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pedgito · 2 days ago

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𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 | Lucien De Leon x reader

summary | it was never a favor, allowing him to take up space in your apartment. but, time after time, he finds his way back and somehow, it brings an unexpected normalcy to your life.

author's note | in my heart, it's still flores. but canonically its de leon. i had the opportunity to watch the movie and hot take, it was...alright. but pedro's character made me just as feral as i expected. so here's this absolute monster for no reason other than, well, me ovulating.

content warning | 18+ mdni, the uninvited spoilers, set post-movie, roommates to lovers, enemies to lovers, reader works in the film industry, financial hardship, shitty living situations, lucien is a schmooze and a drunk, but also a sweetheart, angst, feelings, reader has shit luck with dating, there's also smut in here somewhere i swear (oral, couch sex, unprotected piv, all the good stuff)

word count — 11k (sorry lmfao)

“Lucien?” You grumble around the chewy granola bar you’ve snatched from the craft table, “Lucien De Leon?”

The agent, Lucien’s agent—James, also working for a few of the on-set cast, looked hopeless.

He nods, squeezing tight at the phone in his hand, one more inconvenience text from snapping it in half.

“No,” You refuse, chewing at the sweet and sticky granola, “why—why me? My tiny apartment?”

“He’s exhausted any other chance,” The agent explains vaguely—yeah, real convincing, this guy, “listen—I like you, you’ve helped me in plenty of binds. It’ll be two weeks before he’s leaving for work, I just need somewhere to keep him for a while.”

“You’re making it seem like I’d be dog sitting or something,” You retort, watching as the agent glanced down at his phone, notifications spilling in, “this is Lucien—controversy magnet, and he’s rude—”

“You’ve gotta get to know him—”

“The one set I’ve worked on with him he spilled my coffee on me and acted like I made him do it. Fuck him, tell him to sleep on a bench.”

“I’ll pay you,” He scrambles, “Just—please?”

You pause, narrowing your gaze. Being a production assistant hadn’t been the life of luxury, minimal pay in an overpriced city in a shitty apartment with barely decent and affordable rent was nothing short of miserable.

“How much?”

“A thousand,” He offers—a shrug of uncertainty follows.

Silence stretches.

“Two thousand? Come on–that’s a thousand for each week.”

“Make it three and you’ve got a deal.”

The agent is quiet for a few seconds before he caves, sighing heavily, “Fuck, fine. Three. Can I drop him off tonight?”

“Tonight?” You balk, “You know, you’re actually the worst.”

His hands grip your shoulders, shaking you with far too much force than needed, “You’re a lifesaver, thank you.”

He’s long gone and buried in a phone call before you grumble a disgruntled, “You’re welcome.”

You consider later that evening that disclosing the recent…activities around your apartment complex would have been a good idea, especially with someone as high profile as Lucien taking up space in your one bedroom apartment.

Three break-ins in the past two weeks, noisy and unruly neighbors both above and sandwiching you—it wasn’t exactly peaceful or safe, but it was something.

You wait with a creeping anxiety as you tap your chopsticks against the homemade ramen you’ve made for yourself, one true moment of happiness in the day as you’re finally sitting down to relax, feet aching terribly.

It was coffee runs and constant back and forths over forgotten supplies or paperwork—it was the perfect job to keep you active and on your toes, never sure when someone might blow up on you for whatever reason it may be—you were nothing special, helpful, but when it came down to it, you were more or less in the way, so you often made yourself small out of habit.

The knock that startles you is hurried, like a panic. It sends your heart rate skyrocketing but your name echoes on the other side of the door, scrambling to open the door, you’re faced with two men.

The agent, James, a decent man despite his unorganized and erratic personality—and Lucien, a piss poor disguise covering his face.

You snort, addressing the ball cap and sunglasses with an amused expression, it was doing nothing to cover the instantly recognizable wispy brown hair of his and aquiline nose—the upcoming king of stage and screen. It was a wonder he even made it here in one piece.

“A natural chameleon,” You joke, widening your door to let them inside—the apartment was clean, thankfully. You’d scramble to get home after work and pick up, given you didn’t have much time to actually prepare, “seriously—get inside before someone clocks you.”

The agent stays though, like his feet were planted.

“He’s all yours,” He tells you, “you’ve got my number—don’t let him leave. I’ll check in when I can. Keep an eye out for paps.”

“Hey, no—” You interject, watching as the agent turned on his heels and departed, “we didn’t agree to—”, turning the corner with a shout of a long, helpless, “that!”

You sigh with a deep frown, turning over your shoulder to find Lucien with a chopstick in hand, noodle dangling from the utensil with a curious face, sniffing it cautiously.

“Hey!” You chastise, plucking the chopstick from his fingers, “Stop that.”

He looks at you curiously, obviously taken aback by your tone of voice and lack of intimidation by him, like a startled cat.

Jesus, okay.

You force a calming breath through your nose and look up at him, “Would you like some?”

“Is it gluten free?” Lucien inquires, peering over your shoulder at the still steaming hot bowl of soup.

“Actually, yeah,” Your brow furrows, “it—it is.”

“Sure,” He shrugs, beginning to remove his cap and glasses, along with his jacket, resting them haphazardly on the kitchen island as he takes a seat on the only other unoccupied barstool in your kitchen.

“Oh no,” You swiftly rectify his actions, “we’re not doing this—there’s a coat rack for a reason and a shelf by the door for things like,” You walk toward the front door, hand circling the object like a cherished belonging, “keys—sunglasses, hats,” You stress the final two words and point at the items before jutting your thumb frustratingly at the door, “—if you don’t mind, while I make your dinner.”

It was clear he’s spent most of the past several years with people ready and waiting on him, never questioning or ordering around, but it was basic human decency, you weren’t going to allow him to be amiss to it.

He obliges quietly, a surprise to you. You hide the satisfied smirk as you pour the broth into the bowl along with the noodles before placing the bowl on his side of the island, placing another dish near him, scattered with different toppings.

Lucien looks silently intrigued, the ends of his mouth curling down in interest as he sprinkles various toppings over his food, beginning to eat silently as you return to your own meal.

After a long enough silence and Lucien’s occasional slurping you decide to set a hard boundary, given the various personalities you’ve dealt with in the industry, it was you being proactive out of habit.

“Let me be clear, I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart,” You inform him, locking eyes with his intense stare, something you hadn’t forgotten, not since the on-set incident, “This is still my home. Don’t be an asshole about it.”

“James said you were a firecracker,” Lucien smirks slightly, resting his chopsticks along the top of the bowl, “and a little bit of a bitch, but—”

“Good, he hasn’t lost his mind then.”

“Don’t worry, I’m a professional at this shit now. You won’t even know I’m here.”

Highly unlikely, you think.

He even makes a point by grabbing his bowl and emptying it before placing it in the sink before extending his hand out to your own bowl. You watch him wash the dishes, something that looks unnatural, but you aren’t going to complain.

“You always cook like that?” Lucien asks curiously over the running water, head turning over his shoulder briefly.

“No, only Friday. I never have time otherwise, work is…busy,” A generous way to describe it, but Lucien doesn’t seem to care or question, drying off the last dish before extending his hands out by his side in a grand gesture.

Maybe he was expecting a roaring applause, but you don’t give him the satisfaction. You offer him a genuine thank you but it doesn’t extend beyond that before you’re trailing a few feet over toward the living room, a clean pillow and blanket draped over the couch, along with a fitted sheet if he felt like using it. It was all unmade, allowing him to set it up himself.

“Also,” You clasp your hands together at your front, “James didn’t mention this because I didn’t tell him but we’ve had a string of break-ins for a while now, so—always keep the deadbolt locked. Please.”

His eyes widen, looking around the apartment for the quickest escape. You were on the seventh floor, the only other escape option was a less than reliable balcony that you barely used.

“I have a bat,” You tell him, before pointing toward the door beside the entrance, “in the shoe closet, but I think we’re okay.”

“Think?”

You shrug, “It hasn’t happened yet, but the police have shit response time around here.”

Lucien looks overwhelmed, but nods.

“Oh, and the neighbors like to have really loud sex—walls are thin. Have fun.”

“No puedo creer esta mierda—” He mumbles under his breath as you turn your back, a sharp flap of a sheet, and a short laugh from you follows.

“Blame your agent, Lucien.”

He didn’t think you’d understand him, but your astute hearing proved otherwise.

Lucien was putting on an act with his gesture, clearly.

He doesn’t respond, pouting his way through the process of setting up his new bed for the next couple weeks in silence, ignoring the soft click to your door as you turn in for the night, the creeping and soft city noises filtering in through the thin apartment walls.

It wouldn’t be an easy night but he's never really liked big, empty houses anyways.

—

The weekend is uneventful; you fear it might be a dream, too good to be true, a complete fluke.

Maybe he had a change of heart overnight, but Lucien is overly polite.

He deconstructs his bed both mornings, packing it away in a corner of the living room, listening to the television at a reasonable volume with fresh coffee in the coffee pot, he cleans up his dishes and leaves a marginal mess.

The real kicker—he has the ability to keep the toilet seat down with your now shared bathroom attached to your bedroom, a real…gentleman.

You eyed him suspiciously most of the day, when he’s unaware and preoccupied, wondering when the facade would drop. Does he even remember the coffee incident?

He had to, right?

He approaches with a silent gesture of his emptied cup as you fill your own.

Fine—you pull the cup from his grip and fill it to the brim, sliding it back over carefully.

He sips gingerly as he raises it to his lip before speaking, “S’good coffee.”

“Thanks,” You answer nonchalantly, pouring a generous amount of sugar and cream into your coffee and stirring, watching as the dark black lightened into a soft brown, “are you a coffee guy?”

“I’m an anything guy,” Lucien responds, “but—good, it’s good. I’m impressed.”

“Why?” You ask with a little more bark than needed, a flippant tone rounding out your morning irritation as you readied for work. “Are you—you really don’t remember, do you?”

Lucien raised his eyebrows in question, expectant.

“Your last job, up in Hollywood Hills. You spilled coffee all over me, blamed me, then got me suspended for a week, because of your outburst. I barely managed rent that month”

His eyes narrow, recollecting the thought like he’d been stricken with temporary amnesia.

“You’re all so much of the same, y’know?” You continue, sipping generously from your cup as his face relaxes, following your movements with a casual glance. “Cocky, egotistical, little dicked men. Without me you wouldn’t have that ridiculous fifteen dollar hyper whateverthefuck water you insisted you needed in your trailer, or your dry cleaning? God forbid. Seriously, fuck you.”

“Wait—” Lucien staunches, hold his hand up in pause, “hold on—”

You wait for approximately half a second before you roll your eyes, pushing beyond him to gather your bag and keys, “You know, I don’t need a disingenuous apology. I’m not doing this as a favor. I’m being paid.”

James had lied to him, that much he was figuring out as he processed the situation. You weren’t someone offering up free charity, a helping hand for a starving actor in need—except that wasn’t the case for him. Despite his team's careful guidance; he was a repeat offender of bad choices and money management, a part-time alcoholic, and a serial flirt. He knew how to play his hand and he was good at it, but with you—it was clear that you were a challenge.

But, it was only a couple weeks. He could survive that. He was a people person first and foremost and he’d charm the hell out of you if given the opportunity.

“James said he’d be by in an hour to pick you up for your meetings today—lock the door when you leave. Please.”

Still speechless, he watches you leave with a stiff, crisp shut of the door.

He couldn’t remember, racking his brain for one incident after another. His own fair share made him cringe in hindsight, but he…couldn’t remember. He’d almost hoped you were a fresh face, leaving him free of judgment, but it was clear that this situation was about pure survival.

“You did do that,” James confirmed to him as they left the first brand meeting that morning, “It was the morning of the big awards show—you remember?” He doesn’t wait for Lucien’s response, continuing, “Poor kid got her ass chewed out and had to take a trip to the clinic for the burns. It was…a mess. Never cried, though. I’ll give her that.”

And, like a strike of a match, it floods back. You’re shocked expression, mouth slightly agape as the sting of pain settled in, bracing for the impact of Lucien’s wrath because you knew. A man allergic to accountability, oozing power, it was almost too easy.

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Apologies seem pointless now, but it could help. But…be genuine.”

“I’m genuine.”

James gives him a certain look, one that argues otherwise.

“I am.”

Only time would tell, really.

By the end of your work day, it was with great relief as you stepped through the door of your apartment until you remembered one fine detail you had told Lucien more than once.

Lock the door.

The eeriness hits you as the door clicks shut behind you, the place falling into a dead silence for a brief moment, your bag hitting the counter as you maneuvered your keys between your fingers, ready to take on what you could with what little strength you had to offer.

Just maul their face off, that seemed like the best option.

You count the seconds in your head, breath held tight and constricted in your chest. You quickly check the available pathways—living room, kitchen, before slipping down the hall, left with the only room to flee if not away from your apartment.

Bedroom light off, not a thing out of place, pristine even—but your eyes track toward the bathroom light seeping underneath the gap in the door. With careful, measured movements you approach the door although you haven’t thought through the actual process of what you wanted to do.

But, before you can react the door is swinging open as the bathroom is plunged into darkness, revealing a sopping wet Lucien, towel tied tight around his waist as he slings a smaller one over his shoulders, completely relaxed until he spots you.

Both of you scream—you out of anger and fear, Lucien at the incoming hand that he snatches by the wrist, your eyes landing on each other, your nostrils flaring in frustration.

“You’re insane!” Lucien shouts, shoving your hand away, “You nearly tore my face off.”

“I thought you were an intruder,” You seethe, “—what kind of maniac showers with the front door unlocked while home alone?”

“You said you had a bat,” Lucien excuses, “I could have defended myself.”

You sigh, plucking the keys from your grip before you toss them on your bed, stepping away from Lucien and away from the radiating heat of his body as it glistened, obnoxiously.

“Get out,” You snap, “get out—go—”

“I was just gonna…grab my clothes and come change in,” He weakly gestures toward the bathroom, earning a sharp look of distaste in his direction, “alright—alright, Jesus.”

He pauses for a moment, though. Before the lightbulb clicks on and he’s scrambling into the living room and back in record time, shoving a small white envelope into your hands.

“What is this?” You ask tensely, blindly ripping at the seal as you stare at him.

“It’s uh—what I owe you, for the coffee thing. I…I remember now. Figured I could pay you for the work I made you miss…is that about right?”

You peer at the wad of cash. It was indeed, enough.

“You’re unbelievable,” You reply, shaking your head.

It gives him false hope, wondering if it was all going to be brushed under the rug and that he could continue the rest of his stay in a somewhat semblance of peace, but then your expression flips and oh…that’s not…

“Are you physically incapable of saying the words “I’m sorry”—would it kill you? Allergic to accountability? God, you know what, I’m gonna call James and tell him I just can’t do—”

“No,” Lucien panics, hand around your bicep as you attempt to push past him, immediately recognizing the fierceness of his grip he loosens it, calms himself, “no—please, listen…I…I didn’t think you’d care enough to hear it. I do remember now and I was a dick, I was trying to offer a gesture of good faith. Peace, even?”

“Is this even your money?” You ask curiously, brow furrowed as you help up the envelope.

“Yeah, yeah—I pulled it out of my savings. Why? Do you…not want it?”

You quickly snatch the envelope away, “No, I’ll take it. But, words mean a lot. Like calling me an ignorant little bitch.”

“Okay, okay. I am sorry. I had a lot going on and I know that isn’t an excuse either, but I am.”

You tilt your head in examination, peering through the raw emotion on his face, whether he was putting on a masterclass in acting or not, it was believable enough. You could remain bitter, even if it meant suffering in silence, but you liked the peace just as much as he, so you compromise.

“You still have to get out,” You inform him, walking your fingers tauntingly toward the door, “and I swear, Lucien, if you used all the hot water—”

Lucien was insistent about rehearsing at least five hours a day, even on weekends. Luckily, most of those days you were spared, but when you’re barricaded away in your bedroom, sound travels. And Lucien doesn't care much to stifle his performance, maybe it was a weapon to backfire at your inconsiderate neighbors, but it was driving you insane.

He’s stuck on one scene, clearly a building tension that explodes and apparently he can’t nail, having heard the lines a hundred times over through the muffled walls—your first instinct was to complain, tell him take it elsewhere, but you remember your deal with James. Lucien just needed a place to stay for a while and this was his job.

Eventually, you poke your head through your bedroom door with a cautious expression, watching Lucien examine his face in the mirror, filing through various emotions before he finally gives up, tossing the script against the counter.

He spots you as he turns, already gearing up to apologize or maybe even excuse—but instead, you speak.

“Is it for an audition?”

“How’d you know?”

“The yelling, the emotion—I guess? I help on set with self tapes from time to time. I’ve learned to spot the difference between just memorizing lines and trying to feel the script.”

Lucien pushes his lips out in thought, tongue rolling over his teeth as his hands settle against his hips, pushing the sweatpants lower on his hips as he stands, deliberating.

“Just ask,” You tell him.

“You any good?”

It was a genuine question, not meant to attack your own ego. Besides, it makes you laugh.

“I’ll get your good side,” You promise him, surfacing from your room as you beckon for his phone with your hand, getting straight to work.

It only takes a few minutes to find a solid place to set up, against one of your cream colored walls, pictureless and plain, but with ample lighting from inside and out, it highlighted the wispy grays in Lucien’s untamed curls hanging over his forehead, the wrinkles creasing there as he looked down at the script and examined the text.

“Do you have them memorized?”

