#i black out and suddenly there is 10k words

[epiphyllous]

when morning comes (Astarion/Reader) [1]

With your bleeding heart and altruistic bravery, it is almost too easy for Astarion to come to the conclusion that his best plan of action is to seduce you. All he has to do is not fall for you-- a feat easier said than done.

-or-

(Where were you ten, fifty, hundreds of years ago when he needed you? How dare you come now, the knight in shining armor for the less fortunate, when he has been waiting centuries for someone like you to save him? How dare you come to him now when he is like this?)

Word Count: ~10k Notes: Astarion/Reader, Paladin!Reader, AFAB, gender-neutral "you", a study in Astarion's romance route + added features, [switches to your POV], annoyance to lovers, fall first/fall harder, slight Lae'zel/Shadowheart, Wyll/Lae'zel, Halsin/Reader; may have some descriptors of my Tav but generally no specifics (let me have my brown eyes), NSFW contains Virgin!Reader, trauma related to Astarion's past [Part 2]

[Act I: Druid Groves]

From the start, you and Astarion chafed at each other's presence. Granted, he had threatened you at knife point, quick to suspect you were of the illithid colony, and you had responded in kind with a painful headbutt. But surprisingly enough, that had nearly no consequence to the relationship compared to the vastly different way the two of you engaged with the world.

"Do you always just... do things for other people for no reward?" Astarion asks you disdainfully when you promise Zevlor you would speak to Kagha. It's the third favor you've picked up in the last hour. "Seems very... inefficient."

"Yes?" You reply, confused as though he were the strange one. (In his humblest opinion, you're the lunatic who decides to help everyone who asks despite the arguably more pressing issue of their hostile parasite.) "I mean, helping them is going to help us in the long-run. We need information and supplies, and they have both of that."

A half-truth at best. Astarion has seen you soothe stray animals and children on the beaten road, help wayward allies, and offer up your amenities without hesitation. Helping others happens to align with your goal rather than the other way around. He feels his mouth twist in annoyance.

Astarion sniffs at your answer, and you give him the massive eye roll you habitually do every time the two of you argue. "Would it kill you to help them out a little?" You say, "It's not like it's completely out of our way to do it."

You make it sound so simple, he thinks bitterly. He glances at the sword at your hip and the shield on your back and wonders if you could ever understand how it feels to be powerless. It would explain your naivety, the way you cling onto doing the 'right' thing, your paladin vow to protect the weak no matter how foolhardy it may be. 

(Where were you, he thinks, ten, fifty, hundreds of years ago when he was still surviving on the scraps of whatever Cazador decided to provide for him that night? Where were you when his cruel master carved into his skin, a painter on a screaming canvas? When he was buried underground, no longer alive but still living, until he clawed his way up with bloody hands, only to find out his body and soul belonged to another? When he was compelled by vampiric thrall to lead his first victim of thousands to their death?

And how dare you come now, the knight in shining armor for the less fortunate, when he has been waiting centuries for someone like you to save him? How dare you come to him now when he is like this?)

"It's a matter of principle, darling." Astarion simpers, "I, for one, am not the type to play hero."

He expects a sneer, the silent treatment-- those he knows easily how to respond to. The gauging look you give him, though, and a thin veneer of frustration just underneath before it dissipates gives him pause. "Well," you say mildly, "we can agree to disagree. You're coming along anyways so let's just get going, yeah?"

Astarion follows you then with no comeback in mind, only a question as to how far your patience can go.

.

.

.

It is with great hesitation and no small amount of begrudgement that Astarion admits he has never been one for planning. After all, why hope for a future that will never occur? What future does he have when every move he makes is in accordance to someone else's will, every decision made never his own? 

When Astarion decided to travel with the unfortunate duo (now group) with similar illithid fates, he did not anticipate how difficult it would be to hide his affliction of a vampire. For the brief moment in the sun, he thought perhaps that because he was immune to daylight, his thirst for blood would have also disappeared. Imagine his surprise, nights after, when he finds himself starving and with no inconspicuous way to feed himself. 

There is always someone on the lookout for goblins or other enemies alike. There have been few times he can sneak out without calling attention to himself, especially for such a long absence as hunting for prey would be. Astarion can feel himself grow weak over the course of a few days, and though he briefly thinks about telling you the truth about his identity, he is resistant. 

Good heroes tend to hunt creatures of the night like him. Considering his blatant disregard for those you choose to protect, he isn't sure he will continue to be under your protection if he is outed. Astarion finds traveling as a pack to be too conveniently safe, but he is so, so hungry. In the midst of his hunger, anyone's blood will do, but it is yours that tempt him most: healthy, righteous, and pure-hearted. He has never been allowed to feed on a thinking creature, and at this point, he isn't sure if he should, considering the risks.

But Astarion is tempted by the smell of your blood shed during a particularly fierce battle, and as he feels his hands tremble, he concludes that he must find a way to feed tonight.

You always, without fail, set your tent up near the fire. It is where he finds himself creeping over your bedroll at the dead of night only to find that you have woken up to look up at him in shock. (He has never been one for planning.)

"...Shit," Astarion lets slip out, backing away. You stand at the ready, eyes boring into him as you come to the realization of what he is. "No, no- it's not what it looks like."

 "...And what exactly is it supposed to look like then?" You ask tensely, and Astarion feels the situation quickly run away from him.

"I wasn't going to hurt you!” He puts his hands up and swallows. “I just needed, well, blood."

"You're the reason why that boar on the side of the road had no blood.” You realize, narrowing your eyes. "How many things have you hunted without us knowing?” You accuse, “People?"

"No!" Astarion exclaims, "No people. Never any people. I can sustain myself on animals, kobolds even-- but it is not enough. Not when we're fighting every day like this."

He sees a flicker of sympathy in your eyes and hope builds in his chest. "I feel so weak," he pleads. "If I just had a little bit of blood, I could think clearer. Fight better. Please."

You don't relax but you don't try to attack him either. Astarion considers that a winning chance. "Have you told anyone that you're a vampire?"

"They're more likely to ram a stake through my ribs than anything," Astarion mutters. "At best– even for you– you'd say no unless you trusted me." He looks up at you and sees the way your eyes look into him for the truth. "And you can trust me. I wouldn't want to harm anyone in this camp." And it is technically the truth, though Gale tests his patience sometimes. Even he cannot promise that he wouldn't betray everyone at the drop of the hat if the situation begs for it, but this is a completely different matter at the moment. 

Your gaze is unfaltering, the silence palpable as the two of you look at each other. Astarion feels his palms sweat as he awaits your judgment and for the proverbial hammer to possibly fall on his head. 

"Okay," you say instead. "Alright. I trust you. As long as you don't try biting me again without permission, it's fine. Can you promise me that at least?"

"Really?" Astarion knows this is what he could ever hope for, but a part of him is baffled that you would ever think to trust him. He supposes your foolhardy compassion has its benefits-- though he would be lying to himself if he didn't admit there was a part of him that was rather... flattered by your trust. "Yes- yes, of course. Thank you."

He presses his lips in thought. If you were so willing to put your faith in him, then perhaps it would not hurt to ask. "If I could ask you to trust me just a little further..." He says, "I just need a little blood. I won't take anything more than I need. Please."

Astarion can see the hesitation in your eyes when he asks. Are you weighing your trust in him, he wonders. Or are you worried about your safety, the benefits versus the risks? It would make sense-- you really shouldn't. But a moment before you respond, he somehow knows that you would. 

[He looks so tired, you think, heart clenching with sympathy. You wonder how you've missed it for this long or if he's that good at pretending otherwise in the presence of others. It could be both-- Astarion has shown to be a great performer, and you are one of his best audiences. You find it difficult to argue against letting him bite you; the anticipated pain, the possible negative effect, the case that his hunger is too much for you to quench all pales in comparison to what good you would do for him. 

You are halfway to being smitten already, and you cannot deny yourself this.

But you are not naive. You are not fearless. For whatever trust you give to Astarion, you are afraid of the fact that if he betrays you in this, you can never go back to how it was before.]

"Promise me you'll stop if I tell you to," you tell him quietly. 

He acquiesces quickly. Of course, he will, he promises, only just enough. You lay back down at his suggestion, body tense in anticipation. He does not let that feeling linger too long, seizing his chance before you decide to change your mind. He buffets your body with his arms before he sinks his teeth into your outstretched neck. 

You taste better than he could possibly have imagined. 

To think he fed solely on mice before-- bog water in comparison to the sweet red of your blood, invigorating and undeniably delicious. Astarion gets another mouthful and groans, feeling strength return, warmth pooling into his belly. If bears and boars were the main course, then you are the mouth-salivating dessert– irresistibly delectable and leaving him wanting for more.

Your body trembles underneath him, your hand clenched into his shirt as a counterweight to the pain. Your pulse bounds underneath his tongue, the small gasps you cannot suppress resounds into his ears. This, too, puts feeding in a different plane than before, an extra level of appeal that can only be experienced with thinking creatures. Perhaps it is you in particular that adds another layer to the pleasure. Having you at his mercy, taking what you so graciously offered with ravenous hunger: power courses through him for more reasons than one.

[Your heart beats as fast as a rabbit's, fear and adrenaline powering you in the same manner. Or, if you were being honest, anticipation and a little bit of excitement fuels it as well as Astarion climbs on top of you, hunger in his eyes. 

It is a more literal type of hunger, but it is an intense look either way that leaves you frozen like a deer in headlights. 

The bite itself is more shocking than it is painful. You barely muffle your exclamation, unused to the feeling of someone so intimately close combined with the instinctive fear that accompanies the loss of blood. You hold onto Astarion without thought, and you squeeze your eyes and bite your lips as he takes your blood in with every suck. 

As scared as you may be, you are undeniably aroused from the feeling of it all-- the numbness that gently overtakes your mind, the light, floaty feeling of pleasure of the bloodloss combined with the intimacy of someone you’ve always been attracted to. The knowledge that he is gorging himself on you, taking pleasure from you, makes your blood run hotter than it has any right to in this situation. 

And then, you feel a switch flip, and the lightness becomes disorienting, and the numbness bleeds into coldness. Panic starts climbing up your throat. You let yourself think for the briefest moment if Astarion will let go on his own, but you know you will not last long enough to wait. Worry gnaws at you at this thought, and you can only hope that Astarion is true to his word when you tell him to stop.

And he does. Perhaps it is the feeling that you have placed your trust in the right person that has felt the best out of everything that has happened tonight.]

"Astarion-" he hears you grit out, "that's enough."

“Hm? Oh, yes, of course.” It takes but a moment for Astarion to register it before removing his fangs from your neck. He sees blood trickle from the punctures and he bemoans the waste as he pulls away. Next time– if there is a next time– he'll be neater, he thinks. He watches as you breathe just as hard as him, eyes slightly glazed over, and he barely resists the urge to lick his lips. 

He stands from you to give you space, and you slowly sit up, looking at him with an emotion he can't quite place. It concerns him little at the moment with the strongest blood he's ever consumed in two millennia coursing through him.

“That was…” Astarion begins, breathless with adrenaline, “Amazing.” He delicately wipes the blood from the side of his mouth, an irrepressible smile on his face.

“Hope that helped,” you say, and he almost laughs at the understatement of two centuries.

“It very much did.” Astarion breathes in deeply. “My mind is finally clear. I feel… strong,” he nearly purrs. Happy.”

“Looking forward to seeing you fight then,” you say, hand at your neck as the punctures gradually close. You sigh, wiping your bloody hands onto the patch of grass. “Going out to hunt?” You ask like any other day.

“I am, darling.” He stands tall, head held high with a confidence he has not felt in ages. To think this is what he's been missing out on… “You're invigorating, but I'll need to get something more… filling,” he tells you, glancing back.

You give him a flippant wave of the hand, and he isn't sure if you are too tired to be wary of him or uncaring of the risk considering what you allowed him to do. “Good hunting,” you say genuinely before yawning. 

“I will. And-” You turn to him then, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion but still alert. Astarion pauses for a moment. “This is a gift, you know,” he says. “I won't forget it.”

He walks off into the forest after and finds easy prey to feast on. It's a shame it does not taste as good as you did, but he will make do and ride out the feeling of power for as long as he can. It is when he returns to camp with you fast asleep by the fire that Astarion realizes the emotion on your face was relief: relief that he had stopped when you had asked, and that he kept to his word. 

What a fragile thing trust is, to be put to the breaking point at a single moment in time. What if he had continued to consume and drink you dry? He suspects it would have rather dire consequences to your mortality and even worse effects to his relationship with you. It would be unsalvageable, he realizes, if he had not stopped when you had asked. For some things may be forgiven, but this would be reprehensible. 

Astarion finds that he understands you too well for his liking. How many times has he not been able to give consent? Wanted to say 'no' but forced to say yes? (Not knowing now how to say 'no' at all?)

For the sake of his own livelihood (the camp would kill him for your death), his budding relations with you, and a part of him that yearns for what he should have had, Astarion is glad that he was not greedy tonight-- and, as the day comes, for the following nights to come.

The pitchforks and torches do not come the next morning. Maybe it is because everyone else has their equally dangerous secret to hide or because of your influence on the camp. You are more concerned at how you would help him feed than afraid that he will hurt anyone. 

"Why, isn't it my favorite traveling companion," he says to you when you approach him.

"You mean tastiest,” you say back, and he knows you are truly well and beyond hard feelings if you can joke about it.

"Well, I suppose that as well.” He tells you, “Though you have been the only one I've bitten so there is no competition, really."

And to his surprise, telling you about Cazador, his ill-begot fate as a vampire spawn and its subsequent diet, is easier than he would have expected. You listen with a sympathetic but otherwise neutral ear that makes it easy for him– and he suspects everyone else– to confess their circumstances to you. He's rather surprised he's been able to “resist” for this long. Even Gale has confessed he has a literal living bomb inside him in the little time they've all spent together as a group. 

(It goes to show how much everyone has grown to trust you; even Astarion is starting to see what everyone else sees in you.)

“I don't mind you taking my blood once in a while,” you instruct him, “but you can't just do it to an innocent person.”

“And how about a guilty person?” Astarion asks slyly, gleefully watching as you saddle next to him with a similar smile. 

“Free real estate, I suppose,” you say nonchalantly. “Just ask before you bite me?”

“No more late night surprises, you have my word on that.” He smiles, fangs bared, and you don't even blink at the sight of them. 

.

.

.

In the druid grove, you pick up a few more favors from the locals, though at least you have begun to ask for aid for the road. Not exactly payment, though you are offered a reward anyways. Astarion thinks you are either very lucky people are desperate for help or very charming in that innocent, eager to do good type of way that compels people to be generous. It is not unlike Wyll, who joins your group of illithid-afflicted companions, as the Blade of Frontiers. 

Naturally, the two of you get along as like-minded individuals. Gale, too, gravitates toward you for your compassion, and Shadowheart trusts you for perhaps the same reasons. Even Lae'zel, who you often have problems speaking to without feeling intimidated, has come to begrudgingly accept you as the de facto leader of the group. You are, as Astarion suspected, strong in battle as you are in personality. 

He often forgets both, but he cannot be blamed. After he witnesses you stand up to Lae'zel for the sake of an intimidated tiefling, he sees you lose an argument against a squirrel. Astarion sees you send goblins off rooftops and speak to trolls with confidence, and then he watches as you ask him to unlock a barn door with raunchy sex noises simply out of morbid curiosity. 

It is in these moments-- apart from your heroism and startling sense of morality-- that you and Astarion are often on the same page. As long as it is not from the needy, you don't find it a problem to loot. (He thinks practicality plays a role in disturbing dead bodies for money and items, and your vow says nothing against it.) If it's for the sake of peace, you don't mind spinning half-truths and lies. (The lies he personally thinks you need to work on more but he is a master of deception so perhaps there is no comparison with him.)

Your curiosity knows no bounds, and it is in this, both you and Astarion take cheerful glee in raking chaos. 

"I don't know what I expected!" You say almost cheerily after the group defeats the unlikely couple of bugbear and ogre after purposely interrupting their very loud lovemaking. 

Shadowheart gives you a raised eyebrow that has you sheepishly grin at her, and Astarion lets out a laugh. "Well, I certainly had a guess, but finding out was very interesting indeed."

"Interesting... is certainly a way to describe the scene we just witnessed," Gale says dryly. Astarion catches your eyes before you smile slyly. 

Innocently, you comment, "I wonder how the mechanics worked with the height difference-"

Gleefully, Astarion is quick to join in, watching Gale balk at the topic, “Well, with the way she was on her knees-” 

"Some things need not be pondered!"

That is when Astarion realizes that as long as the world stops begging for your help, the two of you get along quite well. If anything, Astarion finds your presence and comments most amusing out of everyone in camp. Gale is exceedingly verbose and other times awkward. Lae'zel Astarion isn't sure knows the meaning of joking, though her violent tendencies are right up his alley. Shadowheart-- as it turns out and makes total sense-- is a worshiper of Shar and therefore an automatic stick in the mud. 

Wyll waxes far too much about justice, and Karlach, when they find her and proceed to not kill her despite Wyll's initial request, is the next best thing though he is still wary of how hot she burns. You, however, have the humor and wit to match every ridiculous situation they encounter, and if anything, Astarion must give you that. God knows how he'd survive the boredom of camp and not being arms deep in gore without having someone to gossip with. 

The two of you agree the most when it comes to other topics, like Mystra's treatment of Gale, how good Wyll looks with horns, feelings about Gods. It makes for great and easy conversations though the two of you are also quick to snark if there is a disagreement. Astarion admits his words were sharp in the beginning (and you gave it right back until you just mellowed out) but he eventually relaxed when his role in camp solidified after his vampiric reveal.

And what a gift your blood was; Astarion counts his lucky stars that you continue to offer your neck to him as long as it is only yours he bites-- with permission, of course.

He was almost beginning to relax when a gur comes, asking for him.

Luckily enough, it seems this Gandrel has no idea what he looks like, so the two of you can play innocent together. You and Astarion give each other a discrete look before you go back to talking to the monster hunter. It must be Cazador, he seethes. Who else would put a Gur on his tracks acres away from Baldur's Gate? 

"And what did you want to do with this vampire spawn?" You ask innocuously.

"I would like to capture him."

"Capture? Not kill? Does someone want him alive?" You question, and Astarion must give you this: you are an excellent conversationalist, to seek more without giving much at all. Your eyes widen in what can be assumed as surprise, though they remain calculating. "You said so yourself: even vampire spawn are dangerous. Why would you accept a job to capture him?"

The gur shuffles his feet for a moment, chewing on his words. Astarion watches in secretive awe as you urge the hunter to trust you with unbidden information. "Well... It's not a request from an outside source..." He trails off, "We... have questions we were hoping he would answer."

Now that's curious, Astarion thinks. What would a monster hunter need for a spawn besides its demise? He knows you have the same question when he glances over at you as you watch on thoughtfully.

"Were you hoping to capture it to get to the vampire lord or something?" You ask, "Is that something that would even work?"

"We have little leads besides this vampire spawn, if I can be frank." He sighs and Astarion watches as he unravels the truth before you. "It's our children, you see. They've been captured.”

You are ever sympathetic to the Gur's plight--genuinely so. You hold no qualms keeping Astarion's name from your mouth but you speak to the Gur and provide him with advice and information you have received from Astarion. What a cheeky pup you are, playing double agent without batting an eye. Astarion feels like forgiving you for taking away the opportunity to get rid of the monster hunter once and for all just for the show of your wit and guile. 

Though Astarion thinks you could afford to be more ambitious. If you could have perhaps a little creativity in deciding what you want to do with the little tadpole in your brain or the absolutist cult, Astarion is sure the two of you would get along more.

"I don't know how the tadpole will change me," you admit with unexpected vulnerability. "I don't want to give them more power over me, and I don't know if feeding them will let them."

"Well..." Astarion pauses, scoffing at your response before he can accept the fact the two of you have more in common that he would rather believe. He'd rather not lose what he barely got back as well, he thinks. "I suppose there is reason to hesitate so maybe I'll wait until some other brave soul decides to give it a go." He gives you a look before continuing, "Try not to convince the others too much. I'm not too eager to be the first and only one to eat a tadpole."

You shrug noncommittally, promising nothing. Astarion barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. Paladins. 

.

.

.

Considering the dire straits in which you are bound and the rocky start the two of you had, Astarion would not have imagined the relationship with you to progress in this manner. Having you trust him was already beyond what was expected, especially after revealing his vampiric origins. Giving him your blood was a gift that he could hardly believe happened. One can imagine his surprise when he finds out you are charmed by his wits, finding genuine joy in his wry commentary. 

For god knows why, you have grown fond of him-- he can see it in the way you provide him with the best equipment, the way you seek his presence. The way you laugh freely around him and turn your back to him during battle, believing he will defend it. Though arriving at this point was coincidental, it is almost too easy for Astarion to come to the conclusion that his next step is to seduce you. 

Astarion sees your laughter, but he also sees the way you throw him glances when you think the others aren't looking. You instinctively lean closer to him when he is near and when he speaks, your eyes are quick to find him. You are attracted to him– and he means to capitalize on it and make you feel as though you would rather die than have him get hurt.

It's a simple plan, really. The seduction comes easy; all he needs to do is stay unattached, so if things go wrong, he'll find someone else to take cover under. 

(The plan should be simple-- he has learned tactics that would put any to their knees, tricked hundreds of people of his affections. But something about doing this to you-- this performance-- makes him uneasy. 

It's a shame, he finds himself thinking. He thinks he was beginning to like you too.

The thought lingers only for a moment. He is quick to push it from his mind; that too is a learned habit.)

Astarion finds his opportunity after the goblin camp has been slain and the tieflings throw a celebration in thanks. 

The wine is mediocre at best, but there is much of it to be shared, so the party is still in full blast when the moon is overhead. He finds himself a secluded part of camp to sip at the sorry excuse of a liquor, discomfited by the praise they give him for participating in the fight against the goblins. 

You are unused to the praise as well, humble as you are, but you are nearly glowing from the joy you feel as you make merry with those you have befriended. The rest of the party, even companions who were ambivalent at best at the idea of helping the tiefling immigrants, are satisfied with the outcome despite the lack of progress with removing the tadpole. He would say otherwise– the trade of goblin lives for tieflings hardly makes a difference, and surely the goblins would throw a wilder party than this. He says as much to you when, faithfully, you find your way to him to talk.

“All I want,” he tells you, “is a little bit of fun. Is that so much to ask?”

You snort into your drink. “Knowing you, it could be.”

“Don't be so sour,” he croons. “I like a good time as much as anyone.” His eyes fall half-lidded as he looks at you. You raise your brow at him, noticing the change in tone as he continues. "You know, we could always make our own entertainment."

The look you give him is partly apprehensive and the other amused. He knows that glimmer of recognition of what he is asking, though you are quick to hide it for plausible deniability. "...What do you mean by that?"

Astarion, with practiced ease, leans in, watching as you instinctively do the same before he purrs out, "Why, sex, of course. Experiencing a little death, figuratively speaking, is quite fun, wouldn't you agree?"

Your face is already flushed from the alcohol, but your cheeks on high brighten in the dimly lit torches at his tent. It's evident you didn't expect him to suggest something like that, especially to you, though you are not completely unwilling if the lack of immediate denial is of any indication.

You are rendered speechless though; a first for you considering how quick you often are at retorting back at his comments. It makes Astarion think of two conclusions: you are either inexperienced or incredibly shocked at his offer. Both are familiar, though the thought of your naivety extending into sexual relations does, at the very least, give him pause.

It is not as if he has never been someone's first. Virgins are often most eager to lose or prove themselves in someone so willing to offer bliss. If you are one, well– the shy ones are always the ones that are easier to fell.

He prepares himself to drop a few one-liners to convince you to take the offer, but you glance away for a moment before you turn toward him, face unreadable.

"If you're down," you say. You smile.  "I don't mind."

"Until later then," Astarion replies easily. "Wouldn't want the others to interrupt, unless you're interested in that."

At this, you laugh, and he relaxes. "Definitely not. Though, I'm curious." You ask, "Am I your first choice, or am I just the first to say 'yes'?"

Astarion finds the best lies are in truths. "Lae'zel was quite eager to find a partner earlier. Luckily she and Wyll are in quite the agreement for tonight as far as I can hear and I have no desire to get in between whatever the githyanki has in store." He smiles slyly at you. "Besides, I couldn't help but overhear you flirting with our druid earlier so I at least knew you were in the, ah, mood. Never imagined you'd be quite so bold." 

"It's the alcohol," you mutter, rubbing your cheek. You take the wine from his hand and take another swig. "Also, I didn't realize he'd be coming with us so that was a surprise. Almost as much of a surprise as you asking me." You glance at him briefly. "Well, sort of."

Astarion feels a familiar prickle of suspicion as he stares at you, already unamused at whatever dirty truths you have prepared for him. "What is it now?"

You quip a half smile, eyes bright under the torch fire. (Your eyes are brown.) "Nothing," you say teasingly. "Guess you do like me a little bit."

Astarion watches as you walk away, feeling less victorious than he imagined himself to be.

The flirting, the seduction, the fight for survival is familiar. The banter, the bickering, the camaraderie between the two of you is beginning to be just as familiar. Astarion feels just the slightest bit unease at how true your words are. 

.

.

.

Astarion has much to prepare for the night, so it is lucky that you take center stage of the party, as the savior of the grove. You take part in the merriment and make conversations, taking genuine interest in the stories others tell. The tieflings keep you busy for the most part, but Astarion is nothing if not good at building anticipation, putting as much heat into his gaze as possible when you do have time to take a glance at him. 

You are quick to focus your attention elsewhere after giving him a look, but the smile on your face that stays means that at least he is always on your mind. In some ways, he has missed this... coyness, the thrill of the chase. The results of his previous endeavors never fail to unease him, but with you, it is different. The familiarity of seduction comes with a little bit more fun knowing you are not going to be his victim- not like it usually is. 

"Hey, still not joining in on the fun?" You suddenly ask him, your hand gently prying at his arm so you can hook onto him. You have gotten more drunk in the time you were away, the warmth of your skin seeping into him from where you've attached yourself. Your face is almost comically red if not for the carefree smile on your face and the affection that betrays on your face when you look at him.

Something in his chest warms at the sight of you.

"Unfortunately, the tieflings' company has not become any more appealing since you've been gone. Besides," Astarion says slyly, "the only thing I've been thinking of is how you'll taste later when we're alone."

You let out a huff, turning your head away with a half-embarrassed and pleased smile. "Laying it on a little thick, aren't you?"

"Not at all," he replies easily. "It's the truth, after all." 

You look at him as though you don't believe a word, but you are charmed by them anyway if your expression is of any indication. As conscientious as you normally are, the alcohol and the fact you are delving into his territory of seduction puts you at a disadvantage. Even if you are the one that knows him best in the camp, you are not attuned to every secret. Half-truths and lies come easier than anything else, if only because it allows him to keep his distance.

When the camp is cleared and you linger to bid the others farewell, Astarion slips away to the lake to prepare. It is almost ritualistic the way he cleans himself, the cold waters readying himself for what comes next. He thinks of what lines to tell you, how he should appear to you to best whet your appetite. Are you chaste or are you more animalistic? Would you prefer to take a dominant or submissive role? Astarion cannot tell these things about you based on his interactions with you, so he can only rely on his flexibility and years of experience to get him through it. 

(For a brief moment, he wonders if this is something he must do. What if you would protect him regardless of how this night goes? You are compassionate, sympathetic to the plight of others-- goodness flows within your veins like the light that beacons from your holy sword. Could that light not shield him too, without his body as an offering?

But gods are rarely so magnanimous, no matter the sacrifices. Astarion will not take his chances even with you. 

Even then-- even then, he wants this night to be at least a little enjoyable. It is with you, after all. If there is someone who can allow him to feel safe, it is you.)

Moonlight beams above, and Astarion hears your quiet footsteps come closer. His expression masks into something more suitable for seduction and he steps from the shadows of the trees to greet you. 

Upon seeing him, you yelp in surprise and- god, can you blame him?- he jumps as well. 

"What in God's name-"

"Sorry, sorry! I didn't expect to see you half naked all of a sudden!" You stammer, "I mean, not all of a sudden, I guess. Your... state of undress didn't cross my mind as something I'd see right away."

It is reckless when his mark is so close to fruition, but he finds himself dropping the act, hand at his hips in an instinctual indignant huff you seem to invoke from him easily. "Darling, what did you expect after the invitation I gave?" Your sheepish grin is your only answer, and Astarion feels a quick flash of annoyance at how easily you are able to derail his thoughts. 

Quick to redirect the conversation though, Astarion angles his body sensually, lowering his voice in the manner he knows can send shivers down his victims. "Perhaps you'd prefer if you could strip me down yourself?"

Like clockwork, your cheeks flush pink even as you roll your eyes in attempts to salvage your embarrassment. "Only you'd be able to pull those lines out of nowhere," you mutter, and Astarion allows himself the satisfaction when you approach him, eyes looking down at him appreciatively.

Only a small gap lies between the two of you now, your dark eyes meeting his. You are waiting on him; Astarion does not hesitate. 

He takes your face into his hands and brings his lips to yours. Your eyes close almost immediately to the touch as you give into him, face tilting up to align with him and mouth parted to allow him in. Though Astarion knows not how you incline to be normally, he knows that this night, he's the one in control.

Your hands curl into the front of his chest as though you do not know where to touch, so he helps you along and pulls you in until there is nothing separating you. Astarion can see the way your eyes widen when you can feel his arousal beneath his trousers, and recognizes your interest with the way your pupils darken your eyes. 

There is a slight satisfaction in seeing you this way. As stubborn as you are, you are malleable in his touch, opening up to his hands like a flower in bloom. He lifts you up against the tree, your legs quickly wrapping around his waist in response, and your little giggle morphs into a gasp of pleasure when he grinds into you fully. 

It is probably instinctual the way you arch your back and bare your neck to him. It isn't in him to resist the temptation to bury his nose into the crook, nipping at the sensitive skin between your collar bone. And this is when he feels your hands, that were curled into his hair, push him back slightly, and his stomach drops. 

He should be worried that he made a mistake and think about how to put you back on track with him. His safety depends on his success, after all. Despite himself, Astarion feels more hurt at your rejection, your mistrust, than anything. (Since when did that ever matter to him?)

"I wasn't going to bite, you know," he says, hoping nothing in his voice gives anything away.

"No, that's not it," you tell him, and your hand is quick to cup his face reassuringly. He finds himself soothed by your gesture though he wishes he was not in need of it in the first place. "I trust you not to without my say. I mean, you probably could tonight if you wanted..." You trail off. "I just wanted to let you know something before we go any further." 

The offer for blood pleases him more than it should, as does the affirmation of your trust. "Whatever you want to say, darling, I doubt it'll deter me from having my way with you tonight," Astarion says, eyes half-lidded and staying strong despite the undignified huff you give him. 

"Well, alright," you say as you try to save face. You brush over his collarbone with your thumb as you think. You're nervous, he realizes, over whatever you have to say, and he can't begin to guess what you could possibly reveal that would be of such import to leave you in such a state. "I... have never-- this is my first time. Having sex," you say, and Astarion does his utmost not to show any semblance of surprise. 

"I hope," you continue, "that's okay? You'll probably have to show me a lot of things but, you know..."

You are a virgin after all. Astarion had some thoughts on the matter but he never truly took stock in it considering how rare it is to save yourself for this long. You were modest but far from prude, and you had thoughts of debauchery like any other in the camp. But you are of untouched flesh. Inexperienced. And yet you accepted him to be your first? 

You are not so unique that he has never bedded someone like you, but it does tweak his heart in a way it has not for a long while that you are giving yourself to him as a result of his seduction. You feel self conscious about this inexperience, and it would be easy to take advantage of that for his benefit. Typical, even.

The thought does not sit well with him.

"I know you wanted a fun night," you tell him, eyes downcast when he does not respond. "So I get it if you're not interested anymore since I'm probably going to be a lot of work-"

"And what’s to say we cannot have fun while discovering something new?" Astarion interrupts in a momentary panic. He's not on autopilot but he's not stopping the night from happening despite your deference- so what is he doing? "Darling, I'm rather concerned you want to spend your first night with a vampire-" He needs to get back on script.

He recites the words in his mind. Isn't this what you want? To lose yourself in me? And all he has to do is say it-

"No, that's not-" You talk back, frowning. "You being a vampire has nothing to do with it. When you asked, I said yes because I trust you, vampire or not." 

To have and to hold, he thinks, and wonders how you have survived for so long being so willfully trusting when at times you should not. "Then trust me, darling," he says, heat building in his chest. He lifts you up again and growls. "Let's have some fun. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"If that's what you want," you breathe out, and Astarion claims your mouth with his own.

You let out a sigh when he begins to undress you, his dexterous hands easily removing every lace and button to leave you bare. You giggle into his kiss, and Astarion lets himself smile, being pulled along as you roll on top of him playfully, mischief in your eyes. You full on laugh when he rolls you back over, uncaring of the outdoors, bearing your neck for him to bite. 

Astarion doesn't remember the last time he's had fun doing this. And it is fun- always has been with you, he realizes, a type of levity that he has not experienced with anyone else. He takes leisure in biting you, sucking a mouthful of blood that has him moaning into your neck as he rolls his hips into you. Your hand gently cards through his hair as he bites, and true to his word (only taking just enough), he pulls back with blood on his lips before swooping down to share in his bounty. 

He cannot help but laugh when you stick out your tongue at him, nose wrinkling at the metallic taste of blood that is otherwise sweet to him. He pulls his remaining clothes off and smirks when he sees you follow the line of sight down to his hardened cock in compulsive curiosity. 

"Like what you see, darling?" 

You make a noncommittal hum as you sit up, quick as you are unbothered by your nakedness. "Can I?" You ask, gesturing toward him, and he would find it amusing for you to ask if not for how eagerly you grasp his member at his nod.

Astarion hisses in pleasure as you pump his cock, getting into an easy rhythm with your thumb sliding deliciously on the tip of it. He watches as you gather spit to smoothen the pace, hand delicately pushing your hair from your face, and feel arousal melt into his belly like molten lava. 

"Why, it seems you have a little bit of experience in this matter, or are you just talented?" He asks and earns himself a coy look. 

"Just twice," you say, twisting your hand in a way that has him rolling his hips. "Hold my hair, will you?" 

Astarion is quick to follow your orders-- almost instinctively-- and before he has a moment to ponder on that, he is throwing his head back when your mouth swallows his cock in wetness and heat.

Most of his so-called lovers were more eager to be pleased than please; it makes sense that you would be different with the way you are. Your eagerness is quite adorable, as is your earnestness to provide him pleasure. Astarion revels in it, ecstasy climbing up like a tidal wave.

"That's enough, dear," Astarion purrs. He sees you look at him with a protest on your lips, and he continues, "I'd much rather continue this while I'm inside you." 

Based on your expression, you are more than thrilled at the aspect. 

Astarion guides you to lay down as he climbs over, hands carving a path over your curves and into your heat. He is careful to not scrape his fangs over your bosom, though he suspects you would not mind it in the least with how roughly he plays with your nipples to elicit a moan. You are dripping by the time he is done preparing you. 

It does not take much resistance to enter you fully. You let out a short cry, reaching out to him instinctively for comfort as your body adapts to him. True to your words, you are tight beyond measure, squeezing his cock as though you are determined to milk him for what he's worth. You pant into his ears, hands grasping over his shoulders as you ease into the feeling of him. 

The moment you nod, Astarion begins to move steadily. It is easy for the both of you to lose yourself in the pleasure, and it is these moments that he feels himself drift away, and the feeling of dread settles in.

Any type of intimacy takes him acres away, the gasps and moans that was music to his ears fading into numbness. He hardly knows what he's doing, except to know that he's doing well enough, hands playing at your clit as he moves at a persistent rhythm.

Astarion wishes it were different. Sex is fun, especially with you, if only it didn't make him feel as though he were fighting for his life. Every stroke calculated, every climax comes with a price. You are not to be taken back to Cazador, but it still feels like he's going to. 

You tighten around him, and he knows you are about to come just as he is. He lets out a grunt and persists through a rapid pace before feeling your body jolt in pleasure. He soon follows after, head upon your shoulder as he shudders into his climax. 

The night is still young; why don't we go back to my place for more? 

Won't you come home with me? We need so much more time to get to know each other.

His next lines come too easily for him that it makes him sick.

A hand pulls at his cheek rather cheekily and Astarion finds himself coming back from the haze. He lifts his head to look at you, face relaxed from pleasure but still otherwise amused. 

Is it ridiculous to think that the sight of you makes him feel safe?

"That," you begin, "was crazy. Sex is like that, huh?" 

"Be welcomed to the land of the living, darling," Astarion says. "I fear you have been missing out on one of the finer parts of life."

"Well, it's not like I've never orgasmed before," you tell him, "but I guess it is pretty different with someone else." You sigh when Astarion removes himself from you. "Thank you for being so patient with me."

"No need to mention it, darling," he says, finding it easy to relax with the banter, "though I dare say it did not take very long for you to be prepared. Why, I'd even call that a record for getting as wet as you did-"

"Hey!" He avoids your playful slap with ease as you pout at him. "I... I have no comeback to that, except maybe you're welcome."

"I'm welcome? I should be the one saying that to you. I'm rather magical in bed, don't you think?"

"I don't know if your neck could support a head that big if I agree with you." You laugh, flipping your hair away again. For a moment, Astarion has the urge to take it upon himself to brush the stray strands from your face, but he does not. "By the way," you continue, "are you okay?"

Astarion blinks. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, you just seemed a little..." You stop before shaking your head. "No, never mind. You seemed a little far away but what would I know."

His heart lurches. "I had to make sure I didn't lose control," he says carefully. He clears his throat and goes for levity. "Who knows if your fragile, virgin body can handle it?"

Astarion is grateful you take the line for how it is, quick to come up with a haughty retort, the banter easy to fall back to. You are adamant on being sturdy enough and not one to waste a chance, he proposes a long night of lovemaking-- if only to cinch the deal with you. After all, he thinks as your legs close around his head, this is all part of his plan: seduce you and win your protection. Nothing more, nothing less.

He tries not to think how sex for once, as he nips playfully at your thigh, has been enjoyable. 

.

.

.

The sun wakes him up before anything else. It is unfamiliar to him, even at least a month beyond the time when his deathly aversion to sunlight has disappeared. The warmth of the morning rays, the light that dawn brings-- Astarion did not realize how much he had missed it until he had felt it again. 

He almost isn't sure if he can ever go back to never feeling it again.

He stands to bask in it fully, glancing over to his side to watch your sleeping figure for a moment. You are curled up in your own clothes-- and his shirt as well, he remembers, having a little play fight over it before you eventually let exhaustion take you. The ache in his body from last night is familiar at least, and he stares at you, waiting for the dread to come-- but it does not. 

How curious. Only good for his plans if everything is more palatable, of course, but it is... unexpected for him to feel so at ease. He decides not to question it, using this moment of strangely acquired peace to face the sun in its entirety.

Your voice filters in after many minutes, a little scratchy from slumber. "You awake already?" 

"It isn't exactly the break of dawn, dear," Astarion replies, and he shoots a glance back expecting your usual deadpan, but you are rubbing your eyes sleepily instead. A thought comes to mind that he has never seen you in your first waking moments: you are rather unguarded, movements leisurely and expression soft still. It's quite... cute. "I'm rather surprised you're awake. I thought you'd be exhausted from last night."

You let out a titter behind your hand at this. "Yeah, well, everything aches in different ways than a fight, so it's not too bad." You yawn. "Still sleepy though," you mumble, looking up at him through the gaps between your fingers as you block the sun from your eyes. 

"Say," you begin, and Astarion realizes belatedly that the reason you were looking so intently at him was because you saw his back. "Can I ask about those markings on your back? Are they scars?"

"A poem from my old master," he replies facetiously. "Or so I assume. He carved it all into my back in one night." His lips purse. "He made a lot of revisions."

"I'm sorry," he hears you say with sympathy in your voice, and he knows he must quickly move on from this topic. 

"It's fine," he says abruptly. "It doesn't matter now. I'm free and far from Baldur's Gate. And he'll never control me ever again."

"Good," you say, and he wonders if putting warmth into your words comes naturally to you.

"Yes, it is." He pauses. "May I have my shirt back? Not that I mind being half nude, by the way- if only to let everyone know exactly what went on last night."

"Don't even joke," you sputter, tossing his shirt- miraculously clean- to him. "I don't kiss and tell! And they'll definitely know, but not the details!”

.

.

.

In the morning glow, nothing much has changed. As predicted, the entire camp is in-the-know of whomever slept with who. Astarion is quick to inquire Lae'zel about her tryst with Wyll, only to find, to the mutual disappointment, that he spent most of the time talking about his feelings. Shadowheart, on the other hand, was more than happy to share her wine last night. 

"Shadowheart mates like she fights," Lae'zel says. "Precisely and aggressively."

"Which is a good thing, I assume."

"Immensely." Lae'zel pauses then in breaking down her tent to look at him intently, which, for the githyanki, is as terrifying as anything. "I see you and our paladin decided to explore each other's bodies last night."

"Why, yes, thank you for noticing. It was quite the exploration," he responds, opening his mouth to elaborate.

"I suppose even you have your charms," she tells him instead, and the conversation ends there.

(Astarion hopes to glean more conversation elsewhere to no luck. Your talk with Shadowheart this morning is brief ("Lae'zel, huh."/"Astarion."/"Yep."), and Karlach's put-out expression is enough to give sympathy and a wide berth. Astarion sees Gale gazing upon the visage of his goddess again and turns the other way.)

The camp dynamic stays strangely the same. It is to Astarion's benefit, for he was comfortable with how the way things were, though he is more generous with the pet names for you. Halsin joins the fray, and they make their way to the mountains upon Lae'zel's insistence. 

In the midst of adventure, Astarion finds that you seek his presence more often. His night invitation seemed to open an avenue up for you to be more comfortable in doing so. Astarion finds he doesn't mind it; your camaraderie is most enjoyable in the too quiet camp and as far as "seducing" goes, you are doing half the work for him. 

Your gaze holds some heat for him once in a while when the moon is high and the fire burns low, but you have not asked him for another night. He is neither pleased nor displeased at the notion, because your affections for him are as clear as day. He knows you would say yes in a heartbeat if he did propose another night together, but he rather likes the late-night conversations he often has with you, a type of intimacy that borders on his comfort zone-- exciting and enjoyable without the unnecessary reminders of his past. 

Still, he sometimes finds himself recalling his night with you fondly. It's strange: he's gotten on his back ten thousand times or more and forgotten half of them, but his time with you, he knows he will remember. 

Astarion puts the thoughts of "why" (why you? Why are you different? What makes you special?) behind him for now. A treasure hunt for the Blood of Lathander (as if you needed to shine even brighter), a stolen githyanki egg (Lae'zel keeps it safe in her backpack), and an escape from a créche later, Astarion is more than happy to find refuge in the underdark, which proves to be more beautiful than any of them could imagine.

Something makes him look over to you then, and he watches as you take in the sights with wonder in your eyes, the gentle darkness cradling your face in its dreamy blue glow.

[taeghi]

let's collab | (m)

⇰ summary : you've always vied for the top spot on onlyfans but "hluvsbabes" makes it tough with his undeniable charm and looks. when you unexpectedly meet him you realize he's even more captivating up close. despite the competition, you find yourself unable to turn down his one request.

⇰ pairing : camboy!heeseung x camgirl!y/n

⇰ genre : smut!! masturbation, vibrators lol, dirty talk, oral, throat fucking, unprotected sex, degrading, praise, sir kink, spanking, brief spitting and hair pulling lol.

⇰ word count : 10k (8k of it is just pure, filthy smut) !!!

⇰ taglist : @criminalyun @princeseung @seokseokjinkim @loveydoveyhee @immelissaaa @iselltulips @strxwbloody @ensaz008 @loavibeycipoosan @liwugy @starfallia @you-make-skz-stay @ineedsomezzz @heeshlove @niniissus @mirramirra @skzenhalove @fandom-freak-geek @lilifiedeans @woahhhhaw @cchangli @enhabooks @heelovesmeknot @fakeuwus @soobinsnovia101 @river-demon-slayer @jjklvr9 @hanjisunginc @iamliacamila @jaylaxies

mdni

you started ‘darlingdove01’ when you needed some extra cash in your second year of college. at first you didn’t show your face at all and you were nervous that someone you knew was going to find out. godforbid your parents found out about your sex work. 

over time, you started to get more comfortable in front of the camera and started to show your face. though you never said your real name. you had started to get a close following and were at the top of the creators of the week every week. the way it worked was that the longer you were number one, the more increase of pay you got. though, you had never been number 1 for more than one week at a time. 

all thanks to hluvsbabes. 

it seemed that every week you and hluvsbabes would alternate who was number one. no matter what new things you tried to increase your audience and views, the next week you were back at number two. 

the day that you were fed up with always being put back to second was the day that you would very soon regret. 

you were lazily scrolling through the app when you noticed hluvsbabes had just started streaming, so, you clicked onto the livestream. 

and there he was. hluvsbabes shirtless with his hard cock pulled out of his pants and sitting in between his fist. his pale skin gleamed against his computer screen light, showing off his abs. he had a black mask covering the lower part of his face. his bangs fell into his squinted eyes as he casually pumped his cock up and down in his fist. 

you couldn’t stop your jaw from going slack as you took in the sight before you. you could tell his mouth was in a playful smirk as he watched the comments fly. suddenly a tip of 20$ flew in the corner of the screen : “take ur pants off pls”. 

you could hear his dark chuckle through your speakers, “mmm, only because you said please.” 

you watched him do as the viewer asks. he dug his thumbs into his pants and boxers and pulled them down to reveal his pale legs that matched the rest of his body. 

he seemed so confident and casual as he sat in his chair fully nude, as if 8,000 people weren’t watching him right now. 

“is that better for you?” his voice asked with a tone of amusement. you watched him laugh as all the comments immediately filled with variations of “yes”. “what else do you want me to do? tell me.” the comments were instantly filled with nasty things that you have to admit you also wanted him to do. 

you had figured hluvsbabes was hot since he was always top one or two, but you didn’t think he would look like this. and that his voice would be so seductive. 

“i won’t be taking off my mask, guys.” hluvsbabes shakes his head with a chuckle, he’s just so amused with his fans. along with his fans you also wished he took off his mask. you would love to see the mouth that formed such seductive words. 

suddenly, a tip came up in the corner of the screen of 100$, “start jerking ur cock, baby”. your jaw dropped at the amount of the tip. you had only ever received 100$ worth a few times in the past two years. hluvsbabes didn’t even seem that shocked by the amount as he did as he was told. 

his hand started to move faster up and down his hard cock. the tip of his cock looked so red and swollen in the light of his computer screen. 

“will you spit on it for me, baby?” hluvsbabes whines out and you instantly shut your legs together. 

the comments are gradually picking up pace, commenting demands and praises, asking questions for him to answer. you can hear his deep grunts through your speakers as he keeps his bang covered eyes on the comments. 

a 15$ tip pops up in the corner again; “tell me i’m ur good girl pls”. 

hluvsbabes amusingly shakes his head, “of course you're my good girl. do you have your fingers in your panties? how wet are you? tell me how wet you are, good girl.” 

you’re in shock from his words, the comments, the amount of tips and from how hot hluvsbabes is. 

his deep laugh distracts you from your thoughts. he throws his head back on the chair’s headrest, making his bangs reveal his forehead. even with his mask on, you can tell that his mouth is open agape from the pleasure he’s feeling. 

“fuck, guys. i’ve been thinking about this– about you all day. my dick has been hard since my morning class.” 

the thought of him having to walk around with a hard cock all day because he thought of getting off in front of thousands of people only turns you on more. he continues to move his hand up and down his cock, his grunts getting louder and louder. 

“i-i’m getting close. i wish you were here to taste my cum, shit.” 

it was getting to the point where you couldn’t ignore the tingly feeling starting to increasingly grow in the pit of your stomach. you felt entranced by him, not being able to take your eyes off of your screen. you had only planned to watch a couple of minutes just to see what the hype was about, but now you’ve been watching him for close to twenty minutes. you lean onto your desk uncaringly over your keyboard and your heart stops when you see : 

darlingdove01 : ghj

your eyes widen at your username in the comment section, praying to god none of his 15k viewers notices. 

“oh, darlingdove is in here,” hluvsbabes’s voice speaks suddenly, making you jolt away from your computer screen and grab the handles of your chair. he tilts his head and looks directly into the camera as he continues, “how are you, darling? do you like the show? do you like watching me get off?” 

you are in shock and you can’t think of what to do. you never thought you would be in a situation like this. you notice all the comments start filling up with your name as hluvsbabes is still stroking his cock and groaning. 

“maybe she’s too busy with her hands to type right now.” hluvsbabes jokes in a grunted laugh. you cover your mouth with your hands in shock. and you read one comment that says “who can blame her?”. 

and with that, you immediately leave the one and only hluvsbabes livestream you have ever watched, the embarrassment being almost too much.

a few days and a lot of thoughts of hluvsbabes later, you know you have to get back to livestreaming. you had planned a few things for your next live stream despite being busy with college and being distracted by the memories of hluvsbabes. 

the way ‘darling’ slipped from his mouth so casually and sensual. 

usually, people only referred to you as ‘dove’. you didn’t anticipate for darling to be so efficacious. but maybe it was only because hluvsbabes had said it. the way it sounded in his smooth, mischievous tone. it kept you up at night. 

tonight, you had to live stream on your account. 

you started at your usual time; 10pm, in your usual setting; your bedroom. your nightside lamp was lit behind you, being your only source of light besides your computer screen. your body was covered by an oversized hoodie which covered your panties and the top of your bare thighs. 

“hi everyone,” you spoke into your microphone, looking at the rising amount of viewers on your live stream. the comments started piling in, regular questions about yourself mixed with sexual ones that made you laugh to yourself. “my week was good, thank you. how has your week been, guys?” 

you read some of the comments, recognizing some of the usernames that comment. and when you notice a steady amount of viewers and when the comments start teasing you and begging you to start, you begin. 

“tonight,” you start, and sit back in your computer chair, “i think i’ll have some fun with my new toy.” you reach out of the camera’s view and grab the toy you had bought earlier in the week. it was a long, white vibrator. you take your time to show the camera the entire toy, smiling proud of it. “what should we name him?” you giggle out, reading the comments as they flood with names and praises and begging. 

you sit back in your chair, “he has three settings, should i start with the lowest? see how wet he can get me?” you ask, your voice teasing. tips start to come in, telling you to turn it on, telling you that they want to see you cum. 

with a flick of your thumb you turn it onto the lowest setting. a low buzzing sound fills your bedroom, entering the mic for your audience to hear. you lift your feet so they rest on the chair, your knees up in the air. your hoodie bunches at your waist for your panties and bare legs to be revealed. you press the vibrator against your clit over top of your panties, testing it. 

“oh god,” you moan, “even the lowest setting is good.” you inform your audience, keeping your eyes on the camera and comments. you giggle when you read a tip that tells you to move it in circles. “want me to move it? want to watch me pleasure myself?” the comments flood with yes’s. 

you start to move the vibrator in slow, small circles around your clit. wanting to tease yourself and the audience for as long as possible. you would be lying if you said it didn’t feel good. the feeling of the vibrator against your pulsing clit and the eyes of hundreds of people watching you in real time. 

a tip catches your eye; 

heesacc tipped 50$! : that looks like it feels good, darling. why don’t you move up a setting.

your eyes linger on the word darling and the large tip they gave you. 

“okay, let’s put it up to the medium setting.” you agree, your finger flicking the button up. the buzzing becomes louder as the toy starts moving faster. your hand still moves the vibrator in slow, small circles over your panties. “fuck, this is even better, baby.” 

you read comments that compliment you, that tell you they wanna see you cum right now, that you should remove your clothes. 

“want me to take my clothes off?” you tease the camera, your free hand playing with hem of your oversized sweater. “tell me what you want me to take off.” the comments tell you that they want you naked, that your sweater should come off, that everything should come off. 

heesacc tipped 50$! : take your sweater off and play with your tits, darling. rub your nipples and pretend it’s me.

“wanna see my tits? wanna see me play with them just for you?” you bite your lip at the tip, but do as they said, putting down the vibrator for a second as you pull the sweater off your core. your breasts being revealed to the audience. you look at yourself in the mirror, noticing the large wet stain on your panties from your juices and the vibrator. “oh my god, look wet i am.” you wiggle so your panties can be seen better on camera. the large wet stain evident in the computer screen’s light. “this is how good you make me feel.” 

you read the comments that say they wish they were there beside you, that they want to rip your panties off. 

you pick up the vibrator again, still on the medium setting. your one hand holds the vibrator steady against your covered clit, as your free hand comes up and starts to tweak your nipples. your forefinger and thumb hook your nipple, rolling it. you let out moans at the feeling, your back arching off your chair naturally. 

“fuck, i love playing with my nipples, it turns me on so much.” you state honestly, switching between nipples with your fingers. 

heesacc tipped 70$! : let’s see how swollen your pretty pussy is, darling. 

you gulped as you read the tip come through. just reading the words sent a shiver straight to your core. you swore your pussy got so much wetter as you finished reading it. 

you set the vibrator down again, “you wanna see my pussy, baby? wanna see how wet and swollen you got it?” you tease the camera, your hand dragging across your panties. with the multiple “yes”’s commenting, you start to slowly slide your panties off your legs, showing the camera the larger wet stain on them. 

you lean back in your chair again, the same position with your feet on the chair and knees up, but this time your pussy was visible to the camera. your hand glides down between your legs. you keep your eyes on the camera as your fingers slide through your lips so easily. you whine when your fingers rub over your sensitive clit. “i’m so wet, fuck. you could slip right in. stretch out my tight pussy. god, i need that so bad. need to be stretched out.” 

you reach for the vibrator again, “let’s see how long i can last on the high setting. i’m so close already.” you giggle out to your audience. 

you turn the vibrator to the highest setting, the toy buzzing in your hand as you bring it to your bare pussy. instantly you throw your head back, crying out at the pleasure. your other hand massaging your breast. 

heesacc tipped 100$! : cum like a good girl, darling. 

“oh god!” your eyebrows pull together from the pleasure. your knees start to buckle as the pleasure starts to take over you. “i’m gonna cum! fuck, i’m cumming.” you nod your head and try to keep your eyes on the camera as you hit your high. your bare chest heaves as your orgasm washes through your body, struggling to keep the vibrator on your clit from oversensitivity. 

when your head clears and your body relaxes, you manage to say goodbye to your audience, that you’ll see them again next time. you end the livestream, your eyes reading the tips, resting on the username ‘heesacc’. you had never seen them before, but they tip generously throughout the entire livestream. 

and they kept calling you darling.

you always had to get coffee before class. but your usual coffee shop had a line out the door today, so you had to go to one on campus that you’ve never been to before. though you knew you’d probably be late to class now, you knew you wouldn’t be able to sit through the two hour lecture without your daily coffee. 

you’re distracted by the menu of unfamiliar drinks that you don’t hear the barista question if you’re ready to order until the third time he says it. 

“oh sorry,” you tell him, shaking your head to wake up, “uh, could i get the blonde vanilla latte, please?” you tell the barista. you start to dig through your backpack for some money. 

“darlingdove01?” his voice questions, recognition definite in his voice. 

your head snaps up to look at the barista properly for the first time. your username making your ears and cheeks paint red. “uhh, yeah!” you’ve only been recognized in public a few times, and they’ve usually been at parties or get together, never in a public public place before. 

the barista has dark brown hair that’s covering his forehead. his eyes are big, doe-like and expressive. his features are sharp and delicate at the same time. his complexion is so smooth in the harsh coffee shop lights. “oh, cool.” his voice is smooth as he shrugs, almost impressed. “that’ll be 5.49$, please.” 

so shocked, you scramble to pile some change on the counter, dropping it for him to pick it up. you smile with a faint nod before you walk away for the next person behind you to order. 

you take deep breaths as you wait for your order, telling yourself that it’s okay, that that could’ve gone a lot worse. you weren’t used to people looking at you in public, that’s why you chose to stay behind a screen. 

“blonde vanilla latte!” the barista calls out a few minutes later. you go up and take the cup from him. “have a good day.” he’s polite, and his eyes tell you something that you don’t quite pick up. 

you turn away from the counter, ready to get the hell out of his coffee shop. you glance down at your drink, noticing words written in black on the side. 

let’s collab, hluvsbabes

with his number written underneath.  you turn your head to look back at the barista, but find a woman working the cashier instead. the brown haired boy disappeared from sight. you think back from the one and only hluvsbabes stream you had seen of his. he had kept his bangs over his eyes, hiding how doe-eyed they really were. his mask covered the entirety of his lower face. there was no way to know if the barista was really the hluvsbabes, but his eyes seemed to tell you that he was. that he knew who you were, too.

your fingers hover over your phone’s keyboard. the apparent hluvsbabes’s phone number typed in above, but the message box left empty. you decide to bite the bullet, even if it wasn’t him, all you had to do was block him after and then act like this never, ever happened. 

youhi, uh hluvsbabes? 

only a few minutes pass before you get a response. 

(123) - ***-**** hahaha yeah but you can call me heeseung

(123) - ***-****

hi, darlingdove01!

you

how’d you know it’s me? my name’s y/n btw

heeseung

bc you’re the only one i’ve given my number out to lately

heeseung

and bc i knew you’d text me sooner rather than later ;)

you smile, rolling over onto your back, your phone in the air as you text hluvs- heeseung back. 

you

damn, i knew i should’ve waited a month

heeseung

noooo i’m glad you texted me

heeseung 

i wanted you to text me 

you

righttt, you said something about a collab? 

heeseung

yeahh, i think you should come over sometime soon 

you could hear your heart strumming against your chest at his text. the hluvsbabes wanted to collab with you. you had only been competing against each other on onlyfans for months. and neither of you had done a collab before, solely solo stuff. you wondered if it’d be a good idea or not. 

heeseung

c’mon, you know i can make you feel good ;)

you were leaning towards it being a good one.

later in the week you found yourself outside of hluvsbabes apparent apartment. he had only lived a quick bus ride away from you, both of you living close to your university campus. you were biting your fresh manicure the whole bus ride there. 

heeseung had texted you to make sure you knew he wasn’t expecting anything from you. that he just wanted to get to know you, and hey, if a collab happened then it happened! 

though he was very polite and tried his best to reassure you and make you comfortable, you were still nervous to go to a guy’s house that you had seen masturbate before. you had heard what he sounds like when he masturbates. you had thought about his voice and his moans so many times since the “incident”. you were going to a boy’s house that you had cursed at so many times when you saw that he had passed you yet again in subscribers every few weeks. 

you knock on the apartment number’s door that he had given you. you waited a few quick heartbeats until the door opened. 

there stood the barista you had seen a few days ago. his doe-eyes the same and his long bangs covering his forehead. 

“y/n?” he spoke, a smile on his lips that made him seem even prettier than you remembered. 

you tried to picture what hluvsbabes would look like so many times, and now that you finally got a chance to see him, standing in front of you, letting you in his apartment, you were in shock. 

he was so much hotter than you could have ever imagined– now that you weren’t embarrassed in public when someone said your username outloud. 

“wanna come in or stand in the hall all day?” he spoke again, his eyebrow propped up. 

“oh!” you jolted, “sorry, sorry– i’ll come in.” you tell him, smiling at him as he held the door for you and closed once you were in. 

a quick glance around the apartment and you noticed how clean and home-y it looked. a regular couch, coffee table and tv took up one side of the apartment. and on the other side was a small island in the small kitchen. there was a hall on the far side of the room from you– which you figured led to his bedroom. (the room where he masturbates online for money– oh god!) 

“you can sit down on the couch if you want,” heeseung gestures to the couch, wiping his sweaty palms on his gray sweatpants, “do you want a drink or anything?” 

“uh no, i’m good thanks,” you reply, sitting down on the couch, your hands clasping together in your lap. 

as he sits down beside you on the couch, you think about how after you had texted him the other day you had seen he was live on onlyfans– and how you made sure to not press it. the thought of him seeing you watching his livestream again made you physically cringe. 

“so uh,” heeseung starts, a casual smile on his face as he looks at you, “have you thought? about my offer? about the collab?” 

you nod, “i have,” 

“right, well, we don’t have to do it if you don’t want– like i said. we can just hang out– i just saw you and i needed to give you my number i couldn’t just–,” 

“i wanna do it.” 

heeseung’s eyes widen at your answer, “really? only if you’re comfortable.” 

you nod, “yeah, i want to.” 

heeseung’s body relaxes at your words, “okay, when?” 

“right now?” you shrug at him, “i mean you usually stream soon anyways, right?” 

heeseung thought his mind was gonna explode. the hot girl that he’s competed with for top creator was sitting in front of him on his couch, telling him that she wants to collab with him. she could collab with anyone, but she wanted to collab with him. he couldn’t believe what was happening. 

“o-kay,” heeseung stutters and clears his throat, “uh, is there anything you're specifically into– or not into? i mean i’ve seen your streams so i know some things but i-,” 

“you’ve seen my streams?” you ask him confused and intrigued. 

heeseung fights the urge to slap himself, “i mean, yeah. you’re always top creator right?” 

“right, i just didn’t think that you’d watch them, i don’t know.” 

“why wouldn’t i watch them? you’re hot and you know how to engage with the audience.” heeseung admits honestly. 

you squirm at his compliment. “you’re hot, too.” 

heeseung seemingly relaxes completely at this, finally being able to comprehend what’s happening and what you’re thinking. “thank you, i mean i know you’ve seen my streams before, you commented once.” 

you cover your face with your hands, “oh god.” you groan out. 

heeseung laughs at you, “what? is it bad that you’ve watched me masturbate?” 

“no!” you shake your head quickly, eyes wide, “it’s just– i didn’t mean to comment that time– i didn’t even mean to press it! it’s just, just…” 

“i’m just that hot?” heeseung teases you, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“oh my god, shut up!” you laugh, shoving his shoulder. it’s then that you realize how close you’ve gotten on his couch. 

heeseung laughs harder, his face turning serious again when he speaks, “okay but seriously, anything you are or aren’t into?” 

you settle into your spot on the couch and think, “uh, i think i’m okay with anything.” you shrug, “but no anal though. and i’m more into, it being rough.” 

heeseung smirks and asks, “okay no anal. how about choking?” you nod in response, “slapping?” another nod from you, “how about degrading?” you blush and nod. 

“i’m okay with everything but anal, heeseung.” 

“okay, and if you wanna stop, should we come up with a safe word?” 

you ponder for a second and think, “how about, latte?”

heeseung smirks at you, “latte it is, then.” 

both of you stare at each other, lust and playfulness filling your expressions. somehow, your faces are only mere inches apart now as both of you take in the other’s features. you had only seen each other through a computer screen before. had only read each other's usernames on the top creators list– without even knowing your real names. and now you were about to give each other everything– including your first collab. 

your breath quiets as you look into heeseung’s eyes, scanning the brown in them before glancing down at his pretty lips. your lips are just centimeters away from his when he speaks again, “let’s start.” 

heeseung grabs your hand and pulls you up, guiding you down the hall and into his bedroom. he leans over his computer, setting up his account and livestream. you take the time to look around his room. 

his room is definitely the same one you’ve seen on live steam. the multiple monitors on his computer desk. a basic bed with a black and white comforter. and you recognized the few posters on his walls that he allowed to be seen in his lives. 

“okay, it’s ready.” heeseung tells you, “are you sure you wanna do this? we can stop whene–”

“i’m sure, heeseung.” 

“okay, i’ll press start live then,” 

“wait!” you reach for his shoulder, “what about your mask?” you know he’s never gone live without his mask– it’s the one thing that helps keep his identity unknown.

heeseung simply shrugs at you, “i mean, i can’t really eat you out with a mask on, can i?” 

your mouth drops open, but before you can say anything, the camera light flicks on, signaling that you’re live. the camera is pointed towards heeseung’s bed behind you as heeseung ushers you to sit on his usual gaming chair, he stands beside it. 

“hi guys,” heeseung says cooly to the camera. he lowly chuckles to himself as the comments start pouring in. there seems to be hundreds of comments in a second about “darlingdove01” and heeseung’s face. a lot of the comments are talking about how hot heeseung is and that they “always knew he’d be hot!”.  

“today we have a very special guest, darlingdove01 is here,” heeseung gestures to you. you wave at the camera, watching the viewer numbers grow higher and higher as the introduction continues. “and she told me that she likes anything… but anal.” 

“hey!” you shove him playfully with your shoulder. 

he only chuckles before continuing, resting his arm over the back of his gaming chair behind your head, “so today, i’m gonna do anything to please her.” he takes his other hand and cups your chin so you’re forced to look at him, “does that sound alright, darling?”

“yes,” you tell him, watching his warm brown eyes turn darker as you make eye contact. you can tell he’s no longer heeseung, but instead he’s “hluvsbabes”. 

“yes what?” 

“yes, sir.” 

“good girl,” heeseung leans down and presses his lips onto yours. you don’t have time to register that you are kissing the hluvsbabes. his lips are soft against yours, but their movements are deep and rough. just from the kiss you can tell what direction this live stream is going in. he pulls away too soon for your liking, “pull up your shirt.” 

your hands reach for the bottom hem of your shirt and lift them so your bare breasts are visible to heeseung and the audience. 

“fuck,” heeseung groans, his hands cupping both of them. both of you mentally note how perfectly they fit in his warm hands. he turns to the camera, “doesn’t she have the most beautiful tits?” 

heeseung starts to tweak both your nipples in between his thumbs and forefingers. your hand flies to grip the handle of the chair, your back arches into his touch. 

“that feel good?” he asks you with a smirk, obviously amused by your reaction. 

“yes, sir. they’re sensitive,” you admit. 

“are they?” heeseung tilts his head, “keep playing with them, then.” 

your hands replace heeseung’s. your hands are definitely not as big and as warm as heeseung’s. but you massage your breasts, your fingers playing with your nipples like he told you to. 

meanwhile, heeseung starts to kiss down your revealed torso, his hands unzipping and pulling down your shorts so fast. you watch him get down on his knees in between your legs, his hot breath against your panties. heeseung groans once he’s eye level with your core and can see the faint wet strip on them. he could always see how wet you were on livestream, but now he gets to see in person. 

“i wanna make you feel good,” heeseung says against your skin, pressing kisses on your inner thighs, your legs spread wide for the camera to see. “are you gonna do whatever i say?” 

“yes, sir.” you nod down at him, watching his tongue lick his lips so close to your pussy. ‘i wanna be your slut.” 

heeseung chuckles against your skin, his fingers slip inside your panties as he speaks, “let me feel my slut’s pussy then.” 

you take a deep breath as his fingers start to massage your clit, exploring your pussy for the first time. he’s thought about his fingers touching you so many times before. he could hardly believe that you were actually in front of him right now. 

“you want me to taste your pussy, darling?” 

“please,” your voice sounds so breathy when you speak again, his fingers pressing hard. 

“ask me to.” 

“please taste my pussy, sir.” 

with that heeseung slides his middle finger into your core. it feels so long as it reaches right to your g spot immediately, as if he knew it’d be there. your jaw drops open as he pushes his finger in and out. a whine leaving your mouth as you start to move your hips to meet his finger. his palm is massaging your clit as he moves his fingers in and out of your core. 

heeseung then pulls his finger out of you, “take off your panties, show everyone your pussy.” heeseung leans more to the side as you do what he says. your panties drop to the floor and your legs are on either side of his gaming chair. “fuck, doesn’t she have the most perfect pussy, everyone?” heeseung is staring at the camera as he massages your thighs. 

heeseung’s lips meet your core before you can comprehend. he’s making out with your clit, the sloppy sounds fill your ears and the audience’s as he sucks your clit into his mouth. he reaches his finger up to slide into your core again, so easily. 

“my finger barely fits in there,” heeseung smirks. 

his mouth continues to lick and suck on every part of your pussy. his tongue circles your clit in his mouth. your hand is gripping the chair arm as you watch him, unable to contain your moans. 

“fuck yes, sir.” you cry out, throwing your head back from pleasure. you don’t think anyone has been able to make you feel this good with their mouth before. your ex’s could never make you cum at all. 

heeseung is moaning against your core, letting you and the audience know that he is also enjoying this, “god this pussy tastes so good, tastes better than i’d ever imagined before.” your stomach tightens at his words, feeling high on the pleasure heeseung’s mouth and fingers is giving you so easily and the audience watching you both. “keep playing with those tits, darling.” 

your hands fly up to your sensitive nipples, almost forgotten by how pretty heeseung looks while he makes out with your pussy. your body’s whole senses are heightened. heeseung can start to feel you clench around his fingers as your hips start to buck up to his mouth, wanting more of him. 

“fuck that feels so good.” you whine out, your eyebrows furrowing together at the pleasure. 

“are you gonna cum?” heeseung asks lowly. he watches you nod at him, unable to form words. 

then, heeseung rips away from you. his mouth and finger gone and before you can realize, he’s standing again beside you. his hand wrapped around your neck gently– forcing you to look at him with your legs spread. 

“you have to ask for permission if you want to cum,” heeseung’s voice is stern as he looks you in the eyes, “understand?” 

“yes, sir.” 

heeseung’s smile returns as his hand leaves your neck, “here, taste yourself.” your mouth opens for heeseung to slide his finger inside your mouth. your lips close around his finger, sucking it into your mouth as your tongue swirls around it, wanting to taste yourself. “good girl.” heeseung removes his finger, and instead presses a kiss to your lips, softly, passionately, as if to check in on you. but you’re so hungry for an orgasm that you really would do anything right now. “are you ready to make me feel good?” 

“yes, sir.” 

“get on your knees.” 

you sit up, closing your legs for the first time and feeling how wet your inner thighs were. heeseung pushes his chair to the side as he stands, looking down at you as you kneel before him. “you wanna suck my cock?” heeseung questions you, noticing how you tighten your thighs at his question. his hand slides down on your chin for you to look up at him. you nod in response to him. “ask me.” 

“can i suck your cock, sir?” 

“good girl, take it out.” 

your hands work to unbutton his pants, pulling them down to his upper thigh to release his cock. you just have to stop and marvel at it. there in front of you is hluvsbabes huge cock that you had thought about stretching you out for weeks. it’s much bigger in person you think. it’s hard, and the tip is so pink as some veins swirl down it. 

“open your mouth.” heeseung starts to glide his dick into your mouth. your hand coming up to grip the base of it as your lips close around the tip. “god, keep those eyes on me.” heeseung groans out as you start to such his cock. heeseung keeps his hand on your head, hsi fingers meshing with your hair. 

you do keep your eyes on him with as much of his cock as you can manage in your mouth. your hand jerks what you can’t fit as you moan against his dick. 

“god you’re so big sir,” 

“yeah? think it’ll fit inside your pussy? think it’ll stretch you out so good?” heeseung retorts, watching your mouth work on his cock. he’d be lying if he said you weren’t making him close to his orgasm already, your innocent eyes looking at him as your mouth sucks his soul out. 

“yes, sir, please– want your cock so bad.” you speak before going back to sucking his cock. your tongue circles the hot, pink tip of it before tracing the delicious veins. your hand moves in rhythm with your mouth. 

“are you gonna be a good girl and let me fuck your mouth?” 

you nod at him with his cock still fully in your mouth. heeseung moves both of his hands to grip your head as your own hand drops to your thighs, so tempted to play with your clit, but you know sir wouldn’t approve. 

heeseung starts to slowly move his hips so his cock moves in and out of your mouth. he stops when the tip is at your throat– feeling your throat tighten against the tip. he almost pulls out fully everytime, just so that the tip is at your swollen lips before he pushes back in again. 

“oh, my fucking god,” heeseung moans out, looking at the camera monitor to see him fucking your pretty mouth. your mouth feels too good for him to even notice that the viewer count is at 16,000. “play with my balls like a good girl.” 

heeseung continues to fuck your mouth as your hand reaches fro his balls. they are heavy in your palm as you start to massage them gently. tugging on them and moving them around easily with your salvia that has dripped down. 

heeseung pulls his dick fully out of your mouth, letting you breathe for a moment. you could feel your pussy drip down onto his carpet– you hoped it wouldn’t stain. 

“open your mouth,” heeseung tells you. your jaw drops open, revealing your used tongue and mouth. heeseung leans over you and let’s a drop of his spit lands right onto your tongue before he starts to hit his dick against your tongue. he mixes your spit with his on his cock and both of you groan out at that the thought of it. 

heeseung goes back to fucking your mouth. his grip on your head tight as he’s picked up the pace of his hips. his cock sliding so quickly in and out of your mouth. the sounds of your saliva and gurgling against his cock fill the room and microphone. 

“that’s it, like that, like that like a good girl,” heeseung groans out his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he feels his own pleasure boiling. probably boiling too much if he wants this to last any longer. 

heeseung pulls away from you and pulls you with him for you to sit on the floor while he moves back to sit on the edge of his bed, his feet on the ground for you to sit in between them. your chest is heaving from excitement and lack of air. you watch as heeseung pulls down his pants fully and throws them on the floor beside his bed. 

heeseung’s hand wraps around your neck as he looks down at you, “you ready to get fucked, darling?” 

“yes, please.”

“ask me to fuck you.” 

“can you please fuck me, sir.” 

“get up on the bed and turn around.” 

heeseung’s voice is demanding as you scramble to stand up, your knees tired from kneeling for so long. you get up on his bed for the first time. you turn around so your ass is towards him in the air, your face pressed into his bed. 

heeseung pushes your chest further into his bed by placing his hand on your back, “stay like this like a good girl, okay?” 

“yes, sir.” 

“i’m gonna fuck this little pussy just like the slut you are.” heeseung grunts, spreading your ass cheeks more for him to slide his cock right inside of you.

the stretch of his cock is just what you imagined it would be. it’s almost blissful once he’s fully inside. you can feel the tip of his cock basically reaching your cervix. once he’s bottomed out completely, both of you groan out into his bedroom, pleasure taking over both of you. 

“there we go, darling,” heeseung grunts through his teeth as he starts to slide back out of you. both of you feel each and every vein of his cock sliding against your oh, so wet walls. “let sir fuck you like a slut.”

heeseung’s one hand grips your waist as the other one stays on your back. his hips quickly pick up pace, his cock easily going in and out of you due to his saliva and your juices mixing together. your hands grip the blanket on his bed, crying out into the bed as you finally get what you want. 

“oh my god it’s so big!” you whine out, your eyes trying to focus on the camera. 

“yeah? it’s so big and full just for you, it’s all just for you.” heeseung grunts out, his bangs covering his forehead like usual, his eyes entranced only on you. he watches as your entire body jerks forward everytime he slams his cock into you. his hands run down and grab your ass, wanting to finally feel it after he’s seen it so many times on your livestreams. 

heeseung slaps your ass, making you cry out a curse. the pain of it turning you on even more. you can feel the wetness dripping down your thighs as heeseung fucks you even rougher. heeseung’s balls are soaked from your juices. 

“reach down and rub your clit for me.” heeseung demands you, trying to keep his voice steady when he speaks.

you manage to sneak your arm under your body to start rubbing circles on your clit with your index and middle fingers. you instantly cry out. with your fingers on your clit and heeseung managing to hit your g spot with every single thrust the pleasure starts to boil up more and more in your tummy. 

“oh shit!” 

“you better not cum unless i tell you to,” heeseung smacks your ass again, harder, a warning. “you hear me?” 

“fu-fuck yes, sir.” 

heeseung suddenly grabs you up from the bed from under your arms, mumbling a “come here” before he turns you to face the camera. both of you standing now with his cock still lunged inside of you. 

