#and these are the same people who have seen me run in heels so why are you saying i can't handle platform boots

[heavenbarnes]

I wanna make it (so badly)

Art Donaldson x Fem Reader

Warnings/Contains: reader is AFAB with she/her pronouns, swearing, inappropriate employer/employee relationship, dry-humping, a lot of heavy petting, implied age gap, effective-infidelity (reader tested, tashi approved), oral sex (f!receiving), art is a bit of a pervert and mega-pathetic (endearing), references to religion (worship).

Word Count: 5.8k

i white knuckled the steering wheel on the way home from this film thinking about art donaldson- this is, essentially, an ode to that

Youth tennis lessons, $20/h, call for details

Finding work was hard, keeping work was harder.

Cleaning, baby-sitting, pet-sitting, pet-walking. There was virtually nothing you hadn't tried.

Odd jobs, odd hours, and the occasional odd employer.

You'd played tennis for the last couple years of college. Nothing remotely competitive but you and your friends had looked cute in the skirts and they'd give you whole hours out of class to play.

You were above average with a good arm and better patience.

Another odd job to add to your growing list.

You'd been particular about where you'd posted the ads, the neighbourhoods you'd chosen. Only the ones with manicured lawns and white picket fences.

Tacking the paper to boards in upmarket cafes, fancy supermarkets, ladies-only gyms.

The kind of people that want their kids playing tennis and could find their way to increase your pay- if you did well.

You always did very well.

So your little car looked a little out of place in this neighbourhood, fingers holding the scribbled post-it note with the address. Your scrawling handwriting detailing the "Donaldson's" were enquiring within.

Pulling up outside the house, you had a quiet inkling that you might've been out of your depth. Whoever owned this house deserved more than an above-average-ex-college-student that only learnt the sport to spend time with friends.

But they'd requested you, you'd have to let them come to that conclusion on your own.

Your knuckles only hit the door once before it was being swung open by someone that looked destined to be a security guard, like he'd come out the womb with his future decided.

What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

He'd left you in the "formal lounge" to sit smack-bang in the centre of a couch that wouldn't even fit in the lobby of your apartment building- let alone the apartment itself.

As you admired a painting on the wall that you'd only ever seen in books, high heels on the stone floors made you jump in your seat.

The most beautiful woman you might ever see in your life appeared before you and said your name in a way that had you standing from your seat.

Your face faltered just enough that you hoped she didn't notice. There was something about her that told you she noticed everything.

Fuck me, that's Tashi Duncan.

If you know a thing about tennis (or even just watched the news) you know exactly who this woman is. You remember her more from your childhood but you remember her all the same.

The woman that once held the world by the balls.

She apologised for her husband's absence, that he was busy. It wasn't lost on you that the "husband" she casually referred to was Art Donaldson, US Open champion.

The Donaldson's.

Ah fuck.

Tashi went on the explain that they were wanting to begin lessons for their daughter Lily. You assumed this was the one you could hear running circles around the informal lounge.

"With all due respect, am I not the least qualified person in this home for that?"

You watched a perfectly formed cheekbone lift in what was nearly a smile. Strangely enough, something in the pit of your chest was dying to make her do that again.

There was something about her that demanded to be impressed.

You were no exception to the rule.

"My husband and I have seen some of your matches, we liked what we saw."

How? Your 'matches'- if you can even call them that, were nothing of note. You don't even think faculty bothered to watch them. You weren't quite sure why they'd even recorded them.

A silly part of you began to wonder how they'd even got a hold of them- until you remembered who they were.

The Hermes and Peitho of tennis.

"You did? I always thought of myself as more of a casual player."

"And that's what we liked, we know better than anyone how brutal tennis can become. We want someone to help Lily enjoy the game."

Oh, okay then.

You'd made a quasi-college-career out of purely enjoying the game. You were sure you could foster the same spirit for the six-year-old performing the entire 'Encanto' soundtrack in the other room.

Tashi laid down a tight schedule, Monday to Friday, 3pm to 6pm. You would teach Lily the wonders of the game on the court behind their home.

Their home you'd come to find out was a luxury rental when you'd complemented Tashi on another of the art pieces that'd apparently come with the place.

You'd also come to find out they typically live in hotel rooms, but they'd settled in this area for the time being as Art had a good thing going with a regular playing schedule and a sporting-goods deal.

You nodded along like you could begin to understand a life like that.

As she showed you back to your car (the one you suddenly felt humiliated for her to see you own), she called your name one last time from the doorway.

"You undersell yourself, we'll give you eighty an hour."

She left you choking on your tongue with one foot in the car and the other on an Italian cobblestone.

You were never going to walk or sit another dog again.

Lily was going to win her first Grand Slam by ten if that's what they'd pay you.

As your peeled your car from their turn-around area, you watched a Jeep Wrangler slow as it passed you. You couldn't see through the tint but you just knew it was him.

And you knew he was watching you.

-

The minute you'd told your roommate the situation you'd come into, she'd called bullshit.

A few texts from Tashi's now saved icon and a weird little photo you'd taken from inside the guest bathroom, it'd been enough to convince her.

"Fucking hell, are you God's favourite or something?"

You'd argue you were quite the opposite, she of all people should know. She'd seen some of the states you'd come home in after your other random jobs.

Felt good to be the winner.

Even just once.

In the air of some girlish fascination, she brought up a Youtube video of "Tashi Duncan Career Highlights" courtesy of "tennisguy779."

You'd protested it, rolling your eyes while feigning disinterest. No use, the minute you caught her out the corner of your eye- you were captivated.

It was entirely possible to imagine she hovered above the court, like there was a greater force placing her exactly where she needed to be, exactly when she needed.

It was even easier to believe she was just that good.

As you watched her play, listened to the sounds the game could draw from her- you wondered if this was how she and Art had felt.

Had they curled up in their informal lounge like you were right now? Had Tashi studied your every move meticulously like you assume? Had Art passed comment on your form? Did he think you were any good?

Tennisguy779's lineup changed quickly to "Art Donaldson Career Highlights" and you felt your chest constrict. An inexplicable feeling washed over you.

Like you'd been caught with God's forbidden fruit.

Your roommate had tried to question why you'd effectively flown off the couch, only to be met with a muttered 'goodnight' as you shut the bedroom door behind you.

Thin walls meant you drifted off to sleep that night with the rhythmic sounds of Art, grunting his way through an ATP Challenger.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

-

The Donaldson's tennis court was down a steep set of stairs, set back into an oasis of lush greenery.

Perfect for a 6-year-old's first lessons.

You didn't know if it was the grand balcony that overlooked the court or the fact a well-manicured Tashi stood atop it, but you felt positively observed.

Lily was in the midst of showing you how she could do a cartwheel (she couldn't) when the voice in the back of your head started echoing a promise of $80/h.

"Alright, lets channel some of that into your elbow."

Give a six-year-old a racquet half the size of her and she's going to blow effective chunks, but at least she has the spirit. Maybe it's her energy, maybe it has been a while since you've been on the court-

The kid's running you ragged.

Coupled with her height, you're spending more time bent over than you are up straight and it's all going to your head. All you can hope is Tashi isn't up there watching you stumble after the ball.

But you're sure there are eyes on your back.

Lily is a quick learner and you work out a tradeoff of one tennis skill for one spinning heel kick (mandatory that you watch).

Roll on 6pm and she's dog-tired, however, she's managed to hit the ball at least twice. Surely that's earned your keep. She lays star-fished on the turf and murmurs something about a piggyback.

You know you're about to earn your keep.

By the top of the staircase, you're more than happy to hand over a Lily-shaped-sack-of-potatoes to Tashi's mother. As you emerge from behind an ornate gargoyle, your suspicions proved correct.

Art Donaldson had been watching your every move.

Left alone on the balcony with him, you're acutely aware of the fact he's standing between you and your exit, and he's just had a full show of you bent over and flitting about his tennis court.

That and you still haven't said so much as 'hello' to the man.

You dwell on it for a moment and then there's that feeling back in the pit of your stomach, like any minute you'll be caught with fruit in hand- in throat.

The Original Sin.

Luckily, Art made the decision for you, crossing the space to shake your hand. If he noticed the way your hand trembled, he didn't seem to mind.

"It's nice to finally meet you."

You wished you had more to say to him, or maybe something more intelligent. Something better than a quiet "and you."

He was the better conversationalist, thankfully. Head motioning to the court, he looked down his nose at you when he spoke.

It should've felt condescending. It didn't.

"How did she go out there?"

"Yeah, really good- not a Disney character I can't name now."

He laughed.

Really laughed, like the joke was better than it was.

Like there was a preening little flutter inside you that said "do it again!"

You shrugged your shoulders like making him happy came naturally as you squinted up at him, as if he was the sun.

"You were watching? You must've seen her picking it up?"

Because he was the expert. Because he is the champion.

He hummed as he nodded, eyes skywards like there might've been something more important behind the clouds.

"Must've been distracted."

Within an instant- his eyes flickered to your own and you were sure he watched them change. He must've seen something he liked, the corner of his lip quirked up before he spoke again.

"Come on, I'll sort your payment and then we'll let you get home."

And for whatever reason, his hand fit perfectly in the small of your back as he lead you inside.

-

And how quickly did you become a strange piece of furniture in the Donaldson's home- in their life?

An ottoman for Tashi to rest her tired feet on.

An abstract piece on the wall for Art to admire when he passes it.

A projection of constellations across the ceiling to keep Lily bright behind the eyes.

At least you belonged- there was no doubt that this was where you belonged.

That wasn't to say your tennis skill had improved any, lesson after lesson you still couldn't wrap your head around why they'd even signed you on, let alone kept you.

"Ok, don't watch that one either- maybe just do what I say and not what I do."

You hadn't nailed a single one, at this point you couldn't blame Lily for skipping around pretending her racquet was a horse.

Wasn't like she'd be learning anything if she was paying attention.

"Ok, here we go just- ok right, when your parents ask how today went, please be kind."

"Your elbow is too low."

It was a miracle you didn't scream.

Art entered the court with a swagger that you could only assume struck fear when he was your opponent.

Right now it struck pure embarrassment and Lily wasn't helping.

"Daddy, she didn't hit a single one!"

"Alright, I don't think daddy needs to know that-"

"Daddy knows, daddy's been watching."

Daddy really needs to stop calling himself that.

Lily and her racquet took off for another tour of The Grand National as Art approached you with quiet determination.

It was like waiting for impact, his eyes never wavered off his daughter as he made towards you. At the last moment, he snapped his attention in your direction- with a smile that should've felt condescending.

It wasn't.

"If your elbow is too low you lose topspin and power."

If you deserved the $80/h you were earning, you might've known that.

As Art stepped up to you, the turn of the planets on their axis slowed down and it could've been entirely possible to believe it was only you two.

And Lily upon her trusty steed.

The gallops of her tennis shoes thinned out as Art placed one hand around your elbow, lifting it higher. His other hand held your waist as he pulled your back flush to his chest.

"Lily, go find grandma."

Then it really was just you two.

Your heart hammered against the shell of your ribcage, blood rushing around your ears as you felt Art's chin perch at your shoulder.

"If your elbow is high enough," His hand lifted it up and you let it stay there. "And your hip is turned."

He didn't have to say it with the gravel in his voice, but he did. He didn't have to hold your hips as he moved them, but he did. He didn't have to stay without so much of an inch between the two of you, but he did.

With one hand in the curve of your waist, he tossed the ball into the air with the other- then he whistled.

Like the obedient thing you didn't know you were, you raised the racquet and sent the ball flying through the air without even blinking.

As the streak of green hit the court and rolled away, you found yourself lying in wait, as if you were waiting for something- your next command?

"Good girl."

There it was.

Under the all consuming effect that Art Donaldson just seemed to have on people, you'd entirely forgotten you were in a position you could be 'caught' in. By his all consuming wife, of all people.

So, you should've moved.

Quite honestly you should've straightened up and cleared your throat and thanked him and told him it was time for you to go home.

You should've moved.

But Art wasn't moving. If anything he was staying purposefully still at your backside.

Obedient thing you seem to be.

"Show me that again?"

So,

You teach Lily the bare basics of tennis for three hours and receive $80 on the hour.

Then Art spends three hours of his spare time teaching you to perfect your swing- in a way that couldn't ever vaguely resemble professional.

A simple transactional arrangement.

Your tennis improves on a slow but sure basis and he gets the most off-court action he's seen since college.

Even if it is just heavy petting on astro-turf.

A hand under the hem of a tennis skirt. A pressing hip against your own. A deep breath as your hair brushes past him.

You figure Art will take what he can get.

And it's never enough to raise alarm. Sure, there's that fluttering in your chest that warns you might get 'caught' but you're never quite sure what one might 'catch' if they found you out.

It's undoubted who that 'one' is though.

The one who holds the cards- holds the throat, maybe.

Tashi, who's presence precedes her perhaps more than her reputation. Even when she isn't there, she's there.

So, when Art's hand lingers too long on the outside of your thigh and you think you can feel it verging into the territory that'll change everything- it's Tashi on your mind.

You're beginning to think your conscience sounds a lot like Tashi.

-

Who are you if not obedient to the Donaldson's?

Chasing Lily around a court.

Adhering to Tashi's every request.

Being Art's fantasy.

Being Art's.

Most of the time, anyway. Three hours a week.

Something to keep him bright behind the eyes, maybe. Something to keep him happy. Something to keep him-

Winning?

He tells you he plays better with you around. The way he says it makes you giggle, a girlish little noise that sort of just slips out. He serves the ball with his eyes on you and, sure enough, it lands smack where he wanted it too.

Everything where he wants it. When he wants it.

Shy and inconsequential touches and glances shared just between you.

Until, well- until they weren't.

"Would you like a coffee?"

Tashi's mother had taken Lily off to bed, leaving you and Art separated by an island. Kitchen island.

He braced both palms against it as he watched you watch the door, wondering if you should cut and run, wondering if someone else might come through it.

Talking yourself out of it. Whatever it might be.

"Yes please."

Even he looked surprised, brows raising an inch as he turned to the Nespresso machine. You took the moment to watch his back, the muscles moving under the cool-dry fabric of his shirt.

You spent all your time pretending not to notice him that actually allowing yourself the chance to study him made you lightheaded.

Had he always looked this captivating?

He broke your focus with a coffee cup, sliding it towards you as he rounded the bench. His eyes didn't even waver off you as he took a sip of his own.

It wasn't lost on you that he managed to tongue foam off the tip of his nose.

This was the longest you'd stuck around after a tennis lesson, longest you'd allowed yourself to be in his presence. You weren't quite sure how big this thing could get.

Your mouth was opening before your brain had decided it was a good idea.

"Mr. Donaldson-"

"Art."

"Uh, Art- I really appreciate the help you've been giving me- uh, you know- with tennis."

He placed his coffee mug down, nodding as he did it. "My pleasure."

Naturally.

That brain of yours was still firing off at a mile a minute. There was a very tiny voice right at the back that said it was up to you how this night would end- you had a choice to make.

Placing your coffee mug beside his, you scanned his face to find him already looking at you. Perhaps the choice was already set.

Maybe it was fate.

All he said was your name, it could've been the way he said it- but your whole body was losing the rigidity it'd formed when he first asked you to stay longer. When he'd made the choice.

Crossing the small gap between you two, Art was careful to keep one hand on the kitchen bench as the other hovered beside you. Not touching you,

Yet.

One step closer and the tip of Art's nose was touching yours. You think you might've been able to smell the coffee off his breath.

It thinned out- leaving you with his sweat. Musk. Art.

A sudden surge of morals overcame you, your voice broke out as a gasp.

"What about Mrs. Donaldson?"

"Actually, it's still Duncan."

You screamed.

Right in his face.

Tashi's voice made you jump out of your skin.

However, Art didn't move. As you turned your head to gauge the way his wife stalked across the kitchen, you felt his nose brush against your cheek.

Tashi retrieved a tall bottle of Pellegrino from the fridge, taking a poignant sip as her eyes flitted between the two of you.

What a fucking sight.

Her husband, eyes shut and face pressed pathetically to their daughter's tennis instructor- his hands itching to close around your waist.

You, young and bleary eyed looking utterly caught. Staring up at her like she might decide your fate.

It took all your strength to find your words.

"I’m not here to teach tennis, am I?”

“No, of course not. You’re frankly terrible at tennis.”

There's the Tashi you were expecting.

Her words should've stung, but they didn't. They couldn't, not when her husband was laying his hands against your back and rubbing soothing circles down the length of your spine.

Not when his lips were mouthing wet kisses along your cheek.

Not when she was right. Spade's a spade.

"Why am I here?"

She snorted, a real dissatisfactory sound- like she hoped you were smarter than that. She was halfway to her bedroom before she cut you loose.

"Careful, he makes that sound before he cums."

-

And he had, just like she'd said.

Art had cum in his shorts, pressed up against your thigh with his face still smushed against your own.

And you'd taken it, obedience in spades.

You'd stood there and let him hump your leg like a bad dog and you'd even pat his head and whispered kind words in his ear after the mess he'd made.

Then you slipped out the front door to your car and you'd pretended not to notice that there were two bedroom lights on upstairs.

You hadn't even divulged the freaky details to your roommate when you got home.

But the showerhead knew all about them.

Visions of Art on the clouds of steam- replayed in your head the sounds he'd made right in your ear.

How he'd whimpered your name when he splashed his boxers like a fucking teenager.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

You even showed up next day, valiantly. You didn't run for the hills or even straight to a tabloid about how weird the Donaldson's really were.

And maybe that's why you hadn't told your roommate either.

Because telling someone what Tashi allowed? What Art liked?

That'd mean you'd have to admit your dirty little secret.

You loved it.

When you showed up, something was different. No usual chatter in the house, no shoes by the front door. You checked out the front window to see what you'd missed when you arrived.

Tashi's car was gone.

"She's taken her mom and Lily to the ballet."

At least you didn't scream this time.

You were lucky your back was to him, lest he see the self-righteous little smile that broke when the words settled.

"Oh, ok."

"I'll see you on the court."

Oh, ok.

Lest he see the disappointment that took over.

Following him close behind, you didn't know why you were effectively surprised that he still wanted to continue with your lessons. You'd half expected- hoped, he'd bend you over the kitchen island.

Tennis was fun too, you guess.

Thinking about it, something that bold didn't seem the style of the man who'd nearly blacked out rubbing up on you. Beckoning you onto the tennis court with two fingers and a wry smile did, however.

You fell into your usual position, hip turned and elbow curved on your side of the court. You waited for him to appear behind you, chest melding into the curve of your back.

It never came.

Art took long strides towards the net, vaulting it in one smooth motion. He ended up parallel to you, waiting with a ball and racquet in either hand.

The smile had left his face, a rather blank expression taking over as he sized you up. And there was that fear- knowing what it felt like to be on the wrong side of him.

This was going to hurt.

From the moment he pressed the ball to the neck of his racquet, it was all over. Your feet were never in one place for more than a second, your arms burned above you, your head permanently on a swivel.

Art didn't look like he'd broken more than a sweat.

You knew he had, you could see it in the neck of his shirt. But he didn't look it.

He looked calm, he looked in control, he looked-

Like he was enjoying himself.

For every rally that you managed, you thought you saw an inkling of pride set in his features.

For every serve that you missed, you knew you saw unbridled lust.

Not a point scored in your favour, you hit the ball towards him one last time before you collapsed to the turf. Flat on your back, reminiscent of your first lesson here.

You watched the clouds shift over your head, listening to your pulse thick and fast in your ears. Just underneath it, you could hear footfalls approaching.

No hurry, but impending.

Soon, the sun above you was eclipsed by Art Donaldson. His golden hair shone with the halo of light behind it.

Now this was God's favourite.

"You can't be giving up this easily?"

Forcing a laugh, you threw your arm up and over your eyes. "Wanna bet?"

Turns out he did- turns out Art struggled to do anything but win.

Somehow, you found it within yourself to stand back up. This time it was only a practice, you weren't brave enough to face off against him another round.

This was more your speed.

The hand that wasn't holding your elbow was curving around your front, the pleats of your tennis skirt lifting over his fingers. You felt a warm hand slowly moving across the front of your underwear.

Two fingers migrated south, pressing against the seam of you- he must've felt the pure heat radiating beneath his fingertips.

Turning your head even an inch, you found the curve of his nose pressing into your cheek.

"I didn't give up."

He hummed, the vibration rolled across your shoulders.

"Mmm, you didn't."

The hand sans-racquet dropped between your thighs to press his palm into your cunt. It was Art who flexed your fingers and cupped it.

"Where's my prize?"

There was no trophy, no podium, no medal.

But there was Art between your legs, slinging a knee over each shoulder like he might've been the real winner.

You'd never been inside the 'changing shed' behind the court, of course it was nicer than your actual home.

Your head made contact with the hard wood behind you, bench digging into your ass as you felt a hot mouth moving against the seat of your underwear.

Running your fingers through his hair, your gripped the ends of it- tugging him closer until you felt the flat of his tongue through the thin fabric.

Needy fingers tugged the ruined garment down your thighs, tucking him into the pocket of his shorts. You knew all too well that you'd never see them again.

You were sure Art would be seeing a lot of them.

His tongue ran up the split, one long stroke before you felt the curve of his nose press to your clit. The ridge of it moved as his tongue retreated back to your entrance.

With everything he had.

Your eyes had been rolling back in your head as you arched your back, the moment you were able to find a semblance of control- your gaze fell before you.

Naturally, Art was already looking up at you. Two hands splayed across each side of your hips as he pulled back to wrap his lips around your clit.

You couldn't help the hazy little smile on your face as you watched his eyes.

Utterly devotional.

The more you tugged on his hair, the hungrier he seemed. Pulling from the root seemed to spur him on, seemed to tell him 'good job' and he was responsive.

His tongue flicked beneath your clit, pressing it to his upper lip as he brought two fingers to your entrance. He stroked a couple times, making your hips twitch against him, before he sunk in to the last knuckle.

Turns out Art had a style about him. One he brought to the tennis court and, seemingly, to the floor of his changing shed.

The style was calculated.

Every move he made was engineered to get something out of you- a reaction, a whimper, a twitch. He was doing what he did best.

Playing a game.

Art struggled to do anything but win.

"Fuck- Mr. Donaldson."

"Art."

Even muffled against your cunt, you were good at following his orders. Even more so when he was the decider of your imminent orgasm.

You threaded your fingers in the sides of his hair, pulling his face flush against you so you could ride his mouth. Taking every last thing from him you could.

It drew the most pathetic moan you'd ever heard, straight out of his chest and hit you straight at your core. The burning coil tight within your stomach was unraveling quickly.

You heard the murmurings of words, among the blood rushing in your ears. Easing up just enough, you let him pull back to speak.

"Tell me this feels good, please."

Your chest thumped, the sight of Art helpless between your legs was one thing. Hearing him beg?

You might black out.

"Art- you feel so fucking good," Dragging him right back where you needed him, the tip of his tongue drove against your clit. "You're gonna' make me cum."

He whined.

A heady drawn-out sound that quite literally sent you over the edge. Your hips lifted off the bench, the heel of your foot digging into his back and making his whine turn into a whimper.

Your orgasm broke you apart until it felt like white-hot flame licking up your sides. Of course, Art never relented, drinking in everything you could give him- literally.

The moment you felt the peak begin to subside, the urge was ramping right back up. Like he knew what he was doing, his eyes locked back onto yours as he sucked at your clit.

He was going for gold.

A quick second orgasm hit, seemingly out of nowhere. Your thighs clenched around Art's head, his hands coming to each of them.

You relaxed yourself a bit, feeling like it might be too much- until you felt him pressing your thighs even harder to either of his ears.

Oh, ok.

Art Donaldson knew what he liked.

You physically had to push him off you, watching him fall back on his outstretched palms as you let yourself breathe for what felt like the first time.

Wet eyes, wet chin, chest rising and falling like he'd run a marathon- Art sat sprawled out before you like he'd stumbled upon an alter (he had).

Breathless, you gestured towards him. Your hand dropped a little as your eyes fell between his legs, wordlessly offering a deal.

A deuce.

His cheeks flushed, more so than they already were. His eyes fell an infinitesimal amount before he spoke up.

"Uh- I already have."

Of course he had. He makes that sound before he cums.

Instead, you heard him shuffle back onto his knees as he all but crawled towards you. He draped his upper half into your lap, head resting against the soft cotton of your skirt.

Coming off the other side of a high, the reality of your situation began to settle for you. Why they'd really called you here- what purpose you really served.

All you could do was gently stroke a hand across Art's head, feeling him go limp against you. Boneless, but not spineless.

He must've known you were going to speak, he must've heard the intake of breath or just felt you shift. He cut you to the chase- beat you to the punchline.

Art nuzzled his face further into your lap as you felt him mumble against your thigh.

"I can't lose- you."

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐛𝐨𝐲, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 || 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary_ it’s fun to play with the salesman knowing he is head over heels for you, until it’s not because he appears at your door with a notice to marry him.

warnings_ AGE GAP (reader in her early 20s and American), immigration inaccuracies, enemies to lovers, dub-con marriage, angst, misogyny, abuse/violence (not directly the salesman to the reader), questionable morals, do not romanticize irl. NOT PROOFREAD

notes_ I’m obsessed with chill from LISA’s new album, it’s so obsessed salesman begging reader for a chance coded.

♫ ♪ the worst playlist 4 gong yoo

✰ Index (+ fics here)

୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ

The door makes a loud click after you head out. The frontman was demanding you to hand over the file with all the names of the VIPs and who were sponsors for the games of the year. You could say you were free from stepping in the island for a couple of months. The rest of your job was in Seoul, keeping everything in secret and getting rid of possible nosy people.

You make your way through the long dark halls and press the button of the elevator.

Exactly at the same time as another man.

You turn to look at him and he offers a little friendly nod, to which you don’t reply.

You silently step into the elevator when the doors open and the man in suit steps behind you.

You could feel his eyes on your hair, shoulders, silhouette under your dress, and your naked calf. You knew the man was the recruiter and one of the favorites from the late Il-Nam.

The salesman had rarely seen you. He couldn’t remember your face but after hopping into the same elevator as him, he was sure he wouldn’t forget your face and features.

You caught his eye. The last time a woman infatuated him was when he was a late teen.

And he knew that was a danger. Because if you passed his internal tests, he would get obsessed with you.

He wasn’t expecting to talk to you, but he sure felt disappointed when the elevator reached the first floor and you quietly headed out, without acknowledging him.

…

Grey and black everywhere.

Those were your favorite colors, but not in a place that should be called home.

You roll your eyes, feeling a warm arm around your waist.

It shouldn’t hurt so much to feel awkward about casual sex.

You gently move away from said arm and you spot a sleeping salesman.

His disheveled hair made him look a lot younger. Adorably appealing…

But you hated him and he didn’t deserve to have your caresses.

When he started to appear almost everywhere you worked, subtly showing you he was deranged and insane, you ended up agreeing to share the same sheets as him.

The salesman was just for the thrill, he didn’t mean anything.

He had a great physique, perfect cock and gave good aftercare. Perhaps he was just acting to keep his place between your legs but you liked it.

Except when he started to hint at something more serious. More than sex…

You’d get scared, irritated and so you would run.

You quietly get dressed and then you turn to give the man one last look.

He was in good shape to be an old asshole…

Back at your place you shower and take your plan b because you weren’t on any medication or contraceptives. The salesman was always sure to put on a condom but he liked to tease you about cumming inside you.

Fuck him (indeed, you were doing it)….

Beep beep, there is no ringtone but your phone vibrates.

You roll your eyes at the number.

“I told you not to call me to this number” you spit out, moving towards the kitchen. “In fact, I told you to not call me at all”

“You left without saying goodbye…” you wondered why he tried to sound like he was hurt, it was pathetic.

“That was the whole point” you answer like it was the most obvious thing.

“Don’t be like this, angel” he says. “We had a wonderful night, Don’t you remember your own voice saying how good I touched you?”

He was grinning, perhaps holding his breath to not cackle. He was mocking you.

“Enough, you’re a fucking asshole” he knew you were angry when you started speaking English, either angry or very relaxed.

He was well aware since your dirty talk always came in English.

“Just admit it, y/n” You roll your eyes once again.

“Oh, I’ll gladly accept that your cock makes me so happy. But it’s a shame it comes glued to you. And don’t call me again!” you harshly almost yell before hanging up.

The salesman smirked, ready to stretch out and start his day.

…

It is not a workday, you are going home after picking up a dress from the dry cleaner. It’s uncomfortable to carry the dress in a plastic bag across the station.

It’s very late, and the place empty.

Your train is about to arrive when you hear a loud slap followed by a male groan.

Your lips immediately form a smile.

When you turn around, on the other side of the train tracks, there is your salesman.

Definitely not your salesman.

You see him with his nonchalant demeanor, the careless but savage expression of arrogance.

He is too damn cheeky.

The young boy takes the money and leaves, looking back at the man and holding his swollen cheek while walking away.

You clap, making fun of the salesman.

He turns and smirks softly as if he was content to see you there.

“You really have a firm hand,” you say.

“What do you have there?…” he ignores your comment and points at the dress hanging from your shoulder.

“A dress…”

“Dress… For what occasion, exactly?” you shrug, debating whether to tell him or not.

“None of your business, sir” You decide to keep the girlfriend’s dinner private.

“Perhaps a date?”

“Perhaps I’d rather not?” Both of you look at each other smiling.

“Have a date with me” the salesman leaves you speechless for a couple of seconds.

You can’t have a date with him.

You hear the train coming, and then you turn back to look at him.

“It would complicate things even more” he knows it’s dangerous, to form interpersonal relationships with while having a vile job. “But even if we could, I wouldn’t…”

It hurts his deepest and most intimate feelings.

The salesman gets his vision obstructed because of the train. But he can see you hopping in and turning to give him a look at your back.

Maybe he should give up. He was wasting his time and he firmly believed nobody deserved so much of his attention.

Including you…

And just as he was leaving the station, his phone vibrated.

…

Be a ghost while we find something else to dissipate this; the frontman had said to you a week ago.

Apparently, In-ho trusted you enough to tell you his brother Hwang Jun-ho was looking for you after finding your ID was not renovated and your tourist permit had expired months ago.

The frontman told you that he couldn’t lose you because you already had a good record of your job. He said that you shouldn’t draw any attention from the authorities and if needed, you would have to reside on the island.

But he would find a solution. In-ho was your friend after all…

You are drinking sparkling wine and watching a TV show when you hear a knock on your door.

You don’t bother to grab a sweater, you are in a silk nightgown and it’s quite a cold day, but your place is warm.

After a new soft wave of knocks, you finally stand up and answer the door.

There is your salesman.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You ask with eyes wide open and notice he is eyeing your outfit. “How do you know where I live?”

The truth was, you were never invited to spend the night at your place, it was either at a hotel or his bachelor’s apartment.

“The frontman has the perfect solution for your situation” he hands you a perfectly neat folder with papers.

You eye him, doubtful.

As you start reading the papers, your eyes only open more and more till you look back at the salesman in pure shock.

“I have to marry you?” You nearly scream at him.

“It’s the fastest solution. Marrying a Korean citizen will revoke your felonies and offenses” you sigh.

“And of course, it had to be you…” he shrugs, looking uninterested but you know he is dying to know your answer.

“In-ho knows I’m your closest workmate” Well yeah, In-ho didn’t know you hated the salesman, that you could barely stand him, and that you were fucking him.

But you also know he would try to give you the easiest gateway chance. There’s not much to think about. Even less when you remember the type of you’re into.

“Take me to the nearest civil registry” his eyes opened, surely surprised.

His heart beat as his hands started to sweat. He was marrying you…

What an odd sentence. Not that he minded…

…

“Y/n, come back here!” The salesman yells as he jobs behind you.

“Leave me the fuck alone!” You yell back.

Through an empty park, you are walking with no exact direction. You’re so angry, frustrated, and anxious even.

It was bad that you got married in a nightgown, flat shoes, and some random coat. Even worse when you waited almost an hour for the judge to arrive.

Upon entering the little room, the salesman appeared with a little bouquet of white roses and handed them to you.

Tears pooled in your eyes as you signed the paper and the bastard kissed you when it was over and a random photographer appeared to take a picture.

And that’s when you ran outside, towards the park over the street of the civil registry.

You stop when you feel like getting out of breath, the trail running uphill.

“This is ridiculous!” the salesman yells, grabbing your wrist. “I know it wasn’t a fairytale wedding but at least you’re out of trouble now!”

“Shut the fuck up!”

And you slap him.

He retrieves, looking at you surprised.

“I’m sorry…” you almost whisper.

Your feet drag you to sit on the bench and sigh, holding your head and refusing to cry.

The salesman takes pity on you, he sits beside you and dares to gently rub your back.

“I’ve always been crushing for you” you admit.

“What?”

Oh, so that caught him off guard…

“Since I was a newbie and you were already an officer” you reveal, not daring to look at him but keeping your eyes on the sunset.

“I had high hopes of you acknowledging me one day” he gulps, already worried about something he hadn’t remembered yet. “Until the day you and your friends came to kick my ass”

He froze.

“It was you?…” he asks and you nod, finally eyeing him.

015, a circle, a woman. It was you…

His friends received a warning directly from Il-nam for ruining two corpses in perfect conditions, when it had been your fault.

Despite anger, vengeance, and mocking, the salesman followed his friends to the guards’ dorms and entered their room to beat the hell out of them.

Once they turned on the lights and saw it was a woman, they cowardly ran out.

“I thought my ribs were broken” you try to joke, but he remains silent.

The salesman remembered only watching, he was too drunk to actually throw some punches. But he had the key to open the dorms, he caused everything.

“I’m truly sorry,” he says.

To be fair, you weren’t expecting an apology from an arrogant man like him.

But was he arrogant enough? To subtly keep up with his approaches towards you, For literal years?

“You’re sorry?” He nods, taking your free hand, you almost backed away, but he didn’t let you. “I can do horrible things. But not to you…”

“Okay”

“Okay? Just like that?… y/n, What the fuck?”

you stand up, shrugging while finishing your cigar.

“Can we just go home?… So we can fuck?” he chuckles, surprised at your careless vocabulary.

“So now it’s home, angel?” now you roll your eyes, trying to hide a little smile.

“My place, of course” he nods, a smile also lingering over his face. “Sure, sweetheart”

“I have a name, you know?”

“But you’re my wife now”

“Yeah, cheers to that” he knows you’re joking, you roll your eyes and make a disgusted face, but now he knows the truth.

You also feel the same way he does.

“Can I have some chicken nuggets?” he nods and watches you leave towards his car.

He chuckles.

The salesman looks down at the marriage certificate and then back at you, listening to how you started to curse like a lunatic because he hadn’t unlocked the doors yet.

He was in love.

…

You let him wander all across your place. He opens some of your books, your high school yearbook, your community college certificate, your bachelor’s degree, and everything.

All while you sat and ate your chicken nuggets and listened to a podcast.

The salesman eyes you every now and then and he knows you were nervous, even anxious about the whole idea of suddenly being married.

He softly nods when you announce you’ll take a shower. And within the sound of water running, he can hear your quiet cries.

He feels awful to his own surprise.

His fingers trace the framed pictures on one of your shelves. With your family, that seemed little but real, with also few friends but fun and you alone.

The salesman wondered who the woman he married was? , he wanted to know more, he even questioned if he would ever meet the people in the pictures. Was that even possible?

And then, he heard you open the door.

You were sitting by the edge of your bed when your husband appeared, standing on the frame of your bedroom.

Husband… My husband; you internally vowed.

What was a husband? Certainly not a man who randomly appears at your door with a notice. Not a man you resented and slapped him after signing the marriage papers.

What would your family and friends think? An older, wealthier, insane husband.

At least you knew his real name and age now.

He appears at your door, and you tilt your head, gesturing for him to walk inside the room.

He steps forward, stepping just in front of you, you ignore his perfect black socks.

“Are you okay?” He asks, startling you.

“I guess so” you answer calmly. “Though, I’m glad it was you and not anyone else”

“Why is that?” The salesman asks, feeling slightly hopeful.

“Because I know you and you know me” he nods. “As much as I hate to admit it”

“When did you start to like me?” You ask him he shrugs, but revealing how nervous he is.

“The day we ended up in the same elevator”

“Really? Why?” You question with genuine curiosity. The salesman chuckles, patting your leg. “Because you looked very attractive to me. I didn’t remember you and I thought I had never seen you before”

“Would you do it again?” He frowns at your question. “Let your friends beat some random woman as punishment?”

“No. But there still would be punishment. Just not like that… That’s not what a gentleman does” You nod, not fully convinced but giving him the benefit of the doubt.

You hear the distant droplet of water splatting the floor made of tiles on the shower. You don’t know what to say.

“Now what? I thought I’d never marry…” you admit.

“Me neither” the salesman kneels, perfectly eyeing you so you can’t refuse to know him. “But I’m sure we can work out some sort of agreement”

“A marriage is not supposed to be a contract,” you say.

“I want to commit to you…”

He what?…

“For real?” He nods, his hand fishes something out of his pocket, and takes your right hand.

He places two cold rings in your palm.

Two white gold bands. One has a square-shaped little diamond and the other is simply the band.

You look at him, surprised.

“Yes, I want you to be mine”

“Will you be faithful? Calm? Attempt to get to know me? Be willing to love me one day? Will you listen to me as I will listen to you? Can we be friends before husband and wife?” You realize you have bombarded him with many questions.

But when you lock your eyes with him, he only smiles.

“That’s a promise,” he says.

And for the first time, you can’t hate him. You lean to kiss your husband.

______________________

I’m right at episode 5 of Coffee Prince and I’m already cooking a Han Kyul fic that looks promising to me, with TOO many Y2K references and a brother’s best friend plot IT HAS ME EXCITED !!!!!

[pinkolve]

A Spencer Reid Fanfiction

-An Unexpected Reunion-

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Summary: You haven't seen your ex-boyfriend Spencer in three years, after splitting up because of his job. What happens when you finally see the same ex-boyfriend in the bullpen of your own new job?

Genre: Fluff, angst if you squint

CW: Implied plus size!reader, fem!reader, small self-deprecating comment from reader about her body, use of y/n, first person point of view....I think that's it!

Word Count: Like 750, it's very short

A/N: Hello again! I tried my best with this one but it was a little rushed, so some things may not add up completely. But, I hope you enjoy it anyways!

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

“Hey…” I whispered, my breath still uneven. 

“Hi.” Spencer replied, his breath also heavy. We stared at each other for a few moments, I don’t know how much time actually passed by. His eyes were enchanting, I hadn’t seen them in so long. Before I had time to even take a breath, he lunged towards me and connected our lips. I forgot just how soft his lips were, and how perfectly they fit against my own…

***

“So this ex-boyfriend of yours…” Penny started, swallowing a large bite of her sandwich. “You haven’t talked to him in three years?” 

“Yup.” I respond, taking a bite from my own sandwich. We had been on a lunch break for fifteen minutes now, mainly gossiping instead of eating. Unfortunately, we had gotten to my side of the gossip. 

“Why? Why would you two even break up? You obviously still love each other!” Penny almost spit bread from her mouth as she yelled. 

“Well, I still love him. For all we know, he has a much hotter and skinnier girlfriend now.” I chuckle self-deprecatingly. I sit up from my own desk chair and walk over to throw my wrapper in the garbage. 

“Don’t you dare say that!” Penny chokes a little. She coughs and finally swallows. “You are so sexy! I can’t believe you don’t see it!” 

“Sorry, Pen.” I smile. She shakes her head at me before turning around to her desk. She looks down and gasps loudly. 

“Oh my god!” 

“What?” I asked nervously. I immediately ran to her side to see what she was looking at. 

“This case file! I was supposed to get it to Hotch like…” She checked the time on one of her monitors. “Twenty minutes ago?!” She grabbed the paper with one hand, shoving it into mine. “Please run this up to him! I have mayo all over my hands!” I shake my head in overstimulation. 

“Okay, okay! I’m going!” I dash out the door without even bothering to close it behind me. I run as fast as I can in four inch wedges, to the elevator. 

“Hotch!” I yell as I finally enter the bullpen. He looks up from his watch and spots me. I climb up the stairs to his office and hand him the file, heaving as I do so. “Sorry.” I take a deep breath. “Penny was…Eating and forgot so…Brought it here for ya.” 

“Thank you, y/n.” He smiles and pats me on the back gently. “You alright?” 

“Yes, yeah. It was just…Extremely hard to run here in heels.” I chuckle and he lets out a breathy laugh. 

“Well, thank you again.” He turns to the bullpen and calls his team into the conference room. I notice a few people stand and as I finally turn around I lock eyes with a man. One who looks…Oddly familiar. His eyes are the same puppy dog brown that I remember, and they practically sparkle. I can’t tear myself away, I haven’t been able to see these gorgeous eyes in years.

“Y/n?” I turn at the sound of my name, looking back at Hotch. “Are you okay?” I shake my head. 

“Yes! Yeah, I’m sorry!” I look back at those enchanting puppy dog eyes one more time before speeding out the door. I run right past the elevator, going down the stairs as fast as I physically can. If he was going to go after me, I wanted to get away as fast as possible. I didn’t know what the fuck I was going to say to him, especially if he did in fact have a new girlfriend. 

I swerved around a corner and ran into Penny and mine’s office, slamming the door shut behind me. 

“What the-!” Penny spins in her chair. The minute she sees the horrified look on my face she runs to my side. “What the hell happened?!” 

“I just saw…” I heave out a wheezy breath. “My ex-boyfriend.” Penny’s face lights up. 

“Your ex-boyfriend works here?!” 

“Apparently!” 

“Who the hell is he?!” 

“His name’s Spencer.” I take another long breath. “Spencer Reid.” Penny’s face goes white. 

“Your ex-boyfriend is Spencer Reid?!” She looks like she’s ready to pass out. Not even a second later, an eager knock lands on the door I’m leaning against. I jump away from it, my eyes wide. Penny looks at me for a moment before reaching for the door handle. 

“No, Pen! It might be him!” 

“Exactly!” She pulls the door open quickly, revealing his face to me once again. 

“Hey…” I whispered, my breath still uneven.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

[natalievoncatte]

3. Dress

Kara wore dresses. Lena had seen her wearing sundresses and skirts and even a cocktail dress once, and of course she’d worn a dress at the wedding and look very

(Painfully)

pretty

(Gorgeous)

in it.

So it wasn’t as if Lena had never seen her in a dress before. Still, if you asked Lena to picture Kara in her head, Lena would imagine her best friend in khaki pants that hugged her hips and displayed the impressive girth of her thighs, and of course the buns of steel. She would further visualize Kara wearing a plaid button-down tucked into a broad belt that emphasized the inhumanly flat plane or her muscular belly or the broad set of her block shoulders.

(If she didn’t visualize her wearing nothing at all)

Dresses simply didn’t seem to be her thing. She just felt right when she was a little… masc, one might say. Kara had a way about her, a swagger that worked with the belts and a habit of setting her arms with her hands in her hips that emphasized her physique.

Lena sometimes wondered how a pair of glasses had actually fooled her.

For the last eight weeks or so, Lena had been living in Kara’s apartment, sleeping on the couch in a weird state of limbo after she sold her penthouse. They had decided that Lena would soon be moving, but not where or when. Obviously she’d stay close -her life was here now, after all- but she wanted a change.

In a way, Lena was following in Kara’s footsteps, trying to relate to the world as her whole self. She’d come upon the idea of using a sort of checklist- reinventing herself with the same ruthless efficiency she brought to the lab and the boardroom. That was one part of herself that needed to go.

Lena’s whole life was constructed. She did everything she for a purpose, and that purpose no longer meant anything anymore. There was no longer a Lex or a Lillian to outmaneuver, no longer a board to persuade or dominate. She was running the Foundation, but from her laptop, and had hired Sam to handle the financials. She wasn’t even meeting with benefactors; she had people for that. Her main work focus now was a science education program for elementary school girls.

It was so liberating, not having to be the badass boardroom bitch. She’s stopped straightening her hair, abandoned her contacts in favor of chunky glasses, and, in a colossal shock to everyone, Kara included, stopped dyeing her hair black, a habit she’d picked up and kept because it pleased Lillian and kept up because stopping would be annoying.

She had even worn sweatpants. In public. Everyone in her family had been gifting her goofy clothes to wear; she was currently swaddled in a “Why Hex a Little When you Can Hexalotl” t-shirt that Kara had regifted, originally from Nia.

That was when Kara walked out of her bedroom area of the loft and Lena’s brain spun around and smacked against the front of her skull.

Kara was dressed to the nines in a black a-frame halter top mini dress that bared her shoulders and magnificent back, and she’d matched it with dark eye shadow and plum lipstick that was striking against her sun-kissed skin, and a pair of strappy high heels.

“Hey,” she said, sounding glum.

“Where are you off to?” Lena said, trying not to add the mental dressed like that.

“A date,” Kara sighed.

Lena kept her face even, despite the fact that her mind had just ripped in half. She was desperate to know why Kara sounded so glum, and also flat fucking terrified.

The idea of Kara going on a date horrified her. It made her instantly sick with worry -not just for Kara which was honestly a little silly- but because… because…

Lena was suddenly very aware that she didn’t want Kara to date. At all.

(Because she should be dating me)

Which sucked, because Kara was straight, because there was a god and he hated Lena Kieran Luthor and her accursed blood. That had to be why Lena was cursed to suffer a crush on

(be madly in love with)

the perfect girl who came from the sky.

“You look lovely,” said Lena. “Have fun.”

Kara blushed for a moment, then Looked at Lena a little oddly, a little forlorn.

“I’ll text you.”

Okay.

Kara left, and Lena was alone in Kara’s

(their)

loft with just herself and Zillow open on her laptop.

Lena browsed for a while, but none of the places looked right. They were all as if HGTV had puked onto an old house. The minimalism and open concepts reminded her too much of her Old Life. She wanted quirky. She wanted unique. She wanted a place that reflected who Lena really was.

Jesus H Christ, was this a mid life crisis? She wasn’t that old.

Lena was startled out of her reverie when the door swung open and Kara stormed in, slammed it shut, and kicked off her shoes, storming barefoot across the loft.

“Fucking asshole,” said Kara.

Lena blinked, stunned by the profanity, only to be filled with outrage.

“Kara? What happened?”

“This is the last time I let someone at work set me up on a date. I didn’t even want to go, Alex badgered me into it.”

Lena put her computer aside. Kara grabbed a pair of beers from the fridge and popped the lids with her thumbs as she sat down, which was literally one of the hottest things she did on a regular basis. She offered Lena one and took a pull on her own.

“He was a jerk,” said Kara. “I tried asking him whether a hot dog is a sandwich, and he just said ‘who cares’.”

“Kara, a hot dog is a sandwich. We’ve been through this.”

Kara glared at her. “I’m not doing this again, Lena. Not until you admit that a burrito is a sandwich.”

Lena rolled her eyes.

“The last straw was when he told me I shouldn't work out so much. He said my muscles make me look like a man."

Lena blinked. "Where did your coworkers find this jerk?"

"Accounting. He wouldn't shut up about his finance degree. He insisted on paying for everything, too. Oh, and he told me I eat too much! All I did was order some appetizers!"

Lena drained her beer and grabbed another. She listened patiently as Kara vented about this guy and the other various jerks she'd gone one date with.

"I'm doomed, Lena. Every guy is a dick and insecure around me."

At around this time, she finished beer five. Lena nodded.

“Even if I think it’s working I lose the spark. Like when James finally wanted to go out with me and I was just like ‘nah.’”

“James… was nah for me too,” said Lena.

(Honestly, Kara, you should try dating girls.)

“Wait,” said Kara, “What?”

Oh.

She said that one out loud.

Shit.

“Um,” Lena said, lamely panicking, “I um, that was a joke, I meant… well it… worked out for your sister?”

Kara gaped at her.

Lena swallowed hard. “Would you believe it sounded funny in my head?”

“Have you… ever dated girls?” said Kara.

Lena’s stomach almost shot out of her throat. She put her most recent beer down to keep it from sloshing as her hands shook. She looked at Kara, who looked back, expectant… and hopeful?

“Yes,” Lena admitted. “Jack was the only man. I ever dated except James, but there have been women, too. Not that many. Despite my reputation I was never that social.”

“Who?” Kara asked, immediately.

Lena licked her lips. “Andrea.”

Kara stared. “Andrea? Andrea Rojas? Really?”

“It was a teen thing that ended in our eariy twenties, but it was serious. So do you remember how I told you I knew Roulette from boarding school?”

Kara nodded.

“Well, I knew her, um, biblically.”

Kara snorted. “No way. Who else?”

Lena smiled. At least she wasn’t being weird about it.”

“You’re not saying no to trying it yourself,” said Lena.

Kara looked away.

“I…”

She took a drink of beer.

“There are no queer people on Krypton, Lena. There weren’t, I guess I should say.”

The pain in Kara’s voice made Lena shift closer, set aside her drink and curl a hand softly around her arm.

“You don’t have to tell me this if it hurts.”

Kara shook her head. “I… my culture would not allow anything, uh, gay. Or homosexual. Like we literally don’t even have a word for it, it’s so foreign to us. We were taught that the only acceptable pairing was for the best possible offspring. Most of my people didn’t have sex at all, it was all artificial. My aunt and uncle were some who did, they had Clark naturally.”

“So Kryptonians can’t be gay?”

Lena’s heart sank.

“I didn’t think so, but, there was this girl once and she made me feel something I never felt before… and seeing her made all of my other feelings feel different. After I saw her I suddenly felt like I was just going after guys because I was supposed to. Even when I was with Mon-El I had this feeling that… I mean it felt good and I liked being able to cut loose but it felt like…”

Lena waited, not wanting to push her.

“Frankly, it felt like using him as a sex toy. Nothing else in our relationship really felt that deep. Even when he came back and went to Argo with me, I was more happy about my mother seeing me continue our family line than I was about him actually being with me. The second time he left I almost felt relieved.”

“That’s a lot, Kara. I had no idea.”

“I had no idea you liked girls either,” said Kara.

“I really do,” Lena admitted. “Who was she, this girl that stole your heart? High school crush?”

“No,” said Kara. “I met her as Supergirl. The first time I ever saw her, I saved her.”

“Very romantic.”

Kara sighed. “She was the prettiest. She’s so soft, so inviting, and whenever she looks at me I feel like she’s staring right through me, seeing everything in a good way. She’s smart and kind and brave and she has the prettiest blue-green eyes and one of them is a little more blue and the other is a little more green.”

Lena felt the blood drain from her face as her hand shook. Kara smiled wistfully.

“I was always too scared to say anything. I didn’t think she’d ever want me the way I want her.”

Lena looked up and met Kara’s gaze.

“I want more than to not be alone,” said Kara. “I want to be understood. I want to be with someone but I want to be together with someone I can be alone with. Somebody who gets me, who likes what I like, who takes joy in sharing the things we love. Who looks really cute in my clothes. Especially the hexalotl shirt.”

Lena blinked.

“Oh.”

(Oh)

“I like all that stuff but also blondes with big muscles who fly.”

Kara lunged across the couch and had Lena’s arms in her grip, and suddenly was lying on top of her, in that dress. Lena stared up at her.

“I wonder who we know who fits that description,” said Kara.

“I want you to kiss me.”

Kara smirked and leaned down, bringing her lips to Lena’s, and Lena honest to god moaned into her mouth as the kiss deepened, panting with excitement. As if her intentions weren’t obvious, Lena ground herself against Kara, working her thigh between her legs.

“I thought you were straight,” Kara blurted out.

“As spaghetti,” said Lena.

“What?” Kara blinked.

“I’ll explain later. As great as that dress looks on you, darling, it’d look better on the floor.”

[honeyshiddendesire]

Office Secrets

Chapter One: Wine Spills and Bright Ideas

Summary: You hated office parties but when your boss personally invites you then the fun and long list of secrets begin. 

Characters: CEO! Trafalgar Law x EMPLOYEE! Reader

Warnings: 18+ !! flirting! Law catches reader in undies! Mentions of masturbation and sex! Reader can’t stand her coworkers! FEMALE reader! 

Masterlist

You were the employee who kept to herself, you ate alone, kept the small talk, if any, to a minimum, hell you even skipped out on all the office parties. You tried to stay low on everybody’s radar because despite working in the same office for a number of years you didn’t want these people to be anything more than just coworkers. Friends? In the workplace? Yeah you’d rather smash your own head in then have these people know anything about you. You only needed this place for the big ass checks and you wanted to keep it that way. So for years you avoided every party that went on in your office, that was until your boss personally asked. 

You never spoke to him up close, his assistant Bepo, was always the one that handled things around the office most of the time so it shocked you when on your way out one day that he called your name. 

“Excuse me Y/N.” His deep voice made you freeze, the hair on your neck standing up as you slowly turned around. Your brain racing in different theories of why he would call your name, the fact that he even knew it made you nauseous. “Uh…yes sir. How can I help you?” You reply as you adjust your glasses to look up at him. 

“The party tonight.” He says simply not continuing and you just raise a brow. You watch his tattooed hands go to adjust his black tie and it makes your heart skip a beat, you never seen them so up close before. The word D E A T H  was on his fingers in black ink along with a weird symbol but you didn’t want him to catch you staring for too long or he might notice the drool coming out of your mouth. 

Ugh do men even understand how hot the tie thing is let alone adding some tattoos into the mix or maybe they do it on purpose as a trap. 

“Yes?” Your tone was an obvious question that made him give a small smirk. “I noticed they’re not your cup of tea but…” He pauses to look around, as if he was making sure the both of you were alone before he leaned down a bit toward you, his voice lower as he spoke again. “I would love to see you there.” You really didn’t want to go but with a man as handsome as him leaning down into your personal space with that charming smirk of his, the strong powerful scent of his cologne invading your nose, who were you to refuse. 

That’s how you found yourself currently standing in front of the mirror contemplating your choice in attire, almost regretting never going to one of these parties cause you had no idea what to wear. You wore a long loose blue sweater dress, blacked heeled boots with your hair slicked back into a ponytail. You could’ve cinched your waist with a belt but clothes showing off your curves wasn’t much of your speed, instead you left the sexy for underneath. You had quite the guilty pleasure when it comes to all things lingerie, you always took out some of each check just to splurge on a couple nice sets. No one ever got to see them but whenever you were feeling anxious about going to certain events you gave yourself a nice confidence boost with some pretty pieces underneath. 

So taking a deep breath you said fuck it and grabbed your purse, you were already running late so there was no point in changing now that you were already dressed. It wasn’t long to get to your job, that was always a plus in your eyes. Sighing as you parked into your usual spot, you rolled your eyes at the fact that your smoking hot boss was able to sway your decision so quickly. Why the hell did he even want you there so bad? 

“Fuck my life.” You mumble as you get out of your car and head into your office, glad that you at least were by yourself for a short moment on the elevator ride up. The sound of awful music playing loudly along with chatter among all your coworkers was heard the second the doors opened up making you mentally groan. You walked out with your eyes glancing around to spot a drink or something to wash down your growing nausea that this damn party was causing. You found the table that was full of soft drinks and food but none of it caught your eye like the bottle of moscato that was almost empty. Pouring the rest of the moscato it barely filled your glass which made you frown until you heard that same unmistakable voice speak to you.

“I’m sorry I should’ve brought more, I didn’t realize there was someone else who enjoyed moscato like I do.” Your boss observed with a tone of amusement from behind you that made you look in his direction. “Oh sir, it's not a problem at all.” You smile politely as you stare into those charming stormy grey eyes of his. 

“I’m glad to see you here.” Your boss smirked at your shocked expression and the way you fidgeted with your glass in your hands. “Thank you sir.”  You never had an issue with staring people in the eyes until your boss started speaking to you. One of his slender tattooed hands went up to run his fingers back in his hair, your eyes unable to look away from him, the glint of his gold earrings shining brightly making you wonder how they moved when he was railing someone in bed. Specifically you- but you were way too shy to ever make the first move when it came to that sort of thing. 

“You look beautiful.” He says as you take a sip of your wine nearly making you choke on the beverage. You miss how he licks his lips as you go to reach for a napkin to wipe your face, his mind racing with ravenous thoughts of you. “Sorry- thank you sir.” You mumble out awkwardly as you throw out the napkin in the can beside you. “So I have to ask…What usually happens at these office parties anyways?” 

You smile when you notice his grey eyes roll like beautiful storm clouds as he lets out a sigh, “Nothing besides me dying of boredom.” His voice whispered as he scanned the room and his admittance made your heart race with excitement. “Ah~ so I’m not the only one who hates these things.” You joke and he only nods. 

“The difference between you and me is that I have to attend. My father always said it was good for business if the owner shows a different side of himself to his employees.” Your boss tells you, his tone irritated but still holding amusement which made you laugh. Leaning over a bit to keep the conversation just between the two of you, “Okay so tell me why I had to come here if I’m not the CEO like you.” Your boss only chuckles as he once again gets closer. 

“Because if I had to suffer alone one more time at these stupid parties I’ll end up on the news.” His joke makes you laugh louder than you expect which catches the eyes of some of your female coworkers who instantly give you dirty looks when they notice the hot boss talking with you. “Oh my god seriously? I’m just your insurance policy so you don’t burn the place down huh?” You joke back and he nods his head, a smirk on his face as he looks down at you. “Keep that between us okay? Shh people are coming over.” He says making you frown as you turn your head to spot the office birds flying over. 

“Oh my goodness Y/N I never thought I’d live to see the day you actually attend something.” The woman known as Sharon says, ugh that woman’s god forsaken voice could make paint peel in a second. “So anyways what’s so funny. I love a good joke.” 

“Wasn’t anything worth repeating.” Your boss says making you inwardly cheer at your shared secret. “How are you enjoying yourself Sharon?” He asks and you can’t help but notice how his body tenses up, his voice losing the amusement that he showed you just moments ago. 

“I’m having a great time Mr. Law, I just love~ how you always attend.” She tells him and his mouth goes in a tight line, a vein in his forehead threatening to pop at her comment. “Well it is my office. Can’t leave you all to yourselves now can I.” Sharon must have thought he was trying to be funny because she laughs like a mad woman, her arm going out to slap yours and in the process knocking her glass of wine all over you. Red fucking wine might I add. 

“Fuck!” You say out of pure natural reaction feeling the cold wine soak your whole front. 

“Goodness I’m so sorry I’m such a clutz sometimes. You should really go take care of that, you don’t want to ruin that fun sweater you’re wearing.” Sharon says with a sassy tone, the use of the word fun clearly a jab at your attire. 

Fucking bitch, you found yourself thinking but unfortunately you just had to smile. “Yeah I’ll go do that no problem. You should probably take it easy though or everyone might get the impression that you’re a messy drunk.” You bite out with a fake smile as you head to the ladies room, missing the way your boss has to hold in his laugh at your remark. You instantly flooded Law’s thoughts the second you walked away, the woman yapping away in front of him but he couldn’t care less. From behind him he heard some other females talking about how annoying they thought you were, or how you thought you were too good to ever attend these sorts of things and that you deserved Sharon’s wine all over you.  It was Sharon making a joke about you that had his thoughts stop in their tracks. 

“Excuse me?” Law said, making Sharon halt her words with wide eyes. “Sir I was just joking, it’s just harmless hazing. It was only a little bit of wine.” Law’s breath came out sharp as his eyes lowered into a glare that made her blood run cold. “I didn’t realize I hired someone so disrespectful in my company.” He snaps as his fists ball up in his pockets, his eyes watching you go down the hallway towards the bathrooms in the back. 

Heading into the bathroom you peel off your dress angrily shoving it into the sink and under some cold water. That bitch must’ve just poured herself a full glass since there was so much on the front of your dress. You just bought the damn thing and you highly doubt that it would be fixed, “Dammit.” You used your nails to scrub against the fabric completely stopping when you heard the door, which you thought you locked, suddenly open. 

“Y/N I wanted to ask-oh uh.” Law, your boss immediately paused as he saw you bent over the sink with your dress off trying to get the wine stain out. He knew you would be trying to get it out; he just never expected you to take the whole dress off leaving you in that lacy embroidery you were currently wearing. His eyes were unable to look away at the different color flowers that did nothing to hide your nipples and your pussy, he could tell the lingerie was for sex appeal definitely not for coverage. The garter on your mid section connected to leg rings that squished your soft thighs and suddenly he was never more jealous of a piece of fabric in his life like he was now.  

“Sir!” You shouted his name like three times till your voice had to get louder, his beautiful grays finally looking back up at you in shock. “This is a lawsuit, you know.” You say to him putting a hand on your hip, no point covering up since he already got a good eyeful of all your special bits. “Shit! Shit - I’m sorry, you’re right.” He panics but for some reason his body won’t seem to turn away, his eyes dropping down to look at you over one more time. A curse coming out of his mouth in a raspy breath that made you smirk as you called out to him again. His body finally cooperates as he turns to face the door but doesn’t leave, his face heating as his brain recalls everything over at superspeed. “I had to ask you a question but- are the women here usually so catty with you?” 

Law’s question had your brows raise before your face dropped into a frown, your hands going to shut off the water with a sigh. “Yeah but I don’t give a fuck. They try to see who can get under my skin but all this place is to me is a fat ass check.”

“I see.” Law says making you mumble a ‘sorry’ but he only chuckles, “Why be sorry I should be the one to apologize? I can understand now why you hate these things.” You throw on your dress after you ring it out as best as you can but still some of the wine remains. You walk towards the man, the sound of your heels making Law stand up taller at the sound.

 “So Mr. Law you let me in on your little secret of hating office parties so maybe we can add this ordeal onto the growing list huh?” You joke as you go to step in front of him, leaning in close, his tanned cheeks heating up as you smile at him. “Sorry again. It seems like I owe you a raise.” 

“HA! If that’s your way of trying not to get me to sue for sexual harassment then it’s a deal but-I’m still heading home. I enjoyed our banter though  sir. I must say I’m shocked you noticed me despite my skills at trying to stay off the radar.” You say as he opens the bathroom door for you, both walking down the hallway back toward the office. “Actually it’s because you try so hard to remain unnoticed that I noticed you.” He smirks and it makes you fidget a bit as he stares down at you. “Oh I see nothing gets by you then. I’ll see you next week sir.” He just nods and you turn quickly to grab your purse off your desk and head out of this dreadful place, your boss’ eyes staring you down as you walk away. 

The image of you in that beautiful lace was making his body hot, and if he so happened to think about you in it while he fisted his cock between his hands later on then that was his business. It’s not like you needed to know that as he laid in bed that whole weekend that the thoughts of you only grew stronger, or that he pictured what would’ve happened if he bent you over the bathroom sink. The filthy thought of just coming up behind you to push those lacy panties to the side as he shoved his long cock into your dripping pussy made him groan into his elbow. Thinking of one of his tattooed hands having to cover your mouth that would hopefully spill out lustful moans, picturing himself having to look over your shoulder to stare at your fucked out expression in the bathroom mirror. The way you’d moan out for him as he shoves a few fingers into your drooling mouth as he runs kisses along your neck with his hips moving at a rushed pace so neither of you would get caught. 

“Fuck-” Law finally groaned deeply as he came all over his black silk sheets, rolling his eyes at having to change them now but the carnal desires were just to powerful. The whole weekend was tortuous for him and here he was at 5 in the morning on a Monday needing a shower before work. At this rate he’ll be running late to his own business because of you and that only made him want to see you more. Dressing in his nicest all black suit he headed to the office the thought of you still plagued his mind. Now as he drove his fancy sports car he started to picture you riding him in the backseat making the tinted windows all steamy.  

“Fuck my life.” Law grumbles as he heads up the elevator, shock washing over him as he noticed you were the first one there. That was rare, usually you showed right on time so you wouldn’t be spotted. “Y/N I see you’re here early.” 

The sound of your boss making you go still, your cheeks growing warm as your brain replayed all the dirty fantasies that you came up with over the weekend. Turning in your desk chair you looked at him walking over toward you, that same amused smirk on his face just like at the office party. “Sorry sir, I hope that’s alright. I realized after going home that I still had something to add to my pitch for the meeting later.” Your honesty made Law groan as he ran a hand over his face. “Shit I might have to make you my second assistant because I forgot all about that.” He groaned as he leaned against your desk and you couldn’t help but smile at him being so relaxed whenever he was around you. Law always made sure to look so polished and strict around everyone but here he was letting his walls down with you for some reason.

“It must be rough with Bepo on vacation. He seems good at his job.” You say as you cross your legs, sitting back in your chair. You weren’t the most flirtatious woman around but there was no way you could miss the way Law’s eyes immediately dropped to your legs. His stormy eyes following up from your sexy stilettos all the way to the hem of your skirt, swallowing the lump that he suddenly felt in his throat. He couldn’t help but wonder if you had on another lingerie set, hidden from view and man was it getting hard to breath all of a sudden.

 “Mr. Law if you keep staring at me like that then people will think I earned that raise in some unsavory ways.” You smiled as you noticed his eyes snap up to your face. 

“Yes…that would be quite -unfortunate wouldn’t it.” He comes to mess with his tie as he licks his lips before giving you that damn smirk of his. “I guess if those unsavory things were to happen we’ll just have to add it to our list of little secrets don’t you think.” His words had your whole bravado shattered just as you thought you had him where you wanted him, he proved that he was a man always with a plan. Hearing the elevator ding Law stood up from your desk just before the door opened, saving the both of you from prying eyes. 

“Good morning Mr. Law.” The birds squealed out happily making him wave a hand, “Morning ladies.” Giving them a small wave and nod he turned to you giving you a charming wink before heading to his office across from you. You watched the man stroll to his office with his earlier statement in the forefront of your brain. Did he want to fuck me? Your face warm with the thought of him bending you over his desk made you take a deep breath to settle yourself. 

Hours passed before it was time for the meeting where you would be making your first big pitch. The project was a banquet to raise money for children who don’t know what it is to celebrate their birthdays because they don’t have the money that would allow them to do so.  Since it was the company's 30th anniversary coming up you thought it was the perfect time to finally speak your mind and throw in some ideas of your own. Instead of the company getting the gifts you figured it would be nice to give back you just hoped your boss would think so as well. 

Gathering your stuff you head into the meeting room, your anxiety growing and bringing the nauseous you tend to feel with it. This would be the first time you ever stood up in front of these fuckers and you were not happy about it, you wish you could just come up with the idea and tell him privately but nope. Every month there would be this project meeting where everyone would lay out their ideas at that moment. Now knowing that he dislikes these people coming to him all the time though it made sense, one meeting every month was better instead of everyone popping into his office all hours of the day. 

“Okay everyone, who would like to go first.” Law said as he sat at the head of the table leaning back in his chair, his face stern as he scanned the room until his eyes got to you where the corner of his mouth lifted a bit. Before you could raise your hand though Cheryl beat you to the punch, standing quickly before Law could even tell her too. 

“I had this super interesting idea if I may Mr. Law!” She squeals and Law only sighs as he clasps his hands on the table, “Well seeing as you already stood up.” There was an underlying irritation to his voice that she clearly didn’t catch and you only smiled down at the table holding in your laugh that threatened to spill. 

“Animals.” She says and puts her arms out to her side like she just pitched a million dollar idea. You couldn’t hold it in seeing her face with a cheesy grin that quickly dropped hearing you laugh. You tried hiding it with a cough but she just put her hands on her hips and gave you an eye roll. “What’s so funny Y/N? I doubt you have a better idea.” 

“Sorry my bad.” You say not wanting to laugh at her pitch; it was just her mannerisms that had you lose it. Law leaned forward now, his eyes looking at you intensely. “Now Y/N I like to treat my company as a family so I won’t tolerate any rude behavior so please why not share your pitch for the rest of us.” He was trying to sound stern and strict but he couldn’t hide that glint in his concrete eyes. Your eyes widened as you looked at the man giving you a scolding, your body heating up under his intense gaze and as much as you wanted to stay focused you just couldn’t help your mind from wandering. 

“Okay, as great as animals are- we just held a banquet for them a month ago to save animals from deforestation. It was a big hit but I was thinking of the children this time around.” You say standing up and walking over to the projector to insert your usb, your presentation popping up on the screen. “I was thinking with the company’s 30th birthday coming up that we could celebrate by holding a banquet to gather donations to send all kinds of gifts to kids for their birthdays.” 

“How is that better than animals exactly?” Cheryl spat out and you sighed. “I never said either or is better I was just saying that we already did a fundraiser for the animals these past two banquets. The banquet held for saving Koalas and the one for deforestation were both super big hits so I just thought maybe we could try something different.” You further explain and she just rolls her eyes, Amber doing the same when they locked eyes. 

“I just think since you’ve never really done much here that you should just wait and let the rest of us come up with the ideas like we usually do. What do you even do here?” Amber says and you just give her a ‘are you for real’ look that makes her huff. 

“I’ve been working here longer than the both of you and I do the same job you all do. That means I’ve seen endless fundraisers for animals, all of which are great but there’s nothing wrong with some new ideas.” You state back before carrying on, “Anyways- I think we could set up a whole website where you list a child’s name, age and things that they like along with your address and someone anywhere in the world can choose what and how much they want to send. As a company you already have so many people who can donate thousands and that would jump start the whole program. Just think of schools and parents being able to give every child a birthday gift and bringing joy that's immeasurable just over one present to make them feel special. Each gift would be sent out before the child’s birthday to ensure they have at least something to open along with a card with a special note for them to hold onto years to come.”  

You flip through all the slides and mock ups of the website that you came up with along with possible ads that you could put on different platforms to make the whole thing possible. You had thought of everything, there was no loophole, or loose end that you left and it had everyone stunned. You may have kept quiet for years but there was a reason, when an idea was too good you never wanted to spoil it by sharing it too early. After you finished speaking you waited for them all to vote like they usually did but Law just stood up clapping his hands for you. 

“Outstanding! Absolutely incredible. This is life changing. Imagine how one gift could drastically change the hope for a child who never thought someone cared. Think about what they could achieve.” 

“It’s just a dumb birthday gift.” Amber mumbles, pissed since she’s usually the one that makes the winning pitch in these meetings. 

Law held out a hand to silence her, “Enough. It’s more than a gift, it’s a symbol that people care, that despite the circumstances you live in there’s still something for you in this world. I love it. We need to work on this as soon as possible. I’ll call my investors, we need vendors and caterers, I’ll leave those to you Y/N. Anything she needs, all of you help her, it’s her idea so she’s the lead on this. No more nonsense fights and childish behaviour. Break for lunch first everyone. Great work Y/N. I’d like to have a word alone with you in my office, please.” As everyone leaves you unplug your usb and put it in your pocket to fix your papers before following your boss to his office.

Once in his modern designed office, you gasp as you notice the view of the brightly lit city shining like something out of a movie. “I must say you’ve been holding out on me Y/N.” Your boss leans down to whisper in your ear making you shiver as he catches you off guard. “I’m glad to see that your brain matches that beautiful face of yours.” His voice drips with seduction that threatens you to partake upon but all you do is turn your face to his with a sly smile. 

“I’m glad you think so sir.” His eyes glanced down to your lips before he backed away to lean against the front of his desk. “Y/N I have a secret I’d like to add to our list if that’s alright with you.” Smiling you give a nod making him continue, his tattooed hand going to fidget with his tie, not missing how your eyes watched with lustful intensity. “Are you sure you want to hear it? I might have to give you another big raise so you don’t sue.” Taking a step forward you tell him it’s okay and he only smirks as his eyes scan your body. 

“I really can’t stop thinking of you. Have dinner with me tonight.” It wasn’t a question and you both knew it, he knew you’d say yes, hell- even you knew you’d say yes. But you both had a good banter between the two of you so it was only right for you to walk toward him. You let your hand grab onto his tie gently pulling until he leaned closer, “Hmm you’re right sir. I think I will need that raise but- if you can show me a good time after dinner then I think we can settle a good deal.” 

“Son of a bitch.” Law breaths out shakily and it makes you smile at him, winking as you release him before heading to the door. “If you’ll excuse me sir I’ll be heading out for lunch. You can pick me up at 7, I’m sure you can look up my address.” 

You never felt as sexy as you did in that moment walking away, even your secret stash of lingerie couldn’t rival the way that Law made you feel. Your body was buzzing, you thought your heart would beat out of your chest and the grin that was plastered on your face just looked like excitement for the pitch that he praised you on. If only they knew the chemistry between the boss and you they would have a fucking field day but you could give two shits about these fucking snakes. That man was yours and when you have your sights on something you’ll break as many necks as you have to in order to get it.

[exitingmusic]

Yours

Caleb x reader

Warnings: suicidal ideas, depression, slight self-harm, language, obsessive Caleb (slight yandere, not too ooc), lil bit of angst :)

AN: This is a pretty long one I've had in my drafts and the beginning isn't great but I swear it gets better I SWEAR I'll do the HC after this I just really wanted to write this before I forgot :)

WC: 8.6k

After a big argument with Caleb about him locking you in his house, tensions were high. He was leaving tomorrow for a new exploration mission with the Farspace Fleet, but you refused to let yourself be upset that he was leaving again. Not when he had locked you up. Not when he had given you sleeping pills instead of medicine so you wouldn’t sneak out. 

He approaches you, a smile on his face as he takes your hand. “I’m about to leave, it’d be nice if we could have a meal together.”

You yank your hand away, snapping, “So I have to listen to the Colonel even when it comes to eating and drinking now?”

Hurt crosses his expression as you turn on your heel, heading for the living room. He follows you, standing in front of you as you sit on the couch and scowl up at him.

“Your life has threats around every corner. The people who are after your power, who want to hurt you? They should all just disappear.” Leaning forward, he presses his hand against the cushion beside your head. “You’re only safe when you’re by my side.”

A gentle smile tugs at his lips, the soft feeling not reaching his cold eyes. It falls quickly though when you respond, “I’d rather face danger head on than live ‘safely’ like this! I don’t need you—“

“You don’t need me? Is that what you think?” he says, cutting you off with a disbelieving laugh. Leaning forward, he grabs one of your wrists. “Alright. What do you need? You can tell me. We can return to Linkon if that’s what you want. If you want to return to the past, we’ll rebuild our old house and move in together.”

His voice turns pleading as he continues, “I’ll decorate it with everything you could ever want, it will have the most beautiful, stunning gardens you’ve ever seen. No threat will ever be able to find you again. I’ll protect you forever.” His words are soft, his eyes so familiar and yet so wrong, somehow. A slight smile curves his mouth, so normal and yet different that it makes your heart ache.

“Caleb, I lived this long without you, I can take care of myself. I don’t want to be a bird locked in a cage, even if it is with you,” you pleaded, carefully watching his every reaction.

He lets out a frustrated sigh and closes his eyes, clearly struggling to remain calm and not snap. He rubs the bridge of his nose and takes a few deep breaths, trying to steady himself as he opens his eyes again to look at you.

“You think I care about your freedom or free will right now? The only thing I care about is protecting you. The rest doesn’t matter.” He runs a hand through his dark hair and paces away from you, his expression conflicted. “Why do you even want that freedom when you could have safety here, with me?”

“Am I just supposed to stay here, acting happy all my life? Surrounded by the same walls? The same things? Never see or talk to anyone else?” You continued, your voice raising, “because I can't do that Caleb, no matter how safe I'd be. I couldn’t stand it.”

Caleb’s jaw is clenched tight, the anger in his words barely contained. He turns and takes a step forward, his hand reaching out to grab your arm and pull you up from the couch. “I don’t give a damn how ‘happy’ you are, or if you feel ‘trapped’. I just. Need. You. Safe.” His hand tightens on your arm as he presses close to you, every line of his body tense at the argument.

“It doesn’t matter if I lock you up or keep you under my watch,” he says, his gaze pinning yours as he growls, “As long as you’re safe, nothing else matters,” he mutters, releasing your arm, but still standing close enough to tower over you, his violet gaze locked on yours. “Why can’t you understand I’m doing this because I love you? I can’t let anything happen to you, no matter the cost.”

You didn’t recognize this man in front of you, eyes hard and cold, determined to clip your wings and trap you in this gilded cage. You weren’t angry at him, no, it just hurt seeing the boy you loved so dearly so detached and uncaring, towards you no less.

Anger fading, you look at him with saddened eyes, “You're not my Caleb.”

Caleb freezes, staring at you, looking like you stabbed him in the chest before his expression hardens again, the air growing tense as he says, “What are you talking about?”

His hand gently grabs your chin, tilting your head up so he can search your expression as he says, “Of course I’m the same Caleb, your Caleb. The one who’s been here, protecting you, worrying for you, and who loves you. Who else could I be?”

“My Caleb wouldn't have done this. He would've happily followed me to the ends of the universe to keep me safe and happy. He wouldn't lock me away…” you said defiantly, raising your chin.

He releases your chin and steps back, something cold hardening in his expression. “Your Caleb, huh? That sounds like some kind of ideal to me. He sounds like a spineless, love sick idiot who’s willing to risk your life for you to be happy.”

He begins to pace in front of you, his expression turning bitter as he says, “You think he would’ve preferred letting you run around, putting yourself in danger, all because of what?! Your happiness?”

“But I loved that Caleb, I still do. I couldn't give a shit if he was a spineless, love sick idiot. He was my Caleb and I'd have him no other way,” you say loyally, your voice quiet but unwavering.

He freezes, something painful flashing across his expression before he quickly turns from you. One of his hands clenches into a fist as he snaps, “Well that Caleb is dead and gone.” He’s stiff, his shoulders are tense, a muscle in his jaw moving as he stands silently.

Even though he’s turned away from him, your face doesn’t hide your disappointment, “Clearly,” you mutter, loud enough for him to hear. You can’t help the sliver of satisfaction that you feel as he clenches his jaw, teeth gritting. 

“So why do you keep talking about him? He’s dead, and everything you want doesn’t matter anymore.” He turns and walks towards you, standing just in front of you with a bitter, cold expression. His voice is fragile as he asks you, “Why can’t you stop talking about him and see me?”

You hold no anger, only pity for him, “Because you’re trying to force me to see you, to choose you over everything else in my life. You’re making yourself the bad guy.”

He laughs, but it’s bitter and harsh. “The bad guy? Is that what you think I am?”

‘Caleb’ cups a hand on your chin, gently forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are hard, no trace of the soft, kind boy you used to know.

“Let me tell you what I think, sweetheart. I think your judgement is clouded by sentiment. Your idea of who your old Caleb is has blinded you, your idea for who I should be.”

That was your breaking point, “Well maybe it’s because I’m locked in this house and now I’m not allowed to see my friends, to go places, hell, I’m not even allowed to go outside,” you spat, glaring up at Cal- no, the Colonel. 

He scoffs and gently pushes you back down into the couch, his expression angry as he says, “You expect me to care? You’re not miserable. You’re not hungry, you’re not uncomfortable. You have everything here, but all you can focus on is that you’re missing your freedom, like some kind of animal.”

He shakes his head and looks away, a bitter laugh escaping him. “You’re lucky I even let you have this much. You could be locked up, actually locked up in a cell with no contact.”

Your eyes narrow, an expression of disgust on your face, “You’re right my Caleb is dead,” you grit out, brushing past him to your room. 

His jaw tightens, annoyance clear in his expression as he yells after you, “And what does that mean? Your Caleb is dead, sweetheart. This is the only version of me you’ll ever have now.”

Turning back, you bare your teeth, “I might not die out there, but I sure as hell will wither away in here. Thank you, Colonel, I feel so safe,” you spat the title out venomously, slamming the door, paying no mind to his recoil at the rank.

He lets out a low growl and slams a hand on the door, his voice rising in a sharp, cold snap. “You’re going to open this door right now.”

“We don't all get what we want, Colonel,” you say, voice empty as you glare at the door.  “Remember? Safety over happiness?”

He steps back and takes a deep, calming breath. With sharp, angry strides, he walks into the living room and sits on the couch, every movement radiating anger.

“Happiness will pass,” he grinds out, his gaze cold as steel fixated on the wall. “Safety is permanent.”

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Over the next 2 days, fury is the only thing you feel, it consumes you. You don’t sleep, don’t eat, you can’t breathe from the anger running through your veins. After the first couple of hours, your room is completely trashed, everything that decorated her room was either broken or on the floor. Your books were bent, pages torn out and crumpled. Your plants were turned on their sides, pots broken as soil spilled out. Pictures of Caleb and you, drawings you had made of each other, laughed over were taken out of their frames and torn to pieces, the frames crumpled and dented. The pretty vase of flowers Caleb got you? Smashed to pieces, the petals shredded and stems ripped. The pillows and blankets you bought together? Ripped, the stuffing leaking, just how your pain leaked oozed from every pore. The jackets, shirts, and sweatshirts he gave you were tossed in the hall. Every gift he ever got you was either broken, ripped, shredded or shoved away from your sight. Everything you enjoyed was broken beyond repair.

Even the plushies weren’t safe from your wrath, a couple being so dented from how many times your fist flew into the soft material. The only thing that remained untouched was a dinosaur model that the two of you spent nearly a week on before he “died”. It was also the first time he ever kissed you, right after he placed the final piece, he jumped up, excited, pure joy on his face as Caleb spun you around and next thing you knew, his lips were on yours.

Now, you couldn’t even look at it, but you couldn’t bear the thought of crushing it, so it sat on the windowsill, hidden behind the blinds that were always shut tightly, preventing any glimpse of the outside.

The Colonel didn’t do that, you did. You couldn’t bear to see freedom so close, yet so far. The sun would shine on the grass and trees outside your window, birds flying over and nesting in the big oak tree in the back. Each night, when the sun set, the sky would be ablaze with the most vibrant pinks, purples, and oranges. Wispy clouds trailed their fingertips through the sea of the sky, curling around each other and floating whichever way the wind carried them. 

You felt like a caged animal, being taunted by having to watch your freedom and life slip past right in front of you.

On day 2, you realized that your anger wasn’t getting you free. Defeated, you fell back onto your mattress, a heavy weight on your chest, like this invisible force was smothering you. 

You couldn’t cry, it was like the comfort of tears had forsaken you as well as the life you were once so excited to continue, adventuring around the planet freely, meeting people, fighting wanderers and just having the freedom to make your own decisions. 

You just felt so empty, the anger had burned out all of your motivation, all of your feelings, leaving you a hollow, blank shell. 

A part of you died with Caleb when he vanished in the explosion, coming back as someone you could barely recognize. Your mind was tricked by his physical appearance that you didn’t notice that the kindness and joy had all been leached out. 

You didn’t know how long you laid there, lost in your own mind before the door opened. Even though you didn’t look, you could still sense he was standing there.

You didn’t react, not when he sucked in a breath at the mess, not when he came closer or when he peered at you.

“Come, I made you food,” he says stiffly, eyes sweeping over the crushed memories, precious items that weren’t too special to anyone except you.

Standing up, you avoided his eyes and walked past him, shoulders curled inwards as you sat down in front of the plate set up for you.

You couldn’t even feel your hunger, your mouth didn’t water as the scent of his braised chicken wings filled the air. Sides of wonton soup, Har gow, and stir fry sat on the counter, all your favorites.

You ate robotically, the food turning to ash in your mouth. Normally when you ate Caleb’s cooking, you’d be shoveling it in your mouth as fast as possible, trying to eat as much as you could before you got a stomach ache.

But normally you wouldn’t be locked inside.

You could tell Cale-, no, Colonel was a little concerned as he watched you eat slowly, completely blank, a harsh contrast from your torn apart room. 

He cleared his throat, “Is the food okay?” The Colonel asks, his voice hesitant. 

“S’fine,” you muttered, staring at the plate.

He didn’t try to talk to you again but he sat there, watching you with sharp eyes.

After you finished, you took your dishes over, rinsing the residue off and setting them next to the sink before you went back to your room, shrinking away from the windows, like a phantom.

And that’s what you were, a ghost, a wraith. A spirit that haunts the halls of the house, staring blankly for hours on end. And wherever she drifts, the curtains fall shut, clouding the house in darkness once more. Darkness that was reflected under your eyes.

You grow paler, thinner, your hair messy and clothes hanging off your body like rags. You only ate when he made you, only slept when he made you, only spoke when he asked you something. All your other time was spent locked in your mind, staring off into space. 

The Colonel had attempted to bring you back to life. He had cleaned up most of your room, replaced books, framed new pictures, and bought you new pillows and blankets. He tried to talk to you, tried to get you to do things together, but you only responded with simple answers or refusal. 

He tried to get you to cook with him, playing music while he waited for you to come out of your room and help him or even just sit at the counter. He tried to give you new plants, but you never watered them, your room was already too dark for them to live long. He gave you all the comforts you could want, but nothing changed.

A cage was still a cage no matter how pretty it was.

Only you couldn’t bear to look outside of it. 

You could tell the Colonel was getting frustrated, he stopped trying to sweet talk you into spending time with him or having a conversation. He stopped putting so much effort into cooking, realizing that you weren’t enjoying it. He stopped trying to breathe life into your room, stopped adding old pictures, stopped setting plants on the shelf, leaving the other ones to wilt away.

It was ironic, you and the plants were both wilting away from the sun, dying slowly.

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Like usual, you were laying on your bed, looking at the ceiling and imagining the bright blue sky and the fluffy clouds with birds flying overhead, trying to bring you some comfort, to ground you and to bring you some form of happiness.

It had been months. Five months since you’ve been outside, five months since you’ve seen anyone but him, five months since you’ve seen anything else but the same walls. 

You didn’t care anymore, you barely ate, just laid in bed, numb. Your hands were bloody from how often you picked your cuticles, your nails were just nubs, bitten down to the skin. Every time anything would scab over, you picked it immediately. 

It was a reminder, a reminder that you were still real, that you could feel, no matter how much you didn’t want to. No matter how many times that she felt like she wasn’t here, the pain would bring her crashing back down. 

He watched your slow retreat over the next few months. As much as he tried to talk to you, to coax you back to something like your old self, he made no ground. You were like a shell of your former self, just a hollow echo with no fire in its soul. 

With every week that passed, he grew more and more desperate. He tried bringing your favorite foods in, tried to talk you into listening to music again, but none of it had any effect.

He tried to keep a blank expression around you, but as the months passed and he noticed that you were beginning to wilt away, the hard lines in his expression would soften to concern.

He attempted to give you things to do, books to read and such, but everytime he was met with either you ignoring him or just reading the words without actually comprehending them. 

By the time a couple of months had passed, your old self was gone, replaced with this empty, soulless shell.

After another month, he was at his wit’s end. You never talked, you never attempted to do anything, you were just a shell. All your fire, your brightness, your life, was gone. 

He watched over you constantly, his worry and agitation growing. It was like he was taking care of a robot or a puppet, rather than the person he loved. 

On one particular day, he stands in front of you with a conflicted look on his face as he says, “I can’t keep doing this.”

You just walked by him towards your room, “I told you.”

He follows you into the room, his expression hardening as he says, “Don’t you even care anymore? You’ve given up on everything.”

“No, I don’t care.”

He scoffs in disbelief, crossing his arms. “Damn it, you’re not even going to try and fight this?” he says, his voice sharp and bitter.

You sigh, finally turning to him, “There’s no point.”

He goes silent, his gaze fixed on you, taking in your changed appearance. There was a time when he would’ve admired everything about you, how fiery you were, how full of life. 

Now, now you were thin and limp and lifeless. Like a puppet without its strings, he felt like he’d broken you down to nothing but a shell of your former self.

After a few moments, he lets out a sigh and mutters, “You look terrible.”

“I'm safe,” you say simply, her words having no bite, just as lifeless as you. Crawling into bed, you faced the ceiling.

He squeezes his eyes shut as you speak, his heart twisting in his chest at your tone. 

He’s never heard you sound so lifeless before, so dull, almost like everything inside you has died. His hand gently shifts to the nape of your neck, his touch almost tender.

“This isn’t what I wanted. You’re acting like a doll, not like yourself.”

You turned away from him, “My safety matters most,” you say robotically.

He falls silent. It was a statement he had said, and yet… 

He sighs and closes his eyes, shaking his head. “Safety isn’t everything. What’s the point if you’re left miserable?” he said tiredly.

You didn’t bother agreeing, not when it took him this long to understand.

He runs a hand through his hair and scoffs, anger rising in him. “You’re supposed to argue! You’re supposed to get mad at me, yell at me!”

The Colonel’s hand clenches into a fist and he looks down at you, irritation filling his gaze. “You’re not this, you’re supposed to be all bright and happy, damn it!”

“I tried,” you mutter.

He lets out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You tried? Hah. You didn’t even fight it in the end, you just let yourself crumble and now I’m stuck with this-“ he waves a hand at you, “-this empty husk.”

You gave him a tired look, “I can’t fight forever.”

He sighs and shakes his head, his expression growing cold. “Bullshit. You could’ve kept fighting, you could’ve still been resisting but instead you just… gave up.”

His lip curls into a sneer, his anger flaring. “You just gave up and let me break you.”

“I just wanted to go outside,” you say, your voice broken as you turn towards the closed curtain.

His expression twists into a scowl, his anger still there but more muted. He takes a step forward, his gaze on you as he says, “Outside? That’s what this is about? You want to go out there? Do you have any idea what’s like for you outside? Why do I have to keep you here? It’s for your own safety. Can’t you see that?”

“I don’t want to live anymore,” you whisper, completely and utterly broken.

He’s taken aback, his anger instantly vanishing into thin air. He stands there in stunned silence, his jaw clenched tightly. The words hit him like a freight train, each syllable a sharp stab into their chests. He knew, he knew he’d driven you to the brink of depression, but hearing it out loud… he doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stands there. “You don’t mean that,” he finally murmurs.

The Colonel comes forward and kneels at the side of the bed, reaching out a hand slowly, as if he’s afraid he’ll scare you away. He gently brushes a strand of your hair away from your face, his touch a tender, gentle one. “You can’t mean that,” he says again, his voice quiet and broken, “Tell me you didn’t mean that.”

You shake your head, “I’m done.”

He takes your hand in his, clasping it firmly on his own. His eyes lock onto yours, pleading. “Don’t say that. You’re not done. You’re just lost, I can help you find your way back, I can fix this, I can fix you.”

You avoid his gaze, “I don’t think anyone can.”

He refuses to believe that, his grip on your hand tightening as he says firmly, “I can. Anything that can be broken can be fixed. You’re just… confused. I can help you, I can fix you.”

“It’s been months.”

He can’t deny that, and he knows it. It was his fault, his fault that you were like this. Still, he shakes his head and looks you in the eye, determined. “It doesn’t matter how long it’s been. You’re broken, and I’m going to fix you. I don’t care what I have to do.”

He releases your hand and stands, towering over you with a determined expression. “I will fix you,” he repeats firmly, his jaw clenched tight. “I just need to find the right method. I’ll fix you. You just have to let me.”

“There’s nothing left to fix,” you whispered shakily.

The Colonel scoffs, his impatience flaring. “You don’t get to decide that. I know you’re in there, somewhere, you’re just hiding! You’re just…” He rubs a hand down his face, his frustration growing as he tries to find the right words. “You just need to be reminded of what you had. What we had.”

“I had a life.”

He looks at you, his expression hardening. “You have a life. You’re alive. You’re living, breathing, safe. That’s what matters, not you going out and running risks.”

“There’s nothing left for me,” you say, picking at your bloody hands, trying to ground yourself.

He grabs your shoulders, forcing you to look at him as he says, “Are you listening to yourself? We’ve been through so much. You are my world, my everything. I love you with all my heart. Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you understand?”

Your gaze snaps to him, eyes hardening, “Why can’t you understand me?”

He shakes you a little, his fingers almost digging into your shoulders. “I’m trying!” he growls out, his anger flaring again. “But you’re just so damn stubborn, refusing to listen and understand what I’m doing is for your own good.”

And just like a flip of a switch you turn away from him, the little emotion and vulnerability you showed vanished, tucked away and extinguished. 

He’s left standing there, your expressionless body turned away from him. Frustration, irritation, anger, helplessness, guilt, all well up inside him. In a moment of blind frustration, he grabs a nearby pillow and lets out a yell as he throws it across the room.

You don’t react, don’t flinch, you just lie there, already retreating back into the corner of your mind. 

He stands and stares at your still body for a few moments, his chest heaving. He wants to shake you, to yell at you, to get something back, any semblance of his beloved and fiery girlfriend. But you’ve already retreated back into your emotionless shell, leaving him standing there and feeling more powerless than ever.

He falls to his knees and presses his palms to his eyes, his mind spinning as his emotions overwhelm him. The guilt in his chest is threatening to choke him, the sight of you lying there, barely even alive, all his fault. At that moment, he doesn’t feel like a man, much less a military colonel. He just feels like a boy who had broken the woman he loved into nothing. The woman who loved him even when he didn’t deserve it. The woman who had always been there, letting him cry on his shoulder ever since they were kids. 

You try to drown him out, picking at the peeling scabs on your fingers, staring at the covered window.

He drops his hands from his face, his expression tired, guilt, frustration, and even self loathing filling his gaze. He rises slowly and comes to stand by you, his movements almost wary. He eyes your body on the bed, so thin and pale, and his hand automatically comes out to touch your hair like he’s done a hundred times before, but he hesitates, his hand hovering just above your head.

Without warning, you feel his arms around you, picking you up. You don’t ask, don’t protest, don’t even move, just lie there in his arms, eyes staring straight forward.

He picks you up bridal style, one arm under your thighs and the other under your shoulders. Your frame is too light in his arms as he heads out of the room with you. You’re limp, pliant as a doll, as he carries you through the house.

He walks outside and down the porch steps, his footsteps quick and precise as he walks across the lawn to the other side of his sprawling property. 

As soon as the fresh air hits you, you tense, squinting at the sun. 

You were outside.

You were outside for the first time in nearly 6 months. It was better than you ever could’ve dreamed. The smell of grass and fresh air fills your senses. You could hear the steady pace of the Colonel’s feet as he walked through the field, could hear the chirp of the birds, could hear the rustling of leaves in the wind. The warmth of the sun shone on your skin, a sharp contrast from the artificial temperature of the AC or heater.

He sees tension take over your limbs, your gaze squinting up at the sunlight. He’s hit with another wave of guilt, realizing that this might be the first time in months you’d been outside, in the sunlight.

Your eyes dart around, observing everything you can, eyes wide like this was your last chance to take it all in. 

He carries you to the big oak tree at the end of his property, overlooking the hills and valleys towards the sun that was slowly sinking towards the horizon.

He gently sets you down in the shade, sitting a little bit behind you, leaving you to soak up what you’d been missing.

Instantly, your hands thread through the grass, clutching it like a lifeline. Your eyes are glued to the scenery in front of you. Rolling hills of all shades of green, from a deep hunter to a pale lime, trees and shrubs scattered the valleys, framing the thin silvery stream running down the middle. Wildflowers and weeds dotted the fields, their bright bursts of yellow, purples, oranges, and reds making the crystal sky so much clearer. Big fluffy tufts of white floated leisurely along the heavens, breaking up the sun into bright patches, shining on the bright grass below.

You're so absorbed in looking around that you don’t feel the tears dripping down her face, hands shaking from your tight grip on the poor grass.

Once you let in a shaky breath, he pauses, eyeing you like a ticking time bomb. His eyes widen as the realization hits him, watching the tears roll down your cheeks. He hadn’t seen you cry in years, ever since you had failed that test before you graduated. In all the time he knew you, you’ve been strong and fiery, fighting against the challenges that life handed to you. He can’t remember the last time he saw you cry, and seeing you now… he hates the sight of it.

He moves closer, his arms encircling you, his chest firm against your back. He leans you against him, his chin resting on top of your head. He murmurs softly, “Don’t cry, sweetheart. It’s okay. You’re outside.”

In your moment of weakness, you lean back into him, tears coming faster as you choked out, “It’s so fucking pretty.”

He can’t stop the frown on his expression as you cry, your body shuddering. It hurts, more than anything else, seeing you cry. He pulls you closer, one of his hands gently stroking your hair as he murmurs, “It’s just the same old trees and grass. You’ve seen them before.”

You shake your head, unable to express the rawness of your feelings, only able to clutch his arm as you sobbed. Your relief at being able to feel the world again, it was overwhelming. But so was the fear, the fear that it’d be snatched away again.

His frown deepens as he watches you, feeling even more guilty as he continues to hear you cry. He pulls you into his lap, one of his arms around your waist, keeping you pressed against him. His other hand continues to stroke your hair, his voice quiet as he murmurs, “It’s okay… cry it out, sweetheart.”

You nestle yourself back into his chest, unable to tear your eyes away, “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He follows your gaze, staring out at the horizon, a pang hitting his heart as he’s reminded of how you used to look at everything with wonder. His arms wrap a little tighter, his chin resting on your shoulder as he murmurs, “And to think… you’ve been living without this for months.”

You flinch slightly at his words, sniffling and trying to hold your sobs in.

The bitter irony of the situation hits him harder than anything. Months of keeping you safe, of keeping you inside, all to keep you protected, but now just the act of you sitting outside is enough to bring you alive. He turns his gaze back to you, taking in your tear stained face, his jaw clenching tight in frustration at himself and this whole situation.

You nod, getting distracted as you see the birds flying overhead, going to their nest in the tree above your head. Letting out shaky breaths, you try to stabilize yourself, not wanting to scare the creatures away.

He shifts closer to you, keeping a slight distance, but still within arms reach. He follows your gaze to the birds and grimaces again. 

His voice is quiet, almost hesitant, as he asks, “You want to get closer to them, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, your voice a rasp, “No, I don’t want to scare them away.”

He lets out a soft huff, his gaze softening as he hears your raspy voice again. It’s the most he’s heard you speak today, if not in days.

He watches you for a few moments, noticing the slight tremble in your hands, before his voice is soft, almost pleading, “You’re trembling, darling.” His hand twitches, as if he wants to reach out to comfort you, but he restrains himself. “Let me hold you. You’re shaking like a leaf.”

His voice has a hint of desperation in it now, seeing the tremble in your body. It pains him to see you like this, especially considering it’s all because of him. 

He moves closer, slowly, his hand hovering over your shoulder, “Please. Let me hold you, sweetheart.”

“I just need to see,” you plead, voice cracking. 

He clenches his jaw, closing his eyes to keep himself from losing it when he hears your words. He knows you’re not just talking about the birds, that this is about needing space, needing freedom.

And it kills him.

He reaches out anyway, unable to stand the sight of your trembling hands. He gently grabs your shoulders and pulls you back, positioning you so you’re leaning against his chest.

He holds you against his chest tightly, his arms wrapping around you protectively. He buries his face in your hair, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, trying to regain control of himself. 

He can’t help the broken words that escape him as he whispers, his voice strangled, “Oh sweetheart, what did I do to you…?”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his chest tight as he feels your body tremble against his. His voice is desperate as he speaks, his heart feeling like it’s being shredded with every word, “Please, please *please* don't be like this anymore. I need you to smile, to laugh, to yell at me, *anything* at this point. That blank look, the silence… it’s killing me.”

“I’ll try, just- just don’t keep me in there,” you beg.

He lets out a choked noise, his hold on you tightening a bit. He’d do anything to bring the life back into your eyes, to hear your voice. 

His voice is strained as he says, his head resting on your shoulder, “Anything you want, sweetheart. You won’t be locked in anywhere again, I promise. Just please… stop being like this. I need you back… you.”

He shifts, gently turning you so you’re facing him. His eyes roam your expression, taking in the tear tracks, the broken eyes, the trembling body. He lifts his hand, gently wiping at your cheeks and wiping away the tears. His voice is a strangled plea as he says, his fingers tracing your cheek tenderly, “Please… stop crying.”

He reaches up a hand, gently wiping at the tears on your cheeks. “I hate seeing you cry,” he murmurs, his expression still full of guilt as he continues, “That’s not how it’s supposed to be. You should smile, not sit here sobbing.”

He gently turns you around, tilting your chin up to see the sincerity in his eyes. 

“I couldn’t cry before I came out here,” your voice broke, “I couldn’t even feel anything.”

He shakes his head and holds you tighter, guilt continuing to build inside him. “You shouldn’t cry like this… you should be happy, enjoying the fresh air. Not crying over the very simple things I’ve taken away from you.”

He sighs and closes his eyes, resting his head on top of yours as he continues stroking your hair. He murmurs, “I knew you’d be happy to be outside, I knew it’d be different… I just didn’t know it’d be like this. I didn’t think you’d be crying like your world finally came back.”

“I just-“ his voice breaks off as he tries to find the words to say, guilt and frustration and regret warring within him. He takes in every detail of your form, and the guilt washes over him in waves. He feels like he’s broken you, even as he holds you tightly in his arms.

He holds you tighter at your words, his chest tightening at the sound of your voice. Your words are like a dagger to his heart; the way you try to reassure *him* with them instead of the other way around.

His grip on you almost becomes bruising as he speaks, his voice rough, “You’re free, darling. You’re safe. I won’t ever lock you away again, I promise.”

The guilt is so strong he’s nauseous, trying to keep himself together as he keeps you in his lap, trying to savor every second of this. Knowing that you probably hate him, but can’t even fight him in this moment, just sitting there and crying and staring out at the world he locked you away from. He knows that he’s changed your life forever, and he can’t even blame you for hating him right now.

You pause, hiccupping and debating your next words, “Thank you… Caleb,” you say hesitantly, lingering a bit longer on the syllables of his name. Syllables you hadn’t said in months, hell, you hadn’t even let yourself think of the name unless it was about the old Caleb.

Caleb’s eyes widen in surprise, and he almost doesn’t reply for a moment due to shock. He didn’t think he’d be hearing you saying his name, let alone thanking him. He takes a second to swallow the lump in his throat, his voice hoarse as he murmurs, “You’re thanking me…?”

The sun starts to slip below the horizon, setting the sky ablaze. Magnificent reds and orange and pinks lighting up the pale sky, dark clouds acting like smoke. It almost looked like the sun was melting, setting the green, lush valley on fire below. 

Your sobs slow to hiccups, body shuddering.

His hand continues to rub your back gently as he feels your sobs slow down, the sound being replaced with hiccups. He presses a gentle kiss to your head again, his hold on you still tight.

He murmurs quietly into your ear as he speaks, his voice still ragged, “That’s right, just breathe, pips. Take deep breaths…. I’ve got you, I’ve always got you.”

He cradles you against him, holding you tightly as you rest your head against his chest. He buries his face in your hair again, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

His thumb rubs your arm tenderly, the motion gentle and almost soothing. He sits there silently, listening to the sound of your ragged breaths slowly even out.

Caleb’s suddenly hit with the realization that he’ll most likely have to bring you back inside eventually, and he lets out a silent grimace at the thought of it. A heavy feeling settles in his chest, the thought of making you go back to that emotionless, depressed shell of yourself making him feel nauseous. He tries to ignore it, shoving that thought away and focusing on his hand stroking your hair. He takes in a deep breath and murmurs, “Sweetheart?”

“Hm?” You murmur, nearly half asleep against him, watching the setting sun. 

He takes another deep breath, steeling his nerves and continuing, his voice low and steady. “I’ve gotta ask you something.”

Caleb gently turns your chin to face him, taking another deep breath and looks you dead in the eye, his gaze fierce and determined as he asks, “If it wasn’t for me, if you were free to do whatever, go wherever you wanted… would you leave me?”

You hesitate, afraid that he wouldn’t like your answer, “If I could do whatever I wanted, I’d stay with you, just not holed up in the house forever.”

He relaxes fractionally, the tense lines in his expression smoothening just a bit, but his jaw is still clenched tight. His next question comes out hesitant, like he’s afraid of the answer. “You… would stay with me, but not if I kept you inside like this, correct?”

You nod, not knowing what else to say.

There’s an undeniable sense of relief in his expression, a weight seemingly lifted off his chest at your response. He takes another deep breath, his voice a low murmur as he continues with the questions. “So, if I told you I’d let you go out as long as you promise me you’d come home every night…?”

“Then I’d stay,” you whispered, afraid to get your hopes up.

Caleb watches you, his gaze sharp and serious. He lets out a shaky exhale, feeling almost like he’s on the verge of a panic attack with how fast his heart is racing. His hand is shaking on your chin, but he manages to keep his expression as steady as possible as he continues, “No matter what, you promise you’ll come back. You promise you won’t disappear.”

“I promise,” you murmur, your voice shaky with hope.

His hand on your chin slowly relaxes, as if a great weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He holds your gaze for a few more seconds, staring at your face intently. After a moment, he pulls you closer and presses a kiss to your forehead, his voice hoarse as he murmurs, “Thank you.”

Your face lights up and you spin around, crushing him in a hug, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Caleb.”

He lets out a surprised huff, but his body immediately relaxes, and he wraps his arms tight around you in return. He burrows his head into your shoulder as your arms cling to him, his own hands gripping your shirt in a vice-like grip. For a few moments, he just sits there, revelling in the feeling of you holding him tight, those words you said bouncing around in his head. He was finally getting you back, even though it wasn’t much, it was still progress.

He’s on the verge of sobbing, but he manages to compose himself, instead holding you tighter and asking, “You swear you’ll come back? Every night, you swear it?”

Nodding frantically, you refuse to let go, your face buried in his shirt.

Caleb lets out a shaky exhale, his eyes clamped shut as he leans down and presses his forehead against your hair. He murmurs into it, his voice low and hoarse, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. I never should’ve done that to you.”

His body is tense against yours, his arms holding you tightly as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear. He continues his murmured apologies, a mix of guilt and desperation lacing his words. He continues to bury his face into your hair, his voice now rough and hoarse. “I never should’ve done that to you, I should never have kept you locked up and trapped like that. It was never meant to be that way, I just… I just wanted to keep you safe, but I ended up destroying you. I’m so goddamn sorry.”

You're nearly too dizzy from your newfound freedom to respond, barely choking out, “S’okay, we’re okay, I’m okay.”

He can’t help it, a harsh sob escaping from his lips at your words. He can’t stop himself as he pulls you closer, burrowing his head into the crook between your neck and shoulder, his words coming out choppy and broken as he speaks through his tears. “No, no, it’s not okay, it’s not okay. I was supposed to be your protector, but I ended up hurting you worse than I probably protected you.” Caleb’s hold on you tightens even more, almost borderline painful in how much his fingers dig into your flesh. He’s crying now, full on crying, something he hadn’t done in years. He presses his face into your neck, his entire body shaking as he murmurs through his tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so goddamn sorry.”

You were slightly surprised at his clinginess, but nonetheless, you gently raked your fingers through his hair, trying to soothe the broken boy holding onto you like you were the only thing keeping him here.

Caleb buries his face into your neck, his breaths coming out in hiccuping sobs, his tears wetting your skin as he continues to mumble, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He’s completely crumbling in your arms, the strong, stoic facade he had for the past months shattering and crumbling to pieces. He buries his face into your neck, his body shaking uncontrollably, his shoulders heaving with sobs as he holds onto you like a lifeline and repeats his apologies over and over again. “Please, please… don’t leave me... please don’t hate me, I’m sorry, I’m so goddamn sorry…”

“Shh, you’re okay baby, you’re okay. I’ve got you, I ain’t going nowhere,” you soothe, your voice hoarse from your own crying session.

He keeps his face buried in the crook of your neck as he tries his best to quell the sobs still escaping him. His breath is hot and ragged, his grip on you still painfully tight. He manages to control it enough to stop the sobs, now he’s shuddering slightly as he whispers, “Baby… don’t hate me… don’t leave me…”

“I don’t think I could ever hate you, no matter what you do,” you admit, voice shaking. “C’mon, you wanna go inside? It’s getting dark and cold out.”

He lets out a shaky exhale at your words, a wave of relief and gratitude passing over him. He takes a moment to collect himself, before letting out a deep exhale and nodding, his voice still trembling as he murmurs, “Yeah, let’s go inside…” and begins the slow process of detaching his limbs from around you and standing up.

Caleb lifts you up like you weigh nothing, both of you leaning on each other and hands interlaced as you head back towards the house.

He carries you most of the way, refusing to let you get your feet muddy, pausing as he holds you in the living room, “Can you open your eyes for me, sweetheart? Where do you want to sleep?”

“Your bed, just leave the window and door open… please,” you murmur, barely opening your eyes.

He nods silently, his grip on you shifting slightly so he can readjust his hold.Caleb then begins walking down the hallway, making his way to his room. Once in the room, he walks to the bed and gently sets you down on it, shifting a bit so he’s sitting next to you. He pauses there, simply looking at you for a few seconds before speaking, “I’ll get the window and door, alright darling?”

You nod, curling into his bed and inhaling the scent of him.

He stands, reluctantly letting go of you so he can walk around the room, opening the window and the door before turning back to you.

He looks at you again, hesitating for a few moments before murmuring, “I’ll be right outside. Just… call for me if you need me, okay?”

You sit up, confused, “Where do you think you’re going?”

He pauses at that, looking at you for a few moments before answering, his voice soft, “Just outside the room, sweetheart. I’m not leaving you, I’m just… staying out there, in case you need me.”

“Damn right you're not leaving me, now get in the bed,” you say firmly, your tone leaving no room for argument.

He lets out a soft huff of laughter at the command, his heart feeling just a little lighter at the bossy tone you were using.

Caleb walks over to the bed and slowly lays down across it, staying as close to the edge as he can, still keeping his distance from you.

You huff, amused at his cautiousness. You scoot over and pull him towards the center of the bed, staying close to him just like you did befor- no, don’t think of that, he’s here and you’re free.

He lets out another soft huff, unable to fight the small smile that appears at your actions. He slides across the bed until he’s directly next to you, though he keeps his hands to himself, not making any move to touch you.

You wrap your arms around him tightly, resting your head on his chest, using him as a squishie.

He tenses momentarily at your sudden move, before relaxing and letting you wrap yourself around him, a soft huff escaping him, “You broke all your plushies so you're using me as one.”

You shrug, holding him tighter, “Maybee.”

Caleb chuckles, “Don’t worry, we can go to the arcade sometime this week, maybe go shopping or out to eat and I’ll get you more, a bunch more.”

Letting out a content hum and melt into him, closing your eyes.

He slowly relaxes further, his arms slowly lifting and wrapping around you in turn. He holds you against him, one hand gently resting on your back and the other in your hair, his fingers running through the soft strands. Caleb’s hand runs down your back in tender motions, his touch tender, almost worshipful as his fingers softly trace across your back. He listens to your breathing, letting it soothe his nerves, his grip on you slowly tightening as he continues to run his fingers through your hair.

“Thank you,” you whisper, half asleep.

He pulls you closer to him as you speak, his breath shaky as he absorbs the weight of your words, the feel of your body against his, how you’re willingly staying in his arms, how you say his name.

His grip tightens even more, almost painful, desperate to know that this is real, that you’re not going to disappear. His voice is hoarse when he speaks, his words quiet, barely more than a whisper, “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

As you drift off, he closes his eyes, listening to your soft, even breathing. The sound is like a balm to his soul. He lets himself doze in and out of sleep, too happy to see you like this to allow himself to rest completely. 

His arms loosen a bit, enough so he can maneuver his body so that his entire upper half is wrapped around you, almost shielding you from the world itself. And he would continue to, he’d continue to shield you from the harsh world, but, he wouldn’t imprison you, wouldn’t try to tame you. He’d let you burn, even if you incinerated him, he’d die with a smile on your face. Because he was your Caleb, no matter what could happen.

[fanged-fanfics]

☆ One of Them — Thanos (Choi Su-Bong) x GN Reader Fic ☆

Genre: Fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

You had just been given food by the pink-hooded guards, eating while sitting on the side of your bed. You had a top bunk near a corner of the room, making a comfortable little nook to take refuge in. Many players tended to stray from you, to a lot of them you were just another face in the crowd. Which was fine by you, really, it was better than being a target. Made it easier to navigate around.

Ironically enough, it was when you were mulling over this that you felt the frame of your bed shift from someone hanging off the side. You kicked at it with your heel, silently signaling whoever it was to piss off. To your dismay, they didn't get the hint. "Hey, you. I've seen you sitting around that Thanos guy. You know him?" The man asked you. Your eyes flicked down to his number. 333, go figure.

"I guess you could say that" you replied with a sigh. 333 made a face at that, nose scrunching in disapproval "Just some advice— I wouldn't. That guy blames all his problems on everyone else". "That's... ironic, for you to say" You mumbled. Which, unfortunately, didn't escape the other player's notice "What was that?". "Well we all heard your big reveal as 'MGCoin' when the guards said it" You pointed out "And from what I've heard, you don't exactly have a clean record yourself. Glass house, throwing stones, y'know"

"Ugh, you people can never get off my back" MGCoin grunted "It's not my fault they went into that scam, it was their choice". You were just about ready to quit entertaining the conversation entirely, when you saw a hand reach up and grab 333's shoulder, yanking him back to the ground. You leaned over, seeing the familiar mess of purple hair that had been accompanying you recently. "Hey now, my brother, what's going on here?" Thanos asked, crossing his arms. Namgyu peeked up from behind him, grinning at the rising conflict "Looks like Coin's trying to split up our team"

"I wasn't doing anything like that-" 333 protested, but Thanos gave a rough shove to his shoulder before he could continue. "Run back to your friends over there, I'm already sick of hearing you". 333 fixed you three with a nasty glare, turning on his heel and walking away. Namgyu snickered, leaning on his friend's shoulder. He turned up to see you, grinning a little wider "You're welcome". "Oh, yeah, thanks" you said, resuming your eating. Thanos turned, scaling up the metal frame of the bed so he could lean on it like the other had done.

"Don't let guys like that mess with you. You're part of the Thanos gang" he said. He moved to be sitting on the side of the mattress, puffing up a little in pride "You just come tell me, I'll kick their asses for you". You couldn't help but chuckle a little, leaning closer to his side "That's oddly generous of you. Why do all that for me anyway? You seem like you could get that money yourself"

Thanos lifted a hand, lazily pointing to the small clusters of members around the bunkbeds "They all got teams. It's how we make it, gotta make sure they know who they're messin' with". He then reached his hand out, his loose fist lightly thumping against your chest "You're part of mine. We help out, yeah? Me, you, my boy Min-Su, and Namsu". "Namgyu" the man in question corrected, finally sliding up next to Thanos. "Right, yeah, same thing" Thanos shrugged.

Despite yourself, you smiled gently, scooting a little closer to the two. Everyone in this game was out for their own benefit, you weren't naive enough to ignore that. But it was nice to feel like you belonged, and that you were in some way protected. Thanos wrapped an arm around you, dragging you to be pressed up to his side. You felt your face heat up from looking at his confident grin up close. His nose was nearly brushing against yours while you tried to sit up properly. "Don't worry, pal, you're one of us now" he said, eyes holding your gaze.

With an awkward cough, you finally managed to fix your posture, getting a bit more distance between you "Uh- thank you. Very- very nice of you, I-.. thanks". Thanos chuckled, giving you a good-natured but also rather firm pat on the back. You noticed Namgyu giving you a sideways glance, but he didn't give any word on it, turning to scoot closer to Thanos instead. "Hey, are you sure about this?" Namgyu whispered "We can't be too careful, not with that 456 guy on everyone's ass"

"Don't worry, my man, I got this. We got a good team here" Thanos replied casually. "You picked them cause you think they're cute" Namgyu pointed out. "Relax, that's how I pick everyone! A pretty face has never let me down before" Thanos replied. "If you're sure" Namgyu replied. "...Wait does that mean-"

While they kept chatting, you were glad they couldn't see you at the moment. Your ears were tinged pink with embarrassment, processing what you'd overheard. What kinda guy picks his teams like that...? How the hell does that even work?? And.. that apparently means you were a part of that?? You glanced over at them, seeing that Thanos was looking over his shoulder. You nearly jolted, feeling your face heat more when the corner of his mouth twitched up into a little grin. This guy was gonna give you a heart attack before any games would at this rate-

[bingwriterxo]

a child?!

pairing: wednesday addams x werewolf!reader

summary: in which something strange happens to you

warnings: none

word count: 1400+

author's note: this was a request! also, i do not know how chlidren work!

Wednesday was sitting at her desk, fingers flying across the keys of her typewriter as she detailed the most recent mystery that Viper had to solve, when Enid burst through the door, loud and obtrusive as always. The raven-haired girl had half a mind to ignore her roommate, and she succeeded in doing so for what seemed to be the longest minute in eternity, until she ultimately had to turn in her chair and glare at the blonde for the ruckus she was making. 

"Why must you be so loud?" Wednesday deadpanned. 

Enid squeaked and whirled around, hiding something behind her back. "We--Wednesday!" she exclaimed in a pitch much too high for Wednesday to appreciate. "I didn't even realize you were here!"

Wednesday furrowed her eyebrows, watching her roommate closely. "You're acting strange. Granted, you are strange, but today you are even stranger." I didn't even think that was possible, she thought. She would have said it out loud, but she had begrudgingly promised you that she would try to be nicer to people, even if it made her want to claw her own tongue out.

"What?" Enid asked, shifting where she stood like the floor was littered with hot coals. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Your hair is mussed"--Enid reached up, patted down her hair--"your uniform has become undone"--Enid glanced down, noticing that her tie was untucked from beneath her vest--"and there is...snot...on your shoulder." Wednesday narrowed her eyes at the blonde. "What is going on?"

Enid sighed in defeat and hung her head, letting her shoulders slump as she looked at the floor, revealing the unicorn plush that she had come to the dorm for in the first place. "You should probably come with me."

* * *

"Why are we at Xavier's shed?" 

Enid didn't answer. Instead, she moved to stand in front of Wednesday before the raven-haired girl could push the door open. "Now, when you see what's inside, you can't kill us, okay?" 

"Us?"

"Yes." Enid nodded, her face more serious than Wednesday had ever seen it. "Us."

Wednesday contemplated this for a moment. She wasn't one to make agreements when she didn't what the other half of the bargain entailed, but Enid's stoic look was starting to make her uncomfortable (and not in a good way) so she nodded. 

"Fine," she said. 

With a hefty sigh, Enid turned around and pushed the door open. Wednesday followed close behind, her eyes flitting around the room as she looked for who 'us' was. It wasn't hard to find them: Xavier, Yoko, and Ajax all stood in the middle of the shed, their backs to the pair and their attention on something that Wednesday couldn't see. 

"What is this, some sort of odd club?" Wednesday asked, and everyone spun around on their heels. She scanned her friends' (in loose terms) faces, and it wasn't difficult to see the guilt and worry coating each of their expressions, or feel the anxiety radiating off of them. 

Xavier's lips were pulled into a frown, and his eyes were glazed, staring behind Wednesday rather than at her. Yoko was playing with her fingers, and her head was tilted upwards, lips pursed like she was about to start whistling at any moment. Ajax waved shyly and then scratched at the back of his neck, eyes on anything except Wednesday.

"Do I have to repeat myself?" Wednesday hissed. "What is happening?"

All three of them started to speak at the same time. 

"Well--"

"There was--"

"So, something happened--"

They were cut off by a small babble, and then, between Yoko and Ajax's legs, a child appeared, running full force at Enid. Enid crouched down and took the child in her arms, standing as she handed her the plush. 

Everyone's eyes landed on Wednesday while her own were trained on the child cuddling Enid's stuffed unicorn, and when she also glanced toward the raven-haired girl, everything clicked. 

"Is that my girlfriend?" Wednesday seethed through gritted teeth. 

Enid shrank in on herself at the question and looked down at you before glancing back at her roommate. "...Yes?" she answered sheepishly. 

Wednesday wished that she didn't take verbal agreements as seriously as she did because she had never wanted to kill her roommate and her friends more than in that moment. She clenched her jaw as she stared at you, who stared right back at her with wide eyes and a childish grin, and then held her arms out. 

She could hear Yoko gasp, and Ajax made some sort of noise, and Enid took a step back. "Are you going to hurt her?" 

"Why would I hurt Y/N?" Wednesday asked. "I was going to hold her."

Enid blinked at her. Xavier spoke up. "Do you even know how to hold a kid?" he asked, but you were reaching out to Wednesday, leaning forward so far that Enid had to oblige the raven-haired girl or risk you falling onto your face. 

Wednesday took you into her arms easily, resting you against her hip. You were watching her, the unicorn clutched in one hand and your other playing with the end of one of her braids. 

"Pretty," you mumbled. 

She wasn't paying any attention to you, turning her sights back on the three idiots--well, four now, as Enid had joined them in the center of the room--and narrowing her eyes. "And why is my girlfriend"--she glanced down at you, then looked back up--"currently three years old?"

You tugged on the braid, and Wednesday was only half-surprised by the amount of strength you had. As a werewolf, it made sense that you would be stronger than the average child, but she hadn't expected it to sting. 

She looked down to see you frowning up at her. "What?"

"Pay 'tention," you demanded with a pout. 

"No." She looked back at her friends. "Answer me."

Ajax, Yoko, and Xavier all glanced at Enid, and the blonde stepped forward. "Well..." She inhaled deeply and all of her words tumbled out. "Y/N and I were trying to make a serum to suppress our heats, and we must have forgotten an ingredient or something, but we thought we did it correctly, so Y/N tried it and then...shrunk." She gestured lamely at you. "Or, well, turned into a kid."

You tugged on Wednesday's hair again. "Pay 'tention!" you repeated loudly.

"Uh, Wednesday," Ajax began, "I think she wants you to pay attention to her."

Wednesday glared at the boy. She looked at you. "What do you want?"

Instead of answering, you giggled and threw your arms out. "Pretty!" The unicorn fell to the floor, and you glanced down, whimpering. "Unicorn," you cried as though it were your best friend falling off the edge of a cliff. 

"Don't cry," Wednesday said. She knelt down, grabbed the stuffed animal, and gave it back to you. You cooed happily, nuzzling into it. She looked at her friends again, all of whom wore strange grins. "What?"

"That was so cute, Wednesday!" Enid exclaimed. "I didn't know you could be cute!"

Wednesday's eyes narrowed. "Call me cute again, Enid, and you won't have a voice box to call anything cute."

The blonde didn't seem to take the threat to heart as she continued to smile. "I have to get a picture of this!"

"I will kill you."

"And that's a risk I think I'm willing to take!" Enid pulled her phone out of her pocket and snapped a quick photo. She glanced over the top of the phone. "She's sleeping!" She took another picture.

Wednesday frowned and looked down. You were, in fact, asleep against her, your head pressed beneath her chin and soft breaths slipping from your mouth. You seemed at peace there, and, for a quick moment that she would never admit occurred, Wednesday didn't quite mind the fact that all of her friends were watching her. But then her senses returned to her and she looked at the four.

"You better figure out how to turn her back," she said. "Or I will bury you all alive."

bonus: when you did return to your normal age, you had no recollection of what had happened, and no one wanted to explain it to you. for a week, you were oblivious, until you opened wednesday's desk drawer to grab moisturizer for thing and found a new object inside. you picked it up, careful not to damage it, and found that it was a picture of you as a child cuddled up to wednesday.

"what the fuck?"

[wolvrites]

Wolfwood never paid any mind to the dreams. Not anymore.

Blood, growing pains, Livio. It was the same, each and every time. Wolfwood isn't sure why his heart always pounds the same wild way once he wakes, beating against his ribs. Is it even his own heart? Did they change that, too?

It's always a different motel, but most of them have the same layout, the same scene, a balcony. Wolfwood tends to smoke a little extra after nightmares, under the two moons that watch him sort of like eyes. Eyes of God? Wolfwood snorts out a plume of smoke at the idea, and he isn't sure which is more ludicrous: the belief that there is something all-seeing, or the fear that there isn't.

Wolfwood's keen ears pick up the rusty scrape of the screen door opening through the murkiness of his thoughts. He doesn't turn, still observing the strange constellations in the sky.

"You'll catch cold, darlin'." His lips form an 'o' as he blows out a ring of smoke.

"So will you." Wolfwood dips his head a little past his shoulders just at the sound of your voice, just barely loud enough to pierce the darkness -- more like wading through it, as one does when standing in a shallow pond. Reaching for someone just beyond them.

In response, he carelessly waves his pack of cigarettes in the air beside his head for you to see. Half empty, already. 'I can make my own fire, just fine.'

As usual, you pay his silent reply no mind as you wrap your arms around his middle, chest flush to his broad back. He's a little cold, but it isn't the night air that's chilling him. With your cheek on his bare skin like this, you can feel his scars naked against you.

He stiffens, huffs out more smoke. A faint thud reaches your ears once he tosses the used stick and reaches for another.

"Come back to bed, 's cold. And you'll have a sore throat if you keep doin' that." Wolfwood chuckles hoarsely at your mothering, how you seem to know him better than himself.

But, no -- he fears even you won't ever know him, not like the man who saw him grow on his shiny, cold slab of metal does. Not like Livio, with his wide-eyed stare in his dreams, how he knows him.

"I'm not some snot-nosed kid." Wolfwood's nostril flares subtly, rough fingers turning the smoldering cigarette over between them. "Don't need you to treat me like one."

"I'm not." You gently push down the lump in your throat that forms at his edgy tone, you know he doesn't mean it. Soothingly, you run your fingers up and down his sides in slow movements.

Wolfwood tenses. "Just- just go-" he doesn't finish, realizing he's already trying to push you off him. Looking over his shoulder at you, he bites the inside of his cheek hard. "-wait for me inside."

"Nico."

"Don't call me that."

Your own brows knit together and you just blink at him. He seems like a little boy all of a sudden.

"Nicholas," you correct yourself quietly with a slight tilt of your head. Seeing the familiar look in your eyes, he turns away. "...sorry."

"Just come inside. Please."

Wolfwood finds it funny how you, of all people on this fucking planet, are able to order around the Punisher himself like that. How you have him at your heels, a dog who acts submissive to the sheep it guards.

Without another word, he obeys and meekly brushes his calloused fingers over your arm in boyish apology, bangs obscuring his expression as he follows you back inside.

Tucked back safely in the rickety motel bed, he's tangled up in you. Wasn't able to fall back asleep, so he settled for laying his head on your warm chest to listen to your heartbeat (with some coaxing from you). A soft hand stroking back his dusty raven hair. Like he's a boy again. “I'm sorry." He keeps mumbling between lazy pecks to your collarbone, eyes closed as if he's shy to be seen receiving such comfort. He isn't quite sure what he's apologizing for. “I know," you murmur back, speaking into his smoke-fragrant hair. "You're okay.” He huffs out a big sigh, heavy and dog-like.

He was a fool to ever think you didn't know him.

[rainbowmothed]

── I'M NOT A VIOLENT ANGEL. I DON'T KNOW WHY I BITE.

· ★ · basically just me rewriting vaggie's fall + chaggie first meeting. trigger warning for blood, gore, murder, classic extermination stuff!

Vaggie felt the pressure settle on her shoulders as she spread her wings, lines of black smearing across the crimson sky of the underworld in a flurry of feathers as she and her kin descended from the beaming light illuminating the once darkened sky, atmosphere thick with the already fresh scent of bitter blood.

Guilt was all Vagatha could manage to muster in her soul, her very being. She never liked to be an exterminator. She didn't know why– most of her kin adored slaughtering the “demon scum” of the underworld. And Vaggie knew she was no different than them, no less shameful in comparison despite feeling butterflies churn in her stomach before she drew her angelic spear. Six years she had spent as one of Adam's top girls, always cast to be on the front lines, praised by her peers for being one of the most merciless, blood-thirsty ones out there.

And oh, how she despised it with every single fiber of her being.

Vaggie cringed as she remembered the proud slaps on the back and reassuring pats shoulders after every extermination as they rose back to the skies above afterwards, the shouts of “good jobs” and “that was even better than last year” filling the air, choking her, suffocating her as the words shoved their way down her throat until soft tears pricked her eyes and her skin flustered with shameful heat.

God, she hated her job. And it was strange. She was created for this. Created in the Heavens for the sole purpose of reigning massacre upon people who were seen as nothing more than the dirt under their heels, when, in reality, Vaggie knew they were far more than that. They were once human souls, who once had lives, and who once had families, who maybe still did have families. She knew she'd killed at least one husband who had a wife and kids at home, waiting, and one wife or one child. Likely far more than that.

So many denizens had crumbled to their knees at her hands as she lodged the blade of the spear into their flesh. The flesh she was meant to see as worthless, puny, disgusting, sinful. Wretched. But the flesh she saw only bore hints of light, shimmering under the surface, waiting to be unveiled, until it was cut short and dulled as their black blood splattered across the alleyway floors and concrete sidewalks, heads slamming down as they met their gruesome fates. Perished.

And this year, Vagatha knew she would do the same thing. Or rather, should do the same thing. She was given a sharp nod to descend as she continued through the air. Her previous guilty thoughts had made her work up a tad bit of a nervous sweat, so she pulled away the mask that concealed her face, swiping away the sweat that stuck to her forehead like bothersome glue. Not bothering to put it back on, Vaggie simply attached it to her waist, feeling it thud against her hip as she flew down into the alleyway, boots finally making contact with the glass-lined gravel below.

Expecting to see some looming, wretched soul, Vaggie was only greeted with a cowering little child, far younger than her, far less defenseless. Where were its parents? It didn't deserve to fall. Not like this. “Go, run.” Vaggie urged, before she could form a second thought about her own actions, pulling her blade far away from the thing's throat and waving it off. Sparing it. The guilt had become unfathomable, and she was no longer even in control of her own body. Pathetic.

However, the sounds of footsteps behind her made Vagatha quickly snap out of her daze, wings perking up with surprise as she drew her blade, expecting some idiotic, bold sinner, only to feel a hand grasp her shoulder. Vaggie’s eyes widened as her lips parted, attempting to let out a flurry of excuses as she saw Lute’s face before her. Grinning, merciless.

Oh God.

Vaggie let out a shrill shriek of pain as she felt the angelic weapon pierce her eye, gouging it out and letting it roll onto the ground below. Vagatha’s stomach churned with nausea as she naturally fell to her knees, letting out another cry as she felt Lute’s boot press against the top of her skull.

“Traitor scum like you have no place in Heaven.”

Vaggie attempted to choke out a plea, a beg for mercy, but was cut short as she felt Lute’s gloved hands wrap around the base of her wings, pulling back with relentless force as they were ripped from her body, another pathetic splatter of neon green, angelic blood splashing across the ground. Vaggie felt like she was going to retch from the pure amount of adrenaline and pain pumping through her skin, her being, her very soul.

Guilt. Harsher than before.

Guilt for betraying Heaven. Guilt for slaughtering the people of the underworld. Guilt for not living up to her superiors’ standards of her. Guilt for every single thing she had ever done wrong, crashing down on her at once.

—

Vaggie shakily stumbled up to her knees as Adam and Lute walked away, snickering under their breaths and beaming with nothing but pride. No guilt themselves; nothing but happiness and unfiltered glee at finding a traitor amongst their ranks and properly punishing her for it.

All for sparing one measly child.

Vaggie tore away the mask that still hung to her belt, exterminator uniform soaked with blood and torn in some places. In a moment of anguish, mixed in a blurred puddle with hints of anger, she ripped it all from her body, leaving herself in the clothes she had underneath. Vaggie tossed it into the dumpster that lay against the wall of the alleyway, her neon green blood splattering down the side of it as she threw it to be picked later.

Still weakly clutching the spear in her hand, she leaned her back against another dumpster, trying not to brush the stumps of her ripped off wings against anything to prevent any further agonizing pain. She already had plenty of that, her eye now an empty socket, vision nowhere to be found beside the one she still had. Thank Lute for that, she mused. Didn't take her vision completely.

Vagatha was silently praying for some random imp to come pick her off. Finish the game her superiors had started, end her pathetic life once and for all. Lay her corpse against the dirt of the ground she once saw as beneath her. Funny, seeing as how the people she once saw as her victims, albeit with a bit of shame, could slaughter her right here and now with absolute ease.

Vaggie didn't even cry. The tears would've hurt her eye too much. She felt them boiling under the surface, yes, but they never trespassed that burning point, never spilling or teetering over the edge just right to drop. Vagatha soon enough heard footsteps approaching. Great, her future murderer had finally come, just as she felt herself drifting in and out of consciousness due to the sheer amount of blood loss.

Instead of the expression of a cruel murderer, she was greeted by the face of a shocked denizen. Gorgeous, with blonde hair, streaked with honey hues. Pale skin, with rosy cheeks, akin to that of a marionette. Beautiful. If this woman was the last thing Vaggie was to see, she would definitely be able to go out happy compared to her earlier predicament. The bitterness flushed out of her soul as she stared up at the demon, waiting for the blade to press against her neck. For her to end her suffering.

But it didn't.

Instead, a bandage was carefully wrapped around her missing eye, the denizens fingers soft and delicate. Perfect compared to her own, scarred with the memories of the lives that had been taken by them. It made her expression soften. It was the little things that made Vaggie swoon like that, and this was definitely one of those little things.

Was she falling for the woman who she thought was going to slaughter her just a moment ago? It was a tad funny, actually. The flusterment only grew as she saw her tuck a piece of blonde hair behind her porcelain-hued ear, diverting her gaze as she cheekily smiled.

This girl would definitely be the death of Vaggie, but in a completely different way than she was originally anticipating.

[ghosty-zero]

Sonadow one shot number #12: Makeup

{This one is kinda short, I just wanted to write something about Shadow wearing makeup, hope you still like it}

When people say Shadow the Hedgehog, they all relatively thought the same thing: a lone hedgehog who was always looking for his past, always on the move, always with someone or something on his heels, and always being so painfully stoic and antisocial to the point of insanity. 

While all that wasn't too far fetched, Sonic's thoughts were a little...different.

'Chest fluff....kinda wanna pet it...red highlights look good on him...hmmm...black is his color...his quills are so soft looking...looks good in those shoes...wonder if his boots are comfortable...eyeliner...is that makeup?

Sonic had always wanted to prove, for some reason, that Shadow did in fact wear makeup. Rouge would always claim she never did it for him but Sonic was always convinced otherwise. 

After all, Shadow looked really good in it. The blue hedgehog had to stop himself from smiling or laughing when Shadow would go into a battle with a clean, smooth, and well-defined face only to come out with the faintest hint of eyeliner running down his cheeks and smudges under his eyes. Obviously, Shadow would deny every thing and call Sonic an idiot for even suggesting such a thing, but Sonic knew better.

But now, this was different. As Shadow stood there with a pensive look on his face as he stared at the floor, Sonic began to think. He looked good before, but now, he looked beautiful.

The black hedgehog wore a white dress shirt that was open at the collar and had a black vest over it. Amy was throwing a party for...a reason Sonic forgot and Shadow was forced to go. Rouge took him shopping for something to wear since Shadow was in need of new clothes and the two managed to get him something he could actually wear and look good in.

Sonic wasn't even sure if he was breathing anymore. Shadow looked so amazingly stunning, and Sonic hadn't even seen his lower half yet.

Shadow glanced over to Sonic, who quickly looked away and tried to hide his blush. He didn't know why he was blushing. Maybe it was because he couldn't help but stare at Shadow or the fact that he was so close to the hedgehog he secretly loved.

Was 'loved' too strong a word?

The two hedgehogs stood in silence before Sonic asked, "What's wrong?"

Shadow looked up at him before glancing down at his feet. "I don't know what to do."

Sonic raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"This party...I've never been to one like this before."

"What do you mean?"

"Must I spell everything out for you? I've never been to a party like this! I don't know what to do, how to act, what to wear!"

"I can see what you're wearing, and you look great."

Shadow blushed and looked away.

"What's wrong?"

"I just...I don't want to make a fool of myself."

"Nah, you're the antisocial loner, you won't make a fool of yourself, bud."

"Don't call me that. And besides, I still have no idea what to do at this type of event. I don't even know how to dance."

Sonic smirked. "Then let me teach you."

"You know how to dance?"

"Duh, I'm Sonic the Hedgehog, I know everything."

Shadow rolled his eyes.

Sonic put his hand on Shadow's waist and held his other hand in his. "I shall lead, my dearest rosebud~"

Shadow narrowed his eyes. "Don't ever call me that."

"Oh, I'm sorry, was I mistaken? Did you want to be called my beautiful princess?"

"Shut up."

"Alright then, I'll just call you my sweet little cherry blossom~"

"I swear to chaos, hedgehog-"

"Kidding, kidding. But seriously, just let me lead, alright?"

Shadow huffed before relaxing slightly. Sonic began to hum and slowly began to move.

The black hedgehog tried not to step on his partner's feet as he tried to keep up with Sonic's humming. He stumbled and cursed under his breath every time he stepped on Sonic's foot, but the blue hedgehog only chuckled and told him it was okay.

Sonic spun the other around and pulled him closer.

Shadow glanced up at him. "What are you doing?"

"Spinning you. What, never been spun before?"

"No. Why would I?"

Sonic shrugged. "Fair enough. You're too stiff." He wiggled Shadow's arms.

"It's hard to dance when someone's trying to dislocate my shoulders."

"Well, if you were more relaxed, it wouldn't hurt so much."

"Oh really? Why don't you show me how relaxed you are?"

"Alright, I will." Sonic took hold of Shadow's hands again and gently swung them back and forth. Shadow looked hardly entertained as Sonic hummed and did a little dance in place. He tried to pull his hands away, but Sonic didn't let go. He spun the other hedgehog around, causing him to stumble backwards into Sonic's arms.

"Should I be learning something from this? Or are you just trying to humiliate me?" 

"Why do you always think the worst of me?"

"You've given me plenty of reasons to believe that you'd like to make a fool of me."

"Maybe. Or maybe I'm trying to help you relax. You need to learn how to have fun once in a while."

Shadow scoffed. "I know how to have fun."

"Prove it."

"How shall I even prove such a thing to you?"

Sonic smiled and held out his hand. "Just follow my lead."

Shadow hesitantly took his hand and allowed himself to be led outside into the night air.

"You ever danced under the stars before?"

"Can't say I have."

Sonic smiled. "Well, now you can." He placed one hand on Shadow's hip and held his hand with the other. Shadow looked prepared to bite him at any second. "Relax. Let me lead you." 

"I've been doing that all night."

"Yes, but now you'll really feel the rhythm in your bones."

Shadow rolled his eyes. "If you say so."

Sonic began to hum a tune as he moved, causing Shadow to look up at him in confusion. The blue hedgehog merely smiled and spun Shadow around, making him gasp. Sonic laughed before twirling him again.

The black hedgehog stumbled for a moment before regaining his balance.

"See? You're getting the hang of it already."

Shadow glanced away. "This is stupid. We 

should just go inside."

"What? Not having fun?"

"No, I am."

"Well then, what's the problem?"

"I'm afraid I might step on your feet again."

"So? I can take it. Now come on, loosen up!" Sonic spun him around again before dipping him down.

Shadow gasped in surprise before glaring up at Sonic. "Sonic!"

Sonic only chuckled and lifted him back up. "You know you love me."

"Loathe would fit better." Shadow said as he adjusted his shirt.

Sonic rolled his eyes. "Such a grouchy boy."

"I cannot dance, Sonic, but perhaps...if I were to try this..." Shadow activated his air shoes, the little rockets bursting to life. He hovered a few inches off the ground, moving gracefully.

Sonic watched him move with wide eyes, amazed at the elegance of his movements. "You look amazing."

Shadow blushed and looked away. "Gross...I skate all the time, how is this any different?"

"Because I can actually see you now. I mean, skating is cool and all, but this? This is beautiful." 

Shadow rolled his eyes, but he couldn't keep the smile off his face.

"Hey, Shads? You're a really good dancer."

"Thank you."

"And you know what else?"

"What?"

"I totally know you wear eyeliner."

At this, Shadow actually released a chuckle as he skated a slow circle around Sonic, the rockets on his shoes humming quietly.

"Shut up."

"Nope, you are totally wearing makeup, I'm calling it now."

Shadow smirked. "What makes you so sure?"

"Oh, come on. Who has that perfect shade of red eyeshadow, man? Nobody."

Shadow grinned, knowing full well what Sonic was talking about, but he loved the game too much. "My, Sonic, I haven't a clue what you are talking about~"

Sonic narrowed his eyes. "Don't act so innocent, I know you're not."

Shadow chuckled and shrugged. "Whatever you say, Sonic."

Sonic glared at him. "You think I don't know what I'm talking about?"

"Maybe." Shadow leaned forward, his face inches away from Sonic's. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Uh...well, first I'd...um...and then I...uh...well, I...I uh...um...well, uh...I-I uh...uh..." Sonic stuttered, blushing bright red as Shadow watched him with a smirk.

"Oh, Sonic, you're such a bad liar~" Shadow leaned even closer, his nose brushing against Sonic's.

The blue hedgehog blinked before taking the plunge, closing the gap between their mouths and kissing the other. Shadow tensed, nearly faltering in his skating before regaining his composure. His eyes fluttered shut as he kissed back, keeping his hands behind his back.

Sonic broke away, panting softly. "I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"No apologies necessary, Sonic." Shadow said as he skated slow, graceful circles around Sonic. "I must admit, I didn't think you'd be that forward."

Sonic smiled shyly. "So...does this mean you like me, too?"

"Perhaps." Shadow smirked, leaning forward to whisper into Sonic's ear. "But I do enjoy a game of cat and mouse. So I'm going to make this hard for you. You're the type to go after what he wants, however, you will have to work for it. Earn my trust, and maybe you'll find something special at the end."

Sonic stood frozen as Shadow flicked off his air shoes and headed inside, leaving the blue hedgehog alone to ponder over what he just said.

I was teaching him how to dance...and now...this escalated quickly. He wants a hard to get game? I can play along.

He walked back inside, determined to get Shadow to love him.

And to learn his makeup routine, because seriously, how did he get his eyes so perfect?

[brave-and-gentle]

The Patient

MDNI!!!!

Summary: As a dental hygienist for six years, nothing throws off Jean Kirstein. Until he meets you, his newest patient.

Pairings: afab reader x Jean

Warnings: lots of teasing, SMUT, oral of course because it's dentistry

Word count: ~8,000 (I uh, got carried away with this one)

Author's note: To my sister wife, @babypaloma, plz enjoy this time with our husband!! Also you should all know this is my first time writing true smut, plz be nice to me.

As a dental hygienist for six years, nothing throws off Jean Kirstein. He works at a small clinic in western Mitras, mostly patients under the age of 50 who live and work in the city. Though it's fairly relaxed, Jean has seen it all – one time, a seed stuck in a patient's retainer grew into a sprout. He's also seen rotting flesh inside a patient's mouth. Thankfully, those are rare cases.

But Jean is never phased by the unhinged things he's witnessed in people's mouths. He got into the profession simply because he likes helping people – he spends more time with the patients than the actual dentist. And he finds the science fascinating.

Jean has never been phased until he sees you.

You're flustered when you burst through the doors of the clinic. He notes how flushed pink your cheeks are and how wild your hair is from the wind. Outside, a fall storm rages. Bright orange, red and yellow leaves swirl around and slap the rain-soaked window. Though it's mid-morning, the storm has darkened the skies.

Jean hovers behind Sasha, the office manager, to see who his next patient is. Sasha opens the schedule on the computer and the cursor hovers over a woman's name. It's someone he doesn't recognize, and Jean remembers all his patients – so you must be new.

Sasha calls your name and Jean's eyes lock with yours as you dart up to the desk and apologize for being late.

“I didn't expect the storm today,” you say and peel off your soaking wet jacket.

Something unfamiliar jolts through Jean's body head to toe as you reveal a form-fitting shirt underneath your jacket. It's not inherently sexual, not at all, but with the way the rain drips off the ends of your hair onto your shirt – warmth courses through Jean's body and he's not quite sure why.

Your name rolls off Jean's tongue with ease. He's frozen as you lock eyes with him.

“I'm ready for you,” he says with a warm smile.

“Great.” You return his smile with bright eyes.

A shiver runs down Jean's spine. Before he loses his composure, he turns on his heel and leads you down to the exam room.

“After you,” he gestures and can't help but sneak a peak at your ass.

Keep it professional, Jean reminds himself. This certainly isn't the first time he's had an attractive patient. But something about you feels different.

He's about to run through all the routine questions for a new patient, but he notices most of your chart is already filled out – your name, number, address, etc.

“Are you a new patient?” Jean asks, perplexed.

“Ah, yes and no,” you explain. “I went to a clinic under the same system in eastern Mitras, but I just moved, so now I'm here.”

“Gotcha, same system, different clinic.” Jean notes that your emergency contact is a woman's name – Pieck Finger. Either you don't have a serious significant other – or you're not interested in men at all. There's no relationship listed, but he can add one.

“And what's Pieck's relationship to you?” Jean clears his throat.“Friend, roommate, partner?”

“Oh – friend and roommate,” you answer from the exam chair. Jean nods and adds that note into your chart. Of course, it's still a possibility that you're dating someone, but he's not exactly sure how to ask. Or if he should. No, Jean knows he shouldn't. It's not professional. Dr. Levi Ackerman would throttle him.

“And what brought you to the western side?” He asks and pulls up your dental records.

“Pieck and I just wanted to explore a different part of the city,” you answer and shrug.

“Yeah? How you like it here so far?” Jean mindlessly scrolls through your records. He's skimming them, stalling for time to chat with you, to learn more about you beyond what's in your chart.

“Love it,” you emphasize. “The eastern side was a bit too corporate for me. I like all the small shops around here.”

Jean swivels in his chair to turn to you. “So you don't miss the east side at all? Nothing tying you there?” This is about as close as he can get to asking you if you have a boyfriend without making it inappropriate.

“Nope.” You make direct eye contact with Jean. The mischievous glimmer in your eyes sends ripples up and down his body. “That's the great part about moving to a new place. I'm open and available for anything.” Heat rises to Jean's face. He didn't expect you to answer so confidently. He puts on his face mask on to cover up his blushing face. Well, that answers that, he thinks.

“Oh by the way,” Jean says as he realizes there was something in your chart worth noting. He turns back to the computer screen to double check. “Just a heads up that next time you come in, we'll have to do updated x-rays.”

“Ugh.”

Jean chuckles. “Sensitive gag reflex?” The words are out of his mouth before he realizes the implications of what he asked. He didn't mean it like that though. Plenty of patients struggle with sensitive gag reflex, so it's not something he's thought of as inherently sexual. But with you on his exam chair? It's a totally different connotation.

“Oh, very,” you drawl. Jean's eyes practically pop out of his skull. He's relieved that he's looking at the computer screen and not you. Not while he's wondering exactly how sensitive your gag reflex is, especially if -

No, no, NO, Jean reprimands himself. He clears his throat again.

“Alright then.” He's not sure how to segue out of that. He pulls on a new pair of gloves and gets to work.

It's no exaggeration for Jean to say you have the prettiest mouth he's ever seen. He's glad that he has several years of dental cleaning experience and can turn his brain on autopilot. If he were less experienced, he might get distracted. Since you're unable to talk, Jean loses himself in his work, moving from one tooth to the next to remove plaque. There's not much too of it – he can tell you keep up with your regular cleanings.

After a couple minutes, Jean wipes the scaler off and returns to your mouth, which you've closed. Obedient, you open your mouth as Jean moves closer to you – and you lick a gloved finger tip. He freezes.

Did that really just happen?

No, that had to be an accident.

But you're making direct eye contact with him again, as if presenting a challenge.

Jean clears his throat, again, and tries to ignore the faint pulsing in between his legs.

Get your shit together, Kirstein, he berates himself.

He continues his work, but Jean's finger tip is still warm where you licked him. After a few more minutes, he's finished with the plaque removal.

“Nice,” he says and switches to the polisher. “I can tell you're pretty good about coming in for appointments.”

“I am a pretty good girl about that,” you answer in a low voice.

Jean gulps.

He turns to you and rolls his chair closer to yours.

“Um – ready?” He holds the polisher in one hand.

“Ready.” You lick your lips and open your mouth.

The faint pulsing in between Jean's legs throbs as he imagines what your mouth would look like wrapped around his dick.

His mental filter is destroyed.

Jean is a goner.

He forces himself to focus on polishing your teeth, even though his eyes are pulling him to sneak a peak at your cleavage. What he wouldn't give to rip his gloves off and trace your body while you lie on the exam chair.

Jean is grateful that you can't possibly see the raging boner under his long, white coat.

After he's done polishing your teeth, Jean gives you a swig of water and places the suction in your mouth to finish up. You hold on to the suction as it cleans out the water in your mouth.

Jean's hand trembles as he holds it inside your mouth. You hold onto it for far longer than necessary.

“Mmmm,” you hum and gaze at Jean with lazy eyes.

His heart pounds.

He wants to make you hum like that again.

With his fingers, his tongue, his cock, anything.

“Alright, how we doin'???” Dr. Hange Zoe bursts in to greet you two.

You open your mouth and Jean quickly removes the suction.

“Good,” you both answer at the same time.

“Can I take a look?” Dr. Zoe plops onto the other chair and rolls toward you. Jean tears himself away and busies himself with going over your chart on the computer again. “Any issues, Jean?”

“Nope, she's perfect,” he answers. And he means it. He's not quite sure what it is pulling him toward you – your bold attitude, your confidence, your sparkling eyes, and most obviously, your plush lips. Jean folds his hands in his lap, silently begging Dr. Zoe to stay focused on you and not his still present boner.

“Wow, you've got a great set of teeth!” They exclaim. “No risk of cavities anywhere. I'm not worried about anything. We really don't see mouths like this every day, do we Jean?”

“Um, uh – no, we don't,” Jean stutters. He stares at your phone number in your chart. It would be all too easy to write it down while Dr. Zoe was examining you.

But he couldn't – he shouldn't – cross that line. No, he's not some perv.

“I think we're all good here,” Dr. Zoe says and removes their gloves. “Jean boy, why don't you schedule our fine patient's next appointment?” They run off to see the next patient before waiting for a response. Jean pulls up the schedule and clicks through to the spring.

“It'll be the usual six months out,” he explains. “How's Friday morning again?”

“Sounds like a date. Though I was hoping for sooner than six months.”

Jean's mouth goes dry.

“Yeah, standard procedure, it's too bad. . .” he trails off and sneaks a peak at you behind his shoulder. You're sitting up now and grinning like a devil. “Anyways, I'll walk you out?” Thankfully, his boner has mostly dissipated. Mostly. He folds his hand in front of his crotch just in case. “Any plans for the weekend?”

“I haven't made too many friends on this side of town yet. The weekend might be a good opportunity though. Actually - I'll be at the bar down the street Saturday night.”

“Oh really?” Jean's voice squeaks ever so slightly. He knows exactly what bar you're talking about. After shifts, he and Sasha sometimes stop there and meet up with a few of their other friends.

“Uh huh,” you nod slowly and grab your still damp jacket from the rack. Jean towers over you as you slowly zip it up. “I guess I'll see you in six months – or maybe sooner.” You wink as you dash out the door before Jean has a chance to say goodbye.

Like a zombie, he walks back behind the desk over to Sasha.

“Um, how much time before my next patient?” He asks and leans over to see the schedule on her computer.

Sasha whirls around. “I have a more important question who was that? She sounded like she was begging you to go out with her!” Her amber eyes beg Jean for more information.

“What now?” A deadpan voice forces Jean to stand up pin straight.

“Nothing, sir!” Though Dr. Levi Ackerman was nearly a foot shorter than Jean, he never ceased to scare the shit out of him. Dr. Ackerman gives Jean the side eye. “I heard something about flirting? I swear to god Kirstein-”

“It was nothing sir, I swear!” Jean tries to explain, terrified that his professional behavior is being questioned, or worse, that Dr. Ackerman will reassign you to another dental hygienist.

“Tch.” Dr. Ackerman stalks off, temporarily satisfied.

Relieved, Jean collapses in the chair next to Sasha.

“Your next appointment is in about 15 minutes – Floch, do you remember him?”

Jean wracks his brain. “Ah yeah, serial cavity offender. Can't wait,” he grumbles.

He wishes all his patients looked like you.

~ ~ ~

You and your best friend Pieck cackle on the floor of your living room together. You clutch your stomach, aching from laughter.

“I can't believe I did that,” you gasp out and wipe tears of laughter from your eyes. As soon as you came home from the dentist, you told Pieck everything. You're not usually that bold, but relative anonymity empowered you.

“Way to start out our move with a bang,” Pieck laughs. “Although, not quite,” she gives a wry smile. “What did he look like? Tell me more!”

“Ugh,” you groan and roll onto your stomach. “Sexy as hell. Tall, really tall. Ashy brown hair – kinda shaggy, but it works for him. Hazel eyes. He seemed pretty fit too.”

“Sounds like you got a pretty good look. I still can't believe you did that,” Pieck shakes her head, her dark waves flying all over. “You're going to get banned for sexual harassment!” She teases.

“And I'd do it again,” you giggle and shrug.

You mean it – mostly. It might make for an awkward appointment in the spring, but with the way Jean flushed every time you teased him, you couldn't help but egg him on.

“Do you think he'll actually show up tomorrow night?” Pieck asks more seriously.

“I dunno.” You place your hand on your chin. “But I think it's worth going regardless.”

You and Pieck pick a seat at the bar that gives you two a perfect view of the front doors. You sit on margaritas all night, but the tall dental hygienist you're looking for never shows. You admit you're a little disappointed. With how flustered Jean was, you thought he might return your interest, but perhaps not. Or maybe he was seeing someone else. Guilt sinks into you as you wonder if pushed the poor guy too far. You shake it off and chat with Pieck about all the new places in your neighborhood you want to try.

The next six months pass by in a blur. You start your new job, which is boring, quite honestly, but it pays the bills. You and Pieck make new friends through various activities like a book club, yoga classes, and the community garden. You go on a few dates here and there, but nothing really sticks. They're a fun time, but thoughts about a certain tall dental hygienist come back like a boomerang.

You search the clinic website to try and find Jean's last name, but they only have the doctors listed. You've never been much into dating apps, but you download them all in hopes that you find him. You don't. So he's either taken or not into dating apps.

Admittedly, Jean begins to fade into memory as the days grow colder.

Then when spring hits, you remember.

You're practically skipping as you walk to your dentist appointment. The spring sun warms you from head to toe. You breath in the fresh scent of blooming cherry blossoms. You hope you didn't scare Jean away and that he's still your dental hygienist.

The same woman with long, brown hair and eager amber eyes greets you. Her name tag reads Sasha. You plop down on the white couches and aimlessly scroll through your phone.

A familiar voice calls your name.

You jerk your head up.

Jean stands in front of you with a wry smile on his face. “I'm ready for you.”

“Oh, uh, perfect,” you stutter and stand up. You follow him to the exam room.

He's even taller than you remembered. And more rugged – this time he's sporting a bit of scruff.

“After you,” he says and gestures to the exam chair. You sit down and turn sideways to watch him bring up your chart on the computer. You confirm that you have the same number, address, emergency contact, all the basic information.

“Any regular coffee or soda intake?” Jean asks.

“Occasional coffee,” you answer and swing your legs back forth. You twirl the ends of your hair. “I have an. . . addictive personality.”

“Oh yeah?” Jean turns to meet you with his earthy hazel eyes. He smirks and tilts his head. “What's your flavor?”

“Mostly bitter,” you blurt. “With a splash of milk.”

“Sounds right up my alley,” Jean says, holding eye contact. “Anyways.” He gets up and pulls out a strange looking machine. “We need to do updated x-rays today since your chart says it's been a few years.”

“Great,” you mutter. Last time you had to do these at the other clinic, you practically choked on everything the dental hygienist shoved in your mouth.

“Don't worry, I'll be gentle,” Jean purrs. “I remember you said you had a . . . sensitive gag reflex.”

You gulp as you turn yourself to sit the correct way in the exam chair. It's your turn to be flustered now.

Jean turns to you and holds a long, plastic device with his careful, gloved hands.

“Open up,” he whispers. “Nice and wide.”

You obey. You have no idea what the x-ray equipment is called, all you know is that it looks like some sort of instrument of torture devised for those cursed with small mouths.

“Bite down here,” Jean commands and taps on a red tab. You follow his instructions and fight to keep from gagging as the end of the device pokes the back of your throat. After a few seconds of extreme discomfort, Jean motions for you to open your mouth.

“Good girl,” he praises you as he slowly pulls the contraption out of your mouth. Goosebumps prickle up and down your arms.

Once the x-rays are done, you lie down for the regular cleaning and polishing. Jean runs a glove-covered thumb over your bottom lip as your mouth parts.

“Still looking good,” he murmurs.

You're not sure whether it's good or bad that you can't speak right now. Your soft lips burn under the gentle pressure of Jean's thumb. Your heart pounds with every movement Jean's fingers make in your mouth. It's not the exact actions – they're exactly the same as than any other dentist appointment. It's the sensual intention.

Or is it just your imagination? The urge to experiment rushes through you like a heat wave.

Jean's deft fingers move from tooth to tooth, perfecting them. In the middle of these movements, you find an opportunity to poke the inside of your cheek with your tongue. He pauses, hazel eyes widening. There's no hiding what Jean is thinking. The corners of your mouth tilt up, knowing that lewd thoughts about you are pouring into his mind.

He clears his throat and moves your tongue back with his fingers.

“Behave yourself,” he chastises you.

You want to giggle, but your mouth is full of, well – him.

Jean is finished with the cleaning all too soon. Dr. Zoe bursts in with the same gusto you remember from last time.

“How's our best patient doing?” They ask and bounce up and down on the chair next to you.

“Couldn't be better,” you grin and look past their excited demeanor to Jean. His hazel eyes burn with intensity. This time, he doesn't hide in the computer. Your body tingles knowing that he's undressing you with his eyes. His tongue slips out of his mouth and runs along his bottom lip. You have to break eye contact as Dr. Zoe does their own examination, albeit much quicker and less invasive than Jean's. It takes everything you have to refrain from jumping out of the chair and onto Jean.

“No issues,” Dr. Zoe confirms, almost a carbon copy of last fall. “Except watch the spot right behind your front teeth. It's not anything major, I can just tell that you're missing that spot when brushing. Anyways, I gotta do a root canal – see you in the fall!” They say your name and dash off to another less fortunate patient.

“So our perfect patient is not so perfect?” Jean raises an eyebrow at you as the two of you are alone in the room again.

“I guess not,” you sigh. “Seems I'm missing a spot.”

“I can help you with any spots you need help with,” he says, eyes lingering at your breasts. The sensitive spot between your legs begins to throb at that idea.

You cross your legs and smirk. The boldness you felt at that last appointment has returned. “And how might you help me with that?”

“I know a few ways,” Jean begins, “but it might be best for outside the office. Maybe at a certain bar tomorrow night.”

You pause. Tomorrow is Saturday. The same day of the week you suggested Jean meet you six months ago, and he never showed.

“A Saturday appointment? You must be a hard worker.” You tease. “How can I guarantee you'll be there?” You push, refusing to be let down again.

“I think I know a way.” Jean holds up a business card and drops it on the floor. You frown, not quite understanding. He gets up and leaves the room. “I'll walk you out when you're ready,” he calls.

You get up from the exam chair and grab the card off the floor.

Jean Kirstein.

It lists his title as a dental hygienist, the clinic phone number and his work email – nothing personal or interesting, aside from his last name. You flip the card over.

His cell phone number is scrawled on the back. A smile spreads across your face. He must mean it this time.

You pocket the card and flounce out of the room and walk side-by-side with Jean down the hallway. “I just realized we didn't talk about scheduling your next appointment. Same time, same place?” He asks, mischief dancing in his eyes.

You realize just how tall this man is when you have to crane your next up to look at him as you reach the lobby.

“Works for me. The earlier the better.”

Your heart throbs with anticipation – and nerves. You dash out the door without saying goodbye.

“Shut up.” You hear Jean hiss as you leave, no doubt to the woman who was checking patients in for appointments.

You know you won't have to wait another six months to see Jean Kirstein.

~ ~ ~

You tap your fingers repeatedly on the edge of the bar table in a sort of rhythmic trance. It's Saturday evening and you're waiting to see if your dental hygienist shows up – if Jean Kirstein shows up. You remind yourself to refer to his actual name, not his occupation. A dark-haired man sitting nearby you catches your eyes with his bright green ones. Well, if Jean doesn't show up, at least there's something to look at, you think.

Before arriving at the bar, you agonized over what to wear while Pieck sat on your bed and gave nods of approval for outfits you liked. In the end, you chose a springy dress with a black leather jacket. Cute, but a little edgy.

You've already downed one gin and tonic to calm your nerves. Jean seemed to be pretty damn clear that he'd be here this time. And you have his number to text if he doesn't.

You dig your phone out of your purse, wondering if it's been long enough that you should text. You're just about to type out a message when -

“Hey there.” You look up, expecting warm, hazel eyes, but piercing green ones meet you instead. The man who's been trying to catch your attention all evening.

“Hi.” A smile spreads across your face. Though you'd rather see Jean, you can't help but smile an another attractive man – you're only human, after all.

“Eren,” the man introduces himself and offers a warm hand. You shake it, noticing the rough calluses. Eren clearly works out. “I couldn't help but notice you're here alone. Can I buy you drink? My time is free.” He offers a sly grin.

You consider Eren's offer for half a second, but a hand with long fingers claps down on his shoulder.

“Actually, she's here with me.”

An even bigger smile bursts across your face. Any notion of entertaining a night with someone else flees from your mind.

Jean is here.

“Sorry for the confusion,” you apologize to Eren, though you're really not that sorry. “Nice to meet you though,” you call out as he turns away, disgruntled.

“And I'm sorry I'm late,” Jean apologizes to you. “I got a bit uh, preoccupied.” He runs his hand through his ash brown hair. He looks different outside of the dental office. Younger and more nervous. More human. He's wearing dark jeans and an olive green button up, though the last couple buttons remain open, giving you an open view of his throat and a glimpse of his chest – which seems to be as well defined as you imagined.

“No worries,” you reassure him and use your straw to shuffle the ice in your mostly empty glass. “I'm glad you showed up this time.”

Jean places his hands on the chair in front of you and leans over slightly. “Yeesh, I'm not off to a great start, am I?” He asks, another apology written on his face. “I chickened out last time, if I'm being honest. I was nervous about,” he pauses to think, “professional boundaries.”

“I didn't get you in trouble, did I?” You tease.

“Nah,” he waves and laughs, giving you a full view of his teeth. Of course the guy who works at a dental office has perfect teeth. You wonder what they might feel like on your skin. Heat flushes your face. “Anyways – what are you drinking?” He points to your empty glass.

“Gin and tonic.” You raise your glass. Jean takes it and stalks off to the bar.

You shift to cross your legs and can't help but smile as Jean orders drinks for you two. You've never been this bold before, so you certainly didn't imagine the dental appointment encounter would turn in to anything – but here you are. And here is Jean, returning to your table with another gin and tonic for you and one for him.

“I think you had a good idea,” he says, sitting down and placing the drinks on your table. “Spring is the best time for gin.” He takes a sip and holds eye contact with you. You haven't even made physical contact tonight, but those earthy hazel eyes threaten to shatter every part of your being.

You nod in agreement and mirror Jean, taking a sip of your drink. “So, back to the professional boundaries,” you begin. “Leaving your number on the card was clever.”

Jean chuckles. “I was mulling over that one for days. I knew your appointment was coming up and I didn't want to mess it up this time.”

“And you couldn't take my number from my chart?” You smirk and play with your straw with your tongue. Jean is captivated by your swirling tongue.

“Definitely would've been a privacy violation. Dr. Ackerman would've had my ass if he ever found out. But nobody can fault me for dropping a business card that just happened to have my cell number on it.” He shrugs in mock innocence.

“That makes sense,” you nod, taking on a slightly more serious tone as you find yourself wondering more about Jean's life. “Which one is Dr. Ackerman?”

“Small guy with dark hair. Usually looks like someone just shoved something up his ass,” Jean laughs. You recall passing this doctor in the hallway – and his photo on the dental clinic website. “It's a wonder Dr. Zoe saw something in him.”

“Wait.” You tilt your head. “Dr. Zoe and Dr. Ackerman are together?” You're a bit bewildered by this, given Dr. Zoe's erratic nature and Dr. Ackerman's stoicism.

“Yep,” Jean answers and takes a swig of his drink. “Most people wouldn't know by the way they act. But yeah, they met in grad school and started this clinic together.”

“And how'd you end up at the clinic?” You're not usually one to chat about jobs – to you, they're fairly meaningless, but considering it's a major part of how you met Jean, you want to know more.

“Mmm, I always found human biology interesting. I thought it would be fun to specialize in something, so I shadowed Dr. Zoe for a few weeks on summer and they never let me go. They're also a part-time professor at the university I went to, so it was an easy in. They tried to convince me to continue schooling to be a dentist, but I prefer spending time with patients, which you ironically don't get to do as much when you're a doctor. And, to be honest, I didn't want to go to grad school any longer than I had to.”

“Amen to that.” You lift your drink up and you clink your glasses together. You had briefly considered grad school, but the though of dropping another few thousand dollars didn't sit right with you.

You ask Jean a few more questions and learn that he lives with two of his best friends from college, Connie Springer and Marco Bodt. Jean is an only child and frequently visits his parents in Trost. He played basketball and ran track when he was in high school, but gave up sports in college in favor of his studies – and an art club.

“An art club? For real?” You ask.

Jean chuckles. “You'd think science and art don't mix well, but I think they go hand-in-hand. I think there's something beautiful about human biology, so I used that for inspiration for a lot of my sketches.” He pauses and stares at you with a wistful gaze. “Anyways. What about you? What more should I know about you besides your perfect mouth?” Jean gives you a crooked smirk.

It's like a live wire flashes through you. It's strange, this combination of genuinely getting to know you – and suggestive flirting. This isn't exactly one-night stand behavior. You aren't sure what to expect, but you can't deny the magnetic pull toward Jean's mind and body.

You tell Jean about how you grew up in smaller town in the southern part of the region, but had always craved something bigger. You went to college in Jinae, a step up, but it still wasn't quite what you were looking for.

Jean perks up at this. “Jinae? Really? My roommate Marco grew up there. Any chance you know him?”

You shake your head. “Sorry, doesn't ring a bell. It's a big area.”

“Figured it was worth asking.” Jean places his chin on his hand. “So why didn't you stay in Jinae?”

“I, um,” you bite your bottom lip, wondering why you're about to confess this to a near stranger. And yet, there's a warmth and genuine curiosity about Jean that encourages you to open up. “I didn't have the easiest time making friends.” Jean tilts his head at you, silently asking for further explanation. “I had friends in classes and clubs, sure, but I rarely got an invite to hang out after class or on weekends.” Weekends were the bane of your existence in college. You had often wondered if you should transfer, but weren't willing to fill out the mountain of required paperwork. Your face burns, wondering what Jean thinks of your difficult time in college.

“So how'd you meet Pieck?” Jean picks up on your nerves and deftly moves the conversation forward. “It sounds like you two are pretty close.” Jean slurps down the last of his drink.

You explain that out of sheer boredom on weekends, during your senior year you signed up to volunteer to help maintain one of the campus wildflower gardens. Pieck was there too, and you two have been inseparable ever since. When she asked what your plans were after graduation, if you'd consider moving to the big city with her, and you jumped at the opportunity.

“Pieck is a spit fire,” you laugh and swirl your straw in your once again empty glass. “She keeps me alive.” You're not sure if it's the alcohol or Jean's gaze that warms you from head to toe.

“Sounds like someone else I know.” Jean winks. Under the table, his foot nudges yours and moves up and down, tracing the outline of your calf. Your insides shiver. “I'm done if you are,” Jean says as he shakes his glass, the ice chiming like a spring melody. “Want to get out of here and sober up a bit?”

“Definitely.”

~ ~ ~

Jean holds your hand and leads you down a winding stone path that connects to another right by the river. The two of you meander along the river and make idle chat. As a seasoned veteran of western Mitras, Jean gives you a fair amount of suggestions of places that you and Pieck can check out – coffee shops, bookstores, theaters, wine bars, etc.

“Oh, this is the best part,” he interrupts himself and pulls you across a bridge that matches the stone walkway. With his long legs, you have to half jog to keep up with Jean. He stops in the middle and leans back against the stone. You mirror him and take in the view of the city lights. It's like dancing fireflies in the night.

“This view is spectacular,” you breath.

“Yes, it is.”

You look up at Jean, but he's not looking at the city skyline. He's looking right at you. A sharp, spring wind cuts into you like a knife. You shiver and automatically lean in closer to Jean's body heat. You're close enough to smell his cologne – sandalwood?

Jean cups your face with his hand, and leans down to you. Your heart beat thunders as he draws closer and closer. He stops just inches away from your lips. You can see every shade of his earthy hazel eyes. Jean raises an eyebrow – a nonverbal question.

You smile and nod, closing your eyes.

Jean closes the gap.

The first kiss is soft, tentative.

Jean's other hand wanders to the back of your head, twisting his fingers in your hair. His grip is firm, yet gentle.

You place your hands on each of his arms, craving to touch his firm biceps without the jacket in the way.

Jean's tongue flicks to your lips, asking another nonverbal question.

You open your mouth, and his sweet and sour taste floods your senses. Your kisses grow hungrier. You're both desperate for more. Your hands wander up and down Jean's chest, begging to touch more, as are his, as he slips a warm hand under your dress, tracing your thighs while the other hand holds your hip.

Jean breaks away for a half second. “You taste as good as I imagined,” he murmurs and returns to your lips for more. “Better, actually,” he adds in between desperate kisses.

You pull away, head spinning.

You know exactly what you want, and given the look in Jean's eyes, you know what he wants too.

“Pieck is home tonight,” you gasp, trying to catch your breath. “Your place?”

Jean grimaces. “Marco and Connie have a few friends over.”

“Ah.” You slide your hands off Jean and look at the stone bridge beneath you. So much for ending with a bang – like Pieck said.

“Unless?” Jean raises an eyebrow and a mischievous look takes over his face.

~ ~ ~

“This is insane,” you giggle. Jean holds one of your hands while the other digs his keys out of his pocket and unlocks the door to the dental clinic. “Won't someone be able to see that you've used your key fob?”

“Nah,” Jean says and pulls you through the door with him. “Sasha's the only one can see it – and she never does. I could always ask her to erase the history from the security system if I really need.”

The clinic is completely dark, except for a few security lights. The only sounds are your nervous giggles and Jean's breath. “This looks completely different now.”

“You're about to get a whole new perspective,” Jean grins. “C'mon.” He leans down and grabs you by the waist to throw you over his shoulder. You shriek and laugh, both from surprise and that Jean is strong enough to throw you over his shoulder like you're a sack of flour.

Jean walks all the way down the hallway and opens the door to the last exam room. The one you two were in yesterday.

“I'm ready for you,” he whispers and turns the dimmed lights on while still holding on to you with one hand.

Jean lays you down on the exam chair. You take your leather jacket off and lie down on your back.

This is indeed an entirely different perspective.

Jean crawls on top of you and kisses you with intensity, your tongues hungry, searching for more. You run your hands through his ash brown hair that he probably spent hours getting just right. Jean's hand creeps up under your dress again, this time wandering all the way up to your rib cage. His thumb strokes just along your bra line. Jean wiggles his hand under your bra and squeezes your breast. He runs his thumb back and forth over your nipple. You give a small shudder. You only breath when Jean takes a short kissing break to nip at your bottom lip. He's pinned your legs together with his knees, forceful enough to make you shiver, gentle enough to let you know you can stop any time.

But you don't want to stop.

You want more of Jean.

You break away and trace the outline of his face with your finger, his scruff gently scratching back at you.

“There's something I want,” you whisper. You close your mouth and poke your tongue on the inside of your cheek, mirroring your actions from a previous appointment. Jean smirks in both surprise and wonder.

“You sure?” He asks as he undoes his belt buckle.

“Mmhmm.”

Jean unzips his pants and they fall to the ground, belt buckle clanging against the hard floor. His boxers fall to his knees.

“Open wide then, pretty baby.”

Jean grips the head piece of the exam chair and surges forward.

Enormous is the only way to describe the most intimate part of his body. Your eyes widen, unsure if he can fit in your mouth. No, there's no way.

But you're sure as hell going to try.

You stroke his dick up and down with tantalizing fingers. Jean groans, begging for more.

You lean forward slightly and lick the precum leaking from his tip. You run your tongue up and down his shaft. Jean twitches and moans louder in response.

“Be a good girl and take me,” he gasps.

You're more than happy to accept Jean's challenge.

You take in as much of Jean's dick as you can, sucking and salivating. Jean's groans turn guttural. His arms on either side of you shake and bulge.

You repeat the motions and use one hand to stroke the very last of him that you can't quite fit in your mouth. The bundle of nerves in between your legs flushes, wondering what Jean will feel like there.

“Hey. . .” Jean trails off in between moans, “I think I'm gonna-”

With Jean's warning, you lurch forward in attempt to swallow as much of him as you can.

Except when his tip nudges the back of your throat, your throat heaves. Your stomach jerks up to your throat. You involuntarily push Jean away and out of your mouth.

You turn your head away, mouth now empty, and cough up the saliva caught in your throat.

“Shit, you okay?” Jean lowers himself to make eye contact with you, his eyes frantic.

“I'm fine,” you sputter and wipe your mouth. His face softens.

“So you do have a sensitive gag reflex?”

“I told you!” You and Jean burst out laughing together at the ridiculous scene – the two of you tangled up together, breathless on a dental exam chair. “So you didn't. . .?”

“Not yet,” Jean winks. “You know, there's something I'd like as well.” He tugs at the hem of your dress. You lift up your arms up for Jean to take your dress off with ease. He tosses it to the ground.

Jean leans in for a few kisses, then trails his lips down your neck, your collarbone, and finally, to your breasts. Goosebumps prickling on your skin follow Jean's lips. He pauses at your breasts and savors them – taking one in his mouth and giving you a little nip.

A soft groan escapes your lips.

Jean looks up at you for a second, smirks and then bites a little harder as he marks your chest. He flicks your nipple back and forth with his tongue before continuing his descent.

Jean kisses your stomach all the way down to your hips, where he bites down. You squirm and gasp – a blur between ticklish and pleasure.

He continues his path of kisses, down, down, down. You barely register that Jean slips off your panties. He parts your thighs and places them on top of his shoulders, granting himself a full view of the most intimate part of your body.

“Beautiful,” he whispers before he peppers your inner thighs with kisses. A spark ignites in between your legs. Jean teases your slit with his tongue, running up and down. Your entire body is a single flame, begging for more kindling.

“Jean, please,” you beg as you run your hands through his hair.

“Please what?” He pauses his teasing to grin up at you.

“Please. . .” you trail off and sigh as Jean resumes his teasing. “Play with my clit,” you gasp.

“C'mon now, darlin',” he purrs. “Be a good girl and wait for me.”

Jean parts your lips with his fingers and pushes his tongue inside you and trails up to your clit – but only with feather light pressure.

You whimper, craving more. You squirm and buck your hips, physically begging Jean. He grabs your hips, restraining you. You begin to drip.

He finally obliges.

Jean swirls his tongue around your bundle of nerves.

You release a high-pitched gasp and dig your nails into his arms.

Your body blazes into a roaring fire.

Jean is relentless in his efforts to make you cum, and you're both soon rewarded.

“J – Jean, I – I – I -” you gasp.

You can't get a thought, let alone a sentence, out before you climax.

Your body explodes into a wildfire. Several waves of tension and relaxation roll through you. Jean grips harder onto your hips and digs deeper with his tongue, keeping you going as long as he can.

As the last wave of pleasure collapses over you, you arms spill off the sides of the exam chair. Every muscle, every cell in your body has melted from your wildfire. Sparks ripple through your fingertips and toes.

“Wow,” you breath, unable to string together a coherent thought.

“Ready for more?” Jean grins and places his dick right at your entrance, rubbing up and down your slit, wetting his tip from you.

You jerk up and prop yourself up on your elbows.

“Ah, wait, do you have-”

“Got it,” Jean answers and dives down to his pants to grab an unwrapped condom from his pocket.

“You came prepared,” you huff, still unable to return to your normal voice.

“Always am,” he gives you a sly smirk. “Uh, although,” he pauses, giving his statement a second thought. “Not that I always do this. You're the only person I've ever brought here,” he stammers, his earthy hazel eyes widening.

“Good.” You find Jean's back and forth bravado and awkward nerves endearing. You take the half-opened condom from him. You rip it all the way open and hand it back to him.

“I'm patiently waiting for you. Get it, because I'm also your patient?” You chuckle at your own bad joke and lie back down on the table, legs open.

“Yes, I get it,” Jean rolls his eyes and returns your smile as he rolls the condom on. “Are you ready for me?” He whispers, hovering over you, and kisses the shell of your ear.

“Ready.”

He nudges his tip at your entrance. Your lips part and stretch, making way for his length.

“All good?” He whispers. You nod and bite your lower lip in anticipation. “I'll go slow. Let me know if it hurts.”

“Mm'kay,” you breath as he sinks deeper into you. You grimace slightly as your walls adjust to his length. Jean pauses and raises his eyebrows at you. “Keep going,” you command and place your hands on his ass, urging him to melt deeper into you.

Jean obeys, sinking more and more until he's all the way inside you. He pumps slowly, glancing at you every so often to let you control his pace. Jean sighs with every stroke, worshiping your body as his hands wander and praise every inch of you. You release a mewl as his dick reaches your most sensitive spot, making your insides curl with pleasure.

“Right there, hmm?” Jean pumps harder and faster with a new desperation. He lifts your hips at a slight angle, closer to him – Jean can't get enough of you. He dives for your neck, sucking and biting, muffling his rising groans. “Need more,” he growls.

Without warning, he lifts you up off the chair and you curl around him like a koala, as if by second nature. You're slammed against the nearest wall, Jean still holding you by your thighs, and fucks you against the wall. You cling to him and rest your chin on his shoulder. His weight against you forces a breathy moan with every powerful stroke. Jean's dick reaches deep inside you, a spot you didn't even know existed releasing heat throughout your body. You rake your nails up and down his back as he rails into you over and over again.

“Soon,” he pants.

Curious, you lift your chin off Jean's shoulder and find his hazel eyes glazed over, drunk on you. His mouth is parted and a bead of sweat drips down his temple.

You give Jean a crooked smirk, and that pretty smile of yours is what pushes him over the edge.

He releases a moan of purse ecstasy, and chants your name like a prayer. His arms shake, but still hold you firm against the wall. You know he won't drop you until he's completely finished spilling into you.

After several final strokes, Jean carries you back over to the exam chair and collapses back on top of you. He rests his head on your breasts and you rhythmically stroke his ash brown hair.

As you both catch you breath, Jean looks back up at you with a devilish grin.

“So,” he starts and runs his pointer finger along your lips. “When do I get to see that pretty mouth again?”

“Definitely sooner than six months,” you say and nip at his finger.

“Good. I do want to see you again,” Jean confirms. “Outside the office. Very unprofessionally.”

“I think we can arrange another appointment,” you tease. “As long as I'm your star patient.”

“You are certainly the best patient I've ever had.”

[gallusrostromegalus]

the 'Kon :)' in the list of things you're pleased about in aeiwam has be EXCITED please tell us more (if you want to)!

Soon after Masaki died, Isshin Kurosaki moved his family. It's mostly because the original clinic didn't feel haunted- if Masaki's spirit were still here, Isshin would know what to do, but instead he felt like his heels were dogged by the hole where she used to be.

It didn't hurt that the new place was larger, in a better school district, and closer to his friend Ryukken. He's almost feeling cheerful about the new place when Ichigo runs up the stairs and from room to room before calling dibs on one, because he's a big kid now and doesn't want to sleep where he has to listen to his dad snoring all night >:(.

Isshin felt slightly less cheerful when he looked out the big window in Ichigo's room to determine if he needs to put up some child safety grates, and realized their new neighbor was a taxidermist.

"I feel like it gives them a sort of dignity- A Life After Life, if you will." she said when he went by to make sure his neighbor was only eccentric and not something out of a horror movie. He wasn't entirely sure which, actually- Ms. Tanaka was an octogenarian with skin like tissue paper and a back like a question mark, but her living room was a veritable zoo of reconstituted animals, many of them former pets, if the number of domestic cats was anything to go by.

"Oh. Yeah!" Isshin grinned, terrified, and was struck by the idea of some goon in the 12th division slavering in the afterlife, desperate for her to shuffle off the mortal coil and bring her undoubted skills with dead bodies to R&D. "We've always been very spiritual people."

(Continued under the readmore)

"Oh, just like the nice young man who used to live in your house!" said Ms. Tanaka, sitting down in her armchair that was adorned by an ostentatious past-tense peacock perched on the back. "Odd fellow. Worked nights, spoke like he was born in the Sengoku Era or something, but very nice."

"He's BEAUTIFUL!" said Ichigo, staring in awe at an enormous Ginger Tabby Cat by the window, mounted in repose on a emerald velvet cat bed. Ms. Tanaka had done an excellent job conveying a sense of benevolent egotism on his whiskered face, but Ichigo's growing fascination with the Macabre was beginning to worry his father- Ichigo had seen the taxidermy stoat in the back window and INSISTED on coming along.

"Isn't he?" beamed Ms. Tanaka. "His name is Bostov! He was my very best friend for many years."

"Wow! Can I pet him?" Ichigo asked, eyes wide with delight.

"Ichigo, that's uh- that's not a real kitty-" Isshin began to sputter.

"Of course he's a real kitty!" Ms. Tanaka laughed, a noise like an ungreased gate. "You can pet him if you're very gentle." Ichigo stroked the deceased animal with exceptional delicacy for an overexcited Kindergartner. "He's so soft!" he gasped.

"Do you like him?" asked Ms. Tanaka.

"I LOVE HIM!" Said Ichigo, cheeks flushed and eyes bright for the first time in months now. Perhaps having a distant relative of the Addams family for a neighbor isn't so bad, if her creepy hobby cheers Ichigo up... Isshin sighed.

"In that case, why don't you take him home with you?" Smiled Ms. Tanaka. "I'm sure he'll be a good friend to you too."

"UH." Isshin blurted out, nearly spilling his tea on a flock of quail under the side-table.

"I have SO MANY friends in my home with me- it's bordering on a fire hazard!" Ms. Tanaka chuckled. "I'd be delighted to send him to a home where he'll be loved. Please- consider him my housewarming present!"

"CAN WE? CAN WE TAKE HIM HOME? PLEASE DAD??PLEEEEEEEASE-!!" Ichigo asked, stars in his eyes.

Isshin froze, horrified at the prospect of having... That. In his house. Watching him. ...and at the same time, completely unwilling to dash his little boy's dreams.

"yEaH oKaY." Isshin grimaced, soaked in a cold sweat.

*****

Bostov The Former Cat was bad enough, but at least the taxidermy beast 'lived' on Ichigo's bedroom dresser and not down in the living room where Isshin would have to look at it's green glass eyes, which seemed to follow him around the room. It wasn't right having a hollow thing in the house like that- any wandering spirit could decide to climb in there! He resolved to have it warded, but Kisuke said he was on a trip to the Caribbean for "Botanical Research" , and wouldn't be back until "After the Big Holiday on the 20th". Isshin hung up the phone, groaned and rubbed his face. It was fairly late, and he was still at the kitchen table, going through all of the licensing paperwork to get the clinic up and running.

"Hey Dad?" Ichigo asked, holding up a small plastic toy. "What's 'Soul Candy'?"

"Soul Cand-?" Isshin frowned, turned to look at the toy and nearly jumped out of his skin, swiping it away from the boy. "WHERE DID YOU FIND THIS? DID YOU EAT ANY??"

"...it was upstairs, in the back of my closet." Ichigo pouted. "-and no, I didn't eat any strange closet candy. I'm not stupid."

"Oh thank the Gods..." Isshin sighed, sitting back down at the table and shaking the small, duck-headed pill dispenser. Empty. "-I'm sorry I yelled Ichigo, but this is Very Dangerous stuff."

Ichigo arched an incredulous Eyebrow at him. "Really? Is this the same kind of dangerous that the half my Halloween candy you confiscated and ate was?"

"Ah- well. No. That was Dad Tax. This is actually dangerous. Here, come sit with me a minute." he pulled out the other chair at the kitchen table. "Remember how I told you about the ghost that lived in my attic when I was your age?"

"The Shinigami?" Ichigo asked.

Isshin did not *enjoy* lying to his children, but a little knowledge was a dangerous thing, and not enough even more so, so he'd concocted a little fantasy to explain why he knew all about ghosts and why the children never saw their grandparents, so he could tell them about the dangers of this world without telling them too much.

"That's right- His name was Kaien Shiba, and he was a Soul Reaper. At night, he'd turn into a ghost and leave his body behind, and go escort spirits to the afterlife or fight hollows." Isshin said. he'd named the fictional soul reaper after his favorite nephew in a fit of inspiration- he'd started telling Ichigo a tale from his days as a Shinigami one night after slightly too many drinks and had to convince Ichigo that that was only a distant acquaintance.

"...Like what killed Mom." Ichigo muttered.

"Um. Yeah." Isshin nodded.

They were silent for a moment.

"-Anyway, the way he turned into a ghost was that he'd swallow one of these little candies that would come in these tubes-" Isshin pulled the duck's head back to show Ichigo the mechanism. "-and Poof! he'd jump out of his body as a ghost so he could use magic to save people! But-there was a little soul inside the candy that would come out and take care of his body while he was away! Like a babysitter, but for his own butt! After a few hours, the little soul would stop working, and Kain would be home to climb back in."

Ichigo blinked at the mechanism, thinking. "So. There's a little person in these candies?"

"If there were any in here, yeah." Said Isshin. "They're not like. Whole people. Just little collages of behaviors and phrases. You know, like the fake voice that talks on the phone when you call to refill a prescription!" Ichigo frowned, considering something. "...There weren't any candies in this thing, were there?" Isshin asked, suspicious.

"No." Said Ichigo, frowning at him. "It'd be really lonely, being just a little soul, stuck in a candy, wouldn't it?" he asked.

"I suppose so, but I don't think the little souls are aware while they're in there. It's like being asleep for them." Isshin shrugged, lying to himself as much as his son about that.

Ichigo still frowned. "...What happens if the candy goes into a body without a soul in it? Like a dead body?" "Huh." Isshin frowned. "I dunno, actually. I guess the little soul would run around and operate it for a while, until it faded out, like it did with a normal body?"

Ichigo nodded, still preoccupied.

"Why?" Isshin tried.

"...No reason." Ichigo muttered, kicking his little feet. "Just thinking."

"Alright. Promise me if you find anything else weird or see any random candies to not touch them and tell me right away, okay?"

"Yeah okay." Ichigo nodded, only sort of paying attention. "I'm gonna go to bed. G'night dad." he muttered, getting up from the table and handing the dispenser to Isshin before giving him a quick hug and stomping up the stairs.

Isshin watched him go, aching a bit. I wondered how old he was gonna be when he started keeping secrets from me. He sighed, looking down at the Soul Candy Dispenser. Not that I'm being a Paragon of Honesty for him to follow...

---

"GIRLS? ICHIGO? HAVE ANY OF YOU SEEN MY STETHOSCOPE?" Isshin hollered, searching fruitlessly under the couch cushions.

"NO!" Hollered Karin from where she and Yuzu were playing in the small front yard.

"TRY ICHIGO'S ROOM, HE TOOK A BUNCH OF LAUNDRY UP TO SORT." called Yuzu.

"THANKS GIRLS!" he called back stomping up the stairs. Ichigo was at karate- he'd finally returned to classes, or at least, Tatsuki had finally physically dragged him back into the Dojo. "Man I hope I didn't put it through the washing machine-" he muttered, opening the door to the boy's room and started searching through the basket of laundry on his bed.

Isshin stopped, and stood up, frowning around the room. Something was off.

Ichigo was a tidy boy, somehow, and his room was usually in order save for whatever video game he had out to play and the bed he never made but... Isshin turned fully around trying to figure out what was off before his eyes finally landed on the top of the Dresser.

The Emerald Green Velvet Cat bed, home of Bostov The Cat, was empty.

"Did he take the cat out of the bed to play with?" Isshin wondered aloud, hoping that that, and not several other horrible scenarios, was what was happening. He could hear Karin and Yuzu giggling through the window, and he peeked down at them- they appeared to be having a tea party on the thin strip of grass, and the guest of honor amongst the dolls and stuffed animals was a familiar-looking ginger tabby. "Oh! The GIRLS took him out to play with." he sighed with relief, leaning against the window to watch them.

...and watch a strange man approaching down the street, who stopped at the garden fence. Isshin frowned- maybe he was just watching the girls play, in a normal, wholesome way like he was doing right now. ...or he could be taking candy out of his pocket and waving the girls to come through the gate.

Isshin jumped on the bed, tore open the window with such force it jumoed out of it's track and was halfway out to jump down at the man from the second floor when the most EXTRAORDINARY thing happened.

Bostov, Who by all accounts had been deceased for the better part of a decade and was made of little more than a skin and some glass stretched over a wood-and-cotton frame, Suddenly leapt up from his chair, claws and teeth drawn like swords and leapt upon the man, battering him visciously with a stream of einvective so foul it made Isshin's barrack-hardened linguistic sensibilities blush, before chasing him back down the street like a short, furious, ass-seeking missile.

"GIRLS!" he shouted, jumping down anyway. "-ARE YOU OKAY?"

"DON'T GET MAD AT ICHIGO OR KON!!" Shouted Yuzu, tears in her eyes.

"...ichigo or who?" Isshin blinked.

"Way to spill the beans, Yuzu." Karin groaned. "Yeah Dad, we're FINE- Kon was here, he'll beat the crap out of anything."

"Who's Kon?" Isshin repeated.

"HEY DAD." Shouted Ichigo, skidding into the garden in his karate gi, and out of breath, clutching an unconvincingly stiff Mr. Bostov under his arm. "SO. UH- WELL MR. BOSTOV CAN MOVE NOW. FOR SOME REASON."

"Uh-huh?" Isshin glared at the cat, who glanced away nervously. "Why do you think that is?"

"...it's a Christmas Miracle?" Tried Ichigo.

"Ichigo, it's fucking April." groaned Karin.

"...Passover?" tried Ichigo.

"-This wouldn't have anything to do with that Soul Candy Dispenser you found, would it?"

"uhhhhhhh..." said Ichigo. Honesty might not have been one of the boy's virtues, but at least he was a terrible liar.

"PLEASE DADDY DON'T GET ANGRY!!" Sobbed Yuzu, throwing herself around his calf and wailing. "MR. KON IS THE MOST NICEST KITTY IN THE WHOLE WORLD! HE PLAYS TEA TIME AND DRESS-UP WITH US AND TELLS JOKES AND CHASES AWAY DOGS AND SCARY MEN AND HE ALWAYS WAKES UP ICHIGO WHEN HE'S HAVING A NIGHTMARE-!"

"Yeah, actually, Kon's like. the first thing to make me laugh since. Well." Mumbled Karin, plodding over to Isshin's other leg and leaning heavily on him. "Please? he's weird, but he's a good guy."

Isshin sighed, then glared back down at the cat. "Alright. Who are you?" he demanded.

Ichigo and the formerly immobile cat glanced at each other and the feline unfolded as Ichigo set him down, shaking himself out and sitting on the walkway.

"So, uh- Hi. My name's Kon. Kon Bostov, if you wanna be formal, in honor of the beast whose body I currently inhabit." He nodded, waving a paw evocatively. "-And, uh. Well, how much do you know about the afterlife?"

"-Being from a long line of psychic mediums and prone to hauntings, my parents rented out our attic to a Shinigami when I was a child, and he told me pretty much everything." Said Isshin, and Kon winced. "So. Is 'Kon' short for 'Mod Konpaku'?"

"Ehh... well, Yeah." Kon winced. "-But hey! It wasn't my idea to be cooked up in a lab by some maniac and then put to death minutes later for something I didn't even do!" he snarled, fur bristling.

"What?" asked Karin.

"Kids I- Look, I didn't mean to lie, there just wasn't a good time to bring it up but. Technically, I'm wanted by the law. I'm an artificial soul created for battle to be put into dead bodies, but literally four and a half minutes after I woke up, the soul society- where all the Shinigami are from- condemned me to die, because they didn't like how strong some of the other Mod Souls were. I managed to roll myself off of the table and into a box of normal bodyminders to hide, Got put in a dispenser and then the shinigami that had been here accidentally left me behind." Kon explained.

"COOL!" Shouted Karin.

"NOT COOL. BAD!" Shouted Isshin. "Okay, okay I- I mean you're right, I never- I mean, the way Kaien told it, the whole Mod Soul program was pretty shady and it sounded really unfair. But why would a Shinigami just leave an important and dangerous tool lying around?"

"...I don't know how much spiritual sense you have my guy, but this town doesn't have a Hollow problem so much as the Hollowpocalylse goin' on." Kon grimaced. "-I really hope that guy's okay, he seemed pretty cool from what I could tell. I don't actually remember hearing him get called back to soul society." Kon muttered. "-Anyway, about three weeks ago, your brother found me in the dispenser in the back of his closet and put my candy body into this taxidermy cat, and I've been hanging out with the kids since then! You know, like a cat is supposed to do!"

Isshin stared blankly at Kon. The girls hugged his legs, lips wobbling, but he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, firming up his resolve- no matter how nice he seemed, a Mod Soul was a dangerous thing- and one crafty enough to live right under his nose for the better part of a month? No, absolutely n-

Isshin opened his eyes to see Ichigo had picked up Kon, cradling the cat to his tiny body, eyes wide and beginning to glisten with tears.

"...Ah. What the hell. You make the kids laugh." Isshin sighed, and all four cheered, thanking him profusely and promising to be extra-good and take good care of Kon- "But you put so much as a Whisker out of line and you're in deep trouble, got it?" Isshin leaned into the cat's face, scowling menacingly and shaking his finger at Kon.

"Understood sir!" Kon Saluted. "So when's dinner? Ichigo's been sneaking me scraps but I could really go for some chicken, or maybe ham-" he asked, tail thrashing excitedly.

"You can eat?" Isshin asked. "I thought you were all... Whatever they stuff taxidermy animals with?"

"-Might've been, but I'm all complete now? Fluff, guts, claws-the works!" Kon shrugged, hopping up on Isshin's shoulder. "-Between you an' me, I ain't even neutered! But that ain't a problem- Plenty of hot pussy around, if you know what I mean, especially that sweet little tuxedo bobtail just up the street- Me-YOW, huh?"

"Oh gods." Groaned Isshin, covering his face. "What am I letting into my house?"

"An intact male cat is called a 'Tom' Dad." Karin called over her shoulder.

"Alright Kon, a few rules- No more swearing in front of the kids, no bringing ladies around the house and for goodness sake DON'T TELL ANYONE YOU'RE HERE!" Isshin snarled at him.

"Alright, alright!" Kon sighed, rolling his eyes. "Out of curiosity though- What rank was your guy Kaien?"

"Hm?" Isshin asked.

"Only that I thought only the captains and a few lieutenants ever knew about project Spearhead." Kon glanced at Isshin, arching an orange-striped brow at him. "-funny thing, having a seated officer doing routine patrols, isn't it?"

"I dunno?" Shrugged Isshin, trying to keep his shoulders from tensing up, "-He didn't actually tell me all that much about how the soul society is governed."

"Huh." Kon nodded, smirking just a bit. "Interestin' guy, this Kaien. You should tell me about him sometime!"

"KOOOOONN!" Yuzu called. "My Dollie's shoe got under the fridge!"

"Coming Sweetie!" Kon called, jumping off Isshin's shoulder to reach his skinny little cat arm under the fridge and swat the missing accessory out from under the appliance. Yuzu applauded with delight and hugged him, laughing for the first time in ages.

Isshin watched them play for a bit and sighed. He not a bad guy, this Kon. All the same- Isshin took out his phone and dialed a number.

"~Urahara Shoten, home of Karkura Town's finest Candies, Cell Phones and Card Games! I'm on sabbatical 'til the end of the month or so, so if it's an emergency, hang up and call the Kurosaki Clinic! Or die! If it's not an emergency, leave me a message with what you need and I'll hook you up when I get back! Bye!~" Urahara's voicemail recording sing-sang over the line.

"Kisuke. It's me, Isshin. You will not fucking believe what my kids found in the new house. Call me as soon as you get back."

[blnova180]

The Bad Sandwiches 2

This story contains: multiple sick characters, male and female, with descriptive belly rumbles, vomit, scat and diarrhea!!!

Sci-fi setting: In a world where humans and robots are at war with each other, during a rare moment of armistice, the base comes under attack by a bad case of food poisoning.

(Different characters from last time, and yet, my naming skills still suck -- read part 1 for more context.)

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Private Vez left the canteen in a hurry, throwing her empty tray to the ground. She couldn't stand Gren and her stupid group of friends, especially Nares. He was always tripping over himself trying to impress her.

Vez wiped her eyes, heading for the bathroom. Back at the academy, she wanted nothing more than to be Gren's friend, to just breath the same air as her; now she hated being stuck in the same unit. If it wasn't for Commander Spree, she would've sent in a request to be transfer a long time ago.

Sniffing, she pulled a couple paper towels out of the dispenser, getting them damp before running them through her hair. It was twenty minutes before she got the worst of the tuna chunks out. Her eyes burned with shame. Vez didn't know why she let them walk all over her, why everyone always seemed to be on Gren's side.

Prefect, stupid, beautiful Gren. Vez sighed, knowing all too well, no matter how hard she wished, Gren would never see her as more than a stepping stood, a target. A stray tear dripped down her cheek, the sound of hushed laughs echoing in her ears. Vex wiped it away, a long with the memory of Nares tripping her, making her fall into her stupid tuna sandwich.

Taking a few breaths, Vez left the bathroom in a rush, surprised when she realized she'd bumped into Spree.

"Commander! I'm so sorry, I didn't see you."

Spree looked down at her, eyes narrowed.

"Private. You smell like tuna," she commented.

Vez bit her lip. "Yes. Sorry, I- There was an accident in the canteen."

Spree raised her eyebrows. "The canteen... You just came out of the bathroom, are you sick?"

"No? I don't think so..." Vez looked at her curiously. "Why, is something going on?"

"We've got a bit of a situation," Spree sighed. "The tuna sandwiches they served today were expired. I'm checking on our unit, a few people have already turned up sick at the med-bay. Did you..?"

"I didn't eat it," Vez said quickly, suddenly very glad she dodged that bullet.

"Good," Spree said. "I need you help me check up on the others. I already took Warin, Standin and Jet, down. Have you seen lieutenants Fleck and Hade?"

"Um... They might've gone to the training room," Vez said. "Who should I look for?"

"Find Gren and Nares," Spree called out over her shoulder, already walking down the hall. "If you find anyone else who's sick, make sure they get to the med-bay!"

Vez gave a salute and turned on her heels.

She really didn't want to look for Gren and Nares, but her commander had given her an order. She could only hope they hadn't eaten any tuna sandwiches.

An hour later, after directing a couple people she found throwing up in the hall to the med-bay, assuring them as best she could that it happening to others; Vez finally located Gren and Nares in one of the private study halls. They were watching an old tape from one of the early Robot Wars, sitting on bean-bag.

The foul smell that hit her when she opened the door, alerted Vez what she worried about was true. It didn't seem the other two had noticed their own gas, though Gren was subtlety rubbing her stomach.

"Oh great, just what I needed," Gren said when she noticed Vez. "What do you want?"

"Commander Spree, uh, um, well, she said..." Vez shuffled her feet.

Nares roles his eyes. "What? Spree said what? Get on with it already, can't you see we're busy?"

Vez took a deep breath. "The tuna sandwiches were expired, if you ate it, you have to report to the med-bay."

Gren and Nares stared at her incredulously.

"You're kidding," Gren said, her hand freezing on her belly.

"No, I ran into some sick people on my way here," Vez said. "Spree told me to look for you guys."

Nares placed his hand on his own stomach, giving Gren a worried look.

Gren groaned. "Oh, fine, let's go. It's probably nothing anyway. Come on."

Vez trailed awkwardly behind them has they made their way down to the med-bay. She knew they probably didn't want her there, but Spree told her to escort them, so she had to.

Gren and Nares' stomachs were starting to make more audible noises the further they went, gurgling and burbling unpleasantly. Vez tried to ignore it, because they were acting like nothing was happing anyway. That was, until Gren suddenly stopped, putting a covering her mouth as she burped wetly.

"Uuuurrrrppp~ Bathroom," was all she said, making a b-line for the nearest one.

Vez, followed her in, Nares just behind her, clutching his own gut.

"Gren... can't you hold it in?" he begged, "If you puke, I think I'm gonna-"

It was too late, Gren slumped over the nearest sink and heaved.

"Bleeaaargh! cough- cough Bleargghhh~"

As soon as she started to vomit, Nares shot into a stall, and Vez saw him shiver, before projectile vomiting onto the toilet.

"Urp-hic- bleaaaarrrhghhhhh!"

Ignoring his predicament, Vez got a scrunchy out her pocket and tied Gren's hair back.

"Bleeagghhh~"

Gren groaned, running her hands up and down her tummy.

"Hic- oh, God, that hurts," she complained. She pulled up her shirt. "Ugh, my stomach is killing me... do I look bloated to you?"

Vez looked down, noticing her stomach did look rather distended.

"Yeah, kind of. Uh, do you want to rest for a bit before we keep going?"

Gren wiped some sweat from her face. "Yes. Just give me a second to catch my breath..."

She went to the stall next to Nares', sitting down on the toilet.

"Bleegh- ugh-uuurrrp-blaaarrrrrrrrrhhhgh!"

From the other stall, Vex could hear Nares still throwing up, and she could see he was kneeling on the floor now.

Grrrrll. Gwwwwup.

Gren moaned as her stomach gurgled boisterously. She rubbed her belly harder with big circles.

Braaappp. Brrrt. Pfff~

"No- no, I can't- I can't hold it!"

Vez and Gren shared a look as Nares farted wetly. He hadn't moved from his spot on the floor, and Vez could hear it when his farts started pushing out something more than just gas.

Ksshhhh. Prrrrtttt. Brap. BRAAAAPPPP. BlllRRRRppp!

Based on his grunts and sobs, not to mention the smell, it became obvious his poor belly hadn't been able to hold back any more, and Nares was sick from his other end too. Which, unfortunately, was ending up in his pants.

Clearly not wanting something similar to happen to her, Gren rushed to loosen her belt and drop her pants. Her tummy growled warningly.

And Vez was left to stare in shock, as perfect Gren's bloated stomach shuddered, before a monster fart escaped her.

BRAAAAPPPPPPP!

It barely had time to echo in the toilet, before chunks of soft and watery poop were forcing their way out of her too.

"Uuugghh..." She skewered her eyes shut, farting again.

Pooot~

"Go, check on Nares," Gren panted.

Feeling like she'd probably already witnessed the worst of it, Vez walked into the next stall. Nares had managed to get his pants down to his knees, but it wasn't any help, because there was still a trickle of brown liquid dripping from the back of his stained underwear.

"I don't feel so good," he whispered weakly.

Phhwwrrraaghh~

His tummy roared and he shot up to puke again.

"Bleeaagh- uuurp- BLEAARRRGHHHH~"

Gingerly, Vez made her way over to him, patting his back.

"It's alright, just get it out. You're fine, it'll be okay," Vez said sympathetically, noticing he was crying.

She handed him some toilet pater to wipe his face.

"I really don't feel good," he panted when it was over.

"I know," Vez said. "We're going to the med-bay, come on."

Swallowing, Nares pulled up his pants, trying not to look down.

"I need another minute," Gren grunted from her stall. "I've got the runs."

Sprrtttt, brrrrllt, BRAPP.

After another minute, she emerged and they started making their way to the med-bay again. They walked in relative silence until they reached the med-bay doors.

"Hey, uh," Gren glanced at Nares, then Vez. "We're, well, sorry about earlier. Thanks, for helping us."

"Sorry," Nares echoed, holding his aching belly.

"Yeah, well I'm pretty glad I didn't each lunch now," Vez said.

The doors opened and Spree came out, glancing over at them.

"Oh, Private Vez, I see you brought them here. Well done." Spree patted Gren and Nares' shoulders as she passed. "You two head on in, Fleck and Hade got sick too. Take care. I expect to see you all Friday morning."

"Aye..."

"Thanks, Commander..."

Gren and Nares both saluted her weakly before heading inside.

Spree waited for the doors to close before laying an arm around Vez's shoulders and leading her away.

"I swear, if something like this ever happens again, I'll be quitting so fast, Command will have to triple my pay before I ever agree to come back. Robots could blow up half the base, and I'd still say no until they agree to pay me more." She winked at Vez. "Don't tell anyone I said that."

"I won't," Vez assured her. "If I could, I would too."

"Don't be too hard on yourself," Spree said. "You're tough. You'll make it soon enough. Keep up the good work."

"Aye!"

Vez saluted her. With one last glance over her shoulder, she followed her commander.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Just Give Me a Reason

A Stoncy fanfiction

A/N: It's longer than I thought it would be.

Summary: Set in season 2, at the behest of Jonathan, Nancy waits to get justice for Barb, and it turns out better than she could have expected it to.

"Look, Nancy, I know you want to get started on this right away, but Will hasn't been feeling well lately, and I just - I want to help you with this, so do you think that maybe we can wait a couple of more days?" Jonathan asked.

Nancy wanted to argue with but this was Jonathan asking for something, which is what she always pushed him to do more of, so how could she argue, especially when it concerns his brother? He would do the same if it was her brother. The fire in her belly would still be there in a few days, and she waited all year. What's a couple of more days?

"Okay."

Nancy took deep breaths as she laid across her bed. She needed to think and process. The door was locked, and she told her parents that she needed a nap, which she did, but as soon as she laid down, her mind became loud. She kept going over and over it in her mind. . .the things that Steve said. It was true that she felt guilt at Barb dying, and she did associate it with Steve, but it wasn't his fault. He did nothing wrong. Barb was her friend, except. . .what could Nancy have done? Barb had gone out there. She should have been safe. How could Nancy have known without being precognitive? She couldn't have known. . .the ones responsible for all of this were still sitting up there.

"Fuck," she cursed softly and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hand.

Maybe this was why she wanted to do it so quickly. She wanted to stop punishing herself and punish the real perpetrators. She couldn't wait anymore, and she understood Steve’s fear. . .she was taking the biggest risk of all. Barb's parents were going to lose their house, and they needed to know that Barb wasn't coming home. She was tired of not doing anything. She couldn't have done that by herself, though. She had wanted Steve there. . .she still does, and it wasn't like she was settling for Jonathan. She wanted him there, too. . .she wanted him as much as she wanted Steve. She wanted Steve, she loved Steve, and that night, despite what some frustrated, guilt ridden people who didn't want to fess up to their own mistakes had said, Nancy hadn't been trying to be other than herself that night. She had wanted to sleep with Steve since the moment he started talking to her. It was infuriating that he just wanted to pretend like nothing was wrong, but then she remembered that was how he handled trauma. He had done it all his life, put everything into a box, and locked it away, replaced by the facade of King Steve. She had done the same for a long time, and it was hard to admit that they wanted the same things, but he had walked away from all that. . .like her and Jonathan, he didn't want the expectations that came with being picture perfect. He had shown his vulnerable side to her, more than he did with anyone, and he showed that he could learn that he could own up to his mistakes. . .unlike some people.

"Oh, my god!" Nancy said and shoved her head into the pillow. "Be quiet!"

It was no use trying to tell her head that. It was going to run away whether she liked it or not. After everything that Jonathan has done, how could she still want him? Nancy knew, like she had seen with Steve, that Jonathan had a good heart and that underneath all his pretentious judgments, Jonathan was a good man. Sometimes, it seemed like Jonathan and Steve weren't all that different. They were just both struggling with the image of forced conformity, but while Steve had lived on the inside, Jonathan had lived on the outside while Nancy straddled the border. It was easy to judge when you didn't know the context, and Jonathan only saw what was on the surface of the picture which she tried to get him to see that there always more to the story. When he had said that he saw a girl trying to be someone else, Barb's last words had floated in her head: this isn't you, Nance. She had been so afraid that they were both right, but Jonathan's wasn't out of concern like Barb's was. . .he was just trying to justify his own slimy actions. How the hell could she still want him? Right, the good heart she caught a glimpse of. . .She remembered the careful planning she took to prepare for sleeping with Steve. She had already gotten on birth control, and she bought a new sweater and bra. She even made pro con lists and determined that there was nothing wrong with someone like her sleeping with someone like Steve. It was something Nancy had always done, so Jonathan and Barb had been wrong. She had wanted Steve, so she had gone after him. Maybe Jonathan wouldn't be so damn judgemental if he slept with Steve. . .okay, Wheeler, get that image out of your head. Except that she couldn't. She could see them kissing, could see Steve letting Jonathan take off his own clothes, Steve whipping off his own shirt and climbing on top of him. . .holding Jonathan's hand like she did hers.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" Nancy asked, and she glanced at her beside table, reaching for the drawer. "Maybe dealing with it will help me calm my mind."

Of course, that's when she heard it. The voices downstairs. It was her dad and. . . Dustin Henderson?

"Son of a bitch, you really are useless," Dustin said.

Nancy rolled her eyes and pulled on her shoes. She moved past her dad and walked out the front door. She caught Dustin by the arm.

"Hey, you called my dad useless," Nancy said.

"You and Mike do it," Dustin said.

"If Mike and I jumped off a bridge would you do it?" Nancy scoffed.

"Yes!" Dustin winced. "Because you and Mike would have calculated how far it was to safely fall."

"Ugh, don't call my dad useless, only we get to do that," Nancy said.

"He didn't know where Mike was," Dustin said. "I'm surprised that he knew where you were."

"My mom and I don't know where Mike is," Nancy said, crossing her arms. "Are you going to call us useless?"

"Point to Nancy," Dustin muttered. "You're being very scary right now and I don't know what to do."

"What's going on?" Nancy asked.

Dustin was about to open his mouth to answer her when Steve’s car pulled up to the curb in front of her house. He got out of the car, red roses in his grip, and he was too busy muttering under his breath to notice them. Finally, Steve looked up, and he stopped.

"Hi," Steve said softly.

"Hi, who are the flowers for?" Nancy asked.

"Uh, you. I wanted to apologize," Steve said.

"For what?" She asked. "If anyone should be getting flowers, it should be you."

"You were drunk and upset. I shouldn't have pushed you into going to that party," Steve said.

"No, you shouldn't have, but I know that you didn't know what else to do - I wanted to go after those assholes and I forget sometimes that we're just teenagers," Nancy said. "I know you just wanted to remind me of that. . .I mean, it's not like I didn't want to go to the party. I invited Jonathan so. . .I'm not innocent in all this. I should have never told you that it was our fault Barb died, I mean, we were just two teenagers who wanted to have sex. How could we have known any of that was going to happen? A year was coming up, Steve, and we should have been able to celebrate that day, but instead. . ."

"Shit, I didn't think about that," Steve said.

"Because I didn't tell you. I didn't tell you a lot of things, and I wasn't able to say it then, not because I don't feel it - "

"Excuse me?!" Dustin exclaimed, and they jumped, having forgotten he was still there. "Look, this all seems heavy and everything, but we got a code red situation!"

"What?!" Nancy exclaimed. "Why didn't you say anything?!"

"Because you dropped a bomb, and I was shocked, Jesus, you two need to talk!" Dustin yelled. "But not now, Steve, do you still have your bat?"

"I'll go get my gun," Nancy said. "Where are we going?"

"My house," Dustin replied.

"How do you know that this isn't some sort of lizard?" Steve asked once they had driven off in Steve's car.

Nancy had her bag in her lap, her gun inside, and she was sitting in the front seat listening to Dustin bicker with Steve.

"Because its face opened up, and it ate my cat, Steve," Dustin said.

"And you said you found it in your trashcan?" Nancy asked.

"Yeah," Dustin said.

"And you kept it because. . .?" Steve asked.

"It doesn't matter, Steve," Dustin said. "Right now, anyway."

It fell silent between them. The only sound was the Hammer to the Fall by Queen playing on the radio. Dustin remained so quiet that they forgot he was in the backseat. Nancy glanced at Steve and reached out to take his hand.

"I'm sorry, Steve," Nancy said softly.

"I'm sorry that I couldn't see how much you were struggling," Steve said. "I should have done better."

"If I don't know how to handle my trauma, then I why should I expect you to?" Nancy asked. "Besides, you were there for me. You went to every dinner with Barb's parents with me when you didn't have to. That meant so much to me."

"Whatever you need from me, just ask," Steve said.

"What if she asks you to shave your head?" Dustin asked, his head popping in between the seats.

"There's a lot of things that I'll do for you, Nancy Wheeler, but I will not do that," Steve said, and Nancy giggled.

"Okay, but what if Nancy loses her hair in a freak accident and she needs a hair transplant?" Dustin asked.

"In that case. . .answers still no," Steve said. "Sorry, Nance."

"I can't believe you won't donate your hair to me," Nancy said mockingly. "So rude."

"I bet he has a weird looking mole under there," Dustin said, and Nancy laughed again. "Yeah, he definitely does."

They pulled up to Dustin's house, and Steve popped open the trunk. He pulled the bat out and handed Dustin a flashlight.

"You really still do have it," Nancy said.

"Of course," Steve said.

"What's this etched on the end?" She asked. "Stoncy?"

"It's all three of our names," Steve blushed. "It was your bat, Jonathan put the nails in, and I ended up using it against the demogorgon. Well, me and Jonathan. This is just a reminder of what we faced together, She deserved a name, well, two. Sometimes, I call her Naily."

"She's a she?" Nancy asked in amusement.

"Of course," Steve scoffed and paused. "You know, I invited Jonathan to the party, too."

"You did?" Nancy asked with wide eyes.

"Yeah, we both wanted him there," Steve said and Nancy studied him, trying to figure him out.

"Congratulations! It's a bouncy, spikey bat! Now, let's go!" Dustin exclaimed, tugging on Steve’s sleeve.

He ran off towards his house, entering the front door.

"Congratulations, Steve, you just got a little brother!" Nancy laughed.

"It's a little late. I asked for one when I was five," he scoffed.

"Better late than never," Nancy grinned.

"Okay, but what if I changed my mind?" Steve asked.

"I don't think you can return him," Nancy said sympathetically. "Trust me, I've tried. Besides, as annoying as it is, you're going to love it."

"If you say so, I trust your judgment," Steve said.

Nancy smiled softly, touched his cheek, and planted a kiss on his lips.

"I love you," she said.

Before he could say anything else, Nancy walked into the house. Steve followed behind her, and they found Dustin waiting for them in his backyard. He was standing next to his basement doors.

"This is where I put him," Dustin said.

"I don't hear anything," Steve said.

"Well, he's there," Dustin said.

Dustin unlocked the door, and Steve peered down into it. There was nothing to see. Steve grabbed the flashlight from Dustin and gripped his bat. Despite Nancy's complaint, Steve went down there by himself. Nancy held onto Dustin, and together, they watched Steve disappear completely. They waited but they couldn't hear anything.

"Steve?" Nancy asked.

He appeared so suddenly that both Nancy and Dustin jumped.

"Get down here," he said.

With a hand still on Dustin's shoulder, Nancy walked with him down into the basement. With the bat, Steve was holding up what looked like a giant booger.

"He molted again," Dustin grimaced.

"It's disgusting," Nancy said.

"And over here," Steve said.

Steve dropped the skin and led them over to the back. There was a giant hole in the corner that led to a giant hole.

"Okay, now what the hell do we do?" Dustin asked.

"We come up with a plan to trap it," Nancy said, and she paused, her face paling. "Mike."

"Hey," Steve said, taking her hand. "If Mike's anything like his sister, and I think he is, then he knows exactly what he needs to do."

"Steve's right," Dustin said. "Come on, we can use my room to hatch a plan."

"And what are we going to tell your mom?" Nancy asked.

"That we're planning Mike's surprise birthday party," Dustin said.

"That's months away," Nancy said.

"That's part of the surprise," he replied. "Come on. Besides, she's still out looking for Mews. . .gah, I'll deal with that guilt later. Do you think she'll still love me?"

"Of course!" Nancy exclaimed.

"I mean, she might be a little peeved, but if your mother is the mom that sticks around then, I think she'll forgive you for anything," Steve said.

Dustin grinned and pushed them inside. He escorted them right into his bedroom and winced at the mess. While Nancy and Steve helped him clean up (the carpet was beyond saving), they came up with a plan with Dustin. It wasn't the best plan, but it was the only one they had. Dustin had crashed as soon as he tossed himself onto his bed. Nancy removed his hat while Steve removed his shoes and put his feet onto the bed. She smiled as she watched him throw the blanket over Dustin, tucking him in.

"Okay, I admit, he's not that bad," Steve said.

He sat down on the ground, leaning his back against the wall. Nancy sat down next to him.

"No, he's not. Of my brother's friends, he's always been my favorite. . .I can't explain it," Nancy said. "He's just. . ."

"Completely adorable?" Steve asked. "And yet annoying at the same time."

"Some of them underestimate him, but he's pretty wise himself," Nancy said. "And he's so creative. . .maybe not like Mike or Will, or Lucas, but he likes to invent things. I know one day, he's probably going to run his own company."

"I can see that," Steve said, looking around the room.

"He's pretty loud, but I know he uses that to try to hide how scared he is all the time," Nancy said and paused. "They all do. . .they're just kids."

"So are we," Steve said. "Sort of."

"I forget how young we are sometimes," Nancy said. "We're supposed to be doing what young people do. . ,playing games, partying, or exploring our sexualities and identities, deciding which college to go to, what career to choose. . .this is not what we're supposed to be doing. I want to do all of that. I don't want to be dealing with all this shit."

"We could run away. . .maybe join a circus," Steve suggested.

"We both can't do that. . .God, as tempting as that is," Nancy said, laughing. "Would you be comfortable leaving the kids to clean up all this mess?"

"Hell no," Steve scoffed and snapped his fingers. "We'll take them with us."

Nancy leaned against him and laughed quietly, trying not to wake up Dustin.

"You're an idiot, Steve Harrington," Nancy said.

"And you're beautiful, Nancy Wheeler," Steve said and kissed her. "You'd make a great Ring master."

"Oh, I'm leading this fictional circus, am I?" Nancy asked.

"Of course, you're the best leader," Steve said. "What do you think, boss? Where do you put me? Knife throwing, or the guy who lifts weights? Ooh, are the guy who gets shot out of the canon?"

"Hmm, tightrope, definitely," she said.

"Tightrope?" He asked.

"Your ass would look great in tights," Nancy sighed.

"You, me, Jonathan, the kids. . .of course, we're going to have to bring the parents along. We would make it a great circus," Steve said.

"Steve. . .," Nancy said, looking at him.

"Yeah?" He asked.

"I want to be honest with you," Nancy said.

"Okay," Steve said sucking in a breath.

"I like Jonathan," Nancy said.

"Oh, is that all?" Steve asked, blinking. "Yeah, I like Jonathan, too."

"No, I mean, I have feelings for him that aren't exactly friendly," Nancy said.

"Okay, we are on completely different pages, I didn't know you hated the guy!" Steve said, throwing up his hands.

"No, Steve," Nancy giggled. "I have romantic feelings for him, I'm - "

"Oh, thank God! Yeah, no, me, too," Steve said.

"What?! You have feelings for Jonathan?" Nancy asked.

This was not where she expected this to go.

"Oh my god! You're both idiots!" Dustin exclaimed, sitting up.

"Oh, sorry, did we wake you?" Nancy asked.

"Yes, you did with all your talk about joining the circus," Dustin yawned. "You know damn well that I'm going to be lion tamer. . .wait, you're in love with the same guy? Can you do that?"

"It's good to have different interests, but it's also nice when you can do things as a couple," Steve said seriously, and Nancy laughed.

"I'm not judging, but I do NOT want to picture that," Dustin said. "Goodnight."

They watched as Dustin laid back down and waited for his snores to fill the air.

"Do you think Jonathan likes us back?" Nancy asked.

"I hope so," Steve said and paused. "Oh God, what if he only likes one of us?"

"I don't even want to think about that," Nancy said.

The next day, Nancy found herself in a pair of dish gloves, dropping meat along the train tracks with Dustin and Steve. Dustin was explaining to them why he had kept the creature.

"You kept something potentially dangerous in order to impress a girl. . .who you just met?" Steve asked.

"Okay, that's grossly oversimplifying it," Dustin said.

"Why would some girl like some nasty slug, anyway?" Steve asked.

"Some girls are into that," Nancy said and turned up her nose. "Not me, though."

"An interdimensional lizard slug because it's awesome," Dustin said.

"And even if she thought it was cool, which she didn't - it's just - I think you're just trying way too hard," Steve said.

"I agree with Steve on this one," Nancy said. "You try too hard, and you might end up scaring them off. . .well, if they're the right one, nothing would scare them off. Girls appreciate it when you feel like you can be yourself with them. Share a bit of you like with them and not what you think they might like. . .it would definitely work on me."

"Really?" Dustin and Steve asked.

"Why do you think that I fell for you?" Nancy asked Steve. "You stopped trying to be King Steve with me."

"And you didn't like King Steve?" He asked.

"That's what everyone else wanted you to be," Nancy said. "You felt comfortable enough to drop that facade. . .you walked away from Tommy and Carol. . .you did all that because you wanted something better and you felt so safe with me to do that."

"God," Steve said, blushing. "And to think that I was going to give him advice that the key to girls is to act like you don't care."

"That's horrible advice," Nancy said and then paused to think about it. "Actually, it's not that bad. I think you need to find a balance between caring and not caring. Don't give away too much."

"And an interdimensional slug is definitely too much?" Dustin asked.

"Yes!" Steve and Nancy said.

"If someone can't see how great you are, then it's their loss," Nancy said. "You're going to do great whether you find someone or not."

"Just wait until you feel it," Steve said.

"Feel what?" Dustin asked.

"It's like before it's going to storm, you know, you can't see it, but you can feel it, uh. . .like this electricity,"

"Oh, like in the electromagnetic field when the clouds in the atmosphere - ," Dustin started to say, and Nancy laughed.

"No, no, no, like a sexual electricity," he corrected. "You feel that, and then you make your move."

"So, that's when you kiss her?" He asked.

"No, slow down, Romeo. Sure, some girls, yeah, they want you to be aggressive, strong, hot, and heavy like a, uh. . .I don't know, a lion. Others, you have to be slow, stealthy like a - "

"A ninja?" Nancy teased.

"Yeah, like a ninja," Steve laughed.

"What type is Nancy?" Dustin grinned.

"Yeah, Steve, what type am I?" Nancy laughed.

"She's different. . .she's different than the other girls," Steve smiled at her.

Nancy thought about the conversation they had in her bedroom a year ago when she told Steve that she didn't want to be like the other girls he had slept with. She wanted to mean something to Steve.

"She seems pretty special," Dustin said.

"Yeah, she is," Steve smiled. "So, is Jonathan."

"This girl is special, too," Dustin said. "There's something about her."

"Are you falling in love with this girl?" Steve asked.

"No," Dustin said.

"Good, cause you're too young for this shit," Steve said. "She might just break your heart."

Nancy smiled and leaned closer to whisper to Steve.

"Seems like you're really settling into the role of protective older brother," she said and he rolled his eyes.

"Fabrege," Steve said to Dustin.

"What?" He asked.

"It's Fabrege Organics," he said. "Use the shampoo and conditioner. When your hair's damp, not wet, okay? When it's damp, use four puffs of the Farrah Fawcett hairspray."

"Farrah Fawcett spray?" Dustin asked in amusement.

"Yeah, Farrah Fawcett. You tell anyone that I just told you that, and your ass is grass, you understand that?" Steve asked and Dustin nodded.

"Got it."

Steve turned to look at Nancy, who was smiling knowingly at him.

"Stop it," he chuckled.

"What? I didn't say anything," Nancy said. "The big brother thing is a good look for you, Steve."

They made it to the junkyard only to find out that Lucas hadn't come alone. He had brought a girl named Max.

"You told her!" Dustin shrieked.

Judging by the way that Dustin had reacted, it was the girl he had been talking about.

"It's too late to do anything about that now. Let's just get set up," Nancy said and put a hand on Dustin's shoulder.

Everyone worked together to prepare the bus to hide and wait inside of until Dart arrived. Although, Steve had to scold Dustin and Lucas a few times. Max was more reserved, and Nancy could tell that she didn't really believe all of this, but there was curious gleam in her eye. Nancy helped her nail a piece of metal to the bus.

"I'm sorry that Lucas got you into this," Nancy said. "Boys can be stupid when it comes to impressing girls. . .especially at this age."

"Well, I don't have anywhere better to be. . .apparently, girls aren't any smarter. . .I mean, I chose to be here," Max said.

"That's true," Nancy said.

"Is Mike Wheeler your brother?" Max asked her, and Nancy nodded. "I don't want to offend you or anything but do you know why he's been such an asshole to me?"

"It's been a long year for both of us. He lost the first girl he liked and who liked him back. I lost my best friend, and I haven't been the most attentive sister because of it. He's so angry at the world and rationally, I think he knows you're not replacing her, but. . .it's just hard for him," Nancy said. "I think we both feel like we're cursed."

"I'm sorry," Max said.

"He doesn't hate you, Max," Nancy said. "He hates himself. I'll talk to him about taking it out on you. That's not fair."

"He's not as angry as my stepbrother," Max said, shrugging. "How'd Steve Harrington get involved with this?"

"He's my boyfriend," Nancy said. "He's a good man, and he decided to risk his life for me, for Jonathan even though it meant risking his."

"Yeah, I believe that. If my stepbrother hates someone, usually they're the good guys," Max said.

"And Billy isn't?" Nancy asked.

Max pursed her lips and rubbed at her arm. Nancy's jaw clenched. Definitely not.

"I'm going to see if there needs to be done on the inside of the bus," Max said and went inside.

Nancy stared after her sadly. She hated Billy Hargrove more than anything, and she only met him once, but it was enough. That girl would rather be here, in the middle of all this, than be at home, and Billy was to blame for that. Steve touched her shoulder, and she snapped out of her thoughts.

"You okay?" Steve asked.

"You're a good man, Steve," Nancy muttered softly and kissed him. "You're a good big brother, too. I think Max needs that."

Steve opened his mouth like he was going to make a joke but thought better of it. He squeezed her shoulder gently.

"Come on, let's get this stuff up. I think beating metal might help get some of that frustration out," Steve said, and she smiled.

They sat inside the bus, waiting and hoping for the plan to work. Nancy sat next to Steve, watching him flick his lighter. She knew he had quit smoking, but he still had a habit of pulling out his lighter to play with it when he got nervous. Nancy always noticed he needed to keep his hands busy, and they always needed to go somewhere. She loved it when they went to his hips in a pose. . .well, she's not sure what it was telling her. Nancy slipped her hand into Steve’s and squeezed it as Max's voice floated through from the top of the bus. Lucas was up there with her while Dustin paced the length of the bus inside. She tried to ignore the conversation that Max was having, but when Max said that Billy took his anger out on her, blamed her, and that she was afraid of getting angry because she didn't want to be like him. . .it made Nancy's blood boil. She was just a young girl. She didn't deserve that.

"You know what else couples could do together?" Nancy asked. "Bury a body."

"Hargrove? Yeah, I'll bury his body with you," Steve said. "After we get done with taking down the lab."

"You want to do that with me?" Nancy asked.

"You're going to do it anyway, I know you," Steve said. "And as much as I'm terrified of them. . .I'm even more terrified of me being there for you when you needed me."

"It's not crazy to be scared of them," Nancy said. "I'd be worried if you weren't. I'm scared, too, but I have to do this for Barb."

"You don't have to do it alone," Steve said.

"Yeah, I'll be there, too!" Dustin piped up, and they jumped, forgetting that he was still there.

"No!" Steve and Nancy yelled.

"Why the hell not?" Dustin asked.

"Because we said so," Steve said, and Dustin huffed, crossing his arms.

"Jonathan will be there, too," Nancy said, taking her focus off of Dustin. "I hope you don't mind."

"Was I dreaming it last night, or did I not say that I have feelings for Jonathan, too?" Steve asked.

"I know, it's just - ," Nancy started to say.

"Is it because I like men and women?" Steve asked and looked at her wearily for a moment.

"What? No, of course not. . .it just seems too good to be true. . .that we both want him. I've dreamed about this," Nancy said.

"Have you? And what exactly did you dream about?" Steve asked with a smirk.

"Not in front of the kids," Nancy blushed.

"Yeah, Steve, not in front of the kids," Dustin said. "Again, I support you but this child does not need the details."

"What is it about Jonathan for you?" Nancy asked.

"I don't know, even after everything, I mean, the way he looks at people like he can see through them, like he can see through me. . .Sure, he's being a bit judgemental, but it's also like he could see that I was trying too hard to be this person that everyone wanted me to be. I never cared about anyone else the way that you two have. . .Jonathan's a good brother, and he just - underneath all his like messed up thoughts about people like me, he cares a lot even though he pretends that he doesn't but I can see it because I know what it's like to be so lonely that you pretend like it doesn't affect you. For me, I surrounded myself with people. For Jonathan, he pushed himself away from other people because he's afraid of getting hurt, but I just wanted him to know that I'm not like those assholes. . .I never wanted to be. The camera thing. . ." Steve said and stopped.

"Wow, you thought about this a lot," Nancy said.

"I mean, haven't you?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, I have. . .and the more that I think about it, the more that I realize how right you were to do that with the camera. I should have been the one to get mad at him, but when I saw the photos. . .I didn't know how to feel. I hope it's like you said that he wants connection, but at the same time, he's afraid of getting hurt, and so, it's easier to chase people off," Nancy said.

"Like White Fang," Steve said, and Nancy laughed but nodded in agreement. "I mean, I never read the book, but that's what he does, right, We're not going to let him do that, are we? Even if he doesn't like us romantically."

"No, definitely not," Nancy said.

"What photos?" Dustin asked.

"That's really none of your business," Nancy said. "Sorry. . .I really hope that's the reason why, especially for what he said to me because otherwise. . ."

". . .He's a dick. . .which wouldn't make sense considering how thoughtful he is the majority of the time, but maybe, being a teenager is just fucking hard," Steve said. "And sometimes you have moments where you're just a dick. . .wait, what did he say to you?"

"I'll tell you later," Nancy said, and Steve looked at her for a moment.

"He's really fucking cute, too," Steve said. "With the way he smiles. . ."

"And his eyes. . .," Nancy smiled.

"Surprisingly, Steve has given me a lot to think about human behavior," Dustin said. "Although, I have no context about the photos. . ."

"And you're not going to get any," Steve said.

"Steve is a lot more intuitive than people give him credit for," Nancy said.

The whole dumb jock thing was a harmful stereotype, she thought, and it's something she had been guilty of thinking about in the past. Steve was smart in his own special way, and sometimes, he saw things that other people didn't or couldn't. He saw something in her like she had seen in him. Honestly, Nancy had her own dumb moments, as did Dustin and his friends. As much as she hated to admit it, not everyone can know everything. They're all infallible. If Steve and Jonathan taught her anything, it's that. She wasn't perfect, and she always hated trying to pretend like she was. The one time that she didn't want to be perfect. . .it ended in a devastating catastrophe. She didn't want that to stop her from doing what she wanted or whoever she wanted. . .Barb's death shouldn't be a cautionary tale for her.

"Nancy?" Steve asked.

"Shh!" Dustin hushed, looking out the window. "Uh, he's here."

Lucas and Max had quickly shuffled down into the bus as they all pressed their faces to the window.

"It's not going for the food," Nancy frowned.

"It needs live bait," Steve said and grabbed the bat.

"Steve," Nancy said grabbing his arm.

"I'll be fine," Steve said.

He cupped her face and kissed her before leaving the bus. With the bat in his hand, he stood protectively in front of the bus. This wasn't the only time that Steve had been brave. . .he didn't have to back into the house. He could have saved himself, but he went back, picked up the bat, and helped them fight off the demogorgon. Nancy was torn. . .should she go out there or stay inside to help the kids? It was answered for her when more demodogs showed up. She pulled out her gun and told the kids to stay down before joining Steve outside.

"Can't let you have all the fun," Nancy said.

"I wouldn't call this fun," Steve said.

The demodogs crept close to them, and when they came for Steve, he swung his bat, and Nancy shot her gun. Steve was dodging and weaving, trying to draw the demodogs to him instead of Nancy. Steve and Nancy ended up drawn back together, back to back, as they were surrounded by the monsters.

"There's too many of them," Nancy said.

"We need to get back to the bus," Steve said.

"Agreed," Nancy said.

They barely made it through the doors, and with the kids' help, they closed it as tightly as they could. They held their breath and watched the door. Meanwhile, Max was moving towards the hatch in the roof. Suddenly, a demodog appeared in the hole, and Max screamed. Steve and Nancy reacted quickly. Steve moved in front of Max, holding the bat out, while Nancy pulled Max back and held her tightly. The young girl looked at both of them like no one had ever stood up for her in her life. Nancy squeezed her shoulder tightly, and they all watched as the demodog suddenly took off. All of the demodogs had taken off as though they had been called away. Nancy and Steve rushed out of the bus with the kids.

"Where are they going?" Lucas asked.

"The lab," Nancy and Steve said, sharing a look.

Following the train tracks, they moved towards the lab. Every so often, Nancy felt eyes on her and Steve. She knew it was Max, and she wondered if anyone had ever stuck up for her before. Nancy couldn't imagine what her home life must be like, and Nancy was grateful for hers. A dad who works hard to provide for them, who's there when he can, a loving mom, and siblings who were annoying but who she loved with all her heart. Their dad did his best, and sometimes, Nancy took that for granted. Calling him useless, thinking he doesn't do enough because their mom was frustrated by the lack of intimacy and passion. In the end, he would be the reason that she would have her choice of colleges, her choice of careers, and he never stopped her from making her own choices. Awkward as he was about it, Ted could be sweet about letting them know he was there for him. Nancy took that for granted as well because Karen could show them affection in ways that Ted couldn't, and she thought that maybe he wasn't trying hard enough. Nancy wasn't the best about that either or about picking up on social ques. . .Mike did that as well. She wondered if it was because of trauma or if there was another reason. So maybe Ted hadn't been the problem but her perception of him. . .Just because her mother was angry at him doesn't mean she had to be. Their marriage had been over for a while, and maybe it was just showing. It didn't have to make them bad parents. Looking at Max, she realized that maybe she was lucky to have Ted.

"It looks like the power's out," Nancy said when they got to the gate.

Dustin, meanwhile, was still trying to open the gate by repeatedly pressing the buttons.

"Yeah, I think the power's out," Dustin said.

"I just said that," Nancy sighed.

"I did it!" Dustin exclaimed as the gates slid open.

"Or someone inside the lab got the power to work," Steve said.

"You can't let me have it, can you?" Dustin asked.

"Mike's in there," Nancy said.

"And if Mike's in there, Will's in there," Lucas said.

"Jonathan and his mom, too," Steve said.

"Let's go," Nancy said and took Steve’s hand.

They were moving towards the lab when Jonathan's and Hopper's car drove through the gate. They pulled to a stop as the group hurried to move out of the way. Jonathan popped his head out of the car.

"Steve? Nancy?!" Jonathan asked.

"Jonathan?!" Nancy and Steve yelled.

Nancy wasn't sure why they were so surprised. They had guessed that Jonathan had been in there.

"We don't have time for this! Get in!" Hopper yelled from his car.

The kids slid into the back of Jonathan's car with Mike, while Joyce held Will in the front seat. Steve and Nancy quickly got into the back of Hopper's car. The ride to Jonathan's house was silent, and as soon as they all got in there, Nancy hugged her brother tightly. Mike had wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her back and pressing his face into her shoulder. Hopper was on the phone as soon as he walked through the door while Jonathan carried Will to his room. With her arm around her own brother, Nancy slid her hand into Steve’s.

"He's going to be alright," Nancy said.

"He's not Will anymore, Nancy," Mike sniffled. "It's like there was someone else there. The way he looked at me like he didn't know me. . .I can't lose anyone else."

"You're not going to," Nancy whispered. "Will's strong. He's going to find his way back. . .whatever is going on, Will is going to fight it."

Something that they had now called the Mind Flayer had taken over Will and used him to spy on them. Bob hadn't made it out of the lab, having sacrificed himself to give them more time to get out. Jonathan remained with his brother and his mother while the others set up the shed so the Mind Flayer couldn't tell where they were. Every so often, Nancy and Steve would glance over at Jonathan in concern, whose only focus was his brother. After waking Will, or rather the Mind Flayer, everyone spent time with him to try to get him to remember. . .trying to make any connection with him. When Will finally got a message across, the answer was to close the gate, which was still open and spreading across Hawkins. The phone rang at that moment, alerting the Mind Flayer and the demodogs to their location.

"Do you know how to shoot this?" Hopper asked Jonathan, holding out a rifle.

"I, uh - ," Jonathan said.

"I do," Nancy said. "He's a terrible shot."

Hopper didn't hesitate to hand Nancy the rifle. Nancy stood protectively in front of her brother, with Steve standing next to Mike, while Jonathan was on her other side, holding his mother as the demodogs surrounded the house. Everyone jumped as a demodog was slung through the window. The front door swung open, and El walked through, dressed all in black. Her hair was slicked black, and she was wearing black eyeshadow, her nose bleeding. Nancy stared at her in shock before turning to look at her brother. Mike stood there, stunned, his eyes wide and his mouth open. . .tears filling his eyes. Mike walked towards her, and El smiled with him, moving to meet him.

"I called you. . .for 353 days, I never gave up hope that you were alive," Mike said.

"I know," El whispered.

Nancy lowered the gun and smiled before looking at Steve, who was smiling as well. She was happy for her brother. There was hope for them, yet. Mike hadn't been too pleased to find out that Hopper had known all this time, and while Nancy understood, she was a little angry for her brother. How many times was he going to be separated from her? She hoped that this would be the last time. After that, it was decided that Hopper would go with El to close the gate, Joyce had realized that they needed to get the virius out of Will by using heat so she would going with Will and Jonathan to Hopper's cabin. Everyone else would remain at Joyce's house. The kids hadn't been too happy about that, especially Mike. Nancy went outside with Steve to gather the heaters for Jonathan and Joyce.

"You should go with Jonathan," Steve said. "I think you want to."

"My brother - ," Nancy started to say.

"Do you trust me to look after them?" Steve asked.

"Of course, I do," Nancy said.

"I'll look after the kids," Steve said. "You look after our potential fella. I would go but I don't know how he feels about me. . .it's obvious how he feels about you. He needs someone to be there for him, and I know you want to be there for him."

"Steve, are you sure?" Nancy asked.

"I may be a shitty boyfriend sometimes, but turns out, I'm a damn good babysitter," Steve said.

"Hey," she said, slapping his shoulder. "Don't you call my boyfriend shitty. You're a great boyfriend, and as it turns out, you're going to be a great older brother."

"You really think they're going to want me as an older brother," Steve said with a scoff.

"You've wanted to be a big brother since you were five," Nancy said. "I'm not stupid. I know that you want a big family. Here's your chance."

"I just can't adopt other people's kids, Nance," Steve laughed.

"I think they're adopting you, Steve," Nancy said in amusement. "Lucas is probably going to be next."

"Ha ha," he rolled his eyes.

"Take care of them," Nancy said.

"Take care of Jonathan," he said.

Nancy pulled him into a kiss, pouring everything she had into it. She touched her forehead against Steve's for a moment before pulling away from him. She swallowed before walking over to Jonathan and Joyce.

"Do you need any help?" Nancy asked.

"We've got it," Jonathan said gruffly.

"Jonathan," Joyce said. "If you're fine coming with us, we'd love the help. Thank you, sweetheart."

"It's not a problem, Mrs. Byers," Nancy said.

She helped get Will into Joyce's car and piled the heaters into the trunk of Jonathan's car with Steve's help. Steve softly bumped his fist against Jonathan's shoulder.

"I hope it all works out, Jonathan. . .Mrs. Byers," Steve said and waved them off before walking back inside.

Joyce drove off in her car, with an unconcious Will tucked safely in the passenger's seat. Nancy followed Jonathan to his car and slid into the passenger's seat of his car. It was silent as Jonathan followed his mother to Hopper's cabin.

"I figured that you'd want to stay with your boyfriend," Jonathan said.

"I wanted to be there for you," Nancy said. "Steve thought it was a good idea, too."

"Steve's okay with you going with me?" Jonathan asked.

"Of course, he is, and even if he didn't, I don't need his permission, but I'm glad he's okay with it. . .with all of it," Nancy said.

"I just don't understand what he wants from me sometimes," Jonathan muttered.

"He doesn't want anything from you except to be your friend," Nancy said. "He even reached out and invited you to Tina's party."

"You expect me to believe that it was a real invitation?" Jonathan asked.

"Jesus, Jonathan, why are you so paranoid when it comes to him?" Nancy asked. "He really is trying with you, and you're not - you're not trying at all!"

"You don't get it," Jonathan said.

"Because I'm so stupid, and he's clearly using me even though it's been a year, he's lost his crown, and everyone he knows by being with me?" Nancy asked. "But yeah, sure, it's just one long con - Jonathan, did Steve really come back in to ask you to take me home?"

"Yeah, of course, why would I lie to you?" he asked.

"Why would I lie to you about Steve's intentions?" Nancy asked. "We both wanted you at that party. We both want to be friends with you, and if we could have, we both would have been here for you."

"Steve would have wanted to be here for me?" Jonathan asked.

"Yes, and if I could tell you why right now, I would," she replied. "When all three of us work on getting justice for Barb, we'll find time for us to talk. I just hope you think it's a good thing like we do."

The car fell silent and Nancy listened to Jonathan tapping his fingers on his steering wheel.

"You can't even give me a hint?" Jonathan asked.

"Afraid not," Nancy replied with a laugh.

They pulled up behind Joyce, and while Jonathan was helping his mother, Nancy was pulling the heaters out of the trunk. She carried them inside and helped Joyce push a cot close to the fireplace. Joyce placed Will on the bed and tied him to it. Nancy and Jonathan helped turn on the fireplace before turning on all the heaters as well. Jonathan quickly took off his jacket and outer shirt while Nancy did the same with her own layers. It was already getting so hot in here. Will woke up screaming. Nancy watched with Jonathan as Joyce worked hard to get the thing out of her son. For Jonathan, it was hard to watch, and Nancy put an arm around him, pulling him to her. Joyce pressed a hot poker to Will's cheek and he let out an inhuman scream, black veins appearing on his neck.

"Stop it, Mom! You're hurting him!" Jonathan cried.

"GET THE HELL OUT OF MY SON!" Joyce screamed.

Jonathan pressed his face into Nancy's neck, sobbing. She held him tightly, her own stomach churning at the sight of such a little boy going through all of that. Finally, Will's mouth opened, and what looked like black smoke poured out of his mouth. The smoke burst out the front door. Will collapsed on the cot, his eyes blinking back to normal.

"Mom? Jonathan?" Will asked.

"Will!" Jonathan exclaimed and moved to throw himself at his brother.

Nancy smiled at the sight of Jonathan and Joyce hugging Will tightly. She didn't even care that she was covered in sweat. . .Will was alright.

"Thank God," she muttered.

Nancy was loading the heaters back in the trunk of Jonathan's car while she gave the family time alone. She was about to go in for the last one when Joyce came out with it.

"I thought I'd give the boys a minute," Joyce said. "Thank you so much for helping us and for being here for Jonathan. It's nice to know that he's got a friend."

"More than one, if Jonathan just lets himself believe that Steve actually wants to be his friend. Steve wanted to be here for him, too," Nancy said. "But he didn't want to leave the kids. He thought it was better that I was here."

"I know Jonathan wants friends, despite what he says," Joyce said. "I know, it can be tough to try and get to know him."

"Oh, we're never going to give up on him. We're both determined to claw our way in there," Nancy said. "He is NOT going to White Fang us."

"Whate Fang? I suppose he does push people a way," Joyce sighed. "I keep trying to encourage him. . .I don't want him to be alone in this world, especially if there are people out there that he wants to be in his life. He talks about you and Steve a lot so I know he wants to be friends with you."

"We don't want to be alone either," Nancy said and paused. "There was a little trip that we wanted to go on. . .not very far, that Steve wanted Jonathan to join us on, but I doubt that Jonathan's going to want to leave Will after that."

"Yeah, he loves his brother, but I'm definitely going to kick Jonathan in the keister. . .he deserves a break," Joyce said.

Nancy felt guilty about lying to Joyce, but she had been thinking about this, and if she wanted to get justice for Barb, they were going to need outside help. Joyce always couldn't know about it.

"He definitely does," Nancy agreed. "He worries too much for his own good."

"I'm afraid that he gets that from me," Joyce said.

"Well, we'll promise to return him without any tattoos," Nancy said.

"That's the least of my worries," Joyce laughed, and Nancy laughed with her. "But, please, don't tattoo my boy."

Nancy giggled again as Jonathan came outside. He looked at Nancy and his mother.

"Should I be afraid?" Jonathan asked in amusement.

"Very much so. . .we should head back," Joyce said and went back inside.

"Oh, we were just talking about the fact that Steve and I are planning to kidnap you in order to give you a tattoo," Nancy said seriously. "Your mother is very much for it."

"She is not!" Jonathan laughed.

"Joyce is right. We should get back, I need to let Mike know that I was right about Will being okay," Nancy said.

"I told him that, too," Jonathan said and swallowed. "I'm glad Mike was there for him."

"I'm glad you could be there for all of them," Nancy said.

"Mom had Bob, and he - he was really - he was really great," Jonathan said, tears in his eyes. "I wish I hadn't been so stupid. I wish I had just given him a chance, you know."

"He knows it's not your fault," Nancy said. "Bob was smart, and he was a good man. He knew you would have come around eventually. He wouldn't want to beat yourself up over this."

"Easier said than done," Jonathan said and Nancy hugged him.

They drove in complete silence back towards the Byers with Joyce following them this time. When they arrived, they found a blue Mustang parked in the driveway. Nancy shared a look with Jonathan before getting out of the car and rushing to the door with him. Jonathan motioned for Joyce to stay with Will. They walked into the house to find a bloody and brusied looking Steve sitting on the couch with the kids sitting with him. Meanwhile, an unconscious Billy was tied to a chair in the kitchen with a gag over his mouth.

"Steve!" Nancy and Jonathan exclaimed.

Joyce had come in with Will and gasped at the sight.

"He was coming after me, and he would have killed Lucas," Max said. "He also would have killed Steve."

"Couldn't let that asshole kill Lucas or Max," Steve said. "Just gave him a little K. He smashed a plate over my head."

"Steve," Max started to say.

"Yep, all me," Steve said. "Someone should answer the phone."

"Nancy ripped it from the wall," Mike frowned. "I don't think he's okay. He called me Nancy earlier."

"Oh, honey, let's get you to the hospital," Joyce frowned.

"Uh, we'll take him," Jonathan said.

"We want to go with Steve to the hospital!" Dustin exclaimed.

"No, stay with Joyce and help clean up," Nancy said.

"He saved my life!" Lucas exclaimed.

"I know, man, but there's nothing you can do at the hospital, but there is something that you can do here," Jonathan said.

"The only thing you're going to do is worry," Nancy said. "At least here you can actually help."

Lucas was still frowning, but he knew they were right. Nancy and Jonathan pulled Steve up off the couch. They slid an arm around Steve's waist. Steve smiled at Jonathan.

"You're pretty," Steve sighed.

"Oh my god, now he thinks that Jonathan is Nancy," Mike said.

"No, I think that - ," Steve started to say but was cut off by Dustin.

"FOR GOD'S SAKE, MICHAEL, LET'S GET TO CLEANING!"

Nancy smiled and knew that Dustin was trying to protect Steve's secret that had inadverently been revealed when they thought that he had been sleeping. He thought it was being accidentally revealed again. Jonathan looked at Nancy in confusion before dragging Steve out of the house with her. They helped Steve into the back of Jonathan's car and drove him to the hospital. Jonathan didn't say anything, but she felt his eyes on them every so often. Nancy was holding Steve tightly and looking at him in concern. How many hits to the head can one guy take? Nancy and Jonathan sat awkwardly in the waiting room as they waited for Steve to get out. Jonathan's leg was bouncing up and down as he glanced up every now and then.

"Are you worried?" Nancy asked, placing a hand on his leg.

"No!" Jonathan blushed. "I mean, yeah."

"He's going to be fine," Nancy said.

It seemed like they had been waiting forever when Steve came rushing into the waiting room with a grin on his face.

"No concussion! The doctors said it was a miracle. They said I should meet up with my regular doctor and that there's some problem with my ears, but it might clear up on their own," Steve said. "I had to get a few stitches in my head, but I'm good to go."

"Are you sure?" Nancy asked.

"Yeah, we should check on the kids and your mom," Steve said.

Nancy and Jonathan stood up. To their surprise, Steve pulled them both into a hug. Nancy sighed and buried her face into Steve’s neck. She wrapped her arms around him and Jonathan. She felt Jonathan tense up before relaxing and hugging them both. They stayed like that longer than they should have before leaving. As they were leaving, paramedica were rolling someone in on a stretcher.

"I think that's Will's doctor," Jonathan said.

"And they're just bringing him in now?" Steve asked.

"We're definitely coming back," Nancy said.

When they did arrive back at the house, they found Billy and his car was gone. Hopper was passed out on the couch, and the kids were all piled in Will's room, fast asleep. Joyce was curled up with Will, and she was also asleep. Nancy joined Jonathan and Steve in the corner of the room, her eyelids growing every.

"We're going to be okay," Nancy said.

Over the next few days, when they weren't at home, they were helping Joyce clean her house and rid it of the decomposing demodogs. While they were busy with that, Nancy made up an excuse to get Steve in for a doctor's check-up, quickly leaving with Steve and Jonathan before anyone could question it. Her tape recorder was tucked safely into her bag, ready to pull it out at any moment. She held the flowers in her hand. Nancy approached the nurse's desk.

"Uh, hi, my name is Nancy Owens, I'm looking for my uncle Sam, I was told he was brought here. I've just been so worried," Nancy said. "He's like a father to me and I just have to know that he's okay."

"And they are?" The nurse asked.

"My boyfriend, Steve, and our Jonathan - our friend, our FRIEND, Jonathan. He's our friend," Nancy said quickly, and she elbowed Steve for snorting. "They were with me when I got the news. They're here to support me."

"Room 211," the nurse said.

"Thank you so much," Nancy said.

Steve let out a laugh as they moved away from the desk, and Nancy hushed him, but she was smiling as well. They were getting close to Owens' room when they spotted Hopper at the end of the hall, talking to a doctor.

"What's Hopper doing here?" Nancy asked.

"I figured he'd be with El," Jonathan said.

"Both of you distract him!" Nancy hissed.

"Both of us?!" Steve and Jonathan asked.

"If he turns around, he'll know what we're up to," Nancy said. "I need to get into his room."

Making her blue eyes bigger seemed to do the trick. As the doctor walked away from Hopper, Steve and Jonathan quickly took his place. Nancy hurried into Dr. Owens' room as they were talking to Hopper. It hadn't taken long before Dr. Owens had put his foot in his mouth, giving Nancy exactly what she needed. She crept out of the room, leaving the flowers behind, and walked towards the guys still talking to Hopper. As she got closer, she caught the end of the conversation.

"Okay, I don't think you're really here for a check-up," Hopper said.

"Okay, you caught us - uh, I had a few questions for a professional," Steve said, looking embarrassed. "My dad said that I'm a disgusting pervert. . .hey, maybe I can ask you! Is it normal for guys to think sexual thoughts about men and women?"

"Jesus, kid. . .okay, first of all, yes, and second, if you have problems with your dad, call me," Hopper said and bumped his fist with Steve’s shoulder. "It's absolutely alright for you to think about that stuff and to act on it. If anyone tells you otherwise, they're idiots. If either one of you has any questions, I'll be happy to answer them. My romantic adventures might not have worked out so well, but at least you guys can learn what not to do. I'm here, and so is your mom."

Nancy smiled as Hopper placed a hand on both of their shoulders. Hopper was far from a perfect man, but he had a good heart that that was definitely better than most people in this town. He would definitely would be a good father to Jonathan.

"Thanks," Jonathan said softly.

Nancy beamed. She approached Steve and Jonathan.

"There you are!" Nancy exclaimed, getting in between them. "I've been looking all over for you. The doctor's office is this way. Hey, Chief, we have to get back. . .see you later?"

"What are you three up to?" Hopper asked with narrowed eyes.

"Nothing!" They said.

"Just making sure our vacation plans are all set," Nancy said. "Joyce knows all about it, just ask her! Gotta go!"

She grabbed their hands and took off before Hopper could ask anymore questions. With Dr. Owens' confession on tape, Nancy let Steve take them to their perspective houses to back their bags for a trip to Illinois. If they wanted to get this information out there, they were going to need help. None of them knew what to expect from Murray Beauman, only that he was a reporter and conspiracy theorist. He was also their only option. Nancy couldn't let Barb's parents sell their house, especially not because of this guy. . .she couldn't let them keep hoping that their daughter was alive, either. As much as she would like to still have that same hope, it was also cruel, and Nancy just couldn't keep it to herself anymore.

"I thought you told them two beds," Nancy said when they got into the hotel room.

"I swear that I did!" Steve exclaimed.

"They're all booked up, so I think we're just going to have to deal with it," Jonathan said. "I'll sleep on the floor."

"No!" Nancy and Steve exclaimed, causing him to jump.

"What we mean is. . . that you don't have to do that. We're all somewhat grown up and mature," Steve said. "Right?"

"Right," Jonathan said, his cheeks red.

He refused to look at Steve or Nancy. They shared a look with each other.

"Look, if it's that much of a problem, then I can sleep between you two," Nancy said.

"That would be better," Jonathan said.

Nancy frowned and set her bag by the dressers. It was pointless to unpack, and she wouldn't want to put her clothes in there, anyway. Steve awkwardly placed his bag next to hers and shoved his hands into his pocket. The bruises on his face were very obvious now, and it would probably take a few weeks before they would heal. Hargrove really did a number on him. Nancy felt guilty as she thought about the bruises that Jonathan left behind on Steve the previous year. . .one hit should have been enough for the shit that Steve had said, but Jonathan kept going. . .kept hitting him, and Nancy never thought about how that might have affected Steve. She had stupidly thought for a moment that Jonathan had done it for her, and she had been touched, but why? How could she be touched by that and somehow think that Steve's own behavior had been more cruel than that? It was just a camera, but Steve was a life, a living breathing - She had pushed a lot to the side because Barb had been missing, and so had Will. . .she had been willing to forget a lot of things that Jonathan had done because of that. She had talked Steve into buying that camera for Jonathan, and with his attitude towards Steve now, did he even deserve it? Nancy touched Steve's cheek gently, careful to avoid the bruises and the cuts.

"I'm okay," Steve said softly.

"He could have killed you," Nancy said, and she wondered for a moment who the hell she had been talking about.

"Really, Nancy, I'm a big boy. It's nothing that I can't handle," Steve said.

"You don't deserve to get your ass kicked every year," Nancy said.

"Maybe not this year," Steve said.

"Not last year either," Nancy said, and Steve looked over at Jonathan. "Both of you were assholes last year, but the difference between you and Jonathan is that you owned up to your mistakes."

"Are we seriously going to bring that up again?" Jonathan asked.

Nancy whirled around, her cheeks red. Everything she had been holding onto had come boiling to the surface.

"Yeah, after everything that happened, you just disappeared, so it's not like you were around for us to talk about it," Nancy said. "I waited for you!"

"Yeah, only for like a month," Jonathan muttered.

"No, it's been longer than that, Jonathan! I've been waiting for you to come and apologize for all that bullshit you yelled at me last year. . .which you had no fucking right to do because you were in the wrong!" Nancy yelled.

"If you had such a problem with it, why were you hanging out with me? Why didn't you say anything?" Jonathan snapped.

"Because like everything else, I fucking buried it!" Nancy screamed.

"I apologized to you, Nancy, or don't you remember that?" he asked.

"And then you took it back! When I confronted you about it, you told me - no, what did you tell me, Jonathan?" Nancy asked.

"I, uh, don't remember," he said and he looked ashamed all of a sudden.

"Bullshit!"

"I told you - ," he sighed and looked down at his shoes. "I told you that I saw this girl who was trying to be someone else, then you said that was bullshit. You called me a pretencious creep, and I got defensive."

"What else did you say?" she asked.

"I said that you were trying to be rebellious like all those other girls that Steve slept with, and then I told you that you were going to end up in a depressing relationship like your parents," Jonathan said.

"I was so guilt ridden about Barb that a part of me actually believed that, and I've spent so much of this past year trying to figure out what I did was wrong," Nancy said, tears in her eyes. "And then I realized that I did nothing wrong. I wanted to be with Steve, I still do, and I shouldn't feel ashamed of how I feel about him. I don't understand how you could have done that. I know you're not that kind of person. You can't be that cruel."

"I'm sorry. . .I am sorry, Nancy, I swear," Jonathan said. "I - I don't know why I took them, I didn't know then, and I still don't know why. I just didn't want to talk about it anymore, and I just wanted you to stop. I couldn't admit what I had done or what I had said because I know I'm not that kind of person - that's my father."

"We have a theory," Steve said, his jaw clenched. "I should really kick your ass for what you said to Nancy, but I'm not a saint either. I didn't stop Tommy from spraypainting that bullshit on the theater, but at least I took responsibility."

"What's the theory?" Jonathan asked.

"Well, you want to push people away so you're willing to say or do anything to do that, including using that camera as a tool," Steve said.

"That's a possibility," Jonathan said.

"We're teenagers, and I think sometimes we forget that. We don't know everything. We just think we do," Nancy said. "We want to think that we can handle everything on our own, that we don't need people, but I think that we do, Jonathan. I think you want friends. You want to make connections, but I don't think you know how. Honestly, we're trying to figure that out, too."

"It's easier to pretend like we're the problems rather than admit that you need people because people in the past have let you down before," Steve said. "Believe me, I know what that's like. We're not that different. I used to pretend like I wasn't alone, but you pretended like you could handle it just fine, but the truth is that you don't want to be alone either."

Jonathan sniffed and turned away from them. He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, trying to stop the tears from coming.

"You're not a bad person, Jonathan. It's okay to admit when you've made a mistake. We're all dicks sometimes," Nancy said. "As Steve said so elequently, earlier."

Jonathan snorted and shook his head. It fell silent between them for a moment

"You're not your father, man, and neither am I," Steve said and paused. "From what you told Nancy and I over the last year - I know what it's like to live with a manipulative father. It's hard to tell what's real sometimes, you know. We're real, Jonathan. Both of us. And I think if anyone was trying to pretend to be someone else, it was us. I used King Steve as a mask, and you tried to hide behind your father's mis - shit, what is it?"

"Misogyny," Nancy said.

"Right, misogyny," Steve said, snapping his fingers.

"We're here, Jonathan, we're right here, and we're just waiting for you to let us in," Nancy said.

Jonathan took in all of what they said before turning around. His eyes were red from crying.

"You - you're right, about all of it. I want more, and it's hard for me to admit that," Jonathan said. "And I don't know how to ask for what I want because that's all my father did, and I just don't want to be like him but somehow, I ended up being like him, anyway."

"Taking time for yourself isn't a bad thing. Sometimes, it's a good thing to be selfish, Jonathan," Nancy said.

"My family - ," Jonathan said.

"It doesn't have to be all or nothing," Nancy said. "You can have it both ways."

"Yeah, Thumper," Steve said with a smirk. "You can have both. . .Oh, come on, you knew all this time that I'm Bambi."

"I'm lost," Nancy blinked.

"When we were about eight or nine, I decided to explore the woods behind my house, right about the same time that Jonathan here did," Steve said, still smirking. "I remember coming across this boy with a polaroid around his neck - the cutest boy I'd ever seen, and he was crying. Well, I just couldn't have that. I went over there to comfort him. He had stepped on a rabbit's foot and injured it. He was crying so hard I thought he was going to make himself sick."

"You calmed me down, helped me fix the rabbit's foot, and then you sat there with me until I finished crying. You agreed to come back the next day with the rabbit so we could both take care of it," Jonathan said. "You said it would be easier to hide at your house, but you didn't say why."

"We spent days in that same spot, looking after him. We never told each other what our names were. He was Thumper to me," Steve said.

"And you were Bambi," Jonathan blushed as Steve took a step closer to him. "And then one day - "

"The sunlight streamed through the woods just right that day, and you looked so beautiful, I just had to do it. I had to kiss you but if I knew that you - ," Steve started to say.

"I wish I hadn't run away," Jonathan swallowed. "I wish I had come back - I took too long, and when I did, you didn't return - when I was in those woods, I thought about that moment and how stupid I had been. I was so jealous of you, Nancy, you got to be with Steve and Steve, you got to be with Nancy - that feeling surprised me because I didn't think I liked girls. I thought it was me, I thought I was trying to force myself to be something that I wasn't. I'm sorry for all of it."

Nancy watched as Steve took another step closer to Jonathan. He brushed hair out of Jonathan's eye.

"Are you going to run away this time?" Steve asked.

"No," Jonathan whispered.

"You better not, because I think Nancy wants to see us kiss," Steve said, cupping his face.

Nancy hadn't realized that she had been gripping the dresser behind her so tightly but Steve had noticed.

"I definitely should get to see this," Nancy nodded. "Yeah, I deserve it."

"I'm sorry, too, Steve," Jonathan said, looking at his bruises. "Nancy was right, I did go too far."

"I was an ass, I'm so - ," Steve was cut off by Jonathan's lips.

Jonathan wrapped his arms around Steve's neck and kissed him, cutting his apology. No, Steve didn't need to apologize anymore. Well, Nancy thought, if he keeps getting beat up like this on an annual basis, he might not need to apologize ever again. Steve's arms encircled Jonathan's waist, adding more support as Jonathan stood on his tiptoes to deepen the kiss. Nancy swallowed, enjoying the way that Jonathan fit in Steve's arms, and she noticed they both seemed to enjoy it, too. The kiss was soft and slow, with Jonathan making small whimpering noises into Steve's mouth. They had both wanted it longer than Nancy thought they would have, and even though it's been a year, they were still discovering things about themselves, as well as each other.

"Fuck," Steve gasped as he broke the kiss.

Jonathan tugged at Steve's jacket delicately, almost as if he was asking a question. Steve smirked and let him push it off, not caring that it landed on the floor. Steve did the same with Jonathan's jacket, making it Jonathan's turn to take off his shirt. Nancy could feel her own eyes darken at the sight of the two shirtless men. . .her men. Before she knew it, Nancy was walking over and sliding in between them. She looked at Jonathan.

"Hi," she said softly.

"Hi," Jonathan smiled.

Nancy grabbed the back of his head and kissed him, her hands curling into his hair. Jonathan's hands went to her waist as he gasped in delight. This was his first time kissing a girl, and she knew that it had been his first time kissing at all with Steve. She could feel Steve move up behind her, his hands on her waist. She broke the kiss with Jonathan and took off her jacket along with her shirt. Her hands went to Jonathan's belt.

"Off," she gasped. "Everything off."

Jonathan and Steve shed the rest of their clothing. Nancy pushed them onto the bed while she stood before them in nothing but her panties. Their eyes were dark and hungry, drinking her in. There would be no shame tonight, she thought. Nancy slid her panties down, sliding out of them before climbing up onto the bed. She put a hand on Steve and Jonathan's chests.

"Mine," she whispered.

The next morning, Nancy woke up before Jonathan and Steve. She had been curled up against them, an arm around both of them, but somehow they were more wrapped up in each other. Jonathan was sprawled out on top of Steve, drooling on his chest while Steve snored softly into Jonathan's hair. Nancy sat up and smiled down at both of them. . .the tension that hung over the three of them over the last year seemed to have disapated. Maybe it has been leading up to this, building up since that moment in Jonathan's house when they fought the demogorgon together. She remembered the way Jonathan's arm wrapped around her waist, and she remembered when she saw Jonathan still holding Steve's hand after pulling him down the hallway. This was how it was supposed to go. Oh, they looked so cute. She hated to wake them up, but they needed to get started. She nudged them, but they didn't respond. She shook them repeatedly, calling their names, but nothing. . .

"FIRE!" Nancy yelled.

They jumped up, rolling out of bed immediately. She giggled at the sight of them, naked and in fighting positions. Jonathan and Steve groaned as she bent over the sheets she was clutching.

"Seriously, Nance," Steve said.

"It's not my fault that you're both deep sleepers," Nancy said with amusement. "Come on, we need to go."

Finding Murray's place was a bit tricky. It was in the middle of the woods, very off the road, and when they caught sight of it, they all knew that they were in the right place. Nancy had pulled Jonathan into her lap as she didn't want to leave him in the back seat alone. . .plus, she wanted to get her hands on him. Steve didn't either. He had managed to keep one hand on both of theirs, this thumb caressing their skin. It put Nancy at ease. There was still some nervous energy there, and she wondered for a moment if she was doing the right thing, but when Steve touched their clapsed hands, she felt better about all of it. There was no judgment from Jonathan, the hypocrite that he is, and no harsh looks. . .only soft ones. Her heart skipped a beat when she watched Jonathan look at Steve like that because he always knew how she felt. He understood it, but he had been afraid of it.

"Alright, here we go," Nancy said.

Jonathan got out of the car and held the door open for Nancy. Jonathan and Steve walked ahead of her towards the front door. Nancy couldn't help herself. She was still feeling a little bit of it from last night. She slapped their butts as she passed them, and she giggled when they yelped.

"Nancy!"

Meeting Murray Beauman sobered them all right up. There was definitely something off about him, but maybe cutting off ties to people would do that to a person, Nancy thought, especially if they believed in the kind of things that Murray did. The man was loud and wasn't afraid to say what he was thinking even if it was rude. He had been right, though. They couldn't just put it all out there. They needed to water it down and give them something they could believe. The three of them spent the rest of the day working with him. Jonathan would look fondly at Nancy as she focused on helping Barb. Every so often, Steve would look at the both of them. Maybe this was where Murray got his wires crossed. After sealing up all the envelopes that needed to be sent out to the right newspapers, Steve went to the bathroom. It was during that moment that Murray proceeded to give Nancy and Jonathan a talking to. . .a conversation that certainly pissed them off.

"We like Steve, but we don't love Steve," Murray said, in an obnoxious tone of voice.

"WE LOVE STEVE!" Nancy and Jonathan exclaimed, surprising the other man.

Steve appeared in the doorway. He folded his arms, looking rather upset at Murray but there was a hint of a smile on his lips at what they said.

"Hey, dipshit, maybe you shouldn't be talking about things that you don't know about," Steve said. "Because not only are you wrong, you're also stupid. I'm their boyfriend."

Nancy beamed when he said that, and Jonathan smiled, flashing his dimples at Steve. Their boyfriend.

"Their boyfriend?" Murray asked.

"As of last night," he shrugged.

"Not that it's any of your business," Nancy rolled her eyes. "You don't know us."

"On that note, I kind of want to leave," Steve said.

"Me too," Jonathan muttered.

"It's awfully late," Murrary said.

"We'll take our chances," Nancy said.

They said a quick goodbye to him and walked back to Steve's car. Steve leaned against it, his eyes looking at them both rather fondly. He reached out, wrapping an arm around both of their waists, and pulled them to him.

"You love me, huh?" Steve asked, his hazel eyes full of hope.

"Yeah," Jonathan said, looking at Nancy before looking back at him.

"We do," Nancy said.

Steve kissed her softly before moving to kiss Jonathan just the same. Yeah, this was more than right. Another weight had been lifted off her shoulders, and while she wasn't sure that anything would come from it, the fact that she had tried was more than enough for her especially with her men by her side.

"You know. . .I think I forgot to check out of the motel," Steve said.

"Don't we have it for one more day?" Jonathan asked.

"You know, once we get back, it's going to be tough for all three of us to find places to be together, and we're all going to be pretty busy. With Steve picking up on brotherly duties, me trying to fix my relationship with my own siblings and taking Max under my wing. Of course, Jonathan trying to balance being there for himself and his family. . .our hands are going to be full," Nancy smiled.

"You're going to take Max under your wing?" Steve said smiling softly.

"I think I'm going to teach her how to shoot," Nancy said.

"Back to the motel then?" Jonathan asked and they grinned.

When they finally did leave the motel room, the next day, it was pretty late at night when they got back into Hawkins. Nancy had already called ahead to her parents' house and found out that the kids were having another sleepover at Jonathan's house. Since it was the middle of the night, they had to be quiet sneaking into Jonathan's room. The three of them had caught a case of the giggles as they pushed themselves through Jonathan's window.

"How am I going to explain this to my mom? She said not to mark me," Jonathan said as they fell onto the floor of his bedroom.

"She said not to get you tattoed," Nancy pointed out as she laughed.

"She never said we couldn't bite you," Steve said. "Not our fault, you're so yummy."

Still on the floor laughing, Nancy and Steve buried their faces in Jonathan's neck. Jonathan groaned as they began to kiss him.

"Not here, guys," he said.

Suddenly, the door burst open. Joyce and Hopper came in looking prepared to fight. Nancy and Steve pulled back, their hands still pressed to Jonathan's stomach in a rather intimate manner.

"Oh, hey, mom. . .Hopper," Jonathan said, trying to keep a straight face. "I guess El wanted to spend the night, too."

"Yeah," Hopper said, with narrowed eyes. "What did you do?"

Steve and Nancy shared a look before looking at Jonathan, who just rolled his eyes, his dimples flashing as he smiled.

"Jonathan," Steve and Nancy said before giggling.

"Okay. . .so, this has something to do with our conversation earlier and not anything else?" Hopper asked.

"Yeah," Nancy said.

"Well, I hope so," Hopper said, looking suspiciously at the three of them.

"I feel like I'm missing something," Joyce said.

"Mom. . .I'm their boyfriend," Jonathan said, sitting up.

Nancy and Steve sat up, too. They had sobered up now and looking at Joyce, who smiled at her son.

"That's great," she said and touched his face. "You look very happy."

"I am," Jonathan said.

"The kids are sleeping, so maybe don't be too loud," Joyce said, and she hugged Jonathan. "I love you."

Joyce pulled Hopper out of the room before closing the door. There were heavy footfalls and suddenly, the door was being pushed open three inches. Lighter footsteps approached and the door was shut again before it was opened. Open, close, open, close. . .

"Hopper, they're not going to do anything with the kids and us in the house," Joyce hissed at him.

"They're horny teenagers, Joyce!" Hopper exclaimed.

Steve, Nancy, and Jonathan collapsed on the ground as they burst into giggles. Whatever came next, they were going to get through it together. As she lay there laughing, she figured out what her next move would be. . .Nancy Wheeler, investigative reporter, had a nice ring to it. She knew that no matter what she did, she would always get to the truth. . .she would get justice, and while she knew she could do it on her own, she didn't want to. It was a thousand times better with the people she loved by her side to share it with. Both of them.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Can I ask why you don’t like Vil much? If you haven’t answered that already?

For me, I also didn’t like him at first but loving Rook has turned me into a Vil lover 😭.

[Referencing this tier list!]

A significant part of it is no fault of Vil's own, it's just... I have a very strong aversion to celebrity characters. This dislike scales up the more famous that celebrity character is + how much attention is brought to their status, and well... Y'all know perfectly well how famous Vil is 🤡 This is why I also dislike his father to some degree, though it's to a lesser extent because I at least appreciate Eric being involved in his son’s life + find Eric to be friendly.

Celebrity characters tend to make me feel deeply uncomfortable chiefly because their careers put them in a position where they're ripe for parasocialism (which is when one party, ie their fans, extends emotional energy, interest and time, and the other party, the persona, ie the object of their affection, is completely unaware of the other's existence). Parasocialism in of itself is not a negative thing by default; it can, in fact, be a powerful motivator to improve oneself or can significantly lift one's mood. Some sectors entirely rely on parasocialism to function (such as the "influencing" industry).

Where it starts to get iffy for me is when we veer into the most parasocial of fans who will take extreme actions to support and/or hate on an individual. These are your stalkers, your sasaeng fans, etc. While I'm aware that these are the vocal minority of a celebrity's fanbases, the kinds of things these extremely parasocial fans pull off deeply unnerves me. Like Vil, the celebrities involved are by no means at fault—but they’re always “tainted” in my mind by the association due to the sheer magnitude of what the most crazed fans do in their name 💀 So when I think of that celebrity… I also think of the insane stuff they have to deal with from their fans and that stresses me out.

I find the whole “celebrity worship” culture in of itself very odd. It’s difficult for me to form an attachment to a real person that doesn’t or cannot reciprocate. (It’s easy to do with fictional characters because they, by design, can’t exactly reciprocate and I can “turn them off” whenever I want to.) By extension, it’s hard for me to wrap my mind around activities like following the celebrity’s life closely, supporting any and all projects due to their involvement alone, and collecting merch/signatures. Thinking of Vil’s fans doing this… (or, as seen in the Tapis Rouge event, getting emotional/shrieking for him, begging for a glance, fainting, etc.) it invokes those feelings of discomfort again.

Finally (regarding the celebrity thing), Vil and other famous people tend to be in the spotlight. I don’t really like this sort of a presentation; it calls too much attention to them. This runs counter to the types of characters I tend to gun for: the schemers who operate from the shadows, typically appearing innocuous or humble at first glance. These characters stay out of the spotlight and prefer it that way, as it allows them more freedoms to enact their plots. Celebrities’ positions don’t really allow for that. Even if their off-camera persona is completely different than their on-camera one, the attention they’re showered with never seems to fade.

I also find Vil’s entire presence way too intense (even when he’s lined up next to arguably much more physically imposing students like the 180 cm+ squad or any muscular character). This is why I can tolerate Neige but dislike Vil; Neige comes off as innocent and approachable—so much so that I don’t even register him as an idol or a celebrity in my mind. He’s just a cute boy-next-door type inviting me to dance and sing with him and his friends!

Vil’s hair, makeup, tall heels, the need for perfection, his sternness. It’s a LOT to take in. I can admire the confidence and the tenacity with which Vil pursues beauty, but at the same time… it can come off as super overwhelming. I don’t think I could comfortably breathe in the same space as him without feeling like I’ve offended his sensibilities 😅 Sometimes I get a little anxious just reading him scolding others; it feels like he’s reaching through the screen and scolding me too. I get the overwhelming vibes even through the things Vil creates or commissions; the composition and choreography of Absolutely Beautiful was so oppressive and centered on winning that I disassociated from my own school’s team 💀

Some other minor, miscellaneous gripes I have with Vil:

I don’t generally have a problem with Vil’s leadership or how he guides/teaches others. (His behavior is very similar to what I’ve experienced within my own culture’s upbringing.) However, I do not approve of all of his methods and I do think he does “too much” at times + oversteps, making me feel uneasy.

His tastes don’t really match mine! It’s a little too “glam”, especially the ensembles with heavy smoky eyes.

What’s with him dying the ends of his hair that color… It makes me think of him dunking his head in grape Kool-aid as a dye 😭/j

There we are ^^ I hope that explanation was sufficient!! I tried to explain my… admittedly complex feelings behind my dislike of Vil as neatly as I could. Nothing against the guy, how he is written, or his fans (both in-universe and irl), of course!! This is just my opinion.