Lucien nods absently, his finger trailing down the side of the paper until it was suddenly gone, snatched from his hands with a smile on your face as you pointed for him to slide into frame. You take a step back, watching the screen with a careful eye before motioning with a finger for him to move a few centimeters to the left, “There. Perfect.”

You flatten out the creased paper as you speak, “From the top?”

Lucien smiles halfheartedly—the stress washing from his face for a moment—and nods.

–

You could keep up, that much was obvious.

Lucien is used to the monotone voice on the other side of the camera during auditions, forced tones and half-cocked emotion, it was hard to act against and with, but he’s learned to push through for the sake of a role.

It was an emotional scene, almost a requirement to have that intensity to act against and Lucien caught your eye line at one point, face buried in the script as you uttered the lines with teary eyes, letting your own emotion fill you to the brim and flow out, giving him a real and authentic reaction to act against.

He watched it back with a grin, mostly out of his own cocky admiration for himself but the secret you’ve been hoarding, a welcome surprise.

“Have you never considered acting?” Lucien asks curiously, emailing the video off to his agent.

“Cameras are daunting,” You shrug, folding and filing away some freshly washed towels as Lucien reclined on your couch, “I prefer being behind them.”

“You’re a natural,” He offers honestly, “that’s really rare.”

You shake your head in amusement as you riffled through the unfolded laundry, separating in different piles until you come across a no longer white blouse, stained a soft pink—and of course, Lucien. It was Lucien who offered to take laundry down the night prior, needing a moment away from being cooped up in the apartment, swearing he had it under control.

“I told you not to put this in the wash load with the colors! Look at this—” You held up the obviously stained blouse, crumpling up the fabric and tossing it to the couch with a frustrated huff.

“To be fair, it’s been years since I did my own laundry,” Lucien responds casually, “—don’t worry, I’ll have James buy you another.”

Your face twitches, actually twitches.

“No, no—it…it’s fine. It’s only a shirt,” You tuck a loose hair behind your ear as you heave the towels into your arm, “just—whites and colors, always separate them.”

And while living with Lucien had mellowed out some, it was still tumultuous at times.

Fighting over the bathroom was a regular occurrence, both of you guilty. But, that could be worked through, it wasn’t the end of the world. Occasionally it was the lights, a bad habit of Lucien’s to leave them lingering in his wait, lamps and fixtures, nothing was safe. Opened cabinets, items forgotten and out of place. It was all tedious and frustrating, picking and choosing your battles as they came, brushing far too much under the rub for the sake of peace.

You knew it was almost over, enjoying a quiet night to yourself while Lucien was apparently out at dinner—you weren’t sure, you didn’t really care, but you enjoyed the glimpse of what was to return to you, tucked away on the couch while half-dressed, hand stuffed into a freshly popped bowl of popcorn.

It was Friday and your neighbors never failed to come home from a rowdy night of partying with everything but sleeping on their mind, getting straight to business and your grab for the remote was immediate, turning up the volume to drown out the obnoxious moans and groans of drunk sex happening on the other side of the wall.

Lucien arrives back somewhere near the middle of the movie, the soft laughs from you pulling his attention to the couch as he clocked the nineties rom-com on the television, your cheek resting against your balled up fist, placing his wallet against the counter to signal his entrance.

“Loud enough for you?” Lucien jokes, approaching the singular piece of furniture in your living room, fingertips pressing against the arm of the couch as he takes in your appearance, shirt barely reaching beyond mid-thigh, thick socks keeping you warm as you curled in on yourself, careless that Lucien was definitely looking you make a noise in question, the words processing in a delayed manner.

You reach for the remote, pausing the movie briefly to reveal the reason; the insistent thump of wood against cheap sheetrock and moans, squealy and high-pitched, forcing a raised eyebrow from Lucien that needed no words.

“Nevermind,” He concedes,hands thrown up in defeat with a chuckle hidden behind his teeth, walking closer to examine the screen, filing through his internal rolodex of films and drawing a blank.

“Are you going to keep standing there like a total weirdo or are you going to watch the movie?” You ask with a joking tone, tucking your feet underneath you as you made room, glancing down at your phone as a notification brought the screen to life.

Lucien catches the faint tug of a smile on your face as you type away, clicking the phone into sleep mode a few moments later before continuing the movie without a word.

You’re not sure which one of you succumbs to sleep first, but it didn’t matter, finding that you both aligned together easily as you slept, covered with a blanket that Lucien must have snatched somewhere near without disturbing you—and when you wake in the middle of the night, complex quiet throughout, you can’t even find it in you to move.

–

Lucien’s length of stay was diminishing quickly and you were relieved, only a few more days and things would be back to normal, you’d be three thousand dollars richer, and you wouldn’t have to confront the fact that Lucien wasn’t entirely as bad as he seemed, temper aside.

You’re both on your way out the door on a weekday morning when you spot him, navy blue hoodie draping his body, one you favored because of its size and comfortability.

“That’s mine,” You utter as you’re fisting your keys into your hand and tucking a makeup applicator away in your bag, “that’s…mine—why is it on your body?”

Lucien looks down, perplexed. He could’ve swore…

“It’s mine, I swear,” You’re peering over his shoulder and pulling at the collar, examining the tag by his neck, or lack thereof—you always cut them out, hated the feeling against your skin.

“It’s mine,” You say with finality, “But, it’s fine. I’ve been meaning to replace it anyways. And now that you’ve worn it, definitely.”

“Ouch,” Lucien chuckles, shaking his head at your bluntness, “I guess I deserve that. I did think it was mine, though. Swear. Must’ve gotten mixed up somehow.”

“Oh, well, just burn it now—oh, shit, before I forget,” You point your finger at his chest, stopping him in his tracks, “I’ve got a date tonight. I’ll more than likely be gone when you get back here. I’m leaving a key under the mat, you know the deal. Respect it…protect it like you give a shit if anything happens, it’s all I have.”

“Date?” Lucien teases, “Sounds—”

“We’re not doing this,” You cut him short, finger raising higher in reprimand, “don’t do that.”

Again, Lucien values his well-being, so he admits defeat.

It was difficult for him, his eagerness to please and charm, to command the conversation and impress—but with you, it was impossible. Truly, it was mesmerizing to him.

It was several hours later when Lucien arrived at the apartment, pointedly locking the door behind him as you had reminded him several times—he wasn’t completely aloof.

His orders takeout on a whim, disguised under a fake name and the careful directions to leave at the door, having practiced the art of subtly when it came to laying low, enjoying a couple beers from a pack James had bought him as a small celebration for a week of good, decent meetings.

Things had been looking up recently and it made Lucien unsettled in a way, but thankful nonetheless, sipping at the beer generously and relaxing well into the night, dusk turning to black skies and few twinkling star lights, drowned out by the thick smog of city pollution. It started raining eventually, a soft pattern picking up gradually and he, for natural reasoning, is slightly concerned. So, he stays up despite some lingering exhaustion, barely hitting a quarter beyond eight o’clock when the door handle rattles, soft curses on the other side of the door that send him to his feet, peering through the peephole to spot a sufficiently blurry outline of you.

And what he opens the door to is not what he’s expecting, although, he wasn’t even sure what he was expecting in the first place, but this…it wasn’t it.

You were wet, clothes dripping and rain water pooling at your feet, everything sticking to you like an uncomfortable glue, cold and shivering, your bottom lip trembling.

Without thinking, Lucien shifts into action.

He doesn’t ask a single question, not at first. Silently pulling the items off of you as you allow him; keys and purse first, clanging against the counter before he’s pulling your coat of, blouse, even kneeling down to remove your shoes before he’s carrying the clothes to the bathroom with you in tow, turning on the shower until it was steaming up the mirrors, heat radiating through the room as you pulled at the button of your jeans weakly, fumbling with cold and feeble hands.

He holds his hands up, careful not to approach in a way that would startle you or force you into attack mode, which seemed unlikely with the disheartened look on your face and he asks quietly, “Do you need help?”

You’re quiet for a long, tense moment before you nod, trying to quell the full body shivers as he assists you in stripping down to your underwear, also soaked. He pulls the curtain back and helps you over the side of the tub with the solid weight of his hand and speaks again despite your silence, “I’ll wait in your room—do you need anything?”

It doesn’t take a genius to piece things together as Lucien settles against the edge of the bed and it angers him for some forlorn reason, a feeling he hasn’t experienced in a long time. When the shower cuts off, he straightens, hesitates—should he leave?

You’d want privacy, right? Yeah. No, definitely.

He rises to his feet without another thought, his awful timing sending you straight into his chest as you swung the door open, towel snug around your body and smelling sharply of fresh, citrus body wash.

“S-sorry,” You stammer out, “you don’t—you don’t have to wait around, Lucien. Or give a shit, either. I don’t expect you to and I don’t care—”

It was unusually cold. He’s become familiar with your snark, that sharp and cunning personality, but this was different. This was a push, a defense of hard and impenetrable walls building up before his eyes and he speaks without thinking, hoping that it slips through the cracks.

“Regardless, I’ll listen,” Lucien provides—it wasn’t an overwhelming expression of fake, forced care or, god forbid, love. But, it was a raw enough response that it grabs your attention, “—if you want me to.”

—

He cranked up the heat while you dressed, flipped open his leftover takeout, and listened. You weren’t used to this and for a while, you were half-expecting him to find a way to turn the situation on himself, a sob story for a sob story. But, he doesn’t.

“This sushi…” You savor the taste, eyes falling closed.

“Good, isn’t it?” Lucien smirks, popping another into his mouth with careful precision, chopsticks in hand.

You could cry, it was such a strong and startling feeling that it caught you off-guard, “Yeah, really good.”

You clear your throat, tears shoved aside, “Have you ever ditched a date before?”

Lucien shakes his head with a subtle frown.

“Right, Lucien De Leon,” You respond jokingly, that magical emphasis around his name, “any woman would be dying for all of….this,” You gesture to him lazily with a faux disgust that couldn’t even be forced, both of you divulging into a laugh.

“Hey, you said it,” Lucien shrugs with a pointed wink that you shouldn’t find so attractive, but the natural charm he emits makes it impossible, “—but, no. Can’t say I have.”

“Even the ones who wouldn’t put out?”

“At the risk of sounding like an asshole—“ Lucien begins, but you follow the rhythm of the conversation and it isn’t long before the lightbulb strikes on and you’re nodding.

“Right, you probably don’t have an issue in that department. Stupid question, sorry.”

You pluck the last piece of sushi off the styrofoam and chew, speaking behind your hand, “I should’ve known that dude was a prick, only stared at my tits the entire date.”

Out of reflex, his eyes drag to your chest and you click the movement in an instant, “Not helping,” You warn him lightly, “I guess I was too blunt, he kept…touching me. I told him I didn’t feel comfortable going back to his place, he made some excuse to go to the bathroom and I waited for a half hour. Until the server came by with the bill—so, not only did he ditch me, I paid a hundred dollar tab and I didn’t even eat my food.”

Even in Lucien’s wild days, he couldn’t imagine doing that. Not when he was drinking more heavily, partying, hooking up on a daily basis—before his first failed marriage, it was foreign to him.

“You could’ve called me, or James, shit—an uber.”

“Phone died,” You shrug lamely, “it doesn’t matter, anyways. And don’t get me wrong, casual sex—it’s fine, but I got too hopeful, I guess. All men are the same.”

“Come on,” Lucien jests, “that’s not fair.”

“Fine, enlighten me, then.”

“You can’t expect fairytale shit—I mean, I’m one failed marriage and plenty of missteps in my life. Do you think I’m a bad guy?”

“Do you want me to answer that honestly?”

Lucien sighs in defeat, scratching at his mused hair as he tosses the empty food container aside.

“I’m fucking with you,” You offer in a quieter tone—even if you weren’t friends with him, he didn’t have to put in the effort to help or listen, but he was, “I’m—just, thank you.”

“I’m in good graces now?” Lucien asks curiously, that playful mischief gracing his face with a smile.

You make a motion with your hand from your head as you grab, like pulling a thought and throwing it away, “Coffee incident? Forgotten—unless you pull some heinous shit.”

“You know, I might actually miss this,” His finger does a swirling motion, encompassing your living room, “you—eh,” a shaky hand motion that earns a jab to his thigh from your foot, “shit, ouch—that was a joke.”

“I know,” You concede with a smirk, “—I won’t, though. I want my couch back. And my bathroom.”

“If it makes you feel better, I think you’re a catch,” He tells you, “although, I do like the ones that bite, so—“

You reach forward this time, swatting playful at his chest with the back of your hand, but his fast reflexes beat you, your fingers smacking into solid rings.

He snickers softly and examines the grimace on your face as you pull back, “Pobrecita,” He coos mockingly, reaching for your hand and pressing a gentle kiss against the skin, “see what I mean?”

You ignore the heat that strikes through your body like a freshly lit match, pulling your hand away with a distinct eye roll.

He’d be gone soon and this would all be a ridiculous memory to think back on.

There was no room for newly evolving feelings, or worse, infatuation.

—

The three months you spend falling back into your normal routine is monotonous, safe, but the kind of security that has you itching for change. You find yourself checking on Lucien more often than you should, regular social media checks, the occasional subtle question to James when you happened to catch him on set. It wasn’t healthy, but you couldn’t help yourself.

He did seem more erratic, often coming across other quick clips and social media stories of him at the club during waking hours, pure reckless abandon, he was having the time of his life—you couldn’t blame him, but it was…slightly alarming.

It was a Saturday night when all hell broke loose, police sirens raining down the street as you raced to your open window, peering down at the obscured face of a man in cuffs as he was roughly shoved into a police car before there’s a pounding knock at the door, your heart nearly bursting out of your chest at the sound.

Turning on your heels and swinging the door open, you can’t help but find yourself speechless at the sight.

“Think they caught your burglar,” Lucien notes under his baseball cap, eyes catching the cascading red and blue lights outside your window, duffel bag at his feet and a regretful look on James’ face.

You tilt your head at the discovery, your brain working overtime before your eyes widen.

“Just hear him out,” He pleads with prayer like hands, phone sandwiched between two begging palms, “Lucien—go,”

Lucien seems to stutter-step in his mind, not expecting to be the one leading this proposition as he side-eyes James, “I…need a place to stay…again,” Lucien squints his eyes and stares up at the ceiling, looking almost embarrassed, “for the next six months.”

“No,” You nearly shout out incredulously, “the first time wasn’t a trial run.”

There’s a long moment of tense eye contact and uncertainty.

An underlying worry in your gut at the sight of Lucien, a little worse for wear but still mostly himself, gripping tightly at his carry-on bag in his hand, thumb rubbing nervously at the leather strap.

Goddammit.

–

He’s paying the entire six months of rent he planned on staying there while he filmed for a movie they were shooting a short ten minute drive from your complex, a quaint little studio gracious enough to let the crew film free of charge—he’d given you the whole spiel, in one ear and out the other still wondering how you’ve tangled yourself in this web again.

“Can I just ask you one thing?” You inquire, helping him file away some of his clothes in a drawer you had emptied out for him like this was normal. He makes a soft noise of acknowledgment with his lips pursed together, tired sunken eyes staring back at you, “Why not get your own apartment? A house? I mean, you’ve got the money?”

Lucien clears his throat, scratching at his neck where it jostles his chains, fingers slipping under the silk fabric of his shirt, “I, uh—feel weird…livingalone,” He rushes out, quickly turning to grab more clothes as you stand, hand placed against the top of your dresser as your brow furrows, feeling like you’d just fallen deaf.

“Come again?”

A small huff as Lucien passes a stack of expensive shirts, material that had to be ethically sourced or…some bullshit like that, he’s told you the story before in passing.

“I don’t like living alone, ‘s why I float,” He offers lamely, tossing the empty duffel into the corner of your room—you’d pick it up later, it didn’t matter, “I left all my old stuff to my ex-wife, it was easier that way.”

Often you had to remind yourself that Lucien was older, nearing his late forties while you were still managing through your late twenties, a big thirty on the horizon.

It dawns on you then that you don’t know much about Lucien at all outside of tabloids and gossip sites, the rumor mills running through Hollywood—you often find yourself reminding you of the fact he was still a person, with troubles, clearer now more than ever.

“It wasn’t always like this,” He assures you, “I’m a fuckin’ mess, I already know.”

“I think we’re beyond judgment, Lucien,” You assure him, “You saw me sobbing and nearly naked—just keep this place clean, like you give a shit about it, alright?”

Lucien nods dutifully, “Yes, ma’am.”

–

You learn quickly that his long term stay meant that little quirks were beginning to surface—always organizing your things out on the sink opposite of his own, a small gesture that didn’t go unnoticed when you were rushing out the door on days he wasn’t given a call time. Or how he always made sure there was food waiting when he arrived before you—takeout or not. He wasn’t a great cook, but he could manage.

In turn, you tried to cook more often. And he loved to hover, but not with a homey, warm feeling that made you feel safe, rather like a curious dog nipping at your ankles. And more so, he would finish his own plate before looking cautiously at your own before you nod, allowing him to pick from your plate with a greediness that made you giggle under your breath.

“My ex-wife never cooked,” He had told you once, “I mean, she tried—but she was terrible. And this,” His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek as he steps at the homemade ravioli, “is there anything you can’t do?”

“Say no, apparently,” You gave him a solid once-over, a look from head to toe—he’s never offended anymore, taking the playful jest in stride, it had already been a month and it was beginning to feel like normal, again, having him there.

Your conflicting schedules meant a lot of time away from each other, which wasn’t bad. It almost helped more than you expected and while your apartment wasn’t well-fit for a roommate, Lucien made the place feel less empty.