“let everyone see this fucking slut’s body.” heeseung grunts out, staring directly at the camera as he continues to thrust up into you from the back. he reaches over your front, rubbing your clit for you now. your head is thrown back onto his shoulder, trying to keep standing upwards. “you like everyone seeing me use you like this? like using you to get off?” 

“f-fuck sir, can i cum? please?” you whine out, barely being able to keep your eyes open as you look at him. 

“yeah? you wanna cum, darling?” heeseung voice is almost teasing as he doesn’t stop his movements. 

“please let me cum, sir. please i’m so close.” 

“ok, cum for me, do it.” heeseung nods, his grunts loud in your ear as he manages to fuck you faster and faster. 

you can’t lift your head from being thrown back onto heeseung’s shoulder. your body feels weak as heeseung fucks you infront of the camera, probably hundreds of people watching you come undone on hluvsbabes’ cock. you’ve been so close to orgasming for which feels like hours at this point. 

“i’m cumming! i-i’m cumming!” you manage to cry out. your moans get higher in pitch as you finally reach your high. 

if heeseung wasn't holding your body up with his arms, then you wouldn’t fell straight to the floor. the pleasure was almost over consuming. your body was on high sensitivity everywhere. to be honest, it had been awhile since anyone besides yourself or your vibrator had made you cum. that probably not getting any dick for a while and then fucking the hluvsbabes would probably make you feel as lightheaded as you do now. 

heeseung gently pulls his cock from you, his hands slowing down on your clit before pulling away from it. he leads you to lay down on his bed. your head is on his pillow as he crawls on top of you. your bodies are still very visible to the camera from the way his bed is positioned. 

heeseung starts to press soft, gentle kisses into your neck and jaw, letting you calm down from your very obvious, hard climax. 

you hear heeseung chuckle into your ear before he speaks, “is this a bad time to tell you that i donated to you on your livestream before?” 

through your post-nut haze, your eyes widen as you process the information, “what? when?” 

heeseung laughs before he moves down your body, kissing every (sweaty) inch that he could, “a few days ago i guess, darling. i’ve watched your streams quite a lot to be honest.” 

the way the nickname rolls off his tongue so easily makes it click in your head. “oh my god, you were the person who donated like 200$ the other day!” you also start laughing at the realization. who could not believe that hluvsbabes not only watched multiple of your streams, but also donated to you. your competitor for top creator was also boosting your content. 

“yeah, i didn’t know how or if i should tell you that. but i guess now is the better time.” heeseung pulls away from your body so he’s on his knees hovering over you. “now put those legs up, let me see your swollen pussy again.” 

heeseung helps guide you to hook your arms around your knees, holding your legs up, pressed against your chest. your entire core is exposed for not only heeseung’s eyes, but the camera’s and all of the audience’s. 

“god please but your cock back inside of me, sir.” 

heeseung drags his cock through your folds teasingly, “yeah? the slut wants to be stretched out again?” 

“yes! sir, yes!” 

heeseung guides his cock back inside of you with his hand, bottoming out completely in one thrust. your arms stay hooked around your knees, your hands resting on your ankles to keep yourself from squirming from the pleasure. 

heeseung leans over you, his hand coming down to choke you again. his grip on your neck tight as he starts the previous pace he had. rough and hard. your whole body moves with every thrust, his headboard hitting his wall. 

“oh fuck oh fuck!” you cry out, your pussy so sensitive from being overstimulated. 

heeseung could feel your walls flutter around his cock, “you better not cum.” he pulls his cock out again, his hand slaps the tip of his cock over your clit, making you jerk up into his pillows. “tell me you won’t cum without permission, slut.” 

“i-i won’t cum without permission, sir.” 

heeseung slides back into you, his pace rough. the banging of his headboard in rhythm with his thrusts. your cries of pleasure mixing with his grunts. heeseung keeps both of his hands on your waist as he hovers over you. his main focus is to fuck you so good that you forget everything else. and by the way your eyes start to haze over with pleasure he can tell that he isn’t too far from it. 

“keep your legs up,” heeseung grunts to you, reminding you to keep your knees by your face. your swollen pussy is visible to him now. he has clear access to see his cock fucking into you. your lips are so puffy that he can’t help his thumb rubbing your also swollen clit. your head is thrown back into the pillow, his hard, circles on your clit mixing with his hard thrusts are overpowering you completely. 

heeseung leans over you, his hand gripping your neck again. his face is inches from you, his lips almost on yours. his thrusts don’t stop as he chokes you. 

“you like being a good girl for me?” heeseung asks you more quietly, loosening his grip on your neck for a moment to let you speak. 

“y-yes sir, i love it.” you nod up to him, completely submissive to him. 

“turn around for me again, then.” 

although your body felt weak from the pleasure, your adrenaline was rushing enough for you to be able to get up and turn over quite quickly. your ass up in the air as you grip onto the pillow in front of you. you feel heeseung behind you, lining up his hard, soaked cock with your soaked pussy. 

“push back on it, darling.” 

you let your knees push back, feeling his cock insert inside of you, filling you up yet again. this angle made him feel even bigger. his cock pressing into your cervix is only when you stop pushing back. heeseung’s hands land palm down on your ass when you bottom out. the pain makes you jut forward. the moan that escapes your lips as the pain settles on your ass is sinful. 

“god, i love your ass,” heeseung smacks it again, watching it start to turn red, turning him on more he thought his cock was going to explode any minute now. 

with that thought, heeseung starts sliding in and out of you again. his hand reaching over your back to pull your hair into a makeshift ponytail, pulling your upper half backward. the pain from his pulling makes you cry out in the best way. all of your senses seem to be overcome by heeseung. your grip on his pillow that smelt like him, tightened. 

“you like being fucked like this? like being used?” heeseung grunts out to you, his own eyebrows furrowing together as your walls clench around him. 

“ye-yeah, sir.” 

“say it.” 

“i like being used, sir.” 

“look at me while i fuck you.” 

with his hand still pulling your hair, you turn your head to look at him. his face is flushed, his lips are swollen from probably biting them so much. there’s sweat dripping down his line of abs that you just want to lick off. his bangs are sweaty and stuck to his forehead. he looks so hot. 

heeseung continues to fuck you until his thrusts get sloppy, his grunts get softer and his headboard isn’t banging against his wall. you turn to look at him, “let me ride you.” 

his hand smacks against one of your ass cheeks, making you cry out, “ask me.” 

“can i please ride you, sir?” 

heeseung pulls out of you, both of you switching places so now heeseung’s head is in the pillow that you were gripping. his legs are flat out against the bed as you crawl over him. both of your knees are on either side of him as you look down at him now. 

slowly, you start to sink down onto his cock. you close your eyes as he bottoms out in you once again. this angle felt entirely different. you could feel how hard and big he was inside of you. heeseung’s hands run up and down your bare thighs, letting you get use to the angle. 

“you good?” he asks from below you, concern on his face. 

“yeah, just sensitive -is all.” you shrug to him and start to move slowly. you start out slow, wanting to build both of your orgasms again. your knees lift your body up and down with the help of heeseung’s hands on your waist, he helps lift you. 

your hands grip your tits, massaging them again. your sensitive nipples hard against your palm. you start to bounce down on his harder, his tip hitting your g spot everytime now. you cry out in pleasure again. 

“fuck just like that,” you tell him, your eyes closed as you nod to him. 

“like that?” heeseung teases you, his cock hitting your g spot again. 

“y-yes,” you tell him, bouncing harder. 

“fuck, i love his pussy,” heeseung grunts to you, “so warm and tight around my cock.” 

“oh my god,” your body falls forward, your hands resting on either side of his head as heeseung takes over the thrusts completely. his hands on your waist as he thrusts his hips upwards into your pussy. “fuck, sir.” 

heeseungs grip on you leaves you to go nowhere. just stay on top of him as he fucks into you. your knees feel weak against his mattress. you can feel his balls slapping your ass every time he bottoms out in you. heeseung can feel your juices dripping down onto his lower stomach. 

“okay turn around, slut, let the audience see you.” heeseung gently pushes your core up and off of him. your mind feels dazed as heeseung has to literally, physically flip you over on him. 

now that you’re in reverse cowgirl, you can see yourself in the camera’s monitor. heeseung lays underneath you still, so just your bare body can be seen completely. you look so different you usually do, you’re glowing. 

your feet and arms hold your body up over heeseung, his hands on your waist as he slides himself up into you. 

“oh fuck!” you cry out, watching heeseung dick disappear inside of you in the camera. you start to bounce up and down on his cock again, though you keep your eyes open to watch yourself. 

“shit, keep going, baby.” heeseung grunts below you, “just like that.” 

with every thrust heeseung’s balls are hitting your clit. you can hear a wet squelch between your bodies everytime you move. your pussy is so wet around his cock. heeseung wraps his arm around your body, massaging your clit with his fingers in a circle once again. 

“yes, sir! rub my clit, sir please!” you cry out to him. your hands sturdy yourself on his chest behind you as you continue to bounce on him. his cock filling you up every time. his hard balls slapping against your pussy. his fingers keep moving against your clit. “i’m so close, sir, so close!” 

suddenly, heeseung’s fingers stop and he’s pushing you off of him. your chest is heaving as you look back on him. your pussy is clamping around nothing, so desperate to cum. 

“lay down,” heeseung is also out of breath when he speaks, “wanna see your face when you cum.” heeseung grabs your forearm and helps you lay down again. he puts your one leg up to your face, allowing him access to slide into your fucking soak pussy again. 

heeseung holds your leg up, while the other starts to rub your clit again. his thrusts continue to stretch you out, to hit your cervix over and over again. you aren’t sure how much longer you can last with this much pleasure he continuously gives you. you’ve never had sex this good before. 

“want me to fill up your little pussy?” heeseung grunts above you. 

“yes, sir.” 

“ask me.” 

“please cum inside of me!” you cry out, heeseung’s hand smacks your thigh before returning to hold your leg up, “own this pussy, fucking own it it’s yours!” 

“oh fuck!” heeseung grunts out, your words making him closer to his own orgasm so quickly. 

“oh my god i wanna feel you fill me up so bad, sir.” you were becoming so desperate, so needy. you wanted to cum so bad. you wanted heeseung to cum so bad. 

“fuck me, keep talking, keep talking, darling.” 

“please cum inside of me! i want it so bad!” you tell him honestly. his thrusts making your whole body move with each thrust. you can feel his cock start to twitch inside of you. his moans getting higher, mixing with your own. 

“fuck, baby, i’m gonna fucken cum,” heeseung tells you, his fingers rubbing your clit faster and harder. 

“me too, me too.” you cry out, your eyes closing as the pleasure takes over you. 

heeseung’s eyebrows furrowed together as the pleasure became too much for him, too. curses and moans fill up his bedroom– entertain the audience that’s watching you through the camera. he feels your walls clench harder around him than ever before as his cock starts to spurt his white sperm. 

heeseung paints your walls with his cum as you grip his forearms tight. your second orgasm making your body feel numb from how good you feel. his thrusts finally stop as his grunts slow down. his cock rests inside of you as he lays on top of you. both of you catching your breaths and coming down from your highs for one second. 

“fuck,” heeseung curses in your ear, his chest heaving against yours. he finally pulls out of you, both of you watching his cum slowly trickle out of your pussy. “god that’s so hot.”  heeseung reaches down to swipe some of his cum. 

you immediately open your mouth, wanting a taste of it. heeseung rests his fingers on your tongue, letting you taste his salty sperm. you moan around his fingers, sucking them dry of his cum. 

“you’re such a good girl.” heeseung grunts out, “you’re gonna make me hard again.” 

you laugh around his fingers, “i wouldn’t be opposed to that.” 

heeseung smirks at you and kisses you deeply. both of your eyes closing as you welcome the other’s lips. the taste of heeseung’s cum not bothering either of you. 

heeseung pulls away from you and is the first to stand up. he reaches over and tosses you his shirt to slip on before he heads back to his computer desk. 

you easily slip on his shirt and pull his sheets and blanket over top of your bare legs. 

“holy shit.” heeseung exclaims, pure shock and what almost sounds like fear in his voice. 

“what?” you sit up in his bed properly, trying to look at his computer screen. 

“there’s 30,000 viewers right now.” 

“holy shit.” you cover your mouth. you had never had that many viewers before in your life. 30,000 viewers, it’s literally like yours and heeseung’s fan bases came together to view your live stream. 

heeseung clears his throat, “uh, thank you guys so much, really. we hope you enjoyed, right?” he looks over at you from his shoulder. 

“right, we’ll see you next time, hopefully. thank you.” 

“right, because there definitely needs to be a next time.” heeseung winks and with a final wave he ends the stream. you notice the red light on the camera turns off. 

you lay back in heeseung’s pillows, feeling tired as your legs gain back their strength. you hear heeseung hum gently as he fixes things on his computer, on his hluvsbabes account. you feel relaxed as you lay in his bed, wanting to sleep so bad. 

“holy shit!” heeseung yells louder suddenly, his humming stopping as he pushes his chair back, standing up in only his boxers. 

“what?” your heart races, concerned from his yelling. “what happened?”

“y/n,” heeseung turns to you with a silly grin on his face, “do you know how much money we made off of that?” 

you sit up straight, leaning closer to him though he’s meters away, “how much, heeseung.” 

heeseung can’t contain his excitement when he states, “15k.” 

“oh my god!” you cover your mouth, not believing what you’re hearing. “you’re fucking lying.” 

“no i’m not! come look!” 

you stand up, legs wobbling a bit, but heeseung catches your arm nonchalantly. bringing you over to sit in his chair again. there, on the computer screen, is the number 15,000$ in tips connected to the livestream you had finished. 

“oh my god, heeseung!” you turn to him, your excitement meeting his. both of you wrap your arms around each other, your squeals filling the room as you rock side to side with excitement. “15k!” 

“15k!” heeseung shouts back as he pulls away slightly, his hands still on your waist. 

“now we definitely have to do it again.” you tease him. 

heeseung smiles, but you notice his shoulders tense, “yeah, but before that,” heeseung swallows harshly, “could we go on a date?’ 

you sit up in his chair, wearing his shirt and nothing else, “wow, the hluvsbabes wants to go on a date with me.” 

“of course, i mean, i recently got a lot of money. so, i can spend it all on you.” 

you shove his shoulder with your hand, “of course i’ll go on a date with you, heeseung.” 

“really?” heeseung asks, his face lighting up so prettily. 

“yeah, but only if you fuck me really good after.” 

“that, i can definitely promise.”

@ taeghi, 2024. do not repost or reuse in anyway.

PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOY, AS LIKES MAKE IT HARD FOR WORK TO BE SPREAD AND ENJOYED BY OTHERS :)

stay safe everyone :)

[eddiernunson]

Really Drives Me Mad | Older!Eddie x Fem!Reader | 18+

Prev Part l Master List |

Word Count: 10k

A SPECIAL HAPPY BIRTHDAY POST. (I’m 28 y’all)

Chapter contains: brief pregnant!reader, babies/kids…this is like a lil collection of blurbs. I have some head canons about each OC I can post if you’d like xoxo

I had ideas about their kids for ages, lol. This crazy lil family is chaotic

Still thank you to @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you and @bebe07011 for without you two this fic wouldn’t nearly be this good

Third trimester is a bitch. I barely have the bandwidth to write lately. I hope you enjoy

Two pink little lines stare back at you as Eddie turns the shower on, completely oblivious to the manic state you’re in.  

He offers you to join him, a temptation you decline with an intense amount of reluctance. You just claim you need your own bed, which was true.  

Eddie missed four weeks of work while you were on your luxe honeymoon, which means he now has several fires to put out. It keeps him busy for the week, making the doctor’s appointments and blood work you do that much easier when he passes right out on his couch at the end of his long days.  

The following week, knowing you're pregnant but not being able to tell him is pure torture. It doesn't help that for some odd reason Eddie seems more lovey, more affectionate. Your first instinct is to chalk it up to your newlywed status, but his affection feels different, the way his arms wrap around you each morning to wake you up, his gentle voice low in your ear. It's driving you up a wall not being able to share your secret with him.  

He seems to consistently have a hard time letting you go to leave for work (not that you’re complaining.) Though eventually you have to practically push him out the door.   

The ultrasound is nearly dull, the implantation in question is only a bundle of cells, but once you get a photo from the tech at the end of the appointment, it’s the very thing you needed to tell Eddie.  

After another early night of falling asleep you empty the face of the fridge, yanking every magnet off as you place the sonogram on the silver surface with a pink heart magnet right at his eye level.

-  

Eddie wakes in the middle of the night, a sudden urge to rise hitting him out of nowhere. His arm tightens around your waist, admiring your pretty face as he kisses your cheek. Your face falters only the littlest bit, twitching your muscles to shake off the tickle of his stubble.   

He finds himself starving, craving something only a feral racoon would also be satisfied with. He rubs his eyes as he walks down the steps. Sometimes he thinks he’s going to see you back in the kitchen chair in the dress and bathing suit, Dylan searching manically for a parking pass as if Eddie has imagined this whole dream scenario. Your love is just too good not to think he’d made it all up at times. He smiles to himself as he turns on the stove light, turning to the fridge for a snack.   

He feels frozen by the blank fridge at first, wondering where all the magnets got to. The black and white image staring him dead in the face suddenly registers, the heart shaped magnet falling to the floor as he rushes to pick it up to make sure his tired eyes aren’t fucking with him. They bulge out of his head when the significance of the photo occurs to him, and the hunger that woke him up seems to vanish.

His long legs take the stairs two and three at a time as he rushes back to you, hurling himself beneath the covers.   

The cold of his arms startles you, a gasp leaving your lips from the shock as you abruptly awoke. “Hmm?”  

“Are you fucking pregnant, sweetheart?” His eyes are unbearably soft, melted pools of milk chocolate staring intently at you.

A burst of sleepy giggles leaves your mouth, turning your body so you don't have to crane your neck. “You got up early.” You comment, weaving your fingers into his curls.   

“Skip the pleasantries, love.” He dismisses, scooping his arms beneath your back. “Are you fucking pregnant?”   

You pull him in for a kiss, your legs wrapping around his hips to pull him down against you. “What’s the sonogram tell you?”    

He chuckles against your lips, his thumbs swaying against your smiling cheeks. “You’re a little shit, you know that?” You nod, absentmindedly playing with his curls. “Fuck, I’m so excited right now, baby.”   

“Really?” You ask him, grinning.   

“I just found out my wife is having my baby. Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks, rutting his hips against yours desperately. “I’m rock hard, sweets.”   

Lucky for you and him, you opted for a pair of tiny panties and a t-shirt to bed, feeling his hardened cock against the thin lace fabric of your panties. Your fingers fumble to his boxers, hurriedly pushing them down his hips. “Then fuck me.”   

Eddie gently pulls the fabric aside, exposing it as his head perfectly brushes against your entrance. “God, my girl is soaked for me, ain’t she?”   

Your thighs tighten around his hips, jaw dropping as he teases you. “Want you, please, Ed.” Your eyes squeeze shut, relishing in the feeling of him pressed against you 

He pushes in, arms wrapping themselves around your torso. “Oh my god you’re having my fucking baby,” Eddie mumbles, face curling into your neck. “Gonna see your stomach all big when you’re carrying my baby, sweets, and you’ll be even hotter than you are now. Which I thought was impossible.”   

No words come to mind, mouth open and gasping at the way he moves in you. The cotton of your shirt is too hot, your hands shakily grabbing at the fabric to take it off. Eddie admires the sight he sees as your piqued nipples fall out of his faded black t-shirt, his eyes glazed over as he stares down at them. A moth drawn to the light, he dives into one, curling his tongue around the nipple with the perfect mix of teeth, pulling little mewls from you.  

“Fuck, we’re gonna be the happiest little family,” he chokes, kissing from your breast up to your neck, his voice filled with emotion.  

“Love you,” you sigh, gasping into his open mouth as his hips hit you harder.  

Eddie smiles, a wicked little grin as his hand curves over the swell of your tummy, thumb petting it gently.  

“Hold on to me, sweetheart. Hold on to your baby daddy,” you grin the line, wonderfully cheesy, but Eddie feels the way you tighten around him. Your arms curl around his back, pulling his body against yours.  

“Eddie, make me cum, please.” 

“Hold on, baby, I’m almost there, hold on,” he stutters, his deep voice starting to falter. His lips bend down to your ear, gasping desperately, bordering on whining. “Fuck– cum with me.”  

His lips wrap around yours, delicately connecting his tongue with yours as his hips stutter a final time, the little moans vibrating against your lips as he fills you up. As you collapse on the bed, sweaty bodies intertwined, he spends the twenty minutes until he falls asleep cooing, whispering in your ear how excited he is.  

You wake up the same way, with rounds two and three before he begrudgingly trudges off to work. 

- 

The sun accounts as a natural alarm clock as Dylan stretches his limbs wide, turning to face his girlfriend. His arm falls over Maya’s form, pulling her in as he starts to wake up. “Morning, Dylan,” she whispers, her pink lips spreading into a smile.  

He pulls her back against his stomach, hiking his legs under hers. “Mornin’.”  

She hums as he kisses the back of her neck, giggling as he takes a deep inhale of her shampoo. “You work today?”  

“No,” Dylan answers, caressing the strip of her exposed skin with his thumb. “I am seeing my dad today.”  

She smirks, turning to face him. “And your stepmom?” Dylan grits his teeth, tickling her stomach until she begs him to stop, hunching over the arm around her. “Okay, I’m sorry!”    

“Mmhm. I’m telling them, did you want to join me?”  

Maya squishes her face, seemingly debating on pros and cons. “I’m gonna pass on that, respectfully.” She can feel the questioning look Dylan gives her. “I have a long shift today, and I am exhausted.”  

“Next time, I’m dragging you with me,” Dylan insists, squeezing with his arms wrapped around her.  

“I’m counting on it.”  

As soon as Dylan opens the door, he listens in, waiting for a sound that never comes. Good, he waited long enough to come. He wanders into the kitchen, meeting his dad drinking orange juice straight from the carton. “Dad?”  

His dad freezes, removing the spout from his mouth, and wipes his face hurriedly. “Hey bud.”  

Dylan raises his eyebrow at him, pointedly glancing to the carton and back to him.  

“Don’t tell my wife.”  

Dylan smirks, rolling his eyes. “Speaking of the devil, where is she?”  

“Upstairs.”  

As if your ears are burning, the two men’s ears pick up the particular sound of someone coming down the stairs. Eddie prays you come downstairs with some clothes on. Your face lights up when you see Dylan, welcoming him into your arms without a second thought. “Dylan!” The familiarity you two share is still new, but wrapping him in a hug is like second nature at this point. “What brings you into this part of the world?”  

You leave the embrace, backing straight into Eddie’s arm. “Actually, I have some news I wanna share with you guys.”  

Eddie’s hand tightens around your arm, he’s mentioned Dylan talking about proposing last month, and this news felt right around the corner. He feigns ignorance, innocently asking, “Oh, what news would that be?”  

Dylan’s cheeks bloom in red, glancing down to his feet sheepishly. You just hoped you wouldn’t have to travel to a destination wedding while largely pregnant. “Uh, we–or, Maya,” he clears his throat, a laugh stuttering through it, “Maya’s pregnant.”  

The first thing you do is glance at your husband, both sporting wide eyes and slacked jaws. To say you’re surprised is a grand understatement.  

“Not the news you were expecting?” Dylan asks, watching the two of you share a silent conversation.  

In sync, the two of you switch back to him, twin smiles on your faces. Dylan had no idea what either of the faces in front of him could possibly mean, and there’s a part of him that wonders if this is happy news for either of you.  

“Um, no, actually,” Eddie barely holds back the sound of laughter in his voice. “That’s, that’s fantastic news, Dyl.” Truly, fantastic news. Eddie has been looking forward to being a biker grandfather since Dylan showed interest in being a father.  

You smirk, leaning into his shoulder. “How far along is she?”  

“Uh, 8 weeks, or so,” Dylan answers, squishing up his face comically.  

“Oh wow, so a week behind me, then,” you say nonchalantly, nodding at Eddie.  

“Wait, what?” Dylan asks, making sure he understood that correctly.  

You giggle, nodding as you sit your head in Eddie’s neck. “Yeah, I’m pregnant too, ironically enough.”  

Eddie leans into your ear, “So you’re gonna be a mom and a grandma in the same year…”  

Your eyes widen. “To think, I was just getting used to the idea of being a mom.” You lean back, meeting your husband’s pretty brown eyes. “Are we sure the kid’s gonna call me grandma?”  

Dylan picks up the conversation right away. “I mean, unless we’re gonna be completely honest with them, it doesn't make sense otherwise. You’re grandpa’s wife, therefore grandma.”  

Am I mom, then, too? You think to yourself, knowing you’ll point it out later. Your stomach rumbles, turning around to the counter to start making a breakfast of sorts. Your eyes hit the open orange juice jug and the lack of cup. “Did you drink straight out of the carton, again, mister?”  

Eddie avoids your eyes, looking at his son. “Hey, I didn’t say anything,” he surrenders, having a seat at the island.  

“How’s Maya been handling the pregnancy so far?” you ask, grabbing a pan from under the cupboards. “Because morning sickness is no joke.” You pause, leaning on the counter. “Not just in the morning, either.”  

“I think it’s some nausea, a bit of acid reflux, but to my knowledge she hasn’t been sick,” Dylan says, taking out his phone to text Maya about the news.  

“Bitch,” you mutter, the tone in your voice clear you’re joking. “We can’t all be so lucky. Eggs?”  

Dylan nods, grinning at the text Maya shoots back. “So dad, you’re gonna have a kid and a grandkid the same age as each other?”  

Eddie shrugs, taking another large sip from the carton. “Since my girl showed up, my life hasn’t been normal, and this just means it will never be normal again.”  

“You’re welcome,” Dylan laughs, rolling his eyes at the exasperated look you shoot at him.  

- 

Dylan’s phone buzzes, glancing at the unknown number as Maya fades in the middle of her sentence. “One minute, babe, I’m expecting a call from the interview I just did last week. Dylan Munson, speaking.”  

“Oh, Dyl-pickle, you sound so big!” Only one person has ever called Dylan that. He gulps, the sound of her voice bringing up old, sore emotions.

“Brooke. W-why are you calling me?”  

“Brooke? C’mon, I’m your mom, sweetheart,” she whines, her voice the sound of nails on a chalkboard.  

“Really, are you?” Dylan asks, getting up from the bed and starting to pace the hallway, his anger already building. “Ok, what college did I go to?” Silence. “What did I major in? What year did I graduate high school? When did I have my first kiss? Who’s my current girlfriend? What’s my best friend’s name? What sort of vehicle do I drive?”  

She doesn’t answer a single question, instead giving stuttered empty answers. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to answer any of that… We haven’t exactly been talking for the last fifteen years.” She says, somewhat accusatory.

Dylan sighs, rubbing his face frustratedly. “What, your phone didn’t work all those years?”  

“As far as I’m concerned, I’m not the only one who had a phone,” she protests, sounding incredibly defensive. 

“Yeah, well, you also weren’t a child for 8 of those years who begged his dad for his mom to come to one thing that was important to him,” Dylan retaliated, angry at her gaslighting. “My dad had your number, always left voicemails inviting you to my soccer games, to award ceremonies, to my birthdays, and you never answered a single call, let alone showed up.”  

“I’m sorry, Dylan, I am, but I was young then, you can’t blame me for wanting a fresh start.” 

“Actually, I can,” Dylan answers, now done with this conversation. “You had eight years to be a mom before I finally gave up on you. You don’t get to pick and choose when to be my mom, now.”    

“I’m sorry that hurt your feelings, Dyl. But I have two boys, and they really want to meet their older brother. Would you come down for lunch one day?”  

He nods, knowing that this sudden need to be a mom again wasn’t going to come for free. “No. I have no interest in being your life. Not since the day I turned 18.”  

“C’mon, Dyl–” 

“No, mom–Brooke. No. Don’t call me again, please. I need to go now.”  

She starts another sentence, but Dylan hangs up on her before he hears it. When he walks into the bedroom he shares with his girlfriend, he crawls into the bed next to her, feeling like the ten year old whose life got torn apart.  

It looks like Brooke still has that uncanny talent for making everything about her.  

- 

Eddie sits in his office, a small room decorated with frames filled with the faces of those he loves and papers strewn around the desk. He’s going over the receipts and payments, and silently regrets not having hired an accountant by now, but he’s far too stubborn to admit it.  

There’s a knock on the door and Eddie looks up in relief. Please, let there be a disgruntled customer to save him from the numbers. “Come on in!”  

Connor, one of the new apprentices he hired only a few months ago comes in, looking timid. The first few months he has a new hire they’re usually shy, and when their self confidence in their ability to do their job kicks in, Eddie truly starts to miss it. “Uh, hey, boss, there’s a client out there who wants to speak to you.”  

Eddie chuckles, leaning back in his chair as he rests his feet on his desk. “Don’t, don’t call me boss. What do they want?” 

Connor screws up his face. “Uh, I forgot to ask.”  

“Always ask, man. Tell them I’ll be right out.”  

“Alright, I’ll tell her.” Eddie sighs in relief, women tend to be more understanding.  

“Hey, send in Joe, will ya?”  

“On it!”  

Joe, a man who’s worked for Eddie for 20 years, older by ten years, walks into the office just a moment later. “What’s up, Ed?”  

“Give the lady a talk, will ya?” Eddie asks, scratching the itch on his right forearm. “Ask her what she wants.” Joe, tall, dark, and quiet, nods and shuts the door.  

He’s back in the office in seconds. The door’s loose knob has barely clicked shut before it’s abruptly opened again. “That fast?”  

Joe shakes his head, his eyes wide with a grimace on his face. “Uh, no, it’s…it’s Brooke.”  

Eddie scrunches his face up. “Brooke, like…Brooke?”  

“Yeah. You want me to–” 

“No it’s okay, I got it,” Eddie insists, a pit forming in the depths of his stomach. He rubs his face tiredly, fully unprepared to deal with this. 

“Dude, you sure?” He asks, having been with Eddie through the divorce.  

“Seriously, I got it. Thanks, man.”  

Eddie gets up from his desk, catching the eyes of his long-time employees on his way to the entrance of the garage. He’s fine. He’ll be fine.  

There she stands, looking around the garage holding her purse with two hands. She’s dressed like one of those Instagram moms, high waisted jeans with a loose blouse tucked in under a long coat. Her eyes land on him, her face lighting up as she exclaims, “Wow, the garage looks great!” 

“Thanks,” Eddie mumbles, sighing. “Is there a particular reason for…”  

Brooke smiles, and Eddie could almost see a genuine human behind the mask. “Um, do you mind if we go into your office?”  

Eddie raises his brows, perplexed. “I really don’t see the necessity for it.”  

“It’s not really a conversation to have in front of the guys, Eds,” Brooke comments, shuffling her feet as she crosses her arms.  

Eddie winces at the nickname she calls him. She really doesn’t know him well enough to call him such anymore. The audacity of it astounds him. “I’m not Eds to you…and my office holds things that are precious to me, that I honestly want to keep out of this conversation.”  

“Like I haven’t already seen pictures of your little wife,” Brooke grimaces, her tone switching from sweet to condescending in a split second, her eyes rolling. “Congrats on that, or whatever.”  

Eddie blinks, too exhausted to argue. “Alright, come on.”  

It's not like Brooke hasn’t been in his office before, Eddie thinks, they were happily married, after all. She looks around at the changes, her eyes seemingly fixated on where photos of Dylan’s previous achievements are proudly displayed. “Wow, he looks just like you,” Brooke mutters, a look on her face that Eddie can’t quite place.  

Eddie assessed the bulletin, Dylan’s graduation, first school dance, the Munsons spending a weekend at the Harrington’s, it certainly spelled out to her what she missed out on.  

He clears his throat, quietly asking for her to continue. “Right, um, I was wondering if you could talk to our son.” 

“Our son?” Eddie asks, barely holding back his laughter. “Last time I checked you said he was my son.”  

Brooke ignores it, faltering in her seat. “I tried calling him last week, but he shut me down.”  

“What do you need me to talk to him about exactly?” Eddie leans against his desk, his hands gripping the edge.

Brooke blinks, tilting her head. “When did you cut your hair?”  

“Irrelevant. What do you need me to talk to him about?” Eddie enunciates, already feeling the exhaustion of her mere soul sucking presence.

“My sons are asking questions about him, and they would like to meet him.” She inhales, as if preparing herself for what she was about to say, “I would love to reconnect with both of you, honestly.” 

Like an anvil, Eddie feels his stomach pull him all the way down into the floor. The silence she’s given him and Dylan for the last fifteen years has been stable, reliable even. The most reliable thing about her. This is turning off the road into a ditch with nothing to instigate it. “What did he say?”  

“Uh, he had no interest in it,” Brooke shrugs, leaning back in her seat.  

Eddie nods, having expected it. “Brooke, those pictures on the wall? My son spent so much time begging me to call and get you to at least one event, one time just to show that you still cared about him.” He pauses, watching her avoid his eyes. “I left dozens of voicemails in your inbox, and I know it was your inbox, because I remember the day it went from Munson to Prescott. I begged you to show up. Just once. The last time I did was for his graduation, but by then I had stopped telling him.”  

“He told our lawyers and the judge he wanted nothing to do with me. Forgive me if I thought he was telling the truth,” Brooke huffs, her voice sounding defensive.  

“He was a child, Brooke!” Eddie deadpans, narrowing his eyes. “A child hurt by his mother’s actions tearing apart his happy family. Staying with the stable parent was probably the more appealing option.” He scratches at the stubble on his face, glancing over to the sonogram sitting on his desk. He’d hoped Brooke hadn’t caught wind of that news, yet. “At first, he was really hurt, but after a while, he just wanted his mom. Who never showed up.” 

“Well, I might be a little late, but doesn’t it count for something that I’m trying, now?” She asks, folding her arms across her chest. 

“I think it counts more that he’s about to be a father and he has no interest in including you in his kid’s life.”  

Her eyes bug right out of her head. “Wait, what?”  

“Mmhm. Seems he’d rather give what was supposed to be your title to someone he’s known for less than a year.” Eddie flickers to the photo of you he has framed, a portrait of you surrounded by the sunset in your wedding dress. “You had eight years, Brooke. Eight. You don’t get to decide to be a parent when it’s convenient for you. I never had that luxury. I had to pick myself and my son up and find a way to get through it emotionally without falling apart at the seams.”  

She seems to start talking, but Eddie is on a roll. “I finally feel like I’m living my life, and not just surviving. If you reached out five years ago, I probably would’ve said yes. I even had a low enough self-esteem to hope it would mean something more…but now I have this woman, this beautiful person who showed me how much she believes I’m worth, showed me how much I am worth. Brooke, no offense, but when I look back on it, especially comparing the two, you treated me like shit.”  

“Uh, okay,” Brooke mutters, holding her hand out. “I did not treat you like shit.”  

“You never stuck up for me with your parents, forced me to do things I was uncomfortable with all the time, gave ‘our’ son’s teachers hell all the time, and, oh yeah, left me for the person you told me not to worry about. So, no I will not be talking to my son. If he comes to the conclusion to reconnect with you, then fine. But I will not be participating.”  

“Wow, you’re being harsh.” Brooke complains, grimacing. “Eddie, I was young. I made a few stupid decisions.”  

“You know, my wife is a bit young. Somehow, she already knows not to act like a stone cold cunt.”  Brooke stutters through an empty response, completely rendered speechless. “I think we’re done here.”  

“I’m not done!”  

“Well, I suggest you be by the time my pregnant wife gets here, because she’s not your biggest fan.” It gives him the utmost satisfaction to start looking through the papers. He glances back up to her expectant expression. “Safe travels back to Boston, hmm?”  

Eddie swears the smile on your face in the photo of you grows, glad the backbone he needed seems to have finally grown. “You’re not going to even–”  

“No. I’m not. I’m done here, Brooke. Give Kevin my condolences, yeah?”  

Brooke nods, reluctantly understanding she wasn’t going to get what she wanted. Eddie had indeed grown the self-confidence she never saw when she was with him. “Condolences?” 

“Yeah, for still being stuck with you. Close the door on your way out.”  

Brooke’s nostrils flare, her jaw locking. She turns around without another word, the slam of the door echoing through the garage as she storms out, every click of her heel enunciated.  

Moments later, Joe pops through the door. “Everything, ok, Ed?”  

Eddie looks up, his dimples pronounced on his face. “Oh just, peachy, Joe. Mind if I take off for the rest of the day?”  

“I would be concerned if you didn’t, man.”  

- 

The ringing of your phone stirs you from your slumber, having passed out on the couch mid snack. An app you downloaded on your phone for the pregnancy said the first trimester would have you feeling quite sleepy, and you didn’t believe it until you find yourself constantly falling asleep during your off days, and exhausted at work when you really shouldn’t be.  

Your sister’s name lights up the screen, and the quick assessment of the movie tells you you’ve been asleep for at least forty-five minutes. “Hey, Viti.”  

“Hey, sis,” she greets, an airy tone in her voice. “Sounds like you just woke up.”  

You haven’t broken the news to your family, yet, waiting to present the information in the form of a present next time you and Eddie make your way over to your parents’ house. “Had an afternoon siesta,” you sigh, watching the movie you’re tempted to restart. The twist of Carlisle’s death just isn’t the same if you don’t build up to it. “What’s up?” 

She sighs, a habit you’re all too familiar with. “Spit it out.”  

“Okay,” she starts, gaining her courage. “Me and Arlo got together the night of your wedding.”  

If you were attempting to get rid of any sense of sleep, it disappeared within a second. The information takes a second to register, eyes darting around the living room filled with wrappers you have yet to throw out. “Harrington?”  

She laughs, probably expecting a much worse answer. “Do you know any other Arlos?”  

“Guess not.” You pet the bangs in your eyes away from your face, trying to remind yourself of the look on your baby sister’s face when she was slow dancing with him. “Ok. How did it happen?” 

“You’re okay with this?” She asks, your heart melting at how little her voice sounds.  

“It was never my choice, Vi,” you answer, using the remote to restart the movie. “If you like him and trust him, then, yeah, I’m okay with it. So how did it happen? Tell me all about it. But if you’ve slept with him, then maybe not all about it,” You chuckle. Viti sighs exasperatedly and you can practically hear her eyes roll through the phone.

“Um, so we were kind of flirting a lot after the family dinner. I thought he was just being nice, but I was willing to be his friend. It got a bit more intense at the wedding, and he asked me to dance…”  

“I saw,” you admit, granted you only saw because Eddie pointed it out to you. “What happened after that?”  

You can hear the smile on her face. “He led me to a hallway, and then we went to the hotel room I was staying in…” She trails off sheepishly. Oh, that's all you need to know.  

“Damn, girl!” you laugh, opting to push away the mental image and simply be your sister's friend right now.  

“We went to dinner last week,” she says, a giggle laced through her sentence. “I really, really like him.”  

It had to be Arlo Harrington. “Then I’m really, really happy for you. Have you told everyone else yet?”  

“You’re the last to know, to be honest. I think Eddie even knows at this point.” You roll your eyes, because of course that’s why he was so peculiar this morning.  

“Just because I don’t necessarily approve of the choice of boy doesn’t mean I won’t be happy for you. Plus, I could get used to him, after all, Steve isn’t so bad.” That’s a damn lie, Steve Harrington has become one of your favorite people. “Tell me you got out of the hotel room before mom and dad discovered you.”  

“We heard them coming down the hall…” she says, giggling. “We were dressed as they were about to come in the door. Luckily, they were both pretty drunk, so they didn’t really catch on to what was happening. Well, until the next morning at brunch, I guess.”  

Note, send a text to your mom asking about what her perspective was, because there’s a chance she knew more than she let on. You think to yourself.

“Anyway, four weeks in Cancun. Spare me the dirty details but tell me all about it,” she giggles, moving the phone away from her face, “shut up, stop, shut up!’ 

“Let me guess. Arlo?”  

A burst of giggles runs through her body and you can hear the smile on her face. “Maybe,”

“You couldn’t wait until you were alone?”  

“She’s not really alone all that much these days,” Arlo’s voice rings out. You can picture the smug smirk on his face.  

“Arlo!” She chides him, and yeah, this might not be so bad, you decide.  

“I’m gonna let you two go,” you offer, dismissing any protests she let out. “Also, without the dirty details there’s not much of the honeymoon to tell. Well, except one thing.”  

“What?” 

“You'll have someone new to meet in seven months!”  

“No way!” 

- 

If there’s one thing you know, it’s Christina Perri’s A Thousand Years is the song for the last credit scene of the Twilight Series. As each character is shown with the corresponding credit, it gets closer and closer to the main cast.  

It might just be the hormones, but this round of credits just seems to hit differently, tears spilling down your cheeks as it gets to the Cullen family. The front door to the house slams shut, announcing the arrival of your husband. Odd, he’s about three hours early.  

The weight of the cushion next to you sinks down with a comforting arm wrapping around your shoulders. Your head falls easily into his embrace, curling into his lap as you sniffle. It’s ridiculous, the irrational reaction that takes over you, but damn do the editors know how to elicit a reaction out of the audience.  

His hand pets your shoulder, kissing your forehead. “You crying at Twilight?”  

You nod, furrowing your eyebrows. “Lose the smug attitude, mister. This is your doing.”  

He laughs under his breath, petting your hair. “Hmm, that’s not how I remember our honeymoon.”  

You tilt your head back to look at his face, fretting at the curls that are starting to resemble closer to a mullet. “Just because I begged for your babies does not mean you had to listen to me.”  

He rolls his eyes, leaning in to place a kiss on your lips that takes the breath out from your lungs. As he backs away, he hums with a peculiar look on his face. “What’s on your mind?” You ask, your brows knitting together.

Eddie sighs, petting the bare skin exposed on your hip. “Minor Brooke update, today.”  

Your brows instinctively rise, feeling every little muscle in your face tense up. “Oh?” 

“Yup. Are you interested?”  

You close your eyes, asking any entity out there listening for a lick of patience. “You piqued my interest. Lay it on me.”  

Eddie can’t beat around the bush, or he would never say it. “She came into my work today.” He pauses, allowing you to absorb the information before continuing. “Requesting that I convince Dylan to…let her back into his life, so to say.” You squint, remembering the few times that Dylan had confessed about his mom to you, always finishing by claiming he wants nothing to do with her and never will.  

“Yeah, good luck with that,” you comment, watching his eyes flicker back and forth between yours.  

“She reached out to him last week and when he refused, I guess the next most logical step was to drive the six hours from Boston and corner me at work.” Your teeth grit, angry at the fucking gall that fills Brooke whatever-the-fuck her last name is. God forbid Steve or Eddie ever accidentally tell you what it is, because the day it comes her inbox will be flooded with just a little piece of your mind, and she'll be lucky if profanities are the worst things you say.

“What are you thinking?” He asks, having watched your face move through the storm of emotions.  

“I was thinking that I fucking hate your ex-wife and if she has no haters then I’m dead,” you answer, dead panning.  

“I love you,” he sighs, tugging you in against his chest. “Are you hungry?”  

You look at the wrappers decorating the mahogany coffee table, “Surprisingly yes.”  

“Lets get a real meal in you, shall we?”  

- 

Eddie is present at every doctor's appointment, every ultrasound, birthing class, and even at 20 weeks, when you were inexplicably spotting, stayed with you throughout the 7 hour wait at the ER. He certainly helped you hide from the embarrassment of the doctor explaining the bleeding seemed to be brought on by intercourse and to start being a bit more careful.  

Only one time does a health care worker mistake Eddie for being your father, a mistake quickly fixed at the death glare he gives her. You don’t know how, as you look nothing alike and he has been doting on you too affectionately to be a dad, but you can’t help teasing him by calling him daddy as soon as she leaves the room. 

Well, that’s a lie.  

There is one other time he’s mistaken for your father, running into the maternity ward and anxiously stating your name to the front desk of labor nurses. The head nurse, a woman bearing silver streaks in her hair, calmly tells him to relax and sit down, only the baby’s father is allowed in the room with patients.  

“Well you better take me to my wife, then,” he deadpans, his eyes harsh enough to shoot daggers if it were physically possible. 

She stutters through her response. “Oh, you-you’re her husband? I’m so sorry I assumed–my mistake, she’s in the third door on the left.”  

He rushes to the door, ignoring her last pleas for forgiveness. He was far too busy focusing on how he knew he shouldn’t have gone into work when he knew you were due to go into labor any day now. He knew he should've told them to ask Joe for the solution, as he was basically acting owner while he was away.  

When he bursts through the door, you’re sat on the bed in the room with Bethany petting your face as you push through a particularly hard contraction.  

He waits and watches anxiously for you to get through it before announcing his arrival. As soon as your eyes land on him he sees your face crumple in relief and your hands reach out for him. “Baby,” you whine, seeking the comfort of his shampoo and cologne.  

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, planting a big kiss on the hand that was reached out. “Thank you so much, Bethany, for taking her.”  

She shrugs, dismissing his over exaggerated gratitude. “She’s been a champ. Let me know if you two need anything.”  

Eddie pets your hair, leaning in to plant a gentle kiss on your lips. “How’ve you been, baby?”  

“Only been an hour, and I am so over labor,” you whine, smiling pathetically. “Thanks for coming so fast.”  

Eddie was surprised he didn’t get pulled over, going 90 down the freeway. He turned a 20 minute drive into 8. “Made any progress?” 

“I’m only one centimeter dilated. We could be here for a while.” 

“I’m here every minute,” he says, grabbing a chair to sit by your bed. “I believe in you. We’ll listen to Taylor, listen to a smutty audio book, watch a true crime series, whatever you want, baby.”  

- 

True to his word, he allowed you to blast your Faves Spotify playlist, watched a few episodes of 48 Hours with you, and even sat with you as he let you play with the makeup you had packed in your hospital bag on his face.  

You made him look like a Captain Jack Sparrow, giggling as he animatedly talks in a pirate voice. The best thing about Eddie being there is that he wards off your parents and others who wish to visit you in your labor and acts as your advocate when the nurse is too rough with you and requests a new nurse immediately. Well, and his presence alone puts you at ease, of course.  

It feels like forever, but you’re eight centimeters dilated when a familiar face walks down the hall, passing his father as he carries the millionth cup of ice chips you requested. “Bud! Did someone text you about–” 

“She told me when Bethany was driving her to the hospital, but that’s actually not why we’re here,” Dylan sheepishly admits, his shoulders shrugging up to his ears as a pink blooms across his cheeks.  

“We?” Eddie catches on, blinking. “Is Maya also..?” 

“Yeah, we got here about three hours ago,” he squinted one eye comically, crossing his arms. “She’s about halfway there, now I think.”  

“Wow she’s progressing a lot faster than we did,” Eddie comments, it taking you far more than three hours to get to five centimeters.  

“It would be ironic wouldn’t it, if they had the same birthday?”  

“Irony is one word for it,” Dylan chuckles. “My girlfriend asked for ice chips about eight minutes ago, and she is not patient, so I’m going to get back to it.” 

“Let us know any updates, won’t you?”  

“I bet my kid will be born before yours,” Dylan answers, only somewhat joking. 

“Oh, you’re on, dude.”  

- 

As nurses and the doctor rushes around you, frantically assessing the baby while helping you with the afterbirth, birthing the placenta and ridding the bodily fluids that came out with the infant. Eddie cut the cord, watching carefully as the nurses quickly washed his newborn son off.  

He’s simultaneously whispering sweet nothings against your cheek, how proud he is of you, describing your son’s dark hair, his little mouth opening as the nurse's hand gently washes it. “Did so good, baby, so good, I’m so fucking proud of you.”  

“Is he okay?” You whisper, eyes half open as you stare up at your husband’s brown ones. “J-Josh, is he okay?”  

Eddie knows exactly what you’re asking, making sure his limbs are working, that he looks healthy, that the nurses don’t look too concerned about their results. He can’t help but answer, “He’s perfect.”  

Your favorite nurse, the one who got assigned after Eddie demanded it, brings him over swaddled in a hospital blanket and tucks him into your arms. The hormones and adrenaline overwhelm you as you stare at his face, selfishly grateful he looks just like his father, happily staring at the little button nose.  

“I love you,” when you stare up at your husband, you’re expecting his eyes to also be planted on the newest member of the little family. Instead they’re shiny and planted on you, his expression drenched in pure love.  

“I love you,” you sigh, leaning in for a sweet kiss. “He’s so perfect.”  

“I fucking love you so much.” 

The love fest eventually dies down, all the medical aides surrounding you finishing up and leaving the room as they steal one last glance at the happy little family.  

You’re lost in your own little world when Dylan runs in, seeing the little addition sat on your chest. Eddie looks up to face Dylan dressed in a hospital gown and a hairnet. His face is lit up with the same joy as the room is filled with. “You wanna meet your grandson?”  

Eddie nods, quickly stopped by his wife still lying on the bed sitting in the afterglow. “Go,” you insist, petting at the soft hair on your son. “Say hi for me.”  

He smiles, placing a gentle kiss on your knotted hair, followed by his newborn. “Be right back.”  

On the way over to the emergency surgery room Dylan explains that the umbilical cord ended up twisted around his son’s neck and they took Maya straight into an emergency C-Section. He sat with his girlfriend as they emptied the contents of her abdomen to allow the newest Munson to come into the world.  

Eddie asked several times to make sure it was okay if her father in law, her boyfriend’s father, to go into a room where she is this vulnerable. Dylan insisted that she said it was fine and since Eddie was here for the birth of his son it would be cool for him to meet his grandson, too, within the same half hour.  

Miraculously, after getting in his own scrubs, Eddie wanders in with Dylan as Maya is finished with her stitches. She’s still loopy from the general anesthesia, holding her newborn on her partially covered chest.  

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Eddie asked, knowing how against visitors you were.  

“Just come say hi to your grandson, Eddie,” Maya chuckles, passing up the newborn. “Meet Jace Edward Munson.”  

“Edward?” Eddie laughs, barely holding the mist that comes to his eyes. “What?”  

Dylan scrunches his nose, tilting his head to face the newborn now in his father’s arms. “You stepped up when she left. You were everything to me. You may have stolen a girlfriend, but that is small beans in the grand scheme of things, you know?”  

“Jace and Josh,” Eddie muses, laughter bubbling up his throat. “God, they even sound like twins.”�� 

- 

Kayla smooths over the dress she wears, nervously looking around the classroom. Are there enough learning centers set up? Will the children like the home center she put together? Will there be any difficult teachers during her first year?  

 For the first time, she’s on her own, placed in the very class she had spent so long working toward, kindergarten.  

Her little classmates with their parents, usually mothers, wander in with wide eyes, nervously holding onto their sleeves and looking around anxiously. She talks to each little one at a time, welcoming them and offering them many activities to distract them from wanting to stay with their parents.  

One little boy doesn’t need much, or any, peeling off his father as he runs in, his shaggy brown hair rustling in as he bolts straight to the building blocks. His dad walks in right after, carrying his bag dressed in a leather jacket and acid wash jeans.  

“Hi,” he sighs, sounding tired. “That’s Dylan.”  

“M or H?” Kayla asks.  

“M.”  

“Dylan, can you grab your bag from your dad and put it in the cubby?” Dylan runs to grab his bag from his dad, shouting in slight frustration as he’s pulled in for a hug. “Yours will have an M next to your name!”  

He listens, but doesn’t look back as he runs back to the blocks.  

“I’m Eddie,” the father says, holding his hand out. “His mom, Brooke, will pick him up after school, uh, she’s a bit of a hardass, so just beware.”  

Oh, goody. She gives him a strained smile, insisting she’ll be able to handle it.  

Eddie and Dylan end up being one of his favorite pairings for the year. But when Brooke walked in, she knew it became a big deal for something as small as Dylan putting his book in the wrong pocket in his bag.  

Kayla got along great with Eddie, as they turned out to be the same age. They saw one another around the school as Dylan got older, even became someone Dylan could rely on for a maternal figure when his parents ended up divorcing in fifth grade.  

About twenty one years after initially teaching Dylan, she’s a veteran teacher in her own right, having a monopoly over classroom #3 as she continues to be the answer for dozens of individuals when asked their favorite teacher.   

She sits in her lumbar chair that her coworkers raised the money for the previous Christmas as she finally is able to look over her newest class list. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until she came across 9th and 8th from the last name, two boys with J initials and the last name Munson. She’d been wondering if she would ever have the pleasure of teaching Dylan’s boys, or if he decided to skip town like most of his classmates.  

Their birthday right next to their attendance names indicated they had the same birthdate, so she was safe to assume she would have another set of twins. If they were anything like Dylan, they would be a fun sort of challenge for her, that she was sure of.  

On the first day the following fall, she keeps an eye out for her former student, keeping in mind it could very well be the mother that decides to drop them off.  

As she’s helping a particularly shy child settle into her classroom, she notices a parent helping their kid out of the wind breaker they’re wearing. As soon as the little girl is settled she goes to them welcoming them. She immediately recognizes the parent. “Dylan!”  

“Oh, Miss. Thompson! I didn’t realize you were still teaching!” He sheepishly admits, looking at the plaque now containing her married name.  

“I am just married, now,” she answers, answering him the same way she would a student out of habit. “Now, who do we have here?”  

“I’m Jace,” the little boy answers shyly, brown hair of this father but stark green eyes.  

“Well, Jace, would you mind finding your name at one of the cubbies for me? I think you’re put right next to someone named Josh,” she tells him, watching for any recognition of the other name she thought was his twin.  

“Oh, sweet!” Jace exclaims, running with his Pokémon bag.  

She gets up from her squatting position, her knees far too achy for doing it continually like she still is. “So, there’s another Munson on the class list, would you know anything about that?” 

Dylan chuckles, sighing. “Well, about that–” Dylan is interrupted by a little boy with dark hair hugging him, exclaiming his name. “Hey, Josh, we were just talking about you!”  

Josh laughs, tugging on Dylan’s arm. “Is Jace here?” 

“Yeah, he’s playing with the dinosaurs, if I know him.” 

“Cool!” Josh runs straight off, meeting his supposed relative at the play carpet.  

Kayla turns around in confusion, questioning what just happened.  

As if answering her, in comes another familiar face, holding a bag that looks comically small compared to his tall stature. “Ah, Kayla. I was wondering if you were still here.”  

“Eddie!” She greets him, giving a very frank hug. “I have to admit, I am very confused.” 

“That’s okay, you wouldn’t be the first,” Eddie comments, crossing his arms. “Me and my wife had Josh at the same time Dylan had Jace. They’re assholes, they like to gang up on adults, but don’t let them intimidate you, they can’t with their adults anymore, so they try it on teachers.” 

“Takes a lot more than that to intimidate me,” Kayla answers, looking back at the boys who gained ownership over the carpet with dinosaurs and cars. “I appreciate the warning, though.” She looks back to her old friend, seeing the smile lines on his face, still carrying his son’s things. “I’m happy you found someone, though.”  

“Thanks. His mom will pick him up after school,” Eddie tells her, going to the cubby with his kid’s name on it. “She’s not as bad as Brooke, so there’s no worries, there.”  

“Alright, can’t wait to meet her.”  

Eddie and Dylan share a look, one that Kayla misses as she starts to welcome in a few new classmates.  

- 

The bell rings for lunch for the rest of the elementary school and end of day for the kindergarteners. Mrs. Franklin, or Miss. Thompson, as Dylan knows her, helps all her students with their backpacks and jackets. It’s one thing to manage five-year-olds, it’s another to get them to stop wrestling and help them simultaneously.  

The Munson boys are certainly no help, Josh trying to stick his finger up Jace’s nose, pinning him down on the dirty floor as Jace wiggles underneath him. Kayla wished Josh would stop telling Jace he’s his uncle and he has to listen to him, that way she wouldn’t have to hold back her laughter so hard.  

“Okay, Mr. and Mr. Munson, break it up, your parents will be here any minute now. Get up.” They both switch their glances up to her, eyebrows raised over wide eyes. “Get up.”  

They roll their eyes, Josh reluctantly getting off Jace slowly and helping him up. Slowly but surely, parents start to pick their kids up, both Munsons waiting for their parents anxiously. You wonder in with your youngest, a little three year old by the name of Stevie. She holds onto your pointer and middle finger anxiously, eyes darting around at the unfamiliar noises and faces.  

Your son is seemingly nowhere to be seen, usually seen with his counterpart but you can’t see him around the crowd of parents kneeling with their kids and asking how their day was. The teacher,  someone both Dylan and Eddie insisted is the best in the school, approaches you kindly to ask which kid is yours.  

Before you can even answer Josh runs into you, happily glancing up at you as he wraps his arms around your legs. “Hi, baby,” you greet him, kneeling down as you pet his sweet face.  

You miss the peculiar look Mrs. Franklin, or Kayla as Eddie referred to her as, gives you. Surprised to say the least that the Mrs. Munson she has yet to meet is so young. Her brows furrow even further when Jace notices you, yelling, “Grandma!” as he also runs for a hug.  

“Were you boys nice to Mrs. Franklin today?”  

“Of course!” Josh smiles, and you squint through his bullshit.  

“Well we’re gonna make sure to be nicer or we’re gonna have to lose our tablet privileges, won’t we?”  

You get back up, smiling at their grumbly faces. They never listen to new adults, it was a field day at their first day of preschool. One glance to their teacher’s observant face told you all you needed to know. “Eddie didn’t warn you, he?”  

“No, but they did have a peculiar look on their faces when I mentioned meeting you. Should’ve known better, with those two,” you tilt your head, curious at what she meant. “Seriously, your husband needs to tell you more. I taught Dylan when he was in kindergarten.”  

“Oh!” you exclaim, somewhat surprised. “That’s really cool! Were you surprised to see Eddie wi–” 

“With another kid,” she interrupts, laughing, “yes, I was. I’m happy to see that he found someone else, Brooke, was, well, she was not a nice person.”  

Your eyebrows raise at the mention of your husband’s ex-wife, this being the first person she meets outside Eddie’s inner circle to having even mentioned Brooke. “So, I’ve heard.”  

“Hey mom,” you hear behind you, you shove the owner before you even see him, rolling your eyes.  

It’s very recently become a silly habit of Dylan’s to call you mom, due to your son asking why his brother calls his mom by her real name and not mom like he does. After the best attempt at explaining Dylan has a different mom who is no longer around, Josh is still confused and insists that you still act like his mom, so therefore, are Dylan’s mom. 

It was awkward at first, but now it’s a little inside joke. If you were told when you first got together with Eddie that Dylan would be referring to you as a maternal figure, you probably would’ve hit them on the head for fucking with you.  

“Hey, kiddo,” you tease back, mocking his twisted face expression. “They were apparently giving her a hard time today.”  

“Of course they were. You know we can ask one of you to switch classes, right?” Dylan asks, an aura of authority in his voice.  

Their eyes go wide, even though it was a threat in their preschool room, they have yet to consider this. You didn’t want to resort to threats but with their shenanigans, it's literally one of the only things that will work.  

“C’mon, your dad is making your favorite for dinner,” your shoulder cascades around Josh’s shoulder, telling him to say bye to his nephew and that he’ll see him tomorrow.  

Two years later, Stevie shows up with her dark curls down to her shoulders after her father, giggling as she says hi to the teacher.  

That was the last time Kayla taught one of Eddie Munson’s kids. Or, so she assumed.  

- 

The double doors to the high school flew open, big black boots echoing as the large leather jacket trails behind a slim torso. He takes the immediate left into the office, his presence large, with grey streaks leaking into his roots and an angry look on his face.  

The kind administration lady looks up to his expectant face, the curiosity quickly melting into confounded terror. “Can I help you?” 

“Apparently Stevie Munson is in the office right now?” Better be a damn good reason for peeling me away from one of the only moments I have left alone with my wife, he thinks, eyes observing around the office.  

“Yes, she is, uh, are you her–” 

“Her father, are you going to let me in the office or do I have to let myself in?” 

The surprise that fills her features would be charming if Eddie wasn’t so fucking annoyed. He’s used to the assumption by now, but for the moment he just doesn’t have any patience in his body.  

“You can go right ahead, Mr. Munson,” she peeps out, gesturing to the door marked Principal. Eddie’s not sure why he even asked, or how he had the foresight to ask, first. He’s surprised, honestly.  

The door opens to face the school principal, his daughter and a boy sitting two seats away from her nursing his face with an ice pack. “Mr. Munson, welcome in! Have a seat.”  

“No thanks,” Eddie answers, polite, but curt. He looks at his daughter, “What happened?”  

She opens her mouth to answer but is interrupted by the bald principal, “I didn’t ask you, I asked her. What happened?” He directs his attention back to his daughter.

She smiles at him, the same sweet smile his wife bares. “This guy touched my ass under my skirt, so I punched him in the face.”  

Eddie’s brows raised, teeth gritted as he sends a daggers at the boy he is now aware assaulted his daughter. “I’m sorry?” He asks, now directed to the principal.  

“So she says,” the principal says, eyes widening at how Eddie manages to look murderous. “Granted, even if Mr. Jackson did do that, it’s not a good enough reason to assault him. She will be suspended for two days.”  

Eddie laughs, loudly, shaking his head at the gall, the fucking nerve. This principal is extremely lucky it was him who answered his phone and not you. “Really? My daughter got sexually assaulted and your reaction to her defending herself is suspending her? Are you fucking kidding me?”  

“Mr. Munson, if you could please calm down and have a seat,” he starts, gesturing to the chair, yet again.  

“Oh, I am calm. You don’t want to see me angry,” Eddie answers, the Hulk flashing through his mind. “You deciding to punish her tells me exactly why this little shit felt confident enough to lay his hands on her, to begin with. I just think about all the other girls he’s done this to, too afraid to speak up, I wonder how many times he’s done this with no consequence to feel confident enough to touch under a skirt. What the fuck is this place? No-tolerance bullying policy? Utter bullshit.”  

“Mr. Munson, calm down before I call security–”  

“Don’t make me laugh. Seriously. Don’t.” Eddie sighs, pinching his nose. “If you do suspend her, I will press charges against him and I will sue this fucking school. If you punish him, like you’re supposed to, take him off his team for the season, put him in detention for a month, I don’t care, something with fucking consequences, I won’t. You decide.” 

He looks down at the little shit, whimpering as he still nurses the barely there bruise. “You better hope I don’t hear you doing this shit to any other girl in this school, or you won’t get into any college in the country.” He pauses, opening the office door to an audience. Maybe he was louder than he thought he was. “C’mon Stevie, let’s go get some fucking ice cream.”  

When you heard about how your husband stuck up for your daughter like that, you got on your knees for him in the bathroom. That might’ve cheered him up a bit.  

- 

The sounds are familiar yet foreign when you wake up to the blindingly white room, the chatter in the hallway and some heart monitor beeping. Two people immediately come into focus, Josh, sitting at the end of the bed on his phone, Stevie sitting concerned by your head.  

You moan, sitting up in your bed annoyed at the stark contrast of the back of your eyelids. “What the hell?”  

“Mom!” Josh shouts, getting up and standing on the other side of his sister.  

“Mom,” Stevie runs out of the room, calling for a doctor.  

You look to your son, brows furrowed. “What happened?”  

“You passed out at the grocery store. You fainted and you didn’t wake up until just now.”  

Your brows raise, because you haven’t felt off even the slightest. The dizziness hit you out of nowhere, going from fine to woozy in two seconds and falling flat on your face. “How long ago did that happen?” 

“Like twenty minutes? The ambulance got there pretty quickly,” he admits, turning his head to his sister and the nurse coming in the door. 

“Mrs. Munson! So glad to see you awake. I’ll let the doctor know and he should be able to give your results,” she says, sweet smile as she turns away.  

Stevie’s bottom lip is stuck out, quivering as she grabs the hand containing an IV line. You thought that was a bit much. “Stevie, I’m okay.” 

“Are you sure, because I heard the nurses saying it’s not normal to stay out that long after fainting. What if you’re sick?”  

“I’m okay,” you insist, watching both their worried faces. “Fuck, you called your dad, didn’t you?” 

“Uh, yes! He would’ve killed us if we didn’t!” Josh laughs, leaning back in his chair.  

As if summoned, your husband pokes his head in, his eyes wide as he walks in the room, hands out to you as his long legs take him to the head of the bed. “Fucking Christ.” 

“Hi, baby,” you greet him, leaning into the forehead kiss that he gives you. “I’m okay.” 

“Fainting in the fucking grocery store, fucking hell. My god, baby.” He looks over to his kids, “What tests have they done, so far?” 

“Just a blood test, I think,” Stevie shrugs. 

“They might do an MRI but that could take weeks of waiting.” Josh offers no comfort to his dad despite his best efforts.  

“I’m okay, really.” You insist to all their worried faces. “You didn’t call anyone else, did you?”  

“Uh, we called Dylan,” Josh says, wincing at your annoyed face. “And Jace.”  

“Fuck,” you mutter, intertwining your hand with Eddie’s rough one.  

The doctor doesn’t come as quickly as the nurse promised, but he comes within two hours. “Oh, hello, you have quite the visitors, don’t you?”  

You shrug, rubbing his thumb as it anxiously rubs your hand.  

“We have the results, inconclusively.” The air is tense, every one of the family seemingly expecting terrible news. “Congrats! You’re pregnant.”  

You knew nothing was wrong, but this was not what you were expecting. You’re forty-two, Eddie is nearly seventy. You weren’t even sure he could still get you pregnant. You meet your husband’s eyes, sharing a bewildered smile.  

In the meantime, shouts of disgust from your teenage kids fill the room, standing up with tense shoulders.  

“Gross!” 

“Ew! I didn’t even know you guys still did it! Oh my god! Ew!!!!”  

You bite your lip, shrugging. “Are you wanting to be a father to a newborn at almost 70?”  

Eddie smirks, leaning in for a kiss that makes your kids jeer again. “Bring it on, baby.”  

Steve calls an hour later, concerned for the text his name sake sent him. When Eddie informs him, you’re pregnant, twenty years of karma hits tenfold.  

When Steve and Jocelyn said they were pregnant with Eliza fifteen years after having Dustin, Eddie spent the pregnancy making fun of their oopsie baby. Asking if they knew what protection was, joking how they still had sex, telling them to keep it in their pants, the works.  

Now, Steve was more than happy to return the favor. “A baby at 70, you old bastard? What was that you told me twenty years ago? God, I’m surprised you two still do it, considering how low Eddie’s ball sack must be hanging.”  

“You wish you could see my ball sack, you asshole,” Eddie teases, laughing with you as you sigh. “You’re just jealous I can still keep it up, you geriatric bastard.”  

- 

Five years later, when Eddie and Kayla are older, he wanders into classroom #3 for the last time, holding his third son who ends up being notoriously clingy towards his older father.  

It’s ironic to the both of them how Eddie has a son for both Kayla’s first and last year of teaching, keeping tabs on one another for the duration of forty years.  

Eddie doesn’t say anything, letting Tommy down and dismissing her questioning look. Don’t wanna talk about it.

By the time Tommy is 18, Eddie is too old to give a shit, wondering constantly what Wayne’s opinion will be when he ends up knocking on heaven’s door.  

When you got into your sixties, Eddie was full of gratitude, thankful that you will no longer be confused for one of his kids despite his actual kids all calling you mom. He makes fun of your vision, stealing his reading glasses constantly despite his constant insisting that you get your own pair.  

Despite the smile lines by his lips and his eyes, the sunspots decorating his skin, you still stare up at him like you did when he was forty-seven.  

Your lives were forever intertwined from the moment you saw him, from the moment he saw you. He lies down in your bed next to you for the millionth time, his hand caressing your side, pressing kisses on whiskered lips, it doesn’t occur to you to ever be anything less than woefully in love with him.     

———————-

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[wave2tyun]

cool hot sweet love | ☆

pairing: barista!beomgyu x fem!reader, surfer!yeonjun x fem!reader

genre: summer!au, lovetriangle!au, fluff, romance, a tiny bit of angst?

summary: embarking on a journey towards self-discovery, you didn’t expect to also have your heart tangled in an alluring summer romance. but, who’s gonna be the first to win your heart? the sweet barista, beomgyu, or the charming surfer boy, yeonjun? let the love games begin!

warnings : alcohol consumption, a few swear words, minor injury, (almost) drowning

word count: almost 10k + the endings are like 1k each

a/n: i've been feeling super nostalgic about this fic recently (it's one of the very first i've written!! :0), so here it is back again in all it's glory!!!! this is too long for me to search through for any mistakes i'm sorry asbjdha for all my summer enthusiasts, let's hang in there just a little bit more, this one goes out to y'all!!!!😼😼💞

☆ = repost from my old blog!!

at the end of your final year of high school, you found yourself chasing a dream, a dream that was never truly yours to begin with. competitions and grades never seemed to bring you any satisfaction anymore. your parents’ praises didn’t seem enthusiastic either, but rather an automatic response. you felt completely lost. the one thing that seemed to give you the drive to keep on going, suddenly lost its spark. you were living in a greyed out world, having the same exhausting routine over and over again. you wanted a break from it all. for once, you didn’t long for the pressure or the big goals, but simply for living life just as it was. you wanted an escape from the clutches of mundane life, which is why you chose to swallow your pride and opt for a gap year after graduation. you knew your parents well, and you weren’t expecting them to be happy about your decision. they didn’t want to let their “dream daughter” fall down from the top and watch as everybody else around her were working on their way to success. but what they failed to consider was that success is in no way linear, and that your break was in the end substantial for your wellness. you were very lucky to have a friend like yeji in your life though. she did have her own struggles with academic validation as well, yet she never had any pressure coming from her parents. she wanted to be there for you, and made her parents persuade yours about letting you have a gap year with her. to raise the ball even higher, her parents added one condition: should you have a gap year, you weren’t allowed to remain in the city. instead, you were going to stay at their vacation home, at least for the summer, to let you experience the thrill of the unknown, as well as to help you get a breath of fresh air.

you didn’t know what kind of black magic yeji’s family used, but whatever they did, somehow managed to convince your parents to agree to your proposal. finally, you felt like you had found some motivation to keep on pushing through, making your heart fill up with excitement.

as the number of days leading up to your departure shortened, you were meeting up more and more with yeji for your final preparations. your sleepovers consisted of the two of you giggling while packing and making lists, as well as making up scenarios deep into the night about things that could finally “bring some spice” into your lives. even though it was her own family’s house, yeji hasn’t been there in years. she was living under the impression that a holiday there would just be “a distraction from her studies” or “a waste of time”. however, now that you were both free from that brainwashing hell called school, you realised how much you’ve actually been missing out on.

“do you really think that this “project” will finally bring that change we want in our lives?” you asked yeji, breaking the silence after some long moments of tossing and turning in your bed. you found it almost impossible to fall asleep. it was the last night before you were going to leave behind everything in your life so far. the excitement was still there, but you couldn’t deny the fact that there were all sorts of worries and doubts clouding your mind, and you found yourself wondering more and more often whether you were truly making a good decision.

“y/n, are you letting your worries take over your mind again?” she let out a soft laugh, then turned around to face you “i understand though, i’ve been getting that too. but- are those thoughts really worth it? i mean- we’ll never know unless we try, so i think it’s definitely worth a shot.”

you sighed “still- i don’t think i’d be able to face my parents again if i fail this.”

“y/n...this is not a test. there’s nothing to fail here. personally, i would rather try and regret than live my whole life wondering “what if”.”

you hummed. yeji was right. you hugged her tightly, trying to show her how much you appreciated her comforting words. and just like this, you were finally able to let your body drift off into a deep slumber. it was now or never, and you weren’t just gonna sit there and wait forever.

───⋆☆─────────────

the ride to the vacation house turned out to be a challenge in itself. yeji was the only one with a driver’s license, so you had no choice but to stay in the passenger’s seat with both a gps and a map in hand. unfortunately for yeji, you had one flaw: you were absolutely terrible with directions, meaning that the trip that was supposed to be 6 hours long, ended up taking you 9 hours instead. you got lost in some strange forests twice; yeji pulled over the side of the road multiple times, trying to make sense of the directions you were telling her, occasionally getting out to buy a piece of fresh fruit whenever she spotted a merchant. she said that it was helping her brain think, and that she was also helping to keep a business going. you didn’t need any excuses for fresh fruit though. fresh fruit is good food after all.

when you somehow made it to the house, you felt your body refilling with energy, despite having that whole trip take 10 years off your lifespan. sitting right in front of you was a 2-story house with pale blue walls and a white wooden porch.

“i can’t believe we made it out alive” you said after getting out of the car. you weren’t sure how much more you could endure the constant buzzing of the air conditioner, and yeji’s one and only cd playing on replay.

“you can’t believe we made it? what about me, i was the one having to endure all those truck drivers swearing at me for taking wrong turns, because someone, not telling who, is incapable of using any kind of maps”

“whew- i wonder who that is.” you gasped dramatically “must be tough dealing with them. bet they are a lovely person though”

“they sure are” she giggled “now come on, let’s get our luggage out of the trunk before the heat melts everything away.”

“need a hand with that?” you heard an unfamiliar voice shouting from the distance. you turned around and saw a group of 3 young men coming your way. you and yeji looked at each other dumbfounded, unsure what to answer. you nudged her with your elbow.

“do you know them?”

“no idea who they are...” she whispered back.

“you must be yeji and y/n- right? i’m hueningkai, yeji’s parents let us know that you were coming today, so we stopped by to see if you needed any help” the boy with a brown mullet said. “that’s soobin and this is taehyun” he pointed at the other two, both of them giving you a warm smile and a small wave in return. you were almost too stunned to speak. luckily for you, yeji replied while you were busy staring at them with big eyes.

“i think i recall them mentioning you briefly before leaving. actually, weren’t there supposed to be two more people or am i not remembering well?”

“you must be talking about beomgyu and yeonjun.” soobin answered “their shifts haven’t ended yet so they’re still busy at the beach. we can go over there if you want to after you settle in.”

“sounds great.” you said picking up the first luggage.

“that looks heavy- let me handle that” taehyun replaced the luggage in your hand with a bag. “t-thanks.” you were taken aback by their kindness. boys at your school never even spare a glance in your direction, let alone help you carry something. if it weren’t for the boys, you and yeji would have probably passed out on the floor after moving everything inside.

───⋆☆─────────────

the house was only a 5-minute walk away from the beach, during which you got to learn a tiny bit more about each other. hueningkai told you that he’s the one in charge for making playlists and playing music; soobin worked along with beomgyu at the bar, meanwhile taehyun got a small job as a kitchen assistant because of his newly-found passion for cooking. they were all around your age and yet they seemed to have already found their passions, living life without much worry in mind. you wished you could live like that too, and maybe, just maybe, this was your chance to find that out.

“welcome-“ “-to paradise!” soobin exclaimed spreading his arms in the air.

“woah-” both you and yeji said in unison, making everybody else laugh.

“welcome to paradise indeed” you said, placing your feet on the warm golden sand. there was music playing around you, not too loud so that you could still hear the sound of the waves softly crashing against the shore. it was breath-taking.

“and you haven’t seen everything yet” taehyun chuckled, leading you towards the beach bar. “beomgyu- we’re here!” he shouted.

you squinted your eyes trying to see who this “beomgyu” was from afar, but your vision simply failed you. and when you got closer, you were simply not mentally prepared to face the person in front of you.

“guys i told you not to-“ he started off, seemingly irritated “oh- hi.” he scratched his neck, giving you a shy smile. at that very moment, you swore you felt your heart skip a beat.

“y/n, yeji- this is beomgyu. our one and only barista.”

“the best one in town!” beomgyu added cheerfully.

“ah- so humble too.” taehyun teased him, sighing dramatically.

“hey- what are you implying?” beomgyu sulked, but you couldn’t even pay attention to their bickering. your eyes were way too busy going over beomgyu’s features. ripe, cherry red locks of hair framed his eyes, those eyes that resembled two pearls of boba from a brown sugar milk tea, with long, beautiful eyelashes adoring them. you thought he looked just like a honey bear.

“i’m yeji- it’s nice to meet you” she shook his hand “this is y/n.”

beomgyu smiled and you reached your hand out for him to shake it. his soft hands enveloped yours, and you couldn’t help but notice how bigger they were than yours. you felt his hand lingering for just a few seconds more, and you were already missing his warm touch once he let go.

“so- want to have a look over our menu? it’s on the house” beomgyu offered.

“oh cool i’ll have the-“ soobin started talking, instantly getting cut off by beomgyu “not you- the girls!” he jokingly gave him a death stare “you’ve all been profiting too much off my generosity lately, you don’t deserve any free drinks today.”

you and yeji snickered, they all looked really close to each other, like brothers. it was like you were witnessing a petty fight between siblings.

“one strawberry lemonade for me please!” yeji said.

your eyes were still scanning the menu, hands continuously flipping the pages back and forth as you chewed on your bottom lip. beomgyu leaned over to you, the sweet scent of his citrus perfume invading your senses.

“want me to recommend anything?”

“ah- yes please. there are too many drinks here that sound good.” you replied “nothing with alcohol though, the trip here already gave me a headache.” you glared at yeji, who lifted one eyebrow at you.

he chuckled “people usually enjoy the peach smoothie, myself included. does that sound good?” his deep brown eyes peered into yours, never breaking eye contact- not even for one second. “sounds perfect.” you replied, almost completely absorbed by his gaze.

“until that’s done-” hueningkai chimed in “we should go ahead and meet up with yeonjun too.”

“don’t take too long though” beomgyu said “my shift is ending soon.”

“we’ll be fast- have you seen him around by chance?”

“last time i talked to him he was at the surfing board shop. maybe check that out first?” beomgyu replied, before going to the drinks station to get started on your orders.

“oh- i haven’t seen you around here before?”

you almost jumped out of your seat, startled by the new voice that interrupted your conversation.

“yeonjun! perfect timing.” hueningkai said “we were planning to go looking for you.”

“is that so?” he playfully asked, plopping down on the seat between you and yeji. his voice turned out to be much more attractive than you had anticipated, it was smooth, yet slightly husky and deep. you turned your head to look at him for the first time.

“i’m yeji- and this is...” her voice trailed down, expecting you to answer again. you were frozen, being too immersed to take in yeonjun’s appearance. you could notice his muscular form, not hidden away from the tight-fitted swimming shirt he was wearing. his sharp eyes game him a fox-like charm, making you feel inexplicably drawn to him. in contrast, his plump lips make him look adorable, like a sulky duck. what was a man like him even doing on a secluded beach-? yeji coughed, giving you a small nudge.

“y/n.” you managed to blurt out, a stupid smile plastered on your face.

“ah- huening, why didn’t you mention that such pretty girls were coming here today?” you almost dropped the drink’s coaster you had in your hand as he said that.

“it hasn’t even been 5 minutes and he’s already flirting” taehyun groaned, covering his face with his hands.

beomgyu rolled his eyes at his friend’s antics, setting down the drinks for you and yeji on the counter before finding a seat on the bar stools to join you.

“like i’ve said-“ hueningkai intervened “we were about to look for you. are you done with lessons for today?”

“yup. some kid had a sunstroke so i got off work early”

“what kind of lessons do you teach?” you asked curiosity taking over.

“i’m a surfing teacher for kids.” he answered “it’s a small job to make some money. for you, however- i could do it for free, since you’re cute” he winked at you, making your cheeks flush instantly.

“i’m sure y/n would love to try something new” yeji butted in, answering before you could open your mouth to speak. “that’s what we’re here for, after all. right?”

“right...” you squinted your eyes at her, giving her a light kick with your foot.

“it’s decided then.” he chuckled “i’ll be waiting.”

this is how all the conversations during the first day went like; your mind going blank, with yeji either saving you from embarrassment or only digging your hole deeper. still, you enjoyed it, you ended up staying at the beach long after the sun started to set. the chilly breeze coming from around the sea was made you get up from your seats, at long last.

───⋆☆─────────────

the next day, you found yourself back at the beach sometime in the afternoon. you did everything you could to wake up yeji, but to no avail. the drive here must have completely tired her out, as she was sleeping soundly as a rock. in the end, you let her continue to rest, choosing to go out by yourself.

“so, what’s it gonna be for today?” beomgyu asked, leaning his head on the palm of his head. “may i interest you in one of my signature cocktails, perhaps?”

“i’d love that” you smiled.

this time, you watched as beomgyu prepared your drink. he lifted the sleeves of his dress shirt up, revealing the way his forearm muscles tensed up as he picked up the glass bottles full of alcohol. his precise movements could tell you that he must have had plenty of experience as a barista. your eyes wandered off further, focusing on the way his long slender fingers, still slightly dripping with water from having washed fruits earlier, handled the knife with such skill and care. you remembered the moment you held his hands yesterday, how soft his skin was to your touch- you shook your head, trying to get that thought away.

“all done” beomgyu brought you a tall glass, ripe cherry sitting proudly on top, floating on the ice. “it’s a cherry daiquiri.”

you pushed the straw past your lips, a sweet yet tangy taste filling up your mouth. beomgyu looked at you, eyes gleaming with curiosity and anticipation. feeling a bit mischievous, you put on a serious expression.

“well uh-“ you paused, pursing your lips “this was quite-“

 beomgyu gulped, the content look on his face fading away.

“-quite possibly the best cocktail i’ve ever had” you couldn’t help but burst into laughter upon seeing the cute expression he had on his face. he closed his eyes, tilting his head back and breaking into a smile.

“you had me seriously questioning my bartender skills for a moment there”

“sorry- i had to” you giggled “i really mean it though, i’ve never had something that tasted this good before” beomgyu’s dimple appeared as he tried to conceal the big smile taking over his face.

“y/n!” yeji shouted, jogging to reach the bar.

“look who’s finally up”

“i slept through my alarm- sorry” she sighed, sitting down beside you.

‘not just through your alarm���

you hummed as you continued to sip on your drink, admiring the scenery in front of you. it was a peaceful atmosphere, the catchy beats of the music being sometimes interrupted by the squawking of the seagulls in the distance. right at the shore was a small group of kids, with yeonjun in the middle of them, standing on a surfing board. they all seemed to be bursting with energy, like bottles of soda that were about to explode. yeonjun knew how to match their energy well, while still keeping everything under control.

“instead of staring at him so intensely, why don’t you go and take up his offer?”

you snorted, crinkling your nose “me? surfing? no thanks- i’m saving myself from that embarrassment”

“and? if you only worry about embarrassing yourself then you won’t ever end up making a change with your life” yeji wrapped her arms around her body “-and this exactly what we’re here for, something new. don’t just let this opportunity go to waste.”

you frowned, chewing on your straw. even though your brain didn’t like to admit it, she was right. you were so caught up in your own comfort bubble, that it was holding you back.

“looks like he’s getting a break now” yeji muttered “come on- this is your chance!”

“alright- i’m going” you agreed at last, gulping down the rest of the drink before heading towards yeonjun’s spot. you walked with a determined look on your face- and shaky hands.

you tapped yeonjun on the shoulder, breath hitching in your throat. yeji watched your interaction from her seat, wishing she could be closer to hear it.

“who-” he turned around “y/n- everything good?”

“yeah.” you answered shortly, playing with your earrings. you weren’t particularly bad at small talk, but this time your mind went blank the moment he started facing you. you couldn’t even meet his eyes, which were staring back directly at you.

“actually- i’ve been thinking about it and, you know those surfing lessons you talked about? i kinda want to give that a shot” you trailed down, your voice becoming higher in pitch towards the end of your sentence.

yeonjun’s face instantly lit up, his smile reaching his eyes “really? when do you want to start then?”

“well, when is your schedule free?” you scratched your neck “i’ve heard you’re pretty busy, i wouldn’t want to be a burden.”

“don’t worry about it, i was the one who asked after all.” he chuckled “i can give you a text later on after checking.” you tilted your head in confusion

“but you don’t have my phone nu-“

oh. he was smooth.

“you got me.” he said sheepishly “i was hoping to get your phone number” there was a sharp constrast to the way he was behaving before. the cool and flirty persona he had been putting on was starting to crumble “if that’s okay with you as well i mean-“

“yeah i’m okay with that” you reassured him “maybe i wanted yours too” you mumbled, heart almost giving out after getting those words out. he laughed again, handing you his phone. you quickly typed your phone number in, saving the contact as “y/n :)”, then you handed him yours.

“i’ll make sure to let you know by tonight”

“great, i’ll be waiting then” you replied playfully, making your way back to the bar.

yeji kept on pressuring you to spill all the details, but you brushed her off, wanting to save the conversation in private. you didn’t even get a chance to breathe properly once you returned home. after locking the door, yeji dragged you by the arm and sat you down on the couch along with her, forcing you to let it all out.

“see? that wasn’t so bad, was it? i’m sure you’re gonna thank me later-“ yeji’s voice was interrupted by a notification coming from your phone. you sat there, frozen, a million thoughts rushing through your mind.

“are you gonna answer that?”

“i- i guess i should” you took your phone, a river bubbling through your veins and flushing your face at the sight of the new message:

(yeonjun<3)

[10:30 pm]: hi cutie ;) are you free tomorrow at 11 am for our first surfing lesson?

“what are you smiling at?”

“nothing” you giggled, hiding the screen of your phone with your hands.

“you’re definitely not giggling because of nothing- let me see.” yeji got on top of you, trying to pry the phone away from your hands. however, her attempt was unsuccessful, as your grip was way too strong.

“you’re leaving me with no choice” she whispered mischievously. you felt your whole life flash before your eyes. you had one great weakness- and yeji knew that. you couldn’t even stand 3 seconds of tickling, so she was going to use it against you. her fingers inched closer to your stomach and attacked you quickly.

“YEJI- stop please-“ you tried to shout between giggles “i surrender- i promise.” she stopped for a brief moment “you promise?” “yeah- now get off me and i’ll give you my phone.” she squinted her eyes, going back to her place on the couch reluctantly. her eyes widened in disbelief when you revealed the new message.

“no fucking way- after two days?? y/n. this guy’s definitely into you”

“i don’t want to jump to conclusions- what if that’s his way of being friendly?” you argued back, realising how foolish your reason sounded only after you finished your sentence.

“y/n- darling, there’s no way a guy who just wants to become friends would save his name with a heart symbol.” she shook you by the shoulders “he. is. into. you.”

“what if-“ you were about to argue again, but the sound of another notification made you stop midway through your sentence. you unlocked your phone, completely unprepared. you and yeji glanced at the screen, then looked back at each other in disbelief, struggling to contain the urge to scream your lungs out.

(unknown number)

[10:50 pm]: hi, y/n! this is beomgyu :)

[10:51 pm]: i got your phone number from yeonjun, hope you don’t mind ;)

───⋆☆─────────────

from the moment you woke up you could feel your heart hammering in your chest. it was hard to tell whether it was from excitement or anxiety. maybe it was a mix of both. still, you were proud of yourself for choosing to do something out of your comfort zone for once. yeji was probably even more excited than you were. she wasn’t a morning person, but she insisted on coming along to watch your lesson and to ‘check your chemistry’.

“which swimsuit should i take? i packed two with me.” you held up a black one-piece swimsuit and a pale blue two-piece one for yeji to see.

“get the two-piece. you look hotter in it.” she playfully winked at you. you reluctantly looked at the swimsuit she chose, cursing yourself in your head for asking. you opened your mouth to voice out your worries, but yeji got up from the bed and put a finger over your mouth “shush, i don’t want to hear any complaints. just trust me on this one- okay?” you silently put the black one back in the drawer and went to the bathroom to get changed, deciding to go with yeji’s pick. “yeonjun’s heart is gonna melt once he sees you.”

you tried to ignore her “let’s go, i don’t want to be late.”

“can’t leave yeonjun hanging?” yeji joked, faking a pout. you lightly slap her arm. “i’m gonna leave without you if you’re not ready.”

“you wouldn’t do that to me- you love me.”

“i sure do...” you tilted your head back, a laugh escaping your lips.

yeonjun was waiting for you at the exact same spot you watched him teach yesterday, nobody else around him this time. for some reason, the thought of being completely alone with him didn’t cross your mind. you could feel a rush of adrenaline flowing through your body, but it was way too late to back down now.

“ready for-“ yeonjun’s words stopped abruptly as soon as he looked at you. he seemed distressed, eyes rapidly going over between you and the warm sand beneath his feet, the tips of his ears flaming red. was this what yeji meant by his heart melting? he cleared his throat before speaking again “ready for our first lesson?”

“i’m a bit nervous” you admitted “but overall excited i think” you didn’t sound very sure of yourself.

“you’ll be fine with me” he flashed you a gentle smile.

yeonjun clasped his hands together “we’ll go over the basics first”

“you need to catch waves in order to start surfing, and how do you do that? you paddle.” yeonjun put down a surfing board onto the sand. “to paddle, you need to lie and balance on your surfboard. let me demonstrate it for you” yeonjun laid his body on the board, his back now facing you.

“when you do this, make sure that the angle of the board’s nose doesn’t change. it should remain the same as when you weren’t on top of the board, not higher, not lower.”

“got it.”

“you shouldn’t paddle with both arms simultaneously, as this won’t help you maintain a constant speed. alternate between both arms at a steady pace”

you were in awe at yeonjun’s professional aura, he explained things calmy, while still maintaining a firm voice.

“let’s get this board into the water so you can give that a try.”

you looked at yeonjun with wide eyes, your nerves had just started to settle down a bit and now they were going off like fireworks again.

he laughed lightly “no need to worry, i’ll be right beside you.” yeonjun pushed the board into the sea, not too far away from the shore so that the water level wouldn’t be too high. he held on to it so that you could get lie down with ease. “when paddling keep your chin up so that you can look around.”

you tried to do just as he said, mimicking his movements from earlier. you didn’t want to know how goofy you looked from another person’s point of view.

“just like that” yeonjun whispered “see? you’re a natural! i think we can move on to the next step- getting up. we won’t be riding any waves today, we need to make sure you get this technique right”

you turned your head towards his direction, a petrified look on your face.

“come on, i’ll help you” yeonjun held out his hand for you to take, moving the other on your waist to help you maintain your balance as you moved up with shaky feet. his touch made you feel flustered and you lost your focus, accidentally slipping on the board. luckily, yeonjun was there to catch you before you could face-plant into the water.

“easy does it. don’t worry, it’s tricky to get it right on the first try” he held you again, his grip on your hand tighter than the first time. you held your breath as you made your second attempt, this time ending successful.

“no way- i did it” you exclaimed.

yeji’s and beomgyu’s cheers could be heard all the way from the bar, making you burst into laughter. your cheeks turned rosy as you noticed your hand still holding yeonjun’s.

“you’re doing amazing, cutie” your face felt even hotter at the sound of the nickname.

“let’s try that a few more times”

and so you did. again, and again, and again. yeonjun didn’t let you go until you had at least 3 successful attempts in a row. the both of you settled down on a sunbed, munching on some ice cream as a reward for your success.

“do you like it here so far?” yeonjun asked.

“we haven’t had the chance to do much yet but- i think i do. the beach alone is enough for me to enjoy my time here.” you took a bite of the ice cream cone “by the way- i was wondering, how come you started surfing?”

“i fell in love with the beach after my uncle taught me how to surf.” you looked up to meet his eyes. you could see the way they lit up as he explained everything further. “the gentle breeze, the adrenaline, the warm sun touching my skin- i felt like i couldn’t get enough of it.” he tilted his head back and stretched out his arms “i tried to go back to the city, but i couldn’t resist being away from all of this, so now- i get to do exactly what i love.” he smiled.

you stared at the ice cream in your hand, watching it melt from the heat. his words tugged at your heart; in a way, you were feeling jealous of how content he seemed to be with his life.

“sounds really nice” you smiled back, biting your lips. you could almost feel your stomach turning, your previous worries were coming on at lightning speed. the sound of yeonjun’s voice out of it.

“i’m glad you took up on my offer, it’s nice to share something i enjoy with a lovely person like you.” your worries dissipated, being replaced by butterflies in your stomach instead.

───⋆☆─────────────

you continued your lessons with yeonjun up until the middle of the summer. it was clear by now that you were definitely not a surfing prodigy, but you didn’t want to stop. you didn’t know when it would be the next time you got to do something like this. besides, having yeonjun’s attention all on you was nice. or at least, until little kids started stealing him away from you.

“teacher yeonjun- can you help me find my rubber duck? i lost it in the water.” the kid sobbed, tugging on yeonjun’s swimming shorts. yeonjun looked at the kid then at you, conflicted.

“go on-“ you reassured him with a smile “i got it.”

“i’ll be quick.” yeonjun grabbed the kids hand, sprinting towards the area of the “lost duck”.

you lifted your body on the surfing board, closing your eyes for a brief moment and taking a deep breath of the cool beach air. you were all alone now. this was your chance to get away from your thoughts, your worries; to simply shift your focus on all your other senses. somehow, you were feeling nostalgic- nostalgic for a moment that hasn’t even fully passed yet. if only it was possible to keep those feelings locked away, so you could revisit them whenever you wanted to.

yet, your happiness was cut short. you let your guard down too much, and were completely unaware of the danger right in front of you. beomgyu’s shout snapped you out of it. you opened your eyes, only to see an enormous wave centimeters away from you. you froze, not knowing what to do. a million thoughts ran through your mind; before you could even make a decision, the wave crashed into you, sending your body flying down into the water, your head hitting the surfing board in the process. the glass that beomgyu was holding slipped from his hand, shattering to the ground. he swiftly jumped over the counter, then took his shirt off, his eyes frantically searching around the water for you. instead, he saw yeonjun diving in the water, already 2 steps ahead from him. it was childish to race with yeonjun to save you. beomgyu ran back to the bar, hands shaking as he searched for a first med kit and a towel.

you couldn’t keep your eyes open as the salty water gave you a burning sensation almost instantly. you flailed your arms around, in an attempt to save yourself, but the more you moved, the more it felt like you were sinking down. you were almost ready to stop when you felt a pair of arms wrapping around your waist, bringing you back up towards the surface.

“i got you, don’t worry” yeonjun breathed out, hooking one of his arms under your legs and holding your shoulders with the other. your hands hanged loosely around his neck, desperately coughing up the water that entered your system.

“try to stand on your side if you can”

yeonjun laid you down on the nearest sunbed, and you did just as he said, bringing your knees to your chest as your coughing fit continued. “don’t panic, just let it all out” he said softly as he rubbed his hands down your back to soothe you.

yeonjun called out yeji’s name, gesturing for the others to remain in their place for now, as a group of people surrounding you could have been overwhelming. still, beomgyu chose to trail down behind yeji as she walked towards you. he covered you with the towel he found and left a cold bottle of water on the ground next to you before going up to yeonjun.

“can we talk for a sec?” he said, grabbing yeonjun’s arm to bring him further down the beach, without waiting for an answer from him.

“hey- how are you feeling now?” yeji crouched down, holding your hand and gently rubbing her thumb against it.

“better, i think” you answered, trying to put on a smile for her, even though you were still shaken up from what happened earlier.

“where did the others go? i didn’t even get to thank yeonjun-” you raised your body a little bit, looking around the beach.

“don’t even worry about that right now.” yeji was quick to push your shoulders back down. yeji knew why beomgyu was so quick to take yeonjun away. she knew how angry he was with him for leaving you alone so carelessly, and she knew how he was also angry with himself for not acting faster earlier. witnessing them arguing wouldn’t have done you any good. “just rest a little bit more so we can go back home. i’m sure you’ll have another opportunity to thank him soon.”

you looked down. you felt guilty for what happened, even though what happened was outside of your control. you let out a groan and brought a hand to your head, a pounding ache taking over.

“does it hurt?“ yeji asked. you removed your head from its place, only to see a small trail of blood dripping down your fingers.

“everything okay?” you heard yeonjun shout, jogging towards you. he was out of breath, bringing his hands to rest on his knees, cheeks flushed a deep shade of red; it seemed like he ran all the way back. beomgyu, however, was nowhere in sight. “let me see” his eyebrows furrowed as he came closer. he moved your hair behind your ear to inspect your injury. “it’s nothing serious. it’s just a surface level wound, but we need to clean it up.”

“here, beomgyu gave this to me earlier” yeonjun took the med kit from yeji and placed it beside you on the sunbed.

“please tell me if it hurts”

you nodded and he grabbed your chin, then started to gently dab your head with a wet cloth. your eyes shily glanced over at his face. you didn’t realise until then just how close he was sitting next to you. his eyes were only focused on your wound and he was biting his lips in concentration. his hands were shaking a little bit, too afraid to cause you any type of pain. unknowingly, you were holding your breath, heart beating out of control. you couldn’t understand why it was that your body was reacting this way, even in a situation like this, how he still had you wrapped around his finger, melting under his feathery touches.

“this should make it heal faster” yeonjun said, putting some ointment on the wound before covering it with a bandaid. “-and this too” he whispered, leaving a small kiss on that same spot. “i’m so sorry y/n. you are still a beginner and i shouldn’t have left you all alone like that, it was stupid-“ you stopped his rambling by pulling him in for a hug. “hey- don’t blame yourself so harshly. what happened was outside of your control. if you were there maybe you would have gotten injured too.” you hugged him tighter “i wouldn’t have wanted to see you hurt either.”

“you’re right...” yeonjun sighed, combing his fingers through your hair “still- i’ll find a way to make it up to you, i promise.”

“hey- i know you’re having a sweet moment and all, but it’s getting late and we should really get going” yeji interrupted. you slowly moved away from yeonjun, whispering a ‘thank you’ against his ear before finally letting go and getting up.

once at home, you hopped into the shower to wash off the salt off your body. you changed into more comfortable clothes, slumping into your bed, your body melting into the mattress. you were mindlessly scrolling through social media, your eyes feeling heavier with each minute that passed. you were on the point of dozing off when you saw a notification appear on your screen.

(gyu :) )

[beomgyu, 9:17 pm] y/n! how are you feeling now? :(

[y/n, 9:17 pm] definitely better now, especially because of your help :)

[beomgyu, 9:17 pm] i’m glad

[beomgyu, 9:18 pm] are you busy rn?

[y/n, 9:18 pm] no, why?

[beomgyu, 9:18 pm] look outside the window ;)

confused, you got up from the bed and peeked through the window blinds, spotting a smiling beomgyu waving his hand at you from the sidewalk. you couldn’t help but return his smile as you looked at him, already in his pyjamas with a jacket over his shirt and a small basket in his hand. you opened the window and shouted “wait- i’ll be down in a sec.” stumbling as you rushed to climb down the stairs and put on your shoes. you quickly ran your fingers through your hair and took a deep breath to regain your composure. you were taken aback when you saw beomgyu right in front of you, hand raised up to knock on the door just as you opened it.

“hi.” he spoke softly.

“hi-” you breathed out “want to come in?”

“ah-“ he cleared his throat, his eyes meeting the floor instead of your face “i just wanted to bring you this.” he brought the hand holding the basket in front of you, its contents hidden away with the help of a pink wrapping paper. you pushed it to the side, careful so as not to rip it too much. your eyes widened once you discover small boxes with fresh assorted fruits like strawberries, cherries, grapes...and a tiny bear plush placed in the middle of everything.

“thought these might cheer you up a bit. i snuck those away from the bar once my shift ended. don’t tell on me though, soobin might kick my ass if he finds out”

“beomgyu-“ you stammered “thank you, but you didn’t have to-” you were pushing the basket back towards him, overwhelmed by his sweet gestures. he caught your wrists with his hands, moving them towards your chest.

“but i did have to” he leaned down, bringing his face to the same level as your own “if i saw you smile, then that means it was worth it, even if i do get in trouble” his words rolled off his tongue slowly, with a low rasp. you noticed the way beomgyu’s eyes moved away from yours to glance at your lips, then going back to the floor, stopping for a second, hesitating, before deciding to quickly steal away a kiss from your cheek.

“go back inside now, you should get some rest.”

without even realising it, you brought a hand up to your face, touching the same spot he just caressed with his lips. he tilted his head, chuckling after seeing your flustered expression. “good night, y/n” he put his hands in his pockets, turning his back to walk towards the alleyway.

what you weren’t aware of though, was just how loudly beomgyu’s heart was beating against his chest.

───⋆☆─────────────

the end of august, also known as the start of the party season at the beach. with tourists ending their trips and leaving soon, as well as with the weather on the cusp of changing, the workers at the beach started preparing for their annual series of events (which was actually more of an excuse to make people purchase more alcohol)

“we’re doing what tonight?” you asked yeji, resisting the urge to throw the pillow in your lap at her.

“listen- i know you’re finding out about this late, but-“

“but?” you pressed your lips together, lifting an eyebrow.

“but you would have declined the invitation right away-“ yeji sighed “now it’s too late to tell them that we’re not going. remember our promise? to take up on new opportunities?”

you remained silent, crossing your arms and glaring at yeji.

“come on, it’s the first party. if you don’t like it then i won’t pressure you to go to the rest. let’s just try it and see how it goes” yeji got on her knees, holding your hand and looking at you with pleading eyes.

“fine.” you gave in, yeji’s words managed to persuade you yet again. she squealed, capturing you in a tight hug. she wasted no time to drag you into her room and help you get ready. her face was basically radiating as she showed you all the makeup and outfit choices, there was just no way you could refuse her anymore. you just let her do her thing, putting all your trust into her tastes.

the more you walked towards the beach, the louder the music was becoming. you were tempted to do a full 180 and make a run for it, but your conscience didn’t allow you. plus, you truly believed that yeji would simply take her heels off to go after you and drag you back. you felt out of place in the big crowd of people, overwhelmed by the loud beats combining with people shouting in a poor attempt to communicate with each other. you were busy frantically scanning the area for a familiar figure, but you somehow missed yeonjun coming right in your direction. you were taken aback when you noticed him standing in front of you.

“hi, cutie. glad to see you here” yeonjun greeted you.

“hi-“ your eyes trailed down over his body. his white button-up shirt wasn’t closed all the way, giving you a peek at his exposed chest and the delicate silver necklace sitting on top of it. you bit your lip trying to shift your focus from the pretty man in front of you back to the conversation. he winked at you when you tried to make eye contact with him again. shit. your cheeks flushed a deep shade of red; he definitely noticed you staring at him. you quickly turned around and took a shot from the drinks table close to you. you grimaced as the alcohol sent a dash of fire down your throat, yet you still extended your hand for more.

yeji grabbed your arm “hey- hey, take it easy. we only just arrived.”

“and i’ve already embarrassed myself” you whispered back, covering your face with your hands.

“i’m sure whatever you did isn’t that bad. you’re gonna embarrass yourself more if you get wasted within the first hour anyway.”

you pressed your lips together. she was right- you just didn’t want to admit it out loud. “come on, i want to check out the dessert table. i heard soobin did a pretty good job with that” yeji said, grabbing your wrist and dragging you along with her.

yeji tested out almost every single dessert at the party. each time she took a bite of something new, she insisted that you tried it too because “this one was really the best”. you found it amusing but in some way, she was right, soobin really outdid himself this time. the cupcakes in particular were your favorite. the cake was so soft and moist, and the frosting was soft like velvet, immediately melting down on your tongue. they were seriously addicting. you were about to dive into another vanilla cupcake when you felt a tap on your shoulder. it was yeonjun who came up to you again.

“y/n- join me for a dance?”

your eyes glanced back at yeji, then at the cupcake in your hand. you were very tempted to say yes, but you didn’t want to leave her alone either. the idea of abandoning your cupcake didn’t sound that good either.

“go ahead” yeji said, snatching the cupcake you were holding. “i was about to go to hueningkai anyway- i wanted to have a look at his playlist. have fun you two” she sent a wink your way before quickly leaving, not even sparing you a chance to argue.

“shall we?” yeonjun stretched out his hand for you to take, which you nervously took. he led you to the middle of the dance floor, making you internally panic. having not gone to many parties in your lifetime, you weren’t confident in showing off your dance moves, especially right in front of yeonjun.

yeonjun must have sensed your worries, dipping down to whisper in your ear, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. “just focus on me- don’t mind everyone else.” you were still holding his hand, so he took this chance to lift his arm up and playfully spin you around. you couldn’t help but giggle, slowly starting to ease up. you tried to ignore everyone else invading your vision, focusing on him and only him as you swayed your body along the rhythm of the music. you couldn’t help yourself but grab two more shots, one for you and one for yeonjun, when you saw one of the baristas coming down your way with a silver platter full of alcoholic drinks. ‘it’s for a little confidence boost’ you told yourself. for tonight, you were finally allowing yourself to be free from any worries, and to simply enjoy the moment.

you weren’t aware of how much time had passed since you stepped foot on the dance floor, and you were very tempted to take a break and let your legs rest for a while. but it seemed like the dj wasn’t going to let that happen anytime soon. the up-beat music that had been playing for the past hour was suddenly changed to a slow, jazzy song. you looked up at yeonjun with wide eyes, and he bit his lips, looking as surprised as you did. yet, he didn’t pull away. his hands dropped down from their position on your shoulders, trailing down your arms and then moving to your waist, leaving hot trails everywhere he touched your body. your body unconsciously moved closer to his, a bright red blush adoring your cheeks. your mind couldn’t focus on anything else but his hands on you. the sound of the music combining with your loud heartbeat made you feel light-headed.

“i want to kiss you” he whispered, resting his forehead on yours, his grip on your waist tightening “but if i do then i might not be able to contain myself.” he breathed out. your hand moved up to the nape of his neck, about to give in to the sweet temptation, when all of a sudden taehyun lightly tugged yeonjun by the collar of his shirt, creating distance between the two of you.

“loverboy, go check up on soobin, he’s having trouble setting up the fog machine”

“right now?”

“yes, now. come on” taehyun grabbed yeonjun, not letting him argue. ‘strange’ you remembered that the fog machine was already on when you arrived.

yeji and beomgyu appeared by your side just a few seconds later “where’s yeonjun?”

“ah- soobin was searching for him. guess i was kind of abandonded” you tried to laugh it off “can we go somewhere quieter?” the music is starting to mess with my brain.

“i’ll grab some drinks and i’ll meet you near the shore, there’s some log benches there.”

you nodded, holding onto yeji’s sleeve so as not to lose her. you felt like you could finally breathe again once you stepped foot on the sand. you couldn’t lie, parties did seem fun, but those where you’re almost completely surrounded by strangers? not so much. you held on until most people left, enjoying yeji’s and beomgyu’s company, cracking silly jokes as you kept on drinking. it was only after midnight when the rest of the boys joined you, with a few of the other people lingering around.

“anybody up for a few rounds of truth or dare?” yeji shouted.

“i’m in” beomgyu replied, raising his hand.

“i guess i’m in too” you sighed. truth or dare wasn’t really your cup of tea, but you didn’t want to ruin the other’s mood.

“everybody gather around the fire then” yeonjun said “and remember- no buts, no maybes” he snickered.

you noticed how beomgyu looked at you and opened his mouth, then closed it back again after yeonjun said down next to him. his body seemed to slump down after that; you wondered whether it was you who he wanted to sit close to.

“i’ll be the one to get this started” yeonjun stated, looking at every person over the hot flames of the fire, only for his eyes to land back on the person to his right. “beomgyu, truth or dare?”

beomgyu paused for a moment, then answered simply “truth.”

“you’re starting off easy?” he asked, the words rolling off his tongue with a playful, yet mischievous tone “well then- beomgyu, do you have a crush?”

“yes.” he answered shortly. beomgyu was sitting right across from you, and you could notice his body slowly tensing up as his arms hugged his waist tighter.

“and is your crush by any chance here with us?” yeonjun probed on further.

“that’s 2 questions” beomgyu frowned, looking at him.

“you didn’t let me finish.” yeonjun raised his hands defensively.

“yes- they are.” he answered then took a sip of his beer. however, what you failed to notice was him sneaking a glance in your direction as he said that.

everybody around you let out an “ooo” at beomgyu’s answer; people were giggling and nudging beomgyu, teasing him to reveal the name of the person. for some reason, the fact that he had a crush was tugging at your heartstrings. you were secretly hoping that the person he was talking about was you, but you weren’t ready to admit that to yourself.

“my turn now-“ beomgyu took another sip, his eyes scanned the room, then stopped on your figure. “y/n, truth or dare?”

you pondered for a moment. “truth.” you didn’t want to be the first one to try a dare, even if it was from beomgyu. he smiled “have you ever been in a relationship?” he asked, eyes sparkling from the light of the fire.

“no, actually.” you sighed “i was always too busy stressing over school- and look where that got me” you looked down and chuckled drily.

beomgyu nodded, seemingly getting a bit lost in thought. he wanted to continue, to talk to you more, but he restrained himself from doing so. he knew that this wasn’t the right moment to discuss your private life, not with everyone else around.

“let’s see- who should be the next victim?” you clicked your tongue “soobin- what do you prefer?”

───⋆☆─────────────

two hours of truth or dare later, soobin’s last shot was the one that tipped him off, and yeonjun offered to guide him back home before he had the chance to throw up on the beach. a few people stated that they were going to the bathroom, but in fact never returned; you didn’t want to know why. yeji was too tired to stay there any longer, so she left you behind. meaning, it was only you and beomgyu left on the now quiet beach. the fire was dying down, and beomgyu scooted closer to you, offering to share a blanket.

“how does one more round sound?” he asked you.

“i wouldn’t mind that” you laughed, feeling a bit nervous all of a sudden.

“truth or dare?” beomgyu whispered.

“dare.”

“dare, huh...?” he muttered “i dare you to dive into the water.” beomgyu smirked, playfully tilting his head to the side.

you were taken aback by his words, but your stubbornness didn’t allow you to back down.“okay.” you said, looking into his eyes. “turn around then. i don’t want my dress to get wet.”beomgyu’s eyes widened, clearly not expecting you to accept his dare. still, he did just like you asked.

you slid your dress off, then carefully placed it on one of the seats. you inhaled air deeply into your lungs as you approached the water, then jumped straight in, trying to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“truth or dare?” you shouted.

“dare.” beomgyu shouted back.

“i dare you to join me.”

beomgyu wasted no time taking off his shirt then quickly diving into the water, splashing you in the process. you immediately returned the favour when he got back up to the surface.

“hey- you’re gonna pay for that” he jokingly threatened you.

“make me.”

you both attacked each other with water, only the sound of your laughter filling up the quietness of the now peaceful night. “okay- i surrender.” beomgyu shouted again, catching your wrists with his hands to finally make you stop. he got closer to you, your laughter dying down as his close proximity made you feel nervous.

“you look so beautiful in the moonlight” he said as he hooked his finger around yours, guiding you around in the water. and you followed him mindlessly, as if you as if he’s got you right under his spell. his hands detached themselves from your own, moving to your waist. and you were so close to him, nose to nose, his breath combining his yours, his eyelashes tickling your lids- and yet, you still couldn’t allow yourself. you couldn’t allow yourself to be victim of your foolish desires.

you looked over your shoulder, worried that someone might have come back and noticed what was happening. what if someone saw you two? saw the two of you fooling around in the blue waves of the sea, what if someone saw his fingers trailing your back or how your own nested at his nape? your brain kept thinking of all the possible ways you might get in trouble, fighting to remain in power as his hot breath gathered itself at your neck, distracting yourself from any rational thoughts.

“y/n! are you still here?” you suddenly heard a voice shouting, which you recognised was yeji’s.

“yeah-“ you shouted back “don’t worry, i’ll be back soon no need to wait for me”

“send me a text when you leave!” she shouted again before walking away.

you looked at beomgyu with apologetic eyes.

“guess i can’t have you all for myself tonight.” he looked at you with a soft smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear “yeji’s stealing you away from me again.” he laughed.

“i’m sorry...” you whispered, lowering your head.

"there's no need to apologise", he said, a beat of heart and a pause following his words, "it's getting late anyway, you should rest, especially after such a night." the wind picked up your sigh before it could reach him, before it could whisper to him to come closer again, to take a step towards you, warm hands to envelop your waist and soft hair locks to tickle your skin again. you took a step back. "what an eventful night" you said under your breath. "what an eventful night", he picks up your words just as they roll off your tongue, giving you a smile. the air between you kept getting thicker and thicker, unspoken words and wishes weighing the both of you further into the soft shore. “wait just a second- i’ll be right back.” he rushed to get out of the water and sprinted to the bar. as he was coming back you could see him holding a small towel, which he handed to you.

“here, it’s nothing much, but i thought it might help you dry off- at least a little bit” he said rubbing the nape of his neck.

“it’s great” you smiled “thank you, beomgyu.”

he was also holding something behind his back, which he only revealed after you were done using the towel and putting your dress back on.

“have this too...” he looked away, the tips of his ears turning a pretty shade of pink. “i don’t want you to feel cold” he was holding out his white button up shirt for you to wear. you could feel your body reacting the same way as you thanked him and slided your arms into the sleeves. the faint scent of his cologne lingering on the soft material setting your heart on fire.

the walk back home was quiet, spent with the both of you sneaking a few shy glances at each other, his hand brushing against your ever so often, itching to hold yours again. for the first time during your stay you were disappointed that your house was so close to the beach, because it meant that you and beomgyu had to part ways so quickly.

“oh! your shirt- i almost forgot. let me take it off-“ 

his hands reacted fast, stopping you before you could do that “no- keep it, please. it looks good on you”

“o-oh. thank you” you stuttered. the both of you hesitated to part ways once again, too enticed by each other’s presence.

───⋆☆─────────────

beomgyu's ending | yeonjun's ending

taglist: @huekalover3000 @maybabe00 @sunoooism

[drabbles-mc]

Ever the Gentleman

Jax Teller x OC Natasha Moreno

Summary: When Natasha came back to Charming after hitting more than a few bumps in the road, she hadn't been ready to see Jax again. Things were complicated enough without all her old feelings bubbling up to the surface again. But all it took was one little look from Jax for her to know that she was just as done for now as she had been back then.

Warnings: 18+, light angst, smut, language, alcohol

Written for the First Time Exchange 2024

Word Count: 10.1k

A/N: Picked up this as a pinch hit in an exchange and thought i was just gonna write a quick little story about childhood friends seeing each other after a long time away and suddenly it was 10k and i didn't know what i was doing with myself anymore lmfao. Anyway!! Hope y'all enjoy!

The bike he saw when he pulled into the gas station wasn’t one that he recognized. It wasn’t a Harley, not like the bike any of the guys in the club rode. It was sleeker, sportier than that. The type of thing that could easily slice through traffic and lanes on the highway if someone was feeling brave enough. Even parked underneath the half-shade by the gas pump, enough light still hit it to cast a glint off the clean black paintjob.

The bell on the frame chimed as he walked in. The young girl behind the counter looked up, a smile instantly spreading across her face when she saw that it was Jax who had entered. She nodded in greeting before getting back to making change for the customer standing in front of her, an older gentleman who wasn’t nearly as enamored by who had just strode through the door.

When he reached the back wall where all of the refrigerators were situated, racks of soda and beer and water bottles, he gave himself a couple seconds to see if he really wanted anything before turning to look and see who else was standing there. Any thoughts of playing it cool or casual disappeared when he saw the woman standing hardly two yards away from him.

She looked different now, although he supposed that he didn’t look the same as when he graduated high school either. Some days it felt like it was just yesterday even though it wasn’t. Her hair was longer now than it had been back then, blonde and light brown highlights breaking up the long dark waves that fell down past her shoulders. The tattoos were new. Or, at least, Jax didn’t remember her having any that he could see back then—that hadn’t been quite her style. He could see some of them poking out now, though, ink spilling out from beneath her rolled up sleeves, peaking out from under the crop-top that she was wearing. They stood out against her tanned skin that was somehow even more sun kissed than it had been before. He wondered what the full picture of them was.

She wasn’t paying him any mind as he took another step closer to her. She was reaching to pull the door to one of the refrigerator sections open when Jax finally decided that it was time to speak up. “Well, well, well,” he said with a chuckle as he continued to collapse the distance between them, “if it isn’t little miss Natty Ice.”

Her head snapped in his direction, the anger on her face changing to a smile and then feigned annoyance when she saw who it was that was speaking to her. She braced her hand flat against the door that she’d been thinking about opening. “Most people these days just call me Natasha, you know.” She tried to sound bothered but a smile was still fighting to curl the ends of her lips.

The smirk on his face was familiar, and the jury was out on if that was a welcome familiarity or not. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” He leaned against the door next to the one she was about to open, the flannel he was wearing underneath his kutte protecting him from the cold glass.

Natasha made a point to look him up and down slowly. Her eyes lingered longer on his kutte than almost anything else, at least until she was looking him in the eyes. “Something tells me you’ve been having plenty of fun, Jackson.”

Jax chuckled and shook his head. “Lotta shit might’ve changed since you left, but it’s still only my mom who calls me that.” There was a pause, just the two of them taking each other in a little longer before he said, “So?”

She tilted her head in the opposite direction, brows pulling towards each other in confusion. “So...?”

He pushed himself back off the door. “So what’s the hot shot doing back here in little old Charming? Thought you were outta here for good.”

She scoffed and shook her head. Finally pulling the door open, she grabbed a bottle of soda from the top shelf. “Yeah, you and me both.” She let the door fall shut, allowing it to bounce from the force before it settled before turning so that she was facing him again. “Getting laid off tends to throw a wrench in the plans, though.”

The smug look on Jax’s face disappeared instantly. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” she dragged the word out long enough to get chuckles out of both of them. Clearing her throat, she said, “Well, it was good catching up. I’ll see—”

“Oh come on,” he cut her off, laughing. “How long you even been back? How long you been dodging me?”

She shook her head at him as she started to walk towards the front of the store to cash out. “You think an awful lot of yourself if you think that’s why you haven’t seen me since I’ve been home.”

“Yeah? How long has that been, then?” He popped up next to her at the cash register, gently nudging her to the side before talking to the girl behind the counter. “I got hers. Just grab me a pack of—”

“The usual,” she finished for him with a tiny smile and a nod. “You got it.”

Natasha rolled her eyes so hard Jax was surprised that they didn’t get stuck in the back of her head. It didn’t stop him from continuing his usual song and dance as he put a couple bills on the counter. He flashed the girl a smile as she gave him his pack of smokes. “Thanks, darlin’.”

Natasha was shaking her head at Jax, but still gave the girl a sincere, albeit far less flirtatious, thank you before carrying right on towards the door. It was only when Jax caught up to her, catching the door that she was about to let slam shut in his face, that she said, “Can’t believe you’re still at it with that whole schtick.”

He laughed, shrugging as he tucked the cigarettes away in his kutte. “Hey, if it ain’t broke.” The two of them were standing just to the side of the door when he repeated his question one more time.

She didn’t bother waiting for him as she started walking off towards the gas pumps. Jax watched her for a second before he got his feet to start moving. “Hey, wait up.” She stopped and turned, waiting for him to close the gap between them. Once he did, the usual smug expression on his face dimmed, something slightly more genuine taking its place. “What’s going on with you?”

She shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” He chuckled. “C’mon, Natty—you’re still not that good of a liar.”

“I haven’t lied to you yet.”

“No?” he asked, his tone goading in a way that was impossible to miss. When she just shook her head in response, a neutral expression on her face, Jax figured it was as good of a time as any to nettle her. “You miss me?”

Another eye roll. Another step farther away from him. “Oh fuck off.”

He laughed as he kept stride with her. “C’mon. How long you been gone? You’re not a little happy to see me?”

She stopped by the bike that was still parked by the gas pump. “I’m ecstatic,” she answered, her tone flat but there was still a glimmer in her eyes giving her away.

It took Jax a couple seconds longer than it should have to put it all together. He watched as she took another sip of her soda before shoving the bottle into the backpack that was resting on the seat of the bike. He looked back and forth between her and the bike a couple times before he said anything. His brain trying to sync up the mental image of who she was before she left Charming to the woman who was standing in front of him now.

Natasha watched him process his way through it all, too. She didn’t say anything about it as she pulled the straps of her backpack back onto her shoulders. She felt the way Jax was watching her in what almost seemed like awe as she slipped her hands into the gloves that she wore to ride. Not that she gave it too much thought, but she was fairly certain that there hadn’t ever been a time in history when he stared at her like that. She would’ve noticed, would’ve remembered.

When she reached for her helmet, that’s when Jax got himself to speak up. “How many times did Ope and I try to get you on the backs of our bikes and you said no? Now you’re—”

“To be fair,” she cut him off, propping her helmet on her hip as she spoke, “I still wouldn’t get on the back of either of your bikes.”

He chuckled, holding his hands out innocently. “Why not?”

She didn’t dignify the question with a response, instead swinging her leg over the bike to start getting situated. She still hadn’t put her helmet on yet—once she did that Jax knew it meant she was going to be jetting off whether he had said his piece or not.

“Where you staying now, anyway?” he asked.

She shrugged, the expression on her face not exactly an excited one. “Back home. Just until I figure out what my next move is. I didn’t wanna sign a lease on a place if I’m just going to be moving again in another month or two.”

“Bet your mom is—”

“Way too excited about it, yeah,” she finished the sentence for him with a laugh. There was a beat of a pause, both of them waiting to see if the other was going to say anything more. The feeling, the slight flutter in her chest, it was kicking up a feeling of dejavu that she hadn’t experienced yet in her two weeks at home. Clearing her throat, she decided that enough was enough for now. “Well, it was good seeing you. I gotta run, though. I’ll see you around?”

“You should come by the clubhouse,” he offered with a grin. “Got the bike now and everything.”

She shook her head before pulling her helmet on. Sliding the face shield up, she said, “Hard pass. Thanks though.”

“C'mon. Ope and Donna will be there.”

She gripped onto the handlebars, leaning forward to brace against them. “Yeah? Tara too?”

It was the first time Jax faltered throughout their entire conversation. “No, no. Tara took off, shit,” his hand rested on the back of his neck for a moment, “couple months after you, actually.”

She frowned in thought for a moment, the expression partially obscured by her helmet. It wasn’t the response that she had been expecting from him. She was caught between shock and a tiny shred of relief, immediately followed by guilt over her initial reaction. Regardless, it wasn’t going to change her answer to the question.

“Right,” the word came out sounding jilted, forced in a way that the rest of their conversation hadn’t been. “Well, either way,” she shook her head, “still isn’t my scene.” She brought her bike to life and Jax took a tiny step back out of habit. “I’ll see you.”

He cracked a grin as he watched her slide her face shield back down. “I’m sure you will.”

~*~

It was a couple days later when her mother knocked on her bedroom door. Natasha looked up from her laptop screen, a welcome break from the dozen or so tabs open of different jobs she was thinking of applying for. “Yeah?”

Her mom held out the phone, a landline that Natasha was willing to bet money only ever had incoming calls from her when she lived out of state. “For you.”

She cocked her head in confusion but reached out and took the phone. She said a quick and quiet thank you to her mother before bringing the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Never got your number,” Jax’s voice came through with a chuckle on the other end of the line. “Had to go digging but I figured your parents never got rid of the house phone.”

“Creatures of habit, all of you.” She laughed quietly.  “What’s with the house call, then?”

“You didn’t wanna come by the clubhouse—how else was I supposed to talk to you?”

Natasha shook her head even though he couldn’t see it, placing her laptop off to the side of her on the bed. She allowed herself to flop back onto her mattress, her head not even reaching her pillow with the way that she was laying. “I guess I didn’t think that you’d wanna talk to me that bad. Never called me up while I was gone.”

“Didn’t have your number then either,” he quipped.

She hummed in acknowledgment. “I guess not.” She paused, waiting for him to speak up. When he didn’t, she had to laugh. “Figured if you made the effort to call, you’d at least have a conversation in mind.”

“Wanna grab a drink?”

“That depends,” she said, letting the back of her hand that wasn’t holding the phone rest against her forehead. “Do you know a place to get a drink that’s not on the Sons compound?”

He laughed. “Yeah, I think I could figure something out.”

“Can’t wait to see it, then.”

“You gonna give me your number so I don’t have to go through your mom every time I wanna talk to you?”

Natasha laughed hard enough that it took her a moment to be able to respond. “Too much like old times?”

“Nah, I don’t even think I had to do that when it was old times.”

Her laughter quieted into a hum. “Should’a called more.” There was a beat of silence and she cleared her throat. “Anyway. Got a pen or something ready? I’m only gonna tell you once.”

She knew that she shouldn’t have felt excited to go and see him. It wasn’t just the joy of getting back in touch with old friends, although there was that part of it too. But she also knew that, for all the time that she’d been out of Charming and away from Jax, for all the ways that she had changed over the years, there was still something to be said for the fact that she was going to be meeting up to grab drinks with Jackson Teller, the boy she spent three out of the four years of high school being infatuated with. He'd felt so unobtainable then—still did, in a lot of ways. But the stakes were different now. They were older. He was, presumably, single. But she also knew that she didn’t really know him anymore, or him her. A lot could’ve changed in the time that she’d been gone. A lot had changed, at least for her. Even knowing all of that, though, she still felt a warmth spreading across her face as she grabbed the keys to her bike to go and meet him. Plenty of things had changed but apparently some things still hadn’t, no matter the front that she put on.

She spotted his bike when she pulled up outside the bar. She parked her bike right next to his, smiling to herself at the differences between the two. She’d gotten her bike during her second year of college, a decision that nearly gave her mother a heart attack but there was no going back on it once it was done. The argument then was that her parents weren’t going to have to watch her ride around on it anyway, so they didn’t have to worry. Natasha was surprised, really, at how little grief her mother had given her about it since she came back home. Too many other things going on.

Natasha couldn’t deny that she was a little surprised by the choice in venue. It wasn’t high-class by any means, which she was thankful for because she certainly hadn’t dressed the part for that. But it wasn’t really a dive bar, either. It wasn’t like the clubhouse—more orderly than places like that. The music was loud enough so keep people from eavesdropping on conversations, but not so loud that you couldn’t hear the person sitting across the table from you. The most surprising part of it all to Natasha was the fact that the place was well-lit. She didn’t picture Jax hanging out in bars that you didn’t have to squint to see in.

She saw him sitting at a two-top just a couple feet from the bar. He was already looking at her when she saw him, that same smirk on his face. He had a glass of beer in front of him, which he lifted in greeting once she saw him. She gave a small wave and a nod before going over to the bar.

Once she told the girl behind the bar what beer she wanted, she asked, “Did my friend over there open a tab?” The woman nodded and Natasha cracked a smile. “First one’s on him, then.” She swiped the glass off the bar-top. “Thank you.”

Natasha walked over to the table where Jax was sitting. He was watching her, a smirk on his face as she got situated and took a sip of her drink. “Glad you found it.”

Natasha laughed, leaning forward and bracing her arms on the tabletop. “What’s a guy like you doing in a nice place like this?”

He shook his head at her. “Figured it might be more your speed.”

She smiled. “That’s fair. Just, you know,” she took another sip, “surprised they let you in the door.”

He rolled his eyes but he was still smiling. “I know a guy.”

She laughed. “You always do.”

The conversation picked up and Natasha found herself waiting for it to get uncomfortable, but it didn’t. She asked about Opie, a little bit about the club, the things that she was part of back when she still lived in Charming. They dug up just enough old memories to laugh at without getting too caught up in it all. There was a familiarity there between them that she didn’t remember having with him before. Maybe there were always too many other people around. This was one of the first times that she didn’t feel like she was fighting for his attention—teenage Natasha would’ve been over the moon about it.

Jax asked her about her parents. He saw them around every now and again but it wasn’t like they ever really made the time to talk and catch up—the only thing they really had in common was Natasha and that might’ve been stretching it a bit on his part. He asked her about school even though it was too little too late. He wanted to ask about work, about what had happened, but he didn’t know if he could.

“You figure out if you’re gonna stick around?” he asked, figuring it was as safe of a question as any.

She laughed. “In the two days since I last saw you? No, no I haven’t figured that out yet.”

He smiled, blue eyes brighter than they had any right to be. “I could get you a job at T-M if you want.”

She rolled her eyes. “Jax—”

“What? It’s basically the same thing, right? Should be easier, actually. Car engines are way smaller than plane engines.”

Natasha was trying not to laugh and failing. “They’re not the same at all, actually. But even if they were,” she finished off her beer, “it’s not like you could afford me anyway.”

Jax had a smirk on his face as he swirled around what little was still left in his glass. “You’re the one living with Mom and Dad, so I dunno. I don’t think you can afford you either.”

She scoffed in mock offense. “Fuck you.”

He laughed and held his hands up in surrender. “I’m just callin’ ‘em like I see ‘em, Natty. Don’t get mad at me about it.”

She pushed her empty glass towards him. “I might be willing to forgive you if you get me another round.”

Jax didn’t even bother putting up a fight about it. He finished off his drink in one swig before getting up out of his chair. He grabbed his empty glass and Natasha’s, heading off towards the bar with a, “Coming right up,” as he went. Natasha laughed, shaking her head at him. She couldn’t help but to watch him as he sauntered up to the bar. She watched the way that the bartender was all smiles and batting eyelashes as Jax spoke to her. Everywhere Natasha went she seemed to be reminded that certain things about Jax didn’t change, and probably never would.

The flutters in her stomach were dampened by the knot that was starting to form. Part of it was Jax, the brutal reminder that he hadn’t given her any undivided attention back then, probably still wouldn’t be able to give it to her now. The other part of it, though, had nothing to do with Jax and everything to do with the series of events that led to her coming back home. It hadn’t been her choice, and it hadn’t been anything as simple as getting laid off from her job. No one really knew that, though. She tried not to think about it all if she could help it, but something about the butterflies in her stomach when she looked at Jax made it hard to forget.

When Jax turned back around to bring their drinks, he saw the change in expression on Natasha’s face. He cocked his head to the side as he walked back over, a wordless ask of what was wrong. Natasha gave an equally wordless answer by simply shaking her head. Jax wanted to press it as he set the glass down in front of her, but he stopped himself.

She nodded towards the bartender. “That the uh,” she took a sip of her beer, “guy you know?”

He cracked a grin. “Not quite.”

She shrugged. “Just seemed awfully friendly.”

His smile split a little wider. “I’m just a friendly guy.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and yet still found herself smiling. “One of your many endearing qualities.”

“So they say.” He paused, taking a drink. “What’s your deal these days anyway? You got a boyfriend you’re gonna bring back to Charming too?”

She laughed. “Please. If I had a boyfriend I would not be letting him inside county lines.”

“Why not? Afraid he can handle Natasha but not Natty?”

She waved him off with a laugh. “Fuck off.”

There was still a smirk on his face as he studied her expression. “I can’t tell if you’re lying to me or not just to save yourself some of the trouble.” He sipped on his drink. “Or save your boyfriend the trouble, at least.”

She crossed her arms and rested them on the table. “I’m not lying. Even when I was living out in San Antonio I never really had a boyfriend.” She saw the surprised look on Jax’s face and shook her head to emphasize her point. “I went on a couple dates with a couple guys but never…I don’t know,” she shrugged, “never really wanted to get to know anyone like that.”

“One less thing tryna pull you outta here, then,” he joked.

She laughed. “Of course.”

He leaned back in his chair. “What?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.” She sighed, propping her chin into the palm of her hand as she continued, diverting the conversation just slightly. “Besides, considering I seem to be blacklisted from most places, I might not have any other choice.”

Jax’s eyes popped wider in shock. “No way. C’mon, there’s no way you did anything that bad.” He paused, waiting for her to argue with him. “What’d you do? Knife somebody?”

She barked out a laugh, and it at least eased the tension. “No, I did not knife somebody. Jesus.”

“Then what was it?”

“Nothing.”

“You can’t tease me with that and then not follow through.”

She cocked one eyebrow at him. “I don’t think that you have the right to give anyone shit about teasing.”

“Fine. But if the feds come knockin’ on my door I might just rat you out.”

She smiled and took another sip of her drink. “I’ll take my chances.”

Natasha thought that that was going to be it, that it was going to be the thing that did them in and doomed them to a night of uncomfortable conversation. But Jax didn’t seem too offput by it. She figured that given the club and everything they got involved in, Jax was probably no stranger to secrets by this point. He picked another topic and they carried right on, but she could feel that there was a gravity that hadn’t been there before.

Jax squared up his tab and the two of them walked out together. He couldn’t help the grin on his face when he saw that Natasha had parked her bike right next to his. He never would’ve thought in a million years that she would be the one out of their group of friends to turn up on two wheels instead of four. Somehow it felt fitting.

“Back to Mom and Dad’s?” Jax asked as he leaned back against his bike.

Natasha laughed as she nodded, pulling on her gloves once more. “Well, I’m certainly not gonna sleep on the street. My childhood bedroom that’s packed full of boxes of shit from my apartment is still somehow preferable to that.”

He lit a cigarette, letting it casually hang from his lips as he asked, “Wanna come over to my place?” He saw the pointed look she gave him and held up his hands innocently, cigarette between his fingers. “Just for a drink.”

She was still shaking her head at him as she swung her leg over her bike. “You’ve had it too easy around here, Jackson.”

“Anytime you wanna stop by—”

His sentence was cut short by the sound of her bike engine, and even though they couldn’t hear each other over the noise of it, they both knew that the other was laughing. Once her bike quieted down, she said, “Night, Jax.”

He watched her roll back and get ready to jet off again. “Next round’s on you!”

She smiled before bringing her face shield down. “We’ll see.”

~*~

As one week turned into two, and Natasha was coming to grips with the fact that she had been back in Charming for an entire month and still had yet to make any headway on getting a job in-town, or hearing back from the places that she had applied to out of town, she realized that she was talking to Jax more than she was talking to most other people. Even if it wasn’t every day. The longer she stayed, the more familiar faces she saw. She didn’t know if she should feel comforted by the sameness of it all, by how many people were still there, by the fact that she was fading right back into things even though she’d been gone for so long.

Despite the calls and texts that they’d been exchanging, the casual comfort of having someone to talk to that wasn’t her parents, Natasha still found herself hesitating when he reached out and invited her over again. He hadn’t brought it up again since the night that they went to the bar. Held his tongue on it even when Natasha had stopped by T-M to see if they could give her bike an oil change.

“You’re tellin’ me that you don’t wanna get out of the house for a little while?” he joked when he heard her hesitation on the line. “Get out of the maze of cardboard boxes?”

Natasha laughed at that. She couldn’t deny the fact that it would be good to get out of the house. It didn’t feel suffocating the same way it had when she was a kid, but still she only wanted to stare at the same four walls for so long.

“Fine.” She could hear the smug victory in his voice before he even spoke, so she tried to catch him before he started. “But only because I don’t think I could survive sitting at the dinner table with you and my parents.”

Jax chuckled. “What’re you talking about? Moms love me.”

Natasha gave a playful scoff. “Yeah, that’s a whole separate problem.”

The sun was just starting to set when she pulled up to the house that night. She saw the lights on in the windows, and something about it felt so homey in contrast to the bike parked out front, in contrast to the man that she knew was living there now.

Walking up to the front door, she knocked and waited. She couldn’t hear anything coming from inside, no music or television. She was looking back over her shoulder when the door opened, revealing Jax in just his jeans and one of the seemingly countless Samcro shirts that he had. It briefly crossed Natasha’s mind that this was the first time since she’d been home that she saw him without his kutte on. He looked more like how she remembered him.

Jax’s house was about what Natasha had been expecting—a bachelor pad. Motorcycle posters and Harley paraphernalia scattered around and on the walls. She had the nagging feeling in the back of her mind that the matching, and fairly nice, furniture wasn’t picked out by Jax himself. That kind of thing had Gemma written all over it, but at least it meant that he didn’t have patio furniture in his living room and a mattress on the bedroom floor with no bed frame.

When they walked into the kitchen, Natasha saw the takeout containers on the table. There was only one place in town that had good Chinese takeout, and as far as she knew it was still the same family running it as it had been when she was a kid. Suddenly she realized how long ago lunch had been.

“Did me the kindness of not cooking for me, I see,” she joked as she stepped up to the table.

Jax chuckled as he opened the refrigerator. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

He handed her a beer before sitting down across the table from her with his own. Natasha watched him as he dug through the pile of silverware and sauce packets. She chuckled when he decided to forego the chopsticks and grabbed a fork instead.

The conversation started off with her asking if anything of note had happened at the shop. She’d been making it a point to not ask to much about the club—anything that she knew about any of it was because Jax had decided to tell her, not because she had pried it out of him. The question, though, was met with his usual rebuttal of, “You’d know what went down if you just let me hook you up with a job there.”

She shook her head as she deftly pulled noodles from the takeout box and placed them on her plate. “I told you, I’m not doing that. If I do that,” she shook her head, “then it’s like I’m committing to staying in Charming forever.”

Jax chuckled as she handed the box over to him. “And that’s the worst thing in the world?”

“Not the worst. I just, I don’t know, I loved being out in San Antonio I guess. It was great until it wasn’t.”

“Yeah, what happened with that anyway?” He took a bite of his rice. “You never told me.”

She shook her head. “Never told anyone, really.”

“So?” he asked, food tucked in his cheek. “What’s the deal?”

She sighed, slumping back in her chair. “Do we have to get into this right now?”

“What? Come on, you’ve been all mysterious about it—can’t expect me not to ask.”

“Can I at least eat my dinner in peace?”

Jax let slip a smirk as he nodded. The two of them shifted to silence for a couple minutes as they started to eat. He met her halfway at least, telling her about the antics that Tig and Juice had gotten into at T-M that day.

The two of them made it through dinner without it coming up again. Jax had started to accept the fact that she wasn’t going to tell him. He was ready to accept the fact that she wasn’t ever going to tell him. They were cleaning up, tossing the empty takeout boxes in the garbage and putting the plates in the dishwasher. It was only when she let the lid drop closed on the garbage can that she spoke up about the topic that she’d been dodging with Jax, with everyone since she came home.

“I got blacklisted out in San Antonio.”

He was placing the last plate in the dishwasher when she said it. Turning to face her, he raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“After they fired me,” she explained as she went to the fridge to grab another beer, “they pretty much put a notice out to everywhere I tried to go to next telling them not to take me on.”

“Shit,” he said, closing the dishwasher. “What the hell did you do?”

“Depends on who you ask. You ask my old boss and he’ll say that I assaulted a coworker.”

He came and stood, leaning back against the counter right next to where she was standing. “And if I ask you?”

“I’d say that I popped some guy in the jaw because he tried to put his hands on me after I told him to back off.”

Jax’s eyes widened, not expecting that to be what she said. “Jesus Christ.”

She shook her head, a bitter expression on her face as she took another sip of her beer. “Yeah. We worked on the same crew for almost two years. Thought we were friends, but…” she shrugged, knowing there was nothing to do about it now.

“You tell your boss what—”

“You know how tough it was to even get that job in the first place? The shit I had to go through there when I got hired? When I was in school?” She scoffed. “Yeah, I told him. But it’s a boy’s club over there—I never stood a chance.”

“Who was he?”

She chuckled, looking over at him. “Why? You gonna ride across state lines to beat the shit out of him?”

He allowed himself a small smile. “I would if you wanted me to.”

The laugh she let out had a little bit of heaviness lurking beneath it. “Jax Teller, ever the gentleman.”

He smirked. “Last man keeping chivalry alive.”

When the silence crept back in, it was the first time that Jax really felt how much older they both were now. Charming sometimes had a bit of a Neverland quality to it—even when people grew up it didn’t really feel like they did. But hearing what had happened, seeing the look on her face, suddenly he felt the years that had passed.

Natasha saw him trying to think of something else to say so she decided to save him the trouble. “So that’s why I’m home.” She chuckled awkwardly, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s also why I haven’t told anyone the real reasons why I’m home.”

“Not even your parents?”

She shook her head. “What’re they gonna do about it? Besides feel bad? Or,” she laughed weakly, “or lock me up in my room at home?”

Jax relaxed against the counter, a move that caused his side to be pressing up against hers. He knew that she had a point, that even if she gave her parents all the details of what had happened to her, it wasn’t going to change the outcome. He also remembered, way back when, that her parents hadn’t wanted her to leave. They said it was a big scary world out there and they didn’t want her getting lost in it—Natasha didn’t want to let them think that they were right.

She saw the way that his face was shifting, and not for the first or last time she wished that she could read his mind. Trying to ease the tension, she took another sip of her beer and nudged his shoulder with hers. “You look like you’re thinking way too hard over there.”

“You really don’t wanna stay?”

She shrugged, what little humor was in her face fading as she answered. “There’s no way to stay here and do what I want to do. And, even with everything,” she turned and placed her empty beer bottle on the counter behind them, “that happened, I don’t think I want to give it up.”

“No?”

“The work wasn’t the issue. And, shit, I’m good at my job. I just need to find somewhere with people who aren’t total scumbags.” She raked her hands back through her hair. “And that seems to be a tall order.”

“You really wouldn’t want to do anything different? I’m sure you could—”

“Why?”

Jax’s brows knit together, confusion all over his face at her interruption. “What do you mean?”

Natasha took a small step away from him, turning so that they were facing each other head-on. “Why do you want me to stay so bad? You didn’t care when I left before.” She’d thought it plenty of times before, but that was the first time she’d ever said the words out loud and all the emotions she felt all those years ago came back with a vengeance.

“You don’t know that.”

She laughed, but it was a sad sound. “I think I do. You hardly noticed when I was there, let alone when I was gone.”

He reached out, trying to catch her hand with his own. “Nat, c’mon, I—”

“No.” She yanked her hand away and started to turn to leave, not ready or willing to deal with the feelings that had been lying dormant for so long. “You don’t get to do this to me again.”

Jax quickly caught up to her. His hand landed on her shoulder, pulling and making her turn around to face him. “Hey! Hold on. What the hell are you talking about?”

She shook her head, not forcing herself to make eye contact with him. “Nothing. Just forget it.”

“No. You don’t get to say something like that to me and then just storm out.” He allowed her to shrug off his grasp. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Natasha was silent for a moment. She was staring intently at Jax, eyes flicking back and forth between his as she tried to figure out how little he knew, how honest he was being. She found it so hard to believe that he never knew how she felt, but looking at the confusion, the hurt on his face, for a moment she wasn’t quite so sure.

“You really don’t know? You’re really going to make me say it?”

“Say what?”

“That I spent almost all of high school in love with you!” She shook her head, raking her nails back along her scalp. “Jesus Christ, Jax. I know you were a little preoccupied but you can’t really expect me to believe that you never—”

“I didn’t. I didn’t know.”

She scoffed, wishing that the soft, sad look in his eyes would go away. “Not like it would’ve mattered anyway.”

Out of instinct Jax reached out for her. “Natty—”

She took another step back before he could get to her. Ignoring the tears in her eyes she started to all but book it towards the door. “I gotta go.”

Jax wanted to go after her but he knew that it wouldn’t do any good. After a couple seconds he heard the sound of his front door slamming shut, the sound making him flinch. He shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment as he tried to work his way through what had just happened.

Natasha just tried to focus on the sound of her motorcycle’s engine and the road stretching out in front of her. She tried not to think about the tears on her cheeks or the way that her heart was beating rapidly in her chest. Or the look on Jax’s face when he heard what she’d said to him. She went a little faster, the roar of her bike getting a little louder to drown it all out as she took the long way home.

~*~

All of Jax’s calls had been going to voicemail after that. He texted her only to get no response. Every now and then he’d hear her bike or see her whipping down main street. She hadn’t stopped by the shop in the week since she stormed out of his house.

There had been part of him that wanted to stop by her parents’ house but with what little impulse control he had, he knew that it wasn’t going to do him any favors. He didn’t want to corner her—all he wanted to do was talk.

Underneath the embarrassment and hurt that was aching in Natasha’s chest, the sense of restlessness that she’d felt since she came home had increased ten-fold. The only upside, not that she was sure if she’d call it that just yet, was that in her moment of crisis she had sent out a whole other wave of applications to places out of the county, out of the state. That didn’t mean that there was any guarantee that any of those places were going to call her back, but the indecision between staying home and taking off again disappeared. Or, at least, it had until her emotions slowly started to settle, but by then the damage was already done.

It had been just shy of a week when she rolled back into Jax’s driveway. She hadn’t even listened to any of the voicemails that he’d left for her. She saw the texts but still hadn’t responded. She hadn’t even bothered to reach out and let him know that she had decided to stop by. The way she saw it, the worst-case scenario was that he’d just send her away.

He was opening the front door before she even had the chance to knock. He didn’t bother trying to hide his surprise at her sudden appearance on his front steps. The feeling was mutual as Natasha stood there staring at him in nothing but his jeans, hair still wet from the shower as he clutched what appeared to be a t-shirt in his hand. There was a moment of tense silence, neither of them really up for forcing an awkward greeting as they stood in the doorway. Without a word, Jax opened the door a little wider for her and she stepped inside.

He led the way, pulling the t-shirt on as he did, and Natasha tried to lie to herself about how intently she watched that happen. She was the one who broke the silence when they reached the kitchen. “Sorry to just drop in.”

He shook his head as he turned back around to face her. “No you’re not.” There was no malice in his voice, but there wasn’t humor either. Both of them still testing the waters.

She hummed quietly in response. “I just, um, about last time. I—”

“It’s fine.”

“No it wasn’t.” She shook her head as she stared down at the floor. “It was shitty to just throw that in your face. It was a lifetime ago at this point and I just…” she trailed off, not sure where she wanted the sentence to go. She hadn’t rehearsed ahead of time and she was kicking herself for it.

“You meant it though?”

She huffed, not wanting to look him in the eyes. “Well, yeah, but what good does it do anyone now?”

“Is it still true?”

She raised her eyebrows. “What?”

“What you said last time, do you still—”

“Come on,” she said, trying to ignore the heat flaring up in her face. “I don’t even know you anymore.”

He cracked a small smile. “Sure you do.”

“Jax,” she tried to say his name like it was a warning, but it didn’t hit quite right with the tremor to it.

He stepped in closer to her, enough so that she had to tilt her chin up just a touch to be able to look him in the eyes. “I haven’t changed that much,” he paused and studied her expression, “and I don’t think you have either.”

The responsible part of her brain was telling her to stop all of this before it even got a chance to get started, that nothing good could possibly come from getting mixed up in all of this now. The sentimental part of her, though, the part of her that still felt her knees getting weak whenever she looked into his bright blue eyes that were so focused on her in that moment, was telling her that she had spent so many years daydreaming of something like this happening that it would be silly to turn her back on it now that it was actually unfolding.

She pulled in a breath, gearing up to say words that she hadn’t even thought of yet, but it wasn’t as though Jax even gave her a chance. Leaning in, he caught her lips in a kiss that was softer than Natasha thought he was capable of being. Everything about it caught her off-guard, so much so that she only got herself to kiss him back when his palm cupped her cheek, the warmth of the gesture kicking her brain into gear.

Placing her palms flat against his chest, for a moment she thought about pushing him away, ending whatever it was that the moment was trying to be. She almost did it, too, but instead she found herself sliding her hands up until they were on his shoulders, the ends of his hair grazing over her knuckles.

Jax placed his other hand on the small of her back, pulling her in closer when he felt the way she was kissing him back so eagerly, threading her fingers into his hair. Even as the warmth of Jax’s palm was seeping through her shirt and into her skin, Natasha still was waiting for it to all be a daydream, a sick joke that the universe was playing on her. It wasn’t the wisest thing that she’d done since she got home but she figured she might as well enjoy it while she could.

Without a second thought, Jax placed his hands on the backs of her thighs and lifted her up to set her on the table. Out of instinct, Natasha wrapped her legs around his waist and kept him pinned tight to her. She felt the smirk on his face as he kissed her and it felt as good as she’d always daydreamed about—if anything it felt better than that.

She didn’t pull away until she felt Jax’s hands slide down her sides and start to creep up underneath the fabric of the t-shirt that she was wearing. “Jax,” her voice was quiet, breathless, “I don’t…I don’t think this is a good idea.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her cheek, then another to her jaw. “Never said it was a good idea.”

Her logic and resolve were deteriorating rapidly when he began to kiss down the column of her neck. She tilted her head back, allowing him better access as her eyes fluttered shut. With what few coherent thoughts were in her head, she managed to say, “We—I can’t.” She pushed him away a little farther, enough so that his lips against her skin were no longer making her thoughts go awry.

There was still a smile on his face and Natasha briefly wondered if it would ever go away at this point. He reached forward, pushing her hair behind her shoulder as he spoke. “Why not?”

She shook her head, trying not to focus on the way his fingers were trailing up and down her arm. “I’m…I’m not staying. In Charming. I applied to a bunch of places and if one of them calls me back…” she hesitated for a moment, “I’m going.”

That got his grin to falter but it only took a moment for him to recover. “So we can’t make the most of it while you’re here?”

She scoffed but it wasn’t cruel. “I don’t,” she uncurled her legs from around his waist, “I don’t want to just…” She forced herself to look him in the eyes. “All this and then I leave?”

“So stay,” he offered, tone purposely casual.

She chuckled, hands on his shoulders. “Or you leave with me.”

He shook his head. “You’re over-thinking this.” He leaned in and kissed her again, noticing the way that her fingers wound themselves into his t-shirt as he did. “We can have a good time while you’re here. Being home doesn’t have to be so bad.”

“Jax.”

“Natty.”

She laughed and he took advantage of the moment as an opportunity to kiss her again. She gave right back into it, arms draping over Jax’s shoulders as her heels pressed into the backs of his thighs to get him closer to her again. The moan building in the base of her throat as Jax’s tongue slid to meet hers was involuntary. If she could’ve just melted completely into him in that moment, she would have.

Jax’s wandering hands finally came to rest on her waist. She could feel the pressure of his fingertips as he squeezed her tight. Something about the urgency, the need of it, had butterflies erupting in Natasha’s stomach all over again. To feel that wanted by someone she’d spent so much time wanting was its own unique type of high.

When he started to work the button on her jeans, Natasha pulled away again. “Wait.” Natasha hardly recognized her own voice with how out of breath she sounded.

Jax’s brows knit together. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. Nothing I just don’t do…this.”

He cracked a grin. “Not like I’m gonna tell on you.”

She gave a small, almost weak, smile. “No, no. I mean I don’t…I’ve never…”

It wasn’t until Jax noticed the way that she couldn’t meet his eyes that he realized what she was saying to him. He didn’t want to just let her run off again, but he also didn’t want to make her feel like she couldn’t leave.

Taking his hand away from the waistband of her jeans, he cupped her chin instead and tilted her head so that she was looking at him. He knew that he didn’t have the right things to say, so instead he kissed her again, soft and calculated. Allowing her to give in or pull away one more time.

“You can stay here tonight even if you’re not staying in Charming forever, you know,” he said, lips so close that they were brushing against hers as he spoke.

He felt the breath she pulled in as she thought about what he was saying, offering to her. The small handful of seconds that passed by felt like they dragged on for an eternity. Jax could feel the tension in her muscles, building up like they were getting ready to snap.

She only relaxed again when she crashed her lips back into his. Jax didn’t hesitate as he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her back just as eagerly. Reaching up, Jax grabbed her hands and interlocked their fingers before pulling away. He only let the space linger long enough to pull her back down off the table. Then he was bringing her body right flush to his again, kissing her as he guided her back through the house towards the bedroom.

Natasha was lying on her back on the mattress, stripped down to just her t-shirt and underwear. Jax hovered over her, pulling her legs so that they were draped around his waist. He still had his jeans on but his t-shirt was lost in the pile with the rest of Natasha’s clothes. He ran his hand up her thigh and over her hip, fingers tracing along the exposed skin there as he kissed her.

He felt the involuntary shiver when he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties. He pulled back, studying her face. “We can stop, you know.”

Natasha swallowed hard as she nodded. “I know. I don’t,” she reached and dragged her fingertips down the side of his face, the stubble trying to take away some of the boyishness and failing, “I don’t want you to stop.”

He smiled wide, kissing her once more on the lips before leaving a trail of kisses down over the t-shirt covering her chest, the exposed skin of her stomach, and then down to her hips and thighs as he pulled her underwear down and off her legs, casting them aside with everything else.

Jax let her legs hang over his shoulders, granting him the ability to kiss and nip at the insides of her thighs with ease. With every move and breath he could feel what it did to her, the way she squirmed with excitement, thighs tensing as he dragged his lips and tongue along her skin. He hovered over her core, waiting for her to look at him and give him some cue to keep going before he allowed himself to lick a stripe through her folds. The way she gasped and arched into him had him smirking against her as he continued to work her over with his lips and tongues, allowing himself to get lost in the way that she tasted, the sounds she made in response to everything that he did.

Her thighs were trembling on either side of his head when he pulled his lips off of her center. Her body was already pliant underneath him as he kissed his way back up her torso. He kissed her, running his tongue along hers so that she could taste herself the way that he did. She was gripping onto his shoulders, pulling him closer when she felt his fingers trailing up the inside of her thigh, touch featherlight over her wet and sensitive folds. He was slow, gentle as he pushed his fingers into her. her breathing was ragged, needy as she adjusted to what he’d given her. Once she was kissing him again, Jax began to carefully and methodically pump his fingers in and out of her, her moans and the way that she panted his name were like music to his ears.

“Jax, please,” she begged in pants. “Please.”

He felt the way she was working the button and zipper on his jeans, fumbling slightly as he reached over to his nightstand. Pulling the drawer open, he reached around blindly until he found a condom. Quicker than she even realized, Jax’s jeans and boxers were tossed to the floor and he was lined up at her entrance.

It was taking every ounce of self-control to not thrust into her. Leaning down, he kissed her again, murmuring soft reassurances in her ear that had her trying to pull him closer and into her. He kissed her right below her ear. “I’ve got you.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, nails biting into his shoulders as he pushed into her. He went slow, telling her how good she was doing and how amazing she felt around him, words that rendered her unable to do anything but whimper in response.

“You okay?” he asked as he kneaded the muscles of her thigh. When she didn’t say anything in response, he gave her leg a squeeze. “Nat? You okay?”

She had a blissful, hazy look in her eyes as she nodded. “I’m okay. Please, Jax.”

As he started to thrust into her, there was a moment when he wasn’t sure who was having a harder time controlling themselves. Her legs locked tight around his waist, nails dragging hungrily down his back as he started to find his rhythm, started to speed up his pace. She begged him to keep going like he’d ever dream of stopping.

He felt her breath against his skin, her lips on his neck and shoulder as he braced his arms on either side of her head. He pulled away enough to be able to look down at her, and the hunger in her eyes as her hands slid down his chest was a sight Jax didn’t think he was ever going to be able to forget. She fit him so perfectly, and when he felt the way she pulled at his hair while he kissed her his mind went blank.

She bit lightly at his lip, her legs trembling against him. Her words faded into moans as her walls fluttered around him. She took his chin in her hand, fingertips pressing into his jaw. He pressed his forehead to hers, both their eyes shutting tight as they soaked up the feel of the other.

“Don’t stop,” she plead desperately, wanting anything that would prolong the feeling of him inside her, the waves of pleasure that rolled over her each time he slowly dragged himself out only to thrust back into her again.

Jax wanted to give her anything and everything she could ask for. She looked so dazed and sounded so needy—he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so entranced by someone. He thrust into her, slow but deep. It was only when he was buried as deep inside her as he could manage that he spoke up, his breath warm against the shell of her ear.

“Don’t know how much longer I can last when you feel this good.”

The laugh she let out was a breathless one, but it was music to Jax’s ears nonetheless. He kissed the side of her throat, starting to suck a dark mark to leave behind when he felt himself getting close to the edge. With his lips on her neck he slipped one hand up underneath her shirt, kneading her breast as he continued to thrust into her. Moments later he could feel it, the way that she was coming undone around him. His name fell from her lips somewhere between a whine and a moan, a perfect sound that had Jax unraveling right after her, pushing into her with one more harsh thrust as he spilled into the condom and collapsed against her chest.

He listened to the rapid beat of her heart for a moment before lifting his head so that he could look at her. She was already staring at him, and there was something about the blissful smile on her face that had a sense of ease washing over Jax.

Still, he kissed her softly on the lips and ask, “You okay?”

She smiled, nodding and pulling him in for another kiss. “I’m good.”

They laid like that, neither of them looking to pull away from the other. Natasha was expecting to feel exposed, the way that he was looking at her, the way his fingers trailed along her face and through her hair. But it was comfortable, like they’d been doing this forever.

Too soon for either of their liking, Jax slowly pulled out of her. He swiped his boxers off the floor to he could clean himself up, handing Natasha’s back to her as well. By the time that he came back into the bedroom she was under the covers and in one of his shirts instead of her own. He couldn’t lie and say that he didn’t enjoy the sight of it.

“Comfy?” he joked as he slid into bed beside her.

“I’d say so.” She moved closer, resting her head on his chest as she draped her across him.

He pulled her one leg over so that it was tangled with his. “So…you’re gonna stay, right?”

“Jackson.”

He laughed, squeezing her tight for a moment. “Tonight, I mean.”

She hummed in amusement. “Mhm, I’m sure.” She tilted her head so that she was looking at him. “Yes, I’m gonna stay the night.”

He gave that same smirk he always did. “Still can’t call you darlin’ though, right?”

She shook her head. “No you can’t.” She rested her head back against his chest again, letting her eyes shut as she listened to the thrum of his heartbeat. “Natty works just fine.”

He chuckled, lips brushing against the edge of her forehead in a quick kiss. He felt her relaxing more and more against him as exhaustion started to settle in. Despite what the morning held, or the next few weeks, they at least had this. He ran his hand up and down her back. “I’ll take it.”

(divider by @cyberangel-graphics 💖)

SOA Taglist: @withmyteeth @garbinge @littlekittymeow @yourwinchesterbros @i-just-read-stuff

@justreblogginfics @paintballkid711 @jitterbugs927 @fanfic-n-tabulous @beardburnsupersoldiers

@darqchilddaydreamz @choochoo284 @artemiseamoon @nessamc @narcolini

[ohmtoff]

Shots, shots, shots (Part 1)

Nick Sturniolo x Masc!OC

Summary: Nick is most definitely not having fun at a frat party Madi dragged him to, but this boy who’s staring at him hungrily may help him to have a good time (or: a very cliche and very self-indulgent fic of Nick getting it on with a frat bro)

WC: 4.8k

Contains: college!AU, frat bro!oc, drinking games, making out

Disclaimer: no smut yet, smut is in the next part. not an american, idk anything ab frat culture and the american college system in general, so there’s gna be some inaccuracies. this is just based on the frat fics ive read and my own college experiences.

a/n: was supposed to be a one-shot but i suddenly wrote 10k words💀 although i know nothing ab frat culture, how my american friends describe it is basically like any faculty organization in an indonesian uni lmao so hope my knowledge of how those orgs work help this a slight bit. anyways hope you enjoyyy <333

——————————————————————————-

Nick is most definitely not having fun.

He frowns as he feels the bitter burn of his fifth (or was it sixth?) shot going down, tipping his head back to get it to go down easily, well and truly smashed at this point. Madi would be proud. Speaking of… he hasn’t seen his best friend since they arrived at the party, the girl pestering him for hours earlier in the day to come party with her. Madi is tired of listening about The Breakup, and to be honest, Nick is too, but he didn’t agree to come with Madi only to have his supposedly best friend ditch him at the door, leaving him alone at a frat party where he knows absolutely no one. Especially not just so she can run off and suck face with some junior.

Nick spies his best friend making out with a boy he doesn’t know, back to him through the haze of the crowd, barely visible in the shitty purple LED lighting, especially with everyone packed into the house like sardines, the place filled to over capacity so that no one can move without being pressed up against someone or another. Well, unless they are sticking to the wall like Nick currently is. And he’s about to go give his friend a piece of his goddamn mind when he hears the voice beside him, his irritation still visible on his face as he turns to look.

“Hey.” The boy is staring at him with an intensity that is disarming, dark eyes set in an intense unwavering gaze as he looks, just enough light to make out the half-smile on the other boy’s face, only one corner of his mouth upturned slightly. The boy’s hair is half in his face, looking damp and mussed like he’s just stepped out of the shower. And Nick trails his gaze downwards, appreciating the other boy’s outfit, a black t-shirt with some obscure band logo, sleeves cut-off hastily, clearly homemade, the edges ragged, showing off the nice curves of the boy’s shoulders, the definition of his upper arms from hitting the gym obvious. All thrown over a pair of oversized black jeans.

The other boy is looking at him like he wants him, and Nick is too far gone to stop the delicious pit of arousal churning in his stomach, the euphoria going straight to his head, making him dizzy with desire. He’s not the type Nick usually goes for, in fact, the boy is the exact opposite of his ex, but that doesn’t stop his body from screaming fuck me now. “I haven’t seen you around before. Transfer or something?”

The question makes Nick give out a little snort of laughter. “No, not at all. Just not my scene.”

“Oh?” The boy raises an eyebrow questioningly, his tone clearly teasing as he slides in closer to avoid another boy trying to make his way past the two of them squeezed into the corner. Nick inhales sharply as the boy moves in closer, trapping him, his back pressed up against the wall with no room to go back further, the other boy bringing his arms up to brace against the wall, forming a makeshift barrier around Nick, casually caging him in. As he does, the smell of beer hits his nose, a smell he normally despises, but it’s mixing with something the boy is wearing underneath, something sweet and woody, and the combination is fucking intoxicating. “And what would be your scene then?”

He ignores the question, not wanting to say that maybe his scene is in his room, pitifully stuffing himself with fast food and crying into Madi’s shoulder about his ex months after the breakup, choosing instead to shift the topic, mumbling.  “You smell like shitty ass beer.”

“Shit, sorry.” The boy relaxes his arms, his face softening into a sheepish apologetic look that Nick finds almost endearing, backing up a step so that he’s not so deep into Nick’s personal space, and Nick takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heartrate. “Got doused with beer earlier when they were spraying it into the crowd.”

“Seems like a waste of alcohol if you ask me.” The unexpected response makes the other boy’s eyes go wide, a moment of silence before he bursts out into raucous laughter.

“Yeah, shit, it probably is.” Nick hates that his breath hitches automatically as the other boy runs his hand through his black hair, shaking his head in apparent exasperation, looking unfortunately all too attractive in the process. “Imagine how many people could be more drunk than they already are if they hadn’t wasted all that beer.” The boy shoots him a grin, which he finds himself returning, or at least he hopes he is.

“So how did you get here?”

“My best friend, Madi. She dragged me here.” Nick admits, a slight eye-roll accompanying the statement. “Otherwise there’s no way I would come to a party in a dump like this. Complete shithole. Floor is disgusting, and the whole place looks like it’s going to collapse in on itself if they throw another couple of parties.” He finds himself having to yell to be heard, the music playing far too loud, the bass turned up so that he can quite literally feel the floorboards vibrating underneath his feet.

To Nick’s surprise and appreciation, the other boy appears to take an interest in listening to him, craning in closer and cocking his head to the side to hear better. His ex was an asshole that wouldn’t bother to make sure he was comfortable at parties, even after knowing Nick didn’t love large crowds, preferring to hang out with small groups of people instead. Plus points.  “Oh, I know Madi, met her at a general ed class last semester. She’s also friends with one of the frat bros here, I think. Nate. Anyways, enough about your friend. I haven’t even gotten your name yet.”

“It’s Nick.”

“Nick.” The other boy repeats it, long and drawn out as he rolls the sound around in his mouth, and the thought of the other boy saying his name as encouragement flashes in his head, mentally kicking himself for even thinking about blowing this complete stranger already within ten minutes of meeting. It’s the alcohol talking, definitely the alcohol. He desperately tries to repeat it to himself and believe it as he watches the other boy bite his lower lip in thought. Fuck. Yeah, so maybe it isn’t the alcohol making him want this boy. Maybe it’s the fact that he hasn’t been fucked since The Breakup. Which was 3 months ago. Nick scowls. Fuck Madi for telling him he needs to get laid, and double fuck Madi for being right.

“And yours?”

“Evan. My name’s Evan.” The name sounds familiar, but Nick can’t quite place it, putting aside the feeling for now, instead choosing to concentrate on his plan of perhaps getting laid tonight. Which shouldn’t be hard considering the way Evan is looking at him right now. Like he wants to ravish Nick. With maybe a touch of possessiveness. Nick doesn’t mind the possessiveness, as long as they don’t go overboard. Possessive makes for a good fuck.

He gives in.

I’m here already, might as well have a good time.

He turns on the flirtiest smile he has, his lips curling into a natural irresistible pout as he keeps talking, his hand coming up to brush Evan’s arm, his fingertips lightly grazing the other boy’s bicep. Very obvious, very forward. No one would ever accuse Nick of being subtle, especially when it comes to getting what or who he wants. “Well, Evan, since this does seem to be your scene and not mine, what would you say to being responsible for me having a fun time tonight?” The words have the desired effect, Nick tracing the tightening of the other boy’s jaw with his eyes, pleased at the barely veiled show of restraint.

Nick feels a shiver of anticipation run up his spine as Evan leans forwards, tilting his head downwards as he speaks, the other boy’s hot breath against his earlobe, pressed in so close that Nick can feel the ghost of a touch from Evan’s lips. He isn’t able to prevent the gasp from escaping when he feels the other boy’s tongue, teeth giving him a quick nip. “Well, tonight’s your lucky night, baby. I am at your service. For anything you want.”

The words make Nick bristle, bringing both palms up to push at the other boy’s chest, startling Evan into stepping back off-balanced. “I don’t like being called baby.” He mutters. “Don’t do that.” His ex had called him baby, as an insult, somehow managing to insinuate every time that Nick was too demanding, too high maintenance, turning the word into a mocking reprimand each time. “My ex used to use that.” He pauses a beat. “Not in a good way.”

“Oh, shit.” Evan frowns, his eyebrows drawn together giving almost a menacing look, and Nick feels a sinking feeling in his stomach at the thought of Evan losing interest. Maybe I came off too strong. “Your ex sounds like an asshole.” He lets out the breath he doesn’t even realize he was holding, a ripple of relief running through him. “And all I meant…” Nick’s breath catches as the other boy slides his hand underneath his chin, tilting it upwards as he speaks. “…is that you look pretty. Delicate. Like someone who deserves to get everything they want.”

Everything they want.

The words make Nick flush, the heat crawling up the base of his neck, stinging his cheeks. I want you. And his first instinct is to throw all caution to the wind and regret his decisions tomorrow morning after the alcohol has worn off, when there isn’t a buzz in his veins making him want to throw himself at this boy. And he desperately wants it to be just a physical thing, after all, he doesn’t really know this guy. He could turn out to be some weirdo psychopath for all he knows, but damn it if it doesn’t make him feel good that this boy thinks he deserves everything. But before he can open his mouth and resign himself to his fate, a hand appears on Evan’s shoulder, accompanied by the loud voice of another boy.

“Hey, bro.” The hand on Evan’s shoulder becomes an arm pulling the taller boy into a half-headlock of sorts. “Not like you to hide away in the corner for so long. Don’t you miss being the life of our party?” The boy turns slightly, catching a glimpse of him, and Nick becomes acutely aware that he’s probably gaping. “Oh, I see now.” The boy gives him a salacious and knowing wink, casting a sidelong glance at Evan. “You must be the reason our leader here is hiding instead of greeting the guests.”

Leader?

The new boy smiles at him, bringing his free hand up in a little wave of acknowledgment. “I’m Nate, by the way.” Nate squints, giving him a careful once-over, and Nick feels like squirming, getting the distinct feeling that he is being sized up though he doesn’t know for what. “You’re Nick, aren’t you?” Nate grins excitedly at the realization. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Madi.”

Nick furrows his brows thinking how does he know Madi and why Madi’s talking about him, getting more lost within the conversation by the second. “Madi said he’d be your type, and it looks like he was right. Fuck.” Nate lets out a string of profanity, “Fuck me, Evan. That means I owe her fifty bucks. So really, fuck you.” Nate narrows his eyes at Evan, who isn’t even trying to hide his mirth, chortling at his friend’s distressed expression. “Unless, you two dickwads set me up.”

Evan shakes his head. “No, man, I didn’t even know who he was until he gave me his name.”

“Fuck.” Nate lets out one last swear in a drawn out sigh, smiling fondly at Evan. “Well, I hate to interrupt the overwhelming sexual tension between you two, but I do think our new president should give a speech at our first party of the year.”

“President?” Nick echoes the word without meaning to, the sound of loud buzzing in his ears drowning out the sound of everything else around them, noting the shit-eating grin on Evan’s face that is getting wider by the minute.

“Yeah, president of Chi Alpha Omega. You know, the ones hosting this party right now.”

Nick can feel the color draining from his face, accompanied by some wooziness in his head. Madi had told him about the president of ΧΑΩ before, about how he “got around” quite frequently, always with someone new every other weekend. And apparently in no short supply of people who want to casually hook-up with him. In short, a player through and through. And Nick can’t tell whether he’s disappointed that Evan is probably not interested in any type of relationship or just excited that the boy is likely a really good fuck. Or both.

But none of that really even matters because he had literally called Evan’s house a shithole.

Fuck.

Evan winks at him before turning to Nate. “Yeah, I can definitely say a few words. And by the way, Nick here thinks we should probably stop spraying beer into the crowd to hype up the party.” He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the overly serious and solemn expression on Evan’s face as he says that. “Apparently we’ve been wasting alcohol when we could be using it to get everyone even more drunk.” Nick wants to sink into the floor at the other boy’s next words, hoping desperately that the ground can swallow him up.

“And he’s also made me aware of the fact that apparently, we live in a shithole.”

Nate’s eyes go wide. Nick wants to kill himself.

“Well, not exactly a lie.” Nate laughs, clearly bemused by his worried expression. “We’ve been trying to get administration to move us out of this shithole for ages. They just won’t do it. So we figure if we throw a few extra ragers this year, and this dumpster fire of a house finally breaks, maybe they’ll consider letting us have a different building for the frat house.”

“Wait, so…” Nick says the words slowly, his head slow to catch up, not quite believing what he’s hearing. “…you all actually want to break this house. Like that’s your actual plan, and I’m not stuck in some weird-ass twilight zone time warp imagining this.”

“Correct.” Evan nods.

“You all are fucking crazy.”

“Correct.”

“Sooo, about that speech Evan?” Nate asks, stealing another glance at Nick. “Any time soon? Or am I assuming that you’re gonna be busy for the next hour or so?”

The implication makes him half-cringe on the inside. Is it that obvious?

“Yeah, of course, now is fine.” And then Nick feels the other boy’s hand around his, Evan’s fingers settling to interlock with his naturally as if they belong there, warm and inviting. A little overly warm, probably the alcohol. But it feels nice, gives him the warm fuzzy feeling in his chest for the first time in a long time. “You’re coming with me, baby.” Nick wants to protest the nickname, but he isn’t given the opportunity to, finding himself being dragged along by the taller boy, weaving through the crowd of people deftly, trying to keep close to the other boy’s back, his free hand reaching out to grab the untucked edge of Evan’s t-shirt. The other boy heads to the kitchen, passing by the crowd that is busy dancing, flirting, and Nick reminds himself to yell at Madi tomorrow, spotting his best friend out of the corner of his eye still attached to the face of a guy.

The kitchen is slightly less crowded, the only people slipping in and out to grab more beer or shots, the entire kitchen counter covered with half empty alcohol—rum, vodka, gin, whiskey. God, how much booze do they have?  Evan doesn’t let go of his hand as he opens the fridge, rummaging around before finally coming up with another handle of vodka. The taller boy just shakes his head as Nate gives him a questioning look. And then Nick follows as he is dragged along again, making their way back to the living room, heading straight towards the epicenter of all the noise in the house. Evan finally lets go of his hand, and Nick feels a twinge of concern as he watches the other boy climb up onto the ping pong table, ignoring the cry of protests from the people playing beer pong. No way he’s sober enough for this.  Somehow Evan’s voice is louder than the music, his voice floating above the noise.

“Hey, we having fun tonight?” The cheers and hoots rise up from the crowd, Evan clearly reveling in the attention, waving his arms to tell everyone to pump up the noise, and they do. After a minute or so of cheering, the other boy puts his finger to his lips in a shushing motion, quieting the crowd.

“Here’s to the first party of many this year for Chi Alpha Omega. As the president for this year, hope to see all of you underclassmen at rush in the spring.” Evan grins, and Nick hates that the other boy is so charismatic, everyone in the room turning to hang on to his every word. “And to kick off a good night, how about yours truly start off a round of body shots?” The crowd hoots and hollers. “First up, my newest friend, Nick.” He feels himself outright blushing this time, Evan looking downwards to wink at him, some of the people in the front of the crowd turning to stare.

He startles as Evan jumps down from the ping pong table, landing unevenly, grabbing on to his shoulder for balance before scooting back on to the table to take a seat, his legs hanging off the edge. “How about it, baby?”

And he’s about to object, but his mind goes completely blank as Evan crosses his arms over his chest, gripping the hem of his t-shirt in order to pull it up over his head, the other boy’s arm muscles tightening. The skin above Evan’s jeans comes into view first, the white band of the other boy’s Calvin Klein boxers just peeking out from the top, a sharp contrast from the smooth tan of Evan’s skin on top and the black of his jeans on the bottom. Nick can see a glimpse of the other boy’s hip bones, sharp and defined, and his gaze trails further upward to his belly button, abs slightly visible as Evan moves, and all the way up to the other boy’s chest.

But it’s the tattoo that makes Nick stop breathing.

It’s intricate, clearly well done and by a tattoo artist that cares about how the finished product looks, a revolver with its barrel pointing downwards, the tip disappearing under the white of the other boy’s boxers. And Nick doesn’t think he’s ever had a specific thing for guns. But fuck. Because he wants to think that he’s better than this, better than having the only thought running through his head being it’s pointing to his cock. And the overwhelming urge to find out just exactly how true it is.

“You’re up, baby.” The words make Nick snap his glance upwards, tearing his gaze away from the ink on the other boy’s skin, the embarrassment flitting through him as he realizes how long he had been staring, a fact that had not gone unnoticed by Evan, who is grinning at him, definitely amused. He’s already poured the shot, messily spilling at least two shot’s worth of vodka on the ping pong table, and Nick experiences a stroke of utter insanity, the words coming out before he can stop them.

“You should probably clean that up.”

“Hmm, maybe later.”

“It’s going to get sticky.”

“Maybe I like sticky.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that the whole scene is probably bizarre as fuck, talking about cleaning while the whole room is waiting for him to take a shot off a boy he doesn’t even know. But Nick feels as if he’s in a haze, entirely blocking out the rest of the room as Evan crooks a finger at him, motioning for him to get closer, the other boy’s legs parting on the table, stretching apart to give him room to fit in between, and Nick is uncomfortably aware of Evan’s jeans, the material stretching over the other’s boy’s thighs, even tighter now that Evan is sitting.

“Come.”

He comes.

The shiver of arousal runs through him as he gets closer, coming up to the edge of the table, Evan winking at him as he squeezes Nick’s sides slightly with his thighs, making the feeling curl deliciously in his groin. And the other boy lies down slowly, not breaking eye contact with Nick as he does, and god help him, because it only makes the outline of the other boy’s abs deepen. Fuck. The shot glass is placed right over Evan’s belly button, wobbling as the other boy breathes in and out, and Nick winces as Evan starts off a chant of encouragement.

“Drink, drink, drink.”

Fuck it, it’s just one shot.

He doesn’t try to overthink it, leaning down with his head to clumsily grasp the shot glass with his mouth, intending on throwing his head back and downing the vodka all at once. He tells himself it doesn’t mean anything as he braces his palms against the other boy’s thighs, enjoying the feeling of muscle underneath his hands. But he’s not used to the motion, not able to use his hands, and he ends up spilling half of it, feeling Evan’s thighs tense around his waist as the cold liquid hits the other boy’s bare skin, some of the vodka settling into the crevices of Evan’s abs, already starting to slide off his body.

Nick doesn’t know why he does it.

But the next instant, his tongue is on Evan’s skin, feeling the other boy tense as he does it, licking the rest of the vodka off of the other boy, the feeling of burning still in the back of his throat from the half he does drink, dipping his tongue in to run along the grooves of Evan’s abs, the slight saltiness of the other boy’s sweat mixing with the taste of alcohol. And he’s pressing half-kisses, half sloppy licks against the other boy’s skin, the tips of his fingers reaching upwards from where they’re resting against Evan’s thighs to brush against the boy’s sharp hipbones, an inch or so above his jeans.

As he dips his tongue into his belly button, Evan bucks his hips upwards, the wanting movement making the arousal go straight to his cock. And he tells himself it’s because he’s trying to clean every last bit of vodka off of Evan’s body, but it isn’t the alcohol giving him a high as he runs the tip of his tongue slowly down the barrel of the gun tattoo that Evan has, the thought of going further and further down until he reaches the other boy’s cock making him hot and dizzy. The thought of Evan holding his head down and tugging on his hair as he gives the other boy a blowjob. Further, further. Evan squirms as he licks his way downwards over the exposed skin, and Nick wonders if it tickles, his nose already nudging the edge of the other boy’s boxers.

A bad fucking idea.

And he’s just about to pull away, the feeling of regret mixed with horror hitting him as he surfaces from his reckless decision, half-aware that they’re still in a very public room for the first time since Evan had told him Come, when he feels it. Evan half-hard against his palm, his hand accidentally brushing too close to the other boy’s inner thighs as he tries to move back, and before he can process that fact, everything around him moves.

Nick yelps as he feels Evan’s hands on the back of his thighs, dangerously close to his ass, and he’s suddenly being lifted up into the air, his legs coming up to wrap themselves around the other boy’s waist, his hands grabbing at Evan’s shoulders to balance himself. He vaguely hears the sound of catcalls coming from the crowd, his head falling forward, his face buried into the crook of the other boy’s neck, the smell of beer in Evan’s hair and that smell of wood and vanilla. A few quick strides, and Nick finds his back up against the wall for the second time tonight, Evan’s hips pressed into him, grinding him up against the wall as he plants kisses against Nick’s neck.

The other boy is definitely completely hard now, the feeling against his thigh each time Evan moves his hips making the arousal tighten in Nick’s groin. And it’s a fleeting thought, that he is grateful for wearing a white tank top, giving Evan free access, the other boy’s tongue darting out to run itself along the top of Nick’s collarbones, sucking likely-to-be-hickeys into his skin hungrily.

His fingers curl themselves into the other boy’s hair for purchase, needing something to grab onto as he writhes in Evan’s embrace, his eyes closed, his breath coming out ragged. An unbidden moan comes forth as he feels Evan sneak his hands underneath his tank top, the other boy’s fingers splayed against the skin at his waist, his thumbs digging into the spot just above his hipbones. Evan’s hands feel hot against his skin, burning into him more than he thought possible, and Nick’s eyes flutter open only to remember that everyone is still there, that they’re not alone.

“W-wait,” The words come out weakly in between little pants and far too soft for Evan to hear anyway, and Nick wonders if the idea of the other boy fucking him against the wall in front of a crowd of people should turn him on as much as it does. Fuck.

“Get a fucking room!”

The loud jeer seems to snap Evan out of it, the other boy stopping his attack against Nick’s neck long enough for him to catch his breath. Most of the room has gone back to whatever they were doing before, and it’s nearly impossible to pick out whoever had yelled it. “Don’t mind if I do.” Evan grins at him, not waiting for a proper response. “Hold on.” Nick just manages to get his arms around Evan’s shoulders before the other boy starts moving, hoisting him up slightly to get a better grip on the underside of his thighs, Evan’s chin nestled into his shoulder, the other boy’s breathing hot on his neck.

The sounds of the party slowly start to fade away as they ascend the stairs to the second floor, the stairway narrow and not lit, and Nick winces as he is jostled against the wall a few times on their way up, Evan’s steps not as steady he would have hoped. All he can hear now is the other boy’s breathing, slow and deep, the sound comforting, and Nick breathes in and out to match the other boy’s. I wonder if Madi was right, and I’m his type.  And he’s sure that he’s Evan’s type physically, the whole display downstairs has convinced him of that, but for the first (okay, maybe second or third) time tonight, he has the niggling suspicion that he might like it if he is Evan’s type for more, the way the other boy puts him at ease so naturally and effortlessly perhaps giving him more butterflies than he’d care to admit.

His mind unwillingly flashes him scenes on what it would be like dating Evan. Would he like his eggs scrambled or poached? What shows would they binge together? Would Evan show him off to his frat brothers?

Evan licks a stripe behind his ear where he’s most sensitive. Ah, fuck it. Who cares about dating? Nick knows he’s going to get fucked till he forgets his own name tonight.  

tags: @thenickgirl @mybelovednick @sukiipjs

[theladybarnes]

CRIMSON AND CLOVER: CHAPTER SEVEN

“What if I'm not good? What if I'm the monster?”

▸ summary: things get messy between the group and you feel as if you’re out of luck (&time) ▸ characters: steve harrington, eddie munson,dustin henderson, robin buckley, max mayfield, & nancy wheeler ▸ word count: 10k ▸ warnings: angst, semi-fluff, mentions of death, slight canon divergence ▸ series masterlist

“I guess the old man taught me well, huh?”

 The sudden weight of falling down into the cold street hit you harder than you expected. Forcing you to reach out and grip onto the blue car behind you. Wait, you know this car. 

 “What?..” you whispered, taking a step back. It was Billy’s blue Camaro, still warm from being recently used. But you weren’t anywhere near his car– Your thoughts are cut off when you suddenly take in your dim reflection from the car window. 

 The entirety of your right eye was black and teary. Instead of being trapped in the mall again, you’re suddenly back from having just left the tunnels that had run beneath Hawkins. But if you're by Billy’s car then..

 Turning around, you nearly gasped at the sight of Billy. He’s healthier than the last time you saw him. No Flayer tentacles stuck in his chest. No dead look in his eyes. He was back to the regular asshole you knew before. The sight of his former appearance has you taken back. 

 “Billy..” you croaked, unsure what to say. “I-...”

 “She’s speechless.” Billy laughed, taking a step towards you. “What a nice change.”

 Every part of you is aware that this isn’t real, but seeing him before you is leaving your mind puzzled. “You should go inside, Billy.” you got out eventually, gesturing toward his home, but the moment you glanced over, you noticed it was gone. The land stripped down to just the gutted floor of the house. Only the lawn had been laid intact. 

 “I don’t have a home anymore. I don’t have anything.” he said slowly, voice dark as he inched closer. You tried to step back, but something about his tone had your feet frozen in place. He took the chance to stand behind you now, wrapping his arms around you in order to pull you close. 

 He was ice cold.

 “All because of you..” he said into your ear, tickling your skin with his cold breath. 

 “I didn’t..I didn’t do anything to you, Billy.”

 “Exactly,” he agreed. “You didn’t help me..you didn’t save me. You let me die, you let the flayer get me.” 

 His grip got tighter, causing you to wince out in pain. You had to get out of this. “Let me go.” you said calmly despite the chill that was now coming up your spine. “Billy, let me GO.”

 “It’s sad when you consider what’s happened,” he continued on, pressing his face against the side of yours. “Billy said that he loved you, tried to get back together with you, and you left him in the dust for a guy that wouldn’t even consider leaving town for you.” 

 There were so many alarms going off in your head but you couldn’t help but focus on one in particular. 

 “Billy? You mean yourself, right?” you asked, trying to turn your face to look at him. But he simply reached one of his cold arms up to pinch at your cheeks, forcing you to look at the empty lot in front of you. 

 “No one is ever going to pick you, you know? At the end of the day it’ll always be someone better, someone worth sticking around you. There’s no happy ending for you.” His lips ghosted around the base of your neck before he chuckled lightly against you. “No happy ending for us..”

 You shook your head, trying to get his daunting words out of your head. “I’m nothing like you..”

 That only made him even more amused, raising a laugh out of his chest. “We’re a lot alike, actually.” he hummed, “We use people for pleasure and toss them aside when they decide to go against what we want.”

 “I don’t do that.” you said, turning around enough to face him. He looked at you with a smirk before he pinched at your cheek. “I would never do that to anyone.” you added, swatting his hand away.

 “So you didn’t dump Steve for saying no to the big move?” he gasped, feigning shock. “Or better yet, you’re not ditching your poor Eddie after he left you alone to wander the forest? I mean, you didn’t even bother to let him speak. He’s probably beating himself up but you don’t care. Not when Stevie is giving you the ol’ love and attention you need. Which, let’s be honest, babydoll, is pretty shitty of you to use him for a quick fuck instead of talking things out. Thought that’s the sort of shit girls like to do.”

 His words cut through you like knives, dredging up thoughts you tried to bury deep down. But then, something shifted. Billy mentioned Eddie, someone he couldn't possibly have known about. Their paths never crossed once if you thought hard about it. 

 "You don't know Eddie," you said slowly, voice struggling between sounding calm and trembling. "How could you possibly know what I’ve done with him if you’re dead..”

 A sinister smile twisted Billy's lips as his grip tightened, sending searing pain coursing through your body. "He’s been watching you," he confessed, his voice dripping with malice. "And boy does he have plans for all of you..”

 The world around you began to fall apart. The dark sky falling apart like fabric unraveling to reveal a dark crimson sky. The distance etched with bursts of lightning to light up a world in an ominous glow. 

 “This isn’t happening..” you promised yourself, eyes squeezed shut, desperately trying to convince yourself that this was just a dream, that none of it was real.

 “Oh babydoll, did you still think this was just a dream?” (tick)

 The arms around you felt different, and you opened your eyes in time to see Billy back to looking like the night of mall fire. His eyes glistened with tears and smile oozed with the dark bloody liquid that seeped from all over his wounds. 

 “Time for a wake up call.” (tock)

 Before you could react, he shoved you with a force that sent you crashing to the ground. Landing hard on the unforgiving concrete that shot your body in instant pain. Just as you began to process what had just happened, a deafening roar filled the air.

 To your right, the blinding headlights of an oncoming car came into your vision, hurtling toward you at a terrifying speed. You barely managed to get your hands up to cover your face right as it was about to hit you.

 And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, you woke up.

 Gasping for air, you sat bolt upright in bed, heart racing with adrenaline. Sweat soaked your skin, and a sense of lingering dread clung onto you like a heavy cloak. The warm glowing light of the sun peeked through your curtains. Nothing like the red haunting sky that was in your dream. New day, new nightmare. You thought.

 “Hey, are you awake?” 

 Dustin burst into the room, nearly sending you back into panic mode as you scrambled to get out of the bed. Defensive position ready for the attack. The younger boy held onto the door knob in shock, holding a hand out too in case you were about to strike him.

 “Whoa,” he chuckled nervously, looking at you carefully. “You okay? You’re all sweaty.” 

 You licked over your lips, pushing back the hair away from your face. “I’m fine.” you nodded, trying to calm yourself down. “Just got spooked.”

 “Right,” he said slowly, skeptically, even. “Well, Steve called. Said he was going to head over here if you wanna shower or something before leaving.”

 Turning away from your cousin, you tried to gain some sort of control over yourself as you trudged over to your dresser. Picking out some clothes you could change into after your shower. But from behind you could feel Dustin lingering at the door, a familiar worry still in the air.

 “I’m fine, Dustin.” you said, before he could ask. You focused on the clothes before you gathered for your shower. “It was just a bad sleep.” 

 “You sure? Because..we’d all get if it you needed a day to jump back into–”

 “I said I’m fine!” you snapped, turning around finally. The glare on your face is enough to have him take a step back. As if your words were a slap to his face. Guilt quickly filled into your gut and you rubbed a hand over your tired face. “I’m sorry I’m just tired.”

 “I get it.” he cleared his throat, “I’ll be in the living room.”

 Without another word, he turned on his heels and made his exit. Not two minutes into the day and you were already messing things up again. 

 “Time for a wake up call.” 

 You shuddered at the words that repeated in your head and quickly left the room. Hoping for the shower to wash away the remnants of your latest nightmare and give you a chance to start the day fresh.

 The car ride to the supermarket was spent mostly with Dustin yammering to Steve about the plans for today while you sat quietly in the back. The nightmare that pulled you out of your sleep still left you frazzled. Even with the help of a hot shower that tried to wash away the haunting memory. So while Steve kept checking over you now and then, you managed to keep to yourself until you guys arrived at the market. 

 Instantly Dustin wandered off in search of snacks for Eddie once inside. Leaving you and Steve to navigate the supermarket aisles together as a small awkward tension lingered in the air. You focused on gathering supplies, your mind preoccupied with thoughts of what would be enough to last Eddie for the unforeseeable future. 

 "Hey," Steve's voice broke through the silence, causing you to glance up from the decorated can of the Smurf’s Beef Ravioli you were inspecting. His curious gaze met yours, and you couldn't help but notice the worry etched into his features.

 "You look exhausted," he remarked softly, his tone filled with genuine concern.

 You wanted to sigh. 

 Of course Steve would be the first one today to distinctly look past all the makeup you expertly applied this morning to notice the exhaustion you were feeling. After the harsh nightmare, the bags in your eyes seemed to take a permanent residence. Offering a weary smile, you attempted to brush past his observation in order to change the mood. “Is that your subtle way of saying I look terrible?” 

 His eyes widened, worried for a second that you were being serious. “Of course not!” he scoffed, moving closer to you. “You’re gorgeous..but I can tell you look exhausted.” 

 You watched him carefully, waiting to see if he’d crack from the line of questioning, but when he tilted his head at you, keeping a worried gaze, you let out the withheld sigh, giving in a little bit. “I had a pretty harsh nightmare, don’t think I really slept well the whole night.”

 The palm of his hand met your cheek gently. Thumb rubbing against the soft skin before he reached over to push a piece of hair away from your face. "That bad, huh?" he murmured, looking at your features. "Why don't you let me stay over tonight? Just a friendly sleepover. You can wake me up if things get too intense."

 You couldn't help but chuckle at his offer. Recalling the past summer filled with nights of him on the pretense of just sleeping. "A sleepover, really? With just the two of us?"

 He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's not like it's the first time I've slept over at your place."

 You raised an eyebrow, unable to suppress a teasing grin from tugging on your face. “Well, if I recall correctly, we didn’t really sleep at those either.”

 A faint blush crept up Steve's cheeks, and he scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "Okay, fair point," he admitted, a hint of embarrassment coloring his voice. "But seriously, I just want to help. You don't have to go through this alone."

 It would be so easy to say yes. Give in to that natural urge that always wanted the company of the man before you. To have him by your side and give you all the attention and care you know he would willingly give to you. But your nightmare played in your mind again and you couldn’t help but feel the familiar twist of guilt form in your stomach again. 

 You opened your mouth to decline the offer when a case of YooHoos was placed quickly into the cart. An out of breath Dustin wiped over the sweat from his forehead, looking between the two of you expectantly. “It’s almost ten and we still have to pick up the others. Let’s go.” 

 Steve looked over still waiting on an answer from you but all you could do is offer a meek smile. “All right,” you nodded to Dustin. “Let’s head out.” Without looking back, you made your way towards the registers. Stomach twisting more than ever now.

 Thankfully picking up Robin and Max turned out to be quicker than expected. Max had taken the bus to the other girl’s house, making the trips cut down less after Dustin explained you’d also have to make a stop at the hilltop to use his Cerebro. And after some unsettling updates from the Hawkins police department, you all were able to finally make the drive over to the Lipton boat house.

 A part of you was slightly nervous to face Eddie again after yesterday. You never really felt the best after chewing out people you cared about. But add the hurt from the day before, plus the predicament with Steve, and the newest bit of information, your body was slowly aching in all sorts of places as you tried to navigate each feeling.

 “The streets should be busy today, most of Hawkins are probably over their hangovers from  Friday and have to go back to shopping for the week. We’ll have time to look for clues around the trailer later.” you heard Dustin say to everyone as he and Max took the lead towards the boat house. 

 “God,” you said suddenly, stopping in place. The days quickly calculated in your mind and you couldn’t help but feel another worry. Robin and Steve both turned at your voice, looking at you curiously before you wiped your hands over your face. “I was supposed to work with Keith today..”

 The two of them looked at each other for a second before letting out amused chuckles. 

 “What’s so funny?” you frowned.

 “Honey, Robin and I closed up the store at seven o’clock last night so we could all go find Eddie.” Steve cleared up.

 “Not to mention Steve was gone a whole hour before that to go find you.” she snorted, trudging over with the groceries still in hand as she draped an arm over your shoulder. “We’re totally fired.”

 “Fired?” you gaped, slightly worried by how easily over it they seemed to be. “B-but you guys needed the jobs!”

 “There’s thousands of other part time jobs in Hawkins, kid.” Robin sighed, giving you a tight lipped smile. “We’ll just have to update our resumes..again.”

 She left with that, leaving the two of you behind to join the others down the hill. Glancing at Steve, you opened your mouth, ready to apologize about his likely termination, but he quickly leaned over to press a finger to your lips.

 “Don’t even think about apologizing.” he said sternly. “Because no one in the whole world could have stopped me from leaving. Not when it comes to you.”

 Again, you’re left speechless by the man before you. 

 There couldn’t be any proper explanation as to why Steve continuously gave you more than you deserved. Not one that you would believe in anyway. You’ve hurt him, pushed him, and left him with no reason to do things for you. And off he’d go, ditching his life’s responsibilities just to look out for your well being. 

 It’s all so overwhelming and you find you’re stumped enough that it’s taking a second longer to think of a reply.

 “Trouble..” he said after a second of your silence. 

 You quickly scrambled together a response good enough to divert the seriousness that he seemed to be leading things to lately. Something you know he’ll grow tired of eventually and confront you about. But for now, you’d stick with easing the already harsh day as best as you could.

 “I was just going to say I’m glad we won’t have to wear that vest anymore.”

 “Right.” he said, sucking in a sharp breath. Then suddenly, he leaned over enough that he could look at your face closely. “Are you..okay?” 

Okay seemed to be the last word you’d use to describe yourself. Especially after this morning’s nightmare. But considering the man lost his job to help you out the last time, you figure you should cut this worrisome question short. 

“I have a lot on my mind.” You shrugged. “Just..girl problems.”

His brows were knitted tightly together, skeptical of your response. But before he could throw in a follow up question, the sound of Robin calling out to you guys put a stop to that.  

“We should go..” he said eventually.

 Not wanting to lag behind any longer, you dashed down the hill to the others, catching a glance back to see Steve rub at his face until he remembered to follow after you. The two of you joined just in time to open the door into the boat house. 

 There’s a slightly yelp sound and the five of you watched as a frightened Eddie looked over at the doorway with wide eyes. Apparently he didn’t notice or hear any of you approaching at all. 

 “Delivery service!” Dustin exclaimed, a wide grin on his face as he lifted up the grocery bags. 

 Apparently, you weren’t the only one whose morning was off to a rough start.

  The five of you gathered around Eddie, giving him a few minutes to calm down. But that calmness quickly left the moment Dustin gave him the box of Honeycomb. All there was after that was the crazy amount of crunching as Eddie stuffed as many as he could into his mouth. 

 “So we got, uh, some good news and some bad news.” Dustin started hesitantly. “How do you prefer it?”

 “Bad news first, always.” Eddie said as if there’d be any other way.

 “All right, bad news. We tapped into the Hawkins PD dispatch with our Cerebro, and they’re definitely looking for you.” he said before blinking hard, forgetting the last important fact. “Also, they’re, uh, pretty convinced you killed Chrissy.”

 “Like, one hundred percent kind of convinced.” Max said next, looking at him solemnly.

 “And the good news?” Eddie asked, perplexed. 

 Robin looked down at him with a familiar gaze to Max’s as she spoke up next. “Your name hasn’t gone public yet. But if we found out about you, it’s a matter of time before others do too. And once that gets out, everyone and their shallow-minded mother is gonna be gunning out for you.”

 You can’t help but feel worse hearing everyone lay out the information than from the dispatch. From where you stood behind Dustin, you could see as Eddie’s face paled at the truth. 

 “Hunt the freak, right?”

 “Exactly.” Robin confirmed.

 The memory of the crash came to mind from his words. Freak of the town. Now it was going to be a man hunt with him as the prey. Dustin before you held a hand out, piping in with what he figured would be words of encouragement. 

 “So, before that happens, we need to find Vecna, kill him, and prove your innocence.”

 “That’s all, Dustin? That’s all?” 

 “Yeah, no, that’s pretty much it.”

 You can’t help but snort at Dustin’s reply. Feeling the pessimism seeping into your mood. There were too many variables to this idea that made it almost impossible to complete. And while you didn’t want to join in on adding salt to Eddie’s wounds, you couldn’t help but shake your head.

 “And after all this we’ll have you back home in time for dinner.” you said offhandedly, keeping your eyes down at your nails. Steve and Dustin turned their gazes over their shoulders to look over at you questionably, making you sheepishly wave them off as you stepped closer towards the group. 

 “Listen, Eddie,” piped Robin as she attempted to lift up his spirits. “I know everything Dustin is saying sounds totally delusional, but we’ve actually been through this before. I mean, they have a..a few times,” she said gesturing to the three of you. Steve confirmed her words with a reassuring nod as she went on. “And..and I have once. Mine was more human-flesh-based, and theirs was more smoke-related, but bottom line is, collectively, I really feel we got this.” 

 “Yeah, see, we usually rely on this girl who has super powers. But, uh, those went bye-bye, so uh..” Steve said quickly, adding a true fact that you felt didn’t really help much considering El wasn’t even in town in the first place. 

 “So, we’re technically in more of the–” Robin volleyed in.

 “Kinda..”

 “Brainstorming phase.” Max finished, seeming to conclude where Robin and Steve were going with their words.

 “There..There’s nothing to worry about.” Dustin spluttered, attempting to bring the group in together. 

 Eddie was rightfully stunned at everyone, tilting his head in shock as he stared at his friend in disbelief. But he’s soon after glancing over to you finally. Looking for what you had to say. In fact, everyone glanced over at you, almost waiting for you to say otherwise.

 And while you parents always said they admired your candor, not everyone around you reacted the best to it. 

 So, you shot him a small tight lipped smile, nodding your head to everyone. “We’re gonna help you, Ed.” you said honestly. “Just..hopefully without any more..complications.” 

 As if the universe was waiting for their cue, the sounds of sirens cut through the silence of the group. Grabbing all the attention off of you as everyone quickly reacted to the new possible threat. 

 “Tarp.” Robin pointed out. “Tarp!” 

 Eddie quickly concealed himself underneath the fabric while the rest of you dashed over to the windows. Peering out through the dirty glass in time to watch as police cars and ambulances zipped past the front of the house. 

 “Where the hell are they going?” you heard Dustin mutter under his breath. His gaze shifted up to you curiously. 

 “I don’t know, but we need to go find out.”

As the group dispersed from the boat house, you felt a hand gently grab at your arm, halting your exit. Turning around, you found Eddie out from the safety of his tarp. Looking at you with remorse in his eyes. You could practically feel how nervous he was. 

 "Hey," he began softly, "I need to talk to you for a sec."

 Sensing where this conversation was going to go, you almost wanted to reject him. You weren’t sure how many tense conversations you could handle for the day. But seeing as you weren’t certain of when you’d actually see Eddie again, you nodded your head and stayed in place.

 "I wanted to apologize," he continued, his voice tinged with regret. "For that shit back at the van, the woods, all of it. I know it was messed up,..I never meant for any of that to happen."

 His words stirred conflicting emotions within you. Anger, frustration, but also a bit of understanding. 

 At this point, you knew Eddie. He was the same guy who’d get annoyed with your lectures about his fashion taste, or who’d try and kiss you whenever you had a bad day at work, and who would bring out that ridiculous Mick Jagger impression that made you laugh before the first bell rang. He was impulsive, but never malicious. 

 Still, the wounds still lingered inside of you. 

 "I was terrified, Eddie," you admitted, voice barely rising above a whisper despite the anger behind it. "Being lost in those woods...I had no idea where I was going or what was around me. I just saw Chrissy die and woke up to a world of mess."

 His expression softened, and you could see the heavy remorse returned back to his features. "I'm so sorry, Princess.” he croaked, hands reached out to grip onto your arms. “I promise I'll make it up to you, however I can. I won't let you down again."

 You pushed away remaining doubt that wanted to linger behind. Wanting to believe that there were still ways to turn things around. At least in terms of your friendship with Eddie. He was there for you through your shitty moments, it was time you took your turn in being there for him. 

 In this case, his moment being a murder case. 

 “Well, let’s make a habit out of not ditching each other in the woods then.” you said finally. 

 He snorted excitedly, chuckling a bit at your reaction before he pulled you in a tight hug that had you patting his back just to calm him down. “Sounds reasonable to me.” 

 “Good.” you laughed, giving him a final pat to release you out of his tight hold. “Uhh, Eddie? Kinda need to go work on saving your ass now.” 

 “Sorry,” he muttered, loosening up his grip. “I was just kinda worried we’d stop being friends..”

 You pulled back to look up at him, searching his eyes for a moment before you nodded your head. “We’re still friends..”

 “Good, because now that we’re square again, I really gotta say, you look like shit.” 

 “What is it with you guys today? I mean, I am tired, but seriously what the fu–” your words are cut off when Eddie leaned in to press his lips against yours. It wasn’t the most unusual reaction from him. There had been many times he’d say something to annoy you and cut off your anger with a sloppy kiss. But at the current time you couldn’t help but think about the last kiss you had from a freakout. And many other things you did with the man who gave it to you.

 "Eddie, I..." you trailed off, unable to find the right words to explain the complexity of problems you had going on. Especially the ones in your love life.

 He quickly retreated, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

 Suddenly, a throat cleared from behind, cutting into the moment. Instantly your heart plummeted as you turned to see Steve standing under the threshold of the door. Expression unreadable. How much did he see? How much did he hear?

 "We’re ready to go," he stated curtly, avoiding your gaze. “If you two are done.”

 Without waiting for you to reply, he quickly turned and left the doorway to join the others back up where the car was. You let out a tired sigh, unsure how you were going to even explain anything of what he just witnessed. All you knew was this was slowly turning from a bad morning to a crappy day.

 “Did I just make things worse?” you heard Eddie chuckle behind you.

 “No, Ed, I think I did.”

 Despite the awkwardness of your late entrance to the car, the group made it just in time to catch the location of where the cops were heading to. It was towards the main road that led over to Forest Hills.

 Everyone slowly began to murmur out curious questions as to what it could be. Chrissy’s body had already been covered, what could have happened in just a day?

 The car came to a slow stop and the group slowly made an exit out of the car. Looking around what looked like a scene of a crime. Amongst the cars surrounding the area was one that caught your attention quickly. Coroner. But before you could mention that, the sight of a brightly colored skirt caught your attention.

 Talking close to the newly appointed Sheriff Powell stood Nancy. 

 You stepped out on the road, ready to make your way over to join her when a hand tugged on your elbow. Steve, who despite still held some difference towards you since the boathouse, did not want you going forward. Only cocking his chin in the direction of the girl.

 She looked relieved to see you guys but you could tell from the furrow in her brow that she was more than upset. Looking close to crying. Still, she held up a weak hand, waving over at the group with a pained expression. 

 “Shit.” you heard Max whisper. She pointed over towards the side of the road. On the floor, just past your friend, was another body, covered up in a white sheet.

 Vecna’s second victim.

 Picking at your nails had seemed to be a new habit of yours now. Previously used to keep you busy from conversations slowly turned into you using it to distract yourself from the reality of things. Like right now, as the group gathered around one of the lunch tables just outside of Eddie’s trailer, listening to Nancy explain what the police had found, you were currently tearing at the side of your hangnail.

 Fred was gone. Just the same as Chrissy. Meaning that Dustin was right about this not being the last of Vecna’s attacks. But the idea of it being people you all knew seemed to make this whole thing more sickening.

It was eerie to be back in the trailer park. You made it a point to sit at the side of the table facing the Munson home. Needing to keep your eyes locked on the place again in case of anything odd happening. At one point you felt a hand slowly pat over at your leg, making you jump a bit before glancing to your left.

 Steve stared at you expectantly before he shook his head in confusion. “You with us?” he asked softly, voice with the familiar tinge of worry. 

 Nodding your head, you tucked your hands down into your lap, looking at the three girls across from you. 

 “So, you’re saying that this thing that killed Fred and Chrissy, it’s from the Upside Down?”

 “If the shoe fits,” Steve said simply before he looked at you again. “Right?”

 “Well, considering the lights blinked like usual before the attack happened. I’d say yes.”

 “Our working theory is that he attacks with a spell or a curse.” Dustin added. “Now, whether or not he’s doing the bidding of the Mind Flayer or just loves killing teens, we don’t know.”

 “All we know is that this is something different.” Max joined in, a frown etched on her face as she glanced amongst everyone. “Something new.”

 “Doesn’t make sense.” Nancy muttered, shaking her head. 

 You reached over to place a hand towards her, gaining her attention to you. “Has anything about the Upside Down ever made sense?” you asked honestly, “Besides, this is still a work in progress.”

 “She’s right, it’s only a theory.” Dustin said after you. 

 “No, Fred and Chrissy don’t make sense.” Nancy explained, putting together something in her head. “I mean, why them?”

 “Maybe they were just in the wrong place. “ Dustin tried. “They were both at the game.”

 Max nodded her head, following the pieces coming together. “And near the trailer park.”

 “We’re at the trailer park.” Steve pointed out slowly. “Uhh, should we maybe not be here?”

 You sucked in a slow breath before leaning back to look around the area. It looked the same as when you’d come to visit Eddie. Max’s trailer was still just across the way, and the sound of wind chimes still echoed in the distance. But one glance back to the Munson trailer and you felt your stomach dip. 

“There is something about this place.” Nancy said after a second. “Fred started acting weird the second we got here.”

 Robin looked over at Nancy curiously.  “Acting weird as in..?”

 “Scared, on edge, upset.”

 It completely bothered you how similar you felt to that right now. But you could practically feel worried glances from some of the people at the table, so you bottled down speaking up on that in favor of hearing what Dustin had to say next.

 “Max said Chrissy was upset too.” 

 “Yeah, but not here.” she shook her head. “She was crying in the bathroom at school.”

 For a second you couldn’t help but feel a twist in your stomach at the idea of Chrissy. She was so nice in the van that night. Wanting to take the special K just to get through the night without feeling overwhelmed. But her troubles were vastly bigger than she laid out for you and you couldn’t help but feel bad for not reaching out more when you had the chance. 

 “Serial killers stalk their prey before they strike, right?” Robin asked, cutting into silence. “So, maybe Fred and Chrissy saw this Vecman–”

 “Vecna.” Dustin quickly corrected.

 “I don’t know about you guys but if I saw some freaky wizard monster, I would mention it to someone.” Steve said. His eyes looked to you, almost like he was expecting you to agree with him. And while the logical side of you did, something deep inside was stopping you entirely from speaking out. 

 “Maybe they did.” Max considered slowly. “I saw Chrissy leaving Ms. Kelley’s office. If you saw a monster, you..you wouldn’t go to the police. They’d never believe you. But you might go to your–”

 “Your shrink.” Robin concluded. 

 The idea of Fred and Chrissy having a connection through Ms. Kelley did little to ease your growing anxiety. Especially when you remembered that amongst the few students that happened to be stuck in her counseling sessions, was you.

  Not wanting to waste the day, the group quickly left the bench to head over to the next destination. Hopefully Max could find her way into getting out some information about the others from Ms. Kelley. 

 You’re walking close beside Nancy when she elbowed your side, raising a brow to you before nodding towards the direction of her car. You almost wanted to ask her what she had meant when she gave you a familiar look. Quickly getting the hint that she had something else in mind, you casually turned towards the car. That is until the group’s den mother seemed to take notice.

 “Whoa, whoa, HEY! HEY!” Steve said, jogging after the two of you. “Where are you guys going?”

 “Oh, there’s just something I wanna check on first.” she explained simply, nudging at your side quickly. 

 “I’m gonna go with her, you know Nancy Drew needs Bess Marvin and all that.” you waved, trying to make a turn for the car again.

 “Something you guys wanna share with the rest of us?” Dustin asked, slightly offended.

 “I don’t wanna waste your time. It’s a real shot in the dark.” she said shyly, kicking at the dirt for a second. You nodded your head, looking over at the rest of the group with a small smile.

 “If she’s got a hunch, it might be worth checking out guys. We’ll be back soon.” you reassured them.

 “Hey, you can’t just ditch us.” Dustin scoffed. ���Besides, it’s better to keep an eye on you if you’re suddenly turned into a suspect and we need to hide you up with Eddie.”

 Max looked over at Dustin before she nodded her head, agreeing. “There’s still a chance your name could come up. If we can’t reach you then we wouldn’t be able to help you on time.”

 Something told you that there might be another reason Dustin and Max wanted you to stay and while you were sure nothing would happen while going with Nancy, you also didn’t want to make things harder on anyone. Especially with these two out of all them showing concern openly.

 “Looks like I’m with the kids.” you sighed, turning defeatedly to Nancy. “Think you’ll be okay?”

 “I’ll be an hour or two tops.” she nodded. “We’ll regroup after that.”

 “Yeah okay. Are you guys out of your mind?” Steve asked, looking at you two a little perplexed. “Flying solo with this Vecna creep on the loose? No, it’s too dangerous. You need..you need someone to..” His face turned hard with a sudden frustration as he looked at Nancy worriedly. Your stomach caught onto that tension quicker than your brain and twisted slightly at a growing feeling you haven’t felt in a while. Steve didn’t seem to notice as he turned to toss his keys over to Robin.

 “Here you go. I’ll stick with Nance.” he said quickly. “You guys take the car, check out the shrink.”

 The girl caught the keys awkwardly, giving Steve a confused look as she pointed over to the car. “Don’t think you want me driving your car.” she said wearily. 

 “Didn’t think he let anyone drive the car.” you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “Last time he nearly had a heart attack and that was just driving in the streets.”

 Steve blinked over at you confused before he turned back to Robin. “Why?” he asked, ignoring your jab. 

 “I don’t have a license.”

 “Why don’t you have a license?” he asked frustratedly. 

 “I’m poor.” she reasoned with a shrug. 

 “I can drive.” Max offered, only adding fuel to Steve’s emotions. 

 “No, No! Never again. Please. Anybody but you. NO.” he argued.

 Dustin, ever with his perfect timing, looked at Steve with his arms out. As if he were ready to take on the responsibility that no one on the team could take. From behind Steve you could see as his body deflated at his choices. 

 “No chance.”

 “Come on!”

 Nancy looked a little uncomfortable at Steve’s persistence, only casting you an apologetic look. You on the other hand could not stop the familiar green monster from trying to crawl its way up from the depths of your soul. Unsure where Steve’s need to be around Nancy came from just yet. But you knew by now that it wasn’t the best idea to act on those feelings just yet.

 Finally Steve glanced back to you, raising a brow questionably. 

 Bastard.

 “Fine,” you said calmly, earning a small shock from the group. As if they expected some other reaction from you. Taking a step towards him, you held out your hand, giving Steve a sweet smile. “I’ll take your car.” 

 Steve nervously licked over his lips. Eyes shifting from your hand, then to Nancy, and then back at you. “No,” he gulped, shaking his head lightly. “I sense I made a mistake of some kind.”

 Fed up with everything, Robin reached for the walkie in Dustin’s bag and stepped in. “All right, okay. This is stupid. Us ladies will stick together.” she confirmed, putting the keys back into Steve’s hands. Her eyes gave him a warning look before she marched over to join Nancy’s side. “Unless you think we need you to protect us?” she said with a humorous chuckle.

 The two of you didn’t move from your spot. Only watching as Robin made her way towards Nancy’s car. Taking the lead for their exit. Nancy gave you both a sympathetic shrug before she mouthed an apology to you before turning on her heels to catch up with the other girl.

 “Be careful!” he called out, Robin turned around, shooting out a peace sign before she glanced at you. 

 “Should be saying that to yourself!” she laughed, giving you a wink.

 From the corner of your eye you can feel as Steve nervously looked over at you. His previous annoyance went away when he noticed your change in demeanor. Without another thought you walked towards his car, avoiding his gaze as you made your way towards the car doors. He quickly rushed over, moving to open up the passenger door for you, a small tight lip smile on his face.

 Ignoring that offer, you carefully opened up the backseat and slipped in beside Max. Avoiding his gaze as you slammed the door shut. From the outside you could hear Dustin chortle at his friend as he moved to take the free spot. “Nice one,” he said to Steve. “You just gonna stand there and gawk?”

 “Dude, shut up.”

 “Why don’t we go? Okay?” he said teasingly.

 “Shut up and get in the car.” he ordered. “Wipe your feet.”

 You watched as Dustin carelessly began to wipe his feet inside the car. Almost comically as he patted the shoe against the clean interior floor, earning another explosive reaction from Steve. 

 “On the outside, not the inside!”

 There was a bit more huffing between the two as they finally got into their seats. Leaving the car in a second of silence. Steve glanced back at you, opening his mouth to say something. But instead of giving him the chance to say anything, you turned in your seat, facing your direction to look out the window. Giving you the chance to give him a bit of the silent treatment. 

 “Always the babysitter.” Steve muttered angrily, turning on the engine of the car. “Always the GODDAMN babysitter!”

 You watched carefully from your side of the car as Max entered inside Ms. Kelley’s home. Only looking back at you guys once before the door closed up behind her. Hopefully the whole thing wouldn’t take as long and the four of you could make your way back to others and give you space away from Steve. 

 “So..we gonna talk about..it?”

 Glancing to your right, you looked into the passenger mirror to find Dustin looking at Steve. He seemed to have purposely left his window open enough that you were able to eavesdrop into their conversation. 

 “Huh? Sorry, talk about what?” Steve asked, barely paying attention.

 “Your temporary insanity earlier today when you basically threw yourself at Nance? And in front of my cousin of all people.”

 It took everything in you not to react to what you just heard. Your cousin’s words basically confirm the worries that hit you in the trailer park. The little green monster inside was practically dancing as it festered on the negative energy building up inside of you. 

 “Okay, first of all, that’s not what happened.” Steve said defensively. 

 “Pretty sure that’s what happened.” he countered. “It was public, there were like, a lot of witnesses. The prime one being at the back of your car right now.”

 He made it a point to glance at you through the mirror, catching your glaring gaze. He looked like he was about to change things up from his expression but you quickly shook your head, nodding in the direction of Steve’s side of the car for him to continue. 

 “Uh-Are you implying I still have a thing for Nance? Really? Me?”

 “No, I’m not implying.” he said, shaking his head. “I’m stating. And, as it relates to your current break up leaving you to go on various dates, it’s pretty much the only logical explanation.”

“That’s not the only one.” Steve denied quickly. “You know what I’ve been going through. What I’ve been thinking. And as for Nance, I was just trying to protect a friend.”

 From the mirror you could see Dustin’s face turned amused, like he was beyond believing that statement in the slightest way. You let out a small sigh, glancing down at the ground almost..defeatedly.

 This wasn’t even something you had the right to be angry about. If anything, the only reason you had room to speak on the situation was the fact that Nancy was currently dating your best friend and you couldn’t just let Steve of all people step in on that.

 God, that thought alone made you feel sick.

 “A friend, Henderson. Okay?” Steve said after noticing Dustin’s silence. 

 “Okay.”

 “I don’t wanna find her in the morning with her eyes sucked out of the front of her skull by this Vecna creep.”

 Dustin let out an amused giggle. “You’re bright red in the face right now!”

 Not having it in your stomach to listen to anything else, you stomped away from the car. Trying not to let the stinging tears in your eyes slip out. Your mind viciously shoots you into a memory from the first fall when Billy arrived. His terrorizing had slowly come to an end that night but not without some parting words to you.

 “He’ll never get over Wheeler. It’s that first love shit that chicks are so keen for. He’ll never get away from that feeling. Trust me, I’d know.”

 Back then you convinced yourself that he wasn’t telling the truth. That he took your weakness that night to try and get under your skin. But now? Now your mind is so frazzled and so broken lately that everything is turning into doubt. 

 “Get in the car.”

 You turned around to find Max rushing over to the car door, giving you a wide look before she entered inside. Quickly, you joined in after her, closing up the door in time to catch her giving Steve an order to drive. He’s quick to start up the car, setting all of you to hit against the seats as he sped away from the house.

 Eventually Max briefly explained what happened inside and stated that the best way to get more information would be in Ms. Kelley’s office at the school. You tried to explain it’d be a lot harder to break in due to the break but she simply held up a pair of office keys. 

 Suddenly the walkie in Dustin’s lap let out a loud squawk before a voice suddenly spoke through.

 “Dustin. It’s Lucas. Do you copy? Dustin.”

 The sudden sound of your friend’s voice had you and Max quickly leaning over your seats, trying to listen in on the incoming message. 

 “Lucas? Where the hell have you been?” Dustin asked into the walkie. 

 “Just listen.” Lucas pleaded. “Are you guys looking for Eddie?”

 “Yeah and we found him, no thanks to you.” he chided back. 

 “You found him?”

 “He’s at a boathouse on Coal Mill Road. Don’t worry, he’s safe.”

 “You guys know he killed Chrissy, right?” Lucas asked worriedly. The car seemed to grow tense at that. Now the teens at the school surely knew he was the main suspect. Time was beginning to run out. 

 “That’s bullshit. Eddie tried to save Chrissy. My cousin was there!”

 “She was there too?! Wait, then why do all the cops say he did it?”

 Max, having had enough, reached over for the walkie. “Lucas, you’re so behind it’s ridiculous, okay? Just meet us at the school. We’ll explain later.”

 “I..I can’t. I think some real bad shit’s about to go down.”

 “What are you talking about? What bad shit?” she asked, but there was no response back. Almost as if the connection was lost. “Lucas? Lucas?” 

 “Line got cut off.” Dustin said, reaching back for the walkie. “What do you think he meant?”

 “I’m not sure.” Steve said, gripping the wheel tightly. “Let’s just get to the school.”

  It was dark by the time the four of you arrived at Hawkins. The air held an eerie atmosphere as you guys parked discreetly in the back of the school. Couldn’t exactly have anyone checking by to see there was someone at the school this time of night.

Your cousin was thankfully prepared for the night again and quickly passed around a couple of flashlights, giving you guys some light to venture through the creepy halls with. 

 “I gotta say, didn’t think I’d be coming back here anytime soon.” Steve muttered to you, smacking at the side of his flashlight before it fully turned on. 

 “It’s definitely not the way I wanted to spend my Spring Break.” you nodded, flashing towards one of the classrooms. 

 There’s an awkward building tension between the two of you. A part of you wanted to squash down that anger from before, use it to keep focus on the problems at hand. But there was a bigger part inside that was gleefully ready to make a mess out of things. 

Per usual.

 “Didn’t think I’d spend the day like this.” he chuckled lightly, looking over at you. “Kind of a bad way to end the weekend don’t you think?”

 Something in his words, while innocent, just irked you. Making your whole body shift as you finally let free some of the venom that had been building up since the trailer park. 

 “Yeah, you must be having a pretty bad day considering you’re stuck babysitting with me instead of chumming it up with Robin or looking out for Nancy.”

 Steve looked almost as if your words were a slap to the face, staggering back a second before his expression quickly changed to annoyance. He reached a hand out to stop you from walking. 

 “Where’s that coming from?” he asked slowly.

 “Seriously?” you laughed, raising a brow at him. “Did you suddenly forget that little show you gave back in Forest Hills?” You made an effort to dramatically reenact tossing invisible car keys. “Here you go. I’ll stick with Nance.” you said in a dramatically deep voice. 

 He was unamused by that, pressing his lips together before he scratched at his hair. A nervous tick he got whenever something got under his skin. “I’m sorry I’m a little particular with who I hang out with at the moment. I figured you’d feel the same way considering you probably wanted to stick around with Eddie so you guys could make out and weirdly flirt again.” 

 Sometimes you forget that Steve’s as much of a former bitch as you were. Making his bite hurt particularly bad right now. Still, you weren’t one to back down from a verbal fight. 

 “Wow, I’m not really surprised you noticed everything I’m doing considering how you’ve been trying to figure out ways to keep me at home.” Tilting your head you step closer to look up at Steve. “Was worrying about me too much for you now that you want to display your macho-man persona to Nancy again?” 

 “You’re pulling that out of nowhere.” he scoffed, shaking his head at you. “I mean, really, how is me wanting you to stay home because I’m worried about how tired you look, suddenly turn into me trying to get back with Nancy?”

 “Oh, so now it’s suddenly trying get back with Nancy?”

 “No, you just said–”

 “I said you were showing off!” 

 He let out a long sigh, rubbing a hand over his face before he turned to look at you seriously. “All I offered was to go with Nancy so that she wasn’t alone. Her friend just died the same way Chrissy did and I didn’t want her to end up the same way. I was just trying to be a comforting friend.”

 “So you wanted to comfort her? Well, that’s great to hear considering we both know how you like to comfort people through their crisis, don’t we?”

 “I-It was different with you, okay?” He stuttered a bit, before he held his hands up, looking annoyed again. “You’re the one who is kissing some other guy and it’s me that’s trying to get with someone?”

 “As always, you always take one part of the picture to paint the story, your highness.” you sighed, pushing a hair out of your face. “But don’t worry, I’m sure Robin will put in a good word for you with Nancy since you’re so keen on chivalry.”

 “That’s not fair. That is not what I want.” he spat. “Look, I know that you two have a thing okay? I’m not going to step in on it but that doesn’t mean I have to be nice about it either. So, quit using the friendly friendship I have with Nance to compare your beneficial one with Eddie.”

 “There isn't a thing. God, Steve.” you frowned. “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, Eddie kissed me. I didn’t ask him to, nor to hold me, or anything. He’s just a friend..and I pulled back.”

 “That’s not the only thing you two have done, quit acting like it’s just some innocent friendship.”

 “If you can’t seem to remember, the only person around here that I’ve willingly done anything with in the past twenty-four hours, is you, so..” you said as a matter of fact. “Also I think it’s unfair that you get mad at Eddie for kissing me but quickly go around to play the brave knight in shining white Adidas to Nance.”

 “They’re Nikes!” he countered weakly. 

 You could only scoff at him in disbelief. “This conversation isn’t going anywhere. I’m sorry I’m not the one you want to be around right now, let’s just leave things at that.” 

 Taking a step to leave him you made an effort to follow after the two kids when Steve reached forward to grip at your arm. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t want you around. But I know you’re not okay right now. And the more you try and push yourself in this, the more I can tell that something else is bothering you.”

 He’s staring down at you with the familiar look of worry he’s been doing these past few days. Something that would have comforted you the other day, but not with how you were feeling right now.

 “You’re right.” you said softly, reaching up to gently pat at his hand. “There is something bothering me.”

 From the tone of your voice, Steve could easily tell where this was going to go, only giving you a pleading look as he tried to diffuse the comeback you were about to give him.

 “Don’t say it’s me-

 “It’s you.”

 Without a sparing glance, you pushed out of his grip and brushed and brushed past a nosy, lingering, Dustin in order to join Max at the front of the search. Her gaze stayed ahead, looking away from you, but from the corner of your eye you could see as she shook her head. A small smirk on her lips.

 “Well that was really nice.”

 “Oh, shut up.” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “Like you have any room to talk about niceties.”

 “I don’t?” She asked amusedly. 

 “Well considering your on and off history with Lucas, I’d think it’s fair to say you’re just as good with dealing with exes as I am.” 

 She frowned for a moment, seeming to think it over before she shrugged. “Guess we’re both kinda messed up.” 

 A part of you wanted to argue. Say how she’s wrong and that aside from what was currently going on, you were fine. But considering the dramatic fight you just shared for the two kids, you figured she wasn’t entirely wrong. “It’s kinda nice.” you said eventually, nudging her side playfully.

 “It’s nice that we’re messed up?” She chuckled, looking a little taken back. 

 “No,” you hummed lightly, “it’s nice we’re messed up together.” 

 She finally glanced over at you, giving you a weird look before laughing. “You’re so weird.” she said, nudging you back. 

 With that small bit of comfort, the two of you silently led the other boys the rest of the way to Ms. Kelley’s office. 

 The familiar lingering scent of her relaxing lavender candle hit your senses quickly once you entered inside. Which you were thankful for considering the small stress you seemed to be adding onto yourself. You were happy to finally have a moment where all you guys had to do was focus on the clues needed to progress your theories and not your current problems.

 “It’s like a mini-Watergate or something.” Dustin said behind you. “Hawkinsgate.”

 “Wait a second, didn’t those guys get caught?” asked Steve.

 You made your way over towards the desk, looking over the papers laid out neatly at the center of the table while Max peeked through the cabinet for the files. 

 “Holy shit.” she said suddenly.

 “You found it?” Steve asked, as the rest of you gathered around her.

 “Yeah, and not just Chrissy’s file. Fred was seeing Ms. Kelley too.” Her hand reached back into the cabinet, pulling out one more manila envelope before she turned over to face you. Her eyes focused on you intently as she held the file up in the air. “And so were you.”

 Even with your eyes looking down at your file, you could feel the intense stare from Steve’s eyes. He hasn’t stopped looking at you ever since Max revealed your file to everyone. You couldn’t help but find it all worthless to bring up. To you, it was just your regular file. There was the first meeting recorded, the goals she wanted you to have for the next couple of years. Nothing out of the ordinary until this year. When she began to take notice of your reaction towards Billy’s death.

 “God,” you scoffed, looking down at her words. “Behavioral avoidance? What a load of crap.” 

 You carefully threw the file onto the desk, plopping down in her chair to look over at what Max had been reading across from you. 

 The folder containing Chrissy’s sessions quickly caught your eye. Making you curious to know what the girl truly had been going through before her untimely death. 

 “Can I see Fred’s file?” she asked suddenly. 

 “Yeah,” Steve said, passing the folder over to her. She quickly laid it out before her, flipping through the papers to collect whatever information caught her attention. From the side you could see as Steve carefully tried to reach out for your file. You made it a point to move away from him on the other side of the desk.

 Leaning over, you reached over for Chrissy’s file, looking over the small details listed on her last session. Headaches, nosebleeds, nightmares, anxiety, insomnia, trauma.. All things that made sense but..oddly familiar. Moving closer, you peered over to look down at Fred’s notes that Max had stopped at. 

 ..They were almost similar to Chrissy’s.

 But that didn’t make sense. It couldn’t. Because if that were the few connecting signs to what made Vecna attack Chrissy and Fred then what did that mean about you? Glancing back at your folder, you pushed through the notes again, trying to figure out if there was anything similar to what was on the other two folders. But there was nothing.

 Only the small note written at the corner of your last session.

 Might benefit if suggested with a group therapy. Perhaps with Max M.  Both suffer from related trauma.

 Related trauma? You thought.

 Glancing up from the papers, you peered over at Max worriedly. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think she looked a lot like how you felt at the moment. But this couldn’t be right. You never voiced to Ms. Kelley any of these things. You weren’t seeing any weird Vecna monster or dealing with trauma. You were-

 “Perfectly fine?” (tick)

 You felt a cold shiver run down your back and glanced up in the room. Almost expecting to see if anyone else had heard that. There’s a heavy weight suddenly over you and you feel as if the air in the room was slowly being sucked out. This couldn’t be happening. You weren’t like the others. You weren’t going through these struggles you weren’t–

 “Going crazy? (tock)

“Max! MAX!” 

 The sounds of Dustin and Steve calling out to Max instantly pulled you out from you haunting thoughts. Before you was a frozen Max, still frozen in place. “Max?” you called out, getting out from your seat to kneel beside her. 

 Steve’s hand rested on your shoulders, concern on his face as he began to breathe heavily. “What’s going on?” he asked, voice uneasy. “What do we do?”

 “She’s just..I don’t know!” you panicked, shaking at her shoulders. “Max, c’mon. Talk to me!” But as you gazed into her vacant eyes, a chilling thought swept right through you. 

 Did you guys just run out of time?

A/N: okay so this chapter is kinda messy. Reader is seriously losing her mind but I promise that trouble is gonna get her head on screwed right soon enough. Maybe after she remembers that Nancy is in love with Jonathan and Steve practically dropped everything to go to her. I blame Vecna tbh. And Billy from the afterlife. 

TAGGING LIST:  @cluz1babe​ , @starofavolonea​ , @darlingimafangirl (won’t let me tag), @primroseluna​,  & @siriuslysmoking​

[abibliophobiaa]

Beyond — s.h. x f!reader

Chapter Three: Marry Me, Today and Every Day

a/n: here’s chapter three of my purely self-indulgent fun, which shouldn’t be taken very seriously, if at all fic. haha. wanted to play around with one of my favorite tropes, so here we are with modern day!rich!fake husband!steve harrington x afab!reader. next chapter we get down to business, and maybe things will start to take a turn for these two. who is to say? also--the book r is reading is an actual fanfic by @blueywrites​ that you most definitely should check out. haha. just a fun little easter egg. 

warnings/tags: hugely unedited (10k words); mentions of alcohol; parent loss, both parties; r has a sister and father; smut in later chapters, so 18+, minors dni; additional tags to be added.

masterlist

- 

Sweat slicks your palms. Brings an awareness to every inch of your body as you pace around your bridal suite. Fear permeates every nerve ending. Sets them alight with a new sort of panic. This daunting, unrelenting, overwhelming knowledge that in less than an hour you’ll be a wife. 

In less than an hour, you’ll be the new Mrs. Steve Harrington. 

A Harrington. 

Married to a man who you barely know, and yet his is the name you splutter out when your father asks what you need, noticing the staggering rise and fall of your chest, palm over your sternum where your heart races beneath. 

The room clears out then. Faces pass in your peripheral vision, all varying degrees of worry lining them. Whispers, you’re certain, from your soon to be mother-in-law and Steve’s grandmother, over if you’re getting cold feet. 

And it’s not that. 

Not really. 

You’ve resigned yourself to the understanding that this is what’s best for right now. Marrying Steve pays for your student debt, which gives you the liberty to find work in the interim while finishing up veterinarian school, and thus aids in assisting your father in taking care of what he needs to. 

With money not being a worry in your mind, all your efforts can be in assisting the man who gave you life and lost his own love too soon. All your efforts can be put into that little girl with fire in her eyes and love in every inch of her bones—even when she’s trying to hide it in her cell phone, on social media, or scrolling through TikTok. It’s a sacrifice you don’t have any lingering regrets over. 

He stands there in his tuxedo and wire frame glasses, hair styled back to perfection in a way that’s still so strikingly him, and yet elevated in a way you’ve not seen him before. Your head photographer, Jonathan, waves the rest of his crew out of the room when he realizes you’ll be needing a moment, the rest of the bodies filling the space finally slipping out of the room one by one until it’s just the two of you remaining. 

“Wow,” he breathes out, swiping his palms against the front of the black tux, eyes roving your form. “You look—wow.”

“I, ah, thank you.” You allow your eyes to trail his form. The head to toe dress attire, the effortlessness in which he holds himself. Handsome, disturbingly so, and he never acts like he’s fully aware of the effect he has. “You clean up well, Mr. Harrington.”

He chuckles and suddenly you’re just a girl, and he’s just a boy, standing in a room together, taking in one another. It’s a slow perusal. Him, handsome as ever, in all black, save for the little floral arrangement on his chest that mirrors the one you’ll be carrying when you walk down the aisle, the glasses he’s wearing for the evening, and the gold watch around his wrist.  

“Are you okay?” 

He steps closer, hand extending slightly before it drops back to his side. Like he thinks better of it, like he doesn’t feel right about being near to you. It’s been that way since your bachelorette party. Since the moment he kissed you and forgot that next morning. The look in his eye when he stated plainly he didn’t remember much at all about the moment where you wondered, if only briefly, that there might be something more to this arrangement than two people entering a business deal. 

From that moment on, he’d made himself very busy, and you spoke little. Figured it was likely better that way. No way to muddle the lines established in your fake marriage. Better now than when you’re deeper into the arrangement, and delusion might have arisen. 

But now, in this moment, you need that nearness. Crave the touch of the only other person who understands what you’re going through. The only other person who appreciates the depth of the nervousness pooling in your belly. Circling around your heart like a vice. Clawing at your lungs to leave you breathless. 

“I’m just nervous,” you admit, trying to keep the frustrated tears at bay by inhaling deeply. He moves closer, thumb brushing along your right hand to where you’ve moved your engagement ring until after the ceremony when it’s joined by your wedding ring. “We’re doing something absolutely insane.”

“Completely,” he agrees, and those fingers drag along the inside of your palm. Your fingers reflexively tighten around his, comforting warmth seeping into flesh. “But you can say the word and I’ll call it off now.”

“You’ll let me be a runaway bride?” 

It’s a watery laugh that prompts Steve to grip your other palm in hand as well, giving both a gentle squeeze. Your eyes wander downward to the two tethers anchoring you to earth in this moment, then to the kind face of the man who is to be your husband in minutes. 

“Just say the word and I’ll come up with an excuse why it couldn’t happen.”

“No. No. I’m marrying you today, Steve.”

He blows out an exhale. A stray hair falls down into his eyes at the motion, and your fingers hesitantly reach up to push at it. His stare pierces you, hazel eyes warm as you card your fingers through dark locks, feeling them shift and move beneath your fingertips, impossibly soft and lush. 

Gently, ever so gently the hand curling in your right one loosens and circles your wrist like a bracelet. Rests briefly over your frantic pulse point, before trailing along the back of your arm. Faint brushes of skin back and forth, back and forth, loosening that breath presently hitched tight in your chest. 

“How about this,” he begins, eyes darting to where gooseflesh starts to prickle along your skin. You chalk it up to the AC unit in the bridal suite, meant to block out the heat of the city in summer. “When you walk down the aisle, you only look at me. Don’t look at anyone else, okay? It’s just you and me out there, no one else matters. Eyes on me.”

“Okay.” 

A long exhale leaves your mouth. Lungs deflate with the deepest breath in what feels like hours now. Steve’s fingers extricate themselves from yours in those moments of quiet, footfalls of his leather shoes clacking along the floor as he makes his way over to the door. His hand curls around metal when your voice breaks into the resounding silence, quiet and minuscule for you, and you loathe to admit there are nerves that still cling to every fiber of your being over what you’re about to do in front of hundreds of literal strangers. 

“Steve.” 

It’s simple. But he turns quickly, barely opens his mouth to speak when you rush forward and wind your arms around his waist. And there’s no protest. No argument as broad arms twine around your waist. As they rest low against your back, radiating warmth and comfort. 

He remains like that, quiet and steadfast, until you’re both ready. Until you lace your fingers with him and he leads you to where your father stands ready to walk you down the aisle. He hands you off to the older man, rests a comforting palm on his father-in-law’s shoulder and dips his head once. Tips his head in your direction and offers you a kind smile. 

“Eyes on me,” he reminds you. 

“Eyes on you.”

So it begins. 

-

There’s a ring on Steve’s finger. You notice it as you sit beside him at your sweetheart table, as strangers and friends alike offer you congratulations and greetings in support of your nuptials. 

Because you’re married now. Freshly Mrs. Harrington. 

In a whirlwind of emotion, you’d walked down the aisle onto that beautifully lit private rooftop. Admired only briefly the weeks of wedding planning spent with your new mother-in-law and followed Steve’s directions. 

Eyes on him to block out your surroundings, eyes on him to ignore the shutter of Jonathan’s camera, of the other photographers milling about. Eyes on him as you heard the audible sniffles of Steve’s family and your own. Eyes on him as the officiant had you recite words that would bind you to Steve as you slid rings on each other's fingers. Empty words that felt like ash on your tongue. Nearly choked you as you spoke them out loud in front of hundreds of people. Declarations of a devoted love shared between kindred spirits wanting to spend the rest of their lives together. 

And you’d kept your eyes on him as you were declared husband and wife, as your new name was announced to that rooftop gathering, as they’d announced Steve could now ‘kiss the bride.’ 

He’d been warm and welcome. Lips brushed against yours with a gentleness that had your head spinning, stomach swooping low in your belly. When he leaned back to take you in, his palm, the one where his new wedding band sat, cupped your face. To others, a sign of affection. To you, a reminder that it was only you two up there. Even as he leaned down and pressed his forehead to yours, as the room erupted into applause, and he whispered to you. 

“Keep looking at me until we get back inside, okay?”

A simple sentence. A comforting command meant to quiet your fears with the sound of his voice and the touch of his hand against yours.  

Now you sit in a romantically lit room, all atmospheric blues dancing along the walls draped in white with your new first initial of your last name highlighted on the dance floor. Beside you, Steve chats enthusiastically with a man and woman, who offer you remarks on your appearance. It’s all you’ve heard all evening. Comments on your new marriage, how beautiful you look, how happy everyone is for you two. 

You find it eases that tension, helps you settle in against your chair, still holding your husband’s hand as you sip daintily at a glass of champagne. That and Steve’s constantly checking in on you, making sure you’re okay, offering to grab you another drink despite the fact wait staff quite literally answers your every beck and call. There’s a gratitude toward him that rests behind your ribs, an appreciation regardless of the confusing few days you’ve had as of late with him. 

Your husband who is not. A man you share a name with and only that. Who you signed paperwork with and will be heading off on a honeymoon with come morning. A man whom you’ll be sleeping in a separate bed from tonight, when most would assume you will be consummating your marriage. There’s none of that, only a pre-planned understanding. 

Agreements, plans, business deals.  

Before your mind can venture any further, the Emcee announces your first dance as husband and wife. You’ve almost forgotten about this part in all your planning. Never really thought beyond the kiss at the altar. Even so, Steve’s cupping your hand and leading you into the center of the dance floor where a giant ‘H’ is emblazoned below, drawing you near to him in an embrace as the song begins and you’re swaying back and forth in the arms of your husband. 

“I’m scared to death that she might be it, that the love is real, that the shoe might fit.”

“People are staring,” you point out, curling your hands around the back of his neck, resting your head on his shoulder. 

“Today is our day,” he laughs against the top of your head. Warm breath puffs along your skin, shiver tingling your spine. “I think you've forgotten. Everyone is here to celebrate us.”

“She might just be my everything and beyond. Beyond.”

“You’re my husband.”

He chuckles again, chest rumbling near your ear as you sway, his broad hands against your hips, tugging you closer. 

“Guess that makes you my wife, huh?”

“Space and time in the afterlife. Will she have my kids? Will she be my wife?”

Your nose wrinkles at the newness of your title. Wife. Wife. You’re someone’s wife now. And he’s your husband. Husband. You mouth the word once more silently to yourself, finding it unusual, tongue stumbling over it, and snort into his suit. 

That hand around your right hip tightens. “Something funny?” he asks, but there’s a levity in his tone that has your mouth jolting upward at the corners. 

“Just…this day.”

“I know,” he agrees, voice growing softer as he adds, “people are also staring because you are beautiful, you know? 

“Steve.”

“It’s true.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, pressing closer to him. 

“I know this day has been…stressful for you, but you’re not alone. There’s two of us now.”

“She might just be my everything and beyond.”

Your head tips back at his words, feeble mind stumbling momentarily over his compliment, heart thumping as you say, “Like a team.”

He grins. “Exactly like that. We’re the Harringtons now.” 

“The Harringtons.” 

The name falls easily from your lips, but your quiet conversation is disrupted by the clanging of glasses about the room. Silverware all around the room taps against the delicate surfaces, a continuous tinkering around you both that has Steve’s mouth parting slightly. The pink of his tongue swipes briefly across his bottom lip before he closes it once more, lines of his throat bobbing on a swallow. 

“They want us to kiss,” you tell him, sliding one palm down from where it rests around his neck until it curves around the edge of his jaw. You tip his head your way slightly, eyes scouring face. “And will probably be wanting us to do so all night. So…guess we might as well put on our best show, huh?”

It continues for the duration of the evening. Kiss after kiss bestowed by your husband. Constant expected affection. His fingers laced between your own, your hand on his thigh, his head on your shoulder, lips at your temple, lips on yours. Over and over again for hours. This time in a way that the slight buzz you have from your champagne could never erase—from either of your minds. 

The evening itself becomes fun. Music changes and you’re brought onto the dance floor with your new husband and the friends from your hometown, as well as the ones he’s made along the way. Strangers who become dance partners. Bodies twirling and swirling along the floor, hands tangling with hands, laughter pulling from your lips. Like this, with Robin and Eddie’s forms near to your own, you feel lighter. Like this, when the song changes and you sing the words out loud in a silly rush with Steve in the center as those around you egg you on, you allow yourself to let go. To be free. To enjoy the evening that is about you and Steve. 

Before long your feet are aching. Heels are discarded beneath you at your table, hand in Steve’s once more, as your closest friends give speeches. For Steve, it’s a rushed flurry of words from Robin. She speaks mostly to the closeness they’ve developed in the short time they’ve been friends, but a bond that has easily etched deep between the two of them. Speaks of your time as her roommate, about how she’d only been kidding when she said maybe you should get out there and start dating and quickly fall in love with her friend. Laughs easily when she says maybe she should have introduced them sooner. 

It almost feels real, the words she speaks—the words Eddie speaks as he grabs the microphone and draws it close to his lips. He ties his hair back quickly, sweat from dancing clinging to the bangs dancing along his brow, and he clears his throat. Unrolls a piece of paper that’s on the tiniest scroll you’ve ever seen, but rolls all the way down to the floor when he unfurls it. The room bursts into enthusiastic laughter, your chest aching in adoration at the first words he speaks. 

“You see…before I knew Steve, I knew his new wife. We grew up together in some shit hole town—I can curse, right? Sorry for all the kids here. Anyway, we grew up together…as I was saying. So when she asked me if I’d still love her if she did something stupid, I was thinking she meant a prank. Steve, just a heads up, your wife is a menace. A total damn menace. But I'm sure you knew that already.” He pauses for a moment as Steve chuckles, nodding his head in agreement, then continues, “And then she goes and falls in love with this guy. Big boy Harrington.”

Another round of laughter echoes in the room, and Steve grips your hand tighter in his where it rests against his lap. 

“Pretty stupid, huh?” He chuckles to himself, folding the microphone against his waist for a moment as he bows, thanking the crowd for their involvement. “But it’s not that stupid when I really think about it. Because these two are some of the best people I know. Really and truly, and it makes sense that we’re all here right now. Right here in this room. Two people like this are meant to find each other. Drawn together by some…cosmic force. I mean, look at them! Have you ever seen two people so in love?”

The room leans in. Swells with emotion as Eddie sniffles audibly. This part, you know, is part of his speech. He’d read it to the two of you the night before, just as Robin had. Those around you don’t know, but you do. And still, your guests are nodding in agreement. Some are dabbing napkins into the corners of their eyes, swallowing down knots of emotion welling in their throats. Your own father glances your way with a fondness that cleaves you down the center, ears ringing as Eddie continues the rest of his speech, filling the cavity with guilt. 

Clapping hands draw you from your silent reverie, followed only by the sound of metal meeting glass once more. The sound of your heart pounding in your ears as Steve slides a hand along the side of your face and leans down for the umpteenth time that evening, stilling your mind with the glide of his mouth against your own. 

Soon enough, the bouquet has been tossed, the garter awkwardly collected from your thigh, and cake has been shared between the two of you, sugary remnants that linger in Steve’s hair (a mental note made to never mess with his hair ever again upon fear of death in your marriage) still visible as guest stand on either side of an aisle outside where a car is waiting for the two of you, lit sparklers dancing to life in their hands. 

Your eyes meet his. “Ready to go?”

He grips your hand. “We’re in the home stretch now.”

-

Seventeen hours. 

Seventeen hours is what it takes for you to arrive in the Maldives. Plus the time spent traversing you two across the main private island to your smaller bungalow only accessible by boat. You’ve barely had time to take in the beautiful sights, tiredness clinging to every limb, by the time the two of you are deposited on a dock leading to the place you’ll be staying for the next five days. 

Steve clambers down onto the wood beside you, his own form looking a little worse for wear. He’s not spoken in quite some time. Neither of you have, really. Not since you returned to your penthouse after the wedding and slipped out of your wedding clothes. Nor when you parted down opposite ends of the hall. Even at the airport your conversation had been simple, pleasant, easy chatter about the weather and what you might do when you get to the island. 

“Look how beautiful!” You enthuse, taking in the beautiful thatched roof of your private honeymoon suite on the water. 

Pretty purple light douses the building, casts that same hue across the surface of the lagoon that laps against the edges of the boardwalk. From where you're standing, you can see another pathway leading to an outdoor gazebo and dining area draped in flowing cream curtains that billow in the gentle caress of the breeze around you. 

You turn to look at your husband. “Wanna go explore?” 

He yawns, head dipping as your guide lingers behind on the boat, wishing you two a lovely first evening on your honeymoon. Inside you’re met with a beautiful living room with sliding glass doors that lead to a deck, fully stocked with a jacuzzi, pool, and a sunken outdoor bath. Tired bones scream at the prospect of using them, though you proceed further into the suite. There’s a beautiful kitchen with the option of a private chef, a gym, an indoor spa you know you’ll be utilizing, the master bathroom with a tub that looks like it could fit ten people, and finally…the master bedroom. 

The suddenness of your realization dawns, because your eyes immediately hone in on the one bed. A king bed, but only one all the same. You’re tired, you’re so tired that all you want is to peel back the covers and clamber in, but this throws a wrench into those plans. That clarity must also hit Steve, because he’s dropping his things to the ground and walking around the side of the bed to grip a pillow in hand, and begins making his way toward the entrance of the bedroom when you splutter audibly. 

“Where are you going?”

He cards his fingers through his hair, exasperation lining those withdrawn features. “There’s a couch I saw in the living room.”

You shake your head, reaching out to cup his bicep. It instantly tenses under your fingertips. You don’t dwell on it, and instead argue, “You’re going to kill your back. We’re here for five days. We’re adults…we can share a bed.”

It’ll be like a sleepover. An adult sleepover where no sex is involved. Definitely not on your honeymoon—and definitely not with the man you married nearly twenty-four hours ago who you know very little about. You don’t know his birthday, his likes, dislikes…you don’t even know his favorite color, his favorite show, or if he’s a dog or cat person. Sleeping in the same bed as him will be a cake walk. Nothing to even worry about. A mere blip on the radar.

“I just…I don’t want…” He exhales deeply, and you finally notice the dark circles under his eyes. “You’ve already done enough by uprooting your life and marrying me—”

“It’s a bed, Steve.”

That seems to quiet the tension in his shoulders. They drop into a slouch, his form trailing back over to the side of the bed facing the wall when you clear your throat, awkward laugh breaking into the otherwise silent room. 

“I like to sleep facing the wall,” you say gently, noticing the slight downturn of his lips. “But I’m assuming you do as well, so for the sake of both of our sanities I can sleep facing the door.”

He shakes his head vehemently. “No. No, I’ll take the door side. I can handle a few nights.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Happy wife, happy life, right?”

Your lip twitches upward. “You don’t snore, do you?” You ask teasingly. 

“I…don't think so. But I’m sure you’ll tell me if I do,” he says, moving himself around the bed once more. He settles down against the mattress, testing the surface beneath his palm. “Bed is soft.”

“I would hope it would be for a private honeymoon villa. Your mother really went all out, huh?” 

Your head tilts upward, taking in the vaulted ceilings. Where you’re standing you can even hear the sound of water lapping on the deck outside your windows.  

“Pretty sure she’s secretly hoping I extend the Harrington line this week.”

Your nose wrinkles at that. “We’re absolutely making a pillow wall after that comment.”

“I’m joking,” he grumbles, body falling backward onto the bed. 

One thing you’ve learned about Steve Harrington? He’s dramatic—impossibly so. Sort of like Robin, though he’s more frustrated outbursts versus her nervous or frantic ones. 

“Pillow. Wall.” 

“Fine.”

You walk over to the bed where your husband lays with his eyes closed and forearm strewn over his face. Bare knees brushing his, you reach out and tug on his free hand splayed near his hip, trying to drag him upward to no avail. 

“Stop being a big baby.”

“We just flew for seventeen hours,” he argues, sitting upright. 

“Steve. Lift your hulking ass off the bed. The sooner you get up, the sooner we go to bed.”

Your new husband grumbles to himself as he stands to his feet, helping you pull down the comforter on the top of the bed. Satisfied, you pluck a few of the extra pillows and make a line down the center of the mattress, pointing out your side and his, before slipping into the bathroom to get ready for bed. 

You follow your normal routine. Wash your face, brush your teeth, slip on a moisturizer. You change out of your clothes next, opting for a matching set of shorts and a tank top, before tossing your street clothes into a laundry bin and sliding into your “Bride” slippers given as a gift by one of your friends at your bachelorette. 

There’s a brief moment your eyes trail to the shower, where there’s glass paneling and a bench in the corner and then further to your right toward the gigantic bath tub you could practically swim in…and huff. Such a strange thing to be in this beautiful honeymoon hideaway with a man down the hall who regards you as a friend.

The same friend you now share a last name with. 

Pushing the thoughts aside, you meander back down the hall to your bedroom for the next five days and come to find Steve laying on his stomach with his broad back on display, sheets hung low around his waist. You can map the various freckles and marks along his skin from where he rests, head resting on his forearm. 

Smiling to yourself, you settle down into the bed and roll over to shut the lamp nearest your side of the bed. The room descends into darkness, and you whisper, “Goodnight,” before following him into sleep. 

-

Pristine blue water surrounds you as far as the eye can see. The world is quiet from your home away from home for the week, save for the rustle of your book pages turning as you progress through the story and the sound of Steve’s fingers clacking across a keyboard. You exhale with a long huff, pushing your sunglasses higher up on the bridge of your nose. 

Steve’s been working for hours now. 

Since you both woke up, really. 

Initially you had been a little miffed as you cooked up something for the two of you in your large kitchen, opting out of calling for a private chef to do so, and he pulled out his phone and laptop. You figured that was fine, up until the headphones went in while you sat down across from him and ended up sharing your breakfast in complete and utter silence. 

On its own, that wasn’t so much an issue. What bothered you was your request to go outside and enjoy the sun together, and he’d agreed. In your mind, his intentions were genuinely to spend time with you. He’d slipped into a bathing suit and everything, only to join you on the sun deck with his leather work bag, laptop pulled out before you could even get in a word of protest. 

“You know, most people enjoy their honeymoon,” you tease, turning the page in your book. 

You find yourself needing to take a break anyway. The two couples in your book are on vacation themselves, and the main character kissed the dark haired hero on the makeshift dance floor after one of the hottest dancing scenes you’ve ever read occurred. And seeing as your own honeymoon is not heating up, you’re frustrated. 

Increasingly so when he says, “This isn’t a typical honeymoon.”

“Weren’t you trying to wrap up the business before we came here?” 

You recall a conversation you had wherein he said as much about wanting to make sure he’d be able to partake in the Maldives, but it seems those words were rang untrue. 

“Yes, but…things happen.”

Your book thumps onto the lounger beside you. “You do realize everyone thinks we’re on a real honeymoon, right?”

He dips his head, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he glances over the top of his laptop to glance your way. 

“Your coworkers are going to be confused why you’re logged in for work while you’re here. I mean—look how romantic this place is!”

“I’m not following…”

Huffing, you curl your legs beneath you, shifting your body toward him. “You’re supposed to be…you know, giving me attention every hour of the day while we’re here. Ravishing me. Going at it like—non-stop. It’s supposed to be overly romantic. Flowers on the bed, sexy showers, no sleep, naked trysts in the kitchen—”

“Fine.” He shuts the laptop. Tucks it away in his leather bag. “I’m logging off. Happy?”

You grin enthusiastically. “Very, husband.”

Steve disappears inside for a moment, then appears once more with his phone in hand. You’re about to argue with him when he shows you he’s playing a game of solitaire—which you snort at, shoving him when his eyes roll—and slip your sunglasses back on over your eyes. Opening your book, Steve pushes at the back cover, leaning in close to try and read the short description on the back of what lingers inside the dog-eared pages. 

“What are you reading, wife?” You catch the slight uptick of his lip; the smirk he tries to hide.  

Conversation. Small talk. You can work with that. “To Know You’re Mine.”

He tucks his phone near his thigh. “What’s it about?” 

“Swingers.”

“That’s very vague,” he points out. “Can you give me a little more than just ‘swingers?’”

Your brow arches. “Do you really care?”

“No, I’m asking because I’m bored.” 

Shifting your chairs closer to one another, you flip the book over so he can see the front cover and start pointing out the little cartoon characters on the nondescript covers on shelves everywhere nowadays. 

“So there’s these two who are dating, right? Have been for a long time. But it’s her first boyfriend and they live together. Then one day, he takes her to his friend’s show. And that’s where you then meet these two characters. Just so happens, they start swinging and…well, it gets really crazy. Do you want me to tell you the rest? I’m about…halfway.”

He nods his head and you explain the entirety of the plot so far. And maybe your honeymoon isn’t perfect, maybe jet lag kicks in and Steve starts to nod off right around the time you start explaining the chapter you’re up to, and maybe you have to nudge him to come inside so he doesn’t get sunburned. 

Maybe you watch him as he lays down on the living room couch and you drape a blanket over his slumbering form. Maybe you settle down on another couch and roll over onto your side to look at him, your book long discarded on the coffee table. Maybe you allow yourself to roam his features, so much younger than his twenty-seven years when he’s resting like this—when he doesn’t have a whole company on his shoulders. 

Maybe you close your eyes too and join him. 

-

Suffering from jet lag, your first day is spent mostly lounging around. Sleeping off the long trip you’ve taken to get to where you are. Steve sits on his couch near you, and you sit bundled in blankets on the couch opposite. You watch reality TV, a show where couples pair up in a villa and try to make romantic connections, and scroll through social media. Allow yourself to click through different stories from your friends accounts, glance at the few articles printed, and scour the comments beneath regarding your recent wedding. 

TikTok is blowing up with videos of you and Steve photographed with Eddie. You are in your wedding gown and Steve is beside you, hand in yours. He looks happy. Genuinely happy in a way that has you smiling over to where he sits, hazel eyes drifting your way curiously. You don’t even know how they got access to them in the first place, and likely don’t even want to know. 

Overall, it seems like most are impressed and craving more photos. Wanting the inside scoop on the famous Corroded Coffin member’s best friends. No one seems to question the validity of the marriage, though there are questions as to why so quickly, but are snuffed out by those who make note that it isn’t like the two of you haven’t been in the same social circles for some time now. That it was a matter of time before the two of you realized love was always there, right in front of the both of you, and all you needed to do was reach out and grasp it.

By the next morning, you’re both awake and ready to take on the day, ordering a boat to the main island for your spa day. The prospect of a massage after the weeks spent planning your wedding sounds lovely, and you tell Steve as much, leaning into his frame as your guide asks how the first day of your honeymoon was. 

“Amazing,” you gush, though you spent another night with a mountain of pillows between you and the man beside you. The only reason you’re close now is because they’re watching your interactions, gauging the newlyweds. “It’s so beautiful here.”

And that’s that, until you arrive at the spa booked for a private afternoon with your new husband, compliments of your new mother-in-law and the travel agent she’d worked alongside to make sure your accommodations were all you could ever dream of. 

The only detail left out on your itinerary was the fact it was a nude spa. Fully. Part of some “bonding exercise” as the attendant explained before the two of you entered the hot spring, freshly massaged and draped in the coziest of robes to ever grace your skin. 

You’re left alone with Steve in a darkened room warmed by the steam rising from the water’s surface, eyes dragging along his presently clothed form.

“I’ve seen your chest? You sleep shirtless, which…I mean, is fine. And uh…you’ve seen me in a bikini. It’s kind of like that, no?”

“Except now we’ll be naked.”

“Well, there’s that.”

“Yeah, that.”

“I mean, it’s not that serious. No cause for alarm bells,” you say, trying to ease the tension rolling off of Steve’s shoulders in waves. “I mean, you could always turn around and I can get in first. Just…eyes above the water level only.” 

Steve rubs a hand along the back of his neck, nodding slowly. “Yeah. Sure. Okay, you go first.”

He doesn’t move for a moment, and you rush over the small deck to turn him around so he’s facing the wall. With his back turned, you untie the robe and drape it across a rack, then move over to the water’s edge to dip your toes into the water with a sigh. Warm water laps at your skin, coaxes you further into the hot spring until you’re settled down on a bench, water up to your shoulders, hopefully obscuring the rest of you from view. 

“Okay, I’m in,” you announce. “You can get in. I’ll close my eyes.”

You pinch them shut in emphasis, clapping your hands over your face just in case. The sound of his bare feed padding across the deck reaches your ears, followed by the splash of what you assume to be a foot stepping into the water. It’s followed by a low exhale. 

You pop your eyes open momentarily and Steve’s voice has you clapping them shut frantically. A shout of, “I’m not in all the way!”

“What are you waiting for?! Jesus to come back?!” 

“Oh, I don’t know, to adjust to the warm water. It’s cold out here.”

You scoff. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t see your dick.”

“Can you not?” 

“What? I didn’t!”

“I’m glad you didn’t!” 

You scoff. “I mean, ow. That’s kind of rude. I’m your wife.”

“Did you bump your head and forget the part where we’re on a fake honeymoon, following our fake wedding?” He whisper-yells, still not moving down the stairs leading into the sauna.

“I didn’t say I want to see it! Don’t get too big of a head now,” you amend, eyes narrowing. “Steve, just get in, please.” 

Your sigh of exasperation has him moving swiftly. Water ripples around your shoulders, gentle caresses against skin as he settles down beside you and announces you can open your eyes. 

“There’s this dinner spot I think we should try out tonight. It’s on the main island, but it’s supposed to be really good,” he says after a while, drawing your attention to him. “I figure it could be nice to spend an afternoon out. Together.”

“Is my husband asking me on a date?” You tease, watching as his head submerges itself under the water, leaving you in solitude. “I’m kidding. Kidding, Steve. This seems on brand; my husband trying to escape me on our honeymoon.”

He emerges with a laugh, hair slick against his head, broad chest heaving up and down as he catches his breath. It’s then your eyes wander southward. Hitch on the hair lining his chest, the way it trails below the surface of the water, hinting at a downward path your heart clenches at the mere prospect of following.

Steve’s…well, your husband is handsome. You’ve known since you met him that first time nearly a year ago. But now, sitting there, with the ring you got him your ring on his finger as he cards his fingers through his hair. It…shouldn’t do anything, but it does. Bubbles to life feelings you would rather push away, sweep under a rug, ignore. 

Deflect, deflect, deflect. 

It’s easier this way. 

Because he’s not your real husband in the ways that matter. 

Capturing your current distraction as you continue to mindlessly stare, Steve taps your shoulder, drawing your gaze back to his face, your mouth twisting into a frown. 

“Sorry, sorry. I wasn’t looking I—”

Scrambling to escape the moment, you start to rise a bit from the water, only for Steve’s gaze to stray. “Eyes up here, Harrington,” you tease, shoving at him and forcing him deeper into the water, hazel eyes bright and wide, holding you in place there in that sauna. 

He laughs, spluttering as his head dips beneath the surface. 

A deep, hearty, lyrical sound. 

That laughter continues until dinner, where Steve brings you to a lovely outdoor restaurant on the beach. All around tables lit by candlelight outline the sandy floor. Little twinkling lights illuminate the space, hidden in the trees, curling around their slender trunks. It’s gorgeous, and you say so as your waitress congratulates you on your marriage while she seats the two of you, offering a bottle of champagne gifted by your mother-in-law. 

Until it stops because of a simple sentence that makes Steve stiffen on the spot: “Are those the new Harringtons?”

-

It’s supposed to be easy. A business deal with a contract like the ones he’d grown up reading. An exercise his father had him do often: would hand him a detailed contract, pages thick, and see if Steve could find the faults within. It’s why he knows the one he drafted up for his own marriage was—or rather, should have been—perfect. But marriage contracts don’t account for persistent wives. For the types of women who seep into the crevices of your life and make themselves known. 

And that, he finds quickly, is you. You’re vibrant and joyful and downright fun to be around, and try as he might to deny it, finds himself enjoying your company. But he’d told himself, from the moment on that rooftop when he’d asked you to marry him, that these things could only grow complicated if he allowed them to. If he allowed himself to open up, to feel, to wonder. 

Such as this moment, presently staring him in the face. You are in that pretty, off the shoulder cream dress he’d seen you unpack back in the bedroom that clings to your every curve, as Carol and her husband, Tommy H, settle down at the table beside the two of you. And, naturally, you slip into easy conversation with them. Chipper chatter as you catch up on the happenings of your honeymoon so far. 

“Isn’t it just so beautiful here? It’s actually our first time here too, but it has been so lovely. Have you two been able to get out and see anything? I’m sure you’re still in that first few days of your trip bliss,” Carol asks, waggling her brows teasingly. 

“I…uh, what?” You pause for a moment, reaching across the table to grab Steve’s hand in yours. As if you’ve just remembered you’re married and are meant to play the part of a newlywed. “Oh, yeah…so we have a private bungalow on the water. So you can imagine…” 

“That sounds so romantic. Ugh, honey—” She reaches over to clasp her hand around her own husband’s forearm fondly, as if she’s reliving memories of their own newly wedded bliss. “If you haven’t seen any beaches yet, you definitely need to. The water was so perfect. We also tried out this really lovely breakfast place. Great for a morning meal and it’s connected to the sweetest trail. Such pretty scenery here, isn’t there, Tommy?”

Tommy nods, turning to Steve when the girls slip into easy conversation, grinning widely. “She seems great, buddy. So happy for you.”

“She really is,” Steve admits, catching the profile of your pretty face. The upturn of your lips that has his heart careening into the pit of his stomach. 

He hates when it does that, and it seems to do so all the time now. 

He knows it’s not coincidental. 

And that’s the problem, now isn’t it? 

The charm you possess. The way Carol and Tommy talk to you like they’ve known you for years as opposed to the few minutes it takes to learn their background history. To find out that they know Steve from the private school they went to in the city. You quickly learn Steve and Tommy played baseball together, before Steve went to business school and Jason pursued the major leagues. They’ve not seen each other in years, so there are no hard feelings about not being invited to the wedding, but they’re happy for the two of you. 

Steve told himself marrying you would be easy because he knew little of you. You’re his best friend Eddie’s best friend. You were previously Robin’s roommate. But up until your vows at the altar you were a name his friends would bring up in conversation, and now you’re central to a majority of his conversations, share a last name with him, have now shared a bed with him. 

Luckily, there are only a few more days left of your honeymoon. A few until he’s back in the city, back to work, and back to normalcy. You’ll be heading back to school, he’ll have a semblance of reality he feels he’s been lacking, so wrapped up in wedding planning and get togethers, and he’ll have no questions as to why he’s finding it so hard to keep your marriage strictly as what it was always intended to be: a business deal. 

For now he’ll have to deal with you grabbing his hand flirtatiously when an Emcee announces a competition for that evening that manages to put a new glint in yours and Carol’s eyes. An expectant glee for him to participate with you, keen on competition, despite his grunts of protest. 

For now he’ll have to deal with the way your eyes meet him as a coconut is pressed between the two of you and the game of the evening is announced. Coconut smoochie, wherein two couples compete to bring the coconut between their bodies up to their mouths for a kiss, without using their hands. 

For now, he’ll have to deal with the smirk that lines your lips as he starts shifting this way and that, coconut rolling between the two of you, sliding against his abdomen, his chest, your chest, your breasts. 

For now, he’ll have to ignore the way you grin to yourself when Carol and Tommy drop their coconut behind the two of you, how satisfied you are when Steve manages to get the coconut under his chin and pinches it there. 

“Harrington, you’re not so bad at this,” you tease, chest against his, hips against his. 

One wrong move and—

“Can’t believe you got me to do this.”

“You’re on your honeymoon. Live a little. Life doesn’t have to be numbers and contracts all the time.”

And you’re right. He knows this. But he hates the way his stomach twists violently, how his heart clenches as your lips press against the coconut and the other side is pressed to his mouth. Hates how when you’re announced the winners and the coconut drops to the floor between you, his palms sweat as your arms come to curl around his waist. 

Because you’re his wife, yes. 

Technically. 

On paper, at least. 

But that’s all it can be. 

This affair, this agreement—it has an expiration date. 

Three years. 

Three years and then you’ll be gone. 

Lost to him, like so many others. 

For the sake of your agreement, it has to remain that way. 

-

Light seeps in through your bedroom window. A heaviness around your waist, like a weighted blanket, keeps you still. Comforted. Warm. A sigh spills from your lips, pleasant and happy. Contented. Burrowing deeper into that warm, you hum, relishing in the feeling of it. Of being cocooned, safe, held close. 

Held close. 

Held close. 

Held— 

Head shifting, you come to notice Steve flush against your back. His hips against your backside, thighs tangling with yours, and that weight around you? Yeah, it’s connected to a wrist, a bicep—because it’s an arm. Steve’s broad arm cages you in against his bare chest. His warm, freshly tanned, bare chest. Those fingers around your hip curl tighter. The arm around you tugs you closer, though you’re not sure how much closer two people can be without climbing into the other person, and you realize the very…interesting situation you two have found yourselves in. 

His body against yours. Your body flush against him. His breath in your hair, along your ear, his mouth near the hinge of your jaw. If he moves even the slightest bit, they’ll make contact with your skin. And you’ve kissed Steve enough times now to know said kisses are dangerous. They’ll only lead to dreaming, to questioning, to wondering. 

You don’t have time for any of those things. 

Your honeymoon is coming to a close soon enough. Only a few days left now, and then you’ll be back to your own lives. To normalcy. Or as normal as two people freshly married can be.

“Steve?” Your voice is quiet in an attempt to not startle the man holding you. 

His mouth shifts near your ear. A low yawn spills against your jaw, heat fanning across your skin. “Yeah?”

“You’re squeezing me,” you point out, wiggling your body for emphasis. “Our pillow wall fell down in our sleep.”

But it’s in the wiggling against his solid form that you realize there are actually three people in the room. Your husband, yourself, and the warm, thick, long, and presently hard erection pressed against your bottom. 

It’s also when you hear the slow exhale of your husband’s breath along the hollow of your ear. A telltale sound, even in the short time you’ve been married, that signals he’s hardly awake. Still in that wispy world between waking and sleep. Deciding to not rouse him further, you settle back down into his embrace. 

Or rather, try to. When you do so, your body freezes on the spot. Cold water seemingly drops from a bucket onto your shared bed. Because Steve whimpers against your shoulder. 

Whimpers. 

A breathy, needy sound that has your stomach fluttering. And further still, as your heart rate picks up, realization dawns. Your knee involuntarily searches for its twin beneath the covers, thighs clenching around Steve’s thigh. This time, he moans. A deep rumble in his chest that vibrates along your spine, has your fingers clutching at his arm slung low around your hips. 

“Steve,” you try again, pleading with whoever listens from above as Steve’s hips roll forward, cock pressing against your backside again, making your pussy flutter around nothing. Betrays you and your damn emotions. Your pillow swallows your moan, desire racketting in your veins. “Fu—Steve.” 

Awareness grows. Waking follows. Steve starts to shift behind you, arm loosening from around your waist, chest slipping from your back. His form moves toward the headboard and you try to not miss the loss of his warmth so deeply, try to not linger on the instantaneous loneliness that creeps when the king sized bed grows even larger before you, the gaping maw between you created by lies and acts, touted before your closest family and friends never so insurmountable. 

As you rise from your own pillow and look at him, he tugs the blankets higher up on his hips, hands moving to the bedside table to grab his glasses and phone. Your mouth opens to speak, to reassure him it’s fine, that it happens, that it’s just a silly pillow wall, but he mutters shower and slips out of the room and down the hall. 

Huffing, you roll onto your back, listening to the sound of your racing heartbeat coming back to a normal rhythm. It’s joined a moment later by the water running, the gentle rainfall of the shower head in the master bathroom sparking to life, likely steaming that room. 

You don’t want to think about it. 

Try hard to not think about the figure of your husband slipping into the stream. Try not to imagine the sight of his bare chest on display, rivulets of water dripping down his sculpted abdominals, fingers running through the hair growing longer since you’ve met him on his head, along the stubble that’s lining his jaw and upper lip now. Try to not imagine him still pressed against you, rolling his hips against yours, drawing a quiet moan from you. Definitely don’t imagine what he’s likely doing in the shower to alleviate his…situation. Your fingers edge along the hem of your sleep shorts as you try to block out the image of his corded arms straining in the shower as those long fingers curl tight around his c—

No! 

Absolutely not! Not going there. 

NOPE. 

-

The day before your flight home arrives sooner than you expect it to. Five days of…well, maybe not marital bliss, but something, passing before your eyes. After the night you woke to Steve’s arms around your waist, the pillow wall became a pillow mountain. 

And, though you loathe to admit it, you hate the mornings that follow. They remind you of what you can expect once you’re back in the city with him. Nights where you slip to one end of the hall and him the other, where you pass each other on the way to grab coffee in the morning, where you wave goodbye before one of you leaves and silence follows. 

Steve wakes early the morning of your last day, mutters that he’s going to spend some time in the private gym, leaving you to make breakfast for when he gets out. With both a plate of eggs and coffee brewing for your husband, you open your laptop with the intention of making sure all your classes have been set up. 

What greets you there isn’t…well, it’s not unexpected. It was part of your deal, but you hadn’t anticipated him paying the bill already. 

Thousands of dollars were paid, bringing your total due for the semester down to nothing. 

Zero. 

Zilch. 

Eyes burning, you close the lid of your laptop, sniffling as Steve enters the room and thanks you, taking a bite of his breakfast. 

“You didn’t have to cook again,” he says. “We haven’t called the private chef at all this week.”

You shrug, wiping at your under eyes quickly. “I don’t mind. I like cooking. I’ll have to go shopping when we get home.”

Home. 

That’s right. 

The walls of your penthouse that feel so far from it are, in fact, your home. 

“Don’t drive yourself crazy cooking all the time. I order out or go out most nights anyway.”

“Right,” you say, dipping your head and pouring him a cup of coffee. “I’ll be busy with school soon anyway.”

“Exactly.” He sips his drink. “That should be your main focus.”

“Right.”

Awkward. 

Stilted. 

Uncomfortable. 

Those feelings linger as you step out onto the hammock outside, dangling over the water below. Your book is back on your lap, Steve’s on your right, freshly brought up to speed on where you’re at. The main character broke up with her boyfriend and told the main male lead that they need to stop seeing each other. 

Needing to take a break from it, tears gathering in your eyes, you tip your gaze up to the sky. The sun beats heavily on your head, warms your skin, and makes you sleepy. 

Steve turns his head your way, fingers trailing along your forearm, breaking you out of your silent reverie. “Hey. Are you okay? You’ve been a little quiet this morning.”

“Yeah.” You nod, rolling over onto your side. Reaching up to place your book on a safer spot of the deck, you shift closer to him, lips turning downward. “I saw you paid my semester—”

“I told you I would. It was part of the deal.”

The deal. 

The arrangement. 

“I know, I just…seeing it was kind of overwhelming. In a good way. In an…I’m really grateful kind of way.” A slow exhale spills from your lips, chest falling with the effort of it. “I know we didn’t get married in the most, uh, conventional way, but—there are things that this will allow me to do that I wouldn’t be able to otherwise. It’s a big weight lifted off my shoulder. So. I guess thank you for marrying me.”

The corner of his lip twitches upward as your husband rolls over onto his side, sunglasses blocking half his face from view. “This is also a weight off my shoulders, too. I think you forget that. I needed to get married for the company—”

“A company you don’t want,” you tease, wrinkling your nose. 

“A company I don’t want,” he agrees, chuckling lightly. “But I’d rather it stay out of my cousin’s hands. So thank you for marrying me.”

“Ready to go home, Mr. Harrington?”

He snorts. “Sure, Mrs. Harrington.”

-

-

[ms0milk]

I will be participating in the absolutely amazing @ficsforgaza initiative!

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sparks x fly | bkg x winged!reader

recent graduate and new rookie agency owner, Dynamight, is anxious to get into the field and bloody new gear, but a moving-day collision with some shitty winged civilian turns into his own feathery nightmare when she shows up at an established agency– as their new chart-topping rookie no less. fist fights, shoujo manga, bathroom surgery, hawks as your terrible boss, hyperhidrosis, wings are kind of a hassle, fire escapes, hearing aids, drunken rescues, feather care, a hero ball, and secrets kept under oath of death. (rivals > lovers)

cw varies by chapter, in general: violence/injuries, inevitable smut, kats has mellowed out some but isn't a peach, reader has dapple brown wings but is otherwise not described in detail. i love personality hire x grouch w too much in common

3,100/30,000 words sponsored !

a simple show of treason | sanemi x reader

sanemi's tsuguko no more, your hashira promotion is just over the horizon! one more untimely death and you'll have the job security you've longed for. nightmares, injuries and lost time, a lost life safe at home, unrequited love– soon it'll all be worth it. your mentor doesn't share your optimism however, and you find him near at all hours of the day. no more or less moody than usual but overbearing and always on the precipice of saying something.

cw nsfw, mdni. part three of my sanemi/tsuguko series, ie the smut™. long-waited confessions, starving love. reader w vagina, teasing, banter, penetration, oral (reader receiving), clingy nems.

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we're so bad at our jobs | mechanic!choso x writer!reader

writing is a famously lucrative career field, it's why you're only $30 short for the oil change that cost $35. the quiet mechanic shrugs at your short change and tells you not to worry– not that you hear him. not when he shakes his hair out of its messy bun and wipes at the grease on his cheek with the back of a big fist. you find yourself at the car shop a lot suddenly, never stopping once to think why a mechanic would be so blood-spattered.

cw nsfw, mdni. down bad reader, deer in headlights choso. car sex, reader w vagina, penetration, fingering, oral (giving/receiving), moisture on all conceivable surfaces. i just think choso is weak for strong-willed women.

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Hymn to Black Water: Annexes | prince!bkg x royal gaurd!reader

what happens after Takoba? What do Aldera and the world have in store for our royal captain and her prince? dragon nests, oaths, a promotion of sorts, and the need to always be near.

cw: varies by chapter, in general: violence/injuries, periodic smut, two idiots in love & situations. a continuation of Hymn to Black Water (+80k) which is coming to a close soon (hardly acquainted > begrudging teammates > enemies > bewildered friends > lovers > soulmates)

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[actiniumwrites]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐋𝐂𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐑𝐙𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐘

synopsis: you and kaveh were best friends for years, studying together at the akademiya and working side by side as established architects. after the devastating incident at the palace of alcazarzaray that leads to a harsh falling out, neither of you have seen each other for years. it isn’t until one day, when a multi-millionaire offers the two of you a job that could flip your lives around, that you’re forced to reconcile and maybe even become something more

characters: kaveh x gn! reader

wc: 10k

warnings: angst, fluff, ex best friends to lovers, arguments, drinking, mentions of vomiting and blacking out, mentions of being drunk/ tipsy/ alcohol in general (nothing major), swearing, inaccurate and unrealistic depictions of architecture, probably general writing errors (since this is 10k words and i’m not proofreading it three times)

notes: um so basically i got this idea one day when i was staring at the genshin map and then suddenly an entire plot just entered my brain. and y’all know i love writing fics that somehow shove the reader into the lore and then have a super angsty dynamic with one of the characters 💀 anyway, this somehow ended up being like 10k words and took me 3-4 months to finish, but i told myself i had to finish it before fontaine came out, so here it is!

“Delivery!”

The sound of beads being pushed aside and footsteps padding against the wood floors alert you quickly. Your head rises from the arm it was leaning on to meet the face of the mailman who never failed to show up weekly with a smile on his face. It’s friday and it’s dark out, the moon peers through the window, but this happens every week. Same day, same time. Always the last delivery. Always at 8 PM sharp.

Your hand reaches to the left to dip the pen you’re holding into the black liquid in the tiny pot by your elbow. Without hesitation, you’re signing off on the sheet of paper he’s given you. When you return it, you find him giving you a smile and placing the boxes and a few neatly stacked envelopes on the counter. He walks out soon after and you call out to him, “Thanks for stopping by!”

But as soon as he’s out of your eyesight, the smile on your face drops back into the bored expression it was in before he entered your shop. A sigh escapes you as you carelessly sort through the mail, tossing the boxes to the side to look through later, already knowing it was just shipments of product for your tiny store. If you were being honest, you were ready to just set all of it to the side and head home for the night, but you carried on. Dark bags and gentle creases made theirselves at home around your eyes as you stared down at the envelopes. A deep exhale falls from your mouth as you tear each and every one of them open to look at their contents. Most of it is nothing new, aside from the very last one that has bright red peeking through the paper.

EVICTION NOTICE

“Fuck,” you angrily mutter to yourself, “this better be some sort of sick joke.” But it becomes very apparent it isn’t a joke as your eyes scan over it. There’s a burning sensation behind them when you finish reading it. It lands harshly against the counter when you slam it down, crumpling a bit at the middle. You knew you were barely making ends meet, but this? This was a whole new level. The house you had been renting was small. It barely even fit you and the little things you had left after selling most of it off. The rent was cheaper and the place wasn’t great, but it worked. If you were being evicted from this, where were you supposed to go now?

The shop you had was too small and wasn’t safe for sleeping in anyway. The thought of crashing at one of your friend’s place crosses your mind, but having to rely on them sounds less than appealing. Besides, many of them would be far too inconvenient. Tighnari had been a long time friend of yours, but he lived too far from the city which meant you wouldn’t be able to get to work on time. Same with Candace, or even Dehya, who resided in the desert. Of course, there was Nilou who was always wiling to offer you help, but you know her place isn’t big enough for two people and she needed her space for dancing. Then there was Alhaitham. That option was an absolute no for many reasons, but mainly because of the fact that he lives with your ex-best friend who was the entire reason you were in this mess.

“Ahem,” someone awkwardly clears their throat in front of you.

You jump back and away from the counter where the cursed piece of paper sat. The notice had completely distracted you from the fact that someone had walked in. Noticing you had knocked down an envelope in your sudden retreat, you reach down to pick it up while addressing the person, “I apologize, but we’re closing in around two minutes. I’m afraid you’ll have to come back tomor—“

Your sentence falls short as you rise from the floor. Red eyes stare back at yours, one of the prettiest shades of red you have ever seen. You could never forget those eyes.

Speak of the Devil.

The blood in your body runs cold when reality finally smacks you in the face, “Why are you here, Kaveh.”

It’s less of a question and more of a demand. You watch as his brows furrow and you can’t help but wonder if he was expecting you to be friendly with him. If he was, it wouldn’t surprise you. Kaveh was always like that — trying to see the best in people no matter the situation.

“It’s…uh, it’s been awhile,” he stumbles over his words awkwardly. It’s unlike him, you think. From what you can remember of him, he never really stuttered or mumbled unless he was drunk. Loud and clear was always more of his thing. He wanted to make sure he was known. Maybe he changed, but for the sake of his own good, you really wish he hasn’t.

“Yeah, it has,” you purse your lips as you turn around and take the boxes the delivery man had brought to the tiny back room of the shop. Earlier you decided you would deal with them tomorrow, but honestly, you’d rather deal with them right now than with your ex-best friend, “I won’t ask again. Why are you here?”

Kaveh clears his throat and averts his eyes. You watch as his hands begin to interlock and fiddle with each other. His weight keeps shifting from one side to another as he speaks, “I need your help.”

You look at him incredulously and scoff, “No.”

“What? You haven’t even heard what I have to say yet!”

“I said no,” you stand firmly, furrowing your brows at him as you gesture to the shop around you, “Don’t you see what my life has become? I don’t care what you want or need help with, I’m not helping you.”

Kaveh glances around at all the little shelves. There’s a bunch of tiny models and little figurines, things he assumes you designed yourself. You were always talented at that sort of stuff. He preferred the flat blueprints while you had a knack for creating 3D models filled with details like no other. It was no wonder you had used that ability to your advantage.

He notices how small it is. There’s other vendors around your shop, he noticed them as he came in. They all had bigger shops with more shelves and more room, better organization even. He liked yours though. As much as Kaveh enjoyed extravagance, the warm home vibe your store gave outmatched the others. It reminded him so much of the way you made him feel back then. Even so, he can’t help but see what you were talking about. This store isn’t what your talent should be wasted on when you were destined for far more. Both of you were. Yet here you are, both barely scraping by.

“I know and I don’t really have the right to be asking you for this, but will you please just hear me out first?” He begs with desperation in his eyes. You sigh and look off to the side before giving him a slight nod, a gesture for him to continue on.

“There’s a man named Zakai, a multi-millionaire businessman here in Sumeru who’s looking to have a custom mansion made for himself and his pregnant wife,” he explains. It’s beginning to sound all too familiar far too quickly and you can feel your willingness to let him explain slipping away from you.

“Kaveh.”

“Just listen, okay. He sought me out but wanted you too. Said something about admiring our work on the Palace of Alcazarzaray and he wants something similar but smaller with a different look.”

“Are you joking? No. There’s no way,” you refuse, waving your hands in the air as you shake your head.

Kaveh continues to plead his case though, “He’s not like Dori, I swear! He actually has empathy and his request is a lot more reasonable. Besides, there’s a lot of money involved in this. Even split between us. It would cover the debt we owe. Guaranteed.”

“You’re empathetic, Kaveh, and you’re a perfectionist. Millionaires don’t care about us. Can’t you see where this is heading? I don’t know about you, but I am not very fond of the fact that I’m wasting my life away trying to work off an insane amount of debt. What happens if another mistake occurs in the process? Hm? Our lives will be ruined ten times more than they were last time and I’m not willing to take that risk.”

“Ten times worse? Really?” He exasperatedly scoffs, throwing his hands up in the air dramatic as ever, “Of course I hate how I live right now. I mean, c’mon! Honestly, who wouldn’t? But you and I both know we don’t really have anything left. Take a look around you and tell me you wouldn’t take the chance to get out of this mess.”

The glare you’re sending him is icy cold, Kaveh falters a bit under it, but you both know he’s right. There’s a plate full of money right in front of your face and you’re so close to being able to call it yours, and yet you’re denying it? A life without debt is nothing but a dream to you at this point, one you’ve had nightly since you watched all your money slide away from you and down into Dori’s mischievous little hands.

Kaveh tests the waters when he speaks again after the brief silence, “You’re the only other architect in Sumeru that is capable of working on this job. You saw what we accomplished on the palace. We can do it again, no mistakes this time. And if it does happen…then I’ll take the fall for it. I’ll take the fall for all of it.”

Your brows furrow and you sigh for what felt like the thousandth time. The small part of you that was his best friend from all those years ago reaches out to him, “You know I can’t accept that, Kaveh. We may not be friends anymore, but I’m not going to watch you destroy yourself all over again if something goes wrong.”

“Please,” he pleads, entirely brushing off your words, “I’m doing this for the both of us. If you want out at any point, then we’ll back out together. Just…consider the offer, okay?”

The red from the letter catches your eye again and something suddenly feels like it’s pulling at your heart. An eviction notice followed by a job offer promising wealth feels like one big coincidence, but it’s not one you can ignore. You really didn’t have anything left now — aside from the tiny store you had going. And if this does turn out to be a success, your life would be entirely back on track to what it was all those years ago. You could live freely again.

One more glance at Kaveh finalizes your decision.

“I’ll do it.”

The next few times you meet with Kaveh seem to bleed well into the night. Blueprints are scattered across the floor of your shop during the after hours, a closed sign out front. Your legs are crossed over one another and your head rests atop your hand. Kaveh is standing up, muttering words you can’t quite make out.

“No…that won’t do, but…well? Dark wood? Ugh…wait! No, nevermind,” he paces back and forth, sifting through papers in his hands.

You place the outline you were looking at on the floor and glare at him coldly, “Can you stop? I can’t focus.”

Kaveh sighs and sets down the blueprints he was holding in his hand, “Sorry, I just can’t make up my mind.”

“Clearly,” you mutter.

“Here,” he picks up a pile of sketches off the table and hands them to you, “What do you think of the wood choices on these? Oh, and the color of the paint we’d use on the outside.”

Your eyes inspect them carefully as you flip through each one. They’re all relatively the same aside from a few of them. The ones that stand out the most to you are the simple ones. They’re darker and more elegant looking, exactly what this guy seemed to want. On the other hand, the rest of them are more flashy and had an air to them you couldn’t seem to take a liking to.

You slide him two of the papers, side by side and tap each of them simultaneously, “These two. They’re cost effective and fit what he wants. I say we go this route, but maybe with some slight changes.”

“What? No! Those should’ve been scrapped,” Kaveh’s eyes widen at your choice. He scrambles to grab the papers back but you slam your hand down on them before he can.

You squint your eyes, “What do you mean? These practically check everything off his list. How are we going to deny the client what he wants?”

Kaveh groans and a hand slides down his face, “These don’t even look rich. It barely screams money at all! We’re making a house for a rich man and you want to do something this simple?”

“Yes! This is literally what he wants! And it does look rich. Just because something isn’t bursting with color and fancy embellishments everywhere does not mean it doesn’t have opulence to it!”

Kaveh’s face visibly falls at your response and he can’t help but be reminded of all those years ago when you were still friends. Sure you still argued then, but it wasn’t like now. You weren’t hostile toward him and he could stand to make some changes based on your suggestions. But now, it felt like everything was going in one ear and out the other.

“What if we compromise?” he asks regretfully, not willing to give up what he wants, but still wanting to get this job done. Contrary to his cynical and provocative roommate, arguing was not something Kaveh enjoyed, and Kaveh didn’t want to strain your relationship any more than it already was.

You hesitantly nod and point to each of the sketches, “Okay, which parts?”

“Keep it extravagant, use cheaper materials?”

“No, I just said that isn’t what Mr. Zakai wants.”

“Well then what are we supposed to do?”

You roll your eyes when he isn’t looking. Sometimes it felt like you were arguing with a child.

“Simple. Choose the more plain design and maybe add a few more embellishments, while keeping it cost effective.”

Kaveh inwardly groans, but stops himself from saying anything else. He thinks for a moment, going back and forth between different ideas in his head. There’s a temptation to just grab the sketches and run off with them, leave you in the dust and forget all about your past with each other. It’s the same part of him that sits on his shoulder, whispering in his ear that maybe, just maybe, all of this is a mistake.

The other part yearns. It’s something he can’t help as he stares down at the sketches, but really, he’s looking at you from his peripheral vision. He misses the way things were when you were best friends. When you would laugh for hours on end with each other, talk about the big mansions you would build for each other some day, and the lives you were going to have. All of those visions, every thought he used to have, they all included you.

Kaveh doesn’t remember when things got so bad between you. Yes he knows the exact date, the time, the place it all went down. But when did you start really hating each other? When did your smile begin to fade into a frown whenever he showed up? And when did he start feeling a painful ache in his chest whenever your name was mentioned?

Why do things have to be the way they are?

Kaveh shuts the door in the temptation’s face. He wasn’t going to run from you or shove everything aside like he normally would. If he was granted any wish in the world, it wouldn’t be to get rid of his debt or become the richest man in the world. Because Kaveh would let himself he the poorest man in the world if it meant he could be with you again.

Mr. Zakai had come to him with an opportunity of wealth and opulence. It would make them one in the same if he could play his cards right. Wipe away his debt and his past. He could be free again. But more than that, Kaveh would have you back.

And as his ruby red eyes catch yours once more, he realizes there is nothing more that he wants than you.

“Wow, I mean, Archons. This design is just unbelievable.”

Your eyes widen ever so slightly, not quite sure if you should be scared or relieved. Mr. Zakai’s tone doesn’t give away what he’s feeling, and you’re terrified. Kaveh swears he can feel you shaking next to him in anticipation…or maybe it was the anxiety. He glances once your way and then back to Mr. Zakai before glancing at you again and awkwardly laughing, “Ahaha, I hope that’s a, uh, good ‘unbelievable?’”

Mr. Zakai throws his hands in the air and laughs brightly, “Yes, yes! Of course! This design is utterly beautiful. It’s like you took the picture from my mind and captured it right onto a piece of paper.”

Both of you sigh of relief simultaneously, clutching a hand over your hearts, but smiling nonetheless. “That’s wonderful to hear,” you say and gesture to the open land behind you that has long since been designated as the construction site for his home, “If you’d like, we can get to building as soon as possible. We already have a team prepared and everything. Just say the word.”

“Let us begin!” he cheers.

Beginning to build the actual mansion was like a dream come true for an architect. The smoothness at which everything was running was beyond belief for the both of you. All of the materials had been safely delivered with care, and although they weren’t the best of the best, they without a doubt exceeded Kaveh’s expectations. Alongside that, the plot of land being used was absolutely beautiful and the perfect place for a home.

It was a perfect distance from the main city, nothing too arduous to travel to. There was a beautiful lake nearby that was adorned with various flowers, fish, and fruit trees surrounding it. And the best part, there weren’t any cliffs or waterfalls nearby. No signs of a withering zone either. It was something Kaveh had specifically checked for before accepting the job, terrified of having a repeat of the entire incident that put you both in this mess.

It had only taken around a week and a half for the skeleton of the mansion to be built. But already, it was turning out wonderfully. Thanks to the team both of you had and your newfound ability to compromise with one another, both of your guys’ morale had been boosted immensely. Things were finally beginning to look up.

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper in awe, staring at the team working on the house just feet away from you. Kaveh stands next to you, clipboard in hand and a pen eagerly scribbling away at the paper on it.

His eyes look up from the papers he was shuffling through to glance at the house and then glance back at you, “It really is, huh? I’m glad we were able to compromise on the final design. I think it’s turning out really great.”

“And to think you wanted all those embellishments,” you laugh as you reminisce.

Kaveh scoffs and leans into your shoulder with his, “Shut up. Sometimes the blueprint version isn’t a good representation of the final product. How was I supposed to know your ideas would look so good?”

“Oh? What was that?” you cup your hand around your ear and smirk, leaning into him, “Is that you finally admitting my ideas are better than yours?”

“Hey! That is not what I said.”

“I think it is. Just admit it, my dear friend, I have always been the better architect.”

My dear…friend?

Kaveh stops in his place, blinking at your words. He breathes out and looks to the ground. He isn’t sure what you mean. Perhaps it was a slip up or just a joke, but he chooses not to take it seriously in order to protect his feelings. So he teases you, ignoring the slight ache in his heart, “Oh, so now we’re friends again?”

“Ugh, please. I couldn’t be friends with an architect that isn’t on my level,” you jest. It was indeed a slip up on your end, and you realized it the moment you said it, but like Kaveh, you knew it would be better to just brush it off. Push it aside along with any other newfound positive feelings you had toward your old friend.

“Pft, yeah right,” he rolls his eyes and turns away from you again. You both begin walking toward the house, ready to tell everyone that it’s time to pack it up for the night. The sun would be completely set in about an hour and you knew they all had families to get back to. Besides, both of you were tired and you weren’t even the ones building the damn thing. You couldn’t imagine how tired they were if you were already feeling exhausted.

Footsteps dragging against the gravel alerts the crew of your presence and they all realize what time it is. Several of them hop down from the upper layers while the rest of them begin picking up their things from the ground floor. Many of them already begin to bid one another a “goodnight,” and “get home safely.”

“Great work today, guys!” you excitedly call out to them.

Kaveh smiles a bit and joins you, clapping his hands together as he reminds them, “Please go home and get some rest. We have a busy rest of the week from here on out! We’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

Before either of you can walk away, one of the girls that was working on the building rushes up to you both, “Sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to let you guys know about the progress.”

You recognize her as one of the leaders for the construction crew when you turn around. She was in charge of the more specific areas of progress when it came to the actual building aspect, while you and Kaveh had oversight on the entire thing.

“Oh?” Kaveh confusedly asks, unsure of what she had to share, “What about it? Is something the matter?”

“No, no! Nothing bad. I just wanted to let you know that at this rate, the house should be completed within three months. We’re making an exponentially great amount of progress, especially with the wonderful crew we have working on it. You guys should be proud of yourselves,” she smiles.

You and Kaveh quickly turn and high-five each other, pleased with what she was saying. But as quick as it came, it was gone. Simultaneously, you clear your throats and take a step back from one another.

“Ahem, I um — thank you! That means a lot,” you say through a strained smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Kaveh doesn’t say anything.

Instantly, the girl can feel the awkward tension in the air and takes a step back herself.

“Of course, I’ll uh, be going now. Have a goodnight!”

When she walks off, Kaveh turns back to you hesitantly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Let’s just pretend that never happened, yeah?”

He hums in agreement and starts to walk alongside you, “But, hey, I was thinking. She is right, you know? We should be proud of our progress so far. Maybe we could go to the tavern tonight? But only if you want, of course!”

You pause, but nod slowly, “Yeah…yeah okay. We can do that.”

“Really?” Kaveh tilts his head to the side, not quite believing you.

“Sure,” you shrug, not thinking too much into it, “Let’s go.”

You could feel the alcohol running through your system as you spoke, laughing along with some stupid story you were telling. Kaveh and you had been at the tavern for nearly two hours and it had long since been dark outside. You didn’t even get the chance to change out of your work clothes before getting there.

It didn’t take long for either of you to find a glass of alcohol sitting in front of you alongside a bunch of different dishes. Although neither of you really had the money to spending like this, it was a congratulatory meal and you couldn’t help but splurge a little.

“I know! Oh my god,” you slur a bit, “Do you…do you remember that time that one guy in our class plagiarized his entire project all the way down to the 3-D model? What was his name again? Bahar? No, that wasn’t it…”

“Oh, Baharak!” Kaveh exclaims, jumping from his seat a little and pointing at you before sitting back down. Leaning against his seat, he lets out a nostalgic sigh, “Archons, how could I forget that guy?”

“Baharak, yeah! Man, I can’t believe he really thought he wouldn’t get expelled for that,” you say and take another sip of your drink.

Kaveh hums in agreement and takes another bite of his food, “Wait, do you remember that professor we had? The one that took my library book away?”

“Really? You’ll have to refresh my memory again,” you say, struggling to connect memories together. Neither of you were drunk, but you were sure as hell getting there. Lambad already had to tell both of you to ease up on the drinks, aware that you both had work the next day. But truly, he just didn’t want you making a ruckus in his tavern again.

It had been years since you both visited together, but he could never forget the messes you made when you were both students at the Akademiya. The days where you would drink until you blacked or vomited, the nights spent drunk crying over bad grades or shitty professors, or the time you accidentally fell asleep on the bathroom floor and he didn’t realize until after closing because Kaveh was too drunk to realize you even left. It was safe to say that you weren’t his favorite customers, despite being fully grown adults now. Lambad was not willing to have repeats of any of those incidents.

It continues on for another hour or so, just sharing stupid stories from the past and what your friendship used to be like. It almost feels as though you are friends again, even if it’s just for a brief moment.

Your smile is wide when you’re talking to him and your laugh isn’t some fake laugh that you always use when someone comes into your store or when you’re talking to literally anyone else. Your legs are bumping into his under the table too, contrary to a few years ago when he was much shorter. It’s weird, you think, how much everything has changed.

It’s not until someone at a table nearby makes a comment about you two that you really digest just how weird it all is.

“Look at that cute couple over there,” they say in awe from somewhere behind you, “Don’t you miss when we used to be like that?”

Within seconds you feel sobered up. It almost embarrasses you how one much one small comment could have an effect on you. Your heart drops into your stomach and your laughter fades out. This isn’t right, you think. You can laugh and drink all you want, but it doesn’t change what happened all those years ago. It doesn’t change the incident or the things Kaveh said to you that night or the things you said to him. It doesn’t change how hard you cried and how your life suddenly went from being on a high to dropping to the lowest you’ve ever been. You can barely survive day to day because of that day…because of him.

No. It doesn’t change anything at all.

You stand up abruptly and grab your bag, slamming some mora onto the table and glancing around hurriedly before beginning to walk out on him. Kaveh stands up too and goes to reach for your arm, but you pull away before he can make contact with it, “Hey, what’s wrong? Where are you going?”

“I can’t do this,” you mumble to yourself, rushing away out of fear.

“Can’t do what?” Kaveh’s eyes are bursting with confusion and terrified that he may have done something wrong. Something to upset you. But you’re already out of the building before he can get an answer.

It had been about a week before you saw each other again. Luckily for you, it wasn’t required that you were at the build site as long as one of you was there. And with Kaveh’s naturally perfectionistic personality, you knew you weren’t needed there. He was also smart enough to not coming looking for you either after everything that had occurred not only earlier that week, but in the years prior. There was a reason you got along so well before everything came crashing down.

No one knew you guys like you knew each other. There was no doubt about that.

The time you had been gone in the past week was spent running your store, something you had been neglecting anyway. Despite it not being the most successful business ever, it was something and you still had customers to take care of.

Today had been rather slow, being a Thursday and all. Most people were out working their other jobs and kids were in school, so there weren’t really many people to be out shopping anyway.

Aggressive footsteps catch your attention, but you don’t bother to look up at whoever had just entered, figuring it was probably some elderly guy again there to scold you like the one last week.

“Welcome in, I’ll be with you in a moment,” you call out from your spot at the counter, signing away at some documents for the store. The footsteps don’t stop and look around, however. Instead, they march right up the counter and slam your binder shut.

“Is this seriously what you’ve been doing? I get it I may have pissed you off or whatever at Lambad’s earlier this week, but leaving me at the site like that is just shallow,” a familiar voice scolds you. You look up to see Kaveh seething. Although, the longer you look in his eyes, the more you see he’s less angry and more terrified. Of what? You’re unsure.

For a moment, you have the urge to extend a hand out to him and ask him what’s wrong, but you catch yourself before you can. Besides, it would defeat the entire purpose of you being at your store instead of the mansion. Instead you scoff, regaining your anger for him, “Okay? It’s not like you really needed me there this week. All the crew is doing is just finishing the skeleton. Stop acting like something bad happened or whatever.”

Kaveh purses his lips and leans closer to you, leveling his eyes with yours. The seriousness in them is unmistakable and it shakes you a bit. You haven’t seen him like that since…well, since that day. “That’s the thing…something did happen. I came here to tell you abo—”

“What?” You cut him off, eyes widening.

“Stop,” he hushes you angrily, “Please for the love of God just listen for once. Something happened to Zakai’s wife. I came here to tell you that we need to meet with him today because it’s urgent and I barely know what’s going on myself. So please, just put our differences aside and come with me.”

Your lips shut themselves before they can speak again. There’s shock in your eyes at his slight outburst, but you gulp and nod at him. Picking up the binder from earlier, you slide it under the counter in one of the locked drawers before walking around to the other side where Kaveh stands. A quick glance around and you’re walking out of the store. Without hesitation, you flip the sign that reads open to the side that reads closed.

And although you weren’t the firmest believer in the Gods or any part of Celestia, you bowed your head and prayed to the Dendro Archon that this wasn’t what you thought it was.

Your leg bounces in anticipation as you sit next to Kaveh at the Cafe. It’s dark out, and there aren’t a lot of people around which you’re grateful for. There was a certain nervousness in the air and you weren’t ready to find out where it was going to take you.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” Mr. Zakai says sadly and sits down, sliding you both a mug with what you presume is tea. Kaveh thanks him and bumps his knee with yours from next to you.

You fall out of your thoughts and clear your throat, “Oh, uh, yeah. Of course.”

He looks down at his lap solemnly, seemingly speechless. You turn to Kaveh who’s sitting on your right and frown at him. Kaveh returns the expression but nods his head, wordlessly telling you to just wait and see. You nod back and turn to sip at your tea.

Mr. Zakai’s voice is shaky when he speaks again moments later, “I…I don’t know where to begin. I suppose I should just get to the point so I don’t waste your time.”

You both wait in silence, urging him to continue. Practically waiting on the edge of your seats at this point.

“I have to suspend the project.”

You swear you can feel your heart drop into your stomach as you breathlessly whisper a tiny, “What?”

Kaveh turns to you quickly to gauge your reaction before turning back and swallowing deeply, “I’m sorry, could you please explain what’s going on here? I mean, c’mon, we barely started this thing and now you’re backing out?”

He waves his hands in the air and coughs, “No, no! I…I’m not backing out, dear God, no. I just, I need to wait a bit. It’s my wife, she’s with a family doctor. You see, she’s pregnant and there’s been some terrible complications. I’m afraid she’s fallen ill and I can’t afford to be spending my time building some mansion when she needs me.”

“How long?” you ask firmly, “How long are you suspending this?”

“I don’t know, I’m sorry,” he regretfully apologizes.

Kaveh tries to stay calm but you can feel him shaking next to you. His hands shakily put down the tea cup and he shuts his eyes while he speaks, almost like this is just one big nightmare that he can’t wake up from, “What does this mean for us? The crew? The materials we bought?”

Zakai stutters and sighs over and over again before he can get anything out, “I promise I will pay you…eventually. I have medical bills to pay and for now, I can’t pay either of you.”

“So what? You’re just leaving us then?!” You push him further.

“I’m sorry, really, I am,” he stands up and backs away slowly, “I need to go visit my wife. We’ll chat again soon.”

Hurriedly, he rushes off before either of you get the chance to go after him. Your breathing is heavy and labored, but neither of you move from your seats. There’s a lump in your throat, one you’re desperately trying to push down as you whisper, “I should have never agreed to this.”

“Hey, it’s not over yet,” Kaveh tries to reason as he places a hand on your shoulder. You shrug him off and stand up, shaking your head as you turn around to walk away.

Kaveh quickly springs from his seat and rushes to catch up with you. He pleads with you desperately, “I didn’t know this was going to happen, I swear. This is all my fault.”

“Yeah, it is,” you spat at him, stopping in your tracks and turning to him, “That’s the problem with you, Kaveh. Wherever you go, bad luck just seems to follow. I should’ve known better, honestly. You’d think after all these years I would’ve been smarter. And now…now my life is even more ruined than it was before. Thanks a lot.”

“You know what? No. You agreed to this, so you don’t get to treat me like dirt on your shoe just because something went wrong. Don’t you realize my life is just as ruined as yours is? You’re not the only one with problems!” He yells suddenly, taking a step forward toward you. A few people stop and stare but quickly keep moving when you turn and glare at them.

“My life was ruined in seconds!” You dig your pointer finger into his chest as you match his volume.

“Yeah? Well so was mine! You’re not the only one who’s been suffering all this time.”

Silence washes over both of you. You take a step back from him and remove your hand from his chest hesitantly, angry tears beginning to sting your eyes. Kaveh feels the same prickliness too, a dull ache in his chest as he stands before you. This wasn’t what either of you wanted deep down, and you realize that as you turn and walk away from him again.

There were so many moments of failure in Kaveh’s life, but you had an equal share as well. Yet, for some reason, neither of you realized the other was hurting just as much. Perhaps, like Kaveh, the real reason you accepted the project was so you could rekindle your friendship, bring back a relationship you missed dearly.

You look up at the moon as you walk away, leaving him somewhere behind you where you don’t care to look back to. And as you stare at its presence in the sky, you can’t help but feel like it was just like you and him. He was the sun, and you were the moon. Beautiful in their own ways, but bound by fate to never exist at the same time. Never to coexist.

Maybe this time, the tiny thread that still connected you had finally tethered for good.

The day it all happened was both blurry and clear in your memories.

That day.

Everything seemed to irk you from the moment you awoke that morning. The sheets on your bed weren’t quite placed right. The temperature in your house was miserably warm, even worse, humid after you accidentally left your window open the night before. The ingredients you had planned on using for your favorite breakfast had miraculously grown mold overnight. Not to mention, you were already late five minutes to the build site and everyone knew how particular Dori was about being punctual.

The clouds were a depressing gray from what you could remember. The rain was normally one of your favorite things. After all, you chose to live in the rainforest for a reason. But that day, the gloomy sight stirred a sense of anger in you that was impossible to shake.

You could remember the way Kaveh was avoiding you in the weeks leading up to it all. It was justified in your eyes because well, you were avoiding him too. Neither of you seemed to be able to stand the constant arguments that would break out between you. Most of them were pointless too — small things that could be resolved without a bunch of yelling and insults. Yet, every time you looked at him, every time he spoke, every time he even breathed, you felt anger seep into your blood.

At that point, the both of you had worked on several projects together. Houses, libraries, stores, gardens, you name it. The Palace of Alcazarzaray was the first real project you had both worked on. It was big, flashy, and was going to make a statement about your capabilities to all of Sumeru. Fame and riches were plastered all over the opportunity. The magnum opus of both of your careers.

It was this very reason that you both fought so often. There was so much to plan. So much to work on. At first, things had gone well considering you were both great friends — the best of friends, even. Any outsider or non-architect would probably make the naive assumption that, if anything, it would bring you even closer together. But with so much pressure, the opposite happened and you grew apart. The conflict was too much to handle on either side and you couldn’t keep up with it. Neither of you could.

The rain was bothersome when it started.

It started with a few drops here and there. You could remember hastily wiping them from your hands and face before peering up at the sky with a frown. Within a mere few seconds, the sprinkling rain became aggressive and thunderous. Lightning flashed in your eyes as the afternoon sky faded from a light gray to a deep blue and black.

It was hard to hear the yelling of all the crew members over the rumbling of the thunder overhead. The water below the structure began to thrash rapidly and the cliffs had a slight shake to them. Up until that part, everything was clear to you.

Then the rain was in your eyes and your breathing was heavy as you aimlessly ran around. Eventually, everyone had evacuated the site to a nearby area. Everything had happened so fast you couldn’t even remember how you ended up there, wrapped in a blanket and shivering in the corner of a small tent with a few other people. Soon after, everyone got sent home for the afternoon in a bad mood.

It wasn’t until hours later that a majority of the crew had returned. Your heart dropped within the first few steps you took as the palace came into sight. What had once been turning out to be a luxurious palace was crumbled down into nothing but ruins. Forest Rangers surrounded the place, evaluating it and dragging some equipment away. As soon as Tighnari spotted you, he jogged over to you, carefully explaining what happened.

After the rain, the withering made its way to the house and destroyed just about everything. Within hours, everything you had been working toward for months vanished out of thin air. Kaveh had been walking up to the both of you when the news was relayed to you. What he overheard stopped him in his tracks, allowing him to fall to his knees in anger, frustration, but most importantly, denial. Part of him could process it, while the other part wished he could wake up from whatever nightmare he seemed to be having.

If there was one thing you could remember better than anything else, it was the silence that followed. Everyone dispersed from the area with crest fallen expressions making their way home to their families for the second time that night. You and Kaveh stayed behind, sitting quietly within the ruins on your knees, surrounded by rubble, praying for a miracle from the Dendro Archon.

Tears fell silently down both of your faces as he leaned against your shoulder, arms wrapped carelessly around your abdomen. You had no energy to return the action, and so you sat there in the still silence without so much as a sniffle. Your head was bowed to your chest, unable to look at the place anymore in fear of breaking down in a way that seemed worse than the way the palace had broken.

Both of your tears’ had dried with the morning sun. There was a pounding in your head as Kaveh dragged you back to his house to collect his savings and prepare to sell his house. You had done the same after making a hesitant agreement with him. A tingling sensation covered your body as your chest and stomach ached. Anxiety was written all over your face and you couldn’t help but feel regret over your actions. There was no other way out, you thought.

The arguments hadn’t stopped even after everything had been settled with the money and the plans to rebuild the palace came into fruition. You still had a hard time being around him and he felt the same way. Despite that small moment of desperation where he clung to you in the ruins, there wasn’t much left of your friendship by the end.

Ultimately, one thing led to another and a snap happened. Kaveh was the one to snap first, turning around on you one day and just hurling insult after insult. You followed suite, not backing down for the sake of your dignity. And at that moment, you just wanted to make each other hurt. There was nothing more to it. No real reason to be arguing anymore — not even over small trivial things like misplaced blueprints or an empty paint can being knocked over. It was pure hatred at its finest.

Coincidentally, that was the last day you ever saw each other. You both unknowingly felt bad about hurting each other like that. You were supposed to be best friends afterall. Some part of you even wanted to be more. Not that he ever knew that, though. There was a time in which you tried to apologize, but the residual anger that burned in your heart prevented you from ever seeking him out.

And so, everything you had come to know of him ceased at once. Kaveh was no longer part of your life and you were no longer part of his. The Palace of Alcazarzaray was finished by the crew and anytime either of you ever had to meet with Dori it was always separate. For years, you hadn’t even caught so much as a glance of him.

There was nothing left. Absolutely nothing.

Three weeks had passed since Zakai had reached out to either of you. History seemed to be repeating itself with you and Kaveh as well, seeing as neither of you had crossed paths at all within that time.

You were back to quietly running your tiny little store. There was only a week left until your eviction went into effect. The few things you had in your house had been moved into a small section in the back of your store where you had settled to live temporarily. There wasn’t much room and it wasn’t the safest, but you would find a way to make it work for the time being.

“Um, hi,” a timid voice squeaks out, catching you off guard, “I have an urgent delivery. Could you please confirm your name on the envelope?”

Your eyes lift from the paper they’re staring at blankly. Your brows furrow and you nod at the young boy who didn’t look to be older than fifteen. “Do you know what this is about?” You ask him as you turn to find a letter opener from behind you.

“Not exactly. It’s from my uncle Zakai, you know him right?”

“Yeah, something like that. Thanks,” you mumble. He hums before awkwardly walking out of your shop. When he’s gone, you eagerly cut open the pristine envelope to find a paper inside. It’s a letter, you realize as you begin to read it. It’s addressed to both you and Kaveh, so you assume he must’ve received one as well.

Inside the letter details a meeting at a specific time and place. It’s the build site, later this afternoon at three o’clock. Most of it is just jumbled up, redundant apologies that you can’t resist your eyes from rolling at, but the end of the letter catches your eye. Moving back up a few sentences you had scanned over, you reread it carefully.

“He wants to start the project back up?” You ask to no one but yourself. The letter falls from your hand onto the counter and you stare out at your shop in contemplation. On one hand, you could return to the project and see it through. Maybe hope nothing bad happens again. On the other, you could ditch the whole thing out of fear that history could repeat itself for a third time. It would mean you could avoid seeing Kaveh again. Because, as you angrily spat at him before, bad luck seemed to follow him wherever he went. You were far too scared of what the outcome of seeing him again would be.

Minutes later you had your answer as you found yourself flipping the sign outside the shop to closed and locking the doors.

It wasn’t worth it, you realized, being scared of someone who was only scared and sensitive himself. Joining the project again couldn’t hurt you any further than it already had. There was no contractual agreement that would force you to be friendly with Kaveh again either. Perhaps you could work merely as coworkers and nothing more. Speak to him only when you have to and get this job done once and for all.

“I’m glad to have you back,” Zakai shakes your hand firmly as you fall into step with him.

“Happy to be back,” you lie. Hesitantly, you turn to him and clear your throat, “If you don’t mind me asking, is your wife alright? What made you come back to the project?”

Mr. Zakai sends you a fond smile as he thinks of her, “She’s perfectly fine. Thank you for asking. There were a few complications with the baby, but she made it through and everything is going smoothly now. The baby is actually due in a few weeks. Can you believe it?”

“Not at all,” you smile halfheartedly.

“Anyway,” he says as you reach the site with him, “I came back to the project because I am a man of my word. I said I wasn’t going to drop it, so here I am. Besides, I’m impressed with yours and Kaveh’s work. I truly hope we can finish what we started.”

You nod silently to yourself. Before you or Zakai can say anything else, Kaveh jogs up to you both out of breath, “I’m so sorry I’m late. My annoying roommate took my key again and I couldn’t get back into the house to grab my things, so I had to go track him down and get it back.”

“That’s okay,” Zakai laughs and holds out his hand for Kaveh to shake, “It’s good to see you, Kaveh.”

“You too,” he says before turning to you. Kaveh nods at you silently. Hesitantly, you nod back, averting your eyes quickly.

It doesn’t take long for everything to return to the natural swing of things. The crew was happy to be back and building and Zakai was more than pleased with how close the house was to being completed. Over the next few weeks, everyone works diligently to get it completed.

Day in and day out, neither of you spoke to one another just as you had hoped for. No arguments, no silly jokes, no talking about ideas…nothing. Sometimes it felt a little lonely, even when you were standing right next to each other. There were times where you had seen something on the way to site that you wanted to talk to someone about, rant about your day, whatever. Even when you were still in the period of “hating” each other before Zakai temporarily left the project, both of you still felt more comfortable speaking to each other.

You want to hate him. You really do. But after everything that has happened, after all the emotions you can’t seem to restrain anymore, you’re beginning to wonder if you ever really hated him the way you said you did.

On the final day of the project, it rains again. You aren’t worried this time, however. Not like how you were with the palace. The house was built, inside and out. The only thing left to add was the remainders of Zakai and his wife’s furniture and any other little embellishments he had requested. A pay check was already in the mail for you both, your ticket out of the miserable life you’ve both led for two years.

You’re walking away for the night when footsteps pick up from somewhere behind you. Most of the crew was in front of you chatting away under a ledge shielded from the rain. There’s a hollow feeling in your chest that leaves you feeling dissatisfied with it all as you walk away, no umbrella and shivering furiously under the pouring rain. Eventually, the mysterious person catches up to you and falls into step with you. There was only one person it could have been.

A few weeks ago, you would have swatted him away or sped up so you could get as far away from him as possible. But now, just like that night in the ruins two years ago, you had no energy to push him away anymore. So, silently, you both walk side by side until you reach Sumeru City.

A bolt of lightning landing on the ground a few feet away causes you both to jump back. Thunder follows suite and suddenly the rain turns more into a storm that threatens to flood the city. Icy hail begins to fall not even seconds later, harshly landing against both of your backs as you rush into the city.

Kaveh’s hand gently grabs yours and eagerly drags you away with him. He’s yelling something, but you can’t make out what he’s saying. And before you know it, you’re both sitting in a booth at Lambad’s Tavern soaked and shivering.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the air, “We should stay here until the storm dies down. It’s too dangerous outside.”

“Yeah,” you quietly agree and nod quickly, eyes stuck on the table like it was the most interesting thing ever. Kaveh’s looking at you, but you ignore his gaze.

Minutes later, Lambad walks over with a sympathetic expression on his face as he sets down two hot chocolates. He makes some small talk about the storm which both of you indulge him in as you sip on the hot drinks, acting as if nothing was wrong between you. Eventually, he goes to leave but stops to turn back, “I’ll bring out two more on me. Please, stay as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” you both say simultaneously. It goes quiet when he leaves.

For the first time in two years, it feels like the silence is warm and home like. It’s no longer awkward and cold. It reminds you of the time when you were still scholars at the Akademiya, studying late at night at your house in your room. He would sit in your bed while you studied at your desk. There was always something so comforting about it despite the fact that you had to study. Being with him was your favorite thing in the world. And even though it felt like you both had been thrown into the pits of hell with each other, forced against each other over and over again, sitting across from him now felt like none of that had ever happened. For a tiny moment, it felt like you were friends again.

“I never wanted you out of my life,” Kaveh breaks the silence suddenly. Your eyes meet his for the first time that night and they’re brewing with a certain determination, sadness, and anger all at once. You can feel it in yourself too.

“What?” you breathe out. Your brows furrow as you take in what he’s saying, “You never wanted me to leave? But I thought…after everything, I mean. After what we said to each other back then, you didn’t hate me?”

Kaveh frowns and his mouth falls agape as his hands slam against the table dramatically. The words fall out of his mouth before he can stop them, “Hate you? Archons no! How could I hate you when I was in love with you?”

“Wait—you…? You were in love with me?”

His face falls instantly, hands waving in the air, “Shit, I didn’t mean—”

Your eyes glance back and forth between his, desperately searching for any sign of a prank or some sort of sick joke. Fear pangs your heart when you can’t find any, “Kaveh…why didn’t you say anything?”

“You were you and I was me. It never would’ve worked no matter how much I wanted it to,” Kaveh slumps into his seat, scoffing as he forces himself to look away from you, “You know what? Can we please just forget I ever said anything?”

The realization of what all the years you spent together meant hits you hard as you sit across from him. The rain pounding against the windows makes your head pound even harder as you try to make sense of it all. Because, no, this was not some sick joke or some prank. Kaveh was wholeheartedly in love with you at some point and you had no idea.

There were times where you felt the same. Staring at him from across the room, his beautiful blonde hair messily sprawled across your bed as he complained about the project you were working on. The times when he would be going on and on about his passions and you couldn’t help but zone out and just admire him in all his glory. Or when he would bring you food just because he knew you had forgotten to eat again. All the trinkets he would buy you because they reminded him of you. The way he made you feel so loved and cared for. Over the years, you had unknowingly fallen for him too. Kaveh may have only ever been your best friend, but in moments like those, moments where the light hit him just right, you wished he could have been more.

“No.”

“No?”

You lean across the table slightly, forcing him to look at you, “I can’t just ignore that. I can’t pretend you didn’t say it or that you never had feelings for me. I hate to admit it, but Kaveh, I had feelings for you too back then.”

It’s silent for a few moments. You give him the chance to speak, but he doesn’t take it. You take in a deep inhale and hesitantly speak, “I know it’s been a long time — years to be precise. And it pains me to say this, but I’m really happy the project worked out how it did. That opportunity from Zakai gave me more than I could ask for and…I’m glad it brought me back to you.”

“Yeah,” Kaveh scoffs playfully, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, “Only after a painstaking amount of convincing.”

“Oh please, I had every reason to say no to you,” you refute, crossing your arms in defense, “And I wasn’t finished. What I was trying to say, was that, even though it’s been so many years, I don’t know where to go from here. But I…I don’t want us to go back to the way things were.”

Kaveh sighs, “I know. I don’t either. Obviously we both have things we need to work through. But, if you’re willing, I’d like to start over again. Not completely, of course. But I want us to be friends again, maybe one day even more…If you’ll have me, that is.”

“Okay,” you breathe out with a small smile. Although it took years and a painful amount of fighting, tears, and money, you had found each other again. Perhaps you couldn’t love each other now, but the feeling was without a doubt there. The pounding in your hearts and ache for one another was concrete proof of it.

And as Kaveh reaches out and takes your hand again for the first time in two years, he knows he’ll never let you go again.

[cloverdaisies]

# ART CLASS 𝜗𝜚𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

JI CHANGMIN x reader

˗ˏˋ description:ˎˊ˗જ⁀➴ৎ୭ : your crush on your art professor might be affecting your grades, he was just perfect but you’re just a student. how you accidentally fell in love with art class for the wrong reasons…

˗ˏˋ genre:ˎˊ˗જ⁀➴ৎ୭ : fluff, unrequited to lovers.

˗ˏˋ word count:ˎˊ˗જ⁀➴ৎ୭ : 5.5k+

˗ˏˋ notes:ˎˊ˗જ⁀➴ৎ୭ : this was once 10k+ but oops, is a bit of an indulgent fic i can’t lie, i hope you love it as much as i do, so here’s some changmin brainrot to feed ur delusions, massive thank you to @juyeonszn for helping me get over my plot blocks, ily. proof reading in progress!

Mondays, the worst day of the week. That was for certain, considering you had a two hour class that morning with a professor that would draw over your weeks worth of work with sharpie. Thankfully, he’d already announced his leave and you wouldn’t had to deal with that anymore. Every morning you’d get the bus to university dreading the next class, headphones on trying to drown out thoughts of how you were going to survive your degree in these insufferable conditions.

“Today you have a lesson with your new professor, who’ll be taking over for me. He’s very well educated and I’m sure he will be able to fill in the gap after my leave.” Your old professor rambled on as if his low marking and reckless actions with felt tip pens would be missed.

You weren’t necessarily paying attention, more focused on your pencil work in the sketchbook than you were on the front of the class. Ears suddenly perking up at the voice you heard from the front of the room, it was a cuteish tone, at the same time mellow and calm - a voice that could put you to sleep that sat just on the right octave to make you fall in love with it.

“Hello everyone, I’m professor Ji and will be taking over the introduction to Fine Art module going forward. I look forward to getting to know you all and seeing your work. Today we will be starting a new project for your mid term evaluations, it will be a multimedia piece with a theme of your choice. Make it mean something, do what’s true to you.” Professor Ji stated, already he sounded as if he knew exactly what he was talking about. It was a breath of fresh air and his intellect was almost making you dizzy.

No y/n, you can’t be getting a crush on your professor this can only end in tears if you find out he’s already happily married and settled in life.

“Any questions?” He asked looking around the room with his thick black rimmed glasses, leant against the wall with his hands clasped in his blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

“Are you married?” Someone asked from the back of the room triggering a boisterous laugh to break out across the classroom.

Professor Ji sighed and rolled his eyes, clearly contemplating his response a bit taken a back by the question. Especially in a university classroom, where everyone’s an adult, it was such a high school question, but who could blame them for asking?

“Do I look that old to you?” He responded with a chuckle, holding a hand over his chest like wound had opened over his heart. Oh and he’s funny. This literally couldn’t get any worse, he just seemed perfect.

After that the class began to start their projects, however for some reason you just couldn’t overcome the creative block in your mind on what to do. As you were sat twiddling your pencil and scratching out ideas in your planner you felt a presence appear behind you.

“Struggling?” Professor Ji appeared over your shoulder with his hands behind his back, briefly looking down at your empty page before back at your embarrassed expression.

“I guess you could say so.” You laughed as if you were begging for hole in the earth to collapse and swallow you into non existence. You watched as he smiled sympathetically thinking of a way to help you, dragging a stool and bringing it closer to your workspace. He’d done this to every student, going around to check on your progress unlike your previous professor who didn’t really care less.

“Let’s see.” He scratched his head for a moment, tapping his pencil on the table. “What are you interested in?”

You blushed internally, the question on completely professional terms but almost sounded like something someone would ask on a first date - at least in your delusional state of mind.

“Well I usually focus on work that expresses feeling, like this piece I did on stress.” You showed him a previous piece of work you did for the class, the abstract work compelling him to the phone screen.

“This is really creative. I love the way you used colour here, it’s abstract but so detailed. I think you’ve definitely found a style there —” He paused for a moment realising he didn’t know your name.

“Y/n.” You slightly smiled at him, trying to make yourself seem less like an awkward mess in front of him or mask the fact, that you totally weren’t staring at him the entire time he’d been looking at the phone.

“Y/n. I definitely won’t tell you what to do! But something similar will definitely have you sailing through this module.” He smiled, the cute line peaking at his dimples which could of had you squealing right there like some sort of wild animal.

As he walked over to the next table you couldn’t help but wish he’d stayed longer, his presence was unfortunately addicting. It’s the way his eyes lit up seeing your work, his passion for his work, his intellect, his welcoming aura, it had you in some sort of chokehold you hadn’t felt in years.

You took his words on board, an idea suddenly crossing your mind in a quick flash. Sure it wasn’t the best idea considering your current situation, but all the emotions you’d depicted so far were negative. Something within you was scratching at your brain to illustrate the feeling of the fear of love, knowing you were good at painting the feelings you genuinely felt.

Beginning to map out your idea in your planner, the new wave of creativity certainly didn’t go unnoticed by your professor as he looked over at you working away with a smile.

Then you hit a wall. You didn’t like using anything other than acrylic paint, every other form of media just for some reason seemed to irk every single creative bone within you.

“Any progress?” Professor Ji passed your table for the last time, as the lesson would soon be drawing to a close.

“Yeah I have an idea. However, I hate working with anything other than acrylic.” You expressed, your ears turning a bright pink as he grazed your arm to take a look at your planner.

“Well I think this is a great idea.” He laughed politely, readjusting his glasses with a light push. “I’d love to discuss this more thoroughly in office hours with you, if you’d be up for it?”

“Sure. When?” You asked completely composed, your mind rattling through ideas for the piece whilst trying to block out any thoughts of the man next to you. He smiled for a moment, flicking through your scribbled notes with a pen.

“Today, 5-6pm. Think of the things you want to discuss before attending and I’ll be happy to help. It seems you’re a really talented artist. You just need a push in the right direction.” He replied, his friendly register doing nothing to help you out of the sick spiral you were falling down. You smiled as he walked off to the front of the classroom to close the lesson, unable to pay any focus to the words falling from his mouth as you flipped around your ballpoint pen and chewed nervously down on your lip - the venom of adrenaline circulating your body like a wildfire from the interaction.

The class began to pack their things, snapping you out of your silly nightmare daydreams packing your sketchbook and planner. You pushed your pencil behind your ear, planning to pack it away into your pencil case at some point but not necessarily revising that idea. You slung your bag over your shoulder with a sigh, about to leave door without looking back, your bed awaits.

“Don’t forget to sign your attendance guys.” Professor Ji pointed to the clipboard on the back of the door greeting everyone on the way out with a warm smile.

You quickly went to check your bag for the loose pencil you could have sworn you just had, not remembering where you’d placed it, frantically searching the bottom of your bag for it not fussing to open the case of pens in front of you.

“Are you looking for this?” Professor Ji, took the pencil from behind your ear with a chuckle. Thankfully, being the last to leave was on your side today, no one seeing the god awful embarrassment on your face.

“Thank you, that’s so stupid of me. Sorry.” You laughed off the embarrassment, grabbing the pencil from his hand and signing your name on the sheet as he continued to laugh. “Stop laughing.” You looked over to him, holding back your own giggles as he only laughed more.

“Sorry I can’t help it. See you later y/n.” He chuckled as you left the classroom with a idiotic smile glued to your lips, the door closing behind you. You could have screamed right there and then due to the shear torment of embarrassment.

As soon as your head hit your pillowcase, the room felt as if it was spinning, so many thoughts drowning that brain of yours they were turning it into nothing but mush. You felt your eyes shuttering closed, slumber gradually taking over your body.

┈ ・꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ୨୧ ꒱ ・┈

The persistent beeping of the alarm on your bedside table triggered you to rise from your nap like something out of the walking dead. You could have used more sleep, but you seriously needed to attend Professor Ji’s office hours otherwise your project was never going to be finished.

You got ready, your head clouded with looking good for your literal university professor. You shook those thoughts out your head fairly quickly before sliding into your boots and setting off out the door. The winter semester brought in dark nights, it was cold outside, so cold you could see your breath in a thin smoke as you waited at the bus stop.

Presenting your pass to the driver, thoughts circulated your head like a manic steam train running a track as if it was the F1 , you can’t fall for your prof, it would only end in tears when he doesn’t reciprocate those feelings. Staring into the steamed windows of the bus out on the dark night, you sighed the faint sound of music playing through your headphones as comfort.

You pressed the stop button, nervously making your way down the bus aisle as it came to a halt. Making your way to the arts building on campus, you inhaled an anxious sharp breath before reaching the hallway of offices. The office still had your old professors name engraved in a silver board on the front of the door, hesitantly you knocked awaiting an answer. The door handle turned, your stomach flipping and performing handstands.

“Y/n, come in.” Professor Ji smiled, walking into the office with a confident stride, the place littered with boxes seemingly needing to be unpacked. The office was lit warmly with a lamp stood in the corner behind the desk. He sat in a spinning chair at the polished desk nearly placed towards the centre of the room.

“So explain your plan.” He leant forward as you sat in one of the chairs opposite him, you pulled out your portfolio the chunky folder highlighting a collection of your previous projects.

“So, since I’ve done a lot of work on emotion, I thought I’d tackle something more complicated. So I wanted to do the fear of falling in love.” You explained showing him a colour palette you put together in class, it showed colours from a deep scarlett red to a sapphire blue. “The only issue is I don’t know how to use any other media than acrylic.”

“Hmm. So you’re a painter?” He asked watching you nod before beginning to speak again. “Have you ever tried oil paint?”

“Only briefly, I don’t really have the funds to buy oil paints though.” You laughed, thinking the suggestion was silly considering how expensive oil paints could be on your student funds.

“Thought so, that’s why I’m offering you use my resources for this project. Here.” He pushed a set of untouched oil paints across the table, as if they’d just been bought. You looked at him with confusion, you thought this had to be too generous, you’d never had any teacher care so much about their students.

“I mean thank you so much but why?” You couldn’t help but chuckle at the gift, it wasn’t necessarily too expensive nor was it meant anything but a professional proposal.

“I know what it’s like to be a student. Plus, someone like you could really benefit from it, your work with acrylic is to not be transitioned into oil paint.” He passed on a genuine smile, a smile that radiated a positive energy you’d never felt. You looked down at them, still in a state of shock he’d go out of his way to buy such a thing for you. “I was also thinking, since 1 to 1 mentoring is setting back up with the new semester, would that be something you’d be interested in? I happened to stumble across your notes from your old professor and he noted you seemed very stressed with your work load.”

“Yeah that’s true, but I can handle it!” You tried to smile, however upon hearing the comments you couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed in front of the likes of Professor Ji and his intellectual level in art. It felt as if you were being told you were slacking or left behind. “I don’t think I need any extra help.”

“Are you sure? I mean when I was in your year I also went through 1 to 1 mentoring for the same issue. I wasn’t always at the level I am now.” He sympathised with you, trying to catch eye contact as you looked down at the table.

“Okay. I guess it can’t hurt.” You sighed, still avoiding the glare of his brown eyes across the table, a silence lingering as the grandfather clock ticked on in the background.

“That’s great to hear. So it will be out of university grounds. Purely because the university won’t let me book a space in the week, I was thinking maybe a café? Of course on a completely professional basis, there’s a few other students needing the extra help too. I’ve got one more slot, are you free Wednesday at 10am?” He rambled on slightly, the thin biro in his hand hovering over the page beneath him. He pushed up his glasses and looked at you expectantly, your many thoughts being interrupted by his gaze.

“Uh, yeah that’s my day off so I guess.” You replied with a shrug, sitting back in the chair as you watched him messily scribble in his planner. “Do you have any pieces you’re working on at the minute?” You had no idea why you asked him, however something in you was desperate to ask.

“I’m just doing research at the moment into the baroque period, I would love to have the time do a piece of my own. It’s been a while.” Prof Ji seemed happy you asked, a small grin lighting up his cheeks as he spoke about it.

“Hopefully you can clear some time soon, I’d love to see what you make yourself.” You laughed, almost forgetting you were in a professional space as you let the words slip from your lips.

“Agreed. You’re free to go, see you on Wednesday morning.” He concluded the meeting politely, seeing you out the warm lit room through the tall chestnut door.

“See you then.” You replied, feeling heat rising to your cheeks as you noticed his arm over you keeping the door open, thoughts spinning through your dizzy head feeding your delusions like a sickly candy.

┈ ・꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ୨୧ ꒱ ・┈

After then, every other class had you spacing out with a mind full of Professor Ji, thoughts of his paint covered glasses, rolled up shirt sleeves, sweet smile and messy short hair. You often smiled to yourself, the words of every other prof passing through one ear and out the other - drowning softly into the background of your daydreams.

Wednesday seemed like a century away, you found your weekend dragging by Monday felt like an entire week and so did Tuesday. The night before, you’re sat planning your outfit as if you were going somewhere incredibly important the next day. Scrolling tiktok to cancel out your nerves for the next day, although it wasn’t a date, it was a completely professional meeting. You couldn’t shake the thought of it being a café setting, somewhere where you’d get to know someone for the first time, somewhere where you’d ask someone their hobbies, stare at each other across the table- you were getting carried away, but how couldn’t you?

The weather was on your side the next morning, the sun shining through your small apartment building window, the temperature outside not too warm but not too cold either. You carefully got dressed into the clothes you picked the night before, fixing your appearance in the mirror with a smile. Hopefully the effort wouldn’t look strange to him, after all you weren’t trying to look like the weird student with the crush on the teacher, nooooo that’s not you! It was and you couldn’t deny it.

You couldn’t help but twiddle your thumbs on the bus towards campus, palms coating themselves in a thin layer of sweat, your stomach churning in anticipation. You thanked the driver, walking towards one of the many on campus café where you’d agreed on meeting. It was a sunny day, therefore a considerable amount of people had taken to having picnics on the campus green, most opting to sit outside the café with their iced drinks and books.

You spotted him immediately, sat on one of the small tables with his laptop, scrolling away through his laptop and sipping at his iced latte with pouty lips.

"Hey." You smiled walking up to the chair in front of him with a smile, he returned the smile closing his laptop and putting his drink aside on the table.

"Y/n, lovely to see you. How are things coming alone? Do you want a coffee?" He asked picking up his wallet and signalling towards inside of the cafe.

"I can get my own! And I can't say I've done much, I've been pretty distracted the past few days." You laughed, trying not to be too suspicious or act embarrassing in anyway. He looked at you momentarily, eyes wavering across your outfit and perfectly styled hair.

"You look nice, are you going somewhere after this?" He asked, for the second time heat flooded your cheeks, your ears probably lighting up bright pink.

"No." You didn't know how to respond, if anything you were too stunned to speak, trying to gargle up words out of the jungle rattling in your brain. "I just had some extra time to get ready this morning."

"Glad I'm not keeping you from getting anywhere." He chuckled a mischevious smile on his lips, "I'll get the coffee, what are you wanting?"

"An iced matcha would be nice." You blushed, your voice barely coming out above a whisper as all your dreams of a man all seemed to be coming true. He was so mature but at the same time had a man-child charm, he believed in chivalry and was always there to give you everything you needed. In your sick fantasy, he was your prince, the older man that would save you from the horror of the boys your own age.

As he nodded, politely exusing himself to get your drink, you felt your phone buzz in your pocket, reaching to grab it, a text from your roommate lit up the screen. 'Wanna go to the bar tonight?' You hadn't been out in a long time, too busy in work and exams to dare leave your mess of a bedroom: seemingly procastinating work was always more important than your own happiness and social life. 'Sure' You replied, after all you deserved some fun after everything.

Professor Ji returned with your drink, you graciously thanked him and slid your phone back into your pocket. He turned the pages of his planner to the notes about your project he'd written earlier.

"So have you started sketching out your linework yet?" He asked, repeating his little habit where he pushes up the middle of his glasses to the top og his nose since they always slid down slightly everytime he loked down.

"No... Sorry, its been a hard few days. I'm not even sure where to begin." You replied awkwardly, with all the thoughts of him you'd completely forgotten all aspects of the project or the fact it was due sooner than anticipated.

"That's okay, we can always start now, that's if you brought your sketchbook." He laughed lightly, not trying to put you in some pit of self doubt when you were already struggling to hit a pencil to paper.

"Yeah I did actually." You reach to grab your large portfolio bag, grabbing your sketchbook and opening it to the page where your moodboard for the piece was. You had practiced some sketching, feathered lines and doodles scattered across one of the pages. He reached across the table, looking at the drawings with a keen eye.

"Pass me a pencil." He asked, holding out his hand as you gave him one of yours, watching as he began to draw in the corner. "Instead of feathering your lines so much, try to get a firmer line like this so its easier for you to follow the precision of the paint."

He drew the heart balloon you'd drew in the corner, of course in a much nicer way which was soul crushing for you, but you followed his guidance and he nodded in approval. Of course, he could'nt admit it, but Ji himself was feeling some sort of gut feeling, perhaps guilt as he felt himself begin to get nervous around you. He thought it was endearing, the way you followed his movements and laughed nervously when you accidentally made a mistake quicly erasing it. However, he would absolutely never, his self control was a much tougher obstacle to tackle and he wouldn't let it fall for anyone.

You carried on discussing placement and ideas, not long until you had an minitaure layout of the page for your project all sketched out. The hour had flew by, and you almost forgot about your drink, too focused on him and his words to comprehend the time.

"Thanks for today, oh, and the drink, Professor Ji." You began to pack up your things, your pencils going neatly slotting into their case.

"Of course, just call me Changmin by the way, the professor thing is too formal even for a classroom." He felt himself cringing, why would he say that? He did mean it but, it felt even weirder that it was you saying it and not the other students.

As you left, he took off his glasses for a moment palms flattened over his face as his thoughts ran over all the events of the past hour, raking his fingers through his hair. Although he did think everything you did was in some way magical, he understood that he could not loosen the boundary between him being your tutor and you being his student. It simply couldn't happen. Ever. That thought would torment him until you either went away or he had to leave himself.

┈ ・꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ୨୧ ꒱ ・┈

For the next few hours, your daydreams had become an even more delusional hell than before. Your memory floated over the fact his hand had touched yours briefly as you handed him the pencil, the warmth of his fingertips lingering over your knuckles. As you grabbed your bag, getting ready to meet your friends you simple’s could not shake the thought of today, the chemistry between you both, the tension. It was all a bit much to handle.

You met your friends at the bar, regardless of the messy state of mind you were in. You got a break from work conversations for once, being able to stay up late and drink as much as you wanted as the sports played in the background of the bar. For the first time you felt as if this was normal university life you were living, however the huge disadvantage of not drinking in a long time is that after a couple of drinks you were irresponsibly and irrevocably drunk.

“Get home safe y/n.” You friend smiled, you two bring the last people in the bar as your roommate and her boyfriend had already left much earlier.

“You too.” You smiled before turning around and trying to walk in a straight line, the narrow alley of the street proving difficult as you accidentally wandered into the wall.

On a late night convenience store trip, trying to shake his irreplaceable thoughts. Changmin couldn’t get a wink of sleep with the pool of guilt sitting in the pit of his stomach at the idea of you. He left the store with a few snacks, figuring if he couldn’t sleep he may as well watch a movie or something to pass the time.

As if the world was against him, he noticed a familiar figure stumbling down the street, sighing as he recognised you, clearly not being in a state where you can get home safe unless you lived extremely nearby.

“Y/n?” Your ears perked up at the familiarly sweet voice. A voice of concern as you looked up to see your professor, Changmin stood in front of you with a glint of worry in his eyes.

“Oh…. hiiiii…. Sorry I must look like a mess right now.” Barely able to string out a sentence you giggled and hiccuped pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. Oh goodness… how you’d regret this in the morning.

“Can you get home safely? How much did you have to drink?” He asked frantically, gasping as you almost stumbled over his palms landing on either arm to support your body.

“Yes. You’re so funny…. I just need to get the bus.” You slurred your words going to walk past him, before you were stopped by him blocking your path.

“There’s no buses from here at this hour it’s 3am! I can’t take you home because I’ve drank myself. You can sleep on my couch if you want but if you go to walk home, I’m walking all the way with you.” Changmin stated, watching your eyes light up all giddily as you began jumping up and down.

“OOOO, What does your place look like?!” You squealed the curiosity getting you way too overexcited in the drunken state you were in

“Come on then, you had lectures in the morning you need be more careful.” Changmin let you link your arm into his, despite the berry pink shade rising in his cheeks he hoped you’d wake up in the morning and forget all about the way you were acting towards him for your own sake.

His apartment was a humble excuse for a studio, not too big but not inconveniently small either. There were band posters and some of his original art work hung on the walls across the room where there was space. It was lit warmly, he seemed to hate fluorescence of ceiling lights and much preferred dotting smaller lights with thrifted lampshades around the room.

“You have the bed, I’m gonna stay awake for a while.” He pointed to across the room where his neatly made bed was just waiting to canon balled, the mountain of pillows looking so unrightfully comfortable. You collapsed into the sheets without any arguments, failing to see the relieved smile as he sat down in front of the television.

You soon drifted off to sleep, every little mumble, little breath was heard across the room by him. He struggled to shake the thoughts of you, after all that’s what was keeping him up in the first place. He’d only made his situation worse, he couldn’t fall in love with you no matter how attractive he thought you were. Every time he shut his eyes he saw you, and now you were across the room the thought was haunting him. So he laid across the sofa awake, into the hours of the early morning until he just couldn’t keep them open anymore. Even in his dreams, the pictures of you danced like paintings across his brain.

┈ ・꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ୨୧ ꒱ ・┈

Of course leaving your professors house hungover at 8am on a Thursday morning, wasn’t the proudest moment of your life, it certainly was an experience. You’d never been mortified of your own actions, god knows what you said to him, you couldn’t remember blurting anything you shouldn’t of. However as you showed up to your lectures for the next 3 weeks he didn’t talk to you, nor did he help you with your project or take you to any cafés for your mentoring.

Your one to one sessions now took place in his office, to him it was easier to make the difference between love interest and student in there. You could tell the difference, he wasn’t as friendly, he was ice cold and this only made you more embarrassed.

After a few weeks you finally mustered up the courage to ask him.

“Why are you being so different with me?” You asked confidently, watching him avoid making eye contact and ignore the question as if he never heard it. “You owe me an explanation.”

“Do I? I’m just trying to maintain a professional relationship with you.” He shrugged continuing to check through your sketchbook, you couldn’t look at him without beginning to shake, the confidence in your voice wavering.

“What do you mean by that?” You retorted, confused to why that was suddenly so serious, when had HE ever been unprofessional, after all weren’t you the problem?

“I mean what happened those few weeks ago, was wrong. I’m your lecturer nothing more.” He placed his palm on the desk looking at you with a serious glare, eyes wavering suspiciously.

“Changmin?” You were hesitant to ask, “Do you have feelings for me?”

There was silence, you wished you could swallow your words back into your head but you were too late. He stared at you with a panicked expression, then one of disappointment before beginning to speak.

“I can’t Y/n, you’re just a student. You’re my student, I don’t want to lose my-”

He knew he was hurting himself with his own words, it was so clear he’d been pushing himself away from what he wanted and that was you.

You interrupted him with a kiss, it took a moment before he reciprocated standing up straight and pushing your back into the wall behind you. It was passionate desperate, as if every emotion, anger, frustration, love that was so forbidden - he’d just let it go. He couldn’t fight it anymore.

Pulling his face away from yours, you looked at him with teary eyes, all the emotions bursting out as your own feelings began to conflict.

“I’m sorry. That should have never happened.” He quickly backed away, holding his lips. You shook your head violently not able to produce a coherent sentence.

“No. I’m in… I can’t say it. Don’t hate me.” You still couldn’t think of the words, you didn’t want to frighten him or push him away. You were scared he wouldn’t be able to love you back, he’d hold his career over you.

However that singular tear that fell from your eye, was gently wiped away by his thumb. Wrapping his arms around your head and bringing you to his chest. He sat himself on the desk, lifting you on to his knee to comfort you.

“It’s okay, I’m in love with you too.” He whispered into your ear, only causing you to sob more as his own tears were wiped away by a hearty chuckle. “I guess we’ll have to figure out the work stuff before I can fully be able to love you like I want to though."

You smiled up at him in the ambient lighting, as he rocked you in his arms against the warmth of his chest you were content. The dimples in his cheeks sending your stomach swarming with butterflies, as you pushed your glasses up his nose for him.

That’s how you accidentally fell in love with your art professor.

┈ ・꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ୨୧ ꒱ ・┈

[kurokoros]

into open flames | (s.h.)

Rated: M (future smut, descriptions of blood/injury)

Words: 15.2K

Pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

Summary: There’s a storm raging, winds howling and snow beating against the cabin walls. Outside a monster shrieks his name in an awful and warbled voice that sounds like you. And it shouldn’t be awkward, Steve thinks. It’s not the first time he’s seen you naked.

You and Steve are almost something. Almost lovers. And it feels almost like hell; almost romantic.

OR: A blackout snowstorm and a monster force you and Steve to take shelter in Hopper’s old cabin. From there, everything starts slotting into place.

AN: oops! this took longer to write than expected and now it’s being posted in three parts because I didn’t have it in me to try and write another 10K+ before posting. the third part will include smut!

Warnings: horror elements (the monster is modeled after the official illustration of the “bagman” from dnd). descriptions of blood and gore. non-sexual nudity. reader implied to be shorter than steve. reader is a hopper but there’s no mention of blood relation. cop!steve but it’s for monster hunting reasons. S3 and S4 never happened in this universe alteration, but upside down shenanigans have still been happening post-S2

Chapters: Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Steve’s head is throbbing.

That’s the first thing he registers. Consciousness creeps over him slowly. Languid. The ringing in his ears drags him back. It’s dark and his head feels swollen and ready to pop under the pressure thrumming through his skull. Stuffed with cotton. Or shoved too deep underwater. Not a hangover, he knows that much. He’s had enough to know the difference. Wherever he is, it’s cold and wet. The exposed parts of his skin feel damp under burning numbness. And he hurts. The pressure beneath his skull. The right side of his chest and arm burn. His hands sting.

Beneath the ringing in his ears there’s something else, something muffled. Icey fingers touch his cheek.

Slowly, his head lolls to the side. His eyes are closed, he realizes belatedly. It takes more effort than it should to get them to open, his eyelids sticky like glue. When they do open, he can’t see anything. For a horrifying second, he thinks he’s been struck blind. Then, his vision starts to readjust. Acclimating to the darkness.

Everything is a hazy shade of blue.

For a second, he’s back in high school. Sprawled across the Byers’ couch after getting the shit beaten out of him by Billy Hargrove. Bloody. Mottled black and blue bruises spattered across his face and chest like a sick watercolor painting, the colors all blending together. It hurt to move. Hurt to breathe. Something in his chest rattled whenever he did. His ears wouldn’t stop ringing. The queasy feeling in his stomach only got worse as shapes and shadows moved around the room, voices shouting over each other until the bile surged up his throat and he vomited all over the Byers’ floor.

A concussion.

There’s a shadow leaning over him, and he thinks of you, stroking back his hair and whispering to him that night, telling him everything would be okay. That he was okay. Now, he can’t make out the words.

A sluggish blink and suddenly everything looks sharper.

The sky is black. So black, he can’t see the stars behind the clouds rolling overhead. Only a sliver of the moon peeks through, waning, but enough to dimly light the space where he’s lying. Steve’s head lolls sideways. His cheek presses against ice. Snow. There’s snow surrounding him. Turned blue in the shadow of a distant light. And trees. The shape of them is silhouetted and dark. Spindly oak trees. Branches bare and snapped off in some places. Blood in the snow. Smeared across one of the trees in a color that’s almost black. Streaked across the sleeve of a jacket he distantly realizes is his.

There’s a gun in his hand.

The shadow leans over him again.

It takes another second for the pieces to snap back into place.

His fingers clench. He lunges. Pain ripples through his shoulder as he wrenches around in the snow, gun in his hand, aimed in a brutal swing towards the figure hovering over his chest. Milky eyes. No face. Too long limbs. Too tight skin. Claws. Claws. Claws.

Steve doesn’t brain the creature like he hopes to. His arm is forced back into the snow by a solid grip on his wrist. The push and pull tears at the lacerations on his right arm. A pained hiss slips from between his teeth; the gun slips from between his numb fingers. Hands hold him down. Hot breath washes over his face and he thinks of that trilling, gurgling growl he hears in his nightmares. Panic, white-hot and sharp, digs into the spaces between his ribs and rips at his insides.

Before he can swing again, the pressure on his arm releases. Hands grab his face and wrench his head to the side.

“Shh,” a familiar voice whispers. “Shh, Steve, it’s me. It’s me. You’re okay. You’re okay.” The words come out in a rush, strung together frantically. It sounds like white noise until the ringing fades.

The shadow over him takes physical form. Wild eyes. Frazzled hair. A pretty face that haunts his waking hours. Just as pretty as he last saw this morning.

Your name tumbles from his lips, slurred around a numb tongue and a mouthful of blood.

Your hands are shaking where they’re pressed to his cheeks. Cold. Afraid. Both. When clarity sinks into his hazel eyes, you smile, but it’s strained. Your bottom lip wobbles. Your eyes are bloodshot and puffy. Your face is wet. “It’s me,” you tell him again. “It’s just me.” One of your knees nudges against the side of his chest and he groans as it sends pain shooting along his ribs. “I’m sorry. Please, you have to—you have to stay quiet. Okay? You’re okay.”

One of your hands slides from his cheek down to his chest, slipping under his open jacket to rest over his rapidly beating heart. Your palm rubs against the fabric of his uniform shirt, your thumb sweeping back and forth idly until his pulse starts to slow.

You’re alive. It slams into his chest with the gentle touch of your hand, your open palm on his heart. Fuck, you’re alive. A strange, shuddering breath rattles in his chest and claws out of his mouth around the sudden tightness in his throat. The lingering panic from when he couldn’t find you seeps from his muscles and leaves him lying there limply underneath you as one of your hands sweeps the damp hair away from his forehead. His eyes flutter shut. Just for a moment. Until he remembers where he is. Remembers the thing that attacked him. A monster.

A tree branch snaps. Your red and swollen eyes wrench away from his to scan the shadowy spaces between the spindly trees. Nothing calls out to you or Steve from the darkness.

“What happened?” Steve asks around a cottony mouth. He shifts his weight until he can sit up on his elbows, hissing as his shoulder burns in protest. The hand on his chest tries to ease him back down. He doesn’t let you. With his good arm, he grasps just above your elbow, needing to feel you under his hands. “Are you—”

“I’m fine,” you cut him off. Cold fingers stroke down his cheek to cup his jaw and force him to meet your eyes. “I’m fine. I don’t—I don’t know what happened. I was coming back from the cabin and it was just there. I thought—I heard someone. I thought it was a kid or something, but…” Briefly, you trail off, gaze far away before you squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head. “And I ran. It followed me, and I couldn’t—I tried to go back to the road. I left the radio in the car. I thought if I could get there and call you, maybe…”

There’s a tightness in his chest that won’t loosen. “It didn’t hurt you?”

“No,” you’re quick to reassure him, “no, Steve, I’m fine. Look at me. I’m okay.” His hand strokes down your arm from elbow to wrist, grounding you both as he does what you say and looks at you. His eyes dart around wildly, unfocused, but desperate to make sure you’re really okay.

“There was a space down by the creek,” you tell him as he looks you over carefully. His good hand drops down to your waist, automatically burrowing under your jacket to hold you closer. “It must have been somewhere a deer was nesting. I hid there for a while. It couldn’t find me.” You wet you lips, rushing through your explanation without allowing him time to question any of it. “I came out when I heard the gunshot.”

Steve squeezes your side gently, fingers digging into your sweater enough for you to feel the heat of his hand. “Jesus Christ.” He breathes through his nose, closing his eyes tightly as his head throbs. “Tommy Mulligan thought he saw a wild man in the woods last night,” he says when you brush his hair away from his face again. “And I—I thought I heard you screaming last night.”

It’s a quiet admission, one he doesn’t mean to make. He hates telling you about his nightmares. The panic attacks. The headaches that won’t go away. They make you worry. The concern that pinches the space between your brows makes guilt swirl in his stomach. Vulnerability still doesn’t come easy to him, even with you.

Steve swallows his pride. “I thought it…” he trails off, but you already know. He thought it was a nightmare. One where he saw you disappear in front of him while he couldn’t do shit to protect you. When he has night terrors like that, he never comes out of them quickly. They linger. Itch at his skin until the soft murmur of your voice and gentle hands manage to soothe the raw nerves once more, like a balm. “But, Will heard it, too. I didn’t. I didn’t want to—”

Scare you. Watch that faraway look cloud over your eyes as you were sucked back into something horrible, lost in your own head. Didn’t want to believe it, because that would make it real, and fuck Steve’s tired of all of this. He’s so damn tired of watching everything fall apart—watching you fall apart.

You chew your bottom lip. “The gates?”

Steve closes his eyes. “Closed,” he says. “They’re still closed. Owens said they haven’t been active in months.” Which means a new gate. Or maybe this thing has been living in Hawkins for years without any of them noticing. Hiding. Watching.

The thought makes him sick.

You’re still chewing on your bottom lip when he looks at you again. Like he feared, that faraway look is back in your eyes, panic at the edges of your pupils, like you’re remembering something awful. “It can throw its voice,” you blurt before Steve can ask you what’s wrong.

He blinks. A wrinkle forms between his eyebrows. “What?”

His voice rouses you from the confines of your own head. Your eyes snap up to meet his. “You know in some cartoons? Like, like old episodes of Scooby Doo? You remember—you remember when we used to watch them?” you ask, the beginning of a ramble on the tip of your tongue. “Some characters could throw their voices. Or, or ventriloquists, I guess.” Steve isn’t following, you can tell by the confused tilt of his head, and you force yourself to take a breath and gather yourself. When you speak again, you sound more sure. “It can make it sound like it’s somewhere it isn’t,” you explain, as simple as you can. “When I was… hiding, it sounded like it was everywhere at the same time. It would be in front of me, then behind me the next second. Or, or close and then further away. Like it was trying to make me think it was somewhere it wasn’t. Or trying to disorient me.”

It felt like it was screwing with you. Taunting you for reasons you couldn’t understand. It didn’t feel like you were being hunted, not in the same way as the Demogorgon made you feel, or that pack of monstrous, canine-like creatures. Stalked, but not hunted.

“Son of a bitch,” Steve says under his breath. “That’s how it got me. Thought there was a second one coming from the side.” With your help, he sits up fully, grabbing his gun from where it sunk into the snow and pulling his wounded arm close to his chest.

The blood oozing from his open wounds makes your stomach churn. The flashlight, half-buried beneath mounting flakes illuminates the area just enough for you to see the gore staining the fresh snow.

“It’s smart,” you say, forcing your eyes away from the bloodstains. “It got me to leave the path because I thought I heard someone crying. Like a little kid. And all I could think was—”

“Will,” he finishes for you.

“Yeah,” you agree, voice small. “Like it, like it knew that I’d stop because of that. And it, it could have just attacked me. It probably could have killed me before I even knew it was there. I didn’t have anything to protect me. But it didn’t. It was trying to lure me somewhere and ambush me, or something. I don’t—” Don’t know. Don’t want to know. Don’t understand.

He sighs. “The Mulligans said it ran away when they fired a warning shot.”

“Right.” You wet your lips. “And you must have scared it, too. It knocked you out. It could have killed you while you were unconscious if it wanted food, or just wanted to hunt. So, why didn’t it?”

He doesn’t have an answer for you, and the silence blanketing the woods is unnerving. Wind whistles through the trees, growing shrill, and you shiver as the cold air wraps around you, blowing your hair into your face.

“We can’t stay here,” you tell Steve, lowering your voice and leaning closer to him, for comfort or warmth, he isn’t sure. “I don’t know how well it can hear, and we can’t stay out here all night. The snow is already getting worse.”

A blizzard is what your dad called it. Unlike any storm Hawkins has seen in years. The kind you can’t survive outdoors. Enough snow that he and Joyce couldn’t risk driving home. Enough to bury you and Steve in the woods until spring thaws your frostbitten skin, or the animals find you.

He makes a face like he knows what you’re thinking. “You know how to get to the road from here?”

You nod. “But it’s not close. A mile walk. Maybe more than that.” You try to do the calculations in your head, but between your cold fingers and the exhaustion pulling at your weary muscles, you can’t figure out exactly where you are. “I don’t… I don’t know how far out we are right now. The cabin’s closer. And you… Steve, you’re hurt,” you tell him, finally acknowledging the gore splattered across the snow, his sleeve, the trees. Thick and red and still leaking down from a gruesome wound on his arm.

“We can’t call for help from the cabin,” he tries to argue.

“We can’t call from the car, either,” you snap. “We’d have to go back to the trailer.”

He groans. “And if it follows us, we’d lead it right to the kids. Fuck.”

There’s a part of him that wants to risk going to the car and getting the hell out of here, but it’s gone before he can dwell on it. He won’t risk the kids’ safety. And you’re cold. And his shoulder is still bleeding sluggishly.

You look at him like you’d follow him anywhere, and he won’t risk you.

“Fuck,” he says again.

It’s a long hike to the cabin. Normally a twenty-minute walk, the growing storm makes it hard to see. The snow is thick. Neither of you can see more than two dozen feet ahead, and with the snow up to your knees in places, it isn’t easy to cut between the trees.

Blood drips down Steve’s sleeve onto the snow, leaving a faint trail behind you that you pray is lost under the snow and wind. He’s leaning against you heavily, one of his arms wrapped around your shoulders and keeping you pressed up against his side. The gun in his hand is cocked and ready, the safety clicked off. It isn’t safe, and it goes against everything he’s been taught, but if that thing comes back, he’s not letting it touch you.

The forest is quiet until suddenly it isn’t.

Far off to the North, a creature bays. Howling and screeching over the wind, he can’t make out the words it says, but you shrink into his side. Both of your steps come to a halt.

Another call comes from the direction you came from, echoing the first.

Like you said, the calls seem to circle the two of you, and Steve swears under his breath, unable to pinpoint where they’re coming from. His grip around you tightens, and he drags you forward on long legs that have you struggling to keep up. The two of you stumble through the snow, steps hurried even as the snow grabs hold of your legs and sucks you in, unwilling to let go.

You don’t make it more than a dozen feet before a sound like lightning rips through the woods, a loud crack that makes his heart jump into his throat. A tree branch snapping in two.

Steve pulls you tight to his chest and drags you to the nearest tree, your back flush to his front. Bark from the tree behind him scrapes against his shoulders through his jacket as he presses closer to the large oak tree, one with a trunk large enough to span the width of his shoulders. The gun is heavy in his right hand, his finger already hovering over the trigger as another branch snaps in the distance. Both of your hands clutch at the arm braced over your collarbone, your fingers digging into his forearm as snow crunches somewhere behind you, barely audible beneath the wind. He squeezes your shoulder, grounding you both as the footsteps grow closer.

A shadow moves across the snow, barely visible in the faint moonlight streaking between the trees.

There are sixteen bullets left in the magazine. This morning, when he counted them, there were seventeen. It only took a single shot to scare the damn thing off before. That might not be enough this time. Fuck, they should have gone for the car. At least you would have gotten a head start. A way out. Steve, he can hold it back for a while, maybe even kill it, if he gets lucky. But you? You’re unarmed. And if this thing follows you straight to the cabin, then what? You wait there, stranded? Trapped inside until it gets bored, or it gives up? Or the door gives in?, a nasty part of his brain offers.

“Hello?”

The taste of iron coats his tongue with every shuddering breath he takes, his cheek split open where he bit down when the monster knocked him to the ground. The cold air stings his lungs. Blood roars in his ears, so loud he thinks it’s that thing at first, growling and clicking like other monsters from the other side of reality. Red drips down his arm, blood soaking his mangled sleeve, and Steve wonders if the creature stalking them can smell it. If it knows exactly where they are and it’s just toying with them.

“Steve?”

His grip on the gun falters.

It’s using your voice again. The creature cries out his name, a tremor to its tone, like it’s going to cry. He’s heard that same tone in your own voice: in his nightmares and in his memory.

You shake in his arms, a testament to just how fucking petrified you are after what you’ve been through today. Steve’s seen you stare down monsters before with no regard for your own life. He’s never seen you timid like this, and it only makes him angrier.

Maybe he can surprise it. It’s behind him. Somewhere to the right. If he’s fast enough, he can get a handful of shots off before it even knows you and Steve are there. He’d have to get lucky with the angle, though. And he might not be able to see it through the snow.

He’s about to slip out from behind you when you let go of his arm and place your hand over his on the gun, stilling him before he can raise it. You don’t dare say a word, even as the creature wanders through the trees, calling out in a voice it stole from you.

You hold him there, keeping the gun pointed at the ground and him pressed against your back as the monster’s cries fade into the distance.

Neither of you move for a while.

By the time the cabin comes into view, there are black spots in Steve’s vision.

His grip hasn’t loosened on the gun since that thing almost caught them. And he hasn’t let go of you, either. Left arm looped around your shoulder. Your right slung around his waist, letting him lean some of his weight onto you. His legs are fine, but he still feels sluggish. Waves of dizziness wash over him at random moments, infrequent, but still somewhat alarming. At first, you’d let him be, trusting him to keep himself upright, but after the third time he started to sway you slipped your arm around him and haven’t let go since.

Pressed against him like this, Steve can feel every shiver that wracks your body. They’ve been getting worse in the time the two of you have been walking. The clothes you wore today are already soaked through and stiff with frost and a thin sheen of ice. There’s ice in your hair, too, where the fresh torrent of snow is starting to layer and melt. It’s starting to make him nervous, if he’s being honest. With the temperature dropping and the storm getting worse, he’s worried about hypothermia setting in.

You seem to be doing all right, for now, but he needs to warm you up.

The porch stairs are climbed in a pair of unsteady steps. Steve leans more of his weight onto you than he’d like, an old injury to his knee starting to ache with the cold, but you only squeeze your arm around him tighter.

With your free hand, you fumble with the door. It takes a few tries for you to get a grasp on the knob and jiggle it open, your hands have started shaking so badly. As quick as you get it open, your hand retreats back into your sleeve, a vain attempt to shield your fingers from the cold.

He kicks the door open with his foot. It doesn’t open more than a crack. It’s dark inside. The lights are off, and he can’t remember if you mentioned there being any power or not. Regardless, it’s safe. Safer than being outside, anyway.

Gently, he shifts his arm from around your shoulders, pressing his hand to your lower back and nudging you forward. You glance up at him, searching his face, and you must find whatever you’re looking for, because you slip through the crack in the door without a word.

Steve only places his handgun back into its holster after you disappear into the darkened room.

Before he follows you, Steve turns half-way around, glancing across the short yard towards the edge of the tree line from where you came. For a moment, he waits, listening for cries or calls of his name coming from the woods. Nothing. It’s silent. The snow is too thick to see more than a dozen feet away.

There’s an itch under his skin. A crawling feeling, like he’s being watched. If the monster is out there, stalking them, it keeps its distance for now. He can only hope that lasts.

“Steve?”

He flinches. He only turns when he realizes the call came from behind him. You’re standing in the doorway, arms wrapped around yourself as you wait for him to follow you inside. You look small, shivering there in one of his old jackets, with your hands tucked into the sleeves and your hair a mess from the wind and snow.

Casting one last look over his shoulder, Steve follows you inside. He kicks the door shut again, pressing his back against the wood to keep it closed. The two of you are plunged into darkness. Neither of you move for a moment, listening to the sound of each other’s breathing. You’re not even two feet from him, but you’re only a silhouette in the shadows. Intangible. Like he could reach to touch you, but pass right through. Close enough for him to smell the last lingering wisps of your perfume, fruity or floral, he can’t quite tell. But it’s you. It’s home.

Eventually, he forces himself to turn the deadbolt on the door. Tries not to think about how easy it would be to break it down anyway.

“Where’s your lighter?” you ask as Steve reaches for the flashlight on his belt. The beam is weak, and it flickers, but he keeps it aimed at the floor anyway.

The question makes his brows furrow, a frown tugging at his mouth. “What?”

You sigh, a note of frustration creeping in, perhaps unfairly. “Your lighter,” you repeat, a little louder, taking a half-step closer to him. “The power’s out. I—I don’t think anything really works here anymore. There’s no heat or water, so we need to, we need to light the fireplace or we’re just going to end up freezing in here.” You stumble over the explanation, still trembling even without the wind beating down on you.

The slight slur to your words makes his frown deepen.

You mistake his silence for concern over something else. “And don’t bullshit me. I know you still smoke sometimes when you’re stressed. I can smell it on you when you come to bed after.” You sniff, shuffling from one foot to the other, wincing at the pins and needles stabbing at your feet, the numbness starting to catch up to you now that you’re inside and have a moment to breathe. “So, where’s your lighter?”

“Left pocket,” he admits, a little ashamed that you know he still keeps it on him. He’s been trying to stop, for you. Thought he did, for a while, until all of this shit started up again last summer.

There’s no disappointment in your tone though, only impatience. “Jacket?”

“Yeah.”

Your hand peeks from your sleeve and slips into his pocket without a word. The lighter is buried deep, and your fingers are numb, and for several frustrating seconds you can’t find it until Steve lifts his arm and places his hand on your side, holding you together with a single touch. It takes another second for your hands to stop shaking long enough for you to wrap your fingers around the piece of metal. Steve’s thumb moves over your jacket in slow strokes until you step back again, the lighter clenched in your fist.

You’re slower to move entirely out of his space.

Though you were here only hours ago, the layout of the room is unfamiliar. Dark, save for the weak flicker of the flashlight in Steve’s hand, there are strange shadows cast along the walls. Furniture is distorted. Elongated. Twisted into hunched figures with gangly limbs and gnarled claws. At once, you feel like a child again. Scared of the dark and what lurks there.

Except, you already know the answer to that. And the real monsters, not the ones that used to hide under the bed, are more horrific than anything you could have imagined.

You take a few shuffling steps into the living room, dragging your feet to feel for the furniture. The fireplace is on the far wall. You can’t remember what lies between.

As you cross the room, Steve turns around and starts sliding the locks into place. Three, besides the deadbolt. Each snap into place with a loud click that makes your breath catch and your heart seize.

Dim light illuminates the room. The coffee table is inches from your shin.

“Hey?” Steve calls across the room. You can’t see him behind the flashlight beam. He lowers the light, crossing the distance to you in a few long strides. He wets his lips before dipping his chin to speak softly into your ear. “Stay here, okay?” he asks, reaching out to take your elbow into his hand, squeezing gently. “I’m going to go check the backdoor. Make sure everything’s locked up tight.”

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, worrying it. “We need to look at your arm,” you remind him, glancing down at the mess of dark blood and torn skin hidden beneath his ripped clothes. The sight makes your eyes itchy and wet, and you have to blink back the tears threatening to spill over.

“After,” Steve says, squeezing your arm. “It won’t take long.” He keeps a firm grip on your elbow until you nod, and even then, he’s reluctant to leave you standing here alone. His palm slips an inch down your arm, his grip loosening as he starts to pull away, but then he stops. Before you can ask what’s wrong, he presses his lips to your temple, lingering with his eyes squeezed shut until he hears you take a slow, shallow breath and your shoulders relax. “I’ll be right back.”

Both of you feel colder after he takes a step back.

He leaves the flashlight on the coffee table. The weak beam flickers in and out. By now, the battery is nearly drained, and the only replacements are crammed into the glovebox of Hopper’s truck. Still, it’s just enough to keep you from being plunged into the darkness completely. A welcome respite until the fire is lit.

His chest tightens when he crosses the room. The flashlight is just enough to let him see your figure against the shadows on the walls. It’s not until he rounds a wall that you’re out of sight, leaving an open pit in his stomach. Beneath the creaking floorboards, the cabin is too quiet. Too still. It’s unnerving. He moves quickly through the small space, uncaring of the way he slams his knees and shins into furniture in the dark. The noise helps. In the living room, it reminds you that he’s still here. Out of sight, but here. For Steve, the bang of his knees colliding with a half-collapsed table drowns out the faint ringing in his ears.

In the darkness, his hands fumble for the door. Fingers crawl blindly across the wall, catching on slivers and cracks in the wood until he finds the weathered door. It takes a moment of groping to find the knob and twist. The door doesn’t budge. Steve throws his weight against it, his good shoulder banging against the solid wood. It stays firmly shut. Again, his hand wanders over the wall near the door, fingers running over one, two, three more locks running along the height of the doorway. He loops his fingers around each chain one by one, yanking on them roughly to be sure the metal won’t give.

They don’t, and he only hopes that fucking thing in the woods isn’t smart enough to open them from outside.

It takes more stumbling through the dark and stubbing his fingers against walls and cabinets to find the windows. Like the door, they’re all locked tightly. Curtains are pulled shut over most of them, keeping anyone from looking outside—or looking in. He doesn’t know if that thing can see. Its eyes were pale, milky white, like his grandfather’s were after the cataracts got so bad he couldn’t see anything anymore. He doesn’t know if it, like the Demogorgon, doesn’t need to see. If it can track them down in other ways. Hearing. It can mimic voices, so it has to hear well enough.

Or smell, he thinks with a grimace, shoulder aching and blood dripping down his arm.

Stomach churning, he leaves the curtains closed. He leaves the backroom quickly, checking the bedrooms and closing the curtains there as well, casting glances at you as he moves from room to room. You stay crouched by the unlit fireplace, barely moving.

When Steve steps back into the living room to close the curtains there, he realizes you’re trembling. Your hands, mostly, the tremors vibrating along your arms until your entire body is quivering.

“Come on,” you murmur around teeth that are starting to chatter, thumb scraping against the flint. The lighter clicks, sparking, but the flame doesn’t catch. The next flick of your thumb ends the same. Your hands are too shaky. Too numb. “Come on. Fuck. Come on. Please.” There’s a sharp pressure behind your eyes and in your throat, frustration choking you until you can’t breathe right. You ignore the stinging in your eyes, continuing to drag your finger against the spark wheel desperately.

Steve’s footsteps are loud, the wood floors still creaking underfoot, but you barely notice him there until he lowers himself to one knee beside you. His right hand sweeps up your back, smoothing over your damp jacket. You gasp, stiffening under his touch until his knee knocks against yours, familiar and firm. He leaves his hand pressed between your shoulder blades, the heat from his palm sinking into you through the layers of your clothes. The warmth almost makes you whimper.

“Hey,” he starts, voice low against your ear. The hand that isn’t anchored to your back reaches towards the lighter you’re still trying to start. “Let me—”

“I’ve got it.” It comes out in a rush, barely audible. Your hands are shaking worse, and you don’t spare him a look, forcing yourself to concentrate.

He sighs, rubbing your back gently. “Seriously, come on. Just let me—”

“I’ve got it, Steve,” you snap at him, pinning him with a harsh look before your stare returns to the unlit logs. Expression almost manic, there’s nothing you can do to hide the raw panic in your gaze. All of your bravado seems to have melted away in the long minutes he left you alone, rationality giving way to fear. You’ve been doing so, so well holding yourself together so far, but the cracks in your façade are starting to spread. One more chip in the glass and you might just splinter apart. Shatter.

And it makes his heart sink into the pit of his stomach to think about. Because you were alone. For hours, you were alone in the woods. And you were scared. Exhaustion is clear in the way you’re curled into yourself, shivering and weary. Seeing you like this scares him. You’ve always been a rock. Always kept him grounded when he needed it. And he would do anything to make you feel safe. Anything. He’d burn this world to the ground if that’s what it took.

“Hey,” he says softly, practically cooing as he reaches out and tilts your chin towards him, coaxing you to look at him again. Your eyes slide right past his face, dropping lower to the blood soaked into his sleeve. The gray fabric is stained from shoulder to elbow, darker around the edges and in tatters where sharp claws sliced through. He presses his fingers into your jaw a little harder, squeezing gently until you finally meet his eyes. “I’m okay. You’re okay. All right?” He chews the inside of his cheek, thumb idly sweeping across your jaw. “I’m not… I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. Okay? We just have to get the fire started and wait it out, remember? We just need to wait it out.”

Your fingers are wrapped around his lighter so tightly that the metal is digging into your palm, leaving harsh lines. It takes several long seconds for his words to sink in, but the soothing motion of his thumb across your jaw makes the tension in your frame release. Eventually, you nod, your eyes squeezing shut briefly.

His fingers leave your chin. Slowly, he lowers his hand to hover over yours, his fingertips grazing your knuckles. “Can I?” he asks, gesturing to the lighter still clenched in your fist.

You nod again. “Yeah,” you say, voice cracking at the end. You wet your lips and try again. “Yes. Sorry.”

Steve hushes you as you start to murmur apologies under your breath. You’re still trembling, and he slips his palm around your wrist, thumb rubbing circles over the thin skin covering your rapid pulse. The two of you sit like that for a minute, until your iron grip starts to loosen and you fall quiet again. Slowly, his big hand slides down, engulfing yours as he pries your fingers away from the metal, careful with your stiff digits.

“Fuck, honey,” he says as your grip slackens enough for the lighter to slip to the floor with a clatter. Neither of you move to pick it up and light the fire. Instead, Steve wraps his hand around yours, his thumb rubbing over the bumps of your knuckles. Lips downturned, his brows knit together. “Your hands are freezing.”

The heat that envelops your fingers makes you shudder. Too hot. Too much. Too fast. A sound akin to a whimper slips out on your exhale, shaky and painfully soft.

“Does that hurt?” He loosens his grip slightly, thumb still working circles into your knuckles. Alarm buzzes through him at the iciness where your skin meets his. The drastic difference opens a pit in his stomach. Your hands have always been colder than his, but never like this. This isn’t your chilly toes bumping playfully against his legs at night to startle him into a yelp. This cold is bone deep, the kind that burns when they start to thaw, stiff and painful to the touch.

You grimace as he starts to uncurl your fingers more. There’s a sob crawling up the back of your throat at the sharp, stabbing pain in your hands, but you swallow it down before it can slip from between your teeth. “A little,” you admit, downplaying as much as he’ll let you get away with. Unable to stop yourself, your gaze slips down to the blood and torn fabric and torn skin—

“I left my gloves on the counter,” you tell him sheepishly, offering a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. Tone more bitter than you mean it to be, you add, “Guess I should have been more careful, huh?”

Steve doesn’t say anything, just lifts your hand to his mouth and presses his lips to your knuckles, trying to soothe the ache spreading through your fingers as warmth slowly seeps back into them. For a while, he leaves his lips there, parted slightly as he breathes through his mouth. His thumb never stops moving, and the friction helps, even as the burning grows intense. Pins and needles stab at your flesh, and you bite your bottom lip to distract from the sharp aches.

Eventually, his grip loosens. Reluctantly, he pulls your hand from his lips. “Better?” he asks, lowering your linked hands to your thigh before slipping his fingers out from between yours. His grip shifts to your leg, squeezing gently. The fabric is stiff and cold under his palm, and he flinches away instinctively.

“I fell,” you admit when his eyes jump back to yours in horror, though it takes longer than it should for you to realize why he’s so concerned. “I thought the creek was frozen over, but the ice wasn’t thick enough.”

For a moment, he’s quiet. Then, he manages to choke out a soft, “When?” Careful to keep his tone even.

“I don’t—a couple hours, maybe?” Your brows pinch together in confusion. “I’m not sure. A while ago, I guess. I can’t really feel it, so I just—I… forgot.”

Forgot. You forgot that you fell into water. Forgot that you’ve been wearing freezing clothes for hours.

Hypothermic, he realizes with a jolt. You’re hypothermic. It takes a second for his thoughts to unscramble, for him to swallow back the initial surge of panic that rises up in his chest at the new information. You seemed so level-headed before that he didn’t even notice the stiffness of your jeans or the patches of ice clinging to your clothes and hair, his head still foggy from being slammed against the ground before you found him. Bitterly, he berates himself for not seeing it before. The signs are right there. Steve doesn’t take his eyes off your face, taking in the discolored hue of your lips and the slow way you’re blinking, the more noticeable slur to the way you’re speaking.

Your eyes widen. Alarm twists your expression as you come to the same conclusion as him moments later than you should. “Steve…”

“Okay,” he says. Nervously, his tongue darts out to wet his lips. Slowly, he lowers his hand again, hovering over your thigh briefly before he reaches for the lighter on the floor instead. Fire. He needs to light the damn fire. “It’s okay. Just let me…”

Where you fumbled with the lighter, Steve catches the flame first try. Logs are already piled in the fireplace from the cabin was still occupied, and there are more stacked in the corner from last summer, when Hopper coerced Steve and Jonathan into helping him chop down one of the old oaks nearby. It was Fourth of July weekend and Steve left with blisters on his hands and a bone-deep ache in his arms. There’s enough wood to survive the winter, more than enough to last for a few days out here, if you need to. Hopefully, it won’t come to that.

The kindling is still dry, thankfully. The flames spread quickly, the logs catching fire one after another until they’re burning steadily. He’ll have to keep an eye on it, make sure the flames don’t burn too low or burn out.

“There.” He clears his throat, sliding the lighter back into his pocket. The firelight casts a warm glow through the room, and for the first time tonight he gets a good look at you. In the light, the faint discoloration of your lips and skin is more prominent, and he can see how badly you’re trembling in your soaked clothes. “How’s that? Fire starting to help at all?” he asks, even though he knows it’s too early for your frozen limbs to thaw.

His heart sinks when you only give him a weak smile in return.

“Come on.” Steve taps your thigh, hooking one hand under your leg and tugging until your confusion melts into realization. Limbs stiff and numb, it takes a minute for you to stand like he wants, and once you’re on your feet you sway unsteadily, knees weak from being crouched in the same position for so long. He keeps you steady with his hand on your thigh, grip tight over an icy patch on your jeans. “We need to get you out of this,” he says, looking up at you as you place your hands on his shoulders delicately, a frown pulling at your pretty mouth.

“Your arm,” you start to argue, glancing at the sluggishly growing stain on his right sleeve.

“Can wait,” he tells you, firm. Your brows knit together, your lips pursing. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re freezing.” He sends you a pointed look as a shiver wracks your body, and you avert your gaze. “Your clothes are soaked,” he continues, rubbing his thumb back and forth against your inner thigh. “Baby, if we don’t warm you up…” He shakes his head. “And you were out there for hours. We need to get you out of these clothes. I’m not—I’m not gonna argue about this.”

You chew your bottom lip. “You’re bleeding,” you try anyway, fingers curling into his sleeve above the top laceration.

“I don’t care.” He squeezes your leg, pinning you with the most serious look you’ve ever seen. “Just… let me take care of you, okay? Will you please just let me take care of you first?” His eyes search yours. He finds them melancholy and heavy with guilt, and he hates that look more than anything. “And, this?” He shrugs his bad shoulder. “Doesn’t even hurt. Not even a little bit.”

“Liar,” you call him, just like you did this morning. And you’re right to. His shoulder is still throbbing, and the amount of blood soaked into his clothes is concerning, but he needs to take care of you first. Needs to make sure you’re going to be okay.

“I’m serious. It barely scratched me.” Besides, Steve’s suffered worse than a couple of cuts on his arm.

You’re still looking at him like you want to put up a fight, but it’s not long before you come to the conclusion that you’ll be no good to him like this—barely able to feel your fingers and toes, shaking so badly you couldn’t even light the fire without help.

“Okay,” you relent, giving in to the concern in his eyes and the gentle touch of his hand on your leg.

“Okay?”

You sniff, nodding. “Yeah.”

“All right.”

Steve lets you rest more of your weight on his shoulders as he shifts to a more comfortable position, his knees already starting to sting. Both of his hands slide up and down the outside of your thighs, soothing you more than trying to warm you up at this point. Friction won’t help anymore. Even if the ice melts, your clothes are still drenched. Staying in wet clothes will only make you sick, and that’s assuming you aren’t already, because it’s cold outside. Colder than cold, really, different from the kind of cold that November brings. This time of January, it’s the kind of cold that hurts when you breathe in too deep.

He squeezes your knee once before sliding his hand down your calf to where your pants are tucked into the top of your boot. It’s quick work, undoing the laces enough so that he can slip your shoes off without jostling you too much. You don’t make a sound as he keeps you balanced, chucking the shoes somewhere behind you without taking his eyes off your legs. He grimaces when he sees your socks are soaked through.

Soaked, but not frozen. It’s barely a respite, all things considered, but it’s better than the alternative, he supposes, already rolling the first damp sock down over the heel of your foot.

“Can you feel that?” he asks, glancing up as he runs his thumb over the top of your foot.

“Yeah.”

He lowers your foot to the floor, reaching for the other. “Both of them?”

This time you only nod.

Your fuzzy, purple socks join the growing pile of clothes on the floor, and he grimaces when he sees the wet patches near the hem of your jacket. “This, too, honey,” he says, tugging at the edge.

Again, all you do is nod, too cold or too miserable or too tired to put up any more of a fight for the time being. One of your hands leaves his arms as you start to shrug the coat from your shoulders, movements stiff and slow. Steve helps you from his spot on the floor, tugging on the sleeve to help slip it off. The second arm comes faster, and soon the jacket is laying in a heap on the floor behind you.

The palm of Steve’s hand runs along your thigh over the wet, frozen patches there. You stiffen briefly as his fingers slide to the button of your jeans, and when you look down you find his eyes already on you, searching your expression for permission to keep going. It’s going to hurt, sliding the wet denim off your legs, and he doesn’t want to push too hard too fast.

And your pulse shouldn’t jump the way it does, seeing him on his knees in front of you, thick fingers fiddling with the button on your jeans. Not when you’re borderline hypothermic and the wound on his arm is still bleeding sluggishly. Not when there’s something out there in the woods stalking you both. But you’re still foggy from the cold, and it’s impossible not to think about the last time he was on his knees for you like this, big hands grabbing at your thighs and mouth hot on your skin, moans muffled behind the palm of your hand as he had you pressed back against a door.

A muscle in his jaw twitches, and you wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.

“Still doing okay? Do you want me to…” He swallows his tongue before he can ask if you want him to stop. You both know that right now he can’t. It’ll only make things harder.

“I’m okay.” You loosen your grip on one of his shoulders, finding the curve of his jaw instead and pressing the tips of your fingers to his cheek. You offer him a muted half-smile that only makes him feel worse and brush the hair from his face, hand stroking back the damp strands before falling back to his shoulder. “You can keep going.”

He wets his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, all right. Let me just…”

The button pops open with a deft move of his thumb and finger, easy in a way that only comes with familiarity. The click of your zipper sliding down is loud beneath the crackle of firewood, and it sends a shiver up your spine that you tell yourself is from the cold and nothing else.

Your fingernails bite into Steve’s shoulders as he loops his fingers around the waistband of your jeans and starts to tug them down. The material is soaked through and stiff, half-frozen where you slipped and went through the ice, damp everywhere else from the snow, and it’s a slow process, working the fabric down around your hips and thighs. Each inch might as well be a mile. He’s gentle as he rolls the waistband down, as gentle as he can be, anyway. At first, it isn’t bad. The fabric is stiff, sure, but being inside where it’s warmer has helped to soften the denim some. It’s worse on your right side. Where the left side slides down without too much trouble, the right sticks to your leg high on your thigh. Gentle pressure doesn’t inch the fabric loose, and his stomach drops when he sees the discolored skin peeking out from beneath.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he murmurs, the only warning he gives you before pulling harder.

You flinch and cry out when he has to peel your jeans away from your skin. It makes an awful, ripping noise, like it’s fused to your leg, and you nearly bite clear through your bottom lip in an effort not to scream. The slick sound of your skin peeling away from the fabric makes his stomach churn, and Steve slides his hand up your leg to your hip, squeezing gently as you let out a shuddering breath that dissolves into a wet sob.

He winces at every muffled whimper that slips between your lips, hating that he’s the one hurting you right now. Steve isn’t so self-loathing anymore to blame himself, but it still feels like he’s being sucker punched in the chest each time you cry out. When you do, he murmurs apologies. Reassurances. Nonsensical strings of words that he wishes made it hurt less. And maybe they do. You start to relax into his hold the more he talks, flinching and hiccupping less as he gets the fabric down to your knees. They slide down easier then, clinging less in the spots that are wet, not as tightly plastered to your calves where they were covered by your boots.

“How bad is it?” you ask, after he’s worked your jeans down to your ankles and helped you step out of the soaked denim. Your voice crackles over the words, wet and thick.

Steve stays on his knees in front of you, letting your shaking hands grip his shoulders too tight, your fingers digging in too close to the open wound on his arm. One of his big hands strokes up your leg from knee to hip, rubbing gently at the raw patches of skin. There are welts decorating your right leg, ruddy and dark like fresh bruises. Or burns. The sight of them makes him sick, but they aren’t nearly as bad as they could be, all things considered. Your left is relatively okay. You must have landed on your side when you fell.

You inhale sharply as he lingers over one for too long, and he whispers an apology that’s almost lost under the crackle of fire wood.

“Could be worse,” he tells you honestly. “It’s not pretty. And it’s gonna hurt like a bitch for a couple of days, but I don’t think we’ll have to amputate.”

You giggle. It’s startled and wet, but it’s a laugh, and he’ll take it.

His lips quirk upwards at the corners, and he almost leans in to kiss your hip, but stops himself, afraid to aggravate the sores on your legs any further.

“That’s probably for the best,” you say, easing your grip on his arms when he rubs circles into your hip with his thumb. There’s a touch of humor in your voice that makes the tension in his shoulders loosen. “I think you’d pass out if you had to cut my leg off. Then, we’d both be fucked.”

“You think I can’t handle a little blood?” he asks, scoffing. “I think my track record might prove otherwise.” Because he’s fought monsters before. Dozens of them. And they’ve ripped him to pieces before, but he’s always gotten right back up and kept swinging.

It would be different if it was you, though. Steve knows that. And you know it, too. The sight of your blood on Steve’s hands would make him sick. The idea of hurting you like that, even if it were necessary, makes him want to vomit.

He clears his throat and scrubs the thought away. His palm brushes against the welts forming on your leg again, careful not to hurt you. “Want me to look for something for these?” There might be some antibiotic ointment somewhere in here, but the best thing you can do for an ice burn is soak it in warm water, and that’s not going to be possible for a while unless one of you risks going outside to gather snow.

You follow a similar train of thought, more lucid now that the fire is warming you, and shake your head slowly. “No,” you say as he stands.

His breath hitches as sharp pain ripples through his right arm, and you frown up at him. Steve keeps his hands on your hips, his fingers slipping under the hem of your sweater so he can feel your skin. Clammy and covered in goosebumps, but solid and alive under his touch, growing warm. You press your hand to his chest, just beneath the lacerations splitting open his shirt.

“Sit,” you tell him, gently pushing him away from you towards the couch.

He wets his lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

Steve cradles his injured arm to his side as he skirts around the coffee table, careful not to bang his shins against it this time. With his lingering adrenaline fading to nothing, the tenderness in his side is coming back in full force. Gingerly, he lowers himself onto the raggedy old couch, leans his head against the back, and watches you, backlit by the fire, as you gather your things.

You fold your jacket and leave it in a pile with your socks and shoes. The jeans you leave in a heap on the floor, too soaked to do much else with right now. Absentmindedly, your fingers brush against one of the welts resting high on your right leg, the same one Steve caressed. It must sting, because your hand flinches away and you wrap your arms around your torso instead, fingers clenched in the thick, knitted fabric. Feeling his gaze on you, you look up, silhouetted in shadows so he can’t see your expression.

Without a word, you come back to him.

The sweater you’re still wearing is damp instead of drenched, but you’re still shivering as you help him out of his own clothes, working in silence as you watch him with worried eyes, your bottom lip caught between your teeth, biting it raw as you get a better look at the extent of the damage. His jacket and uniform top are ripped across the shoulder and soaked through with blood, beyond repair. You could try sewing the gashes shut, but you’d never be able to fully wash out the stains, an ugly reminder of tonight.

Steve is able to shrug the jacket off on his own, working the zipper down with his good arm and wriggling to slip the sleeve down his shoulder. The right sleeve is harder, and he winces as he bends his injured arm, expression screwing up in a way that has you reaching out to smooth a hand through his hair. Your palm comes to rest on the back of his neck, thumb rubbing back and forth. He leans into your touch, eyelids fluttering shut briefly before he finally wrenches the heavy jacket from his arm.

He tosses it to the other end of the couch and wonders if he should burn it to mask the scent of blood.

The button up is harder. The blood makes the fabric stick to his skin, and he struggles with the buttons until you brush his fingers aside and replace them with your own. Nimbly, you pop them open, hands beginning to shake less as the numbness and pain retreat. He doesn’t complain, sighing and sinking back further against the couch, watching you through half-lidded eyes as your hand moves down his chest.

Once his shirt is hanging open, you pause, chewing your lip as you try to decide what to do next.

You wish you had a pair of scissors. Something to cut through his shirt and make it easier to remove. Less painful to remove. But you aren’t sure if there’s one left in the cabin, and you aren’t willing to leave him alone for long to look. With his jacket gone you can see just how much blood he’s already lost, and your stomach twists sickly at the red stains covering most of his right arm and the side of his chest.

Steve is patient, watching as your brows pinch together and your lips turn down. Your hand is on his chest, pressed to the lower part of his ribs where you can feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, reassuring you that he’s alive.

Slowly, your palm slides upwards, moving closer to the bloody gashes resting higher on his chest. You lower yourself onto the couch next to him, your knees pressed up against his right thigh. You’re half-sitting on the arm of the couch, leaning forward to get a better look at the mangled part of his arm without pressing up against him.

“What do you think, doc?” he asks, letting your touch move over his arm even though it hurts like a bitch. “Am I gonna lose the arm?”

He’s hoping for another smile, maybe even a laugh, if he’s lucky, but you only frown, brows pinched together. “I have to get your shirt off, Steve.”

There’s an apology beneath the statement, and he sighs, leaning into you more as you play with the hair at the nape of his neck in an effort to make him relax. “Yeah,” he says, closing his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Do what you gotta do.”

“It’ll hurt,” you warn him, your free hand skimming the thin slices in his shirt, careful not to apply any pressure. “Some of the blood is dry. Or, frozen. It’s not going to come off nicely.”

Steve thinks of the way he had to peel the jeans from your legs, how the tearing sound made him want to puke.

“Like ripping off a really fucking big band aid,” he mutters.

You nod, stroking his hair away from his face. “Yeah. A really fucking big band aid.”

“Awesome,” he says. “Let’s get this over with.”

Where Steve had been hesitant to work your jeans down your legs, you’re more certain in your actions as you grab the right side of his open shirt and pull the ripped strips of fabric away from his wounds. It’s not that you have less reservations about hurting him, you’ve simply been doing this for years, patching him up after every stupid fight he got into during high school, taking care of him after monsters would ravage Hawkins once per year, ruthless in your need to keep him alive.

“Son of a—fuck!” he groans, eyes screwing shut as he clenches his teeth so hard that they rattle, his jaw aching under the pressure. Whispered apologies soothe the hurt, but he can’t make out the words behind the burning sensation on his chest and the dull ringing in his ears.

Barely allowing him a break, you’re quick to turn your attention to the deeper cuts on his arm. The pale blue fabric is bunched sideways until it starts to pull on the wound, the fibers sticking to the raw, fleshy edges of the lacerations. Clots pull and crack, bleeding freely again as you start to dislodge the soiled remains of his shirt. Steve’s hands are clenched into fists at his side, white-knuckled and shaking with the effort to keep still.

He hisses in surprise when the blue fabric peels away from the top cut on his arm, the shallowest of the three. All are still bleeding, but it’s sluggish now, even as the clots and scabs start to come loose with the fibers you pull free. He isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not—if he was bleeding more, maybe this would hurt less.

One by one, you unstick his shirt from his arm, and once the remains of his shirt pull away from the blood crusting under the open wound on his bicep, you yank the soiled fabric down to his elbow, shoving it further to his wrist, and then off before you toss it onto the floor.

He’s breathing heavily through his nose when you glance at his face. A thin sheen of sweat mats his hair to his forehead, and you brush the unruly strands back, leaning down to press your lips to his temple.

The tips of your fingers brush against the skin above his elbow before sliding upwards, though you stop shy of the lacerations. There are three of them. Shallow across his chest; deeper through the flesh of his arm. The cuts across his pec have stopped bleeding again already, beginning to clot and crust over into thick, itchy scabs. His skin is a mess of flaking, frozen blood, smeared across his chest and arm in a way that looks like one big open wound. The warm air and sticky feeling make him wince.

“Oh, Steve,” you murmur, thumb brushing the underside of one of the cuts. Your finger comes away red and wet when you pull back. The somber, guilty lilt of your voice makes his jaw clench harder, but he keeps his mouth shut as you examine the wound the monster left behind.

None of this is your fault, and he’ll make sure you know that later, but you don’t need reassurance from him while he’s still bleeding and his head is throbbing from being cracked against the ground.

There’s a joke on the tip of his tongue when he gets his breathing back under control, something to lighten the mood, even just a little. His head feels foggy as he peels his eyes open, looking at you. As if you can feel his gaze, you lift your head. Your eyes meet his, and they’re red and watery, and whatever he was about to say gets stuck in his throat.

“These need stitches,” you tell him, grasping his bicep under the cuts. “I don’t… I don’t think they’re too bad, but just to be safe. In case…” In case it comes back, you think, but don’t say out loud. In case you have to run. In case you have to fight. “We’ll need to get you checked out by a doctor.”

Steve nods. Your sweater is bunched up under his hand, his palm pressed to the small of your back, but he doesn’t remember grabbing you. He doesn’t know who he’s trying to ground, you or him. “Coyote?” he asks.

You shake your head. “Bear,” you decide after several seconds of thinking. “We went for a walk before the snowstorm and didn’t see it until it was too late. It ran off after you took a shot at it.”

He leans his head back against the couch. “As close to the truth as possible, huh?” The smile he sends you is wry, and you offer one of your own, but it’s damp and wobbles at the edges. Steve rubs his hand against your lower back. “I’m okay, honey.”

“You’re not,” you correct him immediately, a little bite to your tone. “I’ll get the first aid kit. We left one in the bathroom.”

Without another word, you slip from Steve’s hold and get off of the couch, careful to avoid his eyes as you grab the flashlight off the coffee table. The floor creaks under your bare feet as you hurry from the room before he can call out to you, trying not to run as you b-line towards the tiny bathroom.

As soon as you step into the room, you click the flashlight on, shutting the door with your back and fumbling for the knob to lock the door behind you. The flashlight beam is even weaker than it was before, the flickering growing more frequent. Ignoring the erratic flickers, you shove away from the door and set the flashlight on the edge of the sink.

“Come on, come on,” you murmur to yourself, throwing open drawers and the medicine cabinet doors in search of the damn kit. It should have been in the cabinet. That’s where you left it last summer after—and you haven’t touched it since. It should still be here.

You slam one of the drawers closed.

The flashlight clatters to the ground and goes dark.

Throat tight, you lean over the sink, breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. Your pulse quickens. Blood is sticky between your fingers, your hands shaking so badly that you have to grip the edge of the sink so tightly that the porcelain digs into your palms until they hurt. It’s too dark. Too dark to see anything but shapes and shadows in the mirror. Behind you, a figure moves, looming over you.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Try to breathe the way your dad taught you.

You’d kept your explanation to Steve short. Five hours is too much to condense into a single sentence. Though, you hadn’t lied, mostly. You ran. You hid. That’s it. That’s the simplest way to put it, because thinking about the details has bile tickling at the back of your mouth. Acid burns your throat, acrid and choking. You lean over the sink and try not to gag.

That thing had chased you through the woods for what seemed like hours, driving you deeper into the woods until you weren’t sure where you were anymore. You couldn’t find the road. Or the cabin. For hours, it seemed like you were just running in circles. Lost. Terrified.

And then it caught you.

You fell into the creek. You fell, and your hip smashed through the layer of ice covering the running water. The cold knocked the breath out of your lungs. In the next blink, it was on top of you. Those sightless, milky eyes bored into yours. The matted hair around its face hung vertically. The wiry, greasy ends tickled your cheek. It crouched over your body, gangly limps jutting out, spiderlike, elbows and knees sharp and skin pulled taut.

“Hello?” it called to you in your own voice.

Clawed fingers reached out and you squeezed your eyes shut, unable to stop the sob ripping from your throat or the tears leaking down your face. You flinched as a lone claw delicately slid down your cheek. A sick imitation of a caress.

“Hello? Steve?”

“Please,” you choked out.

And it repeated “please” and cocked its head to the side, asked, “Cold?” in Steve’s voice.

You only sobbed again.

For what felt like hours, you laid there, that thing leaning over you, repeating words back to you in your voice—in Steve’s voice. What made you sickest was when it said words you hadn’t said, still using your voice. No longer just mimicking.

And then it cocked its head to the other side. Once more, it ran a spindly finger down the side of your face. You closed your eyes tight enough to see spots, and when you opened them again it was gone.

The flashlight flickers on.

There’s nothing in the mirror behind you.

When you come back to the living room, you’re carrying the first aid kit, a pile of old towels, and a bottle of rum. Without a word, you plop down onto the coffee table across from Steve, your knee knocking gently against his. He doesn’t mention how long you were gone, or the redness of your eyes.

He eyes the bottle as you flick open the locks holding the old, plastic first aid kit shut. “Your old man’s gonna be pissed that the rum’s gone,” he says, squinting to read the label in the firelight and whistling when he recognizes the brand. “Damn, this is the good stuff. He’ll have a conniption or some shit. Jesus.”

“Let him,” you say, glancing up from the contents of the kit to meet his eyes. “We’ll get him something nice for the wedding.”

The edge of his mouth quirks upwards, but it’s weak. Now that you’re finally getting a chance to really look at him, you can see the exhaustion dragging down his features. His smile isn’t there, and his eyes are half-lidded. His focus keeps drifting when he isn’t talking, and you aren’t sure if you should be more worried about the blood loss or the probable concussion.

Queasy with the thought, you turn back to the first aid kit, biting your lip as you examine the meager supplies left over from whenever you last stocked it. It must have been sometime last summer, before the gate was breached. You patched Steve up that time, too. A bloody gash on the outside of his leg. And Lucas had a cut above his brow that wouldn’t stop bleeding no matter how long Max kept pressure on it. All that’s left now is a roll of gauze, half a bottle of peroxide, and an old suture kit you kept, just in case.

It’s not much, but you’ll have to make it work.

“Drink,” you say, pressing the rum into his hands.

Steve doesn’t argue. With a twist, he pops the glass stopper out of the top and brings the bottle to his lips, face screwing up as he swallows a mouthful of the amber liquid. It burns on the way down, taste distorted by the blood in his mouth. He takes another swig as you lay towels and your suture kit on the arm of the couch, the peroxide in your hand.

“Stay still for me,” you tell him.

There’s no good way to reach the lacerations on Steve’s shoulder and the top of his chest, so without hesitation, you swing one leg over his lap. He tenses when you straddle him, grasping your waist with one big hand to steady you as you settle on top of him. The heat of his hand sinks into your skin through your clothes and you can’t help the content sigh that accompanies his touch.

The bottle almost slips out of his grip as you pour peroxide on one of the towels and press the cloth to the cuts on his chest. “Fuck,” he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut as you dab at the cuts, cleaning the dried blood off his skin. “Christ. Easier said than done. A little warning next time?”

You ignore him, wiping his skin clean with as gentle a touch as you can manage right now.

The two of you slip into a mindless rhythm, quiet as you clean him up with one hand, the other pressing a towel to the deeper wounds on his shoulder, hoping to stop the bleeding. Steve’s breathing becomes labored as you work, pained noises and curses muttered into the dimly lit room. You don’t do more than clean his skin and tape gauze over the shallow claw marks splitting open his skin.

A muscle in Steve’s jaw jumps as the space between you continues to shrink, your hips flush with his, and it’s impossible not to notice how close you are, how good your weight feels on top of him. His grip on you tightens as your ministrations shift to his shoulder, his fingers digging into your side over your sweater until he craves contact enough to slip his hand under your clothes.

You’re gentle as you clean his wounds. As gentle as you can be, anyway. Once the blood is cleaned away from the wounds on his arm, you pause, one hand hovering over the suture kit as you bite your lip, worrying it raw. They need stitches. Desperately. Cleaned, they don’t look quite as bad as when his arm was a mess of blood and tissue, but now you can see just how deep they go, how long they are. Each cut is at least four inches long, probably longer. They aren’t as deep as you feared, but they need more than gauze and peroxide.

“How many?” he asks as your fingers trace the underside of one of the gashes. He pulls you tighter to his chest with the hand on your back as you look at him. “Stitches.” He wets his lips after clarifying. “How many stitches?”

Your hand wraps loosely around his bicep. “The cuts are pretty long, Steve,” you admit, lips downturned.

“Just tell me how many, honey.”

For several seconds, you’re silent, thumb rubbing against the inside of his arm soothingly. “Maybe twenty, twenty-five for each, to be safe,” you tell him. “You’ll have to get them redone as soon as we can get you to a hospital. Right now, I’m more worried about the bleeding than an infection.”

“Okay,” he says, nodding in understanding. He pulls his arm from your grasp as he raises the rum bottle to his lips and takes another long drink, then sets the bottle on the side table. “Yeah, okay—okay. Let’s, let’s get it over with.”

Your hands shake as you thread the medical suture through the end of the needle. Steve leans his head back against the couch, his eyes closed as he waits for you to start. His hand is twisted in your sweater again, gripping the damp fabric tightly to keep himself grounded to you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

The first stitch is rough. He groans, long and low as you push the needle into his skin and pull it through to the other side. You keep your weight settled over his hips, holding him in place on the couch as he fights not to thrash against the white-hot, burning sensation lacing across his upper arm. You work quickly, tying off the thread and cutting it carefully.

Neither of you speak for a long time, the silence broken by the popping firewood and the hisses and groans that slip between Steve’s teeth as you stitch him shut, pausing every few minutes to wipe away the blood sluggishly leaking from his wounds.

Twenty-five. That’s how many stitches it takes to sew the first gash shut. Not professional by any means, but prettier than he could have done himself. There’s a fine layer of sweat covering him by the time you pause to look over your work, and his hair is matted to his forehead. You run your fingers through the strands, pushing them away from his eyes before letting your knuckles graze his cheek.

Steve breathes out, a shaky sound.

You make it halfway through the second gash before Steve speaks.

“You still have the car keys, right?”

You glance up, meeting his half-lidded gaze as you tie off a stitch. “Yeah. Why?”

The tips of his fingers press into your back subconsciously, holding you tighter to him. The weight of what he wants to say lays heavy on his chest, making it impossible to breathe. When he doesn’t answer, you look at him again, needle in hand and blood staining the skin around your fingernails.

“Listen,” he starts, hand dropping to your hip, “if that thing comes back—”

You tense over his lap, fingers digging into his arm below his open wounds. “No,” you shut him down.

Steve shakes his head, continuing as if you didn’t speak. “I want you to run.”

“Absolutely not,” you’re quick to argue. “I’m not—I’m not just going to leave you.”

He presses his palm to the base of your spine, keeping you close when you start to pull back. “No one’s leaving anybody.” He says it like it’s a promise, staring back at you with those big, hazel eyes. Sincere. Sober and exhausted, all the alcohol has done is loosen his tongue a little. He’s been mulling over this since he heard you crying in the bathroom, sobs muffled behind the door. “Look, if it gets inside… I want you to run for the car, okay? Just run. I’ll be right there behind you, yeah? I’ll be right behind you.”

“No, you won’t,” you say, bitterness creeping into your tone. Because you know him. You know Steve better than you know yourself, and he’s an idiot with too big a heart and too little self-preservation. Because he doesn’t care what happens to him so long as everyone else makes it out alive, but you do. If Steve thought he could give you the chance to run—to stay behind and ensure you stay safe, you know he’d take it.

The bite in those three words makes him wince, but he pushes ahead anyway. “Get to the Byers’ new place. Your dad’s practically got an artillery in the shed. You’ll—you’ll have to protect the kids. Please, can you just—can you do that?”

The needle slips from between your fingers.

You reach up, cup Steve’s face in your bloodstained hands and force him to look at you. “I’m not going anywhere without you,” you tell him firmly, breaking midway through. You swallow back the lump in your throat, forced to speak around the tightness there. “If you think I am, then maybe you really are an idiot. Now shut up and let me work.”

You’re harsher than you mean to be, and you turn back to Steve’s arm before he can see the wetness gathered along your lash-line. The needle dangles against his bicep, but your hands are shaking too much to add another suture so soon, so you busy yourself by wetting a towel and dabbing at the fresh blood leaking around the wounds.

Steve taps an unrecognizable pattern against your spine, stroking over the small of your back like an apology.

It’s another minute before you grab the needle again. Neither of you speaks as you continue to sew him up; you stop whispering reassurances between sutures.

After you cut the last stitch, you dip your chin and press your lips to the top of his shoulder.

He draws you into his chest, ignoring the way his arm protests the movement, the stitches pulling awkwardly as his muscles flex beneath the thread.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper against his neck, muffled, but close enough for him to hear.  It’s a tight squeeze, an awkward angle, but you manage to wrap your arms around his back, pressing to him like a second skin. “Fuck, Steve, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—” Yelled at him. Called him an idiot. Dragged him into this bullshit because you messed up and couldn’t handle it yourself. He never should have been out here in the first place.

And he knows you so well. Well enough to know the way your thoughts are spiraling as fear and exhaustion sink deep into your bones. “Hey, hey, hey,” he says, hand sliding up your spine to cradle the back of your neck, thumb pressed to your pulse. “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t… don’t blame yourself, okay?” And God he wishes he was better with words. If he was, maybe he could do something other than sit here and hold you as you shake in his arms.

Your fingers curl against his back, searching for something to hold onto, but only finding skin.

“If I had just stayed home—”

“Don’t.”

“—and you got hurt because of me.”

His grip shifts to your jaw. Gently, he pulls you away from the curve of his neck, his hand on your chin coaxing you to look at him as he sweeps his thumb across your cheek. Your eyes are puffy, red and watery, and it breaks his heart. “This thing was already here, remember? Last night, I heard it. So did Will. And so did the Mulligans. It was already here,” he tells you again. “And it was hunting, or whatever the hell it’s out there doing. And we would have had to handle it anyway, like we always do. We just caught on a little faster this time.”

“Steve,” you say softly.

He slides his hand around to the back of your neck and pulls you down for a chaste kiss before you can say anything else. It doesn’t last for more than a moment. Just long enough to steal the words from your lips, the warm press of his mouth on yours a reminder that he’s here. That he’s alive. Your arms come unstuck from behind him, and your hands cup his cheeks as he pulls away, reluctant to let him go too far.

“I thought you were dead,” you murmur as he leans his forehead against yours. “I heard the gunshot, and I ran and… and you were just lying there. And there was blood everywhere. And you weren’t… you weren’t moving, Steve. You weren’t moving. I thought you weren’t—I thought—”

His mouth slots against yours once more, lingering longer, a little harder. His crooked nose bumps against yours, and it tastes like iron and salt as his mouth moves against your own, your lips parting under his like muscle memory. Ignoring the burn in his shoulder, Steve crushes you against his chest, holding you close and hoping you can feel his heart beating in time with yours.

The fire crackles and snaps, and you watch as the new logs Steve placed into the hearth are consumed by the flames. The heat radiating from the fireplace warms your skin, but your sweater is still damp. The wet fabric is heavy on your frame, clinging in strange spots, and you haven’t stopped fidgeting uncomfortably since you finished the stitches in Steve’s arm, but you haven’t been able to will yourself to strip off the last of your clothes. Keeping them on will only make you sick, you know that, but the thought is shoved to the back of your mind as you stare into the flames, entranced.

Neither of you can make sense of the time.

Steve’s watch must have come loose in the snow, and you’ve never been inclined to wear one, so it was impossible to tell how late it was by the time you and Steve finally disentangled yourselves from each other. There was a bottle of pain medication in the first aid kit, and Steve swallowed two of them dry after you pressed the bottle into his hand. At some point, you started shivering again, far enough from the fire that your sweater refused to dry, and Steve gently slid you from his lap with a hand on your hip, nudging you towards the fireplace to warm up as he muttered about finding blankets for the two of you. It didn’t escape you how pale he looked, dark circles like bruises under his eyes, a clammy sheen to his skin.

You hadn’t realized just how physically exhausted you were until you stood and swayed on your feet. It couldn’t be any later than eight, maybe nine, by the time you finished closing the wound on Steve’s arm. Between mopping up the blood and forcing your hands to stop shaking after each suture, the process lasted longer than it should have.

There’s still blood crusted under and around your fingernails, dry and flaking off as you pick at the blotchy, ruddy stains. Each time you close your eyes you see teeth and gangly, grotesque limbs, sightless eyes staring down at you, your own voice calling out from a mouth that isn’t yours.

Outside, the wind shrieks, a shrill cry that you swear sounds like Steve’s name.

Shaking your head, you will the thought away. You shift your weight from one leg to the other as the cold registers again.

Your fingers tremble as you grasp the hem of your sweater and peel the thick fabric over your head. It squelches. Droplets splatter down your chest and back as your grip wrings water from the material. The sweater lands in a wet heap on the floor, and you wince at the loud, slick sound, more wet than damp like you thought it was.

With shaky, frozen fingers you fumble with the clasp of your bra for several seconds before you’re able to shrug the equally damp fabric down your arms. Immediately, the chilly air descends on your now bare skin. Goosebumps erupt across your chest, and you bite your lip to stifle a breathy whimper.

Steve hears you over the crackle of the fireplace. Glancing up from the makeshift nest of blankets he’s piled together, he can’t help the way his head snaps back up for a second look. Cold and shivering, you’re standing by the clothes rack he managed to dig out from one of the closets, angled in a way that leaves you in shadow, the silhouette of your bare breasts illuminated in the firelight. His breath catches, his heart lurching into his throat as your fingers slide over your hips and slip beneath the hem of your panties, dragging them down an inch.

“Don’t,” he says, louder and sharper than he means to. Gasping, your head snaps towards him, eyes wide. Steve clears his throat, looking away. “Don’t. If they’re dry, you should keep them on. You’ll be warmer that way.” The subtle innuendo makes him wince, but from the corner of his eye he sees your hands leave your panties, watches as your arms come up to cover your breasts instead.

You wet your lips. “Right.”

You glance at the fire again, arms crossed over your chest, the flames warming your bare skin and finally chasing away the chill that seeped into your bones and took root inside you, like you’d never know heat again. With your head turned to the side, you don’t see Steve’s eyes wander back to you, unable to help himself, but you can feel the weight of them tracing over your frame. Fire licks across your spine, and it has nothing to do with the flames in front of you.

This shouldn’t be awkward, Steve thinks. It’s not the first time he’s seen you naked. Not even close. But this feels different. Intimate. Vulnerable. It’s not a clash of teeth and tongues, his hands grabbing your ass and hoisting you up against the nearest wall as you yank at his belt with impatient fingers because the world might as well be ending and you need to feel each other closer, at least once more, just in case. It’s not a tipsy kiss at a party neither of you want to be at, with his fingers slipping under your skirt as he bends you over a bathroom counter. Different from the risky quickies you’ve had in the front seat of his car, both of you pent up and desperate for release, your panties hooked to the side and his pants shoved down just enough for your hand to wrap around his cock.

Steve has seen you naked. He’s fucked you senseless, more than once. This is softer, somehow. Sweeter. No frantic hands. No desperation. In any other situation, it would be almost romantic.

Standing from his spot knelt next to the pile of blankets, Steve keeps his gaze firmly on the floor as he tugs at his belt, quickly slipping out of his wet and stained pants. His hands still as the floor creaks under your steps, his head tilting towards you as he sees you out of the corner of his eye.

Your arms are still crossed over your chest, loose enough for him to see the swell of your breasts. This close, he can see you’re wearing those lacy, royal blue panties that he likes. “Come warm me up?” you ask like you did last night, but there’s an implication there that wasn’t before. You want to forget tonight. You want to forget all of it, and Steve has always been good at making your thoughts grow quiet.

You’re close enough to touch. And he thinks about laying you out on the blankets, covering your body with his own and kissing you senseless until you’re moaning and writhing underneath him—your breathy cries sinking into him and drowning out the horrific screams still echoing in his head. You’d let him. There’s a look in your eyes, heady and dark, that tugs at the pit of his stomach and makes his skin feel hot.

Beneath that is something haunted.

Steve dips his chin and presses his lips to your temple instead.

“Come here, honey,” he murmurs against your skin. You shiver, eyes squeezing shut as he wraps his arm around your lower back, pulling you against him.

It isn’t long before the two of you make your way down against the blankets, burying beneath thick quilts and fuzzy throw blankets left behind during a hasty move. Steve kisses you again, soft and sweet, and you sigh into his mouth as his chest presses to yours, skin against skin. Just once, and then you slot into place against his side, head tucked under his chin and an arm slung over his stomach, your fingers sprawled beneath his navel.

You both lie there for a while, listening to the storm rage outside. You’re quick to drift, hours of being lost in the woods and hunted down leaving you unable to keep your eyes open once you’re pressed safe and warm to Steve’s side.

The rhythmic puffs of your breaths tickle his chest as Steve runs his hand along the curve of your hip and waist, pacifying himself as much as it soothes you. Exhaustion hits him hard, the last twenty-four hours catching up to him as your cold toes press against his legs. And for a moment he can pretend he’s home, with you.

There’s a tap against the window. Innocuous, but loud enough to rouse him from a doze.

“Steve?”

Your voice is barely above a whisper, muffled and far-off, distorted even though you’re so close. He hums instead of answering, head lolling towards yours. You shift closer to him, your lips pressing against the dip of his collarbone. A content sigh heaves from your lungs.

“Steve?” you whisper again. Your mouth doesn’t move.

[honeyynymphh]

| Freshly Squeezed |

Cardinal Copia x Fem!Reader rating: E word count: 10k tags/warnings: dom copia, voyeurism, masturbation, teacher/student (sort of)praise kink, dirty talk, glove kink, choking, dom/sub, google translated italiano

A secret passageway. A far too ditzy curious reader. And a very naked Cardinal.

Hmm.

read on ao3 part two

“Where is it!?”

“Shh.”

You raise your hands apologetically at the ghoul currently glaring at you. The library is full of the muted sounds of turning pages, sporadic coughs and then the squeak of the old trolley as another ghoul returns books to the towering shelves. Maybe you should ask the ghoul if there is a spellbook full of incantations to help you remember where you left your belongings. You huff out a breath, you were certain that your prayer book had to be in here. It had been only an hour ago that you had been in here studying and there was nowhere else it—

“Fuck,” you say, voice echoing in the large chamber of the library.

“Shh!” The ghoul glares at you again, its eyes burning in the sockets of its mask.

Guiltily you scurry out of the library, wincing as the door clangs shut behind you. You hurry through the warren of halls and towards the old rooms along the eastern wing of the abbey. There were many rooms along this part of the old building, most empty and filled with dust. But many of the lessons taught by the Clergy were held here. The large rooms were filled with rickety old desks and large chalkboards. Once upon a time, they all would have been in use, but not these days. There were definitely more new members as of late—a testament to Papa Terzo and his charming nature—but there were still too few students.

You make your way down to the second door on your right, the room where you had your demonology lesson earlier this morning. Darting in, you head to the back of the room and find your desk.

There’s no prayer book.

Another curse leaves your lips and your brow furrows in annoyance as you stare at the wooden desk, as if you could bring it into existence through pure frustration. You couldn’t ask for another one. You had already lost three. Sister Imperator said if you misplaced another one she’d have it nailed to your hand.

You were pretty sure she had been joking. Fairly certain. Most likely…

“Are you looking for this?”

Fuck. Turning, you find Cardinal Copia standing there in his neat black cassock with his gloved hands in front of him. And they were holding—

“My prayer book!”

Rushing towards him you go to take it gratefully but the man raises it above you, cocking his head to the side as he watches your face frown in confusion. Standing so close to him makes you realise how tall he actually is. It was customary to see him hunched over books in the archives, his desk, and or even the pulpit during mass—leering down at the congregation as he talked of sin and destruction. Most times you’d seen him, he was always scribbling away, taking his meticulous little notes. Not now though, right now he loomed over you.

“Can I have my book?” You hold out your hand expectantly.

“This may be a satanic church but you are still expected to have manners, Sorella.” He tuts at you, the look in those odd eyes gleeful. “You are meant to be saying, ‘please, Your Eminence’, si?”

“Can I please have my book, Your Eminence?” you say, trying to keep your voice respectful.

He smiles. Sort of. His lips quirk up at the sides but it makes him look slightly demonic. It makes your stomach flip. The book is placed in your outstretched hand.

“Good girl, was that so hard?” he says.

Okay, you were going to completely ignore how that made you feel. The man should not be allowed to make your skin prickle or have the power to make you flush with sudden arousal at a few words. What in the name of Lucifer was with this man? And why were you suddenly having very inappropriate thoughts about Copia. Copia?

What he did next surprised you more than anything else he’d done so far, he suddenly strikes out a gloved hand and lightly grips your throat just under your jaw. His thumb nestles below your ear. You must be staring up at him like a stunned idiot.

“Lucky your head is attached to your neck, eh?” He gives a light squeeze and looks at you with another one of those off-putting smiles. “Otherwise it would fall off and you would lose that too, Sorella.”

He chuckles as if he’s just heard a rather amusing joke and then sweeps out of the room without another word.

What. The. Fuck.

It’s a few days later when you find yourself back in the library. You’d been assisting Cardinal Giorgio with some archive work—well more that you’d been sneezing violently away surrounded by the thick layer of dust while he hastily moves any ancient texts out of your path. It was always interesting seeing some of the old texts, and you’d been so careful while leafing through them with your soft cotton gloves. But the dust was everywhere.

After a while, the hot stuffy room makes your skin begin to itch underneath your wimple. It wasn’t a requirement that you had to wear it, but most siblings did. The church only expected full dress during mass and special unholy days. It made you feel like part of a family wearing it, united with the other siblings in this strange world—besides, it saved having to figure out what to do with your hair every day.

You want to take it off but you just knew you’d misplace it. Begrudgingly you did have to admit that Copia had a point: you would forget your head if it wasn’t attached to your body.

Your fingers go to your neck at that thought and you idly touch the skin where he had held you the other day. It was strange. You’d never really given him much thought before, he was just The Cardinal. And it was completely warranting of the capital T. There were a few other cardinals that floated around the abbey, old men with their faded paints and tired faces. But Cardinal Copia didn’t float, he stalked through the building as if he owned it. He was Nihil’s right-hand man, yet he managed to keep to the fringes of the abbey and stay in those shadowy corners. He wasn’t frightening. Well, perhaps he was a little frightening. But more in an “if I do this wrong he’s going to embarrass me in front of everyone and then assign me some horrible back breaking task”. When other siblings grumbled under their breath about a cardinal, it was always Copia. Nobody wanted to get on his bad side, but it didn’t stop everyone from wishing him ill health at any chance they could and comparing him to the rats that he seemed to favour. You just found him utterly unfair, strict and so…dry. Like the books he always had his large nose buried in.

Admittedly for the past few days, you’d been thinking about that nose buried between your thighs.

Which was a horrifying thought. Admittedly, the man was attractive. You would sit there during lessons, idly admiring him, until he made everyone repeat all their prayers perfectly—in Latin!—before leaving class or, hell forbid, assigned homework. Any feelings of admiration would immediately evaporate. Homework? What were you, twelve? Sometimes being part of the Clergy felt like you were back in your snobby Catholic school but instead of Sister Lavinia making you repeat bible verses you were being bored to death by demons and debauchery. How was that even possible?

The man talked and talked and talked. His pleasing voice combined with your attention span like that of a goldfish just made you zone out. You had fallen asleep during mass once because it was some unholy day and Copia had spoken for nearly an hour. Sitting there in the dark church with the unholy candles lit, the incense burning and the echoing vibrations of his low voice, how could you not slide away into the glorious embrace of sleep?

Sometimes, it was clear Copia wasn’t going through the motions and was truly excited to teach—though, the rest of the class was clearly not interested and only listened out of fear of being reprimanded.

He was such a strange man.

“Sister?”

You glance up from the old tome you staring at unseeing for the last five minutes. Cardinal Giorgio is looking at you expectantly, his overgrown moustache and large eyebrows always made you feel like you were talking to a rather large muppet. Except Cardinal Giorgio was about as fun as a wet paper bag.

“Sorella, I am having a meeting. I will be returning in one hour.” He pointed a withered hand at a small stack of books. “Please be returning these.” You sneeze, knocking some empty ink wells to the ground, and he sighs wearily. “Carefully, per favore.”

He shuffled out of the room. Shouldn’t a satanic church be exciting? Yes, the ghouls were fun and there was the old magick with its ancient rites and rituals. But after a while it just became normal. Lessons were still lessons and church was still church. The most exciting thing that had happened recently had been Copia wrapping a hand around your neck.

Maybe you needed to get a pet. Or a hobby. You sigh and pick up the little stack of books and wander down the aisle. Perhaps if you happened to forget something again in one of Copia’s lessons he might touch you again. You were too busy daydreaming about what he’d do if you left your knickers in his classroom (probably nothing, you were certain he had no interest in anything unless it was in a book and involved a lot of suffering and sin) when you tripped over the uneven stone and went flying, the books in your hands dropping to the ground with a thud. Your hands fling out desperately as you try to grab anything to stop you from face planting onto the floor. Surrounded by shelves in the dim room, your fingers find the corner of a book, which shouldn’t have saved you yet somehow does. The book tilts forward, a click sounds out and you are left hanging from it as a bookshelf next to you swings open on well oiled hinges.

Now, that was interesting.

Righting yourself, you pry the shelf open further and peer into the small passage behind it. Cardinal Giorgio and your task forgotten, you step into it without a second thought. It's not very wide and there is little light so you keep your hands in front of you as you shuffle down. It isn’t very long until you see a small beam of light shining through a small gap in the stone and hear the sound of muffled voices.

Closing the distance, you peek through the small hole and can just make out the corner of a large table and someone’s head.

“Where is Papa?” someone asks.

“He will be late, as usual,” someone else mutters.

There is a snicker and then a reedy voice says, “I saw him talking to some belle ragazze earlier. He will be busy hearing their…confessions.”

There is the tittering of old men laughing and you roll your eyes.

“Si, si, si,” says a bored voice. You recognise that one immediately. It was Copia speaking. “We do not need Papa here to get to business. Besides as treasurer, I feel we must address his spending habits. He’s been wasting half of this church’s money on those ‘belle ragazze’.”

The reedy voice man laughs though it sounds more like a wheeze. “Jealous, Cardinale?”

“Pah.” Copia sniffs. “I am not jealous of Terzo Emeritus.”

The man wheezes again.

“Perhaps,” says Copia, his voice suddenly a menacing purr, “Father Mancini, you can tell me why there has been a—quite frankly—indecent amount of money spent on a certain blue pill?”

Now you could hear the reedy man, Father Mancini, spluttering. You try to get a better look but the view is incredibly limited. There were so many members of the clergy but you were pretty certain that Father Mancini was about as old as Papa Primo, maybe even Papa Nihil. You could picture him in your head with his vulture-like appearance and watery eyes.

“Copia—”

You hear Copia clear his throat pointedly.

“Cardinale,” corrects Father Mancini hurriedly in low whisper. “The brother in the hospital wing assured me it was confidential.” There was a snicker from another clergyman. “It’s for my health! He prescribed it!”

“Mmm.” You knew that low hum. For a moment you felt a wave of pity for Father Mancini, but not much. Copia’s needle-like venom was always fun when it was pointed at someone else. “You must know by now that I am all eyes and all ears, brother.” You can practically hear the smirk in his voice.”Were you hoping it would help you rise within the ranks? How long have you been a priest for now, Father?”

Strained laughter broke out after that and they resumed their bickering over the money that Papa Terzo had been spending. Wishing to explore further, you left the clergymen behind and followed the passageway along.

As you idly wandered through the tight passage, you couldn’t help but wonder about the lives of those that instructed and guided you and your many siblings. It was quite clear from the way they all spoke that none of the others liked Copia. But it was also evident that they had no choice in having to do as he said.

It was fascinating.

You keep walking, stopping every so often to peer through a gap in the stone. Most are hard to make out details through the tiny gaps but the last few had all looked like bedroom chambers and sitting rooms. You don’t even know how long you’ve been walking but you stop when you hear a shout and a loud knock. Ahead of you, a small beam of warm light is piercing through the passageway and you shuffle up to it.

“Torna qui!”

It’s Papa Terzo’s voice. You press your face against the cold stone and look through. From what you can see, you’re peering into a small sitting room. You could see a small settee and a large wingback chair in a deep red across from it, the corner of a worn-looking writing desk where a lamp sits and ahead in the distance a closed door. Perhaps it is Papa’s room but nothing in here screams Terzo Emeritus. It’s all dark wood and everything you can looks neatly organised—not something you would ever associate with dear Papa.

“Copia!”

Oh. Of course. The closed door ahead of you snaps open and Cardinal Copia stalks past, out of your field of vision. You hear a door click open and press closer to try and hear—but there is no need as Papa’s voice carries with ease toward you.

“You can’t restrict me!” he says.

“Si, I can,” you hear Copia reply in a bored voice. “I just did.”

“I am Papa, Copia, and you can’t be doing this things,” Terzo says.

“Andrai a lamentarti con tuo daddy come un ragazzino?”

A growl leaves Terzo’s throat. “Che cosa? No!”

It was utterly fascinating listening to them argue. Papa Terzo was always so smooth and charming when he spoke. He never raised his voice! And Copia was always so respectful when interacting with other clergymen. You’d never heard him speak so flippantly toward other members of the church before—and certainly not to a Papa.

“You can’t keep wasting this church’s money on women, Terzo,” says Copia irritably.

You can’t see the door from where you are, you can only see part of the cardinal and one of his gloved hands. The fingers flex, as if wanting to grab hold of something—and you have a feeling that something is Papa’s neck. You idly touch your own.

Papa snorts dismissively. “It is never a waste of money to lavish the beauties in this world, Cardinale.”

“You do not need to spend thousands of dollars on bottles of champagne.”

“But my tesoro is deserving the best!” says Terzo, his voice becoming angrier with each word he utters.

You’d never heard a Papa so angry before and while you can’t see Terzo right now, the sound of him is a little frightening. It was very easy to forget what he was capable of. But it’s clear Copia isn’t phased at all.

“Stop wasting money,” Copia snaps and then you see him come back into the room.

He comes closer toward you and your hiding spot but he keeps walking past until you can no longer see him. He must be close to the other side of the wall. You can hear him pouring a drink and you see Terzo stride into the room, his face set in a deep frown as his papal robes flap behind him.

“You’re just jealous I have those ready to kneel before me,” growls Terzo, coming to stand just in front of where you are hidden. “You wish you had them all kneeling before you!”

“Of course, they must kneel,” replies Copia smoothly. “How else are they to be eye to eye with you, Terzo?”

It’s impossible to tell with the paint but you’re certain that Papa’s face has gone red. The scowl on his face deepens and you hear him snarl.

“Vaffanculo! Sei uno stronzo, Copia!” Terzo throws his hands in the air and storms out. You hear the door slam shut but then there is a click as it opens again a second later. There are footsteps and you see Terzo angrily stride past and hear a rustling clink before he walks by again, now holding a bottle of wine in both hands. “You are not wanting me to be spending the money? I’m taking these!” The door opens. “Ciao!”

The door slams shut again.

“That little shit.” you hear Copia mutter. “Quando sarò Papa, gli farò ricucire la bocca…”

You press closer, trying to see further into the room. Copia comes back to where you can see him, his gloved fingers flexing as he mutters words you don’t understand under his breath. You nearly gasp when he walks right up to you and instinctively you hold your breath. He is merely a few inches from your face, and all you can see are the tiny neat buttons on his cassock and his jewelled grucifix as he peruses the wall you are hidden behind.

You hear a few squeaks in the distance and realise it must be Copia’s rats.

“Si, Rigatoni?” he says pleasantly. “I will feed you soon, piccolino mio.” He chuckles when another soft squeak fills the room. “Ah, you too, Fettuccine!”

The rustle of fabric as he moves and the gentle clink of his grucifix against those tiny buttons are oddly soothing. And this close you can smell him, the scent reminding you not of sleepy lessons in a warm classroom or echoing words of the unholy during midnight mass but instead of the delirious arousal imbued by a hand around your throat.

You suck in a breath. And Copia freezes. As quietly and as quickly as you can you duck down and cover your mouth with your hand, heart pounding in your chest. He must dismiss it and you hear him walk away, talking to his rats in Italian.

It is definitely time to leave, so you hurry back to the library hoping that Cardinal Giorgio hasn’t noticed your absence.

With luck, you made it back to the library archives and continue with your task, head still full of thoughts of Cardinal Copia. You want to explore more. The unending curiosity is making your skin itch. Not really thinking, you’d stolen a key to the archives when Cardinal Giorgio hadn’t been paying attention to you.

And it’s now that you sneak through the abbey’s silent halls on light footsteps until you are slipping back into the library. Making sure to close the door carefully, you then make your way to the back of the library where the depths of the archives lay. You unlock the large padlock before tucking the key back into the pocket of your habit, it clinks gently against your rosary beads as you step into the dark room. You flick on a small lamp and then make your way past the towering shelves to the little nook at the back, your eyes scanning the shelf as you approach.

Which one had it been? Your hands reach and tug at the worn corners until you finally have the secret passageway before you once more. Quickly you shuffle through, heart racing with anticipation. Why? You aren’t sure. Earlier today had been fairly boring—well, not completely. The little glimpse into the world of the higher clergy and their lives had been fascinating. The polite facade they projected to the siblings hid a boiling pot beneath.

As you finally reach the little gap in the stone that peers into Copia’s room, you let out the breath you had been holding. Face pressing against the stone, you drink in the details. The single oil lamp that sits on the old writing desk casts its warm glow over the room. You could hear the rats, Rigatoni and Fettucine, scurrying away on what must have been a little wheel in their cage. And then there was the rustling of pages and the occasional irritated grunt as Copia sat in the large wingback chair; one hand holding a pencil while the other balanced a book on a knee. He had a small side table next to him where he would scribble something down, brow furrowing in concentration as his lips moved soundlessly. You aren’t sure how long you watch him. There must be a clock on the wall you spied through as the gentle tick is close to your ear, the sound and vibration of it lulling you into something of a stupor.

With a heavy sigh, the man closes the book. The snap of it shutting makes you jump. His head glances in your direction and you hold your breath, hastily pulling your head back from the cold stone. But he merely stares a moment before he must dismiss you as nothing but the settling of old abbey walls. You shut your eyes in relief—Lucifer below you needed to be careful if you didn’t wish to be caught. Copia’s hands smooth his hair back and he stands, walking out of your sight. You hear him say something in a low voice, and with a smile, you realise he is once more speaking to his pet rats. The sound of answering happy squeaks and a cage door opening and closing signalled that it must be dinner time. You hear the cardinal laugh, a low pleased rumble that you had never heard before. It makes your stomach flip.

He walks past your hiding spot once more, heading towards the closed door. It opens and you can see a bed in the distance, the tension in your stomach tightens even further when you realise he’s undoing the buttons of his cassock, shrugging out of it before carefully folding it and leaving it on top of the bed. He wears a pair of suit pants underneath and a neatly pressed black button down. Your hands are either side of your face as you press up against the wall, trying desperately to get as close as possible. Those gloves that you’d been thinking of for the past few days join the cassock on the bed and you’re hypnotised as you watch him unbutton and then shrug out of the shirt. He has a white undershirt underneath, the sight of his bare throat and the dark hair that curls out from the underneath it has your mouth hanging open. Sometimes, it was so easy to forget that Cardinal Copia was merely a man and not just some looming entity that stalked the abbey halls and made your tongue trip over itself in an effort to not irritate him.

His hands rub at the nape of his neck while your eyes roam over the bare skin of his arms, shoulders and throat desperately—as if you were to be tested on the placement of every freckle and hair. But you are suddenly deprived of the vision when he moves further into the bedroom and then out of sight. Your ears strain to listen, and then above you a pipe clangs before the loud sloshing of water surging through comes hurtling above you. You can just hear the running sound of a shower in the distance and your mind is so busy imagining him naked and wet that you forget how uncomfortable and stuffy it is in the cramped passage.

When he finally emerges, your face flushes anew and you suck in a breath, your throat immediately filling with dust. You try to cough silently and clear your throat as Copia wanders back into the sitting room. You had never seen a member of the clergy without their paints. It was just like another part of their face. Seeing the cardinal without the darkened lips and hollowed eyes felt so strange and yet it sent a thrill down your spine; had anyone ever seen him like this? But it wasn’t just the bare face that held your attention, his wet hair that he’d slicked back was dripping down his naked chest and disappearing into the towel wrapped snugly around his hips.

Your nails were already digging into the stone as you watch him come closer to your hiding spot. He was once more a few inches away and you could see the droplets of water on his chest and smell what must have been his soap. How you want to reach out to him. Of course, you don’t—you can’t. You merely swallow back the delirium and try to keep your breathing even as you hear him move about. A clink of glass and then liquid sloshing before he walks away from you and slumps back into the armchair with a glass of wine in hand.

He sips at it, a sigh of pleasure escaping him as he relaxes in the chair. He takes a few more sips and you decide to call it a night but you pause when he places the half-drunk glass on his little side table and relaxes further into the chair with a moan. One of his hands reaches for the towel and you have to cover your mouth as he unties it and exposes himself completely.

You can’t look away as you watch him gently palm his cock, utterly entranced at the sight of it swelling beneath his languorous ministrations. Copia has his eyes shut and lips parted as he works himself with slow strokes. You really should leave. But nothing could have pried you away as his breathing starts to become uneven. The sight of his swollen head, precum already beading at the tip, has you licking your lips. How you want to be there on the floor between his legs, your hands gripping his thighs as you lick and suck along his cock. His hips snap erratically and you wonder if he would fuck your face with such abandon. Would he have the free hand that was currently gripping the armchair tightly around your throat? Or would he wind it tightly in your hair as he forced you to take more of him down your willing throat? That thought had one of your own hands reaching under your habit and hastily rubbing at your own sex as you watch.

“Cazzo!“ he growls, the sound sending a hot shock of arousal between your thighs. “Sei così bella in ginocchio per me come una brava sgualdrina.”

His hand was furiously working and before he can utter another word, he comes; the white ropes splattering over his stomach as he moans. The sight and sound of him losing control has you over the edge and you come hard and fast, legs shaking as you try to keep yourself upright.

You must have been too loud as he’s looking in your direction again, his brow furrowing. But he’s distracted when a knock on his door reverberates through the room.

“Pah!” He snatches the towel and strides toward the bedroom, your eyes glued to the sight of his naked body.

Another knock on the door.

“A moment!” Copia yells out.

After a moment, the man walks back out, hastily doing up the buttons of his cassock as he walks to the door. You hear it open and the demonic drawl of a ghoul speaking fills the room.

“Papa needs you urgently.”

“What in the name of Satanas does he need at this hour?” snaps Copia. “Tell me quickly, ghoul.”

A huff. “He just said it was urgent.”

Copia grumbles, striding back into the room and grabbing his biretta before the sound of the door shutting signals he’s left.

You try to collect yourself by taking a deep breath. Pushing off the wall, you go to leave but your fingers graze against something. A snick sounds out and suddenly the wall is moving and you’re falling forward as you are thrown off balance.

With a thud, you’re on the ground. Sitting on your knees, you rub at your elbow and look behind you to watch the wall swing around to reveal a bookshelf before it clicks shut. Your eyes dart to the door you can now see. But nobody comes running in.

You see the archives key has fallen out of your pocket, you grab it quickly and shove in back in. Really, you should probably leave. However…

Getting to your feet, your eyes soak in the details of the room. It smells like wood and incense here, reminding you of chapel. But the scents overlap with the leather from the books lining the wall you’d just fallen through and the scent of the man that has just left. You stare at the chair he has just vacated, and as you come closer you can see little teeth marks on the arm which makes you laugh.

A little squeak catches your attention and you wander over to an overly ornamental rat cage—well, rat palace. A furry face peers up at you and you smile.

“Your home is more decadent than the entire abbey!” you say to the little rat.

It just squeaks at you again before disappearing into its gilded home.

Really, you should be trying to open the passageway again and not heading into the cardinal’s bedroom. But it’s too late. You’re here, and you may as well take the chance to learn more about this illusive man. Most of the furnishings in this room are old, as if from another time. But everything has a worn quality to it; nothing in the cardinal’s rooms was for show.

When your eyes land on his bed and see his black leather gloves you pause. Staring at them for what feels like an eternity before you throw all reason out the door and pick one up.

Fuck. The leather is insanely soft on your fingers and the lingering warmth is there. You aren’t thinking when you place your hand in it and then wrap your own fingers around your neck. Was that insane? Perhaps. You hear someone shout something in the distance and you jump and stack it against the bedpost whacking your elbow in the process. Blinking back tears, you hastily taking the glove off and throw it back on the bed, only for it to fall to the floor. But there is no time to grab it and put it back. You run to the hidden passage, rubbing your arm and nearly stumbling again on a rug. When you reach the bookcase, you start pulling at books in a frenzy as your heart races. The door unlocks just as the wall opens and you slip in, scurrying none to gracefully down the narrow passageway and back to the library.

The next morning during chapel you realise you don’t have your rosary. It doesn’t occur to you that you might have lost it in Copia’s rooms. Losing things is just your usual state of being. So when chapel ends, you sigh and go walk up to the front where Papa Terzo stands talking to another sibling.

“Excuse me, Papa?” you say.

The man smiles at you and you try not to blush, but it’s impossible not to be affected by his charm. It’s hard to believe you’d seen him so angry and flustered the other day.

“You can interrupt anytime you are wishing, bella!” he says, spreading his arms wide so that his papal robes swish and catch the light from the many candles bathing the chamber.

You smile in response. “I need a new rosary, I lost mine,” you say sheepishly.

“Ah, these things are happening,” he says with an understanding nod. “I am always losing my er panties?” You hold back a laugh and so does the other sibling while he just frowns softly. “Though I am thinking this is not losing but the stealing…it is not matter.” Terzo points behind him. “You can get one from the Cardinale—he is in the vestry.”

The Cardinal. Your face falls and Terzo just pats you on the shoulder.

“Do not be worrying,” Papa says jovially, “he can help you, Sorella.”

On heavy feet you trudge to the vestry, knocking on the door before opening it. Copia is there, his hands busy with refilling the wine in the large silver decanter. He glances up at you with a scowl.

“Terzo, I said—” He stops, frown fading away to be replaced by a raised brow. “Yes, Sorella?”

You stand in the door and hesitate. All you can think about is his cock and the noises he had made last night. Your whole body flushes.

He snaps a finger at you. “Sorella, I am busy, what is it?”

You stumble. “I—um. I need a rosary. I lost mine. Papa said you can give me a new one.”

His whole demeanour changes, going from irritated disdain to a strangely gleeful smile. He puts the wine down with a deliberate thunk and rummages in a small chest, pulling out a set of rosary beads.

“Come in, please, dolce.”

You walk toward him and stand there awkwardly. The vestry is strong with the smell of old relics of silver and brass, and the heady incense that is always burning in the unholy rooms of the abbey. But in the midst of it all, there is him. That magnetic and tempting scent that you had basked in while in his rooms.

“Closer, per favore.”

You take another step and he instructs you to put your hands out, palms facing up so that the necklace can lie against them—the silver grucifix heavy on one palm. He briefly turns away to grab a small bottle of unholy water.

“Keep still.” He uncorks it. “They need to be blessed.”

You just nod, staring at the small purple beads as he sprinkles some of the water over them. It splashes against your hands and wrists, goosebumps breaking out against your skin.

“Alvengeful Lucifer,” says Copia in a low voice, “we seek out your divine grace and ask that you offer your unholy blessing to this rosary which the Church has sanctioned for the honour and praise of the Most Unholy of Lords.”

One of his gloved hands reaches out and presses the grucifx into your palm with his thumb, his other fingers curling around your hand. You are not thinking about his hands anywhere else, not at all. You are not going to think about it. He presses harder as he continues to speak. You surreptitiously try and squeeze your thighs together.

It feels too hot in the small vestry. And he is too close—yet somehow not close enough. It was torture.

“Let it be filled with such power of your unholy spirit,” Copia continues to speak, low voice wrapping around you, ”that whoever carries this on her person or devoutly recites it may be protected by you.”

You swear you feel his fingers move against your hand in a gentle caress but he removes it before you can focus on it. It’s an effort to keep your breathing normal but you try as Copia continues with the blessing.

“Let her share in all the glories, indulgences and pleasures granted by the darkness that you offer in comfort.” He sprinkles more of the water onto the beads before he utters a final, “Nema.”

“Nema,” you repeat softly, still staring at your hands and the beads upon them.

Before you can move, Copia snatches the beads and places them over your head. The leather of his gloves grazes against your throat as he carefully drapes them over the collar of your habit. It forces you to look up at him, those odd eyes watching you far too intently with that little smile still playing around his mouth.

“Make sure you don’t lose these,” he says, fingers trailing down the length of the beads before he suddenly wraps it around two fingers and tugs you forward.

You can’t speak, he’s brought you several steps closer to him. His scent envelops you and you can feel the hem of his cassock against your shins. Any words you would’ve tried to speak are stuck in your throat.

“You wouldn’t want to find yourself lost without a prayer.” He tugs on the rosary again which brings you even closer—you were nearly pressed up against him. His face was hovering right in front of yours. This close you could see his one white eye was more of an eerily bright blue. “Would you, Sorella?”

You shake your head dumbly as you unstick your tongue, heart pounding in your chest. “No, Your Eminence.”

He lets go and you suck in a shuddering breath, stumbling back as you try to regain your footing. You can still feel the way the beads had been digging into your neck.

Copia chuckles. “Bene, bene!” He prods your shoulder. “Off you go, Sorella.”

You give it three days before you head back to the little secret passage. Last time had been far too close, but the desire to see the cardinal—possibly even see him come undone again was far too tempting. Today during your lesson, you hadn’t been able to remove your gaze from his hands. Your eyes fixed on watching him gesture as he explained all about the proper way to summon a lesser demon. You hadn’t heard a single word he’d said. The entire lesson had been spent thinking of those hands, imagining them over your skin. How would the leather feel running softly against you? Would he be gentle? Or rough? The throb between your legs had you on edge the entire hour until the shifting of your fellow siblings signalled the end of class.

When you had grabbed your prayer book and shuffled out of the room, you had turned to look back at your desk to make sure you hadn’t left anything and simply been met with Copia’s mismatched stare. The shiver that had run down your spine had you hurriedly leaving and walking as fast as you could toward the greenhouse.

Lying in your bed, your mind had been full. Tossing and turning, all you could think of was Copia’s hand around your neck or the immense heat of him when he’d pulled you close the other day in the vestry. The man was haunting your thoughts just like the abbey halls. So, you’d thrown back the sheets and snuck off back to the archives.

Tonight, he’s again sitting in his wingback chair. In his red cassock, he looks like the Lord below. He rarely wore the red, instead opting for the black. But you preferred it—mostly because it was easier for you to spot him. Lurking in the shadows in all black had Copia sneaking up on unsuspecting siblings with ease far too often.

He scribbles notes down occasionally, pen scratching and tongue clicking whenever he crosses something out. You stand there for what feels like forever, your eyes getting heavy as you lean against the cold stone wall. It is cooler tonight, but the passageway is clammy, the air thick and making your habit stick to your skin. Maybe you can come back tomorrow night. Or maybe this was just fucking madness. You were spying on Cardinal Copia—of all people! You sigh.

Copia’s eyes snap toward you, meeting your gaze. There is no way he can see you; the gap is too small and you know you're hidden behind books. There is no way in heaven that the old man can see you! Luck must be on your side because he shakes his head and just stands up, wandering over in the direction of his rats.

“Sento il nostro topolina nei muri, Rigatoni,” you hear him say. “Hmm. Un topolina che evidentemente non capisce una parola di quello che dico.”

There are some happy squeaks as the cage is opened and then closed. You strain to listen however there is nothing but the clock ticking rhythmically by your ear and some more soft little squeaks. You press closer.

Maybe you press too hard or accidentally knock the little lever, but suddenly you’re falling; a scream of surprise leaving your throat as the wall moves beneath you. It sends you out of the cramped passage and has you toppling onto the soft carpet. You suck in a quick breath through your nose, those strangely familiar scents assaulting your senses. You glance up and see Copia standing by the bookshelf as it slides back into place with a click of finality. He has a gloved hand on the nondescript book that triggers the passage and the other taps his chin thoughtfully.

While you do realise you are in Big Trouble with The Cardinal, you can’t help but stare at his leather-clad fingers as they rest on his chin. You needed to get a grip.

“Ah, it was a lost little mouse,” he says with satisfaction, eyebrow raised as he regards you.

Fuck. As soon as he speaks you realise you’re absolutely fucked. There was no safety of the passageway between you, and no next lesson to scurry away to. You had fallen into the spider’s parlour, very much uninvited.

He lets go of the book and it slowly slots back into place. You stare at him, mind racing as you try to come up with some sort of explanation. You’ve been sleepwalking? You’ve been possessed? You’ve gone insane? Actually, you were pretty sure you had gone slightly insane and—

“Good evening, Sorella.”

You blink at him owlishly as your thoughts fizzle away into nothingness.

“Er…” You try to clear your throat. “Good evening, Cardinal.”

The reality of where you were and who you were with is starting to seep in. Your breath hitches. In theory, it really should be so much easier to breathe in this room than the little passageway but it’s not. You’ve been caught in a clergyman’s room—spying on him nonetheless—in the middle of the night. And out of all the priests and bishops and all the other members in this abbey…you were with The Cardinal.

It simply would be a better time all-round if you’d just snuck into a cage with a starving tiger. At least it would be over quickly.

Hurriedly you get to your feet and your mouth loosens—never good.

“Your Eminence!” you squeak. Lord below, you sound insane. But the panic is taking over. “I’m so sorry, I was just exploring. Cardinal Giorgio is always talking about the abbey and the history of it all and working in the archives is so interesting, you know? And, um, I found this passageway tonight—yes, tonight—and so I had to learn more. And I was reading books…yes books! There are so many books, do you like books? It’s just so fascinating how the walls—“

“Sister.”

“—and I think I was just so caught up in the history so I was walking in my—” You stop talking. “Yes?”

“Don’t lie to me, you’re about as interested in this building as I am in ornithology.”

That takes some of the panic away as you frown at him “What’s ornithology?” Oh, Lucifer was that some kind of ancient magick? Did he talk about it today? You should have paid attention!

The man gives an exasperated sigh. “It doesn’t matter.” That mismatched stare eyes you carefully, his moustache twitching as his lips quirk. “You’ve been spying on me, topolina.”

“No!” you say desperately, hands rising rapidly as if worried he was going to bite you.

He takes a few steps toward you, entering your personal space and making you freeze. Lucifer, he smells good. Focus! You stare up at him, looking like a lost idiot as your brain tries to think of a way to escape.

“Do you still have your rosary?” asks the cardinal.

That throws you off. You frown and then rummage in your pocket, fishing the beads out and holding them up to show him.

“Yes?”

He tuts. “‘Yes, Your Eminence.’”

“Yes, Your Eminence,” you repeat dutifully, still staring at him wide-eyed as your heart beats rapidly in your chest.

“Good girl.” He grins. “You’ll at least have a prayer, if nothing else, dolce.”

What in Satan’s name did he—

You cannot finish the thought as he snatches your wrist and drags you further into his room. Your feet trip over his fancy rug and you stumble, nearly colliding with him but he holds your arm in a steady grip. He swings you around to face him and you hold your breath as he looms above you.

The look on his face is hard to read but there is hunger in his hypnotic eyes. Oh fuck, what if he actually was a vampire like some of the other siblings said? Maybe you were going to be eaten.

“What are you going to do to me?” you ask. You want to sound brave. You don’t.

“Me?” he says, prodding you back, the back of your legs hitting his armchair, causing you to fumble and fall into it with a soft thump. “I am not going to do a thing to you, dolce.”

Your bewildered gaze follows him as he sits across from you on the low settee. The race of your heart in your chest has you trying to take a breath to calm yourself. No matter what he says, you knew he was going to punish you. It was Copia after all. And you’d been caught. In his room. Spying. The tension was driving you insane. Your stomach was in knots. Whatever he does you hope it’s quick.

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees as he places his chin on his clasped hands. The leather creaks in the heavy silence and you do your best to not look at them, trying to just focus on a point by his ear. Now was not the time for horny thoughts.

“It is a little unfair that you have been spying on your cardinal, don’t you think?” he says pleasantly.

“Um, yes?” you say, shifting awkwardly in the seat.

An eyebrow raises in question. “You don’t seem so sure, Sorella.” He taps his chin thoughtfully on his hands. “I would think it isn’t very polite to spy on someone…especially when they are having a—” He leans back and waves a hand, your eyes following it somewhat hypnotised. “—private moment.”

Oh. Oh no.

Fuck.

Your cheeks burn. He knew. How? How did he know?

“I—”

He wiggles a finger at you. “Now, Sister, don’t try and lie again.”

It’s strange you think. Despite your embarrassment and utter dread, he doesn’t seem angry, or upset. He rummages in the depths of his crimson cassock and pulls something out.

It’s a rosary. Yours, to be precise. Oh no.

He smiles when he sees understanding bloom on your face.

“It isn’t very nice of you to spy on me and then snoop in my absence, dolce.” He swings the rosary idly, still speaking to you as if you were a naughty child. “It also isn’t very nice to go through my things.”

“I didn’t touch your things, Cardinal!” you blurt out.

His head cocks to the side and he pockets the rosary.

“Ah, but you did, dolce.” With quick movements, he tugs off a glove and throws it at you. You catch it and stare at him. “You seem rather enamoured with these.”

Was it possible to die of embarrassment? You hope so, you really do.

“Put it on,” he says.

You stare at him dumbfounded. The leather still feels warm in your hands and it is just as soft as you remember it being. Maybe you’d fallen asleep in the passageway and this was all some weird dream.

You swallow. “Why?”

“‘Why, Your Eminence’,” he says, a sly grin unfurling on his face. “I said, I am not going to do anything. You are going to do it for me. It seems only fair.”

The room is silent as you just sit there fiddling with the glove.

“Do it now, Sister.” Copia’s voice is sharp and it sends a jolt down your spine. You quickly put the glove on. “Brava ragazza. Lift up your habit.”

You manage to only let out a shocked squeak at that, your heart racing.

He grins at you like a tiger. “You heard me. It’s only fair, dolce. You’ve been watching me. It is my turn. Quid pro quo.” Your confused expression has him waving the hand still wearing the other glove. “Maybe should join my Latin class and learn something. I am sure that mouth of yours can handle it.” He gestures at the glove you now wear. “Besides, this way, you can just pretend it is me, si?”

You bristle at that. While you so desperately want him to touch you, he had no right whatsoever to know that! But then again, you had no right to spy on him.

“Why would I want to do that?” you say, though there is little conviction behind the words.

The man doesn’t say a word, he just watches you with that infuriating all-knowing look on his face. You sigh and lift up the hem of your habit until it’s on your knees.

“Higher.”

You lift it a little higher, exposing your legs as it bunches around the top of your thigh.

“Higher.”

Your eyes are fixed on the rug beneath your feet as you grip the fabric tightly and pull it all the way back, exposing your knickers. What were you even wearing today? You sneak a glance—black lace. Well, at least it wasn’t the frilly white pair with little cats on it. You really should throw those out.

You’re snapped out of your lingerie musings when Copia speaks again.

“Now, remove your underwear,” he commands.

It’s like he’s merely giving instructions in class. But a part of you is so used to obeying that voice that you simply do it without thinking. The hand wearing his glove touches your skin and you shiver; how you really wish it was him doing this but you ignore it and try to remove the garment as gracefully as possible. You hear a pleased hum from him when they hit the floor.

“Spread your legs for me.”

You didn’t think you’d be able to sit there with your thighs pressed together as they are now. With a tight grip on the fabric of your habit bunched around your waist, you lean back a little—body still tense—and part your legs slightly. The feel of his eyes on you makes your skin prickle as you stare at his shoes. You know you are already wet, you can feel it. Fuck, you can smell yourself.

“Now, now, dolce,” he chides. “You can do better than that. Wider.”

With a shuddering breath, you let your legs fall completely open. Now you’re completely exposed before him, pussy glistening in the lamplight. The arousal is seeping through you, you’re humiliated that you’re sitting there with your habit around your waist and your legs spread wide. But there’s an undeniable thrill at being like this before Cardinal Copia, having him tell you what to do and hearing his little hum of approval when you do as he pleases.

“Look at me,” he commands and your eyes flick up to his face. The way he regards you makes your body flush; your body tense and cunt aching.

“Touch yourself—lightly—with the leather,” he says in a low voice, those strange eyes boring into yours.

For some reason, you can’t look away, your cheeks are red—of that you’re certain—but you can’t put it all down to embarrassment. It’s the way he watches you as your gloved hand lets go of the grip on your habit and drifts between your legs. The intense stare only seems to fuel you, making your skin sing when your leather-clad fingers graze against your wet folds. You suck in a breath through your clenched teeth and drag your fingers through your slit to then lightly circle your clit.

You’re aware you’re breathing heavily, but the feel of soft leather and Copia’s deep gaze has you aching. It’s like he is touching you, though he sits a few feet away.

“Does that feel good, dolce?” he asks. His tone has shifted, the deep rumble vibrating through you and settings your nerves on fire. “I imagine it must, you’re soaking already—I can see from here”

It’s an effort to keep your touch light but your body is already begging for more and so you try and press a little harder. A moan tumble from your lips as you greedily take what your body gives, though it demands so much more. Muscles tensing as your fingers work the bud of your sex, you can feel the sweat starting to bead on your forehead. It feels too damn good as the friction feeds your ravenous excitement.

“Keep your eyes open, Sorella.”

You hadn’t even realised you’d closed them, and when you open them you let out another moan. The man has lifted the heavy fabric of his cassock so you can see the tight pants he wears—they’ve been undone so his cock juts out as he lazily pumps it with his still gloved hand.

“Brava,” he says, a smirk on his face at your half-lidded expression. “Now, be a good girl and slide those wet fingers into your pretty pussy for me.”

It’s embarrassing how quickly you obey him, letting the leather glide through your slit before you sink a finger in. The feeling is deliriously satisfying after the light teasing and you sink a second finger in, your palm grinding against your clit.

“Guarda la tua piccola fica bisognosa,” he purrs. “Do you need more, dolce?”

You nod. You can barely think right now. The leather feels exquisite, you truly feel like it is his hand though your hand is nowhere large enough. But it’s enough to make your heart race even further and cause the lust to rage. How you wish it was his fingers! But he is in front of you, the sight of him touching himself and that stare aimed at you making you whimper as your fingers dance within you.

“You have a tongue, dolce, use it.”

Fuck, how you wish he would let you use it; all you want is to lick his cock. You just know if told you to crawl to him, you would. Instead, you pant out a barely discernible, “yes,” as your thumb gently circles your clit.

“Ah?”

“Yes,” you hiss out, “Your Eminence.”

“Good girl.”

Fuck! Those low words of praise are far too addictive and they make the tension low in your stomach tighten in delightful anticipation. You spread your legs even further, desperate for more as you thrust your fingers within your soaking cunt. You want to close your eyes, to relish in the feel of the leather sliding against your flesh. But you can’t. His cock is leaking as he continues to slowly stroke—you can’t help but marvel at his control. You’re too needy, too desperate. Your movements aren’t controlled but greedy. There is no embarrassment or shame anymore, just the franticness that comes with being lost to chasing that pleasurable high. You know you are close, it feels as if you’ve been on edge ever since that day back in the classroom when he wrapped his hand around your throat.

“You can’t come until I say, Sorella,” he says.

A needy whimper trembles through you and your fingers continue to work, chest rising and falling rapidly with each panted breath you take. Copia never wavers as he watches you, though you can see his pupils are blown wide. He is so hard and you are so desperate for more than fingers—desperate for him.

“Cardinal.” If you weren’t so insanely overcome you’d be embarrassed at how pathetic his title sounded falling from your lips. But you are way past that. “Please!”

You’re impressed you can even utter a word, let alone two, as you try to keep the orgasm at bay.

“What is it, topolina?” he asks, the sound of his voice wrapping around you. It simultaneously relaxes and strengthens the tension within your body.

You can’t utter another word, instead, more whimpers and moans leave your mouth as you grind yourself down on your hand.

“Do you want my cock?” His words make you shiver. Fuck. Yes, you do. You watch the head disappear into his fist as he gives it a slow stroke. “Hmm? Tell me.”

Your head just nods as you arch your back, shoulder blades digging into the leather back of the chair making the fabric of your habit cling to your sweat covered skin.

He shakes his head in response, a small chuckle vibrating around the room as he does. “You have to use your words, remember?”

“Yes, Your Eminence,” you manage to say.

“Good, but no, tell me.”

Release is so close, your fingers are stroking that sensitive spot within you while your palm presses against your clit. You need to come. It’s so close. You want him so badly.

“I want your cock, Your Eminence!” You nearly yell it out, a whimpering plea that only makes him grin.

“Bene.” He stops his own ministrations and pats his knee. “Come here, then.”

You fly out of the chair and scramble into his lap, knees sliding either side of his thighs. The heat and scent of him assaulting all your senses as he pulls you into him, your hands grasping at his shoulders to try and steady yourself. The thick fabric of his cassock is soft under your hands and all you want is to bury into him. But Copia snatches the wrist of the hand wearing his glove, his mouth engulfing a finger as your pussy slides against the length of his cock. The look in those hooded eyes makes your skin prickle. You grind down against him as you watch his mouth and tongue lick your essence from the leather. His teeth then graze against your finger before he removes it from his mouth.

“How sweet you are, Sorella,” he murmurs, tugging the glove off, along with the one he still wears, and throwing them to the side.

Copia grabs your hips quickly, lifting you up so he can then bring you sinking down onto his cock. The sob that leaves you has you nearly screaming with pleasure. The stretch and fullness have you in a state of rapture as you take him completely. But then he doesn’t move—your eyes lock with his and he merely gives you that familiar smug smile.

“You need to move, dolce,” he whispers. “Sii una brava sgualdrina e cavalca il tuo cardinale.”

You don’t need to be told twice, your hands greedily grip his shoulders as you let your hips undulate above him. It’s too much and your eyes slip shut as you let the feel of him filling you take over, the tension building all over again. The wetness between your legs is obscene, making it far too easy to move as fast as you can while desperately chasing release. You feel him twitch within you, and then fingers are wrapped around your throat. That makes your eyes fly open, his face is so close to yours that you can see that the paint around his eyes and on his top lip has started to smudge with sweat. His hair, always so tidy is starting to fall into his eyes. Cardinal Copia was always so neat but now, he looked so unkempt—it makes you ache even more. Those fingers he has around your neck squeeze and a wave of ecstasy surges through your body, your cunt clenching around his cock.

Copia grips your hip with his other hand, fingers surely bruising, as he holds you down against him before he thrusts up. It makes your head spin.

“You said you wanted my cock in that needy cunt of yours, dolce,” he growls, pulling you closer. His breath skitters against your cheek. “You should hold on.”

You have half a second to readjust the grip on his shoulders before he is thrusting into you at a fast pace, somehow hitting even deeper than before. You cry out, overwhelmed by the scent and feel of him. Everything is just the cardinal and the agonising desire he is building within you. The hand on your neck lets go and you suck in a breath.

“Come for me,” he commands.

You can’t disobey. The tension within you finally snaps at those words and you break apart around him, waves of unrelenting pleasure hitting you. You ride out the orgasm with him—his growled words in Italian against your ear as his cock swells and kicks within you. He doesn’t stop as he comes, still pumping up into you as you twitch above him and wrench everything he has to give.

When he finally slows, you slump against him. Your body tingles and your chest heaves as you suck in breath after breath. Copia’s arms are around you, holding you close as your face presses into the fabric of his cassock. When your breathing finally evens out, you slip from his lap on shaky legs. You go to pick up your knickers but he moves fast, snatching them off the ground. He looms over you once more, moustache twitching in amusement as you glare at him.

“I will hold onto these,” he says as you watch the black lace disappear into the depths of his cassock. He smoothes his hair back. “You can collect them after class tomorrow, dolce. Perhaps you will also consider joining my Latin class, hmm? It seems you can follow instructions well enough, perhaps we can put that tongue of yours to proper use.”

“Perhaps.” You adjust your habit. “Your Eminence.”

PART TWO the title is taken from the instrumental track "Freshly Squeezed" by Angelo Badalamenti from the Twin Peaks soundtrack! it sets the tone of the start of the fic when she first goes into the passageway.

thank you to Sucharide for beta-ing - any other errors are my own.

Torna qui! - Come back here!

Andrai a lamentarti con tuo daddy come un ragazzino? - Are you going to complain to your daddy like a little boy?

Che cosa? No! - What? No!

Piccolino mio - my little one

Topolina - little mouse

Vaffanculo! Sei uno stronzo, Copia! - Fuck you! You’re an arsehole, Copia!

Quando sarò Papa, gli farò ricucire la bocca… - When I’m Papa, I’ll have his mouth sewn shut…

Sei così bella in ginocchio per me come una brava sgualdrina - You're so beautiful on your knees for me like a good slut

Sento il nostro topolina nei muri, Rigatoni. Hmm. Un topolina che evidentemente non capisce una parola di quello che dico - I hear our little mouse in the walls, Rigatoni. Hmm. A little mouse who obviously doesn't understand a word I'm saying

Guarda la tua piccola fica bisognosa - Look at your needy little cunt

Sii una brava sgualdrina e cavalca il tuo cardinale - Be a good slut and ride your cardinal

[total-serene560]

Chapter 4: What's On Your Mind?

Will's boss hates air conditioning and Mike Wheeler, the OG Party sees The Blob and Will has a bad time, Mike mysteriously appears at Will's house after work one day, Will successfully runs a DnD session while halfway ready to call an Amber Alert for Mike until he arrives an hour late, and Will finally puts the pieces together after a late night conversation in a car.

(all in a nice 10k word package!)

Fic Summary:

Senior year arrives off the back of a wasted summer and brings with it a whole can of worms that Mike has been trying to avoid opening since eighth grade. Left with Will being in his usual DM position in the club that he started, a distant sister he's convinced hates him, parents that can't seem to stop fighting, a burning truth in his heart that he can't stamp out, and a terrifyingly bleak future looming ahead; Mike struggles to navigate the year from hell. But maybe Mike isn't as alone as he thought, and maybe... just maybe, everything has a way of working itself out for the better.

Will's life seems to be changing faster and faster every day. Jonathan leaves after graduating community college and making it into Purdue, Will's mom gets a promotion at work and starts getting more serious with Hopper, and Will ends up in charge of the DnD Club for the first time ever. On top of that, his friendship with Mike is becoming increasingly... odd. Strained. Tense. What starts with a movie night slowly changes their friendship, and with it turns Will's whole world on it's head- Again. But... maybe not everything has to be bad. Maybe change can be good, even. If only it wasn't so damn scary.

(A post-ST2 AU)

Snippet below the cut:

Snippet:

“That sucks,” Will says instead, “I’m sorry.” “It’s fine,” Mike says, shrugging as he meets his eye, “It’s just so stupid, you know.” “Yeah,” Will nods, “Dads suck.” “They do,” Mike says, his face softening into a smile, “Hey. You’re my best friend. You know that, right?” “Yeah, you are too,” Will says, smiling back, and then he swallows when Mike doesn’t look away, his smile falling a little as his eyes do this quick motion down-and-up over his face. The inside of the car is dark, intimate, and Will suddenly feels lightheaded as he looks down at Mike’s hand again, his fingers tapping lightly against the parking brake between them. He looks back up at Mike’s face, and Mike is still staring, his eyes almost black in the low light. And Will thinks about August, about the movie theater, about his voice on the radio saying We can be scared together, if you want. Scared together. Crazy together.  “Are you drunk?”  “A little.” August, Mike’s dark brown eyes, his mouth dry. Mike looked down.  “Yeah, sorry, I was- I wasn’t feeling well that night.” Mike shakes his head after a moment, looking back at Will’s house, “I’ll see you tomorrow?” Will’s mouth is dry as he nods, “Yeah, tomorrow.” 

tagging: @foodiewithdahoodie@sparks-olivarpente@maru-chu@greenfiend@booksandpaperss@magentamee@doriandrifting@itsacleanmachine@moon-and-stars @fireflywitch(if you wanna be added or removed from the tag list lmk!)

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Twenty-Three

Masterlist of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Hey, besties; sorry for the delay. Everything that could go wrong went wrong. First, one of my coworkers called off (she doesn't even work here anymore because she missed too much), and I had to do two 10-hour shifts. Then my freaking internet went out because some tree trimmers cut the connection line for everyone! And after that, I had a crisis and lost the inspiration and drive to write. This chapter is a two-parter, which I usually wouldn't say I like to do, but it would've been over 10k words. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and as always, thank you for reading!

Chapter Warnings: The reader has severely unresolved trauma, angst, Arryk is a white knight.

"The axe forgets; the tree remembers." - Zimbabwean Proverb from the Shona tribe.

You were still determining your place inside Maegor's Holdfast, unfamiliar with the royal wing layout like you were with the rest of the Keep, having found an abandoned terrace that the court long forgot. Leaves of green ivory crawled up the side of the castle, wrapping around the red rock banister like an unkempt tree in the Godswood.

Your eyes gazed at the iron mote of spikes that protected the Holdfast. They shined wet like a predator's teeth, grinning back at you in misery.

Your body felt full, yet empty, full of swirling emotions and thoughts you had long buried, stirring the formerly clear water into a murky pool. Yet in that same emotion, you felt nothing, the well dried up from a summer's prolonged drought left with dust and sand at the bottom. You were uncertain if the nothingness was a blessing. Conceivably, it was your psyche's way of coping with the trauma of your life's story. You were fearful that if you suddenly felt those surges of memories, thoughts, and regrets, the iron spikes would be dripping with your blood.

Your title was called out from behind you so softly and so tender it was a whisper in the wind, almost causing you to disregard it as a trick of your mind. The sound of armor clanking and fabric rustling told you otherwise.

"Princess, the hour is late. You must get your rest," Ser Arryk expressed, his voice as compassionate as a mother. You refused to answer, the energy to move your lips and tongue long sapped out from crying.

He stepped onto the balcony until he was beside you, his arms stiff behind his back, shoulders tense at the silence. Arryk was conflicted about what to do. He knew he could not order you to sleep. His position was not one to command the eldest daughter of Daemon Targaryen, but he was assigned to be your sworn protector in all matters, whether defending you from a foe or yourself.

"My Lady, you need not speak of what has stolen you from sleep, but let it take no longer. I shall lead you to your bed chambers," the kingsguard offered kindly, leaving no room for rejection.

Finally, your eyes met his blue ones, seeing your black lashes clumped together from tears. Arryk wanted to comfort and embrace you as any good-natured person would but refrained, simply placing an inviting palm on your shoulder. He had seen you at your worst years ago after your brawl with the Septa, knuckles swollen and red with the blood of the older woman, beautiful face pink and glistening with tears down your cheeks.

Otto Hightower, be damned. Damned to the fiery pits of the Seven Hells to burn for all eternity for what he made Arryk do. You were too dear to the knight to betray your trust anymore. Though Ser Arryk never discovered any hurtful information other than the peculiarity of you and the eldest son of the King's relationship. He spent every waking moment inhaling the same air as you, breathing in each exhale like it was his last. How could he ever betray your trust in good conscience?

"Aegon was the one who discovered Lyra's plans to smuggle me out of Kings Landing. He killed them." Your words tore him from his internal struggle with shock.

Arryk's brows scrunched in confusion, trying to recall what you were saying. His face paled when he did, remembering the blotchy grey faces displayed on the battlements of the Red Keep for all to see, for all to see the Hand's justice. May Lord Hightower's death be long and painful for what he did to you, Arryk thought.

"I wish Aegon were dead," you spoke aloud without realizing it.

The knight became worried, suddenly closing the distance between you to make somehow your confession disappear. "Princess. You must be careful what you say here. The walls have ears, and the ears have eyes."

"No, Ser Arryk. Let them hear it," you protested, your nails digging crescents into your palms. "Mayhaps they will understand the agony I have suffered all these years. The mornings and nights I have laid awake in bed, praying to the Old Gods and the New for them to somehow bring her back and make it so nothing happened." You sucked in a ragged breath, hiccuping from the remnants of your tears as your body became too challenging to carry. "I cannot do this anymore. I cannot be here."

The kingsguardmen did not understand your true meaning of how you desired greatly to leave this whole charade behind, to return to Dragonstone and watch little Joffery and the younger Viserys and Aegon grow into their skins, to watch Lucerys become the man you were confident for him to be. Instead, Arryk thought the worst, believing your words to be final and life-ending, as he firmly grabbed your biceps.

He said your name gently yet sternly, causing your glazed eyes to widen. "You must not think like that. I shan't allow it," he commanded. "You are the strongest maiden in the realm. You ride the fiercest dragon, feared by humans and its species. You have endured hardships and trials a girl of your age should never have to, and even when your blood was stolen from you, you did not turn to resentment. You were not bitter to those undeserving."

You attempted to move your face away from Arryk's, unconvinced at his words. He was so close that you could smell the mint leaves on his tongue. "You are stronger than you know, and until then, each moment like this, you will feel as if it is too much, but you will always find yourself emerging on the other side."

No words made their way to your lips, and you suddenly felt the rush of emotions you had thought dried. You stepped away from Arryk, embracing your torso as you faced the opened doors that led inside. You didn't want to feel anything. Not now, nor ever again. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you returned to the silver-armored knight of the Kingsguard.

"I seem to have lost my bearings, Ser Arryk," you whispered into the chill night air. "Will you help me find my way back to the guest wing?"

The request was a peace offering, a silent "thank you" for his unfailing kindness. If he had not dedicated his life in service to the King, he would've made an excellent father and an even better husband.

Ser Arryk nodded stiffly, taking long strides ahead of you until all you could see was his pristine white cape flowing like a field of wheat in the wind.

***

You desperately desired to stay within the confines of your bed, as if laying underneath the thin cotton sheets would protect you from the outside world. It was silly, and you felt childish, but truly, that was all you were—a child disguised as a woman painting a facade of fierceness and maturity on your skin. But the pigments had cracked and bleached from weathering winds, rains, and suns until it revealed the canvas underneath. You wished desperately for the chips to be covered, groping at your flesh to hide them from the world.

But it was too late, for they had seen the peeled paint and what lay beneath—a frightened young girl yearning for acceptance and love.

Tears returned to your eyes, a common occurrence over the past fortnight. Your maids had become used to seeing you sniffling in your bed as you were now, covers tucked underneath your nose to hide your sobs. They had tried more than once to find the root of your sadness, but you were a closed door, keeping those who cared for you locked from entering.

Helaena had moved your quarters to the Holdfast as she promised, something you were initially looking forward to. It meant less sneaking around the halls and the corridors of the Keep like a mouse to find Aegon, but that was why precisely you dreaded it now. Though you had scarcely seen him, no doubt drunker than a Bravosi sailor in the pillow houses, the fact that he resided within the same wing made your skin prickle with disgust.

He had yet to return your dagger, small and silver with dragons on the hilt, and you had half a mind to storm inside his chambers for it, but each time you were within eyesight of his door, profound nausea and the sting of tears would stop you.

How could you have lain with the man who bore the blood of two innocents? How could Aegon lay with the kin of the people he sentenced to death? You knew him to be cruel and unusual, but that was something even you could not rightly justify.

Aegon was no matter, you told yourself, rising from your bed at the smell of ham and boiled eggs. All that did was ensuring your Mother's smooth succession. You could achieve it in other manners of not seducing the eldest son of the King. Your presence was something enough to stop them should the Stranger take your Grandsire, and if Queen Alicent and Lord Otto Hightower try to place Aegon on the throne, you would gut her, then her Father, then her beloved first son before the following morn.

You would kill a legion of men before Aegon ever sat upon the Iron Throne, even if it meant your demise.

It's what your Father would want. He would proudly let his daughter lay down her life in service to the crown, just as he would. There would be no nobler of a death.

Jeyne had readied your bath and outfit for the day, a high-collared dress made of black satin. Small silver plates of metal and beads that looked like dragon scales were sewn on the torso in a 'v' shape, accentuating the scandalous low cut of your gown. The sleeves were a long, unsewn style, the stitching keeping them together ending just before the crook of your arm and flowing around you like a cape at your sides. You paired it with an ornate belt, the design of swirling dragons with their teeth bared melted into the steel,  matching hammered cuffs on your wrists. Your necklace was a simple chain, needlelike links dripping down your sternum until they looped into your house sigil. 

You looked to be in mourning garbs rather than the typical court colors, a common occurrence. Perhaps you were, in a sense, mourning. Mourning a loss you should have accepted years ago, weeping for happiness free of politics and schemes, mourning the connection from someone you tried so hard not to form one with.

The three ladies had learnt not to ask why you made such decisions in your clothes. They would only be met with a lie and a smile that stretched a bit too wide. They understood that something had happened and did their best to tread carefully. You were not cross with them, no matter how hurt, vengeful, or angry. Fiora, Jeyne, and Dyanna were innocent in all this, as Sara was, and you refused to have them involved with any of your personal affairs in fear of what would become of the three women.

You paused momentarily, adjusting the designed belt to rest comfortably on your waist, realizing the littlest maid was not there.

"Where is Dyanna?" you asked calmly, curious but not concerned about where she could be. "Is she unwell?"

"No, Princess," Fiora answered, ushering you to the vanity. "She's been assigned to care for Princess Helaena's children after one of the nursemaids fell ill and had to be sent home."

Your brows scrunched in confusion, frowning at the memory of your time with the young Prince and Princess. You have seen the little ones almost every day since the beginning of the planting season, and you haven't noticed any ailments in their caretaker.

You reasoned that illnesses always had the potential to be a sudden onset of symptoms. You had seen in your childhood on the merchant streets how a vendor was acceptable one day, selling different fruits and vegetables you could never afford, then the next, gone without a trace due to a fever. You hoped Jaehaerys and Jaehaera did not catch whatever it was. The first decade of a child's life was the most precarious, their tiny bodies not used to the dirt and disease the realm had to offer.

You left the thought at that, hoping to see the skittish, fair-skinned girl with them. A grimace made its way to your face, attempting to ignore how the wooden comb snagged on a tangle in your hair. Fiora styled it into a braided updo. Two thick plaits in a 'u' shape lay at your skull's base, a silver three-layered chain with black star sapphires pinning it to your hair. Clasping a pair of fan-shaped earrings in your lobes, you stood, stealing one last boiled egg before bidding your ladies farewell and greeting Ser Arryk at the door.

He followed wordlessly, as any knight should, observing how your hips slightly swayed with each step of your leather slippers. Arryk had tread carefully since that scornful night. Since the night you reeked of sweat, alcohol, and tears. He remembered seeing the stars reflected in your dark eyes, the violet hidden during the hour of the wolf, and he couldn't help but think how things might have been if your Father wasn't a Targaryen.

Perhaps he could've met you before he swore to take no wife and bear no heirs. Possibly still while he was a simple bannermen, living from allowance to allowance. Arryk would not have the luxuries he had now if it happened, but if ever given a chance, he might leave it all behind. It would be a shame to leave the highest rank a knight of lower-born descent could achieve, but he would do it for love, for only if you loved him back.

Your guard had suddenly stopped following behind you, standing idly with a slight wrinkle on his forehead and hand on the pommel of his sword.

"Ser Cargyll?" you questioned without words incredulously, tilting your head to the side.

He was silent for a moment more, seeming to come back from wherever he was inside his mind. It was a dangerous place to be inside one's head for too long. It sent some men mad, some women to despair, and some to where they could never leave. You knew what it was like when one would stay inside too long. It sent you reeling in anger, sadness, and joy. There is too much inside not to get lost in.

"Princess, this is not the way to the Godswood," Ser Arryk stated, the crease on his forehead gone.

"I know, Ser. We are not going to the Godswood today," you answered politely, not elaborating further as you continued walking.

"If you don't mind me asking, your Grace, where are we going?"

You flashed a bright smile at Arryk, glancing behind before coyly turning away. He started at the back of your intricately braided hair, mesmerized by the being that was you. His eyes traced how your ebony strands crossed in on themselves, the way the golden chains bounced with every stride. The knight noiselessly cursed the Maiden and the Mother for making you in their image.

While Ser Arryk did recognize the halls you traveled, he was sure you didn't. Your head twists and turns each way, peering into every door and threshold, searching for something he was unsure of.

"Princess, I may be a knight, but I am your protector. 'Tis my right to know your plans and destinations," he commanded as kindly a man could in hopes of not securing your wrath.

He had seen it once before in the training yard at the hour of ghosts, Prince Aegon standing too close to be considered appropriate, his sworn protector nowhere in sight. Despite Arryk's place on the ramparts above and the sun having long set in the west, he could spot the twitches underneath your eye, barely containing malice on your pursed lips as you pulled your bowstring. The knight hadn't noticed how you did it, but a rock was within the place of the arrow as you shot it at the crown Prince's foot, earning a yelp from the twenty-year-old lecher.

You turned back to him, crossing your arms with an undignified huff. "I am not gallivanting off into the Kingswood, Ser Cargyll. I do not understand your persistence with the matter." Arryk attempted to hide the frown that pulled his lips, but you saw him sighing softly and looking to the floor to think over your words more carefully. "We are visiting Grand Maester Orwyle. He has a collection of history and law books that has peaked my interest."

You stepped towards him, breathing a calming breath through your nose, and dropped your arms. Ser Arryk was a fragile soul, simple almost, only following the linear path of honor and duty with no concern for whether it was right or wrong. If the King said it, he did it. If the Queen said it, he did it. If you said it, he did it. His singular vision of things was almost admirable at times. To blindly follow orders without the moral guilt of your actions was something you hoped for. It would make things easier in this game of thrones and less heavy to bear.

But that wasn't life. That wasn't the fate the Gods intended for those with responsibility, though many attempted. Rhaenyra tried, and if you were her, impending the ever-looming doom of the crown, you too would stay tucked away in the little world where life felt light.

Arryk took your stillness as an invitation to walk alongside you, silently leading you to the Maester's quarters and saving your pride from ignorance. You ordered him to stay outside, and he obeyed without a second thought, dipping his head and muttering, "Princess."

Maester Orwyle was hunched over a large oak desk, tomes scattered across it, pieces of parchment covering most of the surface; peeking between them were lighter patches on the wood worn from centuries of usage. It was a simple room with a cot at the far end of it, large bookcases occupying most of the space. Multiple candles were lit throughout the dim room, the smell of incense burning heavily. Shelves lined the bare walls, glass bottles of liquids, salves, and dried herbs occupying them.

The brown-skinned man looked up from his work upon your entrance, sitting the quill he was writing with inside the inkwell and standing.

"Princess, how can I help you?" he asks sincerely. You could still recall when you first met him, scribbling notes and assisting the former Maester Mellos as he tended to you.

"I was inquiring if I may borrow some books of laws from your collection. I find myself not reading the correct ones in the library to assist my studies."

You weren't lying. You couldn't find the text you were searching for because it was not only laws. It was the death records of prisoners, and only the keeper of those things had access to them in their collection.

"Ah. I see," Orwyle nodded, rising from his desk and clasping his hands behind his canvas robes. He led you across the room, showing you to the section. "May I ask what specificity you require so that I may lead you to the correct tome?"

You planned for him to ask you this, and as you rehearsed a dozen times in your head, you smiled, bobbing politely. "Of course. I am in search of the laws regarding war aid. We have provided some to the Stepstones, and Lord Corlys brought to my attention that they require more. I do not want to make it seem like the Crown is inserting itself into the conflict."

He beamed slightly, a sight you never recalled seeing on the man before as he directed you to the section of law. An entire side of the bookshelf dedicated to just that, tomes of varying shades of green, brown, and black, and you blanched at the sight. What would the records be like if this was only the law section? Would you have time to sort through them all to find the one you need?

"Thank you," you said, concealing the sudden rush of anxiety within your gut. "I realized that your collection was vast, but this is..." you trailed off, gesturing to everything around you, "expansive. How do you ever keep track of them all?"

Orwyle chuckled, seeming to preen under what he took as praise, bowing in gratefulness. "It is not all from me, Princess. Each book has been added with every Maester since they were brought to the Keep. We simply divide each shelf by memory, though we try to keep the subjects together."

"That is..." you couldn't find the right words, truly at a loss for them as you stared at the collection before you, "extraordinary. You must show me everything!"

You took his arm in yours, leading him out of the secluded area like a child with their playmate, giggling like an unwed maiden as you skipped along. Orwyle was surprised by your giddy demeanor, contrasting the dim and almost gloomy atmosphere despite the late morning sun shining through the tall stained glass windows. The Maester was alone within these four walls, writing, studying, and mixing away with the occasional Lord or Lady stopping by. To have such radiant company was a welcomed intrusion to his duty-filled days.

Men are so easy. All you had to do was smile demurely, flutter your lashes, and they would eat shit out of the palm of your hand.

Orwyle guided you, explained how each section was organized, and added his anecdotes. You listened intently, nodding along to every word, no matter how minute it seemed. This endeavor had proven more fruitful than you intended. The Maester had enjoyed your company so much that he invited you back, insisting that you could pick whatever book you wished before he left to return to his work.

And so you did. Traversing to your rooms with six tomes piled high in your limbs before Ser Arryk insisted he carry some, keeping one hidden between the stack within your hold.

Once you reach your chambers, your sworn shield follows you, placing the stacks on a table with neatly stacked parchment, a letter sealed with the Targaryen emblem in black wax resting beside your writing set. You catch Arryk eyeing it for longer than appropriate, and you purposely meet his gaze, a raised brow on your face.

"That is all, Ser Cargyll. I thank you for your assistance." You never fail to detect how he stiffens when you say his title, a quirk you've been unable to comprehend.

As always, he bows and takes his leave, shutting the door noiselessly behind him. When the lock clicks, your hands immediately snatch the letter, knowing who it's from. You lived for the notes from your family; they were the lifeline that kept you afloat in the brackish waters of Kings Landing. It was your only form of communication with them, and you looked ahead to whatever they had to say, no matter how asinine or mundane the contents were.

You ripped the wax seal without care, devouring each word, your eyes moving too fast for your mind to keep up. You could quickly tell it was from your Father, the lines of his letters thicker and more potent than your Mother's, his writing purposeful.

"Daughter,

I hope you find yourself well. Your Mother missed you dearly at Jacaerys' nameday this spring, but she looks forward to seeing you for Luke's later this year. I informed her that you are dealing with matters of importance that require your attention and would be unable to attend. Death comes when we least expect it with crowned heads and ambitious hands."

Tears stinging took you from reading, pursuing your lips to keep them from wetting the document and making the ink illegible. You longed to return to Dragonstone and see your family. Smell the scent of brimstone and salt and feel the damp sea air on your skin as you rode Cannibal high above Dragonmont.

Daemon's reasoning was understandable, but it hurt. It made your heart clench and your chest feel hollow. Resting your forehead on the heel of your palm, the letter in the other, you continued.

"I know this will upset you, but I trust you'll understand my reasoning. We must make sacrifices until your Mother sits on the throne uncontested. You see the concept of duty and loyalty to your kin. You've always been the one out of my children to unwaver in your will, and that is something I admire.

I received word from Lord Dalton Greyjoy, who has proposed marriage just as you said. Your wit and cunning never cease to amaze me, daughter. I still need to send word regarding my decision. I wanted you to be the one to decide.

Lord Greyjoy is a fine match for you. His fleet of long boats and swords rivals that of the crown itself, but I hold my reservations regarding his intentions with you. I believe you have outdone yourself, for he seems bewitched, intent on making you his Rock Wife, and I am unsure if that is harmful or helpful. I've heard the rumors of his treatment regarding his Salt Wives, and I will not tolerate such things toward my eldest child. Should you accept his proposal, and he does not honor his duty as lord husband, I shall cut off his cock and throw it into the sea as a gift for his Drowned God.

Think over this. I do not expect an answer within a moon. If he truly desires you in such a way, he will wait as long as you deem fit. My daughter is not a shiny coin to be plucked and placed in a crow's nest.

Expect a letter from Lucerys soon. He's been inquiring about your happiness. I believe he misses you more than your Mother and I put together. I await your next raven with patience.

Yours Respectfully, Prince Daemon Of House Targaryen"

You scoffed, throwing the letter haphazardly across the table. You knew the proposal from Lord Dalton would come eventually, as you had corresponded for the past seven moons. It was a gratifying distraction you should have taken seriously, your letters filled with much less pomp than was expected for a woman of your status. Possibly, in your lack of care, you inadvertently wooed him as his last raven was treading the line of inappropriate. You remembered how his words made you, a girl who spent her early years in a whore house, blush.

He would be an excellent match politically, and perhaps you could grow to love him, even better his treatment of his Salt Wives. But you knew better. Lord Dalton Greyjoy only loved two things in this world: bloodshed and women. He would grow tired of you swifter than you would him, and it was not proper for women of the realm to have paramours, hypocrisy be damned.

You didn't want to give the situation more thought. Your Father permitted you to mull; you would gladly take it, opening the records book hidden between the stacks.

The pages were easy enough to navigate. The Masters, if not anything, were thorough, creating an index of years in ascending order to the most recent. Your finger paused on the one you remembered so well. The year in which you were stolen everything that might have been. The year that the Stranger claimed two souls earlier than they should have.

You turned the pages.

The smell of aged leather and parchment wafted into the air, nearly choking on its scent in the back of your throat. They arranged the death records from the first of the year to the end of it, and you searched for the seventh moon. On the fifth day, only two deaths are recorded, that of two prisoners named Lyra Black and Sara Smithe. The cause was beheaded by members of the City Watch.

It did not say the names of who, an intelligent choice on the Maester's part, for if you knew, their deaths would become sooner. They were lucky Mellos or one of the many others had the foresight not to write them down, as other Maesters had, but it only made this all the more exciting. The satisfaction as you plunged your dagger into their necks, slicing through tendons, muscles, and vertebrae, ensuring they felt every bit of suffering, anguish, and fear Lyra and Sara felt.

It would be messy. There were many veins and arteries within one's neck. You needed to bring some water with you to wash before returning to your chambers. It would all be for naught if someone saw you walking the halls with blood dripping from your digits and face.

You wished it would be the dagger Daemon had gifted you for your first name day to cut through their flesh, but Aegon still possessed it.

It was no matter. You had four more from the past, but that one, with its silver handle and roaring dragons engraved on both sides, held a place deep within your heart. And Aegon took it, as he always did with things. Take, take, take without concern about who he stole from. You would get it back, but not now. That would raise too much suspicion, and you would not put it past the eldest Prince to run to his Grandsire or Mother as he has done before.

You tried to recollect that fateful night, searching your memory for any detail you could sounder up, but it was hazy. The years you had blurred the picture of the throne room in your mind's eye. It was too painful to remember. Each time you thought of it, it was flashes, little glimpses of faces and bodies and heads. When you thought of it, all you could see was Lyra's smile, spending her last moments trying to reassure you, the fear behind Sara's eyes within her shackles, Otto Hightower's indifference, and Alicent's inaction in the face of two innocents deaths. You would never forget that, nor ever forgive.

You were scarcely in the Great Hall for a moment, and even then, your attention was elsewhere. You witnessed Ser Criston Cole grabbing you, pulling you back, the Queen turning away, and Lyra's comforting grin. Then, you saw them, gaze following the loops of the metal chain attached to Lyra and Sara, hands gripping at it as if the two women were nothing more than dogs. You met the eyes of two Gold Cloaks. You did not know their names, but you would soon; their countenance now burned into your mind.

Masterlist of Series

I've decided to change my uploading schedule from Sun/Mon to whenever possible. I'll always let you know before I post so you won't have to ask, "when are you going to post?!" I know that's not fun, but it works best for me because I get myself so worked up over updating on time when I'm in control of the situation. Also, I'm going to be getting rid of people in my taglist who haven't interacted with this fi since the list is so big. I want to have it all in one and make room for those who are active. So if you've been in my notifs in the past two months, you'll be fine. Welp, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. The chapters are gonna get a little messy from here! xD

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @alexandra-001, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @silverslive, @unclecrunkle, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @honestlykat, @graykageyama, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @brezzybfan, @dd122004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfild, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @daenerysqueenofhearts, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @prettywhenicry, @justarandomflowerchildofthenight, @partypoison00, @please-buckme, @pastelorangeskies, @joliettes, @existential-echo, @priyajoyy, @valaenatargaryensdragon, @merovingianprincess, @rachelnicolee, @candy12110, @w3ird11, @ruhjkie, @somemydayy, @marikkjj, @zillahvathek, @sunfyresrider, @heavenly1927, @prettylittlelady, @hjgdhghoe, 

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Fire in the Water: Chapter Two

Summary: You had thought dating a vampire would be the most complicated thing you'd ever done. But as it turns out, becoming one is even more complicated. The boys are determined to make your transformation as smooth as possible while each fighting to maintain the relationships they once had and those they now lust for. Author's Note: As always, I'd like to thank the lovely @gretasmokerising for inspiring me and encouraging me and @earthlysorrows for editing and helping me piece everything together/brainstorm and a million other things Content Warnings: swearing, talk of blood and killing, talk of death, blood drinking, biting, voyeurism, descriptions of an orgy (4 f. 1 m.), oral sex (m. and f. receiving), penetrative sex (18+ minors do not interact) Word Count: 10k oops

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Hands. His hands. Roaming, searching, teasing. It was unfair what they were doing to you. And all without ever actually touching you.

You pleaded for him to actually touch you. You didn't want his gifts, you wanted him. You wanted him to have mercy on you. But he seemed so pleased with himself, too pleased to reach out and touch you.

Jake sat between your legs, watching smugly as your fists gripped his sheets.

"Please, Jake, please, please, please," you begged and begged.

"Is this not enough for you? You need my hands, too?" He practically mocked you.

"Yes, yes, I need you."

"You have me. You don't feel that? I'm coursing through your veins."

You lifted your body to reach for him yourself and he accepted the offering, taking your hand in his and swiping his thumb over the veins that stood at attention under the skin.

"Shhhh, let it happen. Give yourself over to me," he whispered.

You were so close to the edge of bliss, the world around you was already beginning to go black as he pumped you full of pleasure with no effort at all.

"Jake, I'm so fucking close, please just touch me!"

He smiled something evil.

"Well, since you asked so nicely."

You woke almost startled from your dream, instinctively turning expectantly toward Josh before you remembered he'd gone out on a hunt while you slept through the night. Or while you were supposed to be sleeping through the night, rather.

You silently thanked the fates that Josh was gone though. It was better he wasn't there to ask about the dream that had woken you, depraved as it had been.

You let your head fall into your hands as you tried to push it from your mind, the not-so appropriate thoughts the dream had stirred awake of a particular twin you had no business having thoughts of those caliber about. But fuck, it was hard to ignore with the moisture between your legs threatening to refuse to go unnoticed.

You'd never be able to sleep now. Not like this.

You rose from the bed and resigned yourself to go explore the greenhouse to try and calm your mind. And stifle the fantasies which your subconscious had brought forward.

Down the stairs and out the backdoor, the greenhouse sat so neatly undisturbed under the night sky, letting the stars peek in to get a glimpse of the plants that grew there during the day. You wondered if they'd had any company that day.

You dipped low to crouch next to a particular plant that looked in need of extra water and made a mental note to yourself to water it in the morning. You brushed your thumb over its leaves turning dry and thin. It almost mimicked how you felt moving through time without Josh. You were aging while he was staying still. How exactly would that work?

You sighed and pulled your hand back to admire the pot the plant sat in. It was glazed in a beautiful golden yellow with little sun's carved into it, the handiwork of Sam, no doubt. He had done the place up in so much beauty, it was a shame he never admired it anymore-

Suddenly a mangled cry tearing through the night air jolted you from where you crouched low by the pot, suddenly standing alert and scanning the treeline for whoever was seriously injured. But there was no one.

After a moment of straining your eyes, you finally turned back to the plants, convinced you'd been hearing things. But the moment you diverted your attention, you heard it again. Only this time, it sounded less of a noise born out of agony and more something born out of pleasure. Intense pleasure, if the volume was any indication.

Suspicious, you listened again for the sound to trace its origin and when you heard it a third time, the origin became clear. It was coming from the guest house. And you could only imagine what Jake was in there doing with some woman.

Your feet moved without your mind even telling them, carrying you over to where his house sat near the forest, the french doors near the back of the house wide open, clearly letting the noises from inside flow into the open air.

There was a woman you didn't recognize standing out back, looking as though she were about to join the group, dressed in nothing but a robe.

"Are you here to join the party?" she asked with a sultry smile.

There was no visible evidence as to whether she was human or not so you found it best to presume she was something more akin to a creature that could easily kill you. She certainly was breathtaking enough to be convincing.

"Party?" you asked, eyeing the door closely but unable to see inside from where you stood.

"That's okay. I was a little shy my first time too. Jake says it's okay to just watch until you're comfortable joining. Why don't you have a seat inside?"

You weren't entirely sure why you were following her, her robe dropping to the ground the moment she stepped inside. But you kept your distance, standing in the doorway hesitantly as your eyes followed her. And when the scene of debauchery was finally before you, a gasp escaped your lips.

There was Jake, standing naked a few feet away from the foot of his bed. Two women kneeled before him, taking turns sucking him into their mouths. The woman who had just entered moved to stand behind him, her arms stretching over his shoulders with one hand rubbing circles over his exposed chest and the other outstretched, a clear bite mark already visible in the delicate skin around her wrist. She must have been his blood bag for the night.

So she was human. Just that gorgeous.

Then there was the woman splayed out on his bed, practically writhing in pleasure. Not a single hand touched her and yet her back arched off the bed and her hands gripped the rungs of the headboard. And it was Jake's name that came tearing from her chest. That was when you realized it: his attention was focused on her, his eyes fixed to her body, the way her chest rose and fell quickly, her breasts practically bouncing with each movement. He was using his gifts on her. He wasn't even touching her and yet he was making her feel everything.

You had been shocked before, when you had first laid eyes on the scene. But now, as you watched him bury his hand in the hair of one of the women kneeled at his feet, pressing himself further into her mouth while he licked his lips at the sight of the woman coming hard in his bed and screaming his name, it wasn't shock you felt. It was jealousy.

You watched him pull the third woman's wrist into his mouth and messily drink from her, letting the blood trickle down from his lips as he pulled away, casting red stains in his skin as it plundered down to his chest. But the woman behind him caught it with a finger running along his skin before it could travel too far, bringing the now red-soaked finger up to his lips for him to lick clean. And when she pulled it from his mouth, he grasped the back of her neck roughly and pulled her into a searing kiss.

It felt so wrong to be watching the voyeuristic display but you couldn't tear your eyes away. You were mesmerized, practically entranced by the way he seemed to silently command the women. The one lying on the bed, having come down from her high, came to kneel in front of him along with the other two still working him over, until he pulled one up roughly by her hair and kissed her hard, walking her backward to the bed.

She fell back onto the mattress with a giggle, spreading her legs eagerly for him even though she didn't need to. But this time, he took hold of her ankles and spread her further, gracing her with his touch. You could only imagine how good it felt.

You could almost feel the anticipation building in your own body, like pins and needles making your limbs go numb with excitement despite your brain screaming at you to avert your gaze. She was luckier than the other woman. He was going to actually touch her. It was evident in the way he smirked at her. But before he climbed onto the bed after her, he seemed to pause.

You felt the breath catch in your lungs as you waited for him to do something. But then suddenly, his face turned toward you and his eyes landed squarely on yours, the smirk on his face growing as he dipped down and bit into her thigh to drink from her.

You jumped away from the doors instantly, heart suddenly pounding as you fumbled in the dark back through the yard and into the house, all but slamming the door shut behind you. It wasn't until you had reached Josh's bedroom that you leaned against the closed door and finally attempted to calm your breathing, coming in quick, hot gasps as you wondered if Jake had followed you.

—

You weren't certain how long you stayed that way, perched on Josh's bed, unable to sleep as you awaited some version of Jake bursting through the door to say god knows what. But it never came. Instead, you sat alone, replaying the scene in your head over and over again, the sight of the women taking turns tasting him, the sight of the woman who looked like she could come just from him drinking her blood, the woman who came in his bed from even less. And the way his name sounded as she did, falling from her lips like it was burned into her brain and the only word she could even remember through the bliss. You couldn't get it out of your head, really.

You played it in your mind on repeat, unaware of the time passing, until just a couple of hours before the break of dawn when you smelled food cooking from downstairs. It was then that you realized the time, seemingly shaken from your daze by the smells wafting through the house. You would need food before Josh returned.

You did your best to creep quietly down the stairs, hoping to observe Jake before he saw you. It was no use, though. Without even turning, he spoke when the heel of your foot dropped silently onto the bottom step of the staircase.

"It's not nice to spy," he said as he busied himself at the stove stirring something. "Might see things not meant for your eyes."

You decided to play dumb for your own sake, hoping he'd let you get away with it. “I smelled food-”

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”

You didn't know Jake well but you should have known him well enough to know he wouldn't let you get away with it.

"I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean to see anything, I just thought I heard…something." You trailed off into silence, unable to even conjure up a convincing lie. You had no reason to be there. You had no reason to look. And you certainly had no reason to stay and watch for as long as you had.

"Did you enjoy the show?" he asked with a grin, meeting your eyes just long enough to make you more nervous than you already were.

"No, of course not, I…" You fumbled for an explanation when you remembered the way his eyes had locked to yours. "How did you know I was there?"

He let out a breathy chuckle, bringing his hand to wipe his mouth of the smile your willful ignorance produced. "You know, your jealousy is such a powerful emotion. You may need to work on that."

You stayed silent for a moment, watching him season the risotto he was cooking, thinking about how the jealousy had taken hold of your body. About how you had wanted his hands on you for a fraction of a second rather than all those other women…

"How can you keep track of all those women?"

You thought back to how many of them there had been and how many he probably…entertained in a given month.

"Don't need to," he replied simply.

"They never want you to call?" The sarcasm was heavy in your tone.

"I politely ask them not to get too attached," he answered, meeting your eyes briefly to give you an all-too pleased smile.

"How exactly do you do that?"

"You ask a lot of questions. I told you, I can be very persuasive, as I think you saw."

So many women coming and going. Maybe they were just that in love with him, enough to keep his secret on the promise he might want them again. On the promise he might make them feel that way again.

"Do you kill them after?" you asked, trying to gauge his openness against Sam's. Although, if he did, surely he had taken out an entire town by now judging solely on the number of women he felt the need to include all at once.

“No reason to,” he shrugged.

“Isn’t it hard to control?”

Josh had described what it was like to you once, when a vampire drank from a human. He'd described it as a sexual experience, a hunger that penetrated deep into your bones and took over your mind. There was almost no separating the two if you weren't careful, sex and bloodlust. And that meant that mixing one with the other was dangerous. But Jake had done it so masterfully.

He met your eyes yet again, watching you as you settled your hip against the stove and folded your arms over your chest. Your line of questioning seemed to amuse him.

“Did it look like I was out of practice?”

He gave you that look again, the one he had given you when you'd first met him. Utterly suggestive. He was enjoying this far too much. And rendering you unable to speak.

He turned his attention back to the pot on the stove, adding more liquid to the rice and picking up his stirring. "You know, if you'd like me to use my gifts on you, you need only ask."

God, he almost sounded serious, enough so that you chose to ignore the comment fully, turning your own attention to the delicious mix of smells he was brewing for no one in particular.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm cooking for you, what do you think I'm doing?"

"You didn't have to-"

He stopped you with a peeved look that cut your sentence short.

"Right, right."

"Now come on, you owe me an explanation. Why, in the middle of my beautiful little…meeting, did I feel the hot sting of jealousy?"

He diverted the subject back to the very topic you'd been hoping to avoid: why you had been watching.

"It's embarrassing," you answered quietly, turning so that you stood next to Jake but facing the opposite direction. You would avoid his eyes if you could.

"I can assure you, my dear, you have not felt anything I or anyone else in this house has not felt over the last few centuries."

You couldn't be entirely honest about the jealousy. But there was more to it than just whatever had enthralled you about Jake from the start. Josh didn't drink from humans. He hadn't drank from you. And now that you knew you weren't yet his soul tie, it suddenly felt more important to do the things that made him feel good, the things that brought you intimately closer to him.

"You were so…I mean, Josh is just so…" you fumbled for the right word and landed on perhaps the wrong one, "gentle."

"Is there something wrong with gentle?" Jake asked, his smug demeanor suddenly gone and replaced with genuineness.

"No, no, I just…I mean, he’s never drank from me," you began to ramble, "never even expressed a desire, never even seemed like he’s had that hard of a time controlling himself around me and I know it’s stupid but I'm just starting to worry that maybe he doesn't want me that way."

"Just so we're clear, what you want is for Josh to push himself to the edge of his control and drink from the woman he loves, fighting all of his primal urges to kill you because you taste and feel that fucking good? Is that right?"

You shrugged, beginning to feel a little stupid for worrying. "Sounds so romantic when you say it like that."

He let out a laugh, thoroughly amused by you. God, he was almost unrecognizable when he took on the role of friend.

"You may be just as depraved as us." He shook his head and continued his stirring. "It takes a lot of self control, especially when you're emotionally attached to the human you're drinking from. And you’re not exactly invincible like us."

“Well, it’s not just that. He told me about Danny and Adele, about their soul tie.”

Understanding washed over his face as he gave you a nod and a quiet, "Ah," waiting for you to continue.

“I guess I’m just wondering why he’s keeping me around if he hasn’t felt it yet,” you admitted.

“Soul ties depend on the path you’re on, kind of like Danny’s ability to see the future.”

“Yeah but what am I supposed to change, Jake?”

He let out a long sigh, his shoulders falling as he flipped the burner off, moved the pot from the heat, and turned his attention squarely on you.

“Not one for leaving things up to the fates, are you now?” He gave you a sympathetic smile.

“I don’t have any family. Josh is the first good thing that’s happened to me in a long time. I’ve spent so long being angry and tormented by all of the shit in my life and he’s like a goddamn ray of fucking sunshine and I have no idea why he wants me but he seems to so I just want to make sure I’m not…fucking things up.”

“And you want him to drink from you like a kool-aid pouch,” he added with a grin.

You rolled your eyes and did your best to stifle the smile that threatened your own lips. “Shut up.”

His face turned serious again as his eyes fell, not really looking at anything in particular but more recalling some memory.

“I’m sorry about your parents. Josh did mention it. Losing people is never easy, no matter how long you’ve been alive.”

“Yeah." You nodded silently.

It was one of the more unfortunate parts of life.

“But Josh chose to bring you home to us," he continued. "He’s never done that before so you must be pretty fucking special to him and if you’re special to him, then you’re special to us. So do yourself a favor and have a little faith that things will work out the way they’re supposed to. You’re part of the family now.”

You met his eyes for a moment, appreciating the warmth that was there. Somehow he managed to still be reassuring despite the compromising position you'd seen him in earlier that day. He didn't even seem embarrassed, and he certainly didn't hide from you. You couldn't help but believe him when he said it.

“That was awfully sweet for a vampire who has orgies every night.”

“You’ve only been here one night, you don’t know the cadence with which I partake in orgies.”

“Oh, my apologies. I didn't mean to imply you were getting more than you actually are.”

He rolled his eyes and turned back to the stove, scooping a bit of the remaining sauce up with his spoon.

“At least my girls leave satisfied,” he quipped.

If you hadn't been suddenly annoyed, him referring to those women as his girls might have made you so jealous it knocked the wind out of you. But instead, you gave him a disapproving look and tightened your arms over your chest, averting your gaze in favor of one of the glass walls that stood opposite you on the far end of the kitchen. He felt the cool air immediately.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he relented. "The only reason my brother hasn’t drank from you yet is because he doesn’t want to lose control, not because he doesn’t want to. I can assure you, when you're around, it's occupying about 50% of his thoughts at all times."

"You can't even read minds," you argued, earning another sigh from the twin.

"No, I can't, but the way you smell, honey, you're tempting everyone in this house. So why don't you just trust me on this one."

He met your eyes for only a second, long enough to see your cheeks flare red, before he swiped some of the mushroom sauce off the spoon with his finger and held it out to you like a peace offering. Only you weren't entirely sold on the idea of licking his finger. But when your face soured at his silent suggestion, he only pushed his finger further into your face.

Begrudgingly, you dipped your head forward and took his finger in your mouth, swiping the sauce off his skin with your tongue and purposefully ignoring his eyes and what you might have seen there. Instead you focused on the flavor, deep and rich. It mingled on your tongue and practically melted into your mouth. It was delicious.

The sauce, of course.

You pulled away and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, glancing up at him a bit sheepishly and just in time to see the visible swallow he gulped down.

You stayed silent while Jake diverted his focus to plating some of the risotto for you, handing you a big steaming bowl far more appealing than what Adele had made you.

"Good girl," he whispered as you took it from his hands, although you weren't entirely sure if it was that which had earned you the praise or the way your tongue had wound around his finger. "Now run along and eat some real food before Josh gets back." He jerked his head toward the stairs, like he was dismissing you. You didn't wait around for him to do anything else either, taking your bowl and jogging up the steps two at a time back to the safety of Josh's room where you agreed silently to put the interaction out of your mind.

—

You woke to Josh's ice cold touch on your shoulder, glancing up at him to see your freshly showered boyfriend ready to start your day.

"Did you eat?" he asked softly, trying to ease you awake.

You peered over your shoulder at the nightstand where you had left your empty bowl but found it void of the evidence of your meal. Maybe Jake had snuck in to take it back downstairs.

You nodded and sat up sleepily, your body heavy as you used your arms to pull yourself up. "Yeah, Jake is a good cook for someone who doesn't eat real food."

"That he is." Josh offered you a smile as he pushed disheveled hair off your forehead. "It's pretty overcast. I think we're safe to make the trip to your house today to get your stuff."

You'd been so distracted by everything with Jake that you'd almost completely forgotten the impending move. But when he said it, your heart leapt in your chest and you couldn't stifle the smile that spread your lips wide.

"Okay," you nodded with excitement.

"I can let you sleep more if you need though-"

"No! No, just let me get dressed and we can go."

He chuckled at your enthusiasm but nodded his head, leaning in to press a quick, gentle kiss to the tip of your nose.

It was about an hour drive out of the woods and across the sleepy town to where your parent's house sat, an old Victorian style home that sank into the mud a little more each year thanks to the rain. You'd stopped tending to the lawn long ago and now, the greenery surrounding the house was overgrown. It almost made the house look haunted, like it was barren other than the memories that still existed violently inside. In some ways, that's what it was: haunted.

You didn't relish being back but you braved the rain and made your way inside, pushing open the creaky front door for hopefully what would be the last time. Why you had so much disdain for the place, you couldn't really decipher. Maybe being there without your parents was just too painful. It was like an old relic that as soon as you had touched, had latched onto you to serve as some gruesome reminder of what you didn't have: a family to fill the large home.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Josh asked, his arms instinctively circling around your waist and his chin landing itself easily on your shoulder. There he stood with you, taking in the view of the house from the front room, in all its dust and glory.

"You know it's funny,” you sighed, “this is the place they built memories, this is where their smell lingers and their stuff collects dust.” You thought back to the memory of your parents cooking waffles early in the morning, the smell easing you awake and the sound of their laughter nestling into the back of your mind. A happier memory that the house still held onto. “But I won't miss the house. Just them."

They weren’t a place, they were people, not to be confined by walls.

It got too dusty in that house anyway.

"I wish I could have met them," Josh whispered softly, his lips just barely grazing the shell of your ear and prompting goosebumps to raise texture in your skin. It brought a smile to your face, thinking of them having met.

"Oh they would have loved you," you laughed as you turned to face him. "Not the whole stealing me away to live with you and three other guys part, but the rest of you."

He gave you his signature giggle back, the one that scrunched up his nose.

"Little would they know how bad of an influence I am."

"Oh, you're not a bad influence."

"No?"

"No," you shook your head. "If anything, your brothers should be worried about me influencing you."

It prompted another giggle from him.

"Oh yeah? Is that so?"

"It is, it is.” You nodded and tutted your tongue at him like he had much to learn. “A human so enthralled with the very thing meant to kill her? She sounds messed up."

"Utterly crazy," he smiled.

"Out of her mind," you agreed.

His smile never waned as he leaned in to press a kiss to your lips. He was gentle and you swore at times his lips almost felt warm on yours. But even when he felt like ice against your skin, he was inviting.

You pulled away as his hands dipped to your hips. "It is kind of nice knowing we're actually alone although I always wonder if their ghosts are watching us while we're here." And then suddenly your face turned more serious, the thought of Josh being able to see other supernatural creatures surrounding you suddenly burning in the back of your mind. "Wait, are ghosts real? Can you see them?"

Josh shrugged and let out a hearty laugh. "How should I know? I'm a vampire, I'm not a monster hunter."

You couldn't help but giggle along with him. Him being a monster hunter was certainly something you couldn't picture. He'd have to take on one of his brothers' demeanor for that.

You could practically feel the memories at your back, calling to you, doing their best to keep you there. Maybe it wasn't ghosts but whatever it was, you felt the tinge of sadness you had hoped you would leave behind. But it felt strange leaving it behind to start a life with someone who would outlive you. Was it really a start? Or was it an end? You hummed at the thought.

"What?" Josh asked, hearing the vibration in your throat.

"Me and the dead," you answered quietly.

"Odd company you keep." His eyes turned thoughtful as he tucked strands of hair behind your ear. You'd have given anything to have Sam's abilities at that moment, to investigate his mind. "But I don't know, you're good at all of this."

"Oh, I very much am not," you shook your head, almost gawking at the idea of you being good at anything really. "I swear, sometimes you're the only thing keeping me grounded. You and your gifts."

His hand rose to your face to cup your cheek lightly and you leaned into his touch, as you always did.

"I don't think that's true," he said as his thumb grazed gently along your skin. "I think you're just you."

"Regardless, I'm better with you. That much I do know."

He connected your lips again and the hunger behind them was immediate, his body pressing into you and his hands pulling you closer, searching for as much of you as he could get.

"I do have some self-restraint somewhere in my body," he mumbled against your lips as he began to walk you backward further into the house.

"Oh yeah? Where do you think it is?" you asked, already growing short of breath and needy the longer he touched you.

"I don't know, remind me to look for it later."

He deepened the kiss as your back found a wall and pressed into it, his hands moving to tangle in your hair as his tongue slid past your lips.

Your hands worked up under his shirt to feel his cool skin and the taught muscles that raised tantalizing lines and carved divots along his body. Sometimes it was easy to forget just how strong he was when he was always so set on being gentle.

One of these days, you'd will it out of him, that roughness that you craved, any sense of composure failing. You'd take it happily. But for now, gentle was enough. His hands moving to cradle your hips before dipping down to run softly along your thighs was more than enough. He didn't have to be rough to draw that out of you, your neediness. It was enough just to have his fingers teasing along your skin, so far from where you wanted them.

And you did your best not to think of the dream that had woken you early that morning before the sun had even risen to thaw the ground. Josh was enough for you…

The bang of something falling onto the hardwood floor split the two of you instantly, Josh turning where he stood to instinctively protect you as you both processed what had made the sound: a single book falling off a shelf.

Your heart pounded as you peeked over his shoulder and saw the culprit. Harmless.

"Oh my god, do you think that was my parents?" you half joked. You still weren't totally convinced ghosts weren't actually real. There was probably a lot more that was real than you realized; who were you to decide what was ridiculous and what wasn't?

"I hope not," Josh answered, "this is a terrible first impression of me…and all that other stuff we've done in here."

"Oh god," you groaned at the thought of your parents' ghosts having been present for yours and Josh's many nights together. "Okay let's be fast."

He couldn't contain the giggle already in his throat as he turned back to you with a wide smile.

"Agreed. We can bring as much stuff as you'd like, just pick a room to start."

—

Back at Josh's house, you were greeted with the sight of Danny and Adele in their post-feeding passion, both of them covered in splatters of blood and seemingly not minding as Danny hoisted Adele up around his hips and blindly walked toward their room, their mouths never once disconnecting.

You tried not to stare as you passed by with a box of your things tucked under your arm but the moment you were in view, Adele’s eyes were on yours as Danny’s mouth dipped to her neck and you felt yourself freeze in place. It was almost as paralyzing as what you had caught Jake doing.

Almost.

"Enjoying the view?" she asked with an almost evil smile.

"Sorry, I was just-Sorry." You cut your apology short, continuing down the hall and silently scolding yourself for always getting caught in these situations.

"You can join us if you'd like,” she propositioned in a sigh as her head fell back against the wall, giving in to Danny’s lips. “The shower is plenty big."

"Think you'll make it?" you mumbled as you continued walking, hearing a laugh from both of them as you passed by.

"You'd better hope we do; the soundproofing in there is way better," Danny quipped just before pushing them both into the bedroom, the door slamming shut behind them.

On your way up the stairs, you heard his name moaned loudly, practically echoing off the glass walls that surrounded you.

They must not have made it to the shower.

When you reached the top of the stairs and ventured down the long hall to what was now yours and Josh’s shared room, you found Sam standing by the bed holding one of the objects that had been neatly packed away in the box resting just below his hands. It was a picture frame, one of the few you had, a photo of yourself and the friends you hadn’t seen in far too long, since before your parents.

"When was the last time you saw them?" he asked as you stepped into the doorway and set the box in your arms quietly down on the floor.

"It's been over a year. They don't live here and I only moved back to take care of things after my parents," you explained.

He met your eyes, looking like maybe he wanted to say sorry, but instead, his lips formed into a thin, tight line. And silence cast itself over the two of you for a moment.

His quietness was such a sharp contrast to, well, really everything Danny and Adele did. And your previous interaction had left such a sour taste in your mouth but seeing him standing there, having helped carry boxes of your things inside, he seemed like he was trying.

"You have loud thoughts,” he remarked suddenly. “Feel like I spent the whole day with you."

"Sorry…"

The silence turned awkward as he looked around the room, probably searching for anything to say next.

"Yeah. Anyway, should be the last of your heavier stuff. If you need help moving anything, let me know."

You moved away from the doorway to let him switch places with you, thanking him as he turned to leave. But only a step into the hallway, he stopped and turned back toward you. You waited a moment for him to say something, but again, he tried and failed, leaving a silence looming over you both until he finally found words.

"You should see your friends again," he said quietly, not meeting your eyes.

"Are you planning on killing me?"

Why you insisted on making jokes that wouldn’t land, you had no idea. But his eyes lifted to yours and he stared at you almost blankly for a moment before he answered.

"It'd be easy. I know where you live."

The first hint at a joke, spoken in a deadly serious voice by someone who was in fact perfectly capable of killing you. But it lightened your face instantly, spreading your lips into a wide grin, and something, the faintest hint of something, pulled at the corner of his mouth. He had almost smiled back.

The sound of Josh ascending the stairs snapped him out of it quickly, and he was gone and replaced by his brother before you could even say goodbye. But you would have been lying if you said you minded. You had gotten something out of the stoic brother and you’d ride that high for days.

"I think you may be thawing him yet." Josh entered with another box in his hands and a smile plastered onto his face.

"I'm not sure I'd go that far," you chuckled. "I think he might still hate me not so deep down."

Josh gave you a look like he thought you were crazy. "Oh, Sam doesn't hate you. Actually, I think that's the most favorable look any of us have gotten in about five decades."

He had meant it as a good thing but you couldn't help but feel sorry for him and his brothers.

"That's a long time," you pursed your lips.

But Josh shook his head and let a quiet smile creep into his lips, speaking a bit softer to drive home the point he had been trying to make.

"Drop in the bucket, my darling," was all he said.

That was something else you'd have to get used to, apart from the wild behavior of his brothers. How they spent their time. They had all the time they could ever want. You, on the other hand, had practically none.

And if Josh never felt the tie to you, you'd have almost no time with him at all.

"We can unpack tomorrow," he interrupted your thoughts, dangerous as they were. "You need sleep. I know you haven't been getting enough."

You knew if you were to lie in bed, your mind would swirl with all of the possibilities of a dreadful fate. You'd never manage to forget your worries and sleep. Not tonight, at least. So instead, you reached for him and gazed up at him through your eyelashes.

"Actually," you began slowly, swirling your finger in circles on his chest, "I was hoping we could pick up where we left off when we learned that ghosts are real."

"You don't want me to get Adele and Danny up here, do you?" He gave you a knowing smile, having heard the exchange between you and Adele earlier.

You made a face.

"I don't think I could ever keep up with them."

Josh laughed loudly at that, the sound prompting a light laugh from yourself like it was contagious. And honestly, it was.

"They've got nothing on you," he promised as his laugh subsided into a cheeky grin.

His lips connected with yours and it was almost like no time had passed between the kiss you had shared at the house and now, picking right back up with the need you had felt then.

His hands worked quickly but carefully to pull your clothes off of you. Josh never wasted too much time on undressing. He was always so eager to see your skin, to feel it. He'd shed his just as quickly with the help of your fumbling hands just to get a taste of your warmth against his icy skin. You suspected that was part of the reason he was always trying to get you naked so quickly.

But when you were both fully undressed, his movements slowed and he held you pressed to him with one hand applying pressure to the small of your back while the other let his fingertip glide down the outside of your bicep. He let his lips ghost over your bare shoulder and up to the tip where the bone poked against your skin. That was where his mouth stopped, where he knew it was more sensitive, and the kiss he pressed there sent a shudder rolling through your body as you waited for him to continue.

He pulled back to look at your face and when he did, you could see his fangs had bared themselves, their fine points looking razor sharp and yet somehow tantalizing. It was like something you weren't supposed to see.

It got you more excited than you cared to admit.

"I've never wanted anyone the way I've wanted you," he whispered, his tongue gliding over the fangs.

And suddenly you weren't sure what type of want it was that he felt at that moment.

He dipped his head back down to your shoulder, kissing his way up your skin until he reached the crook of your neck where you prepared yourself for a bite. But instead, he only placed another kiss, even more gentle than the last.

You tried to stifle your sigh of disappointment but Josh rarely missed anything thanks to his superhuman senses.

"What's wrong, my dear?"

You couldn't exactly tell him that you'd seen Jake doing what he did to the women he'd had over. It felt like an absurd standard to set for your own relationship even though you knew it went much deeper. And you weren't eager to explain to your boyfriend that you'd caught his brother having an orgy. But you wanted it, desperately, to feel close to him. You wanted to feel wanted by him, really wanted.

"I just…" you began slowly, "I know that Jake drinks from his…partners. I was hoping maybe…"

You trailed off into silence. It sounded so much more stupid when you heard it spoken out loud in front of a much more subdued vampire like Josh who wanted for nothing but your safety.

Josh finished the sentence for you, guessing where you were going. "You want me to bite you?"

He sounded almost confused by what you were asking for and rightfully so. You shouldn't have been asking for it.

"I just, I don't know," you sighed. "I want to feel close to you. In all of the ways that we can feel close given that I'm a human and you're a vampire and we haven't exactly…" Silence overtook you yet again. But this time, it was the part that you hated to say out loud.

"This is about the soul ties-"

"No! Well, yes and no. I want that, too, but I want it all." You took a step closer to him, not even realizing when he had put some distance between you. "I want it all with you."

He took you back into his arms and opened his mouth to bare his fangs to you again, this time starting at your jaw and running the points down your skin, just enough to let you feel the danger but not enough to do any damage.

"I wouldn't be able to control myself with you," he whispered. "I'm not used to human blood, much less the blood of someone I want desperately."

His hand found a home on your cheek, using his thumb and forefinger to maneuver your head to the side and grant him access to your jaw where you felt him nip the skin there. Hard. You yelped slightly at the force he used, surprised he didn't break skin or bone for that matter.

It would bruise, certainly. And yet, it was only just a glimpse of what he could do.

"But I can be rougher, if that's what you want," he continued with a smile already forming at his lips.

You hummed in acknowledgement, not that he needed any confirmation because as his hold on your jaw tightened, a taste of the strength he'd been hiding from you. You could feel the pool between your thighs growing wetter.

He backed you up using his grip on your face until the backs of your thighs hit the bed. And you could feel him begin to give in to his desires and your wishes.

"Just tell me if I'm being too rough."

You couldn't stifle the light laugh that escaped you at his sudden concern and the gentleness threatening at his seams. You could tell it was hard for him to let go that way. He was a vampire, yes, but even so, it seemed to go against his very nature, no matter how badly he wanted it.

With only another smile, he pushed you onto the bed and dipped to his knees, ghosting over your thighs with his lips now, fangs hidden away. In that position, one that felt so familiar, you couldn’t help but think of what Jake had done to the woman in his bed, biting her while you watched almost like he wanted you to feel it. But Josh didn't bite to break skin, he bit the skin there just enough to send a slight pain shooting up through your body, causing a light gasp to tumble out of you.

Just enough to leave a mark in the skin but not enough to leave permanent traces, not that you would have minded permanence.

His lips didn't stay long on the swell of plush skin at the meat of your thigh, kissing his way over to your mound where he began to tease you. And fuck, it was better than being bitten. It had to be. All the want of his fangs in your skin and you'd almost forgotten just how good it felt to be simply touched by him. But you were remembering now.

His tongue slipped from between his lips to draw lazy shapes around you. He knew what he was doing, as he purposefully avoided the part of you that craved so badly for his touch, throbbing to have just a glimpse of pressure. It was agonizing and you were desperate.

Your hips wriggled and searched for his tongue, trying to guide him where you wanted him to go with your movements alone, but his hand raised to press just below your stomach to hold you still. And with the terrifying strength of his hands, it was enough to effectively pin you down against the mattress.

With the most smug of smiles you'd ever seen him wear, he pulled away slightly to let the cool of his breath fan over your mound. "So mouthwatering," he whispered.

You felt the chill of his breath before you ever felt the icy shock of his tongue suddenly drawing a line up your slit, allowing himself just a taste. You sucked in a hard gasp when the cold hit your body, only adding electricity to the already overwhelming feeling of touch exactly where you needed it.

All at once, you felt the breath you'd been holding in release itself from your lungs and instantly, your body begged for more.

He repeated the action, this time letting his tongue press into you fully before retreating to lick a circle around your bundle of nerves. It almost jolted you off the bed the way it sent an immediate buzz of electricity through your body.

He wasn't being nice by any means. Actually, he was being quite mean, his motions far too slow for your liking. He was dragging it out, making you want it all that much more. It was agonizing having him so close and yet so teasingly far. But despite the pace that left you craving so much more, your breath had picked up and your breasts heaving with your chest obscured your view of him between your legs far too often.

His other hand crept up from where it had a firm hold on your ankle to massage the inside of your thigh with a bruising grip. All the while, his tongue set to work in the same motion, licking long stripes up and down that were enough to make you feel good but not quite enough to satisfy your needs.

When his tongue finally settled onto your clit and began to work it the way he knew you liked, his fingers took its place, teasing at your entrance. He took his time swiping them back and forth, reveling in your arousal that was a product of him and him alone. But you whined at the way he was overly cautious to ensure his fingers never dared dip inside your warmth, making sure every now and then to tease your entrance ever so softly with the tip of his finger. And even if you couldn't have felt it, the growing sounds of moisture mixing were enough to tell you how wet it was getting you, all the teasing and the bursts of strength he'd display for you. It practically lit your every nerve on fire.

But suddenly your mind had flashed to Jake, wondering if he could do all of this without a single touch. All of this created from only a single look on his part. You quickly scolded yourself for even having the thought and grabbed Josh's hair to bring your focus back on him and the moment, earning an almost growl-like sound from the vampire situated so comfortably between your legs. You didn't want to think about his brother, you wanted to think about him. He was the one right in front of you. He was the one touching you, actually touching you.

It cured your thoughts instantly when his fingers finally pressed into you, not even wasting any time with just one but instinctively pressing his middle and ring finger into you. He pumped them lazily in and out while his tongue worked over your clit, rolling it around in his mouth. He always treated it well.

When he hummed against you, you could feel it practically sprint up your body, the buzzing in your mind beginning to cloud you over with a haze of pleasure. You were ready to give yourself over to it.

He somehow always made quick work of you but it helped that you had been so pent up from everything that had happened that day. So it came as no surprise when you suddenly fell fast over the edge, riding his tongue shamelessly through your high as his name dripped off your own tongue.

He was painfully hard when you came down from your high and peered down at him, exhaustion threatening to take you already. But he only looked more exhilarated, a gleam in his eye that mimicked what you might have seen in Danny's when he looked at Adele and suddenly had to have her right there.

You'd have been lying if you said you didn't feel a burst of hope suddenly shooting through your veins, an entirely new sort of high as the possibility of Josh forming a soul tie with you felt within reach. Maybe the move had been what you'd needed and this would seal the deal.

He crawled up your body, nipping and biting as he went, each one harder than the last but none hard enough to draw blood. You could feel the anticipation buzzing through your veins.

When he finally met you face to face, he dipped down to kiss you passionately, settling himself between your legs.

"One day, my dear, one day," he promised, silently acknowledging how your body had pushed into him hoping he would really bite you.

You had absolutely no survival instincts, it seemed.

His hands took your wrists and pinned them above your head as he kissed you hard, keeping them easily where they were to avoid you pulling any tricks like biting your finger yourself to draw blood just to tempt him. It made you powerless beneath him.

Your mouths mingled together, kisses turning sloppy, and when he suddenly parted his mouth from yours, you could hardly breathe. And he looked just as blissed out as you felt, the feeling of the head of his cock brushing your entrance building the anticipation.

He breathed slowly, teeth clenched at the feeling.

"You torment me," he whispered and with a sudden singular motion, he thrusted into you, a feeling so jarring that you had no time to stifle the loud and immediate moan that clawed up your throat.

"Oh fuck, Josh!"

He thrusted into you again, harder this time.

"Asking me to bite you like it's not the one thing I've tried desperately to stop myself from doing," he grunted.

Another thrust this time that hit your cervix and made you see stars with the force he put behind it.

"Asking me to be rough when I could so easily break you."

He gritted his teeth and picked up an angry rhythm, absolutely pounding you like you'd been craving.

"My greedy little human, clearly doesn't know how lucky she is to be alive." His hand dropped from your wrists to grip your jaw again, holding you so hard it prevented you from opening your mouth to speak. So instead you met his eyes, your own hardly open and threatening to roll back as his cock drove deeper and deeper.

He freed both of his hands to move them down to your hips to better hold you in place as he fucked into you with a bruising force he hadn't used with you before. Each thrust would have sent your body scooting further up the mattress had it not been for his hands holding you firmly in place. And yet, your own shot out to grip the sheets as if they were any better able to hold you in place than his were. A feeble attempt to brace yourself as he drove his cock into you harder and faster, a hunger deeper than bloodlust ignited behind his eyes.

You had never seen him that way before. You could see his control slipping, his fingers bruising your skin, his fangs hanging low and his eyes fluttering shut. And if you were being honest, you wanted him to lose it.

"Show me how lucky I am," you squeaked from beneath him.

His eyes opened suddenly and the Josh you knew was gone, replaced by whatever he had become when he had died. Bloodthirsty and dangerous.

"Don't," he practically pleaded in a voice that sounded much more akin to a growl than a plea, the pace of his thrusts never slowing.

"You don't want a taste?" you pressed.

He shook his head, his eyes closing again, and he rolled his hips into yours faster, setting a now bruising pace that would likely leave marks at your pelvis for days after.

Josh easily lifted one leg up over his shoulder, letting your ankle rest next to his neck and turning his face to place a kiss on the inside near the bone. You watched as his eyes rolled back and his mouth grazed against your ankle, his fangs still bared to you and his teeth licking over them as he seemed to fuck into you even harder. This time, the angle was deeper and you were certain you wouldn't be able to walk the next day.

When his eyes finally opened again, they revealed pupils blown wide. It was like nothing you'd ever seen. His eyes were almost entirely black.

"You're going to regret that," was all he said.

And then his teeth sank into your ankle just above the bone, drawing blood from your body. The pain was searing and instantly flooded your body with what felt like fire, but with his cock still pumping inside of you, you barely felt anything but blinding bliss.

But Josh didn't stop with your ankle. His lips crept upward and he sank his fangs into your calf next, your back arching as his cock pushed you toward the edge of your orgasm. And when he had his fill of blood from that spot, he threw his head back, his mess streaming down his lips and neck. The sight alone was enough to push you over the edge and you came with his name burning through your lungs.

He fucked you diligently through it, dipping again to bite just above your hip without ever slowing his pace. But with the amount of blood he had already taken, you were beginning to feel delirious.

"Josh-" you squeaked, quickly losing your ability to speak.

It was hard to think clearly with his cock inside of you, hitting that fucking spot, even harder to think as he drained the blood from your body.

Another bite, this one just above your breast, and your head began to spin.

"Josh!" you yelled out to him as loudly as you could, hoping to shake him from his trance.

Another bite to your shoulder before his hips finally faltered and his hands fisted the sheets as he came hard with a loud moan, finally releasing your skin as he worked himself down.

He was covered in blood when he pulled back. You could see it even through your vision that blurred and messied everything into nothing but shapes of dripping colors.

"Fuck, are you okay?" he asked, suddenly frantic.

Your Josh had returned to you.

"I'm-I'm fine, just-" You were exhausted, practically ready to pass out, and the act of speaking alone took almost all of your strength.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to take so much-"

You could hear the fear in his voice, fear that felt out of place given how elated you were. You hadn't even been frightened for yourself.

"I'm okay, Josh, really," you insisted as the room began to stabilize from the spinning it had set off to do. "I just need-I need sleep I think."

"Don't move."

He was out of your sight in an instant but reappeared almost as quickly as he had gone with a bottle labeled "Iron Supplements" and a sandwich he must have thrown together at light speed.

"Eat and take these," was all he said as he set them both down on the bed next to you.

He disappeared again as you used what little strength you had left to pull yourself into a sitting position and bring the sandwich up to your lips. But when he returned, he held a wet rag out to your bites to begin cleaning them.

But that panic that had been present in his voice was still visible on his face.

"I think Danny would have seen it if I were about to die," you chuckled lightly, nibbling on the sandwich as you watched him work.

It seemed to relax his shoulders a bit.

"Actually you're right. But still, I shouldn't have done that." You realized it then. He was disappointed in himself.

"I loved it," you said with a smile. And it was the truth. Sure, it had been dangerous, but it had proved to you just how much he craved you, just how much control he had to practice around you. You felt wanted.

"You're delirious," he said with an almost nervous laugh.

"I'm happy," you tried again, letting your hand find his face to let your touch convince him of what was the truth.

Your thumb dipped to the corner of his mouth where a drop of your blood still sat. You wiped it away with the pad of your finger, bringing it to his lips for a final taste. He accepted it eagerly as you pushed the digit past his lips, his eyes falling closed and a hum vibrating through his chest as he all but lost himself in the taste while his tongue danced a dangerous swirl around your skin. He cleaned you of every drop. But when he pulled his mouth off of your finger with a gentle pop and opened his eyes, he was your same Josh again. Gentle and kind and safe.

"Good." He leaned into your touch, turning his face to press a kiss to your palm. He was him, so readily. And then he added, "We're never doing that again so I hope you got your fill."

Your head fell back with a laugh and you gave him a nod. You were appeased for now. It wasn't the soul tie you had wanted but it was enough. For now.

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