not getting rid of you.” He slaps his hands against his thighs and wonders why you are being so fucking difficult. “Don’t fucking talk like that.” He growls, furious at the thought of you being hurt because of him.

“Why?” You hiss, turning back towards him, “you don’t love me like I love you. You don’t want me. You- you want Tess. You want someone skinnier, prettier. You want someone you can show off. I haven’t met anyone from your family or friends. I haven’t even met Tommy’s wife. You don’t want them knowing you married the fat girl. I know you only married me so I’d keep my mouth shut but the case is closed. The DA office released the news this afternoon. No leads. Cold case. It’s done. So just divorce me so I can go back to my life because you don’t love me. God, I’m such an idiot. I fell in love with you and I’m - please. Just let me go.” You beg, unable to take his back and forth.

Joel frowns and shakes his head. “What the fuck are you talking about?” He demands. “I kept you from meeting everyone because you don’t want to stay with me!” He shoves a hand through his hair. “You can’t - every time we are together you fucking tell me how you can’t wait to go back to your life. I’m a fucking criminal! You can’t be a fucking district attorney married to a criminal!”

You choke on a sob, hating how complicated your life has become. For years, you’ve wanted to find someone, fall in love, get married. It’s happened but in the most confusing way possible. “I quit. I quit today. I can’t be a DA after watching what Tommy did. It’s not - it’s not moral so I quit my job. I tell you I can’t wait to get back to my life because that’s what I thought you wanted. To get rid of me when the case was closed by the DA and the police. I miss my old life but not for the reason you think. I miss having my freedom but most of all, I miss not being in love with you. Not feeling so much goddamn pain because you won’t ever feel the same.”

He stares at you for a moment, nearly panting, he’s breathing so hard. “I- you quit?” He whispers, shaking his head. “You quit the D.A.’s office?” You nod and he grabs you again and pulls you closer. “You’re never fuckin’ leaving.” He rasps out. “Never. I didn’t fuck Tess. I couldn’t. Not when-“ he swallows. “Not when I love you.”

Your eyes widen as he pulls you into his chest and you shouldn’t but you believe him. You believe he didn’t fuck her. “I- I love you. I don’t want to leave you. I want to stay with you.” You promise, sliding your hand up his chest until you can tangle your fingers in his hair. “I love you, Joel.” You murmur, “I love you.”

“I love you, baby.” He promises roughly. Nudging his nose against yours. “You’re mine. You told me you were mine and I’m keeping you.” He growls, pressing his lips to yours and slides his tongue into your mouth possessively.

You moan into his mouth, feeling him push you back into the wall of the club and passersby stare but you don’t care. Your heart pounding in your chest as your husband kisses you. He pulls back after a moment and your breath mingles, “take me home, Miller.” You order, wanting him to take you home and to his bed. Joel nods, summoning the valet to get his car and you’re soon on your way back to his estate. You text your friend, apologizing and she says she doesn’t mind, she’s found a guy to occupy her and you tell her to be safe. Joel squeezes your hand as he drives and you frown, shifting to look at him. “How did you know where I was?” You ask and he tells you about Ellie. “Of course.” You chuckle softly, knowing the teenager is nothing if not a talker. 

“She loves you, you know? Wanted to tell me because she wants you to be safe.” He says and you nod, “I love her. She’s funny and she makes you smile with her silly puns. How could I not love her?” You ask him.

Joel nods, sighing softly. “She’s not had it easy. Hell, I’ve not had it easy, but she’s a good kid. A pain in my ass, but a good kid. She’s - well, she’s the entire reason I decided to marry you.” He reveals.

Your eyebrows raise, “she was?” You ask, surprised by the news and you wonder what Ellie could’ve said to have made him decide to marry you instead of kill you.

“Yeah.” Joel nods and looks back at the road. “She’s never had a mother or a mother-like figure. Tess sure as shit isn’t one. Not since she lost her husband and son ten years ago.” He tells you. “You- your worry was for your sister, your niece. You were terrified of marrying me but you would do it to protect them. I wanted Ellie to be around a woman like that, like you.” He tells you softly. “She reminds me of Sarah.”

You have heard the name before but haven’t asked him. You know from Ellie that Joel was married before, years ago, but there was never a good time to ask him about it. “Sarah?” You ask softly, wanting him to talk about it only if he wants to.

“My- my daughter.” He reveals quietly, feeling your shocked stare on him as he drives. He doesn’t look over at you, unsure of what your reaction will be. “My ex-wife and I were young, too fuckin’ young. I got her pregnant and after Sarah was born, she decided she didn’t want to be a wife and mother.” He shakes his head, unable to imagine leaving Sarah behind. “I raised her by myself. I wasn’t in the business. I was determined to keep Sarah out of it. I built houses. Me ‘n Tommy had a construction business. I was pretty good. Until….” He bites his lip. “My uncle died and it started a fuckin’ mafia power struggle. They came after me and….” He cuts himself off, gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles are turning white. “She was twelve.” He tells you. “Just a little girl.”

Your eyes widen, “she -?” You can’t vocalize it and tears sting in your eyes. “Oh Joel.” You choke and he swallows harshly. 

“It was another - to get power. They thought I’d crumble after losing her. I did…until I came back with a vengeance. I’ve done things…things that shouldn’t allow me to touch you, let alone be loved by you. I’ve sinned.” He confesses and you reach for his hand again. 

“Baby, oh- I'm so sorry.” You sob, leaning down to kiss the back of his hand.

He’s surprised that you are trying to comfort him. He had expected you to demand to know what he’s done. His eyes flutter and then open quickly to watch the road. “You said you felt trapped.” He reminds you softly. “Do you- you don’t like living with me?”

You shake your head, leaning back to look at him. “I like living with you but baby, I want to love living with you. I want to share a room. I want to share our lives. I want to share everything with you.”

“Tess was drunk last night.” He admits quietly. “She wanted me to fuck her, but I told her no. Told her that I was married. She begged to just sleep beside me one last time, she knew it was over. I swear to you that I didn’t fuck her. It’s just been you.”

You are surprised at the way she begged him to fuck her but not shocked. Your heart pounds when you hear him confess it’s been you, only you. “I believe you. If I find out otherwise, I don’t care what you do for a living, I’ll chop your balls off.” You promise, knowing you have to stand your ground.

He smirks when he stops at the red light, looking over at you and nodding. “I’ll give you the knife, baby.” He tells you. “I’ve done a lot of shit I’m not proud of, but I’m no piece of shit cheater.”

You smile, knowing his morality will be a gray area for you, but you knew what you were getting into you. You love him. The real him and you won’t deny that. You want to spend the rest of your life with Joel. “I want you to take me home and make love to me. Not rough. Just the two of us. Take our time.” You tell him, kissing the back of his hand again.

Joel nods, knowing that he needs to show you some tenderness. Show you how he feels. You aren’t just some woman he’s fucking, you’re his wife and apparently, you want to stay his wife. “I can do that.” He promises. “I can be gentle. I want to show you.”

You want Joel to show you some softness. When you arrive back at the estate, he opens the door for you and escorts you inside and upstairs. You head to your room but he takes your hand, guiding you to his. A room you have never been in before. “Are you sure, baby?” You ask, knowing that he has always considered this room to be off limits to everyone, including you despite you being married on paper.

“Yes.” He nods. “The sheets have been changed, I want you in my bed. I want you to stay with me, sleep beside me.” He murmurs softly. You bite your lip and he opens the door and guides you inside, closing it behind him. It’s masculine, dark, heavy furniture but there are multiple pillows on the bed. Minimal and clean, just the way he likes it.

You admire the bedroom, large and imposing like him but simple and masculine. You like it, it feels like him. You turn to face him, tilting up to kiss his neck softly, your hands working on the buttons of his shirt. You want to see all of him. “I love you.” You murmur, kissing his chin.

“I love you too.” His hands slide down to pick up the bottom of your dress. “Wanted to punch that asshole, grinding against you.” He growls. “Thinking he had a chance with you.”

You shake your head as he pulls your dress over your body. “He never did. I was trying to push him away. Only you. It’s only you.” You promise him and gasp when he drops your dress to the floor and his hands find your ass, tugging you up against his body. You reach between you, working on his belt and you are able to pull it out from the loops without moving away from him. “I’m yours.” You promise, showing him your hand with the ring he placed on your finger. 

“Mine.” He agrees, leaning in to kiss your hand and he brings it to his chest. He closes his eyes and sighs softly before he looks at you again. “You’re so beautiful.” He tells you quietly. “The first thing I thought when I saw you was that you were pretty.” He reaches out and traces the edge of your bra. “Let me see you, baby.”

You reach behind you to unclasp your bra, “even when I was blindfolded.” You tease and he nods, “even then.” Your heart melts and you reach down to unbutton his jeans, unzipping them and pulling the zipper down. You reach in to grip his cock, hard and throbbing for you, and that thrills you

“Shit.” He hisses, rocking his hips forward. “Want you to sit on my face.” He’s wanted you to before now, but you’ve always resisted. He knows it’s your self-image preventing it, but he wants to see you ride his tongue. “Do it for me, baby.”

Your stomach twists and you’re nervous. “I- baby. I don’t want to hurt you.” You shake your head but his fingers dig into your ass. 

“You won’t.” He insists and You concede. “If i hurt you-” You trail off and he scoffs, “you won’t.” You poke his chest, “you tell me.” You insist and he snorts but nods. You step out of your shoes and push your panties down, waiting for him to get situated.

Joel peels his pants down and lays down on the bed, watching you hungrily and you awkwardly kneel on the bed. “You aren’t going to hurt me, baby. I promise you, I can push you off if I need to.” He understands your hesitation, but he’s salivating at the idea of having your pussy sitting on his face.

You shift to straddle his chest and he tuts, grabbing your ass to pull you up so you are hovering over his face. He groans at the sight of your dripping cunt and you gasp when his tongue snakes out to slide through your folds. “Fuck baby.” You moan, lowering your hips unconsciously and he groans your name when you start to relax and rest your weight over him.

He holds your hips, needing to be able to pull you back down if you shift to lift off of him. Groaning into your pussy happily when you roll your hips. His tongue flicking over your clit and then back down to push up inside you.

“Fuck.” You gasp, tilting your head back and your hands come up to grip the headboard. “Joel. Oh God. That feels so good.” You confess breathlessly as he pushes his tongue deep inside of you. You moan when his tongue flicks over your clit again and you forget to keep your posture stiff as you relax even more.

Time is completely suspended, all he cares about is making you feel good. His cock throbs and spurts pre-cum as he feels the first flood of your juices soak his mouth and you haven’t even cum yet. Groaning into your flesh as he devours you.

You feel like you are floating, his mouth on your clit and his tongue pushing deep inside of you. You finally give in to the feelings and grind down onto his face. “Oh fuck Joel. It’s - you’re too good. So good baby.” You whimper, feeling like you could die and be happy. He makes you feel like you are on cloud nine. “Oh God. I love you.” You whine, fingers gripping the headboard.

He can’t talk, but he squeezes your hips, eager to hear you say that again. He loves you, he knows he does. You’ve burrowed your way into his cold heart like Ellie has and he would murder for you, he would die for you.

You are so close. Grinding down onto his face a little more. “Fuck baby. I love you. I’m gonna cum- I’m gonna - oh shit!” You hiss, thighs pressing against his head and you worry in the back of your mind if you’re suffocating him.

Joel groans, eyes fluttering closed as he works you through the most satisfying orgasm he’s ever pulled out of you. He knows you love it from how you are moaning and panting his name.

You try to catch your breath, your heart racing and your chest heaving as you relax from your orgasm. “Baby. Oh God. That was-” You pant, shifting off of his face and you shuffle down his body until you are kneeling between his legs. You reach out to grip his cock and take him into your mouth.

“Shit.” You’ve blown him, of course you have. You’ve been fucking for two months, but tonight, you seem desperate to suck his fucking soul out through his cock. “Oh fuck, baby, god damn you have such a good mouth.” His toes curl and his legs twitch when you reach down and fondle his balls in your hand.

You watch him, his eyes closing and his fingers find the back of your head. You pull off of his cock for a moment, continuing to pump him in your hand. “I love you, my handsome husband.” You coo, taking him back into your mouth until he’s pulling you off of him.

“I need to be inside you, baby.” He pants, pulling you up and rolling you over in one smooth move. “I love you, my sexy wife.” He growls, biting your bottom lip and smirking at you.

You smile against his mouth, caressing his cheeks as he hovers over you. You lift your legs up to wrap around his waist and he shuffles closer on his knees, reaching down to grip his cock so he can start to push inside of you. “I love you.” You sigh when he’s fully inside of you, feeling like you’re where you belong.

“I love you too.” He groans quietly, pushing his arms underneath your back and holding you close. He wants to be as close as he can as he kisses your lips.

You whimper and he starts to move inside of you, making you cling to him. There’s nothing rough, no choking, no spanking. It’s soft and sweet and everything you’ve ever wanted from your marriage, from your husband. “Feel so good. Always feel so good. No one has ever made me feel this way before.”

“Good.” He chokes out, burrowing his face into your neck and inhaling your sweet scent. “You are so soft and perfect. You take me when I’m rough and beg for more.” He praises you softly. “And I want more of this. More intimacy. Soft. I’ll be soft for you.”

You know he will give you that, he’s showing now that he’s capable of that and you understand his rougher side. You enjoy it but this makes you feel so connected to Joel. “I love all of you. Every side of you. Whatever you give me. I want it all.” You promise breathlessly, caressing his back and one hand slides up to run your fingers through his hair.

Joel practically purrs when your fingers are in his hair. His hips slow down and he barely rocks into you. “I- I never would have killed you. Or your sister.” He promises you. “I don’t hurt women or kids.”

You know that now, understanding his character, and you want to tell your sister about your husband, have her meet him. “I know, baby. I know that now. I know you are good. Deep down, you’re a good man.” You assure him, kissing his neck. “I love that about you. Only I know that you’re good. Me and Ellie know.” You promise, rocking your hips up to meet his.

He’s overwhelmed that you believe in him so firmly. His heart is pounding and he knows that you are his purpose, you and Ellie. He will take care of you and her until he takes his last breath.

You aren’t sure how much time passes, it seems like you spend hours under the rocking of his hips until he shifts and presses his fingers to your clit. “Want you to cum for me, baby.” He murmurs into your neck and you whine, bucking up into his touch. 

“Yes. Yes. Going to cum for you.” You promise, walls fluttering around his cock.

Joel kisses you tenderly, feeling your pulse jump under his lips. “Love you so much baby, you’re so good.” He praises, noting how much you preen under the compliments. You deserve them. You deserve better than him but by some miracle, you love him. “So perfect for me. My beautiful, sexy woman.”

You gasp, clamping down on his cock, unable to stop yourself with the raspy compliments he pours into your ear. “Oh. Oh. Oh.” You pant, clenching your eyes shut as you cum, soaking him with your juices.

“That’s it, that’s it darlin’.” He groans, his tongue lapping at your salty skin as he works you through your orgasm and chases his own. “Feels so fuckin’ good.”

You need him to fill you up. “Cum for me. Cum for me, Joel.” You plead into his neck, nails digging into his flesh as he rocks into you, his hips slapping against your thighs and there’s nothing but the two of you in this moment. He pushes deep a half dozen thrusts later, he’s spilling into you, painting your walls, and you love it. You love him. You hum, closing your eyes as he rests his head on your chest, his breath puffing hot on your skin.

Joel feels like he’s pulled apart. His heart bursting happily as he catches his breath. “I love you.” He sighs. It might not have been ideal for you to witness Tommy murdering someone, it scared you and he hates that. But being a mafia boss brought you into his life and he’s grateful for that. Happy to have you as his wife, forever.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Go Walk

Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: "For the record," I mutter under my breath, "if this was Coachella, I wouldn't have ever driven off with a grandpa."

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: Fem!reader, age gap w joel (≥10), chaotic mom!reader, petty!joel, baby girl!ellie, married couple fights™, angst?, fluff, slice of life, typos etc.

A/N: @sloanexx ito na. i snapped. indulge. also i havent proofread this so (: indulge in typos <3 I also cross-posted this on my AO3 <3 so yea lol Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace Technical p2 "Editorial"

The silence beyond the tires whirring on asphalt was cut by two words, "do it."

I ignore her.

"Do it."

I turn over my shoulder and stare at Ellie.

"Do it," she repeats as I look front, "it's just us and skeletons."

I roll my eyes, "ok."

"What? There were, like, 10 skeletons outside."

"You managed to count them all?" I cross my arms and look out from my side of the car.

"I did actually."

I lick my lips, eyes flickering to the driver who could not care less about our conversation.

"Do it."

I huff through my nose.

"Do it."

Joel's eyes flicker to the rear view mirror.

"Do it."

I shift in the front seat of the car.

"Do it," Ellie mutters louder, "Do it. Do it."

"Ellie, I swear to go-" I start.

"Do i-"

"Shut up," Joel grumbles

"..."

The tires scrape against the road. Ellie and I tense where Joel relaxes. His elbow goes on the side of the door, he leans his head in one hand while the other stays on the wheel.

I look to the rearview mirror. Ellie is looking at me. She mouths, "do it."

I press my lips and steal a look at Joel. He looks exasperated. I will get into trouble for this. But then again, when is he not exasperated, and when do I never not get into trouble?

Click. Off goes my seat belt.

Ellie's lips part.

Click. The window to my right goes down.

Ellie grins.

Quickly, I fold my knees and push myself up on my seat. I stick out my head and torso, flailing my hands up and out of the window. I shriek with glee. My hair flies back. Wind catches in my mouth. It's exhilarating.

Ellie cheers from the inside.

Rip. I am ripped back in, my shirt fisted in an iron clasp, my eardrums hammered by curses and growls laced with a Southern drawl, my eyes widened even through my squint of discomfort.

"ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE? WHY ARE YOU LETTING YOURSELF GET SUCKERED BY 12-YEAR-OLD?"

"I'M NOT TWEL-"

"It was my idea."

"That's what she wants you to think!"

"Hey!"

"Joel--" I huff.

He pulls away, closes the windows from the main panel, then grips both hands on the steering wheel.

"I was talking to her about going to Coachella," I trail off.

Joel scoffs, shaking his head, then turning back to me to give a gnarly stank eye, "does this fucking look like Coachella to you?"

I turn away from him and lick my teeth, "obviously it doesn't."

"Come on, Joel, she was just feeling sentimental," Ellie says, "it's nice not to be so--"

"Well, she better stop being sentimental real soon or it's going to get us all killed."

"Alright," I pinch my fingers together, "I'm sorry I did it, okay. But I already did it, there's no point in-"

"No!" Joel snaps, turning to me for a second, "you don't get to say that to me after pulling a stunt like that!"

"Joel, it's fine. I won't do it again-"

"No, it's not fine! What if someone heard us and comes-"

"No one's going to foll-"

"YOU DON'T KNOW THAT!"

"Ohemgee is that a truck following after-"

"Ellie," Joel growls, "I swear to g-"

"EXACTLY!" Ellie squeals, "NO ONE'S HERE!"

"I'm trying to keep you morons alive and you're purposefully making it harder!" Joel hisses.

I suck in a breath and place my hand on his arm, "Joel. Ok. I know-"

"It's not a big deal!" Ellie crosses her arms and leans back, "we're in the middle of nowhere for miles. You said it yourself."

"Ellie," I scold.

"Well," Joel huffs as he catches sight of our destination, "it will become a big deal once something bad happens, won't it?"

I recoil at his actions and huff. Ellie and I make eye contact, then I roll my eyes. I turn to the window, "for the record," I mutter under my breath, "if this was Coachella, I wouldn't have ever driven off with a grandpa."

Ellie slaps her hands on her mouth.

The tires skid. I shoot forward, held back only by the seatbelt I didn't even realize was put back on me. The engine hums and groans. Joel's knuckles turn white.

I turn to him. He grinds his teeth. My eyes widen as I turn to Ellie. We both chew our lips.

Joel slaps his hands on his lap as he turns to me, "by all means then," he motions, "feel free to walk."

Ellie's jaw slacks as she looks between us.

"What?" my upper lip curls.

Joel unlocks the door from the main control, "you can go scream at a tree and reminisce about Coachella outside the car."

I scoff and make a face of disbelief, "you want me to get out?"

Joel's face hardens. He doesn't respond though.

I trace my bottom lip with my tongue as I nod my head, "okay then."

"No don't lea- why are you getting out!" Ellie cries.

Thump. The door closes.

Skid. The tires grind against the asphalt as Joel drives off and Ellie twists to look at me from the backseat. Her eyes are wide, "YOU'RE ACTUALLY LEAVING HER."

"I gave her a choice," Joel notes bitterly.

"YOU ASKED HER TO LEAVE!" Ellie snaps.

"I said she was free to walk, and she chose to walk!" Joel counters.

Ellie turns back front and tugs at Joel's arm, "STOP DRIVING!"

Joel does not budge nor respond.

"JOEL!"

"She's a big girl," he quips, "all high and mighty with her attitude," he grumbles softly then raises his voice, "it'd do her good to walk back to base."

"You're an asshole!" Ellie says, crossing her arms.

Joel does not respond. His eyes flicker to the rear view mirror. He lets out a breath.

The moment they arrive and Joel parks, Ellie bursts out the door and begins to walk off.

"Hey!" Joel calls as he gets out of the car, "where do you think you're going?"

"To wait for her," she eyes him, "asshole."

"No," Joel marches to her and grabs her arm, "you're not going to walk to he-"

"I'm not going to walk to her!" Ellie snaps, pulling out of Joel's grip, "I'm just going to wait for her by the lamppost!"

Joel's attention darts to the broken, mossy lamppost, then to the barely visible figure, slowly inching forward from a distance. He turns back to Ellie then turns to the car, "fine. Help me put the things inside first."

"I'll do it la-"

"You'll do it now," Joel commands as he, himself, begins to unpack the supplies they managed to get.

Ellie grumbles and begrudgingly follows, "asshole."

By the time I arrive to our base, I smile at Ellie who dashes over to me and gives me a hug.

I can't help but laugh at her as I hug her back, "you're acting like I came back home from war."

"Joel's an asshole for leaving you," Ellie says against our embrace.

We pull away. I brush her baby hair back as she hooks her arm around my waist. I ask, "did you tell him that?"

"I also gave him the finger," Ellie says to me as she does the gesture.

"You shouldn't have done that," I drape my arm on her shoulders as we walk back, "he'll be all sulky about it."

"He deserved it," she retorts, "what if something did happen?"

I shake my head, "Ellie."

"No- I know... but what if-"

"Joel wouldn't have left me if he wasn't sure I'd be fine," I gesture to myself, "and I am. Call him a caring douchebag."

Ellie sighs, "he's so dramatic."

I let out a high pitched sound.

She snorts as she kicks a rock and then turns back to me, "nah, you're so right. You definitely are the dramatic one between the three of us."

"Hey," I raise a brow at her as I crush her into me, "you're the one that complains about doing the dishes."

"Well-"

"As if you weren't the one that eats the most."

"Hey, I'm a growing child!" she pouts, "and I, for one, think that I should only wash the dishes that he use."

I hum, "maybe you should walk then, because you can't drive."

"That's so not the same thing."

I shake my head and narrow my eyes, "it is, actually."

We make it inside the abandoned house we had been staying at and immediately, I look around for Joel.

"He's fixing the car," she begins to mime, "and doing the thing with the tube and the stick and-"

I raise a hand, "I got it."

"I personally think he's making an excuse so that he wouldn't have to talk to you right now," Ellie says as we head to the kitchen.

I smirk at her, "you reckon he'll make me sleep on the floor?"

Ellie laughs, "geez, I hope he doesn't. It's fucking freezing."

We begin to unpack some of the food we got.

"He's be a mega-asshole if he did," she makes a half-amused face.

I scrunch up my nose and nod.

"But if he does, I'll let you sleep with me, even though your a blanket hoarder."

I raise my hands up, "it's not like I can control that."

"You also have an iron grip, so I can't even pull it back on me," she tilts her head.

"Again," I open a can of beans, "I can't control that."

"You also move a lot when you sleep."

"Can't contro-"

"I change my mind," Ellie makes a face, "you should just get on your knees and beg..." she raises a finger, "or whatever it is you do when you're on your knees."

I release a breath.

She raises her hands and pulls her head back, "hey, two consenting adults."

"Okay," I quickly change the subject, "you know, I was thinking of fainting halfway through the walk, but then I figured I'd freeze to death before Joel came for me. Also he'd use it against me if I ever use the fact I used to jog a lot before as a reason to bring me on his 'solo' runs."

Ellie thinks for a moment, "that could work though, the fainting."

I snort, "what, should I faint just as he walks in the room?"

I dramatically throw my head back and place the back of my hand on my forehead, "he'd freak if I did."

Ellie and I giggle.

"If you faint, I'll put your body in the dumpster," Joel says as he walks in, pushing past me to something from the counter, then walks back.

Ellie and I purse our lips tightly as we watch him leave the room.

Once he's gone, Ellie and I begin to giggle again. She mutters, "asshole."

Later that night, after tucking Ellie in and kissing her good night, I went outside where Joel was still working on the car.

I shudder at the cold and wrap my arms around myself, "the jig is up, it's time to go to bed."

"I'm almost done," Joel mutters.

I roll my eyes, spotting the food I gave him, stagnant and cold in the place I put it hours ago, "you said that already."

Joel wipes his hand on the back of his pants then grunts. He circles from the front of the car to the driver's seat and starts the engine.

I breathe in deeply and huff, "you want some help?"

The car starts, then abruptly stops. Joel then closes the door and shoves something in his pocket, "I'm done." He walks to the open hood and bangs it close. He grabs his plate of food and begins eating as he walks past me.

I huff once more as I trail off after him.

"I made some tea," I mutter, "it's probably an piss cold now but-"

"Piss isn't cold," Joel retorts with a mouthfull.

I rub my eye.

We reach the kitchen, and by that time, Joel finished half of his plate. I give him a look as I watch him eat, "fucking hell, Joel, calm down. No one's going to take that from you."

"It tastes shit," he mumbles.

"Yeah," I cross my arms, "it was bearable when it was hot."

Joel shoves some more food in his mouth. I grunt, "and you didn't even wash your hands!" I chastise, walking over to him to push him to the sink.

Joel grunts as he moves to the sink against his will. He chews with full cheeks as he washes his hand in the miracle sink that had water.

He swallows before he mutters, "motor oil poisoning is the least of your problems, babe."

"Oh, yeah," I cock my head to the side as I hand him box of soap, "seems like it's at the top of your list, actually."

Joel finishes washing his hands before he averts his attention back to his food and mutters, "you're at the top of my list."

I watch as he stuffs his face again then walk up to him to pat his shoulder, "consider me flattered, big boy."

Before I could walk off, I am held back by my arm. I turn to Joel. His chewing slows. He releases his hold on me and leans on his palms, "stay."

I turn back to him and wrap my arms around myself.

Joel finishes the last of his food, thankfully, at a slightly slower pace.

I rub my arms as the cold nips at me.

"You want my jacket?"

I shake my head.

Joel adjusts the collar of his jacket, "you sure?"

"What is this, a romcom?"

Joel shrugs, "you tell me, you're the writer."

I lean my hip on the counter as I gesture at him, "this seems more like an apocalypse to me."

"Huh," he finishes the last of his food, "I wouldn't have guessed."

I purse my lips into a soft smile as Joel begins to wash his plate, "a dash of horror... maybe some farce."

The sound of water fills the beat of silence.

"Is Ellie asleep?"

I grunt, "I kissed her goodnight cause you were still brooding."

He doesn't respond. Joel finishes washing his plate. He puts it away and wipes his hands on a towel. He and I look at each other in silence.

Joel puts the towel down then mimics my stance. He leans back on the sink. I rub my arms. He crosses his.

I roll my shoulders back, "so."

"So," he repeats.

"Is this your way of saying you're still mad at me?"

"I'm mad at you?" Joel tilts his head.

"I don't know, are you?"

"Am I?"

"Joel."

"Would I want to stare at you if I were mad at you?"

I knit my brows, "is that what's happening?"

He looks at me.

"You're looking at me cos I'm hot?" I raise my brows and motion, "I haven't showered in days."

"Neither have I."

"Trust me, I can tell."

A moment passes. I cross my arms, "Joel-"

"Fine," he sighs, "I'm still annoyed at what you did."

"Okay. Which one?" I pucker my lips in thought, "the screaming or the old man joke."

"What do you think?" Joel deadpans, crossing his arms.

I walk up toward him and grab my chin in fake thought, "hmmmm, the second one."

I stop when I am directly in front of him and lean close to his face, "I don't actually think you're a grandpa."

He blinks.

I chuckle and reach out to his face. I rub his cheeks with my thumb as I kiss him. For a moment, I can feel him melt against me. I feel it in how he sighs and leans closer. When he doesn't reach out for me, I pull away and huff at his furrowed brows. I will the tension away as I stroke them.

He really wasn't about to let this go.

Joe stands up straight only to lean his forehead against mine, "scream like that again, I'll make you scream then gag you."

With that, he pulls away and walks off. I just stand there.

"Come on," he calls, "I'm stuck with you tonight since Ellie doesn't want you sleeping next to her."

[loveinhawkins]

Part 1 ao3

When Robin and Eddie return to the trailer, Steve is still unconscious.

“Fuck, should we be worried that—how long can someone…?”

Eddie trails off, goes to check his watch reflexively before remembering that it’s stopped.

Robin shakes her head.

“This kinda thing happened, um. Before. I didn’t see much, but I… I don’t think… Billy Hargrove was completely—well. Steve had to, like, crash a car into him, and I, uh, sorta blacked out? For a bit of it? But he just walked it off, I think. Eventually. Billy, I mean. Like his body wasn’t fully… Like he didn’t really feel it.”

Eddie stares at her, reeling. A dozen thoughts scramble to be heard, many not helpful in the slightest—namely that Billy Hargrove stalked the basketball court like there was something seething within him every goddamn school day, so he can’t even imagine what that combined with the uncanny strength of The Mind Flayer would bring.

And the real major concern is—

“But Hargrove died.”

Robin looks up from where she’s been checking Steve’s head. Her fingertips are flecked with blood.

“He didn’t die from—he wasn’t killed by. By a person,” she says jerkily. “So we… we should be fine to…” She eyes the cistern lid, but her face drains of colour again.

Eddie exhales. “One problem at a time.”

He grabs Steve underneath the armpits, Robin holding his legs up.

They take him to the bedroom. Set him down, back leaning against the cabinet.

Eddie finds the handcuffs and gingerly attaches one end to a drawer handle, the other around Steve’s wrist.

Steve doesn’t even stir at the touch. His head lolls down unnaturally.

“They better not be the shitty plastic kind,” Robin says. “I’m not having him escape cause all you had was a Baby’s First Magic Set.”

Eddie’s startled into a weak chuckle.

“Excuse you, Buckley, these are the bona fide, genuine article.”

It had become a joke in the first place, actually keeping them. A year ago, maybe two. A girl from Loch Nora with a college boyfriend had either naively or intentionally thrown an open invite party—Eddie had only gone out of curiosity, wanting to see just how impressive the living space was.

He’d barely lasted an hour there, because a shithead of a ‘concerned’ neighbour called the cops on young people ‘loitering sinisterly’—as if their precious hydrangeas were in danger of being uprooted and sold.

Eddie got grouped in with a select lucky few accused of stealing. He hadn’t been, but he figured he might as well try and get something out of it. It was either Callahan’s wallet or his cuffs; Eddie picked the wrong pocket.

Now he thinks he actually lucked out, in a grim kind of way.

They take stock of everything they’ve got: lighter fluid; a couple space heaters discovered in the RV, another one found next to Wayne’s folding bed. A few bottles of alcohol along with cloths and spears. One walkie. Lighters.

Rope.

-

Nancy had left with Dustin in the RV. The plan had been for her to drop him off at the Creel House before returning to the Gate at the trailer.

But Eddie caught the steely glint in her eye as she readied herself in the driver’s seat.

Dustin sat by the table. He pinched his bottom lip between his fingers and tugged, harsh enough to draw blood. His hand was shaking.

Eddie couldn’t look at him.

He turned to Nancy.

“You’re not coming back,” he said in an undertone.

It was only once he’d spoken that he realised it didn’t come out as a question.

Nancy grabbed him by the wrist, pulled him close to whisper in his ear.

“Going to another Gate. Where Fred…”

Eddie understood: it was a last-minute change that she alone was in control of. One that Steve didn’t know.

And if Steve didn’t know, then…

The engine rumbled into life.

Eddie got out—had one last look, hand on the door. There were tanks of gasoline wedged behind Nancy’s seat.

Dread chilled him. He wanted to tell her that she shouldn’t be alone. That when she burned it all down, she needed someone to pull her back lest she get caught in the flames, too.

He didn’t say any of that.

Because Nancy just looked at him with something close to sympathy, as if she could tell everything he was thinking; it was already clear that whatever he said, it wouldn’t make a difference.

It didn’t stop him from trying.

“Nancy. Be careful.”

She nodded. “You too.”

Eddie shut the door behind him.

He was halfway back to the porch when he realised that the RV hadn’t pulled away. He heard the door opening again, began to turn, and was almost bowled over by the force of Dustin’s hug.

“Hey,” he said softly, once he’d caught his breath.

He ruffled Dustin’s hair and then stopped near the end of the motion, kept his hand there. Just held him.

He didn’t say it was okay, because it wasn’t.

Dustin sniffed. He pulled back and finally looked Eddie right in the eye.

“We’ll get him back,” Dustin said.

His voice wavered in the middle. But his determination was much stronger than the falter had been.

Eddie put his hands on Dustin’s shoulders. Nodded.

It was obvious that when it came to Steve Harrington, Dustin would go to the ends of the earth for him. And here he was, doing the hardest thing in the world: leaving Steve behind.

Compared to everyone else, Eddie thought, his job was simple, really. All he had to do was prove Dustin’s trust in him.

-

Steve’s face twitches when Robin shuts the window.

Eddie watches closely, holding his breath.

One eye opens, barely a slit. Moves sluggishly before finding Eddie.

“Hi,” Steve says.

He sounds… normal.

“Hi,” Eddie echoes cautiously. “Are you—um. Are you…?”

He trails off, feeling immensely stupid. What was he even gonna ask? Are you okay? Like he honestly was expecting Steve to say, Oh, could be better, but the malevolent entity inside me is a fucking bummer, man.

“How’re you feeling?” he settles on, because Steve still hasn’t moved, at least seems in control, and Eddie’ll take any semblance of normality he can get.

“M’okay,” Steve says, after a pause.

He lifts his head up slightly, notices the handcuffs. Gives a faint nod of approval. With his free hand, he gestures vaguely to the back of his skull.

“Feels… distant. I dunno.”

“Good, uh, that’s good,” Eddie says conversationally, like that will take away the reality of what he’s currently doing: tying Steve’s legs together with rope.

Both of Steve’s eyes open, his gaze turns sharper, calculating, and Eddie tenses—

“Eddie,” Steve drawls. He sounds supremely unimpressed. He shifts his legs and the knot Eddie made goes slack. “Tighter, dude.” “Oh, I’m sorry, not of all of us got our Scout’s badge.”

“Here,” Robin says. She nudges Eddie out of the way and binds Steve’s legs; the knots don’t budge. She gives a half smile. “At least Starcourt was educational.”

Steve laughs through his nose, but he grimaces a bit, like something Robin’s said is distasteful.

She puts a hand on his knee, peers at him. “Still here,” she says.

It isn’t a question, but Steve answers anyway. “Still here.”

Robin ties his free hand to another drawer handle.

Eddie catches a glimpse while he’s turning on the heaters, and his stomach twists—unbidden, thinks of Christ on the cross.

Steve nods at the heaters. “Put ‘em closer.”

Eddie does. He keeps waiting for a change, ready to leap back, but it doesn’t come. The only difference is that the pulse point in Steve’s neck starts to jump rapidly when the heaters are tilted towards him, but even that’s nothing like before, nothing like the frenzy in the bathroom.

Eddie puts his palm in front of one of the grilles. It’s only just been turned on, sure, but he can’t help thinking that it’s not nearly strong enough.

He stands in front of Steve, Robin by his side.

No-one moves.

Then Robin speaks out the side of her mouth. “Should you still…?”

Her fingers curl, palm up, and Eddie realises that she’s mimicking fret positions.

“Yeah,” Steve says before Eddie can answer, and Robin jumps. “Should still work.” His cuffed hand twitches. “S’in… Vecna. Me. Not enough… can’t control bats, too. Not—not all of ‘em at once.”

His throat clicks as he swallows, like the words are getting stuck.

“Should follow. Like… like, um.” His eyes widen for a split second, as if in panic, before he swallows again and says, a little clearer, “Pied Piper.”

Eddie glances between Steve and Robin. “Okay,” he says eventually. He steps back while Robin remains where she is. “I’ll—”

“No,” Steve says, and this time the panic remains; he shakes his head urgently. “Not alone. Don’t—not alone with—with me.”

“Steve,” Robin says.

“No,” Steve repeats, and there’s a fierceness to the word—Eddie feels it thrum in his chest, and he somehow knows that it’s not from any unnatural force, that the power is being drawn from Steve alone.

“Buckley,” Eddie says reluctantly.

She squares her shoulders. Takes a step back, eyes never leaving Steve.

Something in Steve unwinds, relaxes. His head droops, almost like he’s falling asleep. A stark vein in his neck pulses.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Good.”

Robin pauses at the door. Her eyes dart to the heaters, then Eddie.

“Are they…?”

“Highest they’ll go,” Eddie says.

Robin bites her lip.

Eddie knows what she’s thinking: that Nancy said unbearable, and right now barely one corner of the room is being warmed.

“It just takes time to, uh, kick in,” Eddie says.

It doesn’t sound convincing—sounds like he’s free-falling, desperately searching for something to hang onto.

But Robin accepts it, Eddie thinks, because what choice does she have? What choice do any of them have?

“Eddie,” Steve says, just as Robin’s stepped out of the room.

“Yeah?”

Steve wets his lips. Swallows again. It looks painful.

“It’s gonna… make him mad.”

Fear seeps down Eddie’s spine.

“We’ll come back,” he says, because right now, it’s the only promise he can make. “We’re not leaving you alone.”

“S’okay,” Steve says. He’s starting to slur his words. “Better this way.”

-

They tumble through the Gate as quickly as they can, then immediately set up the trailer defences.

“We’re lucky this is here,” Eddie says when they’re done, as he picks his electric guitar off the wall, untouched by vines.

“Yeah,” Robin says. “Lucky…”

She abruptly gasps and runs from the room.

Eddie curses, follows her—flinging the guitar across his back.

But there’s nothing in the living room, no bats to fight—just Robin pulling something out from behind Wayne’s bed, laughing with a touch of hysteria.

“Jesus,” Eddie breathes, “you’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

Then he actually processes what he’s looking at. Robin’s brought out a space heater, a bulky kerosene-fuelled one, much larger than what they’d originally rustled up.

“But that—that broke last winter,” Eddie says, bewildered.

Robin doesn’t say anything, just turns it on. The effect is almost immediate compared to what they’ve been working with: the heater glows red-hot, and Eddie already feels the urge to take off his jacket.

“Eddie,” Robin says slowly. “It’s 1983.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie says. He grabs her by the shoulders. “You’re a fucking genius.”

Robin turns the heater off, drags it to a point just underneath the Gate.

There’s a couple more treasures they manage to stash away: a match box found on the counter, thrown into a deep cooking pot Robin snatches from a cupboard.

“Oh, you mean business,” Eddie says. “That’s the good pot.”

Robin grins, and it makes Eddie’s heart ache—he knows what they’re doing, forcing smiles to hide their shaking hands.

“And what goddamn atrocity befalls it in the future?”

“That’s between me and God.”

They’re up on the roof, Robin crouched by the amp, when Eddie hears the Walkie crackle.

“Max is—bait’s still been taken,” comes Erica’s staticky voice.

“Uh, copy that,” Eddie says. “Sinclair. Henderson with you?”

A click.

“I’m here,” Dustin says quietly.

Eddie breathes out. “Good. Stick together.”

He sets the walkie down and yanks off his guitar pick. He thinks of Chrissy, her body contorting. Of Patrick, dragged from the water.

Steve’s hands clenched around the sink.

“Showtime, Buckley.”

The noise is explosive. It barely takes a few seconds for the bats to start coming; Eddie watches the horizon as his fingers fly over the strings.

Underneath everything, he can hear Robin counting out bars like she’s in band: One, two, three, four. Two, two, three, four.

Prestissimo.

“Eddie, two more bars!”

He nods in acknowledgement. Feels his heart pound as if in time with the music.

“Now!”

They run. The bats circle dumbly round the roof, some clustered onto the still ringing amp, like moths drawn to light.

Pied Piper.

“Go, go, go!” Eddie urges.

It’s tricky getting the heater through, but they manage it between them, an awkward handover across the Gate.

And then Eddie’s falling, landing next to Robin, breathless. They sit up as one, give each other a speechless high five.

Robin moves first. But she stops midway to Eddie’s room—like a reversal of when he was first brought to a standstill, seeing Chrissy’s eyelids fluttering erratically.

“Eddie,” Robin says. “You—you closed the door, right?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, mouth dry.

He knows that for certain because as he shut the door, his last glimpse was of Steve leaning the back of his head against the cabinet drawers, eyes closed.

Now the door’s ajar.

Eddie strains to listen, but he can’t hear anything.

He feels Robin’s hand dart into his. He squeezes tight before letting go. She picks up the heater. He’s got the cooking pot under his arm.

Together, they open the door.

The space heaters they’d left are broken, cracked down the middle. The handcuffs are dangling from the drawer handle, pried open, the ropes frayed apart—and the whole room is littered with…

Shards of wood. Snapped strings.

Eddie’s guitars. They’re shattered beyond repair, the red of the Warlock mixed with the dark wood of the acoustic.

And there, backed into the far corner, is Steve.

He’s cradling his wrist to his chest—it looks badly broken. Even from here, Eddie can see evidence of splinters embedded in both hands.

But above all, what’s drawing Eddie’s attention is that his shirt is off, revealing the state of his stomach, the bandages shoddily ripped away. The wound is oozing slow, thick trickles of black and red.

Steve doesn’t seem aware that anyone’s entered the room, just mutters indecipherably to himself, hair hanging down in front of his eyes.

Eddie manages to set the pot down silently—takes one hesitant step forward, cringes when he jostles a piece of wood.

Steve’s head jerks up at the sound. He stares at Eddie, a crease in his forehead.

“Who’re you?”

Robin lets out a breath like she’s been punched in the stomach.

“It’s…” Eddie clears his throat. Stays as still as he can. “It’s me, man. It’s Eddie.”

Steve doesn’t reply.

More wood scatters across the floor—Robin stepping forward frantically, “Steve, it’s me, it’s—”

Eddie stops her with a touch to the back of her hand.

“Steve,” he says, digs deep to find a calm tone. “Who’s this?”

Steve’s jaw works.

“R… R…”

Robin’s face shatters.

She sets the heater down. Turns it on full blast.

“Robin!” Steve gasps. “Robin, it’s me, I’m still—Robin, Robin, please—”

Robin takes another step—“Careful,” Eddie whispers, heart in his throat—and forcibly shoves the heater across the room.

Steve tries to dodge it, but he’s not quick enough; the grille slams against his arm, and Eddie inhales sharply as the skin blisters an angry, weeping red.

Steve’s cries are piercing.

But they reach a peak than taper off into whimpers; he presses himself against the wall, curls his upper body around his blistered arm.

He starts to sob.

They have to get closer to hear, stepping into the circle of heat radiating from the grille, Eddie just behind Robin; sweat pools in the small of his back.

“No, no…”

It’s a dreadful whisper.

They crouch down. Slow.

It doesn’t look like Steve notices: his eyes are shut tight, lashes damp as he continues to plead, “Don’t make me. Please don’t make me.”

Eddie can’t blame Robin for what she does next.

It’s instinct—he’d seen it in his peripheral vision at the boathouse, her hand reaching out to comfort, like she couldn’t stop herself.

No, he can’t blame her. Because Steve is hurting, sobbing like his heart is going to break from it, and he’s right there.

Robin’s hand moves forward.

Eddie sees the moment Steve’s eyes open, cold and inhuman, and Christ, for a millisecond too long, he’d forgotten that they had stepped into the ring with a cobra.

“Robin,” Eddie warns, too late, as Steve’s hand seizes her wrist.

“Don’t worry,” he says, and it’s almost perfect, almost Steve’s gentle concern, but there’s something off in the inflection, a misplaced note—“I’m not killing you first.”

He twists Robin’s hand.

She doesn’t scream, doesn’t even try to move, like she’s holding her breath just to stay silent.

“I can…” Steve breathes in and out through his nose. Predatory. “I can feel her.”

“Who?” Robin says.

A vague noise rumbles from Steve’s chest, like he’s searching for a name again.

“N… Nancy,” he says eventually. “She’s dying,” he says, off-hand. “She can’t breathe.”

Eddie reaches behind. Feels carpet beneath his palm. Steve doesn’t track the movement, eyes fixed on Robin.

“She will be like… like her friend. She will know how it feels to die alone.”

Steve grunts, and then…

Eddie has to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from making a sound; the skin around Steve’s stomach wound ripples, like there’s something bubbling up underneath, moving, alive, crawling up, up, up—mottled veins spreading, black as tar.

Eddie swallows back bile as his hand finds something solid. Wood.

He feels for the lighter in his pocket.

Steve leans towards Robin, baring his teeth.

“I will—”

Click.

“—consume her.”

The jagged piece of guitar burns in Eddie’s hand.

He throws it.

Sparks fly, land directly in Steve’s eyes, and he yells, lets go of Robin—with such an impact that she’s thrown across the room, landing slumped against the cabinet.

“Robin!”

But Eddie doesn’t have any time to help her, because there’s another click, a crackle, and the walkie comes to life, and it must be on accident because all he can hear is the sound of someone—Dustin and Erica—breathing quickly. Running.

Steve’s eyes narrow.

Eddie thinks of Dustin saying, “He knows where we are, he’ll know—”

“Shit,” Eddie hisses.

He tries, desperately, to turn the walkie off, but it suddenly feels like all the air leaves his lungs, and he’s pinned against the wall, Steve’s hand on his chest.

The walkie’s wedged between them. Steve’s somehow using his broken wrist to still Eddie’s hand, to keep the walkie turned on.

Eddie has no choice but to listen to what comes through the static.

It’s chaos. Heavy, frantic breathing; it’s like he can feel the kids clutching their sides as they run. In the distance, a car, the engine stopping. A door opens.

Jason Carver’s voice. “Did you see them?”

Behind Steve, Eddie spots Robin stirring.

Steve keeps staring down at the walkie.

An abrupt cry of pain, and another voice curses, says, “Shit, Jason, I think it’s broken.”

“El?” Dustin breathes.

Something in Steve’s face flickers, but Eddie’s too terrified to know what it means—tries and fails to turn the walkie off again, but he doesn’t even know what’s the right thing to do anymore. He just wants them to be okay, he just wants—

“Jason, no-one’s fucking there. You—you can’t even stand, I’m taking you to the hosp—”

A car door slamming shut. An engine starting up, fading…

Gone.

Dustin and Erica exhale shakily. Running again, footsteps pounding up the stairs, across floorboards…

The walkie cuts off.

Steve grits his teeth.

“Please,” Eddie whispers.

Robin’s up, moving so quietly—scooping the remnants of his guitars into the pot.

Another crackle.

“Eddie!” Dustin’s voice again, up close. “Max is—the music’s not working! I—I don’t know what to—”

There it is again: that flicker across Steve’s face. A ripple in a lake.

“Max,” he says.

The name cracks with emotion, and although his voice has been used before, an uncanny imitation, Eddie knows this is different, feels it in his gut; it’s him, it’s him, it’s him.

The snick of a match being struck.

Steve’s head tilts ever so slightly, but he doesn’t turn around. Like he already knows Robin is right behind him.

Instead—

Steve pries the walkie out of Eddie’s hand. Presses down on the button. Inhales.

“Run.”

The walkie drops with a clatter. Behind them, the fierce roar of flames; Eddie’s face stings.

He can feel Steve’s grip on him loosening, feels himself sliding down the wall.

Steve’s eyes bore into his—and although dark veins have spread across the whites, like spider webs, Eddie can still see the slightest gleam of something real in them.

Something human.

Steve’s lips move, cracked and bleeding.

Now, he mouths.

“Robin!” Eddie yells.

Steve lets him go, and Eddie sees a flash of Robin throwing the entire contents of the pot over Steve, raining fire upon him; Eddie covers his face from the scorching heat, scrambling to get away, relying on touch alone, and his hand hits something, the crunch of plastic, fuck, the walkie—

He’s by the doorway, gasping for breath.

Awareness comes in stages: the fire’s gone out, charred remains of the guitars on the ground where Steve once stood; Robin’s there, her hands red raw, and she’s looking at something, what’s she…?

Steve.

Steve dragging himself across the floor, his broken wrist pressed against his stomach. Crawling to sit next to the space heater, head tipped back against the wall, eyes closed. Breathing.

Just breathing.

Then, so faintly, Eddie almost thinks he’s imagined it.

“Railroad… Snow Ball… Muppet.”

Steve thumps the back of his head against the wall with each word.

Robin goes to him.

Eddie can only watch. He feels like he’s staring at a puzzle with too many missing pieces.

Despite everything, Robin reaches out with her hand again. She touches Steve’s knee gently, and Steve falls silent, stops hitting his head.

Robin smiles, tearful.

“You’ve—you’ve changed that song for me forever,” she says, choked up, and although Eddie can’t really understand, he senses the heart in it, the echoes of their story, of their love hitting him square in the chest.

“Do you remember,” Robin goes on, laughing through it, “the first time we were closing, and you—you got that whole bag of chocolate chips? Tore the corner and just, like, scarfed it. You looked like a chipmunk. It was—it was so gross. And you just said let’s see you do better, then. So we just kept eating them, and we had to pretend we had, like, a whole week where every order had chocolate chips just so we could get another shipment. You… you made me feel like I was five years old. That’s—that’s when I knew.” Robin takes a shuddering breath. Keeps smiling. “Right there. I wanted to be your friend.”

Steve just looks at her. He blinks, and a tear falls down his face, and Eddie can see it, like the sun briefly appearing through storm clouds, can see more of him breaking through, and for a moment, just a moment, there could be a chance, please, please…

Steve’s stomach spasms, and he groans, inhales short and sharp, twists away from Robin’s touch; the litany starts again, fever-slurred.

Eddie rediscovers the walkie. There’s cracks all through the plastic—it might not even work.

But Steve keens, pressing, pressing as blood flows through his fingers, as he trips up on the words, almost insensible now, and Eddie knows he has to take the risk.

His thumb pushes the button.

“Dustin,” he murmurs, “don’t tell me where you are. But if you’re—if you’re safe. Christ, please say you’re… Steve, he—he needs you.”

Silence.

Eddie closes his eyes.

“—safe. We’re all safe. I copy.”

Eddie thinks he laughs or something close to it. Maybe something else, too. He presses his forehead against the walkie. A benediction answered.

“Eddie?” Dustin says, and his speech keeps crackling, keeps threatening to cut out, but he’s there, he’s there.

Steve blinks, turns towards the sound of Dustin’s voice.

But Eddie’s not afraid this time.

“Railroad,” Steve repeats. Soft yet intentional, like he means it with everything he has left. “Railroad.”

Eddie passes the word on to Dustin. Waits.

Dustin takes a little while to figure it out—or maybe he solves it almost instantly, but here, time moves slow: just Robin and Eddie holding their breath, Steve only mouthing the words now. Barely there.

Dustin must push his button down mid-gasp, the words rushing out.

“That’s how we—that’s when everything—”

What follows is a garbled speech Eddie can barely make sense of, as static obscures every third word or so: about the junkyard and demodogs, and tunnels, and…

“D-different details, Henderson,” Eddie says with a choked laugh.

Fondness wells up; for a second it had felt like he was listening to Dustin in the middle of a campaign, on a tangent, and Eddie knows he just has to nudge him down the right path and then he’ll work it out, because the kid’s a goddamn genius.

“Stuff he can feel,” Eddie tries.

Steve looks at him, unblinking, and God he’s still in there, Eddie thinks, there’s so many thoughts, so much of him trapped beneath the surface.

So Dustin talks about Queen playing in Steve’s car, of how the fall leaves looked as they walked, of his shoelaces coming loose, and Steve getting down on his knees in exaggerated exasperation, you’re gonna fall flat on your face, dickhead, we’ve got enough going on.

Eddie takes the thread he’s been given, adds embellishments where he can—the crunch of leaves underfoot, the steady clunk of walking on the tracks, Dustin sometimes hurrying a little, just to match Steve’s stride—and as Steve finally blinks slowly, Eddie prays.

Can you feel it? Please go there. Go somewhere safe. Go somewhere it can’t find you. “What—what else did he say?” Robin says, when Steve lips stops moving, and his eyes close; he looks so tired. “Snow Ball?”

“Yeah, that’s—” Eddie pushes the walkie button again, so Dustin can hear. “Didn’t the Middle School have something… Did you do anything for it? Like put up decorations or…?”

Robin shakes her head.

Eddie furiously racks his brains for one detail, anything—curses himself for not paying attention, for shirking the ‘volunteering’ he was forced to do that December in lieu of detention; for viewing it all with a petty indifference, when for others, it must’ve meant so—

He releases the button.

“Did you say Snow Ball?” Dustin asks, before he launches into Steve shielding his eyes from hairspray, of the forest green gift bag his mom had passed into Steve’s hands, of Steve’s surprise, his shy smile—and then it’s Erica who takes over, calling over somewhere, “Lucas, remember when we came to pick you up?”

And the Sinclairs had stayed much longer than expected because Max’s folks were late in collecting her; and when Steve came to pick up Dustin, he’d noticed and stayed, too.

“He didn’t make a big thing of it,” Max says quietly, somewhere distant; Lucas adds that Steve opened up all his car doors so the tape he was playing could be heard: The Carpenters, some Christmas medley.

“He danced with Max,” Lucas says. “We were betting on how many times he could spin her in a row.”

“Ugh, shut up.”

Eddie can hear Max’s eye roll. Her smile.

“And,” Erica says, “he actually enjoyed dad’s small talk. Like, he was fully hooked on mom and Uncle Jack’s gift wrapping contest.”

Eddie smiles, covers his mouth just in case a traitorous noise slips out. The kids sound happy, and he doesn’t want to ruin that for the world.

Steve’s eyes shine, almost like he’s thinking the same thing.

Sorry, he mouths. I’m sorry.

The walkie dies.

Steve groans again, pushing down on his stomach wound. He’s trying to hide it from view, Eddie realises.

Robin keeps reaching for him. “Steve, don’t—let me help. Please.”

Steve shakes his head. “Can’t—can’t hold it back.” His voice is rasping.

“I saw you,” Eddie says, and Robin glances at him. “Last year. At school.”

The memory comes to him all at once, sparked by the kids and the thought of Steve chatting in a parking lot, so at ease.

“I was pissed ‘cause I’d just flunked—doesn’t matter. Was walking it off outside, and you turned into the parking lot, windows down, and you looked so fucking pleased with yourself cause you’d already passed everything. You must’ve had a free period, maybe a double, I dunno. I was,” Eddie huffs self-deprecatingly, “jealous.”

Steve’s head slumps against the wall. His chest rises and falls rapidly, laden with sweat. Eddie tries not to look at the marks—where the burning pieces of wood struck his skin.

Steve’s eyes find his. One long blink.

Keep going.

“You—you were wearing these sunglasses,” Eddie says, and Robin sobs, laughs, like she knows exactly the pair he means. “And you—the radio was on, but I—I can’t remember what was—anyway, you were kinda. Singing. Or, like, humming to yourself. And you were walking to the middle school, you kept throwing your keys in the air. You caught ‘em every damn time.” Eddie chuckles. “Do you know how annoying that was? And I—I just kept watching, ‘till the bell rang, and I just didn’t get it. Didn’t get why you looked so… so happy. But I—” Eddie swallows. “I know now.”

Steve’s mouth tilts, not quite a smile—he’s trying, he’s trying.

“You were gonna go see the kids, huh?” Eddie says. “Surprise them or something, I don’t know. You can tell me later. Promise me? And you—” His voice threatens to go, but he pushes through it, because if there’s one thing Steve needs to hear, it’s this.

Just this.

“You were happy. Because you loved them,” Eddie whispers. “And they loved you.”

Steve breathes in.

And he rises up so suddenly that Robin falls back in alarm. He hits the space heater as he goes, and while it still blisters his skin, he doesn’t cringe away, more deliberately leans into it—

“Quick,” Steve mutters. “He’s mad, he’s mad, we don’t have much—”

And he lies down directly on the bed frame, his stomach still oozing that viscous black and red; Eddie’s stomach drops.

He feels strange, like his body already knows what’s coming before his mind’s caught up.

“Quick, quick—”

The smash of a bottle as Steve fumbles it, spilling alcohol on the floor—he tries again, reaches for lighter fluid and douses the whole bed frame in it.

“Robin,” he says, “Robin, please.”

She’s watching Steve’s every move with wide eyes; Eddie just looks on helplessly.

Fucking move.

“Robin!”

“Steve, I—” She shakes her head, uncomprehending—more like she doesn’t want to understand. “I don’t—”

Steve doubles over, picks something off the floor. Eddie’s distracted—stupid, stupid—watching in horror as more black veins spread up, across Steve’s shoulders, the strained muscles in his neck, and too late, he realises that Steve’s holding a lighter in his hand.

Click.

Steve drops it.

Sets the wooden slats ablaze.

He cries out, back arching—the flames lick higher, higher, and Robin’s screaming Steve’s name, running to him, like she can pull him from the flames…

There’s something else in Steve’s hand.

Robin’s trapped where she’s stood, a broken piece of glass to her neck—and Steve’s struggling against it, but his hand doesn’t move, as beads of blood dot Robin’s skin—

Eddie doesn’t know when it happened. Just knows that he’s holding a spear, and it’s on fire too, flames creeping up…

“Eddie!” Steve says. “Finish it!”

His skin writhes, contorting; Eddie thinks of Chrissy again, of Patrick—and a faint memory of Will Byers, vanishing without a trace.

It was you, Eddie thinks numbly. It was all you.

The glass presses closer still against Robin’s neck. She gasps—

And Steve begs.

“Kill me!”

The stomach wound heaves like a living creature, gaping and monstrous.

“Give him back, you son of a bitch,” Eddie breathes.

He lunges forward.

With all his strength, he digs the spear straight into Steve’s stomach; the flames surge, engulf—

Steve screams.

A black mass pours out of his mouth, and Eddie thinks he’s screaming, too, but he can’t hear anything, can’t hear anything but Steve, the torture in his voice, fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, and the mass hits him; he flies through the air, feels his head smack against something solid.

Then nothing.

He comes to in the living room. Blood dampens the back of his head.

Sits up. Blinks dazedly at the ceiling. The Gate… the Gate’s gone.

Bedroom. Has to… Steve, Robin. Bedroom.

He shoves himself up, wobbles. Forces himself on.

He knows he’s lost time when he nears the room: a chill hits him from the broken window, and the flames have been put out.

Robin. Robin kneeling by the bed, burns all up her arms.

“—open your eyes,” she’s saying. “Oh my God, oh my God.”

Eddie very deliberately doesn’t fully register who she’s talking to. If he does, he’ll freeze, useless. He will never forgive himself.

“Band lungs, Buckley,” he croaks, and then he falls beside her.

Starts compressions.

You’re not going, you’re not going. You’ve got so many people to see again. No. You’re not going.

He tries just to count out loud, but even as he’s doing it, something crumbles, something breaks apart irreparably inside of him, “Don’t you dare leave, don’t you…”

Robin. Two breaths.

“I wanna talk to you, Steve Harrington, and you’re gonna fucking be there to listen, do you understand, do you…”

He loses track of what he’s saying completely, lost to wilder and wilder promises, but it doesn’t matter, nothing matters except this, except the desperate push of his hands, the crack of Steve’s ribs, Robin’s long breaths; and God, Eddie would give anything, anything at all, would tear his fucking heart out if it would help, if it meant that Steve would—

“—just breathe!”

Something jolts underneath his fingers; for a moment, it destroys him: it’s back, it’s—

“That’s it,” Robin’s saying, “there, there, that’s—”

Eddie’s head sinks down to his knees.

Wretched coughs. Gasping.

“He can’t—Eddie, he can’t breathe.”

Eddie staggers over to the window. Makes the hole bigger, again and again. Glass slices through his palms.

“That’s better, huh?” Robin’s murmuring, and Eddie can’t look at her, can’t look at who’s in her arms; if he does, the proof will shatter, and that can’t… he has to…

The phone rings.

Eddie goes to it. His arm lifts, heavy and delayed. Like he’s in a dream.

On the other end, a terrified voice.

Mike. Mike Wheeler crying.

“Did it work?”

“I—” There’s a high-pitched ringing in Eddie’s ears; he shakes his head. “I don’t—”

“I-is Nancy there? Where’s Nancy?”

And there’s that gut feeling again, the one that pulled Eddie out of the RV in the first place; “Hang on,” he says to Mike, and he lets the phone fall, pushes the front door open to stand on the porch, breathing in shallow, frigid breaths.

There’s something coming out from behind the trees.

Closer and closer, and Eddie almost assumes the worst.

But it’s Nancy. There’s ash in her hair, and she’s drenched, coated in black sludge; her teeth flash as she smiles, a pocket knife gleaming in her hand.

“I made my own Gate,” she says.

Barely missing a beat, she tilts her head to the side to throw up. She wipes her mouth with the back of her sleeve, spreads more thick tar across her face.

Underneath everything, there’s a scarlet ring around her throat.

“Your brother,” is all Eddie can get out.

Her eyes blaze white-hot.

“Mike,” she says, clutching the phone so tightly, like she would do the very same if she could hold his hand. “It’s gone, it’s all gone.” And then, louder, louder, trembling, “And whoever’s fucking listening on here, get us help. I know you’re there. I won’t stop. I won’t—”

Eddie knows she says more. She must do.

But he can’t stop staring down at his hands. At the blood.

He steps forward—almost sways, and Nancy catches his wrist.

“Don’t go outside without me. Don’t talk to anyone apart from us, Eddie. Okay? They won’t touch you. I won’t let them.”

Eddie thinks he manages a nod. He believes her. Her jaw quivers, but her head’s held up high: if a gun was pressed to her head, he knows the bullet wouldn’t take.

The phone call continues, but the sound is muffled, underwater.

Eddie comes back to himself in the bedroom doorway.

Robin’s still by the bed.

Steve’s lying there, eyes closed. His stomach’s still bleeding, slow, slow, but the veins have gone, they’ve…

“Eddie.” Robin reaches out a hand to him. “Come on. You… you can feel him breathing from here.”

Why don’t you hate me?

He should leave. He should leave.

He doesn’t deserve…

But Robin keeps reaching, and Eddie’s on his knees next to her, a coward, you’re a fucking coward.

“Here,” Robin says.

She guides Eddie’s hand. Places it on Steve’s sternum, above the awful wound, above all the pain Eddie caused—

There. A rise and fall.

Just breathing.

Eddie’s breath catches.

“I thought—” He shudders. “I thought I’d—”

Robin must sense it before he does, before he even really knows it’s happening.

“You’re okay,” she says, and she pulls him into her embrace—keeps one hand on Steve as she does.

Good, Eddie thinks. He needs to know you’re there. He shouldn’t be alone.

He turns his face into Robin’s shoulder, and weeps.

[lilacxquartz]

CHASING HUMANITY • kenjaku × fem!reader

ao3 • masterlist • << previous chapter • next chapter >>

summary: kenjaku assigns you a new role for a case study, finding that it brings him conflicting feelings.

a/n: extra long chapter <3 no real warnings for this one, maybe sickness & suggestive content. i’m setting it up for a pretty messed up chapter for next time though.

Chapter 4. Cold Soba

In a way, this whole thing didn’t feel real.

What exactly were you really doing here?

And why were you having these thoughts now of all times?

Taking a deep breath, you attempted to steel yourself. No matter how you looked at it, it didn’t look good. You took a life this morning. Whether it was indirect or not, your actions led to the end of someone’s existence and for… what exactly?

What a joke. Suddenly, the air around you felt thicker, more thicker and barely breathable. You wanted to get out of the car sooner than later, lest you forget how to function. Just for a second, nothing more, the promise to stay put be damned.

You left the car anyway. You wouldn’t go far, at least. The gas station nearby where he was parked was sparsely manned with just a single employee. Their unrelenting gaze on you felt almost accusatory, but there was surely no way they knew, so it was all likely in your head… right? You were just browsing around, they were probably just making sure that you weren’t a thief. Fingers flicking through overpriced snacks and drinks alike in the aisles, quickly realising that the very prospect of food nauseated you.

In a strained tone, you asked the clerk if there was a bathroom on-site and he said there was one around the corner of the building, accessible from the outside. You tore forward in a flash, slamming the door and locking yourself in the tiny room yet somehow, it felt less suffocating than being in the car with him.

For a while you just stood there, your body reeling. Your eyes focused on the shoddy lock that barely kept the outside world away.

Soon enough, the wave of nausea passed through you again. Whether you wanted it, whatever little substance was in your stomach was coming back up and you couldn’t do a single thing about it.

Flipping the lid open, you dry heaved into the bowl.

Your mind continued to overwhelm itself with confusion.

Why did you act like that, back there?

You had never shown even a hint of potentially being violent, so why did you act like taking a life away like that was… nothing at all? Did living the way you did, so empty and numb and abused, really give you the right to apply that same level of depravity towards someone else just as undeserving?

Was it worth it? Your mind continued to challenge you, almost tauntingly. Was it? To attempt to impress someone who didn’t even see meaning behind your own life? Who nearly left you for dead?

You weren’t so sure why you were having these thoughts now but here you were, unable to escape them.

Leaving after washing up, you settled back into the passenger seat of the car, finding that Kenjaku was now wide awake, staring blankly at the steering wheel. He glanced you over without regarding you before pulling the car back onto the road.

Attempting to diffuse the tension, you tried to break the ice. “Thought I ran off?”

For a while, he didn’t reply as though seeing through you. Kenjaku recognised that look that you currently were, finding it almost nostalgic. After his first kill, his mind also spiralled in a similar fashion. It was a familiar feeling by now though and he had grown desensitised to the whole thing, prioritising his efforts into chasing the meaning behind humanity.

Still, it was a look he could never forget.

Meaning that you must have gotten him to an extent.

Maybe you were even trying to find your own meaning too, in the midst of this whole mess that you got yourself into.

“Not at all,” he finally said, “you’re not that stupid.”

The drive for the most part down the freeway was surprisingly quiet, the radio tuning into music on and off with static that buzzed when the connection faltered. You stared out of the window, seemingly dissociating through the ride. He didn’t mind. Eventually, he found himself tuning into the news, shuddering when he caught a mention of his calling card being found earlier than anticipated, with one suspected not yet found victim.

How quaint. Did the local authorities really think that you were the second victim? Almost. Luckily he got that itch scratched with the unfortunate tourist.

He supposed that it made sense that you were reported missing, though. He wondered if your cop boyfriend was the one to report it, or if someone else saw something they shouldn’t have. Maybe he was careless and you left behind something that indicated a struggle or maybe you simply had places to be during the early morning that seemed suspicious in the wake of a fresh murder. As long as they kept their efforts isolated to the vicinity of the town though, then neither of you needn’t worry, at least for a while.

Kenjaku flicked his gaze back at you, wondering why he was even giving you so much thought.

It didn’t matter to him whether you left the shithole he found you in or not, but by bringing you along, he invited an extra inconvenience in doing so. If you were to be a missing person, then he would likely have to disguise you a little now. Maybe shorter hair and a different colour. Red might be good. Maybe something you wouldn’t usually wear. Anything to distract the public from what you typically looked like.

The drive itself was long and tedious either way, but it did soon come to an end. Parking the car over a cheap inn-style hotel near a different town, not too far from the road, he figured that some real rest wouldn’t hurt at least for a couple of nights. If the efforts were focused elsewhere for now, then that’s all that mattered. He would get you a new phone, something simple, just to use as a burner. New clothes and some hair dye. To keep himself hidden, he would dress down for a while, refraining from the recognisable robes.

A shame. Those things were comfortable.

Leaving you behind to rest in the hotel room, he could only hope that you stayed put that time and weren’t roaming around the area causing more trouble than he could keep up with.

It would be a shame to get rid of you soon.

~~~

With everything back in tow, he found you resting on the still made hotel bed when he got back, indicating that you hadn’t moved a single inch since he had left you there. Good. You weren’t a hindrance, after all.

Leaving the goods there, he set out again, walking around this town in particular for a quick bite to eat and maybe, if luck had it in store for him, a brand new study.

It was a risk though, but he couldn’t help but be curious about places like these where life moved slowly and the residents seemed more often than not, to not quite be enjoying their lives in such areas.

A peculiar thought, perhaps. When he still worked in the city, the common narrative was to fantasise about owning property in the countryside, far away from any stress.

Maybe the lacking bustle just meant that now there was nothing left to blame, so that’s why people tended to lose themselves instead in places like these.

Kenjaku soon found himself walking into a noodle bar. It had barely caught his eye as the sheet metal sign that advertised it just over the entrance was long faded, but a blackboard outside seemed to hint at a lunch discount. Shrugging, he thought that it couldn’t be too bad. Food was food and he was hungry. so he could gamble a bite to eat.

His order was taken by a rather unkempt man which should have been his first warning about this place. Unclean fingernails and greasy hair that tied strands of hair together, oil stains that painted the man’s once white t-shirt. The udon he ordered seemed to be prepared by the same guy, who slid the bowl over the bar table.

Maybe he was going through something, which meant all the better for him. A vulnerable mind meant it was easier to break into.

Ignoring the hair he found in the broth, he reluctantly took it out and tried the dish. Not too bad, but he refrained from complaining. This strange man might just be the next case study.

“Haven’t seen you here before,” the man spoke as he threw a towel over his shoulder, planting his palms over the counter.

“Oh, I’m just passing by,” Kenjaku replied, feigning politeness. He was capable of doing so perfectly well, as long as he didn’t have to do it too often. He preferred stalking his prey however rather than mingling with it.

The man grimaced slightly at the strand of hair sitting on the napkin, but didn’t apologise for it. “So, where are you going?”

Kenjaku slurped on his noodles passively, replying between contained bites. “Probably Tokyo.”

“Probably?” the man laughed, trying to joke. “You don’t know where you’re going?”

“I’m just out on a day trip,” he replied, “the destination is a mystery, you know?”

The man quietened down after that, realising that he was talking a bit too much. It couldn’t be helped though—the place often did poorly—there were very few customers, let alone new faces that turned up each day.

Setting his chopsticks down, Kenjaku then looked around. The restaurant was small, but cosy at least. There was a distinctive humming sound coming from an old cooler that had maybe three total drinks inside. The fact that the man had very little to do, implied that the place wasn’t thriving. If he didn’t come back to work the next day, it would very likely not be immediately noticed.

“You run this place all by yourself?” Kenjaku asked, sifting through this wallet to pull out a few bills.

Taking the cash, the man shook his head. “Nah, my brother takes the evening shifts. We run it together. Used to be more popular, but there’s a population decline. More people keep leaving for the city.”

“I suppose there’s more work there,” Kenjaku speculated. For the sake of getting onto this guy’s good side to maintain the facade however, he chose to maintain his politeness while offering some sense of humour to further match the guy’s personality. “I’m still around for another day or two, make sure to stay in business.”

The guy laughed as he took back the bowl, his tone of voice sounding almost relieved, “I’ll try.”

Kenjaku pushed himself back from the stool and walked around the town to see if there would be anyone else more suitable of a candidate for the role, but it didn’t really seem to be the case. The residents in the town weren’t particularly special in any way with the occupants mostly being senior citizens and maybe a few younger people who had the misfortune of their family living here.

So perhaps the man who ran the failing noodle shop, who still found a reason to smile despite being clearly in shambles, was the next in line.

He did wonder to himself what exactly could possibly be the reason. The only hint that he had was that the guy liked to joke and shied away when there was no response. He probably had a corny reason to keep going, like seeing others smile.

Although, as he made his rounds back, he saw that the man remained unchanged from his work attire but was now standing at a bus stop. This town wasn’t too small, just empty, large enough to call for a bus route so he wondered where this man actually lived. It wasn’t too uncommon to reside in an elderly parent’s house, especially in places like these and since he worked with his sibling, he wagered it to be just that.

An amusing thought entered his mind however, as he saw him shy away from a woman waiting for the same bus. Not that she noticed it, her focus rightfully turned away from him, but he seemed to be shifting around nervously.

This gave Kenjaku a curious idea.

He was travelling with a woman, after all.

Returning back to the hotel, he noticed that you were only just now waking up. With an eye roll, he chucked the box of hair dye at you and crossed his arms, waiting for you to register what was evening happening.

“What’s this?” you asked, your voice strained with sleep.

“What does it look like?” he asked, his eyes narrowing at your silly question.

You held the box in front of you to inspect it in the dim light. It was still day, but the closed curtains made it difficult to see.

“Hair dye…?” you observed.

He smiled, finding your slow and tired mind to be entertaining. “Very good. Think you can do that now?”

“Right now?” you asked, yawning again. Your arms stretched so far that the box tumbled right out of your hand, watching as his eyes narrowed the longer he watched you.

With a firm and slow nod, he confirmed it to you, “Yes… and you’ll also change into the clothes I got you. You’re on the run, remember? You can’t look too much like yourself.”

Swinging your legs out of bed, you reached down to pick up the dye and walked over to the bathroom, pausing as he tugged on your hair to halt you in place.

“Also,” he added, “you’re getting a shorter cut. Don’t worry, I’ll entrust myself as your hairdresser, I’m sure it won’t look too bad.”

You warily laughed, trying to pry him off of your hair. You still felt off though, the very little sleep that you had doing little to soothe your still ongoing worries. “I’ll… trust you.”

Letting you go, he nodded again. As Kenjaku thought more and more about the plan, he couldn’t help but feel a bit odd about the whole thing without understanding why. It wasn’t jealousy, but something still stirred at the idea of you redirecting the ego feeding attention you were so happy to give him and putting it elsewhere.

He knew he was being irrational though; you didn’t even know about the plan just yet and he was already annoyed at you.

Shaking the thought away, Kenjaku focused more on discarding every single thing you had on your person and burning it off somewhere down the road or maybe chucking it into a dumpster somewhere once he got to the city.

As you soon emerged from the bathroom, your hair was still damp but you filled out the new clothes he got you pretty well. Something inconspicuous. Just a black long sleeve top and some jeans in a different cut from before. You still looked like yourself, but different which would hopefully be distracting enough to the untrained eye.

Slipping into his own bag, he pulled out some scissors and brought you forward, reeling you in as he tried to keep you secure. He patted his pocket for a hair tie, pulling your still wet strands back without warning.

“Hey, that hurts—“ you protested in complaint.

“Bear with it,” he tutted, rolling his eyes. You wouldn’t have been compliant either way and he didn’t want to sink too much time into doing it properly.

Cutting the ends off, he stared at the result. It was good enough, he supposed. Perhaps the colour was too eye catching, but at least people wouldn’t focus too much on the face. Given what you were wearing and how you looked when he first met you, he figured that your partner would be the type to describe you as shy and maybe even frumpy, so this sleeker appearance was doing more favours than not.

Your voice then brought him back down to earth. Surprise, surprise. More complaints. “Did you really have to take so much off?”

He glanced at the pile of hair on the floor, shrugging. “It’s easier to take care of now, be thankful.”

“Why aren’t you getting a haircut then?” you asked, attempting to sass him. He did have long hair, after all.

“Because,” he poked at your forehead yet again, enjoying messing with you, “I’m actually capable of taking care of myself.”

Besides, he wanted to continue to walk in Geto’s shoes for a while longer. It’s partially why he wanted to stop by Tokyo, loving the paradox of a cruel monk. There were some interesting prospects in the city and he wanted to secure some deals before moving further up north.

As you mourned your hair, Kenjaku took a step back, setting the scissors aside and leaned his back into the sofa. The news channels were talking all about the barbed wire shibari, his motives still speculated as unclear.

How funny.

If only they knew.

Arousal soon stirred in his trousers as more and more attention to his kill was addressed, a coiling feeling that made his cock feel hard. For a moment, he considered something darker, but he also sought your compliance for tomorrow (and for the foreseeable future) so he withheld. Excusing himself to the bathroom, he stepped into the shower and ran cold water as soon as he undressed. The running flow was loud, like crashing static and was enough to stifle away any grunts and gasps that escaped his frustrated lips.

Stepping out, he was still curious, but he had no intention of ruining the prospect of accomplishing a good study with sex that wasn’t mutual. It was surely annoying though, as the curiosity lingered. Whether or not he got to fuck or not, wasn’t an issue that he exactly cared about. Like with most of his life ideology, he preferred his actions to have meaning. Meaningless sex as a result was just what it was—boring, pointless even.

Maybe that was a him only issue to work on by himself, though. Kenjaku wondered if you would even like it or if you had been maybe put off of it thanks to whatever your boyfriend had you do with him.

Enough about that though.

He wouldn’t force your hand, it wasn’t that type of arrangement. There were more important matters to fixate on, his arousal finally melting away.

“You should sleep,” he said as he squeezed the last of the water out of his hair, throwing the towel over the sofa, “we’re getting up early tomorrow.”

“Are we leaving already?” you asked.

“Nah,” he shook his head, putting on a t-shirt, spreading himself out on the sofa, already concluding that he would sleep on it. He didn’t trust the bed in a place this run down anyway. If anyone was going to get bugs potentially crawling on them in their sleep, it wasn’t going to be him. “New case study in the works. You’re helping me.”

“Oh… okay,” you reluctantly settled into the idea, your mind still spinning from the last time you ‘helped’ him. “To study what they find meaning in, right?”

“Correct,” he replied.

“And what am I helping with?” you asked.

“You’ll be acquiring the trust of a guy I found in the town,” he yawned as he laid it out to you, “just be friendly with him, get his guard to go down—flirt if you have to.”

You frowned at the idea. “Why?”

Kenjaku shrugged. “The guy gets visibly nervous around women I’ve found. I feel like if he trusts you, then we could get him to open up more. You follow?”

You hummed, the idea of your actions leading to someone’s death still sounding foreign in concept. You weren’t terribly okay with it, despite thinking that it was all fine the last time. You already did it once, so in theory you could do so again, you just wondered when you would stop feeling so bad though.

Noticing your cold feet on the matter, Kenjaku raised an eyebrow, sitting up to study your reaction further. Initially, he wasn’t going to pry, but he couldn’t help but feel nosy, “You’re not having second thoughts… are you?”

“I-I don’t know,” you replied, your voice tinged with uncertainty. “It’s just too soon—“

“—oh, but you said you could keep up, no?” Kenjaku interjected, feeling amused by your sudden turnaround. “Are you really saying that your use for me has already run out?”

“No…” you denied, shaking your head, “that’s not what I’m saying, I…”

He tutted, unable to give into messing with you. Still so malleable, you just needed a little push into doing his dirty bidding. “I put a lot on the line for you, you know,” he leaned back, his head rolling over the pillow. “I was perfectly content with burying you, but your whining sold me.”

You took a deep breath, trying to shake off his teasing. “Do I have to kill him with my own hands?”

He smiled. So that’s what this was all about.

“You don’t have to lift a single finger,” he assured you. “Just talk with the guy. It’s not like I’m asking you to have sex with him.”

“Okay… I’ll try,” you replied, unable to not cringe at his crudeness.

Something about you surely did feel colder to him, though. You felt more distant, but he didn’t understand it completely. To him, people were relatively simple—at least usually. You seemed to be mad at yourself for something that you didn’t have to cause, was that it? Nobody forced you to give the tourist the jar full of acid nor to suggest such a method to begin with. You spoke to him with such a tone that implied that you were upset at him for something that he truthfully did very little to influence.

You were blaming him just because he was there. In the last day that he spent with you. he hadn’t done anything to you to make you feel unsafe other than retaining the general aura of unease that he passively carried.

His promise remained true: he wouldn’t kill you so long as you helped him.

And yet you were falling behind.

Kenjaku found himself disliking this sort of thought exercise, realising that you were forcing him to practise empathy. If he had to try and consider it, maybe it was just the side effect of you being both younger and naïve as a result. You seemed sheltered due to the lifestyle you had to endure before, that much wasn’t your fault. That wasn’t on you, he supposed. Jumping from an abusive domestic partner and to the side of someone like him couldn’t have been easy for anyone.

But at the core of it, whatever it was that was going on in that head of yours, wasn’t something that he should care about.

So if you were to keep winding him up with your own personal hindrances, then your usefulness was limited to him.

Once again, he asked you, “Will you keep up?”

Kenjaku stared at you, his gaze unwavering, cold and unrelenting. You were either going to keep up with him or he was going to dispose of you. It was that simple. In his carefully crafted lifestyle that he spent years cultivating where people were nothing beyond the studies they served as, there was no room for failure.

If you failed to comply, then you were defying the very cause that he sought to find answers within.

However, you then replied with a promised confirmation, “Yes. Sorry. I will.”

He watched from the sofa as you laid down to rest, still seeming exhausted, once again disregarding the concept that he could very take you out at any second, freeing you from your sorry existence if he had half a mind to do so.

Perhaps it was that jaded look you had though that stopped him.

The lack of fear missing from your face.

It was a look that he recognised quite well.

Maybe you didn’t care what he actually ended up doing, even if it did end with your body six feet under or burnt down into ashes, scattered into the back of a dumpster. Maybe you wouldn’t even care about torture inflicted on your body. Something told him deep down that such a thing was the case of you.

And that very little notion bothered him more than he cared to admit, because suddenly, he found himself being able to relate to you.

If there was no meaning to your life, then you were in the exact same boat as he was and perhaps this was something he was missing all along.

Maybe you’d both just cause each other to sink faster, but maybe—just maybe—one of you could find the lifeline instead.

But would you hold on?

…Would he?

~~~

The alarm sounded rather loudly in the morning at around eight o’clock. Given the season, it was still quite dark as well, but that was largely due to the cloudy skies. Kenjaku was able to both wake up and get up with ease, but it seemed to be a completely different story for you.

He narrowed his eyes as he turned the corner, seeing you perfectly passed out and not too different from a corpse. For a moment, he considered that you could actually be dead, but then he saw you turn onto your side.

“Up,” he firmly said, nudging at your tucked in shoulder.

You however did not immediately get up.

Kenjaku simply just sighed and stared at you with a resigned expression, tutting at the slight predicament he found himself in with you. Maybe he was just getting too old for this. How much sleep could you possibly need anyway? You were relaxing for most of the day yesterday as well.

Finally, you mumbled something in your sleep but it was far from coherent. He repeated his command a bit louder that time, finding that it only seemed to make you fall deeper asleep as your body sank even further into the mattress.

“Really?” he muttered.

He was about to tear off the covers in slight annoyance but then you finally stretched awake, yawning and still clothed. The bedding absorbed some of the dye. More to throw and burn away, he thought, but maybe after the upcoming case study, if it all goes according to plan.

“Finally,” he mumbled, watching you rise from your wake. The more he stared at you, the more irritated he got from the plan he had in mind for you, not quite understanding his own agitation.

It was as though he was pissed off at you for doing something before you even knew what you were getting yourself into.

Rationally, he knew that the blame was unjustified.

Finally out of bed, you adjusted your clothes and brushed out your hair. You still looked half asleep and in the process of waking up, but you were up and ready.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he walked you out of the hotel room and flipped the door sign to not be disturbed before directing you into the car.

“We’ll have to find you someone who can resemble your face card,” he said, buckling himself in. “We’ll be stopping by Tokyo, so we can find some nobody for you to become. A new name can open up more opportunities, especially since you look a bit different now.”

You simply nodded, throwing him off a little bit. Maybe you were just tired, he speculated, but the way you were acting hinted at something deeper, something cryptic that you were purposefully withholding from him. While he didn’t expect you to get chummy with him, it was a little odd that your personality was as erratic as it was.

He didn’t like it.

Being forced to care, that was.

For now he ignored that side of you, continuing to feed you information about the plan at hand and unloading as much information as possible with the hope that you could retain at least some of it.

“I’ve already been there once before,” he continued to say, “the place is usually empty from what it looks like.”

You blankly nodded once again.

“You’re keeping up with me here, right?” he asked.

You casted him a blank stare before stretching your arms out in the car, as if still exhausted. “Yeah. I’ll get the guy’s number and invite him over.”

“If you’re lucky,” he reminded you, “it might not work, but you’re likely capable of that much, aren’t you?”

“You’re putting too much faith in me,” you warned in a soft tone. You were still unsure about your indirect involvement with taking away a life despite knowing fully well what you were getting into the second you asked him to let you tag along.

Besides, if this guy was as insecure as Kenjaku made him out to be, then it had a chance to fail. As a former shy kid, you knew a little too well how it was to have low self esteem and if the man wasn’t too successful with women, then your attempt might seem mocking to him. Even cruel. He would likely be suspicious about your intentions right away.

You knew that you would be if you were in his shoes, anyway.

“Are you saying that I shouldn’t trust you with the plan?” he asked, trying to read you.

You however shook your head, shrugging your shoulders as you did so. Your answer wasn’t really all that clear. “I’m saying to keep your expectations realistic.”

He nodded too, feeling annoyed with your vagueness.

So cryptic, so cold.

So distant, almost.

Kenjaku didn’t like it anymore; he wanted that bantering, rebellious woman he met just days ago who wanted to defy all order while seeking out chaos, because that’s what drew him to you to begin with. This whole display however just felt… boring, for a lack of better words.

Just like the rest of them.

What happened to the version of you that poked fun at him or even jokingly defied him? What happened to the strange person who would feed his ego and flatter him?

Why were you… so confusing?

Was it because you were still hung up over what happened with the tourist? What was his name—Seb? Sean? …Seth? He didn’t really care to remember his name, seeing him as just another statistic in his journal of reports. Still, you shouldn’t be so upset, he thought, he was the one who endured the ugly parts after all, he was the one who studied those people, not you.

And if it was violence that you were so afraid of, then he would happily take on the responsibility of taking on the burden of dirty work forever, leaving you to play the part of someone trustworthy.

What he truly wanted from you was just someone who got it above all, someone that he could joke with and catch sass from.

(Was he lonely? Really? Him?)

How frustrating.

Try as he might, however, he could not read minds all the same. So whatever it was that was going on in that pretty head of yours was not something he knew anything about. What did you really want? And why were you being so elusive, so unclear?

Kenjaku could only sigh as he pulled into the on-street parking.

This was why he worked alone.

No mess, no overthinking the little things.

“You’ll do as you’re told,” he could only say, deciding to match you on the coldness you were giving him. You were being unfair when he was being surprisingly neutral. Ungrateful is what you were; quite literally biting the hand that kept you fed and concealed away from the chasing force that willed you back into a loveless home. Stupid girl. You didn’t understand.

“Okay,” you flatly responded.

There you went again with that bland tone, like a record playing a dull melody. Lifeless and uncaring.

Did you even want to be here?

…Did you even want to be alive?

Maybe you didn’t deserve to find meaning in your own life, after all.

Getting out of the car, he slammed the door shut and locked it as soon as you were out too, gesturing for you to follow him. The red hair looked good in the sunlight, he thought. A good decision on his part. Maybe you should be wearing glasses too to further conceal your features? On the other hand, maybe not. You were fine with how you were. They were searching for a corpse back in dirt hole you crawled out from, not a live crimson haired woman hours away from the area.

You’d be fine.

“One bowl of cold soba,” Kenjaku ordered as soon as he walked in. Despite the season, he could always go for something refreshing. He almost prayed to himself for the man to get it right and for no hair of mysterious origins to make it into the broth.

He glanced at you, waiting for you to order. It would be on the house for you, so you’d better be thankful.

“Beef udon, please,” you quietly asked a moment after reading the menu.

So quiet. So annoying. Why weren’t you being more assertive? Confident? He hated witnessing whatever it was that was going on, feeling more and more agitated the longer that he was forced to watch. Had something happened even just last night? You went to sleep after being off all day and then it somehow got worse.

Even just being in the same room as you bothered him. You sat alone at the bar stool while he sat further into the restaurant, scrolling mindlessly away on his burner phone, elusively checking on a possible son of his’ social media, his eyes narrowing as he failed to keep up with the ‘pranks’ the boy kept posting about.

Kenjaku sighed as he looked at you, after pocketing his phone as the meal was served to his table.

Tokyo could be good for a lot of reasons, he thought. It wasn’t too far away, but the current prediction seemed to be that he would stay in the south, from what he managed to get tipped off on from his moles back in the city. Besides, the city could give him more room to hide in even if he still continued to ‘study’ people, just as long as he played it carefully.

Especially since the goal was to otherwise find someone whose life you could assimilate into; maybe they wouldn’t have much going on or no immediate next of kin, which would make their search all the more delayed. Identity theft on its own was otherwise an easily enough accomplished task through paid forgery, he supposed, but there was something extra special about living on in the lives he had erased from existence.

It was like a sentimental legacy.

This would be a driving point that he would attempt to get you to understand too, like a mental initiation. The importance of both sacrifice and dedication.

It was almost symbolic, he thought.

Quickly torn away from his internal monologue, his focus was brought back to you when he heard laughter from the counter. He narrowed his sights as he leaned in and slurped on his noodles, listening in on what sounded like a genuine laugh that escaped your lips.

How odd.

Your lips were tightly curled and dimples poked at your cheeks. Your eyes squeezed into crescents—all at something the man was telling you, a smile just as bright on his face too.

Was this all an act?

No, that was an involuntary giggle; you even snorted. Something that the oaf had managed to utter left you feeling genuinely entertained.

Kenjaku then heard more.

You even called the man funny.

A compliment? Technically, he did encourage flirting, so he couldn’t be too annoyed at the delivery. That’s what your assigned role for today was. You had to get the guy to trust you so that you could lure him back into the hotel, it was that simple and yet, all it did was leave behind a strangely complicated feeling that stirred within him.

It wasn’t jealousy, he had been over this with himself already.

So what did that leave?

Whatever. It wasn’t important for now. If you were capable of completing the job successfully just as he had asked you to do, then that’s what he should be focusing on.

He wondered more about the man, he didn’t care to learn about his name, just like the others. This was subject number 15 or the restaurant worker, at best. Ordinary subjects didn’t deserve to honoured, not when their calling cards would make them so much more memorable instead.

Kenjaku tilted his head to the side, watching the interaction. He speculated that this man could technically find the reason for going in with others, perhaps. He seemed quite dim before making you laugh, after all, and now his expression was completely lit up.

An interesting specimen, indeed.

He finished up on the dish, focusing on you and ignoring him. This wasn’t envy, he thought to remind himself, as if trying to convince himself, even. Maybe it was something closer to entitlement. Whatever it was, he didn’t like that after doing everything otherwise correct at your side, that you were giving the warmth you otherwise kept locked away to a total stranger instead.

Entitlement indeed, he was a stranger to you too.

But it felt different somehow.

You then seemed to be exchanging phone numbers with the guy as he tapped the digits into your own burner phone.

Mission accomplished, he supposed.

That meant that it was a good time for him to leave then, throwing some bills at the counter as he motioned for you to follow suit. He wondered what type of relationship the guy thought you and he both had, clearly something unimportant if he thought that he was actually getting somewhere with you.

That was almost hilarious.

The drive back was in complete silence though, just like before. You were cold again.

With a weary sigh, he tried not to pay it any mind. “Text him all day if you’re able to, then invite him over for tomorrow evening.”

You nodded idly at his request with a blank look on your face.

It was then that he finally got it.

It hit him, just like that, like a sharp slap to the face.

He had seen that look after all, he even acknowledged it all the way back in the gas station.

You were simply being cold because you didn’t understand.

It was very likely a learned response from your relationship, if he had to guess. You probably just learned to bottle up your feelings and then never opened up the lid, because why would you?

Albeit reluctantly, he finally gambled a portion of his still latching shred of humanity that he had left. In a way, this was a lesson to him all the same, even if it didn’t have to resort to something violent.

While empathy was a foreign concept to him, he didn’t want to be ignored by someone that he finally found that he doesn’t mind keeping around for the long term. Being ignored hurts no matter how tough you are, he supposed and besides, it wasn’t good for his arrogance.

So for you, he would make do.

Settling in right beside you, he finally closed the gap not saying a single word and to his surprise, the tension you held onto finally seemed to sag. The stress finally seemed to melt away.

It wasn’t quite something he expected to endure, but he tolerated the sensation of you sobbing into his shoulder, trying to stifle it all at the same time.

Maybe if somebody did this for him after his first kill, he wouldn’t have become so far gone either.

So maybe you weren’t a pesky brat, nor vile, nor dumb or lacking. Just misguided, forced to endure what you shouldn’t have.

Maybe you did truly get it, after all.

What a strange sort of accomplishment he felt.

For today, he felt that he had truly learned.

If not about you, then humanity? And if not humanity, then about you?

(…About both?)

[scary-grace]

25 police lights flashing on concrete with shigaraki

thank you so much for the prompt! i wrote multiple different ideas for this one, all of which I hit trouble with, so if you end up hating it, let me know and I'll rev up another one of the ideas. I hope you like it! (dividers by @cafekitsune)

magnum opus

As a crime scene photographer, you're prepared to see some blood. But the crime scene you've just been called out to document is on a different level, and the longer you spend looking at it, the more convinced you are that everything about it is intentional -- not that you can convince anyone else. As you try desperately to raise the alarm, the man responsible for the murder grows more and more interested in you, and whether Shigaraki Tomura kills you or not, he'll be sure to show you things you can never imagine first. (cross-posted to Ao3)

You got the call at eleven-thirty, when you were already most of the way to bed, and by the time you get to the crime scene, the detective on duty is already pissed. “Took you long enough. The press is climbing the walls.”

“I got here as fast as I could,” you say, ducking past the tape securing the scene. “How long since it was called in?”

“Half an hour, but the press got here just as fast,” the head of the forensics unit – your boss – says. “It was all the responding officers could do to get the perimeter set up before they could contaminate the scene.”

“The scene contaminated the scene,” the fingerprint tech says. He looks grossed out, big-time. “I mean, look at it.”

There’s a lot to look at. So much that it’s hard to decide where to point your camera first. You usually start with the body, but the body’s not usually in so many pieces. The victim’s been gutted, and what was left after the murderer dug their innards out of their body cavity looks like it’s been drawn and quartered. And if you look away from the body, widening your vision to the scene as a whole, there are dozens of items that could be evidence. This is a construction site. Construction sites are a murder weapon all on their own.

Setting all of that aside, there’s the blood, a puddle of it beneath the body and enormous smears on the skeletal walls and concrete floor. It hasn’t congealed completely yet. When you crouch down to peer at it, you can see the flashing lights from the police cars reflected within it. Before you can think better of it, you snap a photo. “Hey,” the detective snaps at you. “This is going to take all night as it is. Let’s get a move-on. Start with the sketch.”

You wait for the sketch artist to step up, but nobody moves. You realize too late that they’re looking at you. “No,” you say. “I’m the photographer. Where’s Monoma?”

“Budget cuts,” your boss says. You wince. “Start sketching.”

It’s not a pretty sketch, because a) you’re not a sketch artist, and b) you’re rushing it. Forensics protocol insists that the sketch of the crime scene and all the photographs be taken before anyone else enters the scene, and with every minute that passes, you can feel your coworkers’ frustration growing. Once you’ve got rough outlines of where everything’s supposed to be, you set the sketchbook aside and pick up your camera at last.

You weren’t born with a metaphorical camera in your hands the way real, talented photographers are supposed to be, but there hasn’t been a point in your life where you weren’t more comfortable viewing the world through a lens. Maybe in a different life, you’d have been a fashion photographer, but in this one, you were plucked out of your university’s photography program by a criminology professor who’d spotted your photo essay chronicling the decay of a tanuki that was hit by a car. Patience, an eye for detail, and a strong stomach – according to Professor Sasaki, you were born to be a crime scene photographer.

Whether you were born to do it or not, you’re good at it, and you get to work documenting the carnage. It’s not like any crime scene you’ve come across before. The sheer violence of the victim’s death is startling on its own, but more than that, there’s something strange about the evidence that’s been left behind. The longer you spend looking at it, through the lens of your camera or with your own eyes as you add to the sketch, the more convinced you are that it’s not an accident. Nothing about this scene is an accident.

It looks that way, sure. When you were still a photography student, you got some practice setting up still-life shots, and you remember focusing on the smallest details, trying to make the scene you wanted to shoot fell into place naturally. You were good at it, but not good enough – there was always something that revealed the truth. No matter how realistic and accidental your shot appeared to be, you knew it was composed. Just like this crime scene is.

The arcs of blood spatter on the floor and the walls are too perfect. The dismembered limbs are cast out at artfully careless angles, hands arranged with palms turned up, fingers half-uncurled. When you’re photographing the victim’s head, you note the angle it’s been turned to – and when you zoom in, you realized that there’s something up with the eyes. The victim’s head is turned, and his eyes are focused on something that’s not there any longer. Is that where the killer was standing? No, you realize, it can’t be – in order to sever the victim’s head, the killer would have had to stand much closer. Which means the killer didn’t just turn the victim’s head. He moved their eyes, too.

You catch one of the fingerprint techs by the arm. “This is going to sound weird,” you say, “but you need to dust the victim’s eyes.”

“Huh?” Toru gives you a weird look. “Why?”

“I think the killer moved them.”

“Somebody like this? No way.” Shinsou, the detective in training, walks past, trailing after Aizawa, who’s actually in charge. “With this much violence and this much evidence and this dangerous of a scene? This killer’s out of control.”

“What if that’s what they want you to think?” You know it sounds crazy even as it’s coming out of your mouth, but at the same time, you’re absolutely convinced. “If a killer really wanted to, they could make a crime scene look like something it wasn’t. Like it was accidental, when really it was staged –”

“And why would they?” Aizawa turns around to stare at you. From behind him, you can see your boss, Sekijiro, looking up from the blood spray he’s been analyzing. “Why would an organized killer spend valuable time disorganizing their own crime scene? Why would they take that risk?”

“I don’t know,” you say. “I think there must be –”

“What is it?” Aizawa cuts you off. You don’t have an answer ready, and Aizawa takes it the same as if you’d admitted there isn’t one. “I would expect someone who works in forensics to know this already, but the business of finding and apprehending criminals has very little to do with psychology. The simplest explanation is invariably the best one.”

You know profiling doesn’t catch criminals. Evidence does. But you’ve photographed plenty of blood-soaked crime scenes in your career, and none of them have given you the same uneasy feeling as this one. “But what if –”

“Which answer is more logical? That an organized killer would waste time that could be spent escaping on making a mess of their crime scene?” Aizawa’s tone of voice makes it clear how he feels about the idea, as if his expression hadn’t told you already. “Or that a disorganized killer left a disorganized scene behind?”

You know the answer, but you’re not about to open your mouth again. Aizawa’s made his point. But because he’s a detective, and detectives can’t resist an opportunity to be right about something, he hammers it home. “I don’t give you direction during your photography. Don’t give advice about things you don’t understand.”

He goes back to talking to your boss, and you take the last few pictures you need. Then you step past the crime scene tape, find a place to sit on the hood of a cop car, and go back to your sketch. It’s hard to focus when you’re smarting over Aizawa’s comments, which sting all the more for the fact that he’s right. You don’t know anything about catching criminals. Your job is to gather the evidence and hand it off to people who know what to do with it, not to come up with crazy theories of your own.

Still, though. You can’t shake your certainty off. As you fill in the details on your sketch, you can’t help but feel like you’re sketching a still life of another still life. It’s a perfectly disorganized crime scene, but in your opinion, the only thing real about it is the body in the center.

Like any performer, Tomura wants to see the audience’s reaction, but showing up at his own crime scene is a beginner mistake. Thanks to the drone he planted at the scene before he left, he’s got a front-row seat to the early-stage investigation of his latest murder, and he was so excited to see what the cops think of the it that his hands were shaking on the controls. That didn’t last. He’s been watching for an hour, and he’s more disappointed than anything else.

They aren’t getting it. Tomura doesn’t know how to make himself any clearer, but they aren’t getting it. They’re getting distracted by the location. By the timing. By stupid shit like the fingerprints everywhere, which aren’t even his. Tomura picked this city and this precinct on purpose, because the detective squad here is supposed to be good at cracking cases. Not that Tomura’s looking to get his case cracked. He’s looking to get his point across. But this group of cops is just like the rest of them. They can’t see that Tomura’s trying to make a point at all.

Disorganized. Tomura fucking hates that word. It’s the word the cops use to write his work off every time, and once they get that word in their heads, it’s all over. The only person who even suggested that there might be something more to Tomura’s scene was the photographer out of the forensic unit, and the detectives ignored you completely. It’s too bad they did that. You were onto something.

In fact, you were onto something from the second you showed up. You took your first photo before you even crossed the police line, and Tomura liked what you focused on – not the body, but the pool of blood underneath it. Something about it got your attention, and Tomura doesn’t need to know what it was. All he needs to know is that when you looked at his crime scene, you saw something more than fucking disorganization. And once you saw that, you kept looking, catching details Tomura’s been waiting for somebody to notice forever. Tomura wishes he could get ahold of your photos. He wants to see what his work looks like through the eyes of someone with vision.

Right now you’re sitting back from the scene, finishing a sketch of it. Tomura manipulates the controls of his drone, edging it a little closer and zooming in on the page. He can tell that photography’s what you prefer. You’re a lot slower with the sketch. But there’s one detail that jumps out at Tomura, one that fills his vision and makes his heart lurch out of step. You noticed the way he turned the body’s head, the way he moved the eyes, and you drew that – and you drew a line of sight to the corner of the sketch, where you’ve already put an outline.

The outline is person-shaped, which is fine for now. Tomura doesn’t care what it looks like. All he cares about is the fact that you figured it out. His crime scenes aren’t disorganized. There’s a purpose to the things he does. He didn’t spend fifteen minutes screwing around with the position of the head just for fun. It was hard work, and you noticed it. As Tomura watches, you add a question mark to the center of the outline.

You want to know what was there. You want to see more. Tomura feels a grin break across his face, opening splits in his dry lips. He knew all it would take was someone to notice first, someone to spread the word and get the rest of the world thinking in the right direction. He’d just thought the person who noticed would be Aizawa, the lead detective, rather than the photographer from the forensic unit. And he thought they’d have a better idea of the point he’s trying to make.

But maybe that’s on him. Tomura frowns at the thought, but once it hits, it won’t leave. If you noticed that he’s trying to say something but couldn’t figure out what he wanted to say, he might need to make it clearer. For whoever comes next, anyway. It’s not going to be you. Tomura still doesn’t want to get caught, after all, and he needs another victim sooner or later. Given the message he’s trying to send, his victim pool is kind of small. If he branches out from cops and detectives and soldiers and prison guards, it might throw the so-called justice system off his scent. Or it would. If he had a scent, which he doesn’t.

Killing you wouldn’t help to make Tomura’s point clearer, and killing somebody off the forensics team feels less like justice to Tomura than he wants it to. When he set out to expose the falsehoods at the center of society’s moral code, he focused on the people who actually enforce it. Sure, forensic specialists are a cog in the machine, helping to keep it running, but a photographer like you is just the one who collects the evidence, not the person who looks at it and turns it into a lie. Tomura could kill you. But your death won’t matter to the world. Tomura needs to save his kills for when they’ll count.

And with that in mind – Tomura lowers his hands to the controls again, lifting the drone away from its perch and sending it further over the crime scene, focusing on the cops and detectives. He keeps a running list of potential kills in his head, and he likes to add a few law enforcement personnel from every crime scene. It’ll be a while before he comes back to this city for a kill, but when he’s ready, he wants to know exactly who he’s targeting.

Detective Aizawa was a disappointment, and he shot down the only person on the scene who had even the slightest idea of what Tomura was trying to say. He’ll do. In a few months or a year or two years, Tomura will come back to this city, and when he does, he’ll give you another crime scene to capture. That should give him time to figure out how to make his point clear. And give you some time to get better at your job, so that by the time he gets back, you’ll know exactly what every detail of his crime scene means.

When it comes to crime scenes, you hate the ones with living victims the most. Your job requires you to be dispassionate, not to linger on the horrors, and as terrible as it is, there’s some peace in knowing that the victim of a murderer will never see the aftermath, or have to reckon with what was done to them. Living victims make it harder. Living victims are haunted. Living victims stare at you and everyone else with blank eyes, empty except for the questions: Where were you? Why didn’t you save me?

Saving people isn’t your job. It’s not even the cops’ job, really. But that doesn’t mean you don’t feel sickeningly guilty every time you break eye contact, lift the camera up to hide your face, and turn back to taking pictures.

Today’s crime scene is what’s probably going to wind up being investigated as attempted vehicular homicide. Or a carjacking. Or both. In any case, the evidence is scattered across a busy intersection, and you’ve been crawling around for half an hour, taking pictures of body parts, smears of brain matter, piles of broken glass, and all the parts of the car that flew off when its bumper basically exploded on impact with an oncoming bus. You’re irritated, and you can’t figure out why. With every picture you snap, your frustration grows.

It’s so senseless. And random. A snap of unthinking violence and a bad decision, and now three people are severely injured, not to mention everybody who’s been traumatized by one look at the scene. There was no point to this, and there’s nothing to solve. You aren’t helping anybody by snapping dozens of pictures. You’re just creating a record of the worst moments of someone’s life, a record they’re going to see in court if they’re even out of the hospital in time for the trial. You might be good at your job, but sometimes you really hate it.

It’s a relief when your supervisor calls you away. “I appreciate your thoroughness, but someone else will complete the photography,” he says. “You’re needed elsewhere.”

“Why?”

“A murder’s occurred in a district without its own forensic team,” Sekijiro says. “They need a photographer.”

You’d love to get out of here, but – “Don’t cops in districts without a forensics team know how to do their own photography?”

“For an ordinary murder,” Sekijiro says. “This isn’t an ordinary murder.”

A chill goes down your spine, and it must show on your face, because Sekijiro sweetens the deal with zero prompting. “You’ll be paid time and a half.”

“Okay,” you say. “Where am I going?”

The site’s an hour and a half away by car, but that’s crucial time for a fresh murder scene, so Sasaki calls ahead and lets the traffic cops on your route know that you’ll be speeding to get there quickly. You get there in forty-five minutes – you did a lot of speeding – and check in with the detective in charge of the investigation, a big, friendly guy named Toyomitsu. “Thanks for coming,” he says. “We have a trainee photographer, and he was going to do it, but –”

He nods at a guy with spiky red hair who’s sitting on the hood of a police car, looking all kinds of queasy. “No problem,” you say. “Did somebody do a sketch?”

“My partner. He’s not half-bad.”

Detective Toyomitsu’s partner looks queasy, too, but you think his is more stress-related. You look over the sketch, then pick up your camera, duck the tape, and come to a dead stop at the edge of the scene.

It wasn’t a chill down your spine earlier, when Sekijiro told you about the case – it was déjà vu, because in spite of the fact that this scene looks totally different in its setup, you can still see how carefully it’s been arranged. The blood spray exiting from the victim’s open body cavity looks almost artful, a near-perfect fan rather than the splatter you’re used to. The limbs are more contained this time, hanging by threads but still attached, and the same goes for the head, held upright by a meat hook jammed through the back of the neck. And even from a distance, you can see that the head’s turned at an angle.

“Is there a problem?” Toyomitsu asks – not accusingly, the way Aizawa would. “Need help with anything?”

You shake your head, and try to stiffen your spine in the bargain. You have a crime scene to document, and you’re getting time and a half. And this time, once you’ve done your job, you’re going to follow the victim’s eyeline. This time, you’re going to see what the killer wanted the victim to see. What he wants the investigator to see, too. Maybe that will help someone catch him.

You’re back.

Tomura was watching a stagnant crime scene, with the detectives and forensic unit standing around uselessly after the trainee photographer took one look at the scene and upchucked, and he was having a hard time staying awake. Which is bullshit – laying out murders like his takes effort, and no one was appreciating it, courtesy of some kid who spilled his guts. Tomura was so annoyed that he broke his no-forensics rule to add the kid to his hit list. You didn’t waste time throwing up. You were focused on his work. On him.

And then, like thinking about you conjured you up, you stepped onto the scene. Just like before, you were thorough, capturing every detail of Tomura’s scene. Tomura was thinking you’d be better at it by the next time his drone captured you, and he was right. You’re not just better than last time. This time, you catch all the details Tomura agonized over, focusing on exactly the things he’d want someone to see. It made Tomura feel weird. Almost anxious, but not quite. Giddy, or something. Weird, but good.

It would have been enough to see you study his scene, trying to understand what he meant. But once you were done taking photos, you left the scene and followed the eyeline he constructed for his kill. And now you’re climbing up onto a pile of crates, looking for what Tomura planted there for anybody smart enough to find it. He should have known it would be you.

The trainee photographer is following you. Once you’re on a level with the nook Tomura tucked the hint into, you glance back at him. “Hand me the camera.”

“I don’t think that’s evidence,” the trainee says. Fuck him. He’s just moved up a spot on the list. “It’s way outside the crime scene.”

“So make the crime scene bigger. Camera.” You hold out your hand, waiting, but you lose patience fast. “Fine.”

You’re taking pictures with your phone now, capturing the hint Tomura placed from every angle. Tomura feels weirdly exposed, and it doesn’t go away when you stop snapping photos and put on a pair of gloves. You’re pretty thorough. It won’t matter – Tomura took care of his fingerprints before he made his first kill – but he appreciates the effort. At least someone’s paying attention.

He leaves the drone where it is and turns his attention to the camera, zooming in on the details the same way you do when you’re taking pictures of his work. Your fingertips carefully unfolding the newspaper article. The focus in your eyes as you read it. The way one of your legs is shaking from the awkward position you’re staying balanced in. Your mouth grabs more of his attention than it should, given that it’s got nothing to do with his crime scene, but Tomura gives it a second look anyway. Maybe a third.

You glance back at the trainee. “I need an evidence bag.”

“That’s not evidence.”

“You’re not a detective. We don’t decide what counts as evidence. We collect everything and let the cops work it out.” You hold out your hand, waiting, until the trainee hands you an evidence bag. You slide Tomura’s hint carefully into it, then hand it back to the trainee while you climb down. “Give it back. I’ll bring it to the detective myself.”

The trainee really doesn’t like your attitude. Tomura doesn’t give a shit. In his opinion, your attitude is right where it should be. You care about the truth. You care about seeing things as they really are. If there were more people like you around, Tomura wouldn’t have so many people to put on his kill list. At the rate things are going, he’s going to be killing people until he drops dead.

The detective doesn’t want Tomura’s hint. Fuck him, too. Tomura puts him on the list, but absently – he’s still focused on you. “Do you mind if I keep this?” you ask the detective, and Tomura’s face goes up in flames. “I want to look at it a little longer.”

The detective nods. He’s barely paying attention, too busy directing his tiny gang of borrowed forensic specialists to dust for fingerprints that aren’t there. You, though. You’re studying Tomura’s hint through the plastic, lost in thought. Because you get it, just like Tomura thought. Or at least you get him. Enough. Enough to understand that he wanted you to see something and actually go looking for it.

He’s been wondering why his message keeps getting lost, why no one understands when he’s being clear as a fucking bell about it. Maybe he’s been going about it the wrong way. He doesn’t need the world to understand. Tomura needs one person, one person who gets it and can spread the word. And you’ve just made yourself the first and only candidate for the job.

Tomura sits back in his chair. The satisfaction of finding an answer, figuring out how to stay five steps ahead of the cops while still spreading the word, is familiar to him – but it’s cut with something that isn’t. After six murders, Tomura’s finally gotten what he wanted, so he should stop watching now. Instead he keeps watching, some part of him still unsatisfied, even as you slide the hint carefully out of its evidence bag and start reading. You’ve found everything he wanted you to see, but he wants you to keep looking. He wants you to keep looking until he doesn’t want to be looked at anymore.

It's a stupid thing to want. Tomura switches off the drone, irked at himself. He wants you to keep looking? That’s easy. The next time he sets up a crime scene for you, he’ll leave enough hints to keep you looking at him all night.

You’ve taken pictures of four weird murders now, found multiple pieces of evidence at the sites, and you’re starting to see a pattern developing. A couple of patterns, actually. It’s not just the eyes that give away where the extra evidence might be – it’s the angle of the hands, whether the fingers are pointed or not, and on the last victim, the killer even took the time to point the toes. Or toe. He cut the other four off on each foot, leaving only the big toe to indicate where to find the other things he left behind.

He always leaves things just outside the radius of the crime scene, things the cops dismiss and things you know to look for. There are never any fingerprints on any of it, which means the killer’s wearing gloves, deliberately covering his tracks. That means he’s organized. That proves what you’ve thought since you saw the first scene: Nothing this guy does is by accident. What you or anyone else who looks at the scene sees is what he wants you to see. And he really wants someone to see the pieces of evidence he’s leaving.

Well, you see it. You even went back to the first crime scene to grab what he left there – a plastic police badge, a kid’s toy. At the second site, it was a newspaper article about abuses of power committed by prison guards. At the third site, you found another newspaper article, a toy gun, and a military training manual with every single page torn out. You found the pages at the fourth scene, crumpled up and scattered amidst artful smears of blood, and that wasn’t all you found, either. This time you found fake diplomas – four different kinds of fake diplomas – and a military medal that may or may not be real. You’re not a detective or a profiler or anything, but it would be hard to look at all of this stuff and not conclude that this guy has a serious problem with the system.

It's borne out in the victims, too. The victims take forever to identify, just because he puts in so much effort eradicating their fingerprints, faces, and teeth, but each victim has been somebody with authority. A cop, a soldier, a prison guard, and a detective from a jurisdiction on the opposite side of the country, which is worrying on a whole new level. Not only does this killer set up misleading crime scenes, he’s willing to transport victims across the country to kill them in the exact spot he wants them dead. You don’t know if there’s ever been a more organized serial killer.

You’re comfortable calling him that. Four murders of victims who share a particular characteristic makes him a serial killer, and when you searched missing persons records by profession, you found three or four more who fit the killer’s specifications. You found a crime scene or two that might have been his also – his before he got comfortable being so elaborate. The photographer and sketch artist on those scenes didn’t follow the victim’s line of sight, but you have a feeling they’d have found something if they had. You do, after all. You find something more every time.

You tried to bring it to Aizawa after the third crime scene, and he all but told you to drop it. You’re creating a pattern out of circumstance, or exaggerating your own abilities, or turning this killer into some kind of mythical monster instead of acknowledging him as the twisted freak he actually is. But you think you’re right. No, you’re convinced. There’s a serial killer haunting Japan, gruesomely murdering public servants and running marathons around the police, and you’re going to make sure someone’s aware of it, even if it tanks your career. You just need a little more evidence first. One more piece to tie things together, so that when you go up and over Aizawa’s head to the head of Investigations, he won’t be able to ignore what you have to say.

And if he does, you’ve got a backup plan. The evidence you’ve collected is yours. You got yourself on the record asking the detectives if they want it, and they’ve all said no. The research you’ve done into the victims is based on their names being released to the public, and the dots could be connected by anybody who viewed the same evidence as you have. If Head Detective Yagi won’t listen to you, you’ll go to the press and blow the whistle yourself.

It's a solid plan – two plans – but you can’t help but feel a little uneasy. You aren’t on Criminal Minds or anything. You’re more like the dumb reporter from Red Dragon, the one who publishes a bunch of crazy stuff and gets himself whacked by the Tooth Fairy. And at the same time, you have the sense that something different is going on here. The way the evidence has been placed at the last two crime scenes has felt – not deliberate, because everything this killer does is deliberate. Not deliberate, but targeted. Like he’s leaving evidence in places only you would look for it.

But that’s insane. The killer’s not coming back to observe his crime scenes – part of your job is to snap photos of any crowd that gathers, and you haven’t seen the same person show up at any one of them. There’s no way the killer could be watching, and even if there was, there’s no way he’d be leaving things specifically for you. You’re not Clarice Starling or anything. You’re the dumb reporter. You’re finding things because you know where to look. That’s all.

You’re sitting at your desk, staring off into space, when Monoma, who got rehired a while back, bangs on the wall of your cubicle. “New scene,” he says, once you’re done jumping out of your skin. “The guy who called it in said to bring a barf bag or four.”

“Yeah. Okay.” You gather your workbag, ignoring the knot of prickly anticipation that unfolds to wrap its tentacles around your ribcage. It’s not the serial killer. It’s been less than a month since his last murder. There’s no way he’s at it again. “If it’s as bad as they say, bet you six bucks Shinsou throws up.”

“Six bucks says it’s Kaminari instead.”

“You’re on.”

Neither you nor Monoma win any money, because you’re both right, and the bets cancel each other out. You’re feeling sick for an entirely different reason. This is the most elaborately disorganized crime scene you’ve ever photographed, and it’s got the serial killer’s nonexistent fingerprints all over it. You wait until Shinsou’s done throwing up, then ask him to ask Aizawa to widen the perimeter. You have to come up with a lie about extensive blood spray, but it works.

It's not even that much of a lie – the scene looks like the killer attached a garden hose of blood to a ceiling fan and cranked it up to maximum – but you still feel guilty. Less guilty when Aizawa expands the crime scene to include the radius where the killer likes to hide his clues. You take your standard series of photos, by the book as much as you can possibly manage, and once you’re done, you go looking for the killer’s clues.

They’re inside the perimeter now. Aizawa and the other detectives will have to take them. You document each one extensively first, dragging Monoma over to sketch their positions, too. Then you put on gloves and lift them out of hiding. “This is weird,” Monoma remarks, as you lift an article about a defense attorney’s series of victories in child abuse cases out of hiding and set it down alongside a printout of cops’ salaries. “Slasher types like this guy don’t have a reason.”

“He’s not – that. The violence is an attention grab. He wouldn’t do it if he didn’t enjoy it, but I don’t think it’s the whole point.” You slide the second article into an evidence bag, then follow the victim’s severed index finger to the next hiding spot. “Every crime scene has had clues like this. He wants people to find them.”

Monoma hums the Criminal Minds theme song. “If this guy’s smart like you say he is, why would he leave clues so we could catch him?”

“That’s not what they’re for,” you say. You’ve gone so far as to look for links between the cases the victims have interacted with, and you’ve found nothing. “He doesn’t want us to catch him. He wants us to see.”

“Sure. Maybe that’s how we’ll catch him,” Monoma says. You glance at him and find him smirking. “He’s going to want to know if the lambs have stopped screaming yet.”

“Shut up.” You elbow Monoma, then crouch down to take a picture and pry the next hidden object out of hiding. It’s harder to remove than usual, and it comes free in two pieces. One of them is the needle off a polygraph test, which you only recognize because you’ve seen them in the lab at work. “Okay. Maybe if we can figure out where this is from –”

You hand it off to Monoma to be stored properly, then turn your attention to the other item. Compared to everything else the killer’s left, clearly identifiable and clearly linked to his cause, a single bullet casing isn’t exactly a smoking gun. You pick it up with a gloved hand, upend it, and find that a piece of paper’s been rolled up and wedged inside. The handwriting on the paper is bad, and the sentence is only two words. Look up.

You do, out of shock more than anything else – first straight up, then up and out, then pivoting in a slow circle, trying desperately to figure out what you’re supposed to see. There’s nothing. Whatever the killer wants you to see – and you’re sure now that he wants you to see it – it’s beyond your vision, beyond your understanding. There’s one thing you do understand, though. The killer’s watching his crime scenes, somehow. And now that you’ve been at so many of them, he’s watching you, too.

Fuck, that’s it. Tomura takes a screen grab, and then a second, and a third, capturing frame after frame of you, making eye contact with the drone camera. You didn’t know it was there. Tomura knew you’d raise the alarm if you saw it, and he doesn’t want his view of his crime scenes to be cut off, so he camouflaged it better than usual. But you found his messages, just like he knew you would. You found his note, too. And you followed his instructions, looking up and at the camera just like he wanted. At the camera. At Tomura.

It's a dumb thing for Tomura to want – you, looking at him. You already look at him, every time he makes a kill and sets up a crime scene. You’re looking at his work, which is the most important thing, so important that Tomura doesn’t need anything else. Or shouldn’t. But no matter how elaborate of a crime scene Tomura sets up for you, no matter how much time you spend carefully documenting it and gathering his hints, you never look at it as long as he wants you to. Or the way he wants you to, even though you’re doing exactly what he thought he wanted in the first place. Like Tomura said – dumb.

Dumb or not, it’s been on Tomura’s mind, and worse, in his dreams. He doesn’t usually have dreams, and the ones he has are bad, so the fact that he’s started having dreams about you taking his picture is a sign that he’s put too much thought into you. Every time Tomura wakes up from a dream where you’re taking photos of him instead of one of his scenes, he tells himself that he’ll kill you soon. And every time, he – doesn’t.

Killing you is the right thing to do. You’re a distraction from Tomura’s mission. Time spent thinking about you, puzzling over his dreams, wondering why it’s not enough that you only see his crime scenes – all of that is time wasted, because he’s not spending it on planning his next kill or crafting his next message. You’ve served your purpose, too. Even as Tomura pulls the screen grab over to a second screen and refocuses on the video feed, he can see you talking to Aizawa again, making the case that Tomura’s crime scenes mean something. Unlike last time, Aizawa’s actually listening.

He’s listening. The story of who actually cracked the case will come out, and when Tomura kills you, it’ll mean something – you’ll be a real, visible member of the system, someone whose absence will be noticed. Tomura will set up his best crime scene yet for your body, and when he moves your eyes, he’ll make sure he puts something special there for you to look at. The idea keeps him happy for about six hours or so. Planning out a crime scene’s always fun – sometimes more fun than the actual killing, or it is lately. It gets less fun when Tomura realizes that you won’t be there to see it.

When the so-called peace officers hold their press conference, announcing that they’ve strung five of Tomura’s murders together and declared him a serial killer, you’re nowhere to be found – not on the podium, not in the crowd. You’re not visible. That means you can’t be on Tomura’s list, and Tomura feels an unpleasant surge of relief at the thought. Your photos are in some of the articles written about the case, though, and looking at those makes Tomura feel even stranger than he does when he looks at the still shot of you he’s taped up over his bed.

He’s done his research on you by now. He’s got files for all his potential victims, and then he’s got a file for you, featuring everything about you he could find on the internet. You’re Tomura’s age. You’re single and you live by yourself. You wanted to be a real photographer at some point, which is where you learned how to turn every aspect of Tomura’s crime scenes into a work of art. Tomura finds some of your old portfolio still kicking around a defunct Instagram account, and he’s impressed against his will.

Tomura’s a serial killer, not an art critic, but he spends a lot of time around blood, guts, and dismembered corpses, which means he’s qualified to judge the whole set of roadkill photos you took. They’re – good. Even before you came across one of Tomura’s crime scenes, you knew how to photograph disgusting things and make them matter. Tomura’s scenes already mattered before you turned your camera on them; you just helped expand his reach. That’s not why he’s interested in your art. He tells himself otherwise, but every time he catches a glimpse of himself in one of the cracked, filthy mirrors in his apartment, he lingers for a second, wondering what you would do with his reflection. What he’d look like through your lens.

Tomura gives you another crime scene to photograph, this time featuring the corpse of the trainee photographer who was giving you a hard time at the second crime scene of his you shot. He can tell that you recognize the victim. He can tell that it throws you. So does the message he left for you – another bullet casing, another instruction to look up. Tomura sees your shoulders stiffen, and he leans forward in his seat, tense all on his own. You look up again, and – that’s it. Fuck. Tomura takes so many screenshots that his computer freezes for a second, already planning where he’ll tape them up, convincing himself that this will be enough for him.

It’s not. Tomura dreams that you’re taking his picture again, but this time, it’s weird. The two of you aren’t at one of his crime scenes; instead you’re somewhere else, somewhere with good lighting, and you’re taking pictures of Tomura from every angle, not quite close enough for him to touch. Tomura’s not posing for you, exactly. He just awkwardly shifts position, and you keep snapping photos. It’s warm in Tomura’s dream. After a while he takes off his coat. Then his shirt.

You don’t lower your camera entirely, but Tomura can see your eyes, and you look – interested. He holds still, and you take another few photos. Then you stop. Tomura knows what you’re waiting for. He’s seen that expression on your face at every crime scene as you hunt for his clues. Focused, intent, engaged, and being the target in person scrambles Tomura’s brain. What? he demands, embarrassed without reason. Do you want to see more?

I see what you want me to see, you say. Your eyes drift over Tomura’s body, shoulders down to his hips, lingering somewhere in between that makes Tomura’s face turn red. Is there anything else you want to show me?

When is Tomura ever going to get a chance like this again? He unbuttons his pants, but you don’t lift your camera again. Instead your gaze follow his fingers as he pulls the zipper down, stays centered between his legs as he takes off his pants. His hands are shaking, like they were the first time he laid out a crime scene, and the feeling he’s had every time he’s watched you crawl over his scenes with a camera rushes through him, more intense than before. He waits for you to lift your camera this time, to take photos of him from every angle, but you don’t. Instead you set it aside. Then you reach out to Tomura and –

Tomura wakes up mid-climax, his pants and his sheets halfway to being ruined, his hands miles away from touching his cock. The first thought that punctures the fog is surprise. Tomura knows bodies do this – he’s not an idiot – but he didn’t think this was something his body did. He’s a serial killer. If he’s going to get off to anything, it should be his murders. He’s never gotten off to killing anybody. But the idea of you looking at him face to face, you reaching for him yourself instead of waiting for him to act, you putting your camera down because you needed something else more – Tomura almost loses it a second time.

You didn’t even touch his cock in the dream – your hand brushed against his waist, slid to his hip, fingers brushing his inner thigh. Even the thought is enough to make Tomura squirm, and for the first time since you set foot on one of his crime scenes, Tomura’s head feels clear. No, he can’t kill you. He doesn’t need to kill you. What he needs is more.

How much more? The question’s too much for him. Tomura’s hands slide between his legs, pushing himself past overstimulation, into near-discomfort. How much more doesn’t matter yet. He can figure that out later. Tomura decides faintly, as his hips jerk and he shifts away from the pressure of his own hands, that a close-up would be a good start.

You know something’s wrong the instant you wake up, even before the headache kicks in, because you can’t remember falling asleep. What’s the last thing you remember? You were on a walk, you think. You smelled something weird – something sweet, that didn’t make sense for the park you were walking through. A thought had crossed your mind, some dark joke about chloroform smelling better than you thought it did, and almost as soon as you had the thought, a mask was clamped down over your mouth and nose, the sweet scent flooding into both when you inhaled and opened your mouth to scream.

You remember a little more, but a little more doesn’t matter. You’re being kidnapped. No, you’ve been kidnapped. You open your eyes, shocked to find that you can see. You’re in a small room, light on one side, shadowed on the other, and you can see someone moving around in the light, making adjustments to things here and there. Stand lights. It almost looks like a portrait studio setup, except it’s in the grossest basement you’ve ever sprawled out in. Not that you sprawl out in basements for fun. You only do that when you’re on the job.

Your job. Kidnapped. You’re in someone’s basement and you aren’t blindfolded. You aren’t tied up, either – your arms and legs are completely free. You sit up too quickly, grimacing at the pain in your head, and the figure amidst the lights turns towards you. “You’re awake. I was worried,” he says. One hand rises from his side to scratch the side of his neck. “Usually when I do this, I don’t care how they feel afterward.”

“You do this a lot?”

“Yeah.” You can’t see your kidnapper’s face courtesy of the backlighting, and whatever he’s wearing to hide it. “You should know.”

“I should?” You’re confused, but you shouldn’t be. You know what’s happening here. Someone kidnapped you. Someone who doesn’t care whether or not you hear his voice or see his face. You’re in his goddamn basement. “Who are you?”

“You don’t know?” He sounds surprised. “Come on. You know who it is. Who else could it be?”

Someone who kidnaps lots of people, who’s interested in you – he’s right. That could only be one person, and as the knowledge you’ve been pushing back against settles over you more fully, your vocal cords constrict so badly that you can barely speak. “You’re the Symbol of Fear.”

“That’s right,” the serial killer whose crime scenes you’ve been shooting says. “But you can call me Tomura.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, even though it’s too late, even though you’ve seen more than enough. “Symbol of Fear. If they were gonna give me a name, they should have picked a better one,” the killer – Tomura – continues. “What would you have named me, if you got to pick?”

“Are you going to kill me?” As soon as you ask the question, you kick yourself. That’s what kidnapped people in movies always say, and it always annoys the killer into killing them faster or more or worse. “I mean, of course you are. That’s what you do. And you told me your name.”

“My name’s not going to help you find me,” Tomura says. So it’s an alias. Fine. it’s not like you’re going to be able to tell anybody either way. “I know your name, so you should know mine. You’d have named me something better, right? I would have gotten a name a lot sooner if the cops had listened to you.”

You hear his footsteps. He’s coming closer. If he’s going to kill you, why hasn’t he tied you up? Is he trying to trick you into running for it? “Hey,” he says. He nudges you with his foot. “I didn’t bring you here to kill you.”

Your heart is racing so hard you can barely breathe. “I bet you say that to all your victims.”

“Not really,” Tomura says. He crouches down next to you. “They need to know what’s coming, so they have time to think about how they want to die. If they want to put on a brave face or beg for mercy or scream the entire way.”

“Which one do you want them to do?”

“I don’t really care,” Tomura says. He pauses. “Maybe I would, if I was thinking about letting them go. But I’m not. I don’t tell my kills I’m not going to do it. So you can believe me when I say I won’t kill you.”

Part of you wants to believe. You’re desperate to believe that there’s some way out of here, but you know better. And if you know better, it doesn’t matter what you do now. “Then why did you bring me here?”

“I’ve been watching. Your work. You do a great job with my work,” Tomura says. It’s quiet for a second. You open your eyes, sneak a sidelong glance, and find him scratching his neck again. “Since you’ve been doing such a good job, I thought I’d give you a chance to shoot the real thing.”

Something taps against your leg. You open your eyes partway, without looking over at Tomura, and find yourself looking at a camera, identical to the one you use at work. “I set up lights and everything,” Tomura continues. “You can move them around if you want. I mean, you shouldn’t need to – my scenes always look good even when the lighting’s shit, but –”

“You want me to shoot you like one of your crime scenes,” you say. You see Tomura nodding out of the corner of your eye. “Um – why?”

“Can you do it or not?” Tomura sounds irritated. You risk a proper glance at him and see him looking away, his pale skin stained with a flush. His face is barely visible – not because of a mask, which would make sense, but because of a life-sized model hand, which serves basically the same purpose and looks ten times as weird. “I know you can take photos of other stuff. I looked you up.”

You can’t see his whole face. The name he gave you is fake. If you take his picture like he wants you to, he won’t have a reason to get angry, and maybe – no, he won’t let you live. He’ll kill you just like he’s killed everyone else. But like everyone else he’s killed, you’ve got time to think about how you want to die, and although you’re pretty sure you’re going to scream and beg like everybody else once he starts cutting you into pieces, you want to keep it together until then. Having something to do will help.

“You saw my other photos,” you say. “Were there ones you liked?”

“I like how you shoot my scenes,” Tomura says. “Just do it like that.”

He gets to his feet, then turns to face you, holding out his hands to help you up. The incongruousness of it catches you off-guard first, but only for a second, and it’s obliterated by just how strange it is to be confronted with his hands when you’re already so familiar with the terrible things he’s done with them. Tomura is a monster. His hands should be gnarled, clawlike, stained with blood. Instead his hands are clean, with ragged nails and a bad case of eczema, and they’re shaking slightly as he holds them out for yours.

You don’t reach for his hands. You raise the camera he got for you and snap a picture.

It startles him, and that means it startles you. “What are you doing?” he snaps. “Why are you taking a picture of that?”

“You’ve seen me shoot your crime scenes,” you say, thinking fast. “I take pictures of all kinds of things. Sometimes it’s just stuff that catches my eye. Your hands are like that.”

Tomura doesn’t answer. He takes one of them back to scratch the side of his neck, and you take a perfunctory grip on the other while getting to your feet under your own power. Tomura’s taller than you, and he doesn’t give you your hand back right away. You have to pull it free. “You can go stand over by the lights if you want,” you say. “Find somewhere you’re comfortable and I’ll adjust them to match.”

Tomura skulks over to the lights, and you take pictures of him as he goes, taking the opportunity to adjust the settings on the camera where you like them. Different parts of the Symbol of Fear come into focus as you take test shot after test shot – his blue-grey hair, tangled and worn to his shoulders, his red eyes, his dry lips – and you fix each of them firmly into your memory. Soon enough you’ll be able to describe him with your eyes closed, even with the hand over his face.

That feels good for only a few seconds. Just as long as it takes for you to noticed the bars on the inside of the basement windows and the barbed wire outside them, and to remember that you’re not getting out of here alive.

Tomura knows you like to take a lot of photos, but it seems to him like you’re overdoing it. You’re taking so many, and you’re taking them of nothing – in most of them, he’s not even looking, or his face isn’t in the shot. “Some of these are test shots,” you say, when he asks. “I’m seeing how the lighting looks from different angles, on different parts of your body. See?”

You hold out the camera for Tomura to check, and he looks away. He doesn’t like looking at himself. “What about the ones that aren’t tests?”

“Just things I’m interested in.” You let the camera fall to your side, then go back to messing with the lighting one-handed. “If you like where you are right now, you can stay there. I’ve fixed the lights so you’ll look good from every angle.”

“That’s funny.” Tomura snorts, but you don’t laugh. You look puzzled. “Me, looking good. It doesn’t matter where I stand.”

“If it doesn’t matter, then stay where you are,” you say. You lift the camera again, and Tomura ducks his head on instinct – and you take the picture anyway.

It doesn’t feel like it does in Tomura’s dreams when you take his picture, but Tomura’s willing to admit that it’s probably a good thing that he’s not affected so strongly. The thing this real-life photoshoot has in common with his dreams above all is the feeling of vulnerability, of exposure. Even with the hand over Tomura’s face, you’re seeing him. Like he’s been seeing you all along.

No, it’s not like that. He couldn’t talk to you through the drone like you can talk to him face to face. “Did you really not know it was me?” Tomura asks. You nod from behind the camera. He’s not even sure what you’re taking a picture of right now. “Who else did you think it was?”

“I didn’t know,” you say. “I knew you were watching the crime scenes somehow. I would have had to, after I got your message. I just didn’t think I was on your list.”

“You’re not on my list,” Tomura says. “Not like that, anyway.”

You nod. You’re adjusting your camera, and Tomura asks you another question. “Who do you think is on my list?”

“Cops. Detectives. Soldiers, prison guards, lawyers.” You take another picture. “People who are part of the system. Or adjacent to it. The guy at the last crime scene was just a photographer, like me.”

He wasn’t you. That was the problem. “I didn’t like his attitude. He was a special case,” Tomura says. “He got talkative towards the end. He was trying to figure out what I wanted to hear. By that point I just wanted him to shut up.”

“Is that why you tore out his tongue?”

You sound a little grossed out. Tomura thinks it’s fair to ask – when he’s arranging his kills, he tends to avoid sticking his hands in their mouths. “He bit it off, and I had to take it out so he wouldn’t swallow it. And since I had it, I figured I should put it to use.”

“The hear-no-evil, see-no-evil, speak-no-evil thing played well with the detective,” you say. You shift where you’re standing, and Tomura shifts to match. “No, stay there. This angle works.”

“Works how?” Tomura says. You shrug. “The three-monkeys shit is on the nose. You guessed way before that, didn’t you? You were paying attention. You always are.”

Tomura likes watching you work over a crime scene, but if he set up that many crime scenes, he’d get caught. Sometimes he watches you at others, car crashes or assaults or murders with no meaning behind them. They don’t deserve your attention, not the way Tomura’s scenes do. “It’s hard not to pay attention to your murders,” you say. “You make them flashy on purpose, but people get distracted by the flashiness and miss out on what you’re trying to say.”

“What do you think I’m trying to say?” Tomura asks, trying not to sound like there’s a lot riding on the answer. “I want to hear it.”

You take another picture. “You have a problem with the system as a whole, but the thing that bothers you is when people fail to do what they promised to do and don’t pay for it. Or people who protect the wrong people, like that lawyer in the article from the second crime scene. The rest of us ignore it, so you want to make us look. Or make it so we can’t look away.”

You take another picture – of Tomura’s face this time, which is bad, because Tomura’s face is heating up. You didn’t just notice that he was trying to say something, you got it exactly right. Now it feels like it does in Tomura’s dreams. His skin crawls in a way that’s better and worse than itching, and when he looks away from you, you take another picture, and another. The flash is off, but Tomura can hear the shutter click, every sound winding him a little tighter. He scratches his neck with one hand, pulls at collar of his shirt with the other. “Did it work on you?” he asks, forcing the words out in an even tone. “Could you look away?”

“Not really,” you say. Tomura breathes a sigh of relief that’s a little too loud, and it catches your attention. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Tomura says through gritted teeth. You snap another picture. “What were you even looking at this time?”

“You,” you say, and you turn the camera in your hand, holding out the viewscreen so he can look, too.

Tomura recoils from the sight out of habit, but he keeps looking, and the longer he looks at it, the more he starts to see what you were trying to capture. Tomura’s eyes are averted from the camera behind his disguise, but the light catches his face in a way that startles him. Even the flush on his face looks different – not disgusting and contagious, but natural. Normal. Some word that makes it look like it belongs where it is. Is this how he looks to you? No wonder he needed you to keep looking. Looking feels good. Tomura’s never liked himself better than when he’s seeing himself through your eyes.

Still, you haven’t seen everything, and he needs you to. Tomura reaches up and grasps the hand, ready to pull it from his face.

You avert your eyes in a hurry, then close them entirely. “I can’t,” you say. “If I see you, you’ll never let me leave.”

“I have to,” Tomura says. His voice is oddly ragged. “Nobody else gets it like you do. It’s better for me if you’re out there.”

You set the camera down without looking back at him, and his hands close over your wrists tightly. “We’re not done,” Tomura says. “Keep going.”

He’s getting off on this. You can tell by the sound of his breathing, the unsteady rise and fall of his chest, the way he’s shifting in his seat, and your instinct is to flinch in disgust. But you’ve been watching him closely this entire time, and you didn’t see this response when you were talking about his crime scenes. It’s not violence or murder that gets him going, so what’s causing this? It can’t be this simple. There’s no way it’s just because you’re taking his picture.

If he gets off, maybe he’ll let you go. “I’ll take as many pictures as you want if you leave your disguise on.”

“Done.”

You pull your hands from Tomura’s grip and raise your camera again, wondering how much you’re allowed to pose him. If you’re allowed to. “Can I touch you?” you ask. “There’s this pose I’m –”

Tomura nods. His eyes are closed, and you take another picture, this one of the scratched side of his neck and his shirt pulled to one side, before you think about how you might want to pose him. He’s seated. If you could find something for him to lay back against, that would be ideal, but there’s nothing. “Lean your weight back on your right hand,” you tell him, and he does. “Do what you want with your left hand. Tilt your head –”

It’s beyond uncomfortable to see him follow your instructions, given who he is and what he’s done. You take a picture or two of the preliminary pose, focusing on the new angles created by his extended arm and single bent knee. There’s an awkwardness to him, but there’s something compelling about the way his form and features come together. Maybe in another life he’d have been a model, somebody’s muse. Right now he’s the subject of what’s probably the last photo you’ll ever take.

Tomura’s hair is in his face. You say his name to warn him, then reach out and brush the strands of blue-grey hair out of his eyes. At first your fingers are against his forehead; then you let them drift downward, from his cheek to his jaw to the It’s a mistake. Tomura shudders at your touch, the arm he’s balanced on barely holding him up, and you take a picture of that, too, struggling to stay out of the shot while capturing everything that needs to be seen. Everything needs to be seen. The perversity of the Symbol of Fear, a man who’s thrown the entire country into terror, coming almost untouched and almost on camera, is something you can’t resist capturing forever.

And if the sight of him does something for you, too – if knowing that you and your camera can make him like this ties your chest in a knot and sends heat flooding through you – you don’t need to share that with anyone. You’re the photographer. You don’t matter.

Tomura fumbles at the hand over his face, and like before, you shut your eyes. “Don’t,” he says. “I want you to see.”

“No.” You shake your head and lower your camera, for good this time. “If you meant it about letting me go –”

“Knowing my face wouldn’t help you find me,” Tomura says with disturbing confidence. You wonder why he’s so convinced. If he’s right. “I have to let you go. Nobody gets what I’m trying to say the way you do.”

“You’re okay with that.” Why are you trying to talk him out of it? “You’re okay with me going out there and trying to track you down.”

“Counting on it,” Tomura says. A hand that’s ended the lives of at least six people that you know of lands on your shoulder, then drifts upwards along your throat to cup your cheek. “You’ll keep looking. You’ll know when you’re getting close.”

“How?”

“I’ll come find you again,” Tomura says. You dare to open your eyes and see him smiling at you, through the fingers of the hand. His smile makes your skin crawl. “And that time, I won’t let you go.”

He’ll kill you. Or he’ll hang onto you forever and make you wish you were dead. Tomura sits up, still moving awkwardly, somehow relaxed. You’ve never seen a guy who just came in his pants look less embarrassed about it. You can’t reconcile the two pieces of Tomura in your head – the murderer of half a dozen at least who’s planning to kill more, alongside the man who craves connection and understanding so badly that it’s become a turn-on. One of them is reprehensible, unforgivable. The other is just human. How can he be both?

You’re lost in thought, so much so that you don’t see the mask in Tomura’s hand until it’s descended over your face. Tomura pulls you back against him, holding you upright as you struggle for breath. His arm is secure around your waist, and his voice is soft in your ear, if still a little breathless. “I’ll be in touch,” he says. “Keep looking. I’ll see you soon.”

His dry lips brush against the corner of your jaw, too light to be a kiss, too lingering to be an accident. It’s the last thing you’re aware of before everything goes black.

When you wake up again, you’re in your apartment with another splitting headache and a single bullet-point of certainty boring into your skull. You will keep looking for Tomura. You’ll have to, to try to stop him from committing even one more gruesome, vengeance-driven murder over a wrong you can’t begin to guess at. You’ll come close to stopping him, and when you do, Tomura will come for you again.

The thought is nightmarish. He’ll almost certainly kill you then; he won’t have a use for you anymore. But even as the certainty settles in, you find your stomach twisting into a dark, heated mess at the thought that at least one more time before you die, you’ll see him in a way no one else ever will. You’ll have one more moment with your camera, and the Symbol of Fear undone before you. If it’s the last shot you’ll ever take, whether it’s tomorrow night or next week or ten years from now, you’ll have to make it count.

When he kills you, and he will, Tomura will make your crime scene a composition for the ages. It’s only fair for you to turn him into a work of art.

[hiskillingjar]

tbh I need more fanfics of laws necrophilia... there's too few.

your wish is my command you fucking sicko

1500+ words, first person, law's pov. cw for necrophilia (duh), mentions of rape and murder, and gross bodily functions

crossposted on ao3. give me attention i have huge boobs

You were dead.

It had happened recently, maybe two hours ago, three hours at most.

Your nose was broken, bones and flesh smashed like a hole, caked with near-black blood, with the same trickling (lighter, ruby red) from a hollow gash on your forehead where your skull had caved in.

You put up a fight, evident from the bruises on your bare shoulders and chest, but blunt force trauma always won out, no matter how strong the person receiving it was.

It only takes four minutes from the moment a person has died (or, was killed in your case) before their body enters the decomposition process, beginning with the "self-digestion" stage, causing what most people know as rigor mortis, as the body begins to eat itself from the inside out.

All the tiny bacteria living in our bodies digest the small intestine first, which causes the cells in the body to lose their structural integrity and start dying and collapsing. Blisters will then appear on internal organs and the skin's surface (purple and yellow, like bruises, like pus), which is also when flies and maggots will become interested and begin to eat and reproduce too, playing nature’s role in the decomposition process.

Decomposition scares most people. I know that, which is why I don’t talk about it.

The idea that the body of someone they care about can begin deteriorating in front of their eyes (within minutes, even) upsets them.

It scares them. 

They don't like thinking about how weak we, as human beings, really are, and how willing our bodies are to turn on us when we no longer belong there.

It doesn't scare me, though. 

Which was why I wasn't scared when I saw you.

I had been in the forest that night, checking on the mastication process of the newest project until it had gotten dark, and was heading back to my car when I found you, lit by a single moonbeam on the clearing closest to the road.

Whoever killed you hadn’t done a good job of hiding it, but I was grateful for that.

You were a willowy beauty in a skimpy, white night dress (dotted with blood and dirt and other fluids), hands taped together at the wrist, dead, empty eyes staring up at the starry night sky as the holes in your skull continued to bleed.

What a beautiful night to die.

I'd never seen a dead body in real life. 

Plenty online, plenty in the fucked up videos I used to watch when I was a teenager, before I knew what death felt like, really felt like, and knew I could never see it kept to a video again, but never in the flesh.

I felt a wave of initial nausea take over me, a predisposed reaction to death that the human body must have had, because I was far from disgusted when I saw you.

I set my bag down and approached you, a hand over my mouth to stop any instinct to vomit.

I couldn’t ruin you any more than you had already been ruined.

You almost looked like a doll, lying in the grass, your skin paling and purpling as the initial stages of 'self-digestion' occurred underneath it, and a loud part of me ached to tear into you and see it happen myself. 

Yes. That’s what you were.

A broken doll played with and thrown away when she was no longer fun to play with.

"How awful," I murmured to myself, stopping my idle pacing at your blackened feet and setting myself down into a comfortable squat, tilting my head to examine you more closely. "Who did this to you? A boyfriend? Husband?"

Letting my curiosity get the better of me, I reached forward and gently nudged your legs apart, not surprised when I saw purpled bruises between your legs, reaching up to your equally bruised vagina that appeared wet and slick (and not just with the piss and shit leaving your body, another part of the self-digestion process that people didn’t like).

"I'm sorry," I then said to you, because it felt like you could hear me, looking at your bloody face. "You didn't deserve that."

I settled down onto my knees, dirt and mud soaking in, and crawled a little closer to you, kneeling between your spread legs and pressing my body down against yours. 

Your warmth was dying, as all warmth always did, but it was still there, barely alive, in your chest and your inner thighs.

I could feel my core begin to tighten and throb, despite the awful smell of death beneath me

I didn’t mind. I was used to the smell of rot.

"I mean, not like anyone deserves it," I whispered with an awkward chuckle, reaching up and stroking your pale cheek, smearing blood as I pushed dark hair out of your pretty face. You made a broken nose look beautiful, I thought. "Just you especially didn't deserve it. I'm sorry."

I pressed my face into your matted hair, smelling the scent of freshly washed hair and sweet blood over the smell of shit, and my core tightened even more.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I repeated, rubbing my face against your clean hair, my trembling hands going to your thighs and parting them even further. "The world is so cruel, isn't it? So cruel to people like you."

The white lace, the freshly washed hair, the cum lingering on your skin after your death, maybe this boyfriend or husband had even killed you on an anniversary or something. 

The world could be cruel, but people could be so much crueller.

"I promise I won't be cruel," I whispered, slowly reaching down to the front of my sweat pants and squeezing my- "It'll be quick. I'll make it as easy as I can." I tucked them down and freed myself, lowering myself between your warm thighs, stiff with rigour mortis but open and willing for someone (someone kind and good like me) to take care of you. "I wish I could ask properly. I'm sorry I can't."

I gradually pressed inside you, the seed of your killer making the entrance easy and slick, even if self-digestion had made you tighten up, like you were trying to ward off anybody else who wanted to do this to you, even in death.

I was patient though. 

I was happy to slowly work you open, slowly lower your defences and make you feel safe with me.

I had never done this before, either, although I had often fantasised about it, masturbated about it, and wrote about it in journals and concerning blog posts. 

None of that compared to the real thing, naturally.

I couldn’t help a slight grimace, though, feeling the wet slide of shit against my groin and upper thighs as I pressed closer to you, seeking your tightness, but I knew that you couldn't help it. 

If you could help it, this wouldn't have felt nearly as good. 

"I'm sorry," I said again through grit teeth and wheezing hisses, taking each of your slim hips in my hands and starting up a series of thrusts, first shallow and then deep, as you opened up more and accepted me. "I haven't done this before. I'm probably going to be quicker than I thought...hah."

I slid deeper, forcing a gas pocket inside you to open softly, demure and quiet, like you were hiding it from me (too shy to be a human), and it sent an electric spike of arousal through my body, tingling up my spine and to the stem of my brain.

Fuck.

"Fuck," I breathed out, lowering my head down to your chest and reaching up to the strap of your night dress, pulling it aside and exposing your perfect breasts, mottled purple with bruises and decomposition, your nipples hard and oozing with fluid. "I'm sorry. Thank you. I'm sorry. Thank you."

I spilt my seed inside of you and almost instantly pulled away, embarrassed, tucking away my softening flesh and dismissing myself from your body, like this had been a particularly humiliating brothel encounter.

I probably hadn’t been your worst encounter that night, but still.

I let out a long sigh, pushing a hand into my hair as I wet my lips nervously, and picked up my bag, starting the walk back to my car.

I felt bad that I couldn't give you a burial, some dignity in death after what your killer (after what I) had done to you. 

I felt worse leaving you there to degrade, and not bundling you up in my trunk and taking you home with me, to take care of and love through each lovely stage of decomposition, but...no, leaving you out in the open would be better.

That way, the police would find you in the morning, identify you from dental records or a fingerprint (or something), and you might get something close to justice.

I just hoped any tests they did wouldn't spot two different sources of semen inside of you.

[madwomansapologist]

smile for the camera | peach salinger

Navigation | More Best Friends Forever AU | AO3

synopsis: Peach has been sick for so long, it makes sense that now she wants to have fun. What was supposed to be just a drink or two turned into an endless night - albeit a forgettable one for your drunken brain. But Peach has more than enough photos to prove that what happened is not imagination.

warnings: yandere!peach salinger. smut. groping. nudes. fingering. oral. toxic friendship. codependency. her rare illness that reaaaaally exists. gaslighting. manipulation. jealousy. substance abuse which means this is somehow equally dub!con? cheating. as a survivor of a homoerotic toxic friendship, this is more of a confession. in this house we support women's wrong. female!reader.

You should be preparing for next week's seminar for your work. More than that, you wanted to be preparing yourself. It's important, you worked a lot on it. You promised yourself that you would finally make sure that everything was ready and set for your big day.

And yet there you were. Driving towards Peach's location. Not the first time. Certainly not the last.

Peach just had the worst week of her life - acording to her huge history of messages, twitter account and daily Be Real updates. Another complication of her rare disease. It's something about gluten and PH. You never really understood what it's, all you need to know is that it's serious.

And you weren't there for her.

Peach is way more than just a friend. She's your family. You know her since graduation. A couple of years, but it feels like a lifetime ago. She's been there beside you for so long that you can't actually remember how life was before her.

She's always there for you. Since the first day. A kind listener to your ramblings about horrible teachers turned into someone that would hear anything you needed to say. And Peach can count on you too. What for her started as someone who actually knew how to do makeup ended with someone who would clean her tear stained face.

Peach's advices may be harsh to say the less, but she always is there to hear about your problems. It was so difficult when you were suddenly fired from your last job, but you knew you could count on her - still embarrassing to accept money from her, but what other choice did you had?

When your grandma passed, she was there for you too. When you lost your cat, when your car died out of nowhere, when you discovered in the worst way possible that blush actually does spoil.

Peach is always there for you, just as you're always there for her. But just when she was sick... you weren't there to help.

Away for the holidays, with your family, everything was perfect. That's what hurted you the most. If it was at any other week you would be worried, yet not guilty. But of course it happened right on the week you knew Peach would be alone.

Fuck her decease, and fuck her shit family.

You almost came back. You even told her. Peach tried to tell you not to, but you really would. But your mom almost killed you with her stare just from mentioning that you might need to go back to New York earlier.

Back to town, you had so much to do, but what else could've you say when Peach asked if you were free to go drinking with her? Maybe the truth. But the truth wouldn't help her, nor would make you feel good about yourself.

Just two or three drinks, you told her.

"Pookie!" Peach called you when you entered the pub. You looked around, the place with more movement than usual, and saw her waiving for you. "Right there!"

You dropped your purse on your usual place. Peach knows the owner, and he always makes sure to have her favorite place free. You kissed her cheeks, relieved to see that she looked healthy.

"I knew that dress would suit you perfectly," Peach pulled the hem of the golden piece. Her fingers stayed there longer than necessary, just feeling the warmth of your skin throught the dress.

You sat down, seeing that she had already asked for your drink. Exactly what you wanted. "Thaaanks," you pratically purred at her. "I have clothes at your home, I will give it back to you tonight."

Peach took a sip from her drink, mirroring you. She fixed her hair, as if it wasn't perfectly done. "You can stay with it. Looks better on you, anyway."

"Always trying to gift me things," you rolled your eyes, but a smirk quickly appeared on your face. 'So... who are we talking shit about tonight?"

"Boo... I've missed you so, so, so much," Peach grabbed your hand.

You held it gently, your thumb brushing against the soft skin of her palm. So warm, so free of any scars. Peach's hair smells like milk, her neck like strawberry, her breath like mint. But her hands always smelled like honey.

"I've missed you too."

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

You drank way more than three drinks.

The night started on that pub, but it didn't end there. Somehow things with Peach always ends with you both wandering throught New York. As if live was a tv show. Maybe that's something that happens to rich girls, and you're experimenting it out of proximity.

Going on different bars, laughing at anything that moves, talking about epiphanies that wouldn't survive the night. It wasn't a surprise that it would turn into a drunk karaoke night, but you'll still get surprised by the photos on your phone.

Struggling, Peach unlocked the main door of her house. You went upstairs trying not to fall, and put your heels on the floor - you don't remember taking them off.

Peach dropped her purse, not caring about where it would fall, and stretched. That was too much. Definitely too much. Peach is used to get wasted, but even she was affected.

She don't even remember how you both managed to get to her home. For a matter of fact, neither do you. After a certain point, the night was nothing but a dark blur.

Peach knew you would do everything to come back to her. You have the biggest heart ever. She wanted you to spend new years eve with her, but she undertood you wanted to be with your family. But when she saw the picture of your new boyfriend with your mom... she needed to do something to stop that.

He just... He don't deserve you. He's not on your level. You need someone that will be able to take care of you. Someone that will assure that you can work on your researches, that will give you freedom, that will support you in all ways that matter.

And that's not that guy. How will be your future with him? Worrying about mortcages and settling for the basics when you deserve the best? You deserve more. And if you can't see that, than she'll open your eyes.

Her sickness wasn't able to get you back, but now you're here she'll make sure to tomorrow morning give you a few advices. She didn't mean to make you feel guilty, but if you feeling guilty makes her have so much fun... Peach ain't able to say that she's ashamed.

"You ain't going to throw up, right?" Peach kicked her heels away, moonlight illuminating her bedroom. "I really don't want you to die while I sleep."

You just rolled your eyes, admiring yourself through the mirror. "I feel so pretty."

"That's because you are, pookie," Peach sat on her bed. Getting her earrings off, she followed your hands as you slid them across your dress. Her dress.

You licked your lips. "I feel... hot."

Peach sighed. She needs you in her life. You're half of her. You're hers. Most of the time she can ignore that. She can pretend that being your friend includes wanting your attention all the time, needing to always have an eye on you, dreaming of you.

But now with alcohol messing with her head, it was difficult to chose to look away from you. To keep on pretending that she don't want to look at you all the time. To shut up that part of her that knew you both are endgame. To not pretend that you're the forbidden fruit and she don't even need a snake to tempt her.

"That's because you do."

You looked at her hazy eyes. "You think so?"

"I know so."

It was your time to sigh. "I don't want to forget that," you played with the hem. "I would record me like this if I could."

Peach opened the second drawer of her nightstand. In the mirror, you saw the analog camera shining. “What an old thing,” you teased her.

"Then pose," she said. You turned to her, brows arched. She was already aiming it at you. "Smile for the camera."

You rolled your eyes, but smiled anyway. Even blinded by the flash you still knew she was too.

That wasn't the first time she used that camera to record you. You reorganizing your kitchen's cabinet, wandering through libraries, dining with a date. Peach can't believe you're real. She uses those photos as a proof of your existence. A proof that you're more than a fragment of her mind.

Peach thought you wouldn't want it. That you would think she was weird. But now you'd asked for it. As the flashes go on, you have fun with new poses. It was almost childish. Just two drunk woman having fun together.

You sat down on her bed, and Peach walked towards you. Looking at you through the camera, she tripped and fell on top of you. You laughed hard, your head against her pillows, as Peach tried to get up. She leaned on your shoulder, sitting on your lap, and felt your laugh echoing inside her.

Then the laughter ended, and silence consumed you both. Suddenly you both realized how late it was. How really lonely you both would've been if not by eachother company. Peach on your lap, the camera lying on the bed, your breathing unregulated.

"Is it ok if I take it off?" Your fingers were again pulling the hem of your dress. "Would you mind?"

"O-Okay," Peach whispered. "Go on."

Peach hesitated before reaching for the camera. Her hand was shaking. The first photo was just a grey blur. She breathed in and tried again. Then she saw.

You weren't looking to the camera.

You were looking at her.

The next was of your face. You body didn't even appeared. Your hair loose on her pillows, a lopsided smile breaking free, eyes glowing with the moonlight. The forbidden fruit, within reach of her touch.

"Am I pretty like this?"

Peach breathed in. "You're perfect."

"Show me," you whispered. "I want to see it."

Peach reached for your cheek, caressing it slowly. Her fingertip brushed against your lip, and you opened your mouth. Without even realizing what she was doing, Peach put her thumb inside your mouth.

The flash made you close your eyes, but she knew there was no way for you to not look perfect. The wet finger went down your body, marking your breasts with your own drool, and the flashes continued.

She could die from your expression as she pinched your nipple. Or from how easily you opened your legs for her. How you glowed, so sensitive to her fingers. How you arched your back. How you whispered her name.

Then she started recording it.

Her tongue against your clit, fingers inside of you. Her mouth on yours, hands grabbing your waist. Your drunken gaze, stupid mind, static body. Sometimes you spaced out, but Peach would bring you back to Earth.

It was slow, and torturing, and neverending. It was a fever dream, a blurred memory, a drunk imagination. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. A dream, that's the only explanation.

But her so precious photos and videos would proof otherwise.

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[sailing-through-hawkins]

i got a much bigger response to my Harrington Charms Hellfire post than i expected so i wrote a little something that was along the lines of what i was thinking!

Part 1 ✧ Part 2 ✧ Part 3 ✧ Part 4 ✧ AO3

Sometimes Eddie thinks the real Upside-Down is his life after they close up the gates and pulverize Vecna ("they" in this situation being superhero Jane Hopper and the rest of her merry band of warriors), because past-Eddie would probably have a breakdown over...well, everything.

For one thing, Eddie is currently in the passenger seat of none other than Steve Harrington's Beemer, at the man's very request himself.

"Wait, I'll drop you off."

"'Preciate the thought, Steve but -"

"Munson. It's been like two weeks since you even started walking by yourself, sorry if I'm kinda worried about letting you go across town without me."

"Uh...just you?"

"Any of us, but me specifically since I'm clearly everyone's chauffeur. Might as well play the role, right?"

It's been like a month and every time Eddie wants to go anywhere in the slowly rebuilding town, Steve's right there with him. It'd be infuriating if it wasn't so obvious he liked doing it. If Steve wasn't so intent on just making sure Eddie's alright and yeah the mother-henning should have gotten old by now but if Eddie even thinks about telling him to stop, all he sees is sad eyes and hunched shoulders hiding under a complacent smile and wave bye-bye. God those eyes are fucking weapons.

They're heading over to Gareth's garage for a light-hearted band session. It's funny because Dustin was the one who convinced Eddie to "get your head out of your ass and talk to your friends, dick" and actually reach out to the rest of Hellfire about the whole 'not a murderer OR dead' thing. After some apologizing (ugh) and grovelling (double ugh), the rest of his sheep were willing to forgive him for ignoring their calls and visits while he was in recovery. Provided, of course, that he continue to check in with them on a bi-weekly basis at minimum. It's unfortunate that Steve, for all his head trauma, makes sure that Eddie actually sticks to that basis.

The things he does for love.

Or no, not love, definitely not love, it is way too fucking soon to call this teensy little infatuation anything as huge as love. No. Not love at all.

They're about to reach Gareth's place, that's important. By the time Steve rolls to a stop outside the garage, Eddie's panic (not panic, just a strong argument, this is not love) has simmered down. He has to take his time getting out of the car today, thank whatever deity is out there for quick-feet Steve, who runs around the front to help Eddie out onto his two feet. It's been a rough week but he had way worse back in that first month at the hospital, not to mention needing a little Steve-assistance isn't the worst thing in the world.

"Hey!"

Eddie blinks as Steve helps him lean against the car, the spots in his vision fading away to reveal Gareth right up in his space with a murderous gaze directed right at Steve.

Eddie worries that he's gonna start a fight even though it's been months since he's introduced Steve as his live-in-nurse (nobody takes Eddie's hints at a sexy nurse uniform to heart thankfully, he doesn't know what he'd do if Steve caught on that he's only half-joking) and Steve's been doing the best he can to make amends with Hellfire.

At least the guys aren't walking on eggshells around him anymore, judging by how Gareth barely took a glance to assess Eddie's wellbeing before going back to glaring at Steve with eyes ready to kill. Well fuck you too Gareth.

He crosses his arms, eyes burning with resentment as he continues go stare down a pretty nonchalant Steve who is very much in Eddie's space as he also leans against the car, fuck he's so close. When Eddie glances at him to scope out what the fuck is happening, he sees that gaze again. The gaze that reminds Eddie of Steve's days as King, looking over his reigning population with a boredom teetering on malicious negligence. That gaze used to send Eddie's mind into hysterics, painting images of crowding into the King's space just to see those big brown eyes waver. But that's not how it is anymore, Steve's eyes are usually brimming with concern, irritation or a spark of contentment as he watches his little nuggets run around screaming about Eddie's latest one-shot campaign.

Right now, there's no screaming teenagers. It's just silence for a few moments, a tension building in Eddie's bones until he thinks this must be what it's like to watch a sports match, head running back-and-forth between the two teams and waiting with baited breath.

"So?" Gareth spits out, squinting at Steve, just tilts his head in response and lets a few strands of perfect fall into his eyes, damn that bastard. Gareth grits his teeth and takes a breath, "What did you think?"

Steve watches Gareth, as if assessing his line delivery, shifting so he fully faces him but is still totally in Eddie's space with a hand on the car roof behind Eddie and the other crooked up on Steve's hip. The motion lets Eddie smell his aftershave and fuck, Steve still runs so warm. Whatever he finds in Gareth has to be what he wants because he gives them both a half-lidded smirk and shrugs his shoulders. "Eh, wasn't that into it."

Gareth sputters, face turning crimson and Eddie is like super confused because what the fuck is going on right now? 

Steve is the one to fully break his brain with a laugh that throws his head back, his neck stretching out so the light hits his jawline perfectly, that bastard. He looks back at Gareth's flushed face with a sunny grin that sets fire to Eddie's veins. "You totally liked it, didn't you?"

Eddie snaps his head to Gareth, who squirms before dropping his shoulders. His little mutter of, "Yeah, I did," sounds so defeated that Eddie feels a second-hand guilt, but over what? He has no fucking clue.

That small pit of guilt quickly dissolves into even more confusion when Steve laughs again, kicking himself off his car to land a hand on Gareth's shoulder and fucking wink at Eddie. "The miracle of Grease, huh Munson?"

Record-scratch. Sorry, what?

"Sorry, what?" Eddie snaps his eyes from the grinning god that is Steve and the sulking fluster that is a member of his club, one of his friends, one of his very overprotective sheep who has hated Steve's guts for a long time and is now letting the guy give him a fucking noogie in broad daylight with empty complaints.

"Looks like I've been corrupting your crew, Eds, if Gary being a Greaser -"

"I am NOT a Greaser, I just -"

Gary? Steve calls Gareth the Great...Gary? And he doesn't even comment on it? Last time Jeff tried that, Gareth threatened to hide a spider in his guitar case. But Steve Harrington, someone Gareth has had no qualms about verbally tearing apart, does it and it's fine?

"Eds? Hey, Eddie." And now Steve's looking at him with that concern-rotten gaze, eyes flitting over every inch of Eddie's face as if to pinpoint what's wrong and fix it with a smile and a soft you're okay now, I've got you. "Back with me?"

Swallowing down an incessant I'm always with you, sweetheart, Eddie nods. In his peripheral, Gareth is watching him with his hands out as if to catch Eddie from falling. Which is stupid because Eddie hasn't fallen from light-headedness in like two days (Eddie shuts up the part of his brain that reminds him Gareth wouldn't know that with a part that says Dustin probably gives the whole club daily medical chart updates) and wait fuck is that Steve's hand on his neck right now?

"So!" Eddie claps his hands, eye twitching as Steve's hand slowly trails to his shoulder, lingering for a moment before he takes it off entirely. Stupid jock bastard with his touchy-ness and his smile and - "What's this I hear about Grease, Gary?"

Oh yeah, there's that livid face of watch out for the tarantula bitch, Eddie's missed that. Well, Gareth still does it everyday but not at Eddie for a while there, probably because of the whole intensive injury recovery shit. Oh well. "None of your -"

"Gareth and I made a bet," Steve clamps his hand back onto Gareth to shove them closer together, pointedly ignoring Gareth glare of betrayal. The space on the back of Eddie's neck still burns with the ghost of Steve's touch, something ugly in his chest snarling at how that touch is now on Gareth's arm. He wonders if the bats left him with more than bites sometimes. "About some movies we recommended each other. And since I won, that means -"

"No way, I'm not -"

"Uh yeah you are, I won so -"

"Fuck you, Harrington -"

"Not on the first date, hotshot," Steve laughs as Gareth tries wrangling out of his hold, holding onto him by his shoulders with one gloriously bulging forearm. Eddie's starting to think the light-headedness might be a symptom of something other than his brush with the bats. Oh don't think about the bats, bad move, bad move. "Didn't know you raised a cheater, Eddie."

Steve's eyes are glowing with mirth, his grin wide as Gareth threatens to bite him with a smile of his own. And that's. Huh?

"And I didn't know you two were so close," Eddie manages to cough out, snapping his gaze to Gareth with a raised eyebrow. He squirms again, ducking out of Steve's grasp (Eddie can't imagine why anyone would want to) and dusting off his shirt. "Holding out on me, Harrington?"

Steve shrugs, his eyes fixating right next to Eddie's eyes. He steps closer, a firm and warm presence right in Eddie's space, right in front of him, and raises a hand to caress Eddie's hair, that fucker. Eddie stifles his gasp because he knows Steve's just getting something out of his hair, like he does every goddamn time he sees a leaf or dust or fucking anything in Eddie's mass of curls. "Just being friendly. Now giddy up, you two've got a session to do."

"Not sticking around?" Gareth looks back at the garage, the forced nonchalance in his tone nothing compared to the shadow of King Steve's gaze. "Frank wanted to ask you about those threads from last week."

"Shit," Steve slapped his forehead, looking into the garage at Frankie who - fucking waves at them?! Mr. "Do what you want but I'm never falling for that Harrington charm bullshit" is waving at Steve. Who, incidentally, waves back with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Frankie, I can't make it today, got a shift with the supply run! Rain check on the wardrobe?"

And Frank the Unwavering, notorious for sticking to his guns with a grip tight enough to choke a man, gives Steve a thumbs up before going back to strumming with Jeff. What the fuck.

"Wardrobe?" Eddie chokes.

"Don't worry about it," Steve waves a hand in the air and gently pulls Eddie off the car, settling his arm around Gareth, who takes Eddie's weight with ease. "I'll tell you later. You'll be good to take him, or should I?"

Gareth scoffs but his eyebrows aren't scrunched with any irritation or anger. "I think I can handle it, Harrington. Go handle your hero shit."

And here's the thing. Steve has a thing about that word. Eddie's noticed because, well, he's always watching Steve and he has a rocky relationship with the word "hero." Sometimes his whole body glows with the praise, smile so wide and eyes so sparkly it makes Eddie want to scream. Other times, Steve shrinks just a little, barely noticeable, and his smile dims and his eyes are shadowed with something Eddie doesn't understand. Or can't understand. He's not sure.

This time, Steve seems to be on the glowing side of things but it's so subtle compared to usual that Eddie just has to blink and all that golden haze is gone already. He blinks again and Steve's waving bye to him, blinks and Steve's in his car, blinks and he's driving back on the road to wherever people need him to be.

Gareth snorts, tugging Eddie out of his daze and shuffling them both toward the sofa at the back of the garage, the brown beauty it is. "Wipe the drool, man, you're getting it all over my hair."

"Oh like you're one to talk," Eddie waits until Gareth settles him on the sofa and fully stands up before fluttering his eyelashes up at him. "Gary."

"Shut up!" Gareth flushes, stomping over to his (barely holding together, but Eddie likes to think they're made of the same stuff Steve is, to keep going after a fucking averted apocalypse) drums. Jeff laughs when he fumbles with his sticks and Eddie grins when Gareth's attempt at throwing them lands the fuckers right at Frank and that sets them all off.

Yeah, maybe some stuff has turned on its head, Steve and the town and Eddie's general worldview, but he's still got his inner circle and that's good enough for him.

[naughtyneganjdm]

Good Luck Charm - Chapter 26

Summary: After being married, Negan decides to take Y/N to a place they visited once when they were younger to give her a honeymoon which brings back old memories.

Characters: Negan, Y/N/reader (OC), etc.

Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Some Smut, etc.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39423063/chapters/135889690

Notes: I have several chapters of this still planned. I know I took a very long break from this one and I'm sorry, but I'm doing my best to finish the stories that I still have opened. I want to make sure to finish them all. Thanks to anyone that might still read this one!

“Do you really think it’s safe leaving the kids with strangers?” Y/N inquired while her and Negan walked through the woods to an area that Negan insisted they get out of the car to walk to. The sound of Negan not walking far behind her was heard and it made her swallow down hard. “I know that you trust these people, but after hearing the way some of them talk to you I’m not sure that they are the safest people for the children to be around.”

“Hey, I know what I’m doing, okay?” Negan snickered from behind her, pushing aside some of the brush that was in front of him while he followed her. “I know some of my men are questionable, but I know who to put my faith in when it comes to the children. I wouldn’t put their lives on the line, I promise you.”

“I want to believe you, but with your past…” she looked over her shoulder at Negan hearing him let out a grumble that showed his displeasure over the fact she was still holding the past over his head. “It takes a lot to regain my trust Negan. I’m not who I used to be.”

“You trusted me enough to marry me,” Negan reminded her, moving in beside her to pinch her bottom causing a yelp to fall from her throat. An amused snicker fell deep from within him and it made her roll her eyes. “I think if you were worried, we wouldn’t be here going away for our so-called honeymoon. You probably would have killed me.”

“I came close a few times,” she pointed out and he let out an amused rumble. “It’s just been hard for me to be away from the children. Since this whole thing started, I’ve never really been apart from them.”

“Exactly, which is why you need this break,” Negan hushed her, his arm hooking loosely around her waist while he led her in closer to him. “For years, all you ever wanted was to be married to me. Now you are and we’re going to do it right. Well, as right as you possibly can in a world like this.”

“Oh, so you’re going to divorce the women that are your other wives?” she blurt out and it was followed by another rumble of a growl. “That’s what I thought.”

“The only real wife that I have is you and you know that,” Negan pushed further, his arm tightening around her in a possessive grasp. “I think we just need to focus on how we’re actually together now. Married. Like a real couple. The way it should have been a long time ago.”

“Mhmm,” she stopped moving, reaching for his hand to pull him to face her. A long exhale fell from her lips while she stared up at him. Palming down over the side of his face, she drew him to her and shook her head slowly. “You know how much I love you Negan. How much I’ve always loved you.”

“Of course I do,” Negan whispered, his thumb drawing lines over the side of her face. “You know I love you too. Very much. And once you came back into my life I decided that I was going to stop wasting fucking time. I’m gonna focus on being a good dad to my children. Nathan and Evie are gonna know what it’s like to have a good father in their life. You’re going to know what it’s like to be pampered the way you are meant to be.”

Tipping up on her toes, Y/N met Negan in a faint kiss that made him hum against her flesh. Stroking his fingers over the side of her face, Negan pulled back ever so slightly and his hazel eyes were locked on hers. There was always something in the way that Negan looked at her that took her breath away. She hated it, but also loved it at the same time.

“I love you,” Negan slurred, leaning in to skim his lips in over hers drawing her to close her eyes tightly. Warmth flooded her veins when he finally claimed her lips in a heated kiss. His right hand palmed in over her bottom and she huffed out. “What?”

“Are you ever going to tell me where you are taking me? Are we almost there or…?” she braced her hand over the center of his chest, purring out when he nibbled at her bottom lip. “Negan.”

“We’re almost there, here…” Negan reached for her hand leading her through the woods, looking back at her with an amused expression. “I wanna see if you remember this place…”

“What do you mean?” she smirked knowing that they had been walking for a while toward an area that felt uphill. When he pushed aside one of the bushes, she let out an amused sound when she saw the group of tiny cabins that sat at the top of a hill that overlooked a large body of water. “God, not this place.”

“So you remember this place?” Negan felt her pulling her hand from his when she moved toward the center of the camp to gaze around. “I thought maybe you would forget it.”

“How could I forget this place? Sure things are overgrown, but I would never forget this place,” she let out something that resembled a giggle and Negan smiled brightly, shoving his hands into his pockets while she looked around. Pointing to one of the cabins, she looked back at Negan and saw him nod. “It was the first year that we were dating. You wanted to go on a road trip with no plans. Just hit the road and see where we ended up. So we got on your motorcycle and just started off in whatever direction I picked.”

“And not far into the trip you started getting handsy so we pulled off here and decided to break into one of these cabins,” Negan added to the conversation hearing her let out an amused sound. “We both agreed these things were ridiculously small, but they were good enough for what we needed which was to just have sex. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other…”

“And we didn’t close the door the first time and there was that deer,” she recalled making Negan huff out when she turned to face him.

“The deer was a pervert that just wanted to spy on us,” Negan walked across the gravel toward her when she moved up the steps to the cabin that they had snuck in together almost fourteen years ago. “I still think that deer wanted a piece of me.”

“You would,” she noted looking into the windows of the cabin to let out a sigh. “We ended up just staying the night after you chased the deer off. I remember late into the night you thought it was the deer coming back and you ran out buck ass naked…” her laughter grew louder making Negan’s face flush over with warmth. “And it was a group of campers that were actually staying here coming back from their hike…”

“Thank God they were all college kids,” Negan snorted finding amusement in the fact that she still found what happened back then so funny. “College kids that understood our situation and let us continue to stay the night in our cabin.”

“I told you to put some pants on when you went to chase the thing off, but you were so…I don’t even think I know the word,” she recalled their past, pushing open the door to see that there was a small mattress set up in the tiny cabin along with a few things and she gazed back at him over her shoulder. “This was your idea for our honeymoon?”

“Listen, we always wanted to go and be by the water, but we were so focused on screwing around that we never got the chance. I thought you might enjoy the memory,” Negan reasoned with her, leaning against the doorframe when she moved into the small cabin. “I had the boys clean up the place and make sure that it was livable for us for the night. I thought maybe we could go for a walk by the water and then…”

“Have sex?” she suggested and it was followed by Negan letting out a thick rumble of laughter. “I assume that’s what you were looking for here?”

“Well,” Negan stepped forward, cornering her inside of the cabin. His breath was hot over her lips while his hazel eyes ate her alive with his stare. “I originally thought I would be romantic with everything. Go for a walk by the water hand in hand. Talk about things. Then maybe we would come back here, have a small dinner, make some smores and then afterwards I thought the two of us could get comfortable with one another and I would make love to you inside of the cabin,” Negan informed her drawing her breathing to get caught in her throat when he pressed his body in against hers. “But, if you want…I’d have no problem getting you on your knees to have you suck on my big cock before I feast on your beautiful, wet pussy. Then we can have sex on the beach. Grab one of the towels, take our clothes off and lay out on the sand. We can go as fast or as slow as you please. We can have sex all day if that’s what you desire. As long as you give me a few breaks to hydrate myself and allow the big guy some time to recuperate. I can have your pussy full and dripping with my cum by the end of the night if that’s what you want.”

“Jesus Negan,” she gasped when he curled his fingers underneath her thigh to pull it up and over his hip. Heat flooded her face and she felt her heart hammering inside of her chest. “Why do I suddenly feel like that girl at the bar all over again wanting you to deliver on everything you just said?”

“Because I still turn you on,” Negan’s nose nuzzled hers, his palm snaking between the two of them to caress over her most intimate parts. Tipping up, she brought their lips together and Negan’s tongue flicked out against hers. Their breathing grew louder when they started pawing at one another touching the other. “My cock is so fucking hard already.”

Dropping her hands, she fumbled with his belt and pulled apart his pants working to tug them open. Finding trouble at first in getting the zipper down, she didn’t hesitate to push down his pants and his boxer briefs when she undid the material. Almost immediately his cock sprung free from the cotton prison it was behind and her palm wrapped around his girthy length.

“Good girl,” Negan complimented her, his forehead pressing to hers while she jerked him off. Grunting, Negan watched her lowering down to her knees like he had suggested earlier. Pressing his left hand against the wall, he used the right to hook his fingers into her hair while she pressed wet kisses against the shaft. Closing his eyes, he bit down on his bottom lip as her lips wrapped around the tip. Moaning out, he enjoyed the way that her tongue lapped at the sensitive tip while she took her time bobbing her head over the length of him. The damp warmth of her mouth around him felt incredible. Even after this many years, he could never get sick of sexual acts with her. She knew exactly what to do in order to please him and it was exciting every time. “So good.”

The wet sounds her mouth made over him was turning him on even more with his hips bucking up toward the back of her throat. Her caress worked over his length as well and he was very verbal with her about everything. Praising her consistently. He knew that she loved that.

“Fuck,” Negan moaned out, falling forward when she deep throated him. Wincing out, it didn’t take much for him to be coming down her throat and having her swallowing down every drop of his release. When she pulled back, she wiped at her bottom lip and collected the taste of him before sucking at her fingertips. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Forcing her to him, he kissed her with everything that he had, tasting himself against her and groaning out against her flesh. Working open her pants, Negan was eager to get them from her body hearing her gasping when she almost fell over with his strength. Dropping down to his knees, Negan reached for her left leg and threw it in over his shoulder to give himself some space. Gasping out, she dug her fingers into his shoulders to brace herself when he peppered wet, hot kisses over the inside of her thigh. Once his mouth centered in over her core, he could feel her fingers sinking into his hair and clinging tightly to it.

Eagerly pleasuring her, Negan did what he knew she loved using his tongue and fingers in unison. It had her grasping at the wall with her free hand to try to brace herself. From the caresses of his tongue, the slurping and kissing over her most sensitive parts, it had her panting out his name and he loved every second of it. When she hit her first orgasm, he didn’t stop what he was doing. No, he wanted her not regretting a moment of agreeing to marry him after everything. Plunging his fingers into her, he caressed over her g-spot while his tongue and lips worked perfectly in unison over her clitoris.

“Negan,” she cried out his name when she came again and he let out an amused rumble when he lazily pulled his mouth away from her, bringing his fingers up to his lips to suck over them with a proud expression. “You’re something else.”

“I know,” Negan placed another small kiss over the inside of her thigh and carefully placed her leg back down. Standing up, he pressed his body to hers and smirked down at her. “Let’s go fuck by the water.”

“And what if a walker shows up?” she muttered against his lips hearing him snicker and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I’ll bring our lunch, our weapons and if a walker shows up while I’m balls deep inside of you, then we will deal with it,” Negan’s nose wrinkled when she rolled her eyes and pushed into the center of his chest. “How are your legs? Do you need me to carry you down there? They were kind of shaking up a storm.”

“My legs will work,” she answered working her pants back over her body. At first, she didn’t think they would genuinely do exactly what he said, but they did. Negan led her to the beach, laid out a towel and lowered her down on top of it after undressing her. They had sex on top of the towel that was much more passionate than she would have imagined it would have been, but afterwards when he was laying in over her, she found herself caressing at the back of his neck. With their bodies tangled together and the warmth of him over her, she closed her eyes and let out a long exhale. “It’s moments like this where the world actually feels normal again.”

“With my dick going soft inside of you,” Negan teased against the side of her neck. Letting out a disgusted breath had him snickering against her flesh. “I’m fucking with you baby.”

“You’re always going to be Negan,” she sank her fingers further into his damp, dark hair. Pressing a kiss to his temple had his head lifting and the weak smile he gave her made her heart skip a beat. “I mean when we are alone like this. Out on a beach with no one here. It reminds me of when we were younger without a care in the world.”

“Well we can make this world as normal as we can,” Negan grabbed her hand that had her ring on it. Peppering faint kisses over the back of it had her smiling. It made him happy to know that she could find happiness with him again after everything. “We’re starting slowly, but over time we can start building this world together.”

“This was all I ever wanted,” she reminded him with Negan’s thumb sweeping in over the ring that she was wearing. “To be married to you. To have you look at me the way you are.”

“I know,” Negan acknowledged with a hesitant smile, lowering his head to press his forehead to hers. “And now we get to spend the rest of our lives together working on the relationship that we should have been having this whole time.”

There was a silence that filled the air between them when Negan sighed. Pulling his hips back had both of them letting out muted moans before Negan laid in beside her. Having her cuddling in closer to his chest had his arm immediately wrapping around her to hold her tightly to him.

“I was thinking,” Negan began, licking at his lips when he lowered his head down to cuddle his chin in over the top of her head. “Mostly about our family. I want to work on building our family back up. I want to be a good father and a good husband. I think we can make this whole thing work together. Maybe when things get settled down the line, we can actually try adding to our family again. So I can do things right from the start. I fucked up so bad when you were pregnant with Evie and then with Nathan…”

“I don’t think we should have more,” she interrupted Negan, a sincerity in her eyes when she expressed how she felt about things. “Evie was hard, but nothing can describe just how hard it was having Nathan. I love that boy and I’m so thankful to have both of them in my life, but doing everything on my own was just too hard. With the way the world is right now Negan, we’re just lucky to have the two that we do have.”

“I know that,” Negan stressed, his brow line furrowing in frustration. Y/N’s fingers were stroking through the dark curls of hair that was over his chest showing that she wasn’t mad at him, just stressing her feelings to him on the subject. “I just want another chance to do things right.”

“You have a chance to make things right,” she reminded him, her fingers tracing up over the side of Negan’s face drawing his hazel eyes to her. A lump developed in Negan’s throat when those words hit him hard. “Having a new baby isn’t going to make things right. Focusing on your relationship with your son and daughter will. You have everything you could ever want and more in both Evie and Nathan. A boy and a girl. A little girl that loves you more than anything and would do absolutely anything for you. I think the real testament to your love and your hope for change is how hard you work on building your relationship with the two of them. What you do to make things right for them.”

“I’m going to spend the rest of my life loving my children, I just don’t think adding one more to the family would be a bad thing,” Negan suggested, his thumb sweeping in over her jawline to admire her with the way she was looking at him. “We make good looking babies and that’s something the world needs. More babies to fill it that aren’t totally ugly.”

“Nice sell honey,” she rolled her eyes, tapping playfully at his chest. Laying her head back down over his chest, she listened to the sturdy sounds of his heart beating and sighed. “We have so much to work on, I think that just needs to be a thought very far out in the future.”

“Well, you never know how much time you have with someone,” Negan countered, his tone shaken when he thought about his time with Lucille and how long they had been apart. “The world has always chose when the two of us should have a child, so I guess I’m going to leave it in mother nature’s hands.”

“You do that,” she replied with a hesitant smile, her lips pressing faint kisses over his chest again. “I don’t want to raise a baby in that place Negan. It’s hard enough thinking about how we are going to raise Evie and Nathan there.”

“The Sanctuary?” Negan responded, his face scrunching up in confusion when she nodded. “It’s safe there Y/N. We have food, crops, protection…”

“Enemies, nowhere to raise a family except for your bedroom, no real places for them to play and people who despise you,” she stopped him before he could continue to sell what a good place it was for their children to grow up in. Bracing herself over his chest, she shrugged her shoulders and sighed. “Part of me wishes that you come to your senses and you decide that you’re ready to give up this life. That you just want to be a dad and a husband.”

“I do want to be a dad and a husband,” Negan countered, his thick eyebrows bouncing up when he defended himself. “That’s all I want right now. To be with you and the kids. To continue working on my family so we can be happy.”

“It’s not going to happen at The Sanctuary Negan,” she declared, a sense of sadness flooding her features when she continued. “The best thing for your children would be for you to step down and move to the farm. We have everything there. Protection that you could enhance. Food that you are capable of growing. A home. A real home for the children to grow up.”

“You know that I can’t do that,” Negan frowned feeling the guilt that was eating away at him with her lecturing him about the farm again. “I know that you think that life is capable…”

“It is,” she interrupted him, her hand lifting up to stop him from going off any further. “You quit. You move to the farm and you be the family man that you insist you want to be. It’s that simple.”

“And I explained to you, it’s not that simple. I have people that count on me. I’m the leader of this group and if I walk away from it, I’m letting everyone down. People will die because of me leaving,” Negan pushed once more and he could tell that she wasn’t buying the story that he was selling. “I keep a balance there. I keep harmony between all of them because if I was gone, it would be a fucking disaster there.”

“You are in the middle of a war with another community that is hell bent on killing you,” she reminded Negan making his lips part. He went to say something, but he just huffed and made it clear by his lack of eye contact that she was right. “The people there, they hate you. Some might hero worship you, but mostly they are scared of you. I love you for the man that I know you to be, but the Negan that is in charge of that community? It’s the darkest parts of you I didn’t want to remember you for. Staying at The Sanctuary is just going to give your children a hostile environment to grow up in. It’s never going to be fully safe there Negan. You know that just as much as I do. I think you know that leaving and going to the farm is the best place for you. For all of us.”

“I can’t Y/N,” Negan whispered, his Adam’s apple bouncing in his throat. “This is the one thing I built on my own. Maybe I don’t run it the way that I should, but through the years we were separated I learned really fast that being the good guy leads you to nothing but pain. All the good guy does is die. I don’t think I’m bad, but I don’t think I’m good either. I just do what I have to in order to keep people alive.”

“You know there was a day when that farmhouse was your dream,” she brought back their past and it had the color draining from Negan’s features. “That’s why I bought that house. It was everything you ever wanted. You wanted animals, a place where we could just have a family and be together. It was never my dream, it was yours.”

“I know,” he asserted, his hazel eyes tearing over when she looked upon him with such high expectations. “You’re right.”

“Then why are you so against that life?” she wondered, but he didn’t have an answer for her. In fact, it just made him uncomfortable and kind of emotional. “I love you, so fucking much. That’s why I agreed to marry you. That’s why I agreed to all of this crazy shit. Because beyond all doubt in this world, I know that my heart completely belongs to you. But right now, you are picking to be this character over your own family. You’re trying to balance the two, but you’re not. We’re secondary in your life Negan. And this Sanctuary Negan is going to continue to rule over the dreams you really had in your life. Not these false dreams that this world created for you.”

“I can’t be the man that I wanted to be when I was in my twenties Y/N,” Negan stated with a frown, his head shaking slowly. “Yeah. More than anything I wanted to be a dad. That was the thing I wanted more than anything. I wanted to be happy and I wanted to have a big family. That farmhouse was never achievable for me.”

“It was,” she shook her head with a scoff. “And it still is.”

“The world will not let me be the man that I always wanted when I was younger,” Negan repeated, his hands reaching up to cup her face in them tenderly. “I’ve done things. Things that I can’t take back and…”

“But you can run away from that life Negan,” she pushed, her eyes tearing over when she stared down at him with physical pain at the idea of what he was saying. “I know that you like feeling important. I know that you like having the power. Power feels good. But in the eyes of your children? You’re the most important person in the world. You are their hero. You’re their silly, amazing father that loves them. What more in the world could you possibly want?”

Parting his lips to say something, Negan huffed out with his bottom lip trembling and he was actually getting really emotional, “You have your second chance Negan and the world is holding it out for you. It’s giving you your second chance. It’s just waiting for you to take it. Because you have two beautiful children and a woman that loves you. A woman that has always loved you. A woman that has put you above her time and time again because all she ever wanted was to make you happy. A woman that just wishes that for once…” in that moment her words stopped and he saw that she pushed up to sit down on the towel. Slowly lifting up, Negan looked to her and saw that she was trying to hide that she was getting emotional herself. “A woman that wishes for once you would choose her. That choosing her over your own ego is what you really want.”

“I did choose you,” Negan curled his finger in underneath her chin to get her to look at him. His breath hitched when he saw the tears that were sliding down her face. “That’s why we are married Y/N. I chose you.”

“I just want to be enough for once Negan,” she informed him, a whimper falling from her parted lips. “You always told me that I was perfect. And god I hated hearing it. Because there was always that but that followed. You’re perfect Y/N. You’re just not perfect for me…”

“That was the past,” Negan reasoned with her and she let out a hesitant laugh. “I was so blinded by my own stupidity to see how things really were.”

“Negan, The Sanctuary is your Lucille now,” she spoke quietly, her jawline flexing when his hand lowered. Hearing that was like a kick to the gut. “You’re picking The Sanctuary over me. Over your children. And once again, I’m perfect, but I’m not perfect enough to give up this life for. I gave up all of my dreams for you Negan. Every single one of them. All I’m asking you to do is to finally take the dream you wanted from the start. The one you begged me for twelve to eleven years ago. Be a father. Move to the farm. Forget this life. You got to be powerful. You got to experience it. If you really, genuinely love me…be the family man you always wanted to be. Become that farmer. Take care of the crops and the animals. Cowboy Negan was always a very good look for you.”

“Shit,” Negan scoffed lowering his head down and letting out an upset breath. When she laid that out on the table before him like that, things really started to make sense to what she was saying. Stroking at the back of his neck, Negan shrugged his shoulders and sighed. “Fine. Yeah. You’re one hundred percent right.”

“About what?” she was curious seeing him wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand drawing attention to just how beautiful his hazel eyes truly were.

“That I need to give that place up. I have my family back,” Negan answered admitting to her that she was finally right. “I have my wife and my children back in my life and that farm was my dreamhouse. Which I’m fully capable of having now. I’ll move my men out. I will grab the things I want and we can go there. Be together. Live our life there and be happy.”

“Come on,” she sighed feeling like it was just something he was saying at this point. “You can’t say things that you don’t plan to follow up on Negan. I’ve known you for fifteen plus years.”

“Then look at me,” Negan demanded, reaching for her to get her to lock gazes with him again. “I promise you, when we get home I will let everyone know that I’m done. They can pick amongst themselves who they want to be their leader and I will take you along with the kids to the farm. We can be happy together. Like we always should have been. We’ll be out within the week.”

“Tell me you’re being serious,” she begged of him and Negan nodded his head.

“I’m very serious. You’re absolutely right. For too long you’ve been living your life for me. It’s time I finally lived the life I always stressed that I wanted,” Negan declared with a simple shrug of his shoulders feeling his chest aching. For so long she was in pain because of him and he knew that. “You are perfect. Perfect for me. Perfect for the children and I just want to spend the rest of my life proving to you how perfect you really are. I can’t do that at The Sanctuary. I swear to you with everything that I am. I fucking mean it.”

An amused rumble of laughter fell from his throat when she leapt forward into his arms knocking him back into the sand. Holding her close, Negan laughed and nuzzled his nose in against the side of her neck. He couldn’t remember a time that she was happy like this because of him making the right decision for once.

“I love you more than anything,” Negan admitted, his words vibrating against her flesh after he pressed kisses against her lips. There was something in the way she looked at him that took his breath away. “You’re everything to me. You and those kids. I’m not going to fuck it up this time.”

“Thank you Negan,” she breathed out, her forehead pressing to his while he stroked his fingers through her hair. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“I have an idea,” Negan whispered, squeezing her tightly in his arms. “It’s time I picked you for once. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

----

It was late into the morning and by now Negan should have been on his way back with Y/N to The Sanctuary, but he couldn’t find it in himself to move. Yesterday they had spent more time on the beach together before finding their way back to the cabin. Inside of it, they had shared memories and just talked for a while before falling back into one another again. Y/N had fallen asleep easily last night in his arms, but Negan didn’t get much sleep if any at all. Instead he just held her in his arms and watched her sleep. Everything she said the night before was true and he knew it was time for him to finally step up to be the man he always promised he wanted to be.

The sun was shining in through the small window, hitting them just enough from where they were laying together on the tiny mattress they were stretched out on together. Being someone that was a full-time father and farmer he knew they wouldn’t get as many chances to have these wild, crazy sex nights together. At The Sanctuary, he had people to watch over the children, but now he had to be one hundred percent dad. Even though he enjoyed moments like that, he was willing to finally take on that role. Honestly? Negan had never really been a fulltime dad. Not since Evie was born. Even though he was always on backup, Negan was a fulltime dad two weeks a month for seven years. Then the world fell to shit and Lucille got sick. That’s when he gave up being a dad completely. And that was the biggest mistake he felt like he ever made in his life.

Picking solely Lucille and throwing away his daughter was a stupid mistake chosen out of fear. So many days he wished he could take it back, but he couldn’t. Now he finally had the chance to make things right. For Evie. For Nathan. For Y/N and finally himself. Most of his nights had been fueled by nightmares since he lost Evie. Now he had the chance to live the life he always wanted. He should have taken it from the start, but now he was finally seeing just how important it actually was for him to take this step.

“You have the prettiest eyelashes I’ve ever seen,” Y/N’s voice was quiet while she shifted over his chest from where she had been sleeping. Gazing down, Negan saw that behind her tired eyes, she was staring out at him. “I was always drawn to your eyes and your smile.”

“I think little man has the eyelashes too,” Negan noted, stretching his body out finally when he knew that she was fully awake. All night he had tried to stay still because he was afraid of waking her up. “I think he’s going to be a charmer when he’s older. Winning the hearts of whoever he sets his sights on.”

“He has taken on a lot of your physical traits,” she agreed with Negan, a tiny smile pulling at her fatigued features. “Nathan has your looks. Evie has certainly got your personality.”

“I’d like to think they were an equal mix of both of us,” Negan gave her a wink, squeezing her in closer to his body with a snicker.

“Being at the farm will give me time to work on things with Evie too,” she admitted, her fingers stroking over the center of Negan’s chest. “For years our relationship has been terrible. She’s hated me for something I couldn’t control. Hopefully, with us being a family again and being at the farm we can finally make things right.”

“I thought things have been getting better,” Negan suggested, his eyes narrowing when he thought back on his discussions with Evie to be better to her mother. “I’ve heard her tell you that she loves you.”

“Yeah, but hopefully this can help heal our daughter’s heart,” she whispered, pressing a faint kiss over Negan’s shoulder. “She’s become someone I hardly know over the last few years. She used to be the happiest, smiley little girl. Whether she was with you or me. I always knew you were her favorite, but she loved me a lot too. Maybe we can finally get back to that at the farm. So I can spend more time trying to be a good mother to her. Focusing on her.”

“You’ve been an extremely good mother to her,” Negan stressed, his fingers sweeping in underneath her chin to get her to look up at him. Sadness remained from her talking about their daughter and Negan shook his head. “You kept our children safe. You made sure that they were always well kept and alive. Protected. You’re an amazing mother Y/N and I promise you, Evie is going to see that one day soon. And then everything will be back to normal.”

“I hope so,” she sighed, cuddling her head in against the center of Negan’s chest. “We should probably get ready to go, huh?”

“Eh,” Negan scoffed, his nose wrinkling in discomfort. “Let’s just wait a little while longer. This is the last time we can really fuck off as parents. Let’s take our time together and then slowly make our way back. I want to focus on the time I have with you for a little while.”

“So you want to have sex again?” she inquired, her eyebrow arching in amusement. Placing his free hand over the center of his chest, Negan shook his head. “Fine, I’ll just get dressed…”

Watching her crawling away made Negan huff when he swiftly moved in over her, pinning her down face first on the small bed that was beneath her. With a giggle, she felt Negan’s lips kissing down over the side of her neck and she purred out, “that’s what I thought.”

“You flash your ass at me, what am I supposed to do?” Negan wondered turning her onto her back to get her to look up at him with her arms hooking around his shoulders. “I am a man after all. My dick is already hard in the morning and then you go flashing your ass at me.”

“You’re a dork,” she snickered with Negan’s lips covering hers. Each kiss grew in intensity having her gasp out when Negan adjusted her legs to have them wrap around his waist. “Wait.”

“What is it?” Negan breathed out, nibbling at her bottom lip eliciting a purr from her. “You don’t want this?”

“I want this,” she assured him, stroking her fingers down over the side of his neck taking her time to stare up at him. “Can you just drag it out for me? As much as I like sex, I’m just kind of hoping for something where I feel loved. Where it feels like you are making love to me.”

“I have absolutely zero problems with that,” Negan whispered behind loving and passionate kisses.

And he gave her exactly what she asked of him. It was slow and unhurried. There was lots of touching, praises and careful movements. What she asked for, he delivered and afterwards they just laid together for a little while longer before starting to pack up with things.

“I think I’m going to steal a stash of the candy, coffee and the ice cream before we leave The Sanctuary,” Negan announced while they gathered their things and started heading back toward the car that Negan had parked down at the bottom of the mountain.

“Maybe some seeds for planting might be good too,” she suggested moving in beside him and making him yelp out when he felt her pinching his ass. It made him smile though that she was open to being that way with him.

“The hands woman!” Negan was loud and silly when he swatted her hand away from him. Once they had everything packed up back inside of the car, Negan reached for her hand to pull her in against his chest. “I love you. So fucking much. You know that.”

“Hmmm…I don’t know,” she whispered, she tipped up on her toes wrapping her arms around the back of his neck to pull him in closer to her. “Maybe you should say it again so I can think harder about it.”

“I fucking love you,” Negan slurred against her lips pulling her in closer to him. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” she whispered against his mouth, humming when they pulled away. “I always will.”

“Good,” Negan teased with a wrinkle of his nose. Palming down over her back, Negan’s palms squeezed at her bottom before peppering a few final kisses over her lips. “We need to start back on our drive. But just know, this is a day I won’t soon forget.”

“Nor will I baby,” she agreed with a wink following Negan to the car where he opened the door for her to get in. Taking the seat, she watched Negan almost skip to the other side where he got in himself. The smile on his face was contagious. And it made her happy to see. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you this happy for me.”

“I could say the very same thing about you,” Negan muttered, his fingers reaching out to sweep in over the side of her face. “I’m just glad that I’ve been lucky enough for you to give me so many chances Y/N. I never deserved them, but you never gave up on me. You were the one person that never did.”

Instead of saying something, she led him to her again to kiss him. It took his breath away and he nuzzled his nose in against hers. There was a need deep inside of his veins to show her all the love in the world. And he hoped that she felt it. Especially after everything he put her through. He wanted to spend the rest of his life trying to prove it too. And that started with finally giving up The Sanctuary to focus solely on his family.

On the drive back, they would have silly discussions since it was quite a distance for them. Just to keep each other focused. When they weren’t super far away from The Sanctuary though, Negan had noticed a small town that they hadn’t searched before.

“Why don’t we go search to see if there is something good?” she suggested, pointing in the direction of it. “It’s a town right off the water. There might be some good supplies there. We can find something for the farm and snag it before other people find it?”

“Shit,” Negan stopped the car, gazing over at her with a huff when he realized she was right. “I probably could just have them run out tomorrow and go search for things honey. That way it’s back at The Sanctuary before we actually leave.”

“I don’t mind Negan,” she offered seeing that he was actually considering his options. “It gives us more time together for our honeymoon.”

“Fine,” Negan grumbled under his breath, turning the car around so they could head back toward the city. Driving through it, Negan made sure that it seemed pretty much abandoned before parking on the main street in the small town. “There is no one here which makes me think it’s probably picked over babe.”

“Or we can just be lucky,” she eagerly got out of the car and stretched. Grabbing his weapon and Lucille, Negan was quick to follow after her as they made their way up main street looking over the stores that were there. “I remember when we went to places like this all the time when I had my days off. Your favorite place to eat was always that seafood restaurant.”

“I do love a good lobster roll,” Negan sighed thinking about the past when she used to pamper him. “God, I’d kill for one of those. They had the best biscuits, lobster rolls and soup. I probably could have eaten there every day if I wasn’t poor as fuck. I miss that shit.”

“If you get a few lobsters before we leave, we can try to recreate the recipe,” she suggested looking back over her shoulder at him with a simple shrug. “We aren’t that far away from the coast, right? I’m sure we can get someone to find some.”

“True,” Negan agreed with her, noticing the way that she was eyeing over the storefronts as they would pass them. “Do you remember when I was a deadbeat and I would make dinner for us all the time when you were at work?”

“Sure,” she smirked at the thought of him calling himself a deadbeat. “I remember Lucille telling me that when you lost your job at the school you became an even better cook.”

“Right,” Negan’s expression became somewhat serious when she brought up two negatives from his past. Lucille and losing his job at the school. “I was going to say that when I was living with Lucille, we didn’t get lobster a lot because we didn’t always have the funds, but there was one point where I made these two really incredible versions. I did the Maine style and the Connecticut style. I think I was on the verge of getting it just right.”

“You should have became a chef,” she commented, finding herself surprised when Negan’s fingers hooked with hers attempting his best to hold her hand. “I know you loved your sports, but you always loved cooking. I would have supported you.”

“You always took care of me Y/N,” Negan reminded her, stopping her enough to get her to look out at him. Reaching out, he brushed his fingers through her hair and sighed. “The sad thing is, I do believe if I told you I want to be a fucking chef, you would have opened a restaurant for me.”

“I would have done anything for you,” she breathed out, her eyes hooked on his and it made him let out a long exhale.

“I never doubted that,” Negan alerted her with a sigh leaning in to press his forehead against hers. “I probably would have been so much happier if I did become a chef.”

“Probably not,” she teased him, tipping her head back to stare into his hazel eyes. “The first time someone complained you would probably come out and dump the food over their heads before kicking their ass. I’d be bailing you out of jail all the time.”

“Touché,” Negan snickered, nuzzling his nose in against hers before something caught his attention in the corner. “From where we are I see a grocery store, a toy store and a bar. Let’s go hit up all three.”

“Sounds like a date we would have had when we were younger,” she suggested with a weak smile causing Negan’s nose to wrinkle. Keeping his fingers tightly around Lucille, he grabbed a hold of her hand and led her first toward the grocery store. The glass on the doors were shattered and she didn’t have a lot of faith that there would be much of anything after all this time. Tugging at the doors that were held together by a chain, Negan made enough room for her to get between them before following her in. Inside shelves were pushed over, broken glass covered the floor and there was a flickering light coming from the back of the store. “I’m going to guess this is a no go.”

“We’ll still look,” Negan hushed her, motioning her to wait. Tapping Lucille against the floor several times, Negan waited to see if he could draw out any of the walkers. When nothing happened, he looked back at her with a shrug. Grabbing a cart, Negan reached for it and pointed toward the basket. “Get in.”

“You must be joking,” her nose wrinkled looking down at the cart and he huffed.

“Have some fun,” Negan snickered, holding his hand out to help her into the cart after she rolled her eyes. Like he usually could, he convinced her to do what he wanted in getting into the shopping cart. Putting Lucille into the cart with her, Negan started rolling the cart throughout the store observing what was left on the shelves. “We used to fuck around a lot when we were younger.”

“In what fashion?” she tipped her head back and he smirked. “We got in some trouble in the first year together.”

“We did,” Negan snickered stopping in one aisle when he saw some cans sitting on the shelves. Reaching for the first few he wiggled them about causing her nose to wrinkle since it was sardines. Tossing it into the cart with her, Negan grabbed a few of the other cans that were left there knowing that it was things that were just picked over, but it didn’t hurt to have non-perishables. “I just meant we would do silly things like this. I remember when I did this with you that one time we ended up getting kicked out of that store.”

“Rightfully so, we were being stupid,” she reminded him with a hesitant laugh, “you were racing up and down the aisles like a maniac.”

“But you had fun,” Negan grumbled under his breath grabbing a firm hold of the handle starting to push the cart down the lanes quickly like he had done when they were younger. It had her grasping tightly to the sides of the cart with every sharp turn he took. Hearing her laughter made him smile figuring that she was reminiscing about their past and just having fun being silly.

“Negan!” she squealed out when one half of the cart went up on its side but he managed to catch it, slamming it down onto the ground. “You’re going to kill me if you keep doing that.”

“I’ve got you. You’re safe with me,” Negan assured her, pressing down to steal a quick kiss from her lips. Being more careful, they went through every lane and grabbed the things that were still left before he took her into the back. As soon as the door opened, Negan heard her let out an uncomfortable sound when they saw the long-decomposed corpse of someone that had hung themselves. “Well fuck.”

After some silence, Negan cleared his throat and moved around the body, “He probably had a stash in here somewhere if someone didn’t steal it already.”

“Negan,” she frowned noticing that Negan didn’t have a care in the world that there was a body hanging before them. Managing to work her way out of the cart, she was careful in the way she moved when she observed the body. “I don’t see any marks on him.”

“Some people just couldn’t handle the stress of things Y/N,” Negan let out an excited breath after pushing through some of the bags to see that there was one hidden with a bunch of supplies. Lifting the bag up, he moved in beside her to show her what he had. “Jackpot. Looks like they have some guns, food and tools.”

“Don’t you feel bad taking his things?” she pushed hearing Negan scoff when he set the bag down in the shopping cart.

“Why? He’s not using it,” Negan suggested moving around the back of the store. There were a few sleeping bags in there so he was surprised this was the only body they actually found. “You know Y/N, I learned to stop caring about people a long time ago. When you care about people it’s only going to get you killed.”

“You care about me,” she reminded him and Negan scoffed.

“That’s different,” Negan countered with a quick tip of his head.

Gasping out, Negan tugged at one of the bags knocking over one of the shelves. It had both of them jumping when a hidden area was revealed behind one of the walls. Clearing his throat, Negan’s eyes narrowed when he realized what was being hidden. Y/N went to step forward and Negan immediately shook his head, “Don’t.”

“What is it?” she of course couldn’t listen to him and moved in beside Negan to see what looked like three walkers that were fading away almost completely. Two of them looked like children and the other was a woman. “Jesus.”

“Come here,” Negan pulled her back toward him noticing the sadness that flooded her features. “You can’t let things like this bother you Y/N. They aren’t people anymore.”

“They were babies Negan,” she felt her throat going dry assuming that the body they found hanging was likely the father and the husband of the bodies that were almost completely fading away. “It bothers me to see what has happened to so many children.”

“It happened to most of the world,” Negan hooked his arms around her, pulling her into a tight squeeze. “Instead of being upset about people we never knew, you have to focus on the fact that all four of us are still here.”

With a nod, Y/N forced herself to look away and Negan urged her out away after doing another quick scope of what was left. There was a door they could get out of easier in the back. Taking the things back to the car, Negan packed them up and then led her toward the bar. When the doors were locked, Negan grumbled to himself and managed to break one of the windows. Crawling in, he motioned her to wait and then pulled the tables away from the door so she could get in. Once she was, Negan pushed the tables back and instructed her to wait for him while he checked the kitchen. And he was glad he had her stay where she was because there were multiple sets of bones in the freezer. Around the bar he was able to find some alcohol bottles and some bags of flour that hadn’t been used. After he was done setting them aside, he could see that Y/N was standing behind the bar and it made him smile.

“Does this bring back old memories for you?” Negan slid his hands across the bar top and stopped before her. Tapping his hands against the top of it, Negan bobbed his head about and she snickered. “I bet every time you came to a bar you thought about our first time together.”

“I did,” she agreed with him, looking behind the bar and her eyes fell upon a bottle of whiskey that was left there. Picking it up, she set it on top of the bar and watched him smile. “Believe it or not, I actually enjoyed being a bartender. I was good at it. And for the most part, it was always nice learning things about people. Sometimes it felt like people just came here to have someone to talk to because they had no one.”

“You want a drink?” Negan grabbed a hold of the bottle wiping it off with his white t-shirt. Managing to get it open, he smelled the alcohol inside before taking a long swig of it. Hissing out, he tipped his head to the side and sighed. Extending his hand out, he saw her eyeing over the bottle before accepting it. Considering her first sip, she shrugged her shoulders before taking a long drink of it as well.

“Do you remember when we first started dating? You used to come to the bar every night after that guy tried attacking me. You would just take the corner table at the start of my shift and you would stay until I left,” she pointed toward the back corner of the bar they were in and he smirked when she brought up their past. “I thought I was the luckiest girl alive. This incredibly handsome stranger saves me from getting hurt. He’s so good looking, charming, he’s good at sex and he’s well equipped,” she rambled off causing Negan’s nose to wrinkle and he snickered. “And he wants to keep me safe. I couldn’t believe that someone would ever be dumb enough to dump him. Sure, he may have been going through a rough time, but he was…perfect.”

Negan’s jawline flexed when she looked down toward the bar top and sighed, “I don’t know if you remember, but you used to draw all the time while you were waiting. I would come over and you’d have all these little things drawn out on bar napkins and you’d write me these notes.”

“I was always drawing back then. I used to think Evie started drawing because I was always doodling,” Negan noted, setting the bottle down and reaching out to stroke his hand in over Y/N’s. “What about it though?”

“I kept all of those,” she admitted with a weak smile, her head shaking when she let out a long sigh. “I used to always put them in my top drawer when I got home. I think I had even put them in a booklet at one point. It’s at our old house somewhere. Probably in my closet if it wasn’t stolen. There were two I always kept with me though. It was the ones where you would draw us as cartoon characters. The first one you ever drew me…and…”

“And?” Negan’s eyebrow arched in curiosity when her lips parted and she let out a tremoring breath.

“There was one you drew when I was pregnant of what was supposed to be us at our wedding. It was us at our wedding holding the baby. It was really cute. I still have them in the nightstand beside the bed at the farm if your men haven’t destroyed it. I had a few pictures in there too,” she declared with a long sigh grabbing the bottle to drink more than he expected her to.

“You really kept those?” Negan wondered, his throat tensing up when she nodded after setting it down. “They were just meant to be silly little things. I thought you would throw them away.”

“I was head over heels in love with you,” she reminded him grabbing the bottle before moving around the bar to go over toward the corner of the seating area to sit on the floor. Moving in beside her, Negan slowly lowered down and could tell that she was upset thinking about things. “You know, originally our four-month ultrasound was supposed to be a week later. You were just so excited that when they had an opening and called me, I took it.”

“Why are you doing this?” Negan’s Adam’s apple bounced in his throat when he noticed that she was getting upset again about their past. “You have to stop hurting yourself over our past.”

“You don’t ever think about how things would have been if we didn’t take that appointment that day?” Y/N inquired with Negan’s features growing sad. Tipping her head to the side, she shrugged her shoulders and sighed. “Of course you don’t. It gave you back Lucille, so why would you never want it to happen?”

“It gave you Lucille too,” Negan countered reaching for the bottle when he thought she was drinking too much of it. “And you loved Lucille too.”

“I love Lucille. Her dying didn’t stop me from loving her,” she corrected Negan, a shuddering breath falling from her throat. “A lot of my life I considered the what ifs. Like what if I would have taken that later appointment? We could have found out about our little girl. You would have been happy. You would have missed Lucille completely. We would have gotten married. Maybe we would have been living happily in that farm all along.”

“Or maybe I would have been bitten while working at the school,” Negan reasoned with her noticing the tears that were in her eyes. “I can’t even begin to apologize enough to you for our past. I fucked up. I fucked up so fucking bad. I know that. But it happened and we can’t change what happened. What matters is that we are together now. You always wanted to be married to me. Now you are. We have two beautiful children and by the end of the week we will be living at the farm together. You’re going to get everything you ever wanted in life. Everything I ever wanted in life. You have to think about that stuff and not the past.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” she apologized with Negan grabbing a hold of the bottle of alcohol to drink a hefty amount from it.

“Here I was thinking about the two of us absolutely plowing each other in the bar nightly. Whether it was the first night or every night after when you would close up. We had so much fun,” Negan recalled with a hiss when he lowered the bottle from his lips. “I had so many of the best memories from those nights. We figured out so many different ways to have sex in a bar…”

A loud sigh was heard and he noticed the way that Y/N was staring out at him from the things that he remembered, “What?”

“Nothing,” she shook her head letting out a long sigh. An uncomfortable laugh fell from her throat and Negan felt a warmth flooding into his face. “That’s really your best memories with us? The two of us fucking in the bar? I’m talking about the things you did that made me feel happy and safe. And all you can think about is us fucking?”

“I get in a bar Y/N and my dick gets hard thinking about it,” Negan answered with a simple shrug of his shoulders. Pointing down toward the center of his pants, Negan scoffed and let out a long exhale. “I was kind of hoping that we could have another round. Relive the past a bit. That’s why I picked a bar in the first place.”

“Of course you did,” she stole the bottle from him and stood up from the floor to pace.

“What’s wrong with me wanting to bend you over the bar and fuck you?” Negan questioned, his brow line furrowing when he let out a grunt as he tried pulling himself up. “It’s our honeymoon so to speak. I don’t see a problem with it. We like fucking each other. Our first time was in a bar and a significant part to the beginning of our life was fucking in a bar. So yes, I get in a bar and I think about fucking you which are pretty incredible moments.”

“I was searching for some of your favorite moments that you spent with me. Instead you responded with sex which is what I always thought our relationship was anyways. It would have been nice hearing some good memories that weren’t sex related,” she rolled her eyes, heading for the back when she heard Negan call out to her.

“The first night you let me sleep in your bed with you, I never felt more wanted in my entire life. I was never a hero. In fact, in my life I never felt as good as I did when I saved you that night. I’m not a hero Y/N. We both know that, but never in my life could I ever top that moment. I remember you were laying in my arms and I thought about how much I loved you. How much I wanted to keep you safe. I still remember the way you looked sleeping on my chest that night,” Negan rambled out, drawing her to walk back into the room with him when he approached her. “The day we got Darwin together is one of my absolute favorites. I close my eyes and I can still picture what it was like. His ears were so damn big and he was so fucking small. We would play with him in the backyard and he would trip over his ears. One of my favorites was when we moved in to that home after being in your apartment. I remember carrying you over the threshold thinking about how in that moment, it felt like everything was right in the world. Or the night you told me about being pregnant. I’ve never been happier in my life.”

Negan was getting emotional when he threw his hands up in the air, “Even if it wasn’t special for you, the day that Evie was born. I remember sitting in bed beside you, holding that little girl in my arms and nothing ever topped that feeling again. That happy, fucking through the roof feeling to know that we created something so fucking beautiful. Something so fucking perfect.”

Holding his hands out like he was holding onto a baby, Negan huffed out and shrugged his shoulders, “I’m not much of a romantic Y/N. We both know that. We both know I’m an asshole. We both know I say the dumbest shit. My mouth runs before my brain even considers what it’s doing. But that doesn’t mean I’m not head over heels in love with you. My favorite nights were those times we would just sit on the couch together watching old episodes of the Twilight Zone. So please, if I’m being fucking horny don’t think all I care about is sex because I really fucking love you. And I’m doing my best. I’m just a dick that is trying his best. I have a lot to work on, but I’m trying. And hopefully moving to the farm will help push that along.”

A shuddering breath fell from Y/N’s parted lips when he wiggled his fingers at her, “So why don’t you set that bottle of alcohol down and come here so I can kiss the shit outta you.”

“You have a way with words, don’t you?” she rolled her eyes, setting the bottle of alcohol down on top of the bar. Heading across the small bar, she felt Negan’s arms wrapping around her when he lowered down to capture her lips in an extended, passionate kiss that had her wrapping her arms around his shoulders. When they finally did part, Negan nuzzled his nose in against hers. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I know,” he agreed with her, an arrogant smile tugging at his features when he started to pepper faint kisses over her lips. Sliding his hands down in over her bottom had her letting out an uneven breath. “I’m going to guess bar sex is out of the question now?”

“Will it make you happy?” she frowned with him considering her question before nodding. “Then fine. I would do anything to make you happy.”

----

Tags:@slutlanna976 @fuckthis-and-fuckthat @jennydehavilland @felicity291 @ibelongtonegan @smallsadjellyfish @labyrinthofheartagrams @msjamesmarch @thebeautysurrounds @hotfornegan @redmercysugar @caprithebunny @tuttifuckinfruitty @emoryhemsworth @a-girl-interupted @akumune @stoneyggirl2 @xsarcasticwriterx @haleygreen23 @xhannahbananax03 @sanctuaryforthelost @burningredaffair @killaweiser @dead-of-niight @ayumi-wolf @neganswoman @ravenrose18 @xojdmasf

[darkwitchoferie]

Rosary

As he watched, he noticed that the chain was moving through his fingers like he was praying the rosary. Maybe he was, prayer certainly wouldn’t hurt in this situation. He considered praying himself, but Steve had given up on God the day an otherworldly creature came through the walls of the Byers house.

----

Eddie’s in the hospital after his heroics in the Upside Down. Steve and Wayne sit together, waiting for him to wake up.

Read on AO3 here.

Steve slouched in the uncomfortable hospital chair, glaring at the back of the nurse’s head who was checking Eddie’s vitals. How could the woman check a patient’s vitals when she was practically vibrating out of her own skin with how scared she was? He knew this nurse wasn’t the only one afraid of Eddie, because of his reputation and the cuffs attaching him to the bed, but she was the only one this obvious about it. Why bother sending her in here at all? Steve knew the kids, Robin, and Nancy were working on some sort of alibi or plan to keep Eddie from going to jail when he woke up, but until then, he was keeping an eye on the other man to make sure no one made off with him in the middle of the night.

Nancy’d asked him once, after he explained why he never left the hospital, who exactly he thought was going to kidnap an unconscious man. He wasn’t totally sure – either the cops, maybe the feds, or someone from the defunct government lab that Eleven had been raised in. Nancy had looked skeptical about the first two, after all there were no feds in town and the town cops couldn’t exactly hide a full grown man, but she admitted that the lab was a possibility. So she started making sure she and Robin came in once a day to relieve him so he could go home, shower, change, and eat some real food.

Steve continued to glare at the nurse as she marked Eddie’s chart, then turned on her heel to leave.

“That the nurse I saw leaving?” Wayne asked, pushing open the door with his hip and handing Steve one of the two coffees he carried.

“Mm-hm. Took his vitals.”

“She the one that shakes the whole time?”

“Mm. Like she’s afraid he’s gonna suddenly pop up and rip her heart out of her chest.”

Wayne snorted a laugh. Steve had been pretty damn proud of himself the first time he’d heard that laugh from Wayne. The older man hadn’t handled it well, seeing his nephew torn up and handcuffed to a bed – who would – but after a few days, he’d relaxed around Steve enough that the two of them started having small conversations about nothing consequential. The first snorted laugh had been over some passing comment about the Cardinals during the preseason baseball game they’d had on in the background. Steve had relaxed enough to smile himself. After that, their conversations became more frequent and with more substance to them.

Now, a month later, Steve felt like he’d known Wayne and Eddie his whole life. He learned a bit about the big things in Eddie’s childhood, the things Wayne was willing to share about Allen and Betty, his brother and deceased sister-in-law. Things like what Al Munson had been arrested for after his wife’s accidental suicide. A little about Betty’s drug addiction and how it terrified Wayne when Eddie started dealing. But he also got to hear stories about Wayne teaching Eddie to play guitar in the week after Betty’s funeral, or what it was like for Wayne and then Eddie growing up in a tiny town in Perry county, Kentucky. Introducing Eddie to first Woodie Guthrie and how that had somehow led the boy to heavy metal. How Wayne had left Kentucky after his own wife was killed in a car accident shortly after Betty’s death and how he felt guilty for abandoning Eddie when he knew what kind of a father Al was. And how relieved he was when Eddie joined him in Hawkins after Al’s arrest when he could have ended up with one of Wayne and Al’s sisters.

He heard about other, less heavy, topics too. Like Eddie falling out of a tree when he was eight and breaking his arm; about Eddie’s love for animals and how that translated to not going hunting which was considered incredibly weird for that part of the country, but also how that meant that the raccoons and stray cats of the trailer park gathered around the old Munson trailer because Eddie fed them all; how Eddie had tried to learn to roller skate one time and ended up with a concussion, giving up on any and all sports after that; and about his creative outlets other than DnD, like the fantasy novel he pretended he wasn’t writing but which Wayne had seen the seven different notebooks full of information about.

He figured he learned just as much about Wayne from those conversations as he did about Eddie, but he liked listening to them anyway. He liked that someone wanted to share their life stories with him, even if he was pretty sure that Wayne only talked to remind himself that Eddie was stronger than people gave him credit for. So he shared some of the high school stories he remembered about Eddie, making himself the target so the other kids in Hellfire wouldn’t get picked on as much, or how Dustin, Lucas, and Mike said he went out of his way to help the three of them when he could. Before Lucas had joined basketball at least.

He now, after getting to know him, understood Eddie’s seemingly off-handed comment about his uncle worrying about him. He’d wondered, at the time, if Wayne really would be worried. After all, in his experience, very few adults really worried about their kids. His parents certainly didn’t. He was pretty positive that the Wheelers would only start worrying if they hadn’t seen one of their kids in more than a week. He figured the Sinclairs and Max’s mom were about the same, seeing as they had never noticed anything that was going on with the kids. Claudia Henderson was better, but even then, he figured it’d be an unplanned day or two of not seeing Dustin before she started to worry. None of that applied to Joyce Byers, obviously. She worried about all of them, not just her own kids.

Wayne took his usual seat beside Eddie’s bed and settled into the quiet. Steve watched him out of the corner of his eye, recognizing that this would be a quiet day for Wayne, one where he didn’t have the energy to talk about his nephew, too consumed with worry that he wouldn’t wake up. He noticed that he’d taken Eddie’s necklace off, the one with the red pick that he’d taken to wearing after he came out of surgery, and was fiddling with it. As he watched, he noticed that the chain was moving through his fingers like he was praying the rosary. Maybe he was, prayer certainly wouldn’t hurt in this situation. He considered praying himself, but Steve had given up on God the day an otherworldly creature came through the walls of the Byers house.

He turned his attention more completely to Days of our Lives to give Wayne the illusion of privacy. He knew the older man wouldn’t be there more than a couple of hours, it was long past the ‘family emergency’ time off that the plant had given him and he’d be headed in for his overnight shift. When a commotion arose outside, Steve barely paid attention, too engrossed in the fictional drama on the screen. But then Eddie’s door swung open. He jumped up, only to back away again when he noticed Hopper in front of everyone else.

“Chief! This is –”

“Shitty police work, is what it is, Powell,” Hopper cut him off loudly, too loudly for a hospital, which probably helped explain the doctor and nurses who were behind Powell and Officer Callahan. Steve and Wayne watched as Hopper pulled his keys off his belt, strode to Eddie’s bed, and uncuffed him. “We don’t arrest people with no evidence, you know better. I taught you better. And reputation,” he steam rolled right over the beginning of Officer Powell’s complaint or excuse, “is not evidence. Now, do you have any actual evidence connecting Mr. Munson here to any of the victims? That doesn’t come from a girl’s distraught, and frankly stupid, boyfriend? No, you don’t. Wayne,” Hopper turned to Wayne, voice coming down to a more reasonable volume. “I’m sorry about the trouble here. I know it’s been rough for you.”

“Thanks, Hop,” Wayne shook his hand, more than a bit confused but willing to go along with whatever Hopper said as long as it meant his boy wouldn’t wake up with cuffs on his wrist. Steve wasn’t sure how Wayne and Hopper knew each other, just that the pair of them had apparently become good friends some years ago.

With a glare from Hopper, most of the room cleared out. Powell, who had been Chief last Steve knew, was the last to leave. “You got re-instated?” He asked, as soon as the door closed.

“About an hour ago. Took the time to look over Eddie’s file and the only thing they had on him was that someone said they saw Chrissy leave with him after the basketball game. Obviously they found nothing in the trailer, before it was destroyed, and there’s nothing tying him to Fred or Patrick’s deaths other than Carver’s ‘delusions’,” he explained, putting air quotes around delusions. They all knew Carver had really seen how Patrick died, but the only way the shadowy government types could keep things hidden about the Upside Down was to pretend he’d had some kind of psychotic break. “Probably people will still be suspicious of him, but he’s not going to be arrested. There’s nothing to arrest him for. Except the drugs, so make sure he keeps his nose clean with that. For a while, at least.” The last part was addressed to Wayne only, who grunted his agreement.

“Well, I’m real glad you’re back, Hop.”

“Me too. These idiots forgot how to do their jobs. Not surprised there was a witch hunt for your nephew with these morons manning the station. Anyway, Joyce said she’ll bring you two dinner. She’s making lasagna. El said she’s recovered and is willing to take a look in Eddie’s mind, make sure it is just healing that’s keeping him in a coma for so long, not that something else was done. If you’re okay with that, Wayne.”

Wayne glanced over at Steve, raising an eyebrow as if questioning him on whether he thought it was a good idea or not.

“If Supergirl says she’s up to it, I say go for it.” El had been drained after fighting her brother in Max’s mind. It had taken her almost a week to get any semblance of her powers back and she’d been working since then to get them back to where they should be.

“Alright, Hop. Whenever you’re able to bring her up.” A few hours later, before Wayne went off to work, Joyce brought El when she brought them lasagna. They cleared out of her way, only going into the hallway to let her do her thing. After a fairly short time, she came back out and announced that he was fine, there was no sign of anything from One, so it really was just healing from his injuries that was keeping him unconscious.

Over the next several days, their routine continued. Wayne came straight from work for an hour or two before going back to his buddy’s place, who’d been letting him stay since the destruction of his trailer. Steve still stayed in the room, except when Nancy and Robin came by to more or less force him to head home for a bit. He made polite, but not very interesting, conversation with Eddie’s friends when they came by. They were still, reasonably, wary of ‘King Steve’, so he understood why they didn’t talk to him much. The kids came by after school to share any gossip they’d heard about Eddie, which was much more interesting. Robin brought updates on the repair work that was being done to Family Video and the rest of the town. One/Vecna hadn’t succeeded in fully opening his portals, but it was apparently a near miss, with a lot of places taking a lot of damage. Particularly places in the center of town. They were blaming the damage, and any ‘delusions’ like Jason’s, on a gas main leak and explosion.

Wayne came back a couple hours before work and shared a couple more stories about younger-Eddie. Steve had started to share some stories about himself, but he didn’t really have any interesting things happen in his life before the Upside Down and it’s not like those were fun stories to revisit. Still, Steve told him some of it, just so he had a clearer idea of exactly what kind of mess Eddie’d stumbled into. And maybe because Wayne had shared the painful things about his and Eddie’s pasts.

Doctors and nurses came and went, checking on him to make sure he was healing like he should be. Dr. Roberts assured them that he was healing normally and that the coma was actually helping him to heal faster since his body didn’t need to do much else. They also started him on a form a physical therapy. Obviously he wasn’t moving on his own so it wasn’t normal physical therapy, but since the wounds were more or less healed, a physical therapist came in to do some limb stretches and things with him.

Then, in the middle of the night a little over a week after Hopper’s reinstatement, Eddie started thrashing around on the bed. Steve jumped out of his chair and hurried to the bed, reaching him just as his movements slowed.

“What fresh hell is this?” he croaked, voice scratchy from disuse, eyes narrowed against the light from his bedside table that Steve had been using to read by.

“It’s called a hospital, usually. Suppose it could be hell too.” Steve looked down at him with a smile, relieved to see clear brown eyes looking back up at him.

“Harrington?”

“Morning, Munson. Well, very very early morning.”

“What is happening?”

“You’re in Hawkins Hospital. They had to stitch you up. You lost a lot of blood too, man. Like, they weren’t sure you were gonna make it when we brought you in. Lemme get the nurse or doctor for you, okay?”

“Wait. Dustin?”

“He’s good. Sleeping at home right now. I’ll tell you all about in a few minutes.” Steve ducked out of the room and rushed to the nurse’s station. He probably could’ve used the call button, but figured this was better so they’d know what to expect. “He’s awake,” he told the night charge nurse, Janet.

“Awake?” She jumped up.

“And completely aware.” Janet shouted a few things Steve didn’t understand, something about codes, and she, another nurse, and one of the emergency room doctor’s rushed into Eddie’s room. Steve took that time to reach over Janet’s desk and make a phone call. “Hello sir, this is Steve Harrington. Could I speak with Wayne Munson? Yes, I understand he’s manning a machine right now. No sir, I…. I know bu…. Could you just tell him his nephew’s awake? Yes that’s right. Thank you.” Steve waited for just a minute until Wayne was on the line and he repeated himself. “Eddie’s up. The medical people are in with him now. Okay, I’ll let him know.”

Steve slipped back into Eddie’s room, watching the medical staff fuss over him. Janet turned to him as the others filtered out, gesturing him to come closer. “We’ll have Dr. Roberts check him over in the morning of course, but he’s aware, like you said. Mr. Munson, your cognitive function seems to all be normal, your vitals are as good as always, there’s the stiffness we expected in your reflexes. That’ll just take some time and physical therapy to get back to normal. If you could step back out for a moment, Steve, I’m going to remove his tubes.”

Steve winced in sympathy, knowing exactly what tubes Eddie had in his body. A very short time later, she came back out. “I’ll call his uncle’s work now, let him know.”

“I already did. He should be here soon.”

“Good. I’ll keep an eye out for him.”

Steve turned back into Eddie’s room, to see him sitting propped up on the raised bed and shifting uncomfortably. Rather than address it, since he figured he’d be embarrassed to talk about catheter removal, Steve made his way to the end of the bed and said, “Like I said, Dustin’s doing fine. He’ll be thrilled you’re awake. They all will. Max is also good, broken arm, but it’s healing good. Lucas had some bruises and a broken hand from Carver, who found them and broke into the Creel house. He’s fine, so is Erica. Well, she’s still pissed she can’t, and I quote “give that fucker what he deserves”. One of Carver’s friends tied her to the playground jungle gym while Carver went after her brother. He’s been arrested for assaulting Lucas and Max. Let’s see, Nance and Robin are totally fine. They had some bruising and shit from the vines, but it’s healed up. The Byers and Mike all made it back to town. They apparently had their own things going on and if you want to hear about that, Mike’ll talk your ear off about it, I’m sure. El’s got her powers back, so that’s been interesting. Hopper’s not dead and is police chief again. He’s also the reason you’re not cuffed to the bed any more. Told Powell off for being a bad cop, arresting you with no evidence.

Your stitches were taken out a few weeks ago, same as mine, but they said you had more internal damage than I did, so it’s not surprising you were out. And, uh, I think that’s it. Oh! The town took some pretty heavy damage, they’re still doing a lot of repairs. But, we won. Vecna’s ash, saw it myself. And your uncle knows everything. The kids told him while you were in surgery and I was being stitched up.”

“For how long?”

“Five weeks. Roughly.”

“Five weeks?”

“Mm-hm. We let El double check that you weren’t like, being held hostage in your own head or something.”

Behind Steve, the door was flung open. “Christ Jesus, Eddie! You damn near scared the life outta me.”

“Hey Wayne,” Eddie offered a watery smile, holding his hand out to his uncle. Steve silently excused himself to give the pair of them room when he noticed the tears in Eddie’s eyes.

Silently, Wayne held Eddie as close as he could, both of the silently crying into each others’ shoulders. After a while, when the pain in Wayne’s lower back got to be too much, he leaned back, slowly releasing his nephew. He sat down in his usual spot and just stared at him for a minute, basking in the knowledge that he was awake.

“What’ve I missed?”

“Your aunts have called a couple times.”

“You mean you called them.”

“Well, I had to tell everyone you were in the hospital. ‘Course, I didn’t tell ‘em the details. Your Mamaw’s doin’ what she does. She’ll be thrilled to hear it helped.” Eddie chuckled a little, before coughing. Wayne’s mom, his Mamaw, was a superstitious old woman at the best of times and would probably lose her mind if she knew exactly what had happened to Eddie. She was also known to be a folk healer by their neighbors and had definitely done some sort of healing-from-a-distance for Eddie. He’d decided when he was a kid to never ask her the details about what she did, always a little afraid to find out that she was making him drink something nasty when he was sick. “Steve tell you all the kids, and your friends, have been to visit you pretty much whenever they can?”

“He didn’t get to that part, just updated me on injuries and stuff before you came in.”

“Mm.” Wayne was quiet again, staring at his nephew. “You know you can tell me anything, Ed.”

“I know. Why?” Eddie narrowed his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me about your boy? Or, I guess, why didn’t you tell me you’d finally made a move on the boy you been pinin’ after for years?”

“What?! What have you said to him?!” Eddie sat bolt upright and gripped his uncle’s wrist, panic all over his face.

“Calm down,” Wayne reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, gently rubbing his thumb back and forth to try to calm him down. “We’ve been gettin’ to know each other, is all.”

“Wayne, listen to me. We are not together. I have not made any moves. Steve is very, incredibly, straight. Still in love with his ex, even. He’s barely even my friend. And that’s only because of life-endangering circumstances. Oh, I need to lie back down.” Eddie slumped back against his pillows, releasing his hold on Wayne. “That was too much effort. That’s so dumb, all I did was sit up.”

“You’ve been out for over a month, kid. So, you’re not together?”

“Decidedly not.”

“Hm. I figured that’s why he spent every day all day in here with you. ‘Cept when the girls come in for a couple hours so he can go home and eat and stuff.”

“All day?” Eddie asked in disbelief.

“Mm. All day, every single day. He was here before me the first day they let you have visitors. Sits in that chair there and watches soaps all afternoon. Bet he could tell you all about ‘em.”

“God, of course he likes soap operas. Argh!” Eddie pressed his hands over his face, screaming into his palms.

“Well, that was weird. I feel like I’ve missed something,” Steve said, strolling back in with three cups. He passed Wayne’s coffee off to him and held out the third cup to Eddie, keeping ahold of his own. “Doc said you’re not allowed to have caffeine yet, so it’s apple juice. They tried to give you orange, but Wayne said you don’t like that. And they’re gonna bring up some food from the cafeteria soon, see how you tolerate solid food.”

“You talked about me?” Eddie turned an accusing stare on his uncle, not that Steve took much notice of it.

“Yep,” he said, popping the ‘p’ sound. “What were you screaming about when I walked in?”

“Nothing. What do you mean ‘yep’? As if it’s a totally normal thing?” He took a long drink of the apple juice. “God, that’s delicious.”

“Eddie, you were laying here unconscious, after doing something I distinctly remember telling you not to do,” he glared down at him for a second. “Who else were we gonna talk about?”

Eddie didn’t say anything for a minute. “Okay, so, how did I get here? Like, last I remember, I was looking up at Dustin and very much not gon – topside.” he cut himself off, changing what he was going to say when he saw the same upset look on Wayne and Steve’s faces.

“When Nance, Rob, and I got back to the trailer park, you were already unconscious and Dustin was….” Steve trailed off, eyes looking into some middle distance as if remembering exactly what Dustin looked like. “Anyway,” he shook himself out of it. “Nancy tore up some of our clothes and we got those around you as bandages, then I lifted you over my shoulder and hauled you into the trailer. Shit was starting to come apart then, but I was able to push you through the gate to the girls. Then we… borrowed Max’s mom’s car and got you here.”

“You carried me out?” Eddie would deny the blush and the spike in his heart monitor if anyone said anything, but neither of them mentioned it.

“Of course I did. You still had a pulse, Eddie. We were never gonna just leave you there. Even if…. Not gonna happen, we don’t leave people behind.”

“Well, heard the freak’s awake and I guess it’s true.” One of the night orderly’s pushed through the hospital door, pushing a cart with covered food on it in front of him.

“Out!” Steve demanded, jerking the cart away from him then crowding into the man’s space, forcing him back out the door.

This time when Eddie’s heart monitor showed the spike in his heart rate, Wayne turned to him with a knowing grin. Eddie glared and tried to make his heart beat slower.

“You okay, Ed?” Steve turned back toward him, pushing the cart himself. “I know you’re…. Your friends said you’re used to shit like that, but I mean, that doesn’t make it okay. Plus you just woke up.”

“Yeah, I’m good. Just… surprised me, I guess.” Wayne quickly turned his laugh into a fake cough. Steve turned a quizzical look to him, but otherwise said nothing.

“Well, at least we know he didn’t tamper with any of it, it’s all wrapped up.”

“Hospital food, yay.”

“Keep it down and I’ll see if Joyce can bring you some real food in the morning.”

“Joyce?”

“Byers. Will and Jon’s mom.”

“Huh. Dunno why I can never remember that’s her name. She’ll bring me food? Real food?”

“I’ll talk to her in the morning. Like the actual, post-dawn morning.”

“Fair.” With some trepidation, Eddie dug into the hospital-provided lunch meat sandwich, chips, and Jello. Then, a while later, he drifted off to sleep, complaining the whole time that he wasn’t tired and he’d been asleep for long enough.

A few minutes after he was out, Wayne said, “Thanks, Steve. I know I don’t say it ever, but thanks for being around and for looking after my nephew.”

“You never have to thank me for that, Wayne. I…,” he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I like being useful and taking care of people.”

Steve went back to his borrowed copy of The Return of the King, while Wayne just sort of sat there, watching Eddie sleep and knowing that he was actually just asleep, not in a coma. The two of them eventually drifted off to sleep in their own, less than comfortable hospital chairs for a few hours after that. They were woken up when Dr. Roberts got in for his morning shift and came to see them first thing. Leaving Wayne with the doctor, Steve made his way back to the nurse’s station and asked to borrow the phone from the morning charge nurse, Sarah. He dialed the Byers/Hopper house first, even though it’d probably piss off Dustin if he knew.

“Hello?”

“Hey Jon. Is your mom awake?”

“She is. She’s making waffles. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing at all. Can you ask her if she can bring some of those waffles for Eddie?”

“He’s awake?!”

“He is,” Steve smiled, hearing the cacophony in the background that greeted Jonathon’s question.

“Shut up a minute!” He shouted to the people around him. “Sorry, we had all the boys over last night. I’ll call Nance and Robin, see if we can get in touch with his other friends. We’ll see you soon.”

“Thanks Jon, I appreciate it.”

With a smile on his face and feeling lighter than he had in the past month and a half, Steve strolled back into Eddie’s hospital room in time to hear Roberts say that the physical therapist would be down later in the morning to start Eddie’s full rehab.

“You’re in a good mood,” Eddie commented as Roberts left.

“Joyce is bringing waffles. And children.”

“Excellent,” he grinned.

“They’re also gonna tell your friends.”

Soon, the room was flooded with boisterous teenagers, all trying to catch Eddie up on the minute details and gossip of Hawkins that he’d missed. Steve was pretty sure he didn’t care much about the gossip, but was just glad to have everyone around. Though he could have, Steve didn’t leave the room, choosing instead to find a spot where he was out of the way and could just observe and relax. He ended up leaning against the wall, near the tv.

“Feeling better now that your crush is awake?”

“Sshh!!” Steve shushed Robin who had come over to lean on the wall beside him.

“Of course he is,” Nancy commented quietly from Robin’s other side.

“Will you two shut up?” he whisper-yelled at them. Nancy rolled her eyes, knowing no one could hear them over the children. “I shouldn’t have ever told you guys,” he groaned, dropping his head back against the tile.

“Told us?,” Robin chuckled. “Steve, you didn’t tell us anything. You had a full blown, hysteric crisis. The kind they lock women up in asylums for.”

“They don’t lock women up for hysteria anymore. Besides, you two would’ve been put away long before me.” Since the trip to Pennhurst, Robin had gotten very interested in psychology. She’d devoured the few books available at Hawkins’ library and was trying to learn more. Steve was fairly certain she knew now what she would go to college to study, even though she hadn’t said anything to him yet.

“The point still stands, you can’t be upset that you told us when you really came to us in a hysteric crisis.” Nancy said.

“Yes I can,” Steve insisted, crossing his arms over his chest. Robin laughed again, bumping her shoulder into his. “Besides, it’s not like it matters. You know –”

“Yeah, yeah, we know. Might not be into guys, especially jock guys.”

“On the other hand, he might be into guys who carried him out of hell,” Robin added.

“Fuck off, Rob.” Both girls laughed at him.

A few days later, with physical therapy progressing well and his wounds healed, Dr. Roberts released Eddie. They hadn’t gotten around to repairing the damage to the trailer park yet, and Wayne was still staying on his friend’s couch, who didn’t have room for Eddie too, so Steve did the logical thing and invited him to stay at his otherwise empty house. And if he mentally kicked himself for it, because now he was sure he’d make a fool of himself somehow, well, only he needed to know that.

Which is how he found himself strolling into his own home and hearing Eddie’s voice, with a thicker accent than usual, on what seemed to be the tail end of a phone call. “Yes, Mamaw, I’m healin’ good, thanks to you. Promise I’ll come home to see you, soon as I can. Love you too, Mamaw.”

Steve stepped in the hallway to see Eddie grinning at the phone as he hung up. “Does your accent always get thicker when you talk to your Mamaw?”

“Steve!” Eddie jumped a little. “Hi, didn’t hear you come in. What?”

Steve chuckled. “Your accent was thicker just then, when you were on the phone. Is that a Mamaw specific thing, or does it happen with your aunts and cousins too?”

“How do you…? Wayne.” Eddie’s accent had all but disappeared now.

“Yeah, Wayne. He told me about your family in Kentucky.”

“I’m afraid to ask what else he told you. But, no, it’s not a Mamaw specific thing. It happens with any of my family, even Wayne sometimes. It’s easier to hide with Wayne though, since there are other people with normal accents around.”

“Hide? You mean you do that on purpose, not just that you, I dunno, accidently started to sound like the people around you?”

Eddie snorted. “It’s definitely on purpose. I can handle the barbs about my music, DnD, even my hair. But I hate the looks of ‘oh he’s stupid’ or pity or whatever from the way I sound. It’s the way my Mamaw and my aunties sound. They ain’t stupid, Steve. They’re some of the smartest people I know. So’s Wayne, no matter what anyone says.” Steve listened, a small, fascinated smile on his face as Eddie’s accent got thicker again, the longer he ranted. “What is that look for?”

“Nothing, just, your accent’s back. Got thicker while you ranted. I’m kinda fascinated because that never happened with your table rants at school. I like it,” he shrugged, using the casual gesture to hide that he’d almost slipped and said ‘you’ instead of ‘it’.

“You… like it? Like, my accent?”

“Yeah. I mean, I like listening to you talk in general, but I definitely enjoy the accent. Anyway,” Steve continued on before he could respond to that. “Rob and Nance will be here soon. The brats want to have a movie night, so one of them is gonna stay to help set up, and me and the other one, probably Rob, are gonna head to the grocery store for supplies.”

“Wheeler, do something!” Eddie demanded a short while later, as soon as Steve’s car was down the drive and it was just the two of them.

“About what?”

“About Steve. Either take him back or let him down so he’s distracted.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Listen, I know he’s still got a thing for you. I saw the way he looked at you down there,” he tapped his toes once on the ground. “But I dunno if it’s just because he’s focused on me since I’m living with him for now, or what, but he’s getting weird, Wheeler.”

“Weird how? And stop calling me Wheeler, my name’s Nancy.”

“I was on the phone earlier with family back in Kentucky and Steve said he likes my voice. Likes listening to me and ‘enjoys my accent’.”

“You have an accent? Like your uncle’s?”

“Yes, but that’s not the point.”

“He’s not being weird. And he doesn’t still have a thing for me. We talked about that weeks ago, after Jon got back.”

“Ugh!” Eddie flopped down on the couch she was sitting on, head landing very near her lap. “So, what then?”

“Better question, why’re you making a big deal out of it? Why does it matter to you that he likes the sound of your voice?” Nancy reached out and gently ran her fingers through his curls.

“No reason, just seemed weird is all.”

“Uh huh. Try again.”

Eddie was silent for nearly five minutes. Nancy sat patiently waiting. “Okay, swear you won’t say anything to anyone? Except, you can talk to Wayne because he already knows.”

“I swear.”

“I may, possibly, have had a thing for Steve for… a while.”

“I feel like you could have been more vague with that answer if you tried,” she rolled her eyes, doing her best to hide her joy.

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s not awkward at all to talk about my crush on a guy to that guy’s ex-girlfriend,” Eddie rolled his eyes.

“So it’s a crush, huh?”

“Ugh!” He flopped over onto his stomach, burying his face in the couch.

Nancy chuckled at him, but otherwise said nothing, quietly planning in her head.

­­­---

“Now what’s all this about girls?” Wayne asked, a couple days later when Nancy and Robin met him outside of work when he got off at 5:00 am.

“We need your help with Eddie and Steve,” Robin said, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“That right?” Nancy was pleased to note the little bit of mischief in his eyes when he asked.

“Mm-hm, and I think you know why.” The three of them sat in the bed of his pickup and made their plans.

---

“Please tell me I’m not the only one who finds this suspicious,” Eddie commented from the passenger seat.

“Why, our friends insisting on meeting us in the middle of nowhere with no explanation? No, not suspicious at all. Although, if they’d gotten Dustin in on it, I’d be more suspicious.”

“That’s fair. He’s obnoxious when he tries to be sneaky.” They both laughed. “Where are we going anyway?”

“The hill just outside town. The kids call it Weathertop, after the place in Lord of the Rings.” Eddie was silent long enough that Steve risked a quick glance over to see him staring in open-mouthed shock. “What?” he laughed.

“You know Lord of the Rings? Since when? I know you didn’t get my Mordor reference before.”

“I had a lot of time while you were in a coma,” Steve shrugged a shoulder. “Dustin let me borrow his copies, even The Hobbit,” he said proudly.

“You read The Hobbit and the whole Lord of the Rings trilogy while I was in a coma?”

“I mean, I only just finished Return of the King like two days ago. But yeah. I dunno, Wayne said it was one of your favorites. And plus, I know the kids like it. So, yeah.”

“No no, don’t add the brats to this. You read it because Wayne said it was one of my favorites?”

Steve sighed, gripping the steering wheel tighter, then relaxed again before answering. “Robin told me that a good way to get to know someone is by learning about their favorite things. Your music is apparently too much for my concussed head, it triggers a migraine. So, I went with books.”

“But you tried it? Listening to my music, I mean.”

“Yeah. I tried… oh hell, who was it? They’re on the front of your vest. Megadeth! Anyway, I was down for like a whole day with a migraine. But Wayne brought in a Woodie Guthrie cassette and that was way easier for me to listen to. I like him.”

“I need…. I need to take a minute and process that you tried to listen to my music, and read one of my favorite book series to try to get to know me while I was unconscious. This is blowing my mind. Seriously though, why would you… I mean, we didn’t even know each other before this whole thing started. Well, started for me anyway. I know you were involved way longer than I was. And I know Wayne was talkin’ to ya about me, so why the extra stuff, I guess is what I’m really wonderin’.” Steve listened with a small smile. Since he’d said something about like Eddie’s accent, he’d started to hear it more frequently. Yeah, Eddie still made an effort to sound ‘normal’, especially when other people were around. But when it was just them, or when he started off on a ramble like that, it got thicker again. “What are you so damn happy about?”

“It’s nothing,” Steve shook his head. “Are you still processing or did you actually want an answer?”

“I dunno. I kinda wanna make up my own thing. But anyway, do you know why they’re bringing us all the way out here?”

“No idea. I know Dustin had his Cerebro set up out here for a while.”

“Cerebro? You’re secretly a huge nerd, aren’t you Harrington?” Eddie chuckled.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he grinned. “But I know some stuff. Hard to be friends with the kids and not know some of it.” He parked the car at the base of the hill as he spoke. “Alright, let’s see what these weirdos are up to now.”

As he got out of the car, Eddie looked around. “Do you find it as suspicious as I do that there’s no other cars – like Nancy’s or the Byers’ – and there’s no bikes?”

“I didn’t, until you just said something. I kind of assumed we were just here first.”

“Hm, yeah, I guess that’s possible.”

“Should I bring the bat?”

“The bat?” Eddie turned with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah.” Steve walked around to the back of his car, popped the trunk, and pulled out what at first made Eddie think of a medieval Morningstar, but turned out to be a regular wooden bat with nails hammered through it. “The bat,” Steve repeated, swinging the bat in his hand then bringing it to rest on his shoulder.

“Where… why…? Explain.” Steve laughed a little, but explained the history of the weapon, how Jon had created it way back when all the Upside Down stuff first starting happening to them, but how it had become Steve’s weapon after that first encounter. “I… I kinda wanna see you use that, actually. But yeah, sure, bring it just in case.”

Steve raised an eyebrow at Eddie saying he wanted to see him using it, but otherwise didn’t comment. Together, the pair of them made their way up to the top of the hill, then stopped dead at what greeted them. Steve was the first to understand what exactly was happening, and dropped the bat off his shoulder.

“It’s a date,” he said softly. “They set us up on a date.”

“They did not!”

“They very much did. Well, Nance, Rob, and Wayne did.”

“How… what makes you say that?”

“The blanket is from my downstairs closet, one of the ones that is meant to be used outside, and is the one Robin thinks has the most cushion. So she says. The whole layout, setup, whatever, looks like every time I ever set up a dinner or picnic for Nancy. And I’d bet money Wayne made the food – unless I’m very wrong, that’s a ham and turkey sandwich with mustard and pickles. Which I still maintain is gross, but he says is one of your favorites.” Steve turned to Eddie with a wide grin and held out his hand. “C’mon.”

“But…. But you’re straight.”

“I’m really not though.”

Hidden in the trees not too far away, Robin and Nancy watched as Steve tugged Eddie over to the picnic they’d just finished setting up. Sharing a high five, the two girls turned and headed to Nancy’s car which was parked a short distance away, and drove out to let Wayne know their plan worked.