You couldn’t say it out loud, but you were starting to understand the charm. You could see beyond the facade and the persona—a troubled man with ambition, purpose, but a mountain of struggles. The drinking wasn’t a surprise, nor his uptick in smoking. He always smoked out the window so the smell wouldn’t permeate, but the drinking started to become…an issue.

It wasn’t that Lucien couldn’t handle himself when he drank, but he often did it to fill the dead time—so he said—when you were still at work, fighting with his own demons in his mind. He always ended up on your bed those nights, curled up in a fetal position at the wrong end and you couldn’t find it in yourself to move him, draping a blanket over him before you decided to spend the night on the couch. It was a weekly occurrence after a while, slowly growing in frequency.

He always apologizes, tells you he won’t do it again, but eventually you find yourself melding around him, sleeping in a way that keeps you comfortable and doesn’t disturb him. You don’t judge him, don’t think any lower of him—but there was concern and Lucien could see it growing with every passing conversation as the weeks dragged along.

By the third month, the dam breaks.

You don’t sugarcoat anything for him either.

“Do you need rehab?” You ask bluntly, watching him peel the gold-flaked under eye patches from his face, shoulder leaned against the doorframe, “Or, like, therapy?”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” He defends, washing his hands under the warm water, “I can get sober if I wanna, but it helps with the stress, you know?”

“No,” You respond honestly, but softly, “I don’t. Unless this is just some big excuse for you to sleep in my bed, which if it is—”

Lucien chuckles, toweling his hands dry, “You caught me.”

“You would tell me if it was getting bad, wouldn’t you?”

It seemed like the least he could do, considering how greatly you were carrying the burden for him by allowing him to stay in the comfort of your own home, treating him like a human. You ignored the tabloids anymore, always negative and nefarious toward him, like he wasn’t allowed to make a few mistakes along the way. He had to be perfect, given his troubling start in the industry. DUIs, cheating, eventually settling down to marry but that didn’t work out great for him either—you’d done some research lately, out of pure curiosity to understand what he wasn’t always willing to share, but you preferred to hear it from him.

Lucien squeezes at your chin in a comforting manner that makes you grimace in feigned disgust, forcing a gentle laugh through your nose as he answers, “Yes, I would.”

–

When he should, he doesn’t.

Award season was approaching and work was hectic, Lucien had wrapped on his next project and his previous one was gearing for a big release and line of promos, which meant Lucien had to be on his game.

The lamp in your living was broken, a shattered glass bottle on the floor beside it, a trail of clothes following to your room and a heat in the apartment that was sweltering in a way that had you stripping down immediately to the thinnest layer you could manage without getting to your underwear, jeans and a thin strapped top as you walked barefoot toward your room.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting or hoping for, but it isn’t this.

He’s naked, completely bare, save for the blanket draping his groin to save his modesty, out cold but skin obviously clammy, reeking of alcohol and sweat and you can’t help scrambling to the floor, unable to form any type of tangible sound. You check for a pulse, fearing that you might have just found yourself in an inescapable scandal, but it was there. That soft thump, thump, thump under your fingertips before you press the back of your hand to his skin and despite the sweat, he’s cold. He must have sweat out most of the alcohol in his system, your eyes dragging to the forgotten bottle on the ground.

You sigh, eyes falling closed as you gather your thoughts. You devise a plan, slow and methodical—first was to clean, grabbing the clothes and broken glass from the ground, leaving no trace of his mayhew before you’re returning to your room and straight for the bathroom, immediately turning on the cold water, the stream forceful as it pushed through the showerhead.

“Fuck,” You curse to yourself as you glance at Lucien who is mostly dead-weight, struggling to understand how you can get him from one point to another—with another quiet huff you approach him, shifting until you can get your arms under his armpits and heave him up, blanket falling from his waist as you yelp, eyes shooting toward the ceiling as you continue to drag his slumped body toward the tub, “okay—god, Lucien, you fucking owe me.”

It takes some maneuvering and the unbelievability that you are so incredibly close to his bare ass and dick in a way that most would fall over backwards for, regardless of the situation—it felt wrong, seeing him in such a manner and so completely helpless, but you shove the thought aside as you finally get him in the tub, the cold water waking him almost immediately.

It starts with a gasp, a sharp tug of the curtain and coarse, “Shit,” that assures you he was alive and well, coherent, even. A small smile tugs at your lips as you hear him let out a string of curses before he finally settles.

“There’s a bottle of water and some Advil on the counter—take it,” You instruct behind the curtain, “I’m going to grab dinner—try not to hurt yourself, please.”

He doesn’t acknowledge you, not that you expected it. And it doesn’t take long to grab the food either, calling it in and driving there and back in about twenty minutes, finding Lucien freshly showered and sitting on the stool near the counter, eyes telling a story of exhaustion but his insistently bouncing leg telling another.

“Chicken or steak?” You ask nonchalantly, holding the styrofoam containers in both hands.

He takes a moment to answer, unsettled by your calmness, “...steak.”

You hand it over without a question, grabbing a couple drinks before you’re digging in, standing opposite of him rather than sitting, eating in a silence that grows, thickens.

“It’s quiet,” You note the obvious before you scroll through your phone, searching for a soft tune to play through your speakers, something to fill the air, “better—how’s the food?”

“I like it,” Lucien responds with a full mouth, somehow endearing as he swallows and sips at the second water you offered him, attempting to help keep him hydrated, even if it was still annoyingly hot in your apartment, “—I…I think I broke your AC.”

“You did. I’ll put in a work order for it to get fixed,” You answer, a solution to the problem, “are you okay?”

If Lucien was being honest with himself, he can’t remember the last time anyone has asked him that—not genuinely, anyways. He falls silently, biting at his bottom lip in deep thought as his eyes squint, poking quietly at his food.

Talking was hard, you understood that. But, you hoped there was some trust built between you in the past few months, that you hadn’t laid your vulnerabilities out bare the night you came home rain soaked without the ability for him to share too. Plus, he’d broken your favorite lamp.

“It’s complicated,” Lucien diverts, but that doesn’t stop you, eyes lying in wait as you laid your utensil down to listen, “—I’ve got two kids. One, he’s eighteen…awesome, awesome kid. His name is Raynor. I didn’t meet him until a few years back, I’ve been tryin’ take make up for that. We even went on a roadtrip a couple summers back.”

Lucien fiddles with the cap on the water bottle idly, speaking further, “I, the other, my daughter, she’s a couple years old—it was a crazy night with a co-star,” You clock the information immediately, knowing who he was talking about without the confession, and he knew too—it wasn’t exactly a well kept secret in Hollywood as Delia was now married, to another co-star, raising that child, “a long story for another time, but we’re going through this nasty court battle.”

It would explain his financial situation a little, his willingness to take roles as he could, but the growing stress on his face as weeks passed, the tendency to hide or ignore the situation rather than face it—you understood, to a degree.

“So, all the drinking? The transiency?”

“It just helps,” He shrugs—helps him forget, temporarily, before it all comes barreling back at him, “she wants to revoke shared custody—she’s got her more anyways, with my work and everything, but she wants to deem me unfit, make it—” Lucien’s throat tightens, exactly why he wanted to avoid this conversation entirely, “she wants to erase me and the moment the press gets wind—”

All hell would break loose.

“Lucien, I don’t think it works that way,” You assure him, even if your knowledge was slim, “there’s…that's your right, she’s your child.”

��Given my history, the judge could consider it,” Lucien replies lackluster, ashamed, “look—I’m sorry to dump this shit on you, I fucked up your apartment, I can find another place to stay and I’ll pay out the rest of the rent like I promised.”

You look at him with a gentle expression, tilting your head until his eyes finally rise, “I asked,” You remind him, “and I hated that lamp anyways, so you did me a favor,” It was a lie, but given his emotional state it was acceptable, watching as he forced a weak laugh, “I’m not kicking you out either, if the media publishes anything about it, you hunker down here. I can deal with a few paps, you know? We do work in the same industry, after all. I may not understand the full scope but I do understand, Lucien.”

He returns a look with sad, red-rimmed eyes as you reach to clean up your shared dinner, before approaching him with a careful few steps, a hand gliding over his bicep and your fingers rubbing at the small dip in the back of neck, your first real initiation of genuine touch. He was a touchy person himself and seemed at ease by the feeling, your lips coming to press a soft kiss against his cheek. Kind, friendly, you pat at his back.

Something changes between that touch and the look he gives you as he turns, eyes flicking toward your lips out of desire, silently he pushes logic aside and leans forward, pulling your chin into his hand like he has before, a familiar touch followed by a foreign one, plush lips against your own that has you swimming in a mix of emotions, eyes falling shut briefly before you realize what was happening, lips parting slightly as the tip of his tongue touches your own before you’re ripping away, eyes wide.

“Oh my god,” You utter out, wishing the words had stayed inside of your head, “I, uh–I’m—”

You stutter relentlessly before you’re scrambling toward your room, door falling shut with a soft click as you sink into your sheets, heart racing uncontrollably and your hands covering your face, unable to face what you had just escaped from as a knock comes a few minutes later on your bedroom door.

You couldn’t face him. You couldn’t.

Eventually, he leaves. Slow footsteps that eventually lead toward another door that closes too, unsure of where he was wandering off to, but you couldn’t think about that, not with the conflicting, battling emotions in your head and chest, a startling yearning coming from just a simple touch.

He was everything you despised—somehow finding level ground, adoring him, caring about him, it was never supposed to go this far. He started as an inconvenience, a disruption to your life…and now, you weren’t sure you could imagine it without him there, in some form.

It takes a couple hours, already deep into your slumber, but the dip of weight in your bed startles you for a moment before the movements stop, the strong press of a back against yours, and an unspoken security that pulls you both under quickly.

He’d gone out drinking again, but at this point, you couldn’t blame him.

–

He awakes to a sweet smell, distinct and fresh. And air, cool air. It can’t be dawn, the sun is too far in the sky to be early morning. Lucien rises with a heavy grogginess, rubbing at his eyes as he finds his footing and walks toward the living room of your apartment, finding your back turned to him as you fiddled with the buttons on your AC as you bid someone goodbye, a man carrying a toolbox descending toward the hallway.

He gears up for an apology, the words balancing on the tip of his tongue.

Suddenly, you’re in front of him, two filled mugs in hand, coffee just the way he liked.

And Lucien doesn’t know when or why the feeling overtakes him, but he kisses you again. It isn’t a simple peck. It was full, all-consuming, feet lifting off the ground type of kiss.

No, literally—you rise to your tiptoes as the cups jostle in your grip as two large, warm hands curl around your back and his lips melt against your own, earning a starling gasp that slips through slightly parted lips, followed by his name after a moment too long.

“Coffee, coffee,” You mumbled quickly, “hot—burning, my toes,” Lucien pulled away quickly at the words, watching as the tan liquid pooled at your feet before he rushed to clean up the mess.

You watch with an amused expression before you finally hand the cup of coffee over, “Good morning to you too, I guess,” You smirk, biting down on your cheek to stifle the laugh that was fighting it’s way out, “please don’t tell me you’re still drunk.”

“I need to apologize,” Lucien tells you, “...again—I’m—I’m sorry for kissing you—again, like that, assuming that was something you wanted. I got pulled into the moment—”

You’ve had all night and morning to think it over, mulling over the emotions and feelings, still not quite sure, but you couldn’t help the swirling feeling of nervousness that had grown more frequent in Lucien’s presence, his looks, his flirtatious nature and touches. You were under his spell completely.

And if you didn’t want to kiss him, you would have stopped him.

Besides, you didn’t want to be the bearer of more bad news after his terrible night, having been let go from your job position that morning, no notice—you were still reeling, but didn’t want to burden Lucien with the news.

You needed something else to occupy your mind.

“Drink,” You instruct, taking a seat on the couch as you sip at your coffee in silence, watching as Lucien mirrored your actions and sat at the opposite end, legs out-stretched and his chest on display, tanned skin with neatly trimmed chest hair, soft tummy leading into the charcoaled, stretchy lounge pants leaving little to imagination as he fidgeted in his seat.

“Where’d you go last night?”

Lucien’s face immediately flushes with guilt, “The—a bar. I didn’t drink. I swear, I—”

He makes a small noise of frustration and closes his eyes, “I did something stupid, I needed a distraction, alright? I shouldn’t have kissed you, that’s not what you wanted, I know that.”

With a silent reservation, you press the coffee cup into the table in front of you before slowly make your way toward him on your knees before you pluck the half-empty mug from his grip and return it to a similar spot, feeling a surge of bravery as you climb onto his lap—there’s some underlying stupidity there, you think. But, fuck it.

“You don’t know what I want,” You assure him, fingers dragging along the top of his head before you’re tugging at the stands to tilt his head back, kissing him soundly, sweet dark roast on your shared breaths as you lick into his mouth, the opposite hand pressed flat against his bare chest. It takes a while, but eventually his brain catches up, along with his movements, and his hands curl around your bare thighs, fingertips grazing the silk shorts you wore to bed the night prior, like butter against your soft skin as his fingers climb and dig, pressing into your skin as you continue to discover every inch of him he had to offer—mouth, tongue, neck, chest.

It was a dormant hunger that had awoken after careful thought and pure primal need, tired of waiting things out for perfection when you had something tangible in front of you.

He’s mumbling your name softly as you lean into him, the bottom of your lip dragging against the tip of his nose as he pulls you away, strong hands encompassing your face as he looks at you, searching your glazed over eyes, “What are you doing?” He asks, apparent concern.

“Distracting you,” You tell him, immediately diving back in to kiss him, nipping at his chin playfully, a shaking sigh falling from his lips, “are you distracted?”

He chuckles weakly, “What happened to me being a cocky, egotistical, little dicked man?”

“I can go back to hating you if you want,” You respond, nipping at his ear before you pull back to look at him, so close you can feel his breath against your lips, “If you’re into that sorta thing.”

He could see in your eyes that you needed this too, a way to shut your brain off for a while, months of failed dates you’ve told him all about, in detail, he can’t help but chuckle at your eagerness, stifling a groan as you core grinds against him, cock stiffening with the movement.

“Maybe,” He’s undecided, “we’ll see how this goes.”

You smile wide, feeling a surge of pride as he returns the kiss more fully, a hand twisting around the back of your neck as he kisses you fully, all wet and uncoordinated but it makes your heart flutter in excitement.

“Let me taste you,” He begs, clawing at your top in an attempt to get his hands on your skin, pushing up the fabric as you follow his movements, top off, stripping your shorts down along with your underwear, an eager Lucien gripping at your hips to maneuver you down into the cushion as he hastily shoves the table away with his feet to make room for him on the floor, no reprieve as he hooks your legs over his shoulder and splits his tongue through your folds, licking up the center.

A man of his word, he tastes. Noisily he licks and prods, tongue dipping inside of along with wandering fingers, sucking gently at your clit until you’re yanking at his hair, hand curling over the back of his scalp, fingernails digging into the top of his back, moans spilling from your lips like a flowing river, the rapids rushing through, walls clenching around nothing but cool air as Lucien parts from you, admires.

He’s got two hands on your thighs to keep you open, “Wider,” He coaxes, your breath quickening as he squeezes at your thighs, “right there, don’t move.”

He shoves his pants down his hips, the heel of his palm rubbing down his shaft as he wraps his fingers around his cock, jerking himself off at the sight of you, glistening and eager, your fingers digging into the cushion fabric—you’ve seen him before, naked, in starkly different context.

But, he had nothing to be ashamed of, your eyes counting the faint splattering of freckles on his chest as his hand glides over his cock, tugs, thumb sliding over the tip to spread the precum down his shaft and you don’t hear him calling your name until his hand touches your skin, gliding over your knee as he taps, coming to with a weak, “Huh?”

Lucien laughs under his breath before he’s beckoning you closer, pushing up with your palms as he cups his hand under your chin and asks—no, demands, “Spit,” He tells you, following his order without missing a beat, the saliva dripping into his hands as you push it past your lips and he moves closer, knees settled on the plush rug in your living room, guiding you until your ass was nearly hanging off the couch and using your saliva to aid the tug of his cock.

“No condom,” You quickly interject, slightly out of breath. His mouth opens like he wants to respond but you quickly shush him, “we can avoid the spiel, I’m on the pill.”

Lucien shrugs with a cocked smile, “Just checking. You alright?”

You nod eagerly, dying for a reason to shut your mind off.

It was the perfect angle, his hips just level enough with your hips that he slid in with ease, adding his own string of spit into the mix as rubbed it down your cunt and pushed his cock inside—deeper, deeper, the head of his cock sliding against your folds teasingly as he rocks his hips until he’s fully flush inside of you.

Your anxious hands are taken hold by him, curling around his wrists instinctively before they’re being shoved over your head and against the back of the couch, his towering frame leaning over you as his hips piston you at a bruising pace, deep enough that it aches. It’s been long, so long and you feel pathetic for already wanting it so bad, core pulsating with an insatiable need.

His breath is hot, wet against your skin as his teeth graze against your breast, sucking the skin between his teeth as you gasp, “Louder,” Lucien coaxes, “let ‘em hear you. Think they deserve it after all they’ve put us through.”

You laugh at that, full-body and airy, eyes falling shut as Lucien plants a foot against the floor, changing up the angle to an intense degree, his cock slipping out briefly as he adjusts, catching glimpse of the string of shiny slick that connects you both before the thick head of his cock pushes back in, a soft squelch of admittance, a tell-tale sign of your obvious enjoyment.

If he knew this would shut you up, he would’ve tried seducing you months ago—though, he had a feeling the attempts would be futile, he was floating on his own cloud of disbelief that after all his wrong-doings, his missteps, it hadn’t pushed you away.

“Show me—huh, show me what you like,” Lucien pleads through baited breath, hair sticking to his forehead from the sheen of sweat, his own hands leaving yours with the silent promise that you wouldn’t move them, finding purchase underneath your thighs and pushing them up toward your chest, your fingers gripping around the back of the couch in desperation, “touch—touch yourself, show me.”

The drag of your hand is slow, but eventually your fingers hover over your cunt, pressing against your sensitive clit as you circle, slow and intentional movement that rips a loud moan from your chest matched with his pointed thrusts, feeling his stamina weaning as he watches, hips stuttering.

“You’re a fucking dream,” Lucien admires, “makin’ a damn mess, too. You hear that?”

He slows down on purpose, partially for his own benefit but he’s proving his point, that sticky squelch of arousal, his faint grunts mixed with your quickly rising moans.

“Does it make you nervous when I stare?” He asks curiously, eyes locked on your pussy, watching his cock split you open, gripping him and pulling him back in eagerly with every thrust, “Look at me—answer me, baby.”

There’s something so distinct in the way he says it, laced with an addictive drug.

Your eyes peel open, bleary behind near tears and you shake your head.

“Do you wish it did?” You counter, earning a subtle head shake from Lucien as he pulls out.

A moan of disappointment leaves your mouth before he’s quickly jostling your around, chest against the couch, his hand spreading wide over your back as he bends you over, fisting his cock as he feeds it back into your greedy cunt, the swollen head making you gasp as it pushes through your over-sensitive folds.

He uses the leverage as his hand climbs, gripping at your shoulder to pull you up, bracketing your body into the couch with a knee at your side, pressing you tight into his chest, his hand sliding around to your chin and turning your face to his, lips parting as he fucks you with a newfound ferocity, eyes rolling back so deep you aren’t expecting the fingers that find your clit, circling the senstive nerves until you’re tipping over the edge, soft encouraging words pulling you through your orgasm like a gentle wave, his fingers slowing down as you resurface.

He comes soon after, his hips stuttering out of pace again as you lean forward, feeling him pull out at the last possible moment before he’s painting thick strips of come against your lower back, the fingers of his left hand digging into your skin as he grabs you tight, the tip of his cock sliding against your ass.

You collapse with a content laugh, oblivious to Lucien searching frantically for something to clean you up before settling on one of the kitchen towels, your body slumped lazily against the couch and sighing when you feel his warm touch, the words slipping out on their own accord, “I got fired.”

“What?”

He tosses the dirty towel aside and passes over your clothes, pulling his own lounge pants back up his hips, sans underwear—and it makes you curious how often he does that normally, comfortable as he takes a seat, legs spread wide as he settles into the cushion.

“They called this morning,” You explain easily, pulling your top over your head and maneuvering your panties and shorts back on, “wouldn’t give me a reason, but it doesn’t matter.”

Lucien’s brow furrows in thought, rubbing his thumb against his fingertips out of habit.

“Is this one of those situations where you’re gonna ask if I’ll sign an NDA?” You half-joke.

He shakes his head almost immediately. He doesn’t seem to find it amusing, almost slightly concerned—or wounded?

“Come work for me,” He insists, “I’ve been needing an assistant.”

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?” You ask him, staring at his flush chest and mused hair, evidence of rigorous sex all over his face, it was almost enough to have you confessing some unspoken feelings, but you weren’t that easily broken down.

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Are you just trying to find a reason to stick around longer?” You tease him, a smile peeking out behind your tired expression, “Because it won’t work.”

“No—I’m serious about getting my shit together,” Lucien promises, “I might need a little help…but I want to.”

“Can I think about it?”

Lucien nods, hands dropping to his lap as he fiddles with a ring on his finger, eventually trailing toward the chains around his neck before his head is popping up, a quizzical look on his face.

“Wait—was that because you were having a bad morning?”

The sex, he means.

A smile breaks out on your face, “Nothing an orgasm won’t fix.”

He can sense it isn’t the full truth, but he doesn’t pry.

“Damn straight,” He chuckles, both of you falling into a comfortable silence.

–

Your answer doesn’t come for a solid week, thinking over the pros and cons. It was complicated, indeed bound to be messy if you allowed it, but Lucien was promising to double your pay, no undermining, no hovering—it seemed too good to be true.

But, you were taking the risk.

Lucien was still awaiting the imminent release of the court documents, the storm of press, but when you were secured in the safety of your apartment, hidden under the blankets as Lucien clung to you, head buried in your chest and his cock still buried inside of you, a slow and lazy day was what he needed, but he also craved you—and he was addicting, impossible to deny.

“We can’t keep doing this when I start working for you,” You remind him.

“Who says we can’t?” Lucien asks curiously, adjusting his hips as he slides deep inside of your cunt, peering up at you with soft eyes, “We keep it casual, if we decide we wanna stop. We stop. It won’t affect your job. I’m not that much of a dick, baby.”

“Well, for starters, you can’t call me baby at work.”

Lucien nods dutifully, listening to you divulge into a long lists of hardset rules, eventually pulling your focus back to him, his hips moving at a slow but gradual pace until you can’t focus any longer, giggling loudly as he buries his face into your neck, a sufficient end to the conversation.

The rest could be figured out later.

dividers: @/saradika-graphics

#lucien flores #lucien de leon #lucien flores x reader #lucien flores x you #lucien de leon x reader #lucien de leon x you #lucien flores smut #the uninvited #the uninvited fic #lucien de leon smut #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #my writing

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antimonyandthyme · 2 days ago

Text

2k, paul/carlos

(written after the c2 / paul vid, and this post came out with the brilliant @formulahs suggesting an auction LMAO)

He goes without the expectation of buying anything. He looks forward to a good time, even with all the cameras around. The shoes his stylist wants him to go in are fanciful, shiny monstrosities, and he nearly insists for the sneakers to stay on. Then he remembers that he’s technically there for Ferrari, and dutifully swaps them out.

Technically. Paul can go for other reasons too. Charles is lovely, if a little vacant around him. Carlos is. Carlos is, he’s—

It’s early days and Paul isn’t one for poetry, and yet here he is. He hopes to god he isn’t being obvious. Not to the staff when he spots Carlos and lights up like a schoolboy with a crush. Not to Charles, when he holds on to Carlos for a handshake that’s a little longer than necessary. Definitely not obvious to whoever watches these videos, when he mouths all of the answers to Carlos.

Can’t deny having a favourite. He can turn his nose up all he wants at the reputation that follows any young actor these days, but he can’t deny his appreciation for nice things. There are no trophies in his world—yet, just good food, good drink, good people. Beautiful people. For the third time since they rolled cameras, Paul is caught staring. Carlos always looks slightly lost, staring back, like he’s trying to figure Paul out, before he ducks his head and curls up. Large hands clasped in his lap. Maybe a little shy. Maybe a little pleased.

“He’s a little expensive,” Charles says, “but you should be able to afford him.”

Paul attempts to tamper his face into something palatable. Ungracious of Charles to lay out his desires so plainly. And then in the same breath insinuate that his ability to pay might not stack up. Somewhere past Paul’s eyeline, Carlos is returning his mic to the staff with a relieved smile. Unpacking his spine into something looser, now that the cameras are off. He tips his head at Paul, eyes inquisitive, as if guessing that they were discussing him.

Paul has to look away, guilty.

“I didn’t plan on buying,” he says. It’s the truth. Mostly. In his defense, it wasn’t like Ferrari were being subtle about shoving them in a room together, especially after they made this tradition known. It’s like asking someone not to think of elephants. On command, a safari blooms open in Paul’s mind.

Charles shrugs. “We’ll have another event later. Someone else probably will.”

The flippant way Charles speaks about it grates against Paul’s skin. He can’t tell if Charles is trying to rile him up. The thought of Carlos having to hang off a faceless person’s arm makes distaste churn so violently in his belly that it manifests into an ache.

“Carlos wouldn’t mind, if it’s you.”

“How would you know,” Paul grits out. The mental fidget spinner he has for Charles keeps going around in circles, flickering from Empty to Dickhead to Helpful, maybe?

“Ah, he’s used to it no? People looking at him like that.” Charles’s voice dips low, like he’s sharing a secret. Paul’s an actor for fuck’s sake. He knows when someone’s selling him something, a mediocre contract, a shitty line. Still, he can’t help leaning in closer, puts his ear right next to Charles’s mouth.

Further away, Carlos’s mouth twists down, his gaze shutters. Just a minute, baby, Paul wants to tell him. Just—give me a minute.

“He looks back, when it’s you,” Charles says, and Paul’s done convincing himself otherwise.

They tell him, in one of the most bewildering conversations Paul’s ever had, that Carlos will be delivered in the evening, at whatever time suits Paul best. Delivered, like he’s some kind of package. What the fuck, sings one part of his brain. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what have you just done. The other part, the part that’s mostly primitive and hedonistic, somehow takes charge and sends him off on multiple errands. He gets his hair trimmed, just a little at the sides. He buys some wine. He changes into the sneakers. He considers getting another tattoo, before he snaps himself out of it.

Poetry and tattoos. Paul’s lost his mind.

The time in between gives him room to vacillate between wanting to feed the open maw within him and growing shamefully aware about the shape of his yearning. He hadn’t realized he had enough space within his ribcage to stuff another man entire. There are so many other ways he could have gone about this. But he doesn’t have Carlos’s number. He can’t text. Even if he could, Paul wouldn’t know what to say.

Tick tock, tick tock. Paul rearranges furniture, door dashes some flowers, after spending half an hour reading up on flower language, interspersed with vapid scrolling of his socials. Tick tock.

By the time Carlos arrives, he’s in a bit of a wreck. People who move in Carlos’s world would certainly be familiar with Ferrari’s clauses, and would know how to act. The muted greeting Carlos gives doesn’t help either. He’s dressed up but down, in a plain, almost translucent shirt that leaves little to imagination. He toes off his shoes with an unconscious gracefulness, and comes to stand in front of Paul. He’s waxed, which Paul knows, just from being so close to him this afternoon, had to have happened in that space where Paul was questioning all his life choices. He looks wonderful, except for the fact that he looks so visibly uncomfortable.

“Do you,” Paul starts. Swallowing around the dry lump in his throat. “Do you want something to drink?”

Carlos fidgets. “If you’d like,” he says.

That’s, ow.

They’d assured him, again and again, that Carlos always had the final say, but his teeth are buried in his lower lip, hard enough to blanch, and his toes dig into the carpet like a lifeline. It’s not like Paul’s hung out with Carlos more than a handful of times, but it’s hard to ever picture him in such distress. Carlos is—larger, than what he’d ever seen on screen. You have to witness him in person, to understand.

Faced with this shrunken version of Carlos, Paul can’t bring himself to continue.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks. “I really am. I assumed you’d want—I’m sorry.”

Carlos flinches, jerks his head up. “Wait.”

“It’s alright,” Paul says. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. You could just leave. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Wait,” Carlos says, more urgently. “I don’t want to—” His voice grows small. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Of course not,” Paul nearly yelps. “But you’re. You’re…”

Carlos’s cheeks are very pink. His toes tap an erratic beat on the floor. His hands are clasped in front of him, almost in supplication.

“You’re nervous!”

“Yes!” Carlos blurts out, before looking very mortified. “I’m. Ah, fuck. Paul, I’m never. Never like this.”

Tension bleeds out of him. Something so relieved escapes out of Paul’s mouth in an embarrassing giggle. “Carlos. You should have just said.”

“I don’t know why…” Carlos trails off, scrubbing at the back of his neck vigorously. “With you, I’m like this. I don’t know. I want.” His toes tap some more. “I want to.”

“Want to?” Paul says, coming closer, watching Carlos sway in eagerly.

“Make it worth it,” Carlos mutters. “What you paid.”

Paul groans. He wants to shake Carlos. Then decides, hey, he actually can shake Carlos. Gentle hands around his shoulders, shaking him like a beloved ragdoll. “Oh my god. You can’t be serious.”

“It’s a lot of money,” Carlos protests, but the corners of his mouth are turned up now.

“Shut up, you’re ridiculous. Do you think I would have even paid that if, if I. Oh my god, Carlos. You have to know, right?”

“Know what,” Carlos says, enjoying being a little shit now that they’re joking.

“Can’t take my eyes off you, when you’re in the room,” Paul says. “I thought I was being obvious.”

“You were,” Carlos says brightly. “I thought I was obvious right back.”

“Okay, so. So why are you—?”

Carlos’s face twists. “This season has been. Ah.” He shakes his head reluctantly. “You don’t have to listen to this.”

“Go on,” Paul says. “Come on, tell me. Twelve hours of your time, remember?”

“Been hard to live up to expectations, this year,” Carlos says. “I didn’t want that with you.”

“You are so.” Stupid. Hot. Stupidly hot. “I’m going to shake you some more,” Paul says. “I cannot believe you.”

“That’s fine,” Carlos says. He goes along with the shaking, in a way that shows exactly how much of his body he’s putting into Paul’s hands. A neck as thick as that and he’s somehow limp under Paul’s touch. That’s, well. That’s a lot. “Then maybe, maybe. You could kiss me?”

Yes, yes. Yesssssssss, sings both parts of Paul’s brain. Yes.

Carlos is still now, expectant. A long, lean line of muscle, rooted to the ground, that Paul can trace hungrily with his eyes. He could pull at Carlos with all his strength and Carlos would not move, if he did not want to. But when Paul nudges a finger under his jaw, Carlos goes, looks up, right at him. Leans in.

He’s a greedy little thing, isn’t he. Swallows Paul with ease, every which way. He makes insane noises, deep, and guttural when Paul fucks him hard, high, and breathless when Paul thumbs at his nipples. Carlos clutches at Paul like it’d physically hurt to let go. Everything he’s meant to do, he does and is wonderful at it. And somehow, he’d managed to assume he wouldn’t live up.

“Unbelievable,” Paul says to the ceiling, some time after he’d come so viciously it felt like he’d been wrung out like a dish towel. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Are you still mad at me,” Carlos says, amused.

“Yes.”

“Ay, don’t be,” Carlos says, softly. “I really was nervous.”

Paul turns on his side, hand supporting his head as he gazes at Carlos. Crazy intimate. Terrible, the way he’s setting himself up for the worst time. He can’t bring himself to care.

“You’re allowed to stay the night?”

“Twelve hours,” Carlos says. “You can ask me to do anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything,” Carlos confirms. “Sleep at the foot of the bed, if you want.”

Why would he even say such a—Paul is going to shake him again. If he can unpretzel himself from all that easy comfort following an earth-shattering orgasm. He nudges at Carlos’s hip instead. It’s the closest body part he can find.

“I kick in my sleep,” Paul says seriously, delighting in the way that makes Carlos giggle. He pats the scant space next to him. “I’d rather you be right here.”

“I’ll be right here,” Carlos says, then clears his throat. He probably was just parroting Paul, didn’t mean for it to sound so much like a promise.

But Paul… is also a greedy little thing, isn’t he? So greedy he paid for it, and so greedy he wants more now that he’s had a taste.

“And after?” Paul says. Will you be…?

“After,” Carlos says, “after Las Vegas is Qatar. Then Abu Dhabi.”

“Fine,” Paul says. As let downs go, this is pretty devastating, but he’ll live. It’s not like he had expected—never mind.

Carlos shifts. His jaw unlocks, then clicks back. “You get discounts, after, did you know that? Very good discounts.”

“Oh,” Paul says, a little wobbly. “Do I?”

“Yes. And after Abu Dhabi, it’s. It’s free.”

“Ah.” His chest is squeezing tighter than a fist. The space in his ribcage! Expanding and contracting to accommodate whatever Carlos sees fit. He lets himself imagine pressing up close to Carlos in a quiet apartment, pulling out every sound in Carlos's vocabulary with time, unlimited, on his hands. Buying flowers he knows for sure Carlos likes.

“I guess I need to stick around."

“Guess so,” Carlos says, smiles. “Make it worth your while.”

#athy texts #fanfic #rpf #paulos #this is the most self-indulgent thing #ahahaha #oh dear. oh. dear

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delopsia · 1 day ago

Text

honey | bob floyd x reader

Word Count: 13,800 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, Succubus!Reader, Virgin!Bob. Shapeshifting, elements of magic, blood, parties, first-time blow jobs, cunnilingus, first-time sex, virginity loss, vague plot twists despite the severe lack of an actual plot. This was a crack warmup that just became...this Brief Summary: "Rich, hot, and a virgin. What's wrong with you?" Or, Bob's coworkers jokingly summon you, a succubus, to take his virginity, but everyone gets a lot more than they bargained for. You included.

Well...

This is new.

"It wasn't me! I promise!"

"Well, someone drew my symbol on the floor." Folding your arms in front of your chest, huffing. All that for this?

"It wasn't—" He freezes, teeth flashing through an awkwardly stretched smile. "I...my coworkers were playing a prank on me."

Lovely that you learn that after you've planted your ass in his lap. "So you don't want me here, pretty boy?"

Because he is cute. Floppy brown hair and the biggest blue eyes you've ever seen, hidden behind a pair of wireframes that perch on his freckled nose. His partner must be an incredibly happy person, having someone like this walking around their house.

"N-no!" He blurts. His face falls. "—wait! Well-well, I...uh, I...I don't wanna be rude, but I mean I-I..." Your index finger presses against his thin lips, silencing whatever he had left to say. If history is anything to go off of, you wouldn't have been able to understand what he's trying to tell you anyway.

But...well, you are stuck here, so you'd might as well ask. "What's your name?"

"Ro-Ro..." A short pink tongue darts out, wetting his lips. "Robert."

"Well, Bobby," you can't help but say it, a little too eager to watch the blush in his cheeks deepen. "It's a shame that you didn't. You're pretty cute."

Even in the dark, you can see how his face reddens, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows his words.

"But! I'll be on my way," lifting yourself from his lap before you can become too comfortable there. Something bumps into your ass; you think that may have been his cheek. "Do me a favor and tell your partner that they're a very lucky person, would ya?"

"Partner?" Squeaking.

Your feet freeze. There's no way he's... "Don't tell me you're single."

But Bob nods his head like it's the simplest confession he's ever made. "That's half of the reason why they went through the trouble of making you come here." He pauses, his left eye twitching as a thought visibly crosses his mind. Whatever it is, it's got him looking away from you entirely. "Said I'm...said I'm too old to be a—"

"Wait, wait, wait." Holding your hands up. Need a moment of silence to understand what the hell you're hearing. "Your coworkers summoned a succubus to take your virginity?"

His lips flatten into a line. "...yeah."

"Well, that's shitty!" That's a new one. Finally, something to top the time a sorority summoned you to party with them for...some reason. Bragging rights, you think. "Do they pay you enough to put up with those assholes?"

It's been a minute since you've run into someone so nonchalant about a demonic creature standing in the room with them, never mind hold a casual conversation with you.

But here Bob is, shrugging his shoulders like this happens to him every Tuesday. "You learn to deal with it when you're paid a hundred sixty-thousand a year."

"So you're a rich virgin." It shoots out of your mouth before you realize the thought crossed your mind.

Again, Bob is too calm about this. "I...guess?"

"Rich, hot, and a virgin." Modifying your statement. "What's wrong with you?"

Those blue eyes widen. Blinking rapidly. "Huh?"

"Well, there's gotta be a reason why you don't have a line of people out the door." You say, crouching back down in front of him. Sure wish he'd let you do something about that tent in his pajama pants. "If it's not the looks that reel the ladies in, it's the charm, and if it's not the charm, it's the money. And you've got all three, pretty boy."

It's not supposed to be a serious topic, not as if you're about to go and write an article about his non-existent sex life to publish in the weekly paper. But this guy is actually thinking about it. His brows furrowing as he mulls over his thoughts, mouth parting, only to fall closed once more.

"I think it has something to do with the nature of my job and my severe inability to start a conversation," he concludes, with a little nod of his head.

You wonder if you could put him in your pocket and take him home.

Now that you think about it, you're pretty sure you're standing on some a ship right now. Is he some kind of cruise captain? "That'll do it."

Bob doesn't have anything else to say about that, awkwardly closing his legs before you can get another look at what he might be packing under there. Whether or not he caught you staring or he's just become aware of his current state, you're not sure. It's such a shame that someone else summoned you on his behalf; he would have been a fun one to toy with.

Hm.

"Do you wanna fuck with your coworkers before I leave?"

He blinks at you. Not a thought behind those eyes. "Huh?"

"Well, you've already got me here," an excited lilt in your voice, maybe a bit too eager to present your totally thought-out idea. "Believe it or not, I double as a poltergeist on Tuesdays and Thursdays."

Or whenever you feel like, really.

"That would be mean," shaking his head. What is he, some kind of saint?

"They just summoned a demon to fuck you in a locked room," deadpan.

For a moment, it's quiet, and then.

"...that's a fair point."

As it turns out, Bob lives on the world's shittiest cruise ship. A ship without a pool, a dimly lit cafeteria without a single Michelin-trained chef in sight. Long, narrow, colorless hallways. There aren't even individual rooms, just even smaller hallways stacked high with bunk beds. On the thinnest mattress you've ever seen, might you add.

Worst of all, rather than allowing personal clothes, everyone is dressed in clothing provided by the ship. Whoever picked the color schemes needs to be introduced to a fucking color wheel.

How do you trick the head of the United States Navy into summoning you? You have a few choice words about this place.

You appear in the mirror first. A little flash of your face, and then you're gone, nothing but a figment of the imagination. Again, later in the night, those two coworkers of Bobs have convinced themselves that they had made it up.

The plan was to end it there and to come back in the morning to turn it up a notch, but there's a chair sitting in the bunk room that's just so comfortable. So what if you lounge there all night, poking through a book Bob had on the foot of his bed? The room just dark enough to allow them to see your vague silhouette, air so quiet that every turn of the page seems to echo.

Not one of them sleeps, but Bob does, snoring away in his bottom bunk. He sounds like a little cat, tiny little noises that sound closer to grumbles than snores.

When morning comes, you show up in their showers right as they turn around. You appear on opposite ends of crowded rooms and in high-stakes meetings with fancy-dressed higher-ups just to get a reaction. Tapping on their shoulders when they think they're alone. Somehow, you managed to get away with swapping the labels on the mustard and hot mustard. Effectively ruined several breakfasts in one fell swoop.

One, this loud-mouthed blonde you forgot the name of, wakes up to you sitting on his chest. Who would have thought that he had such a shrill scream?

But you might take it too far when you chase them down the narrow hallway—five grown adults shrieking like they're in a haunted scream park and not a Navy ship.

Or at least, you thought you did.

"I can't-I can't believe you just—!" Bob's laughing into his palms, keeling over with it. His mouth is moving, but he can't get anything out. Bubbly, loud giggles that travel around the tiny little fan room, bouncing off every corner.

"And here you said it would be too mean," gently mocking, unable to fight off the smile that works its way across your face. So big you can hardly speak through it.

That should technically be the last of your encounters.

You should be heading back through your portal and off on another job, but Bob doesn't utter the proper incantations to make that happen. He starts to, but then you ask about his book, and he squeaks at you for spoiling the ending, and then you begin to second guess if you're recalling it correctly.

Then the conversation starts, and suddenly, you've been bound to him for three weeks.

If it were anyone else, you'd complain and force the portal to open by yourself. There's more than one way to break the spell and go back to where you came from, but there's something about Bob Floyd that keeps you lingering. Maybe it's the way he blushes when you get too close. Maybe it's because you can't remember a time when someone kept you around solely because they liked talking to you.

Maybe it's because he has a fantastic taste in literature. Anything he's reading somehow becomes glued to your hands, unable to be put down until you've reached the final page.

"I can't believe nobody has gotten bold enough to comment on the strange figure reading a book in the corner every night," you giggle, nothing but a misty haze hovering over his head.

His lips curl into a smile, toothpaste spilling over as he fights not to bite his toothbrush. "I think they're afraid of another hallway incident."

"Are you afraid of another hallway incident?" Appearing in the mirror, if only to get your message across.

"Nah."

If you had known that the Admiral would be the final person you would get to scare before Bob left the ship, then you probably would have gone all out on it. But at the moment, all you're thinking about is how unfair and rude it was to pin Bob for the mistakes that his pilot made up in the air. The guy can't even fly a jet. How is it his fault that the pilot confused their lefts and rights?

So you show up in the mirror, jump on him, and spiral about the room in a foggy haze before rustling down the hallway in such a storm that it creates a draft. There seems to be a growing trend with men having high-pitched screams on this boat.

If Bob ever catches wind of the incident, he never brings it up.

Hell, maybe he thinks he's left you behind because he sure is surprised to turn around and find you sitting on his kitchen counter one morning.

"Did ya forget about me?"

"Please." Clenching at his heart. "Knock first."

Wordless, you tap your knuckles against the cool marble.

Knock.

Those pretty blue eyes roll, their color a little more vivid now that he's wearing that deep blue button-down, the sleeves pulled back just enough to reveal the thick muscle of his forearms. They're still swollen from his workout; you wonder if he knows you were watching.

"Got a hot date tonight?" Kicking your foot at him, brushing against his slacks. The last thing you're expecting is for his hand to wrap around your ankle, lightly squeezing, as if to test out the feeling.

"I got invited to a party and can't get out of it," he hums, letting your leg slip free of his grasp. Then, after a moment. "Wanna come?"

"You're inviting a demon to a party?" Slipping off the counter, batting your eyes at him.

All it takes is one step forward for him to stumble back, wide-eyed and stuttering. "Is that... am I not supposed to do that? I'm sorry."

"Hey, I never said no," your hands find their way to his chest, gently pushing—his back thumps against the fridge. "What color do you like?"

"R-red?" That cute mouth of his wobbles, the slightest hint of facial hair coloring his upper lip. It'll be gone by five, but it's nice to see it for once.

Red it is.

You think this party was thrown by the same sorority who invited you up to party with them because this is...not what you were anticipating. Shot glasses, shitty beer, and flashing lights, the thump of the music so heavy that your bones really with it. You don't even know where the speakers are, lost to the swarm of people crammed into this tiny bar.

All of a sudden, your long, sultry dress has shed into a short little number that blends in with the rest of the crowd. You can't see him, but you can feel Bob's eyes jump onto your frame.

"How did you do that?" Tilting his head to the side like that will somehow help him find an answer to his question.

"Magic, I suppose," there's an actual explanation for it, but you've long since forgotten it. Something about manifestation and energy and a word too big for your tongue to pronounce. "I actually have zero idea how it works."

There's so much going on that you find yourself vanishing for a few minutes. Nothing but a misty haze lingering over Bob's head as one of his buddies shoves a drink into his hand and pushes him down into a cushioned chair. You haven't the slightest clue what kind of golden liquid is swishing around in that cup, but it's got a flavor that has Bob's nose wrinkling.

"Someone's not a drinker," observing aloud, a sudden presence in his lap, your knees caging his hips.

"Was it that obvious?" Sheepish, with that little sideways smile of his. Whether that's from admitting to his inability to drink alcohol or from where you've chosen to sit, you're not sure.

"Your little nose wrinkle gives you away," your little tap on his nose makes him blink. "You're almost a little too clean-cut for this place."

There's nothing special or different that he's done about his appearance, but the aesthetics of the crowd make it look like he's walked into the wrong party. A little bit too put together when you compare his ironed button-down and perfectly gelled hair to the half-drunk faces, trendy, cheap outfits, and that group of shirtless men over in the corner.

At least you have the luxury of changing clothing at the drop of a hat. Otherwise, you would be in the same boat.

"He said it was only gonna be a dozen of us," Bob lifts the glass to his lips once more, his nose twitching at the bitter flavor that greets his tongue. He's trying to hide his reaction, but you can still see the disgust in his eye.

"More like twelve dozen," plucking the glass from his hand, setting it on the little table next to the chair. "You could've convinced me this was a high-end frat party."

Looking around is enough to make you question if 'high-end' was just you being generous because this is looking more like an average party by the second. A myriad of nameless faces lost to the flash of the lights: red, blue, green, purple, yellow, a cycle that never loses its pattern. But even the strain it puts on your eyes isn't enough to distract from the sloppy grinding of bodies against each other, hands in the air, writhing to a beat that definitely does not match the music.

Something is starting to press against your inner thigh. An insistent pressure that almost feels—

Damn, how long have Bob's cheeks been bright red like that?

"Are you good?" Pressing the back of your hand against his forehead, clammy to the touch. "You're red as a balloon."

"Yep," his voice strained, so tight it may snap at the slightest hint of pressure. And he's looking over at the painting on the wall, one of those uninteresting things with only a few paint splatters to stain the pure white canvas. Not the kind of thing worth staring at so intently.

You shift forward, thumb swiping at the sweat beading at his temple—

"You sure get hard easily." Teasing. You hadn't even been trying, but that's definitely a heavy bulge pressing into you, straining against the thin fabric of his slacks.

A muscle in his jaw flexes, swallowing hard. "Please don't say it out loud."

"I can fix that, you know." Perhaps curling your hand around his jaw is a little bit too bold, but he isn't making any moves to push you away or tell you to stop. "Some say I'm pretty good at that."

"No, no, that's okay," Bob shakes his head, gently dislodging your hand from his face. "I don't wanna make you do that."

"You're not making me do anything," leaning the slightest bit closer, tapping him on the chest with an index finger. "I'm volunteering. There's a difference."

He swallows again.

Someone calls out his name, waving a hand in the air as if to guide attention to himself as he emerges from the crowd, drink in hand, smile so big that it ought to blind someone. You vaguely recall seeing him back on the ship; name starts with an 'f'.

...shame that you don't remember anything more than that.

But Bob is uttering some Navy jargon that you don't have the capacity to keep up with, and your knees are starting to hurt, skin stuck to the cheap leather cushion. It's much easier to turn yourself around, back leaning against his chest, now free to scan over and watch the part of the room you couldn't see before.

It's not that you don't feel him pressing into the curve of your ass; you just...well, you kind of forget about it. The moment you lay eyes on the game of beer pong happening behind the pool table, you're invested. Straining your neck to try and get a better look at who is winning, crossing two fingers as a lady in a little white skirt goes up against a guy who looks two beers away from a total blackout.

Neither of them are good at it. Far from it, actually, but the girl's friends are cheering her on, and the man has missed the cup thrice now, stumbling over his own two feet. He misses. She scores two. He gets another point while she's trying to catch a ball that has rolled off into her crowd of friends.

You don't realize you've been squirming until Bob's forehead thunks against your back, shoulders rising with his inhale.

"Where did your buddy go?" Chirping in the lightest tone you can muster. As if you're blissfully unaware of what's going on.

"Maybe we should get up," entirely evading your question.

It's a worthy idea that goes down the drain within the same minute it's suggested. What you couldn't see from the couch was how big the crowd actually is. It's a swarm that swallows you whole, someone's shoving into your back, and Bob's stumbling into you, and it's all you can do not to explode into a plume of mist.

You're only distantly aware of his arm curling around you, cinching you to him as if to anchor you in before the storm can wash you away. Your leg slotting between his is far from intentional. But it happens, and you're nose to nose with him, and the corner of his eye is twitching, and you swear you can hear a dam breaking.

You don't entirely know how you wind up here. Squeezing into this sorry excuse of a bathroom stall, your hands greedily dipping beneath his shirt, chest to chest. Every little meet of your lips has him gasping against you. His tongue tastes like the honey biscuit he was nibbling on earlier, the one that dripped on his shirt and left little white crumbs all over his lap.

You could eat him.

"We shouldn't..." He's whispering. A secret meant for your ears only.

Everything screeches to a halt. "Do you wanna stop?"

Shaking his head. "No."

He makes it so damn easy. Legs parted just enough to allow your thigh to slot between them, immediately squeezes down around it the moment he recognizes it's there, drawing you right up into—

A shiver wracks through him. So intense that you can feel it.

You don't need to worry about taunting him. He's reacting as if you've already made a remark. Nose scrunching as he tries to steel his face, warding off the softness that once lingered there, taken aback by the sudden pressure between his legs. Such a strong front. Shame that it folds the moment your hand curls against the bulge in his slacks.

"You're bad at this," a teasing lilt in your tone, lazily working your hand against him. No real rhythm or method to it, simply a shifting pressure that you can already feel his hips beginning to follow.

"It's been a while," muttered like a confession—a sin of the past.

Now that has your attention. "You've done this before?"

The bathroom door squeals open, the handle cracking against the tile so hard that some of it tears off the wall entirely, shards of ceramic scattering across the floor. A chunk of it rolls under the stall on a one-way track to strike the side of your shoe. You don't recognize the too-loud voices that enter the room, but Bob seems to, eyes rolling for a fraction of a moment.

"Something similar...once," hardly audible over whatever the hell is being discussed by the sinks.

You'll have to get the full story out of him when there aren't extra ears lurking mere feet away. Right now, though, you're tugging at his zipper, yanking it down as far as it will go, your hand darting through the gap.

Good lord.

It's always the quiet ones.

"I'm surprised you can get through security with this thing," there's so much of him that you've got to use your other hand, fumbling to pop open his button.

"With what?" Bob's brow furrows. You lightly squeeze the base of him. "...oh."

One of the men shouts. Two laughs chime after it in hot pursuit.

There's a considerable weight to him that you hadn't anticipated until just now, his pretty, flushed cock throbbing in your hand. Muscle memory kicks into gear without much thought, gradually gliding up from his base to his tip—ruby red, almost angry in appearance, such a sharp contrast to your fingers.

His hips follow your motions, subtle little backs and forths that you nearly miss at first, keen on chasing your touch but too shy to allow himself to do it. Teeth sink into his bottom lip, pressing so hard that they leave an indent behind. Breathing hard through his nose, eyes screwing shut like he's fighting something back.

You know what he's doing. Can't let a single noise escape for fear of it reaching the other ears in the room, but there's no way they can. Not with all that racket they're making.

It's fifty-fifty if you still remember how to interrupt electricity, your one sure-fire method of making sure nobody can see what you're doing, but there's only one way to find out.

Getting on your knees in a bathroom stall might be a new one for you, but here you are, blindly sinking lower and lower. Can't quite see what you're doing, your eyes hopelessly locked on Bob Floyd and his pink cheeks. Hasn't even realized what you're doing yet.

There's probably a good minute or two where you just hover there, waiting for the moment he realizes that you've moved. Eye-level with his cock, lazily thumbing each and every bead of precum across his plush head, a little routine to decorate the loose up-and-down of your hand. But his eyelids remain closed, and you're just so damn impatient.

The greet of your tongue has him jumping up onto his tiptoes. His head smacking into the flimsy stall wall.

"What was that?"

It's as if the room has morphed into a library. Complete, utter silence. Nothing but the faint breaths of the men gathered outside of the stall, Bob's, and your own. From the gap, you can see a black and yellow shoe taking a step forward. Silently inching closer.

The whites of Bob's eyes are so big that you can hardly see the color that decorates them. Drowned out and lost to a wave of fear that you can feel prickling through his body. If only those stupid yellow shoes would turn around and walk away; you wanted to play this card a little bit longer.

The bathroom plunges into darkness.

So you do still remember how to do that.

Someone screams. You're not sure who, but it was far too high-pitched to be the man right in front of you. Maybe it was the loser with the yellow shoes. Audibly stomping across the tile floor, shouting at each other as they fight for the door. The hinge squeals. Someone accidentally kicks the corner of it on their way out.

And then it swings closed. The room falling quiet as the sliver of light peeking through the gap disappears entirely.

Your mouth opens, gently drawing Bob into your mouth. Thicker than what you anticipated, uncomfortably stretching your lips around his head, but it's only a slight inconvenience. You can hardly think about it. Especially not when flicking the tip of your tongue across his slit elicits that sort of noise. Pitchy and drawn out, slipping out of him before he can stop it.

"That's—" his palm finds its way to your forehead. Pushes lightly. Jerks away. Lands on the side of your cheek instead. "A lot."

You have very different definitions of 'a lot'.

You're actually moving rather slowly, gradually working your way down his length. He's only just beginning to touch the back of your throat, but Bob sucks in a sharp gasp of air as if you've just sprung this on him. You'd complain if he didn't taste so sweet. Just can't help but take him as far as he'll go, the tip of your nose kissing the cold metal of his zipper, throat so full of him that your head spins.

He's trying to say something. Little fragments of words that might or might not be your name. Breaking apart the moment they fall into his mouth, shattered pieces raining down upon you and your eager ears.

Maybe you're too quick about this. A fraction too eager to draw all the way back, only to fall upon him once more, lazily letting yourself gag around him if only to hear him groan low in his throat and to feel his thighs shudder beneath your palms.

"I'm—I'm already, I..." Bobby's panting. Pawing at the side of your face. Doesn't know if he wants to pry you off or push your head back down.

You expected this. You knew he would be a little bit quick, but all of a sudden, he's twitching in your mouth, a rope of cum decorating your tongue and...

Honey.

Why does he taste like honey?

It feels like a fluke at first. Has you drawing all the way back, sucking gently on his spasming tip, but it doesn't change. Overwhelmingly sweet and thick on your tongue. It doesn't...since when did human men taste like this? Good lord, what took you so long to find one like this?

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Bob's abruptly pulling out of your mouth with a sharp 'pop,' the toilet paper roll audibly spinning as he grabs at it.

The overhead light flickers back on. Damn near blinding. You nearly miss the shade of cherry decorating his cheeks.

"Has anyone ever told you that you taste like honey?"

"You can't be serious."

"No, something's gotta be wrong. I've picked something up somewhere," Bob doesn't seem to realize that he's started pacing again, striding back and forth across the room. "That doesn't...it shouldn't taste like honey!"

Your leg kicks off the edge of the exam table, taping him on the hip as he drifts past. "And what? You think a mystery STD will?"

"Maybe there's one I'm not considering," he stops dead in his tracks, looking you dead in the eye. "You should get tested too."

"Hard to catch a human virus if you aren't human," dragging your foot up the side of his thigh, "maybe it's just a succubus thing."

Bob's hand curls around your ankle, bringing it to rest comfortably against the side of his hip. "Huh?"

"I mean, like...maybe I taste it differently based on how much I like the person?" You're already grasping at straws as it is, but it's so hard to think when Bob is rubbing the back of your ankle like that. Diligent fingers pressing into strained muscle, drawing the tension away with every loose spiral.

"No," shaking his head as if to add emphasis to an already firm word. "I don't...no, that wouldn't make sense."

That was your one and only theory, but, well, if he insists. "Alright, honey cum."

"Please, don't."

You're gone by the time the doctor decides to come back. Doesn't have a whole lot to say, but a few weeks later, there's a neatly folded paper on the counter with a whole bunch of negatives on it.

Bob catches you looking at them, but he doesn't have anything to say about it. He's more intrigued by your appearance than anything else, brushing the pads of his fingers against one of your horns as he drifts past.

"Have you always had these?" He chirps, on a one-way track back to his coffee maker. His poor heart might stop if he pours himself anymore, but that doesn't seem to be stopping him.

"Technically, yes," it's a lazy reply, but you're not sure what else to say. "I didn't think to hide them today. What is that, your third cup of coffee today?"

"Fifth," he corrects, unashamed about finishing off the pot. There's just enough left to fill his mug to the rim and then some. How he doesn't spill it, you'll never know. "Do all demons have horns?"

"Depends on the race, really," shrugging. "Succubi have short, narrow horns with vibrant colors, crossroad demons have horns similar to a Texas Longhorn, fallen angels don't have any at all..." You could keep going, but you would be talking for a long, long time.

You probably shouldn't be lingering around Bob's apartment, invisible to the naked eye as you lounge in the soft red couch and gaze out the window at every rise and fall of the sun. He seems to know that you're still here; hums something that sounds like your name when the cushion sinks beneath your weight.

It's a cute apartment, really. A thrifted coffee table and an oversized bookcase that has already run out of room, excess books spilling over onto the shelves that were once reserved for figurines, and clever callbacks to movies.

There's a stash of DVDs lurking inside of the TV stand, and in the ottoman, a pair of signed and framed Star Wars posters decorating the hallway. He thinks that he's spread out the anime enough to pass undetected, but you can clearly see the manga lurking in the smaller bookcase in his bedroom. There's a Naruto sticker hiding on the side of the fridge, a Pokemon in the bathroom cabinet, and so far, you have counted four Trigun figurines.

Five, if you include the one you just watched him unwrap and place next to his model jet. This one kind of looks like him...

"Are you still in here?" Bob calls out from somewhere on the other side of the apartment. It might be the first time you've heard his voice rise above a mutter since he left the doctor's office.

You're not entirely sure where he is. Haven't exactly moved from the couch now that the sun has fallen again, blankly gazing at the distant ocean as if it's a home you once knew like the back of your hand.

He appears in the hallway. Fiddling with the edge of his t-shirt, his eyes squinting as he tries to scan the room without his glasses. You're still waiting for him to realize that he left them next to the stove again.

"Come out?" He tries again, ambling forward. "Please?"

"Looking to terrorize your boss again?" Dissolving into solidity, the chilly air nipping unpleasantly at your skin. Invisible was better. You couldn't feel the temperature when you didn't have a body.

Or...maybe you're feeling the temperature incorrectly because Bob looks like a shrimp mid-boil. Red in the cheeks, so flushed that it crawls down into his neck, and the sliver of chest showing through the collar of his shirt.

"Bob?" Tilting your head to the side.

"I wanna return the favor." Deadpan.

Blink.

Blink again.

Blink one more time.

You don't follow. "Pardon?"

"I mean, I..." his eyes skip around the room. Bouncing off of the coffee table to the poster behind your head, the miscellaneous figurine shelf, and the refrigerator. "You did something for me, and I...don't...like the idea of it being so one-sided?"

"Bob, I'm a succubus," there's supposed to be an underlying hint there because this is kind of the very reason for your existence, but Bob doesn't seem to pick up on that. Or maybe he does and just doesn't react. "Do you even know how?"

A beat passes.

His head shakes. No.

"I'm a quick learner?" Offering it up like he's bartering. You wonder if you can get him to start offering crops and livestock. "Is that...okay?"

You're not sure if it's the novelty of the idea or if it's because of that soft, doe-eyed expression he nails you with, but something has you agreeing to it. But just because you're on the same page together doesn't mean you'll be the very next sentence that he reads.

You're gone the moment he's in front of you.

"Where did you—"

"But you'll have to catch me first." Reappearing behind him. Walking your fingers up his spine.

He turns.

You're gone. Drifting behind his back again. Blowing at his nape.

"Hey!" He squeals. So shrill and pitchy that it nearly throws you off. Only manage to dissolve into a plume of mist when he reaches for you.

Bob is already spinning around. Blocks you from getting to his back again. And there must be some kind of 'tell' of where you are because his eyes follow you every which way. You'd might as well be fully human because this isn't working.

You don't know how you get into the kitchen. But you're on one side, and Bob is on the other before you've even become solid. You stumble three steps to the right; he's already there. You go left. But then he goes left. You dart right—corner to corner to corner. Shit, you've put yourself in a corner. Either way you have to get past him.

"Why are you so damn quick?" Giggling. Your feet slide against the hardwood. Not as fast as him. This will only last so long.

"Did you forget." He jumps left. "I'm in." Right. "The Navy?" Left again.

"I thought that meant you would be good at swimming!" You're slipping. Grabbing at the countertop before you can hit the floor. "Not—this!"

He breaks the pattern first. Shoots around the corner so quickly that you nearly don't have time to spin back around. His fingertips graze your back as you turn. You're tearing off around the corner. Dissolving bit-by-bit and—

There's a pressure around your waist, and the room is spinning, and you don't remember when or how your feet left the ground.

"Bobby!" You're squealing, throwing your arms around his shoulders before you can slip.

It's hard telling when or how things escalate the way that they do. All you remember is the coldness of the floor as he sets you back down, the heat of his arms around you, and the bump of his nose against your cheek. And melting. Fuck, you remember melting into him like snowflakes in July, meeting him halfway, his soft lips melding with yours so easily.

You do remember when you fall against the couch. Nothing but ruby red cushions and the lingering pink in Bobby's cheeks, settling between your legs with such ease that you almost wonder if you've done this with him before.

Christ, he could probably convince you that you've already had a few nights together.

There's no reason why or how he should know that you're sensitive beneath your ear, mouthing at the skin there but never making a move to mottle it with bruises. Respectful. Irritatingly so. Never leaving behind a mark, not even when he bites at the collar of your shirt and grazes the skin that lurks beneath.

He wasn't lying when he said he was a quick learner. Is he sure that he's never done this before? Because he gets your lounge shorts off surprisingly easily. His waist dipping between your thighs, swollen lips finding your lower belly once more, working down, down, down...

"Shit," his tongue has you jolting, entirely caught off guard. "A little sudden there."

It's hard to feel any sort of annoyance when he peeks up at you from beneath his lashes, tongue hanging out of his mouth like a dog. "'m sorry."

Your hand curls into the back of his hair, a fraction longer than it was when his so-called friends summoned you right into his lap. Only takes the slightest pressure for him to dip his head back down, licking a slow stripe against you. He misses your clit on the first try, pulls away a little too soon. But he finds it on the second, visibly perks at your sharp inhale, and retraces his steps until you do it again.

Learning should imply that he doesn't know what he's doing beforehand. You're gonna need to steal his dictionary off the shelf and look up the proper definition because you're pretty sure he was lying.

There's no damn reason why he should know how to point his tongue and trace it around your clit, teasing until your hips lift off the mattress. Temporary relief comes in the form of the hum that rumbles out of him, vibrating through your nerves like electricity. He's settling into it now, laying flat on his belly, arms curled around your thighs as ifhe belongs there.

Fuck, and he's working his way down. Pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses into your dripping pussy, stopping to lap at your entrance before pressing inside. His tongue isn't even all that long, but the wet heat and the tip of his nose pressing against your clit yanks a gasp out of your throat, eyes snapping shut.

Your thigh squishes against his cheek, leg looping lazily over his shoulder as if that could somehow possibly bring him closer. Fingers twist in his hair, nails scraping across his scalp—

"What the hell?" Your own voice sounds foreign. Detached from your body.

Bob lifts his head, and good lord, his lips are glistening. "Hm?"

"What is this little bump on your head?" Tapping your nail against it, uniquely bony compared to the rest of his scalp. Feels like a perfect circle.

"I don't know what they are," nonchalant, already dipping back between your legs, "'ve had 'em since I was born."

You can see them when you push his hair out of the way, little indentations beneath the skin, solid as can be. One on each side, a few inches above his ears. These kind of look like...

No, that's not right.

That sweet tongue of his finds you again. Drawing lazy shapes that transform into shock waves on impact, rumbling up your spine and down into your fluttering thighs. Letters. He's drawing letters, and you can hardly decipher what they are, but the voice in the back of your head whispers that he's writing is name into your cunt. Over and over until he's certain that you'll never find pleasure in a name that isn't his.

"Bobby, I..."

He hums, hands curling around your hips, pulling you in. Doesn't let go of that same lazy pace that he just set for himself, curling through an 'R' and into an 'O' so intoxicating that you find your own mouth mimicking it, too. You don't mean to cum so soon. You really don't, but your eyes unintentionally lock with his, that tiny smile curling the corners of them, and shit—

Your back twitches up off the bed. Crying out so sharply that it rips right out of your throat. Your head might just tumble off your shoulders. Floating up into the clouds, heaven-bound. Weightless.

The hands on your hips tighten. Anchoring you back down. Bob's burning tongue working you through it like he's done it a hundred times until your body is tensing and jerking away from every little lick.

"Jesus," sucking in a breath, "Christ."

Bob lifts his head, swollen lips twisting into a cheesy grin. "Wrong name."

"Nerd," tapping him on the nose.

"Demon," biting the inside of your thigh.

It's hard telling who sputters into a laugh first. Giggling like school kids as he climbs up the bed, his mouth clumsily finding its way to yours. It's so much easier to hold his face when his glasses aren't in the way; don't have to worry about smudging a lense or accidentally knocking them off his face entirely.

If you thought that you were bad, then Bob Floyd is another monster entirely because once he's gotten a taste of you, he can't get enough.

Because he's on you again in the morning, kissing at your shoulder and working his way down your naked belly before his final alarm goes off and forces him to start getting ready for work. His sweet tongue working over your clit, chasing down a vastly different zig-zag pattern as he eases a thick, curious finger into you. Lazily searches for a little spot that steals your breath away and has you babbling for another.

In the evening, he's nibbling and kissing at your thighs while you wait for the pizza delivery guy is on his way. Leaves behind sporadic little marks that gradually acquire a delicious tenderness that makes you gasp when you try to cross your legs later.

You answer to the sound of your name on an average Tuesday afternoon. An unapproved presence in a top-security Naval building, perched up on the edge of a locker room bench like you belong there. Like you, too, are a pilot with a willingness to perform and just the right amount of crazy flowing through your veins.

Bob doesn't utter a word about it, but you know that one of his superiors has chewed him out again because his cheeks are pale as can be, eyes only softening at the sight of you appearing before him. And maybe he's a little bit too eager to fall to his knees, peppering your skin with kisses that make their way to where you crave them the most.

Again and again. An addict who seems to need his fix every time he's overwhelmed. It's your purpose, the very thing you were built for, but the invisible string that draws you into him is unlike any other you've been wrapped up in before. An undescribable something-else lurking behind the charm of those wireframes and his warm, dizzying voice. Never asks for anything in return, all too content with eating you alive.

Your favorite might be the night that he pulls a muscle in his shoulder blade. One little misstep in the gym is all it takes for a night and a half of overwhelming soreness, binding him flat on his back, minding his left side. But even the mix of ibuprofen, Tylenol, and a dash of pain isn't enough to keep him grounded.

"I have an idea." It's been forever since you last heard him speak. The last time you recall hearing his voice was last night when he asked you to pass him his toothbrush.

"Uh oh," not in any particular hurry to lift your head from his chest, naked and oh so warm to the touch.

"What?" He's trying to act offended, but the attempt dies mid-air. Won't be making a living in acting any time soon, that's for sure.

Tapping your finger on his collarbone, overtop a thin white scar you've yet to learn the story of. "Don't 'what' me."

His laugh sounds like thunder. Deep and rumbling into your ears, a tune you didn't know you craved until just now.

A familiar warmth settles against your cheek, diligent fingers tracing the edge of your jaw. "What if I told you I had another idea?"

One of these days, you'll learn to quit being surprised.

Today, you're shocked that he asked you to ride his face.

Shit, but here you are. Knees precariously resting above his head. Trying your best not to let your thighs clamp down around his face as he dips his tongue between your folds, half-lidded gaze fixated on your expression. You've long since lost count of how many times you've felt this. The soft whisps of his short hair tickling your skin, the way he hums when he hears you gasp.

"You've got," raking your fingers against his scalp, anything to distract from the calculated zig-zag across your clit, "a problem."

"Maybe that's what's wrong with me," muffled. His every word rumbling through your core and reaching up into your chest.

"Yeah, well..." drinking in a shuddered breath, "you being addicted to eating me out was not on that list."

It's his fault for laughing again. Should have known that the vibration would have twisted into your nerves and sent them firing, thighs impulsively clamping down around his head with no regard for him or breathing.

Fuck, it takes a moment to remember how to move them again.

"I'm sorry," and you're about to lift yourself up, let him get a full breath of air, but his hands find your hips, anchoring you into place.

"'s okay," pausing to lap at your clit, wet and messy, and god, the sound. "I don't mind."

He'd say that if you accidentally suffocated him to death, too.

Your nails drift across his scalp. Dragging just enough to feel the shift of hair beneath your fingertips, disturbing the hardened bump lurking just a few inches above his ear. You know that it's probably because of the swelling, but you swear it feels bigger than it did a few days ago. And maybe it's sensitive too because, for the briefest moment, you catch the whisp of a gasp. A sharp little intake of air punctuating the way he drifts down to toy with your entrance.

They're worse the following morning.

He's only just beginning to settle between your legs, diligently kissing down the inside of your thigh, when the brush of your knee sends him reeling. Pawing at the sides of his head. Wincing. Yelping at his own touch.

"Did I—"

"No!" He blurts. Pitchy. "I'm sorry, it's, I—it hurts."

Even the delicate pressure of an ice pack is too much for him to tolerate, hissing like a cat the moment the material touches his skin. You're not entirely sure what to make of them. Dissolving into the air around him for a better view, drifting around his head, twisting every which way as if discovering the perfect angle will reveal the secret.

It doesn't...look infected. Strained is the best descriptor you can come up with. As if something is trying to claw its way out from beneath the skin.

"And you said you've had these since you were born?" Musing aloud, resisting the urge to reach out and touch them.

Hands find your waist as you settle into your human shape once more. "That's what I'm told." Then, tilting his head to look up at you, not making any move to get out of his chair. "Why, what did you see?"

"The same thing you're seeing," you can't help but push his hair back, watching the short strands gradually slip free from your fingers. "Must be a really odd birth defect."

He hums, blinking up at you without a word, perhaps not as concerned about his situation as he should be. Not a trace of worry clouding his features, though the corner of his eye twitches when you unintentionally drift over one of the bumps.

It's the same kind of gaze that gets you into trouble three nights later.

He doesn't seem to realize that he's doing it, drowning you in pools of ocean blue every time he looks your way. You don't understand how you make it through the night. He's just so damn distracting. Tapping his foot against yours beneath the table, legs tangling as a nameless mid-forties man in a fancy suit rambles on about the honor of working in the Navy and things you don't care to follow.

You don't know how you get to the hotel bed. Only vaguely aware of the sensation of your feet leaving the ground, thighs clinging to the sharp bone of his hips. One of his hands is on your ass, and the other is smoothing up your back. Presses just hard enough to have you arching, chests bumping together hard enough to break your kiss.

"Bobby—"

"I know."

The room collapses into a world of pristine white clouds—or maybe you've just fallen onto the bed. You can't tell for sure. Can't be bothered to. Not when a familiar pressure appears against your lips, his firm body settling between your legs with a weight you can't possibly ignore.

He tastes like the hot chocolate they poured into his cup when he turned down the champagne. Sweet and so warm that you can feel yourself melting, and you must be made of chocolate, too, because he moves as if he's going to eat you alive. Hands rising to cradle your face, settling into a lingering liplock that has you gasping for air.

Your head is spinning. One hand curling around his bicep. The other smoothing up the side of his burning neck. Hardly aware of how your hips lift up from the mattress, but all too aware of him meeting you in the middle. A new pressure forms between your legs. The not-so-subtle bump of a growing bulge against your cunt.

Curse the layers of fabric separating you from each other. Can't do anything but meet him halfway. Mewling into his mouth like a cat in heat. Legs curling around his hips. The heels of your ankles digging into his ass, urging him closer, closer, closer.

Something trickles across your fingers. Smearing across his neck.

"What is that?" It's sliding down your palm, scurrying past your wrist and beyond. Water? No, where would it have come from...

Bob draws away, an unusual chill filling the space he once occupied. "What is what?"

Your hand is crimson.

Why is your hand...?

"Oh my god." Reeling back. Hands held high as if that can possibly stop the blood that drips from your fingertips, so fresh that you can still feel the warmth of it.

It's everywhere. Staining the fresh sheets, smeared across the back of Bob's neck, pooling at the shoulders of a brand new uniform that will never be the same again. It's on the shell of his ear and in his hair and—

"Oh my god," you sound like a broken record, but it's all you can say. "Bobby, your head."

Looking back on it, you're thankful Bob booked a room with two beds instead of one.

There's no salvaging or rectifying the utter disaster going on in the bed that he claimed as his when you first got here. The sheets and comforter torn clean off, lying in a messy pile, waiting for the front desk to call back and tell you what to do with them. From here, they look perfectly fine, still the same shade of pure white, as if nothing has ever happened.

Your attention meanders across the floor, tracing the lines of geometric shapes, following them on their journey between the beds until they disappear beneath the mattress. Bob's foot still hangs off the edge, a smidge too lazy to try and readjust himself now that he's found home here on your chest.

It's almost strange being here. Snuggling on a hotel bed with a man who didn't even summon you wasn't on the job description. Hell, the last time you even set foot in a place like this was probably years before you realized what you were and fully committed to the whole demonic entity thing.

"Why don't you ever leave?" Bob's voice rumbles into your collar, a smidge deeper than it was the last time you heard it.

"You never said you were satisfied with me," darting from your mouth before you can realize what you're about to say. A script so rehearsed that your tongue needs no instruction to utter it.

The room is quieter than it was before.

Which...is odd because nothing about it has changed. The cheap air conditioner still rattles to its own mechanic tune. You can still hear the girl talking on the phone in the hallway. Through the wall behind your head, the neighbor's television still plays the rerun of what sounds like a football game.

Bob's eyes are open. Can feel the flutter of his lashes against the side of your neck. If you didn't know any better, you would mistake it for the dustings of tiny butterfly wings.

But he doesn't say anything.

"I'm sorry, I...that may have come out the wrong way."

"'s okay." Says it so quickly that you wonder if he's listened to your apology at all.

Antsy, you reach for his hair, fingers coming through the still-damp locks. A little bit fried after two full washes, but it was the necessary sacrifice to get all of that blood out.

You've got to crane your neck to see the culprit, but it's still there, in the same state it was the last time you laid eyes on it. Scabbed over. No longer as swollen as it once was, but there's still something solid lurking beneath the surface. You could have sworn you saw a flash of white in there before it had closed up again, but looking at it now, there's nothing.

"I think I just like being around you," concluding, after a long moment.

'Like' may be an understatement, but...

The corner of his mouth is turning upward. You know it is because you can feel it against your chest. "I like being around you, too."

And here you thought you'd figured out what Robert Floyd defines as a party.

Bubbling glasses of golden champagne, the same shade of the delicate chandelier sparkling overhead, crystals cascading down like a spiral staircase. Enchanting. Beginning three stories up and only ending mere feet away from where you stand, you could probably touch it if you tried.

Such a stark contrast to the midnight peeking through the windows, twinkling city lights of every color in the rainbow drowned out by the blinding white and gold palette you've found yourself in. Unfamiliar faces and dresses worth more than a car fresh off the lot, wrapped up in the whimsical tune of a live orchestra off to your left.

So many things to look at. Luxury desserts and vivid red couches cozied up beside the fire. There's more to be discovered, entire rooms you have yet to venture into, a custom theater, a cocktail bar...yet, your eyes continue to drift to the only familiar thing here.

And his appear to do the same.

Locking from opposite sides of the room, the buzz of the crowd melting into a distant hum, as if you've just plunged into the very crystal oceans that color his irises. The heat of his gaze is the only thing keeping your head above water, burning across every inch of your skin. It's a wonder you don't go up in flames right here and now.

Glass shatters somewhere to your left. A lady yelps. Someone swears. But you can't bring yourself to look to see what just happened. Captured in a never-ending trance as you move about the room, only able to look away for milliseconds at a time.

One of Bob's friends are talking to him, mouth moving a mile a minute, but Bob doesn't seem to be listening—Fireball or...something. The name should come to you easier than it does. Bob's told you so many stories of them together, but you fear you've spent too much time lingering on the sound of his voice to actually store and remember the fine details.

The music swells.

Heads turn toward the melody, and with it, feet begin to move. It's as if one-half of the party has vanished, opening up the floor enough for you to walk without worry of bumping into anyone. You wouldn't even be in this position if filtering through different forms was socially acceptable and not the quickest way to give someone a heart attack.

It's like drawing too close to a fire, the flames so bright that you can hardly look at them without being blinded. Except the flames are the open buttons at the very top of his long sleeve, milky white skin peeking through the gap. He's grown a bit since this was fitted, the fabric hugging a little too tightly around his chest, straining already weakened seams. Two of the buttons have already snapped off, unveiling more than he would ever willingly show off.

He would catch your staring if he weren't already doing the same damn thing. Knows he's been caught, too, cheeks dusting a cherry red the moment he tears his attention away from the slit in your dress, showing off your upper thigh.

But Fanbase is still talking, rambling on about the subplot of a movie that you've yet to see, and you're simply not interested enough to linger any longer than you have to. Gliding past Bobby as if you hadn't just made eye contact with him, your hand trailing up the side of his arm on your way past.

The door couldn't come quickly enough, and you disappear through it with nothing more than a wayward glance over your shoulder.

He's still looking at you.

It's so much quieter in the hallway, all that noise and music vanishing the moment the door swings shut behind you. You're not sure where you're going; didn't plan this far ahead, but you can already see a floor-to-ceiling window that looks interesting enough. A decorative fountain rests in front of it, the water sparkling with the city lights.

The view is better at night. Still breathtaking during the day, but...god, something about the velvet black and twinkling shades of neon really bring out the charm of a city like this. Though you've still yet to figure out why a Navy event is all the way up here, in the tallest building they could find. One of their own venues would have sufficed; then they wouldn't have had to rent all these hotel rooms.

"Your dress looks awful familiar." Maybe Bob is hiding magic powers of his own because there's no way he could have snuck up on you without floating here.

But there he is. Shoulder resting against the wall, arms folded over his chest. The rolled sleeves are struggling with his forearms, fabric so tight that the threads silently scream.

"Does it?" Coy. You entirely stole this idea from the front cover of the magazine he had sitting on the kitchen counter.

You don't mean to step forward at the same time he does, but you do. Nose to nose in the blink of an eye, so close that your vision goes a little blurry and out of focus.

A door slams down the hall.

The invisible string snaps.

Your hands are in his hair, and his are on your waist, and mouths are clattering with all the grace and elegance of a car crash. The back of your leg hits the fountain. Sends the thing jumping as you all but slam into the window. It's a wonder you don't go crashing through it, plummeting through miles upon miles of midnight neons.

Because it certainly feels like you did.

Head spinning as if you're in a free fall. Fingers twisting in his hair before unspoken forces can peel you away, sloppily falling into tune with the bold dance of his lips. Fuck, it's so much more than what you've spent the past fifteen minutes picturing in your head. He tastes like cola and honey, so dizzyingly sweet that a sugar rush buzzes through your veins.

What is it with you and this human?

It's as if you're one half of a magnet, hopelessly bound to him by forces that you can't quite identify. Yielding to the subtle pressure of his hands, allowing him to gather you into his chest as if you aren't close enough as it is. Heaven, Hell, and Earth could collapse right here and now, and it still wouldn't be enough to drive a wedge between you.

"And here I thought you weren't the PDA type," that thought was supposed to stay in your head, but it's far too late to do anything about it.

"I think this is a little beyond PDA," Bob's mouth twists into a smile too soon. Teeth smash together with a sound that makes you wince.

There are voices down the hallway, familiar, but you don't care to try and identify them. Whoever they are, they don't get a chance to see you here because Bob's taking hold of your wrist, and you're falling into the clumsiest run imaginable. Arms awkwardly tangling together. His boots too new to grip the floor. Giggling to yourselves as you slide to the right, fighting to get around the corner before he can be recognized.

You're already crashing into each other again. And again. And again. Stealing kisses as if you need one for every few steps taken. Can't function otherwise. Winding through the hall, no regard for where you're going or if it's even the right direction, barging through a door and racing up the stairs. You trip on one. Bob falls on his ass on another.

It's a damn wonder how you find the correct door.

At least, you assume it's the right one because your back all but slams into it; don't even hear the noise that rattles down the empty hall. How are you meant to pay attention to such meaningless things, when a soft pressure appears at your lips? Greedily leaning into it as you all but melt into one another, his breath running ragged.

The key. You need the key.

It's somewhere on him, your hands blindly smoothing over his chest, searching for the outline of that thin plastic key card. And so what if you momentarily hook your fingers into the top of his shirt? It could have been hiding there, for all you know.

Bob finds it just before you do. Plucking the hunk of plastic from his front pocket, and you can feel the heat of his arm as he reaches past.

Beep.

Gravity tilts on its head. Falling backward.

Toned arms loop around your waist. Force you to remain upright. Pulling you close like there's a risk of you blowing away. Stumbling backward. Through the door. You don't know how your arms got around his neck, but you're not making any move to let go. Clinging to him like it's the only thing you know how to do. Nose bumping into his cheek as you find your way to his mouth once more.

One fleeting, accidental brush of his teeth against your lip has electricity bolting up your spine. Shades of gold explode in the depths of your frenzied mind. Fireworks. Tongues tangle for the briefest of seconds. But then he's licking at your bottom lip, and it's parting with a gasp, a little too eager to let him in. Twisting together in a fashion entirely unfamiliar to you, an exquisite dance that has you melting like snow on a summer day.

The mattress greets the backs of your knees, a gentle nudge that has you falling backward without ceremony. He's on top of you within a second, forearms bracing his weight on either side of your head, chests pressing together, and—

"Mmh." His legs spasm around your thigh, only to push it up into him again, pressing against the growing tent in his slacks. Heavy.

"What was that?" In the lightest tone you can conjure up, rubbing your thigh against him once more.

His face flushes red. Eyes darting away like he'll catch on fire if he keeps looking at you, but there's no hiding the way he twitches at your touch. And he knows you've felt it because, somehow, his cheeks get even redder.

"What, don't like being teased?"

"I might die if you keep talking."

You'd like to see how true that statement can be. But that's an experiment for another night; you can only take your mind off of the throbbing heat resting against your thigh for so long.

Fuck, and it seems he's on the same page. Spit-slicked lips find the corner of your jaw, one of his hands smoothing down your side as he works his way beneath your ear. One kiss after the other, only lingering long enough to lightly suck on the skin there. Teeth scrape against you, and you absolutely shouldn't shudder at such a simple feeling, but it happens anyway.

Just like how you wander to his shirt, perhaps a bit too eager to start fumbling with the buttons. They're just as stubborn as you thought they would be, angrily wedging themselves in the gaps designed for them to fit through. Stupid things. Who ever thought these were a good idea?

Bob reaches past you, his wrist bumping your hand away—

Buttons scatter. Rolling across the floor. Bouncing across the bed. One strikes your chin. Another thunks against the headboard.

"I didn't know you had it in you," giggling. Only have a handful of seconds to admire the broad expanse of his pale chest before he's on you again. Picking up right where he left off, somewhere beneath your ear, where you're most sensitive.

His hum sounds like it's wrapped around the shape of your name, vibrating up your neck, rattling around in your skull like an earthquake. It's a wonder you don't fall apart. Fingertips biting into his shoulders, squeezing them as tightly as you can. And he just keeps kissing on you. Working down, down, down to your collar, only stopped by the fabric of your dress.

You can make it disappear.

He knows you can make it disappear.

And yet his hands slip behind your back, tugging down the tiny zipper that runs parallel to your spine.

Takes the time to ease the soft material off your body, impossibly slow, as if he's afraid of ripping it. Past your hips and over your knees. Folds it in half and sets it off to the side. And for a moment, he pauses. Lips shining with the same light that reflects off his glasses, hardly distracting from the sparkle of his eye.

Kisses find the inside of your knee. Working across the joint and delving into the delicate territory of your thigh. It's a tune he's played so many times that you already know where he's going and what thoughts are lurking in the back of his quiet mind. Tempting, but...

The dog tags hanging from his neck are too perfect not to grab. Why he's wearing them, you're not sure, but they reel him back in so damn easily.

But Bob freezes the moment you're eye to eye with him, not entirely sure how to tread this newfangled path he's found himself on. And that must be what makes it so easy to push him around. Flipping your positions with a skill you forgot you had, your ass snug in his lap, knees straddling his hips.

The back of his head thunks against the headboard, unnamed shades of red rising to tint his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

"You're sure?" He croaks; for a split second, you're on the ship again, meeting for the very first time.

"Are you sure?" Countering. The bridge of your nose bumps into his.

You don't necessarily remember what happens after that.

It all melts into a blur. Starts with you bouncing a button off his bare chest and ends with the sound of his pants hitting the floor next to you. You don't know who got the lube out. It must have been him because you still don't know where it even came from, but it's the sensation of his slick fingers pressing into you that catapults you back into reality.

"You remember that I'm a succubus, right?" The intended sarcasm doesn't so much as reach your vocal chords, nothing but a breathy whisper of the obvious.

A smile is all that he gives in return. "I know."

It's been too long since the last time you felt this. The pressure of thick fingers slipping into your already drooling cunt, knuckles catching on your entrance as they drag past. Coarse fingertips drag against your walls, crooked, running across a bundle of nerves that he has no business knowing about. Knows he's found it too, the corner of his mouth twitching upward at the sound of your whine.

Yeah.

It's been too long.

That's why you're so sensitive all of a sudden.

It's certainly not because of the heavy cock resting against the swell of your ass. Has nothing to do with the pools of blue that lurk in his eye; you reckon you'd drown in them if you were to fall forward. No, you only feel like that because of the never-ending city view that sits just past his head. Broad and expansive, just like...just like his shoulders...

You don't realize what your hand is doing until you overhear his sharp inhale. His body jerks, shocked by the sudden trace of your fingers running up the underside of his cock.

Impatience will be the undoing of both of you. In such a sudden hurry that lube spills onto the bed in your rush to slick him up, and it's only after that he realizes he's forgotten about the condom. Doesn't matter. The damn thing flies out of his hand when he tries ripping it open with his teeth, landing somewhere on the floor.

"Again," lifting your hips, lazily smacking his blunt tip against your cunt, "succubus."

"I'm sorry," he's yet to realize you're merely messing with him. Condom, no condom, you don't care either way. "I don't wanna make a mess of you."

"Maybe I want you to make a mess of me," countering. And it's the last thing you can say before the pressure of his cock shuts you up.

If you asked, you're certain he would humbly refer to himself as average, but this is...this is so much better than average. Thicker than usual and wonderfully curved, fitting that a man so intent on pleasing you would also have the perfect cock, too. Stretches you just enough to make your jaw go slack, his fat tip dragging against every little nerve it can find.

Bob tilts his head back, his chest rising with a heavy inhale, and that may be a whine that you hear. His lashes flutter, visibly fighting to keep them open as you sink down on him. Inch after inch, and it's been so long since you last felt this full.

And maybe they've sucked all of the oxygen from the room because neither of you can seem to catch your breath.

"That's..." his eyes drop down, fixating on the sight of him disappearing into you, "shit, that's..."

He doesn't get to finish that thought, and you don't get the chance to bother him about it, entirely distracted by the overwhelming sensation of him bottoming out. Your ass flush with his thighs, so damn full of him that your heart has risen into your throat.

You've already found the strength to lift your body again. Bracing your hands on his shoulders, using him for leverage as your hips lift, the city lights seeming to twinkle when he rubs into those soft nerves. Can only manage to raise yourself by an inch or two before collapsing down into him once more.

The warmth of Bobby's gaze crawls up your naked body, slow, like he's trying to take his time before he meets your eye. And when he does...

"You still in there?" Winding your arms around his neck. Can't seem to get him close enough.

His tongue darts out to wet his swollen lips, dry from panting, "uhuh."

You suppose he's telling the truth because he's present enough to remember how to tilt his head up and catch you with a kiss—breathing hard through your noses. His hands squeezing your hips. Holding them through every rise and fall.

Lube squelches between your legs. His cock head driving directly into that bundle of nerves again, your pussy helplessly spasming around him. You fear you're going to shatter into a million pieces if he does that again, but there's no attempt to shift your angle. Chasing that sensation again, crying out as a shock bolts up your spine.

"Bobby," it slips out so easily. Riding on the coattails of a gasp.

Foreheads knock together. So close that the sight of him goes a little bit fuzzy. Noses bumping when his hips twitch up, snapping into yours so swiftly that it knocks a whimper out of you. Just makes him do it again, and you are not living up to the whole succubus thing by collapsing into his shoulder.

"Fuck, I can—" he grunts, punctuated by the lewd slap of skin against skin, "can feel you clenchin' around me."

And you can feel him twitch inside of you. Such a simple feeling that has you getting wetter around him, can only imagine what kind of mess is forming between your bodies right now. You'd look, but it's hard enough pulling yourself back, thighs burning, desperate to work back into the rhythm you just...built up...

Is...that...?

"What's wrong?" Bob has stopped moving at...some point. You don't know when that was. The concept of time passing is a little bit irrelevant right now.

Words don't necessarily come to you. Fleeting chunks of vaguely related sentences that you can't quite stitch together. You don't...that's not...when did...?

The only thing you can think of is to touch one of them.

His back jerks off the headboard. Sucking in a gasp. Eyes going wide. But then, twitching at the corners, pretty blue irises rolling back, his cock spasming despite your lack of movement. For a moment, not a sound seems to escape him, but then it's all shattered by a barely muffled whimper.

"So that's what's wrong with you." Deadpan.

Touching them made him cum. That's... somewhat familiar, actually.

Bobby's eyes can barely tear themselves open, fighting against them as he blinks up at you. "What?"

You're almost hesitant to touch them again. Two tiny horns, no more than an inch tall, poking out from where those pesky bumps once resided.

Horns. Of course. Why did you think you were wrong when you considered that earlier? They're identical to yours! A few inches above the ear, wide at the base and growing narrow as it nears the tip. Jet black for the time being, but they'll develop their color with time.

The one upside to being a succubus. Uniquely colored horns.

"Not to bring up family while all seven and a half inches of you are inside of me," because you're not sure about how to start this conversation, jumping on the first half-baked plan that comes to mind. "But are you entirely sure your folks are human?"

His head tilts. "Why?"

The only thing you can think of is to take a picture. Those two tiny horns poking out like they're part of a cute headband, so ridiculously small in person and even smaller on his phone. As you pass it off to him, you catch yourself wondering if he'll see them at all.

"...huh." Is all that he can say.

They're far too sensitive for him to touch, not after what mess you just caused, but he tries. Winces the moment his fingertips make contact with the fresh new bone; you can only imagine this is how you reacted the first time your horns made their appearance, too.

You wonder if there's anything behind them. You've seen a few variations where a second pair sprouted behind the first, but you can't see anything from this angle. If you just lean a little further to the right—

A whimper twists through the air. Pretty blue eyes squeeze shut.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"No, no, no, don't," his hands are back on your hips, pulling you back down into his lap before you've even moved an inch, and oh, you can feel his cum beginning to spill out of you. Fuck, there's so...there's so much of it. It'll make a mess of the bed if you're not careful, but you can't move. Not with those big hands anchoring you down.

But he's not done talking.

"Keep going," he blurts, his chest shuddering with a breath. Horns be damned, those aren't on his mind right now. "Please, I just, I want, I want you to—"

A swivel of your hips shuts him up. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, already too late to stifle the pitchy little noise that sails out of his throat. God, that's a hell of a sound. Combined with the way his half-hard cock twitches in you, it's almost too much to bear. He can hardly handle it himself, squirming, not sure if he wants to push into you or away from you.

"There!" Stardust twinkles behind your eyes. "Right there. Don't move."

It's as if the room has exploded into a galaxy. Midnight black and the deepest shades of navy, decorated in a rainbow of distant, twinkling stars. You and him and this big, oversized hotel bed. Weightless. Floating round and round, further and further away, until you're lost to the Milky Way itself.

The fat tip of his cock drives up into those nerves again. Space nearly swallows you up once more. "Bobby..."

Your eyes must have been closed because you don't remember his head tipping back. Dazed, flushed cheeks, so entirely focused on you that the rest of the world ceases to exist at all. Pitchy whimpers, stumbling off his drooling tongue, overstimulated but making no move to push you off of him.

His lips seal. Hardly manages to muffle his noises, but it's already too quiet for your liking.

One of your hands curls around his cheek. Thumb pressing against his bottom lip, hardly takes any pressure for him to give way, allowing you in. And his poor tongue is right there, practically begging you to pin it down, and who are you to deny such a request?

Heat twists in your belly. Pussy clenching tighter around him. Your motions growing jerky. Sporadic. Sparks of color flash behind your eyelids, growing heavier by the second. And it's so fucking loud in this room. Whimpers. Cries. Blending together so seamlessly that you can't tell who makes what noise. Every motion punctuated by an all-too-loud squelch of cum and lube, fuck, this bed is going to be ruined after this.

"I-I'm—" Bob whines, tongue flexing beneath your thumb. Eyes glassy, one blink away from tears spilling over the brim.

"Close." Don't know if you're finishing his sentence or speaking for yourself.

It washes over you with all the strength and violence of a tidal wave. Hips stalling. Head falling back. Cumming on his cock with an unexpected cry, heat racing through your veins, skin prickling, breath hung up in your throat. You think your eyes cross. Can't really figure out how true that is, too busy floating through the cracks in the universe to think about anything but the spasm of his length inside of you.

And you're vaguely aware that he's cumming, too, his cries vibrating through your thumb and deep into your bones.

"Still in there?" You find yourself asking after a moment.

Bob hums and you're only now realizing that his glasses are gone, blinking up at you with unfocused eyes. Where they've gone, you don't know; don't think you could get up and look for them if you tried.

All of the strength has left your legs. Thighs trembling as you lift yourself from his lap. And they can only hold you up for so long before you find yourself collapsing next to him, greeted by the significantly cooler sheets.

Those horns are still there. All too present as he tries to snuggle down onto a pillow, inconveniently brushing against the fabric. You're both a damn mess. His lower belly glistens in the light, and you can already feel his cum beginning to spill out of you onto the sheets.

Sheets that you don't want to change for a cleaner set.

But the shower is so far away...and Bob is curling his arm around you. Pulling you closer to him as if the six inches of space between your bodies is too much for him to handle. Your nose bumps into his chin, the slightest hint of stubble growing there.

You should hide his razor and see what happens.

"How do I make them disappear?" Bob's voice cracks in the middle, sporadically skyrocketing in pitch. Water might do him good, but...damn, the fridge is by the bathroom.

"I'll teach you, eventually," your voice isn't doing much better; you can hardly get it above a whisper. "I wanna see them on you for a little longer first."

His eyes roll, shaking his head all the while. Almost like he expected you to say that. But he doesn't call you out on it, content to tilt his head down and shut you up instead. Swollen lips crashing together, lazily tangling. A small explosion would be less messy, tongues licking into each other's mouths and teeth clacking so hard that your even bones recoil at the sensation.

...but there's pressure on your shoulder, and you're rolling onto your back, his comfortable weight settling on top of you. Half hard against your thigh.

"Satisfied?" You murmur, though you suppose you already know the answer to that.

His lips curl into a smile. Devilish, even. "No."

You're beginning to think you've swapped roles in this relationship.

#robert bob floyd #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x reader #oneshot #bob floyd

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wannabanauthor · 2 days ago

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Some tips for mental health with regards to BuckTommy and 911 the show.

Stop reading the interviews and making guesses about what Tim and the writers might be planning for BuckTommy in the long run.

All y’all are doing is stressing yourselves out.

As much as we may be emotionally invested in the show, please remember that the show is a job for the people involved. They’re going to do/say whatever they believe is in their best interest.

The next episode won’t air until March 2025.

There is nothing we can do to ensure that BuckTommy gets back together. We can voice our opinions, but we cannot control which route the show decides to take.

Worrying and stressing out over it helps no one including yourselves. Trump is going to become President before the rest of the season airs.

If y’all are like me, you’re in several marginalized categories that will be affected by the new administration.

Dealing with that stress is going to be hard enough, so please don’t wear yourself out over the tv show.

Just engage with fandom and focus on the positives and channel the negatives into creating something. Whether it’s art, fanfiction, meta, headcanons, etc.

I’m not saying ignore your emotions and feelings. Process them in a healthy way. We care more about the show than the show cares about us. That’s evident.

The interviews are not reliable sources about the future of BuckTommy. They haven’t been for a while.

All I’m saying is that life is about to get much worse for us in the coming months, so don’t expend all your energy reading too much into the interviews and social media posts from the folks who work on the show.

Also, again, this show is a job for Tim, the writers, cast, and crew. They’re going to do whatever they feel is best for the show regardless of how we feel. We’ve seen it happen before in other fandoms and fiction who had better writers than 911.

At the end of the day, it’s just business for them. Haven’t you ever submitted crappy work at your job? Or made mistakes? Mistakes that may have negatively affected someone? That is how it goes for all industries. Some professionals will produce great work one day, then terrible work another day. That’s just how life is.

Is it fair? Nope. Can you do anything about it? Not really. You don’t know what goes on behind the scenes of the show. All we know is what they give us, and that’s been inconsistent for a while.

You are allowed to mourn over it, just don’t get carried away with the conspiracies or guesses as to what folks are going to do at their jobs. We don’t know any of those folk.

Also remember that mediocre white men are always going to be mediocre white men with unearned confidence.

Good night. Rest, create, self-care, and do something that makes you happy or laugh. Find joy in the small things. One time a colleague at my former job had the biggest smile on his face when we got the door lock to the front desk fixed. I will always remember that. We had a tough job, and we had to learn to appreciate the small things to stay sane.

#bucktommy #911 abc #discourse

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fandomfixationstation · 3 days ago

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Asexual Reader x TWST Characters: Part Two! Rewritten

This is a rewrite of earlier posts I once wrote on a different blog. I am revisiting this and trying to improve on what I wrote and once again doing this for myself and other asexuals who lack the content and kindness others get. Writing this for every fanfic I've read where the character breaks up with the reader for being asexual and doing better.

That said, Everything will be entirely my headcanons and you aren’t required to agree with my interpretations of the characters and story.

(Part two)

Malleus Draconia

Malleus Has only considered two things. The fact he has loved his significant other more than most things he can think of, and that being royalty means a lot of complicated matters. But of course he is more than happy to reassure his significant other that he treasures more than anything in all of the realms and any dilemmas or choices to be made or had will be made together.

Malleus will do everything in his power to be supportive and an ally. It might start with getting a Flag, but it most certainly doesn’t stop there by any means of the matter. As I had said the first time I wrote the post, please imagine he gives you a locket with a picture of the two of you. Give or take some cheesy engraving, a decoration of everlasting love of the purest form or something akin to it.

As I'm sure I've already said before, and likely to say again in the future. Malleus will always make sure that you're okay with whatever physical touch he gives you. He'll be up most respectful of any boundaries that may change at any point.

Otherwise, there isn’t a whole thing to say. Due to being a prince his relationships were always going to be complicated and something he was going to figure out the hard way. So regardless he’ll fight to make sure the two of you will be happy in your relationship, whatever that may specifically look like for the two of you.

Jade Leech

Going to double down on Jade being one of the most understanding people on this, he doesn’t need an explanation on what it means. The only questions he really has is what does that mean for you and what your comfort levels are with specific actions. Rather business casual, non stressful chat. Very clear communication will be had.

Unapologetically saying Jade Leech is also Asexual. So this honestly works out for himself. Your boundaries are respected, so are his. While he might not always be the most romantic, he does have his moments! They are thoughtful when he is and it will always be very endearing and something meaningful to the both of you.

While his gifts are usually very thoughtful and tailored specifically to your liking: it is non negotiable that you will get one mushroom terrarium as a token of goodwill, affection, and to generally remind you of him when he isn’t able to be around. It came free after listening to him info dump for about an hour about mushrooms.

Also, for the first time disagreeing with myself. Jade doesn’t usually cuddle, but like that mostly boils down to getting the right setting to get him to settle down to cuddle. Turn off his brain and eel cuddles. You will be trapped for at least an hour, longer if he can get away with it.

Riddle Rosehearts

I will not be the first nor the last person to mention just how sheltered Riddle grew up. That said, despite at first having no good idea what you're talking about he is the most willing to ask questions to make sure he understands. He certainly is going to have to look into queer history in general to make sure he doesn’t make a fool out of himself later either. So he’ll definitely be supportive of you, any other queer people he ends up interacting with. You’ll just have to bear with him through his initial confusion.

Riddle probably has a mental list of what is allowed and what isn't allowed. If he can remember all the queen's rules because they're important to him, he can certainly remember things that you like and don’t like because you are important to him. This also means he gets good at memorizing what teas you like, and what kind of gifts you enjoy the most, or what ways you prefer to spend time together.

Unbirthdays, Birthdays, other events in which it is acceptable to give gifts or generally spoil a person: riddle will always make sure that there is something that you’ll enjoy. A single gift that will make you feel thought off, some sort of food dish that is to your preferred tastes. Afterwards is probably always spent with cuddles and a cup of tea to unwind. A break well earned if you will.

I think Riddle is more of a love letter kind of person than giving you poetry, however if he does give you poetry he is very embarrassed by it, and without a doubt its cheesy. But its cute. Everything down to the punctuation is thought over at least twice before he dares to give it to you, wanting only the best for you.

Epel Felmier

“why wouldn’t I still love you? You’re still the same person I fell in love with after all. You're just a butterfly who’s found its wings” Was a banger of a line and i will leave it here to be appreciated. Also considering that I headcanon Epel to be trans, he just gets it. Be might ask for a bit of clarification, but he gets it the fastest. Most understanding.

Will go out of his way to make you feel loved and appreciated! You will get the most random reminders that he cares about you and how much he loves you. Probably little notes and gifts for you, left where you’ll get them.

There are plenty of cute date ideas: picnics, apple picking, horseback riding, I could go on really. But the idea is that he’ll always bring you something, usually a snack of some kind. If he doesn’t he’ll make you a flower crown, or maybe weave flowers into your hair if that is more your thing. Regardless, it is sweet and fun. No expectations of anything else but to be in each other's company.

---

Part One | Part Two

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mixelation · 2 days ago

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i want to post something so here's some async. takes place after minato ambushes tori in her hotel

it's little disjointed because some of the scene were written ages ago, and i definitely want to smooth over and flesh some of it out. also there's a [...] break which is where kushina tells minato he is an idiot in various ways and gives him advice. however i have not written it yet

xXx

Minato went home and collapsed onto his futon, a huge smile on his face. That had been fun. It was nice, to face off against someone when the fate of Konoha didn’t hang in the balance. Like, yes, Reina had come closer to killing him than anyone had since that incident with Kushina and the Kyuubi, but also if she’d succeeded, it wasn’t like he’d be losing ground for Konoha or something. Minato was good, but he wasn’t so arrogant as to think he was irreplaceable to Konoha.

She didn’t even try to kill me, Minato thought, folding his arms behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. That’s progress, right?

He’d figured she’d definitely have something up her sleeve when he showed up again, which is why he’d gone in kunai first. He’d had no idea what that would be, and he’d been excited for the surprise. All the fuinjutsu he’d found from Reina was insane looking and unique to her. He’d had no way to predict how she thought or what she was even capable of. If he’d hesitated again this time, she would have had that barrier up around her before he’d be able to do anything about it, and then who knew what sort of things she’d be able to do from the safety of her little bubble.

Maybe I should have let her try, Minato thought, his stomach doing a giddy little flip at the idea. That’s what a good friendly spar was about, wasn’t it? It wasn’t about winning. It was about testing yourself against someone else, and letting them test out their own techniques against you.

Minato did like winning, though, especially when his opponent was someone he actually had to try against. He had felt good in the moment, to have seen her trap and snuck around it.

But he’d… somehow, after reviewing what had happened in his head, he felt a little guilty. He remembered how fast Reina’s heartbeat had been the whole time he’d had her pinned, how she’d been distrustful even after he’d used his most people-pleaser voice to promise he didn’t want to hurt her.

Had he scared her? Maybe. He hadn’t really thought about it, when it was happening. He’d just spent weeks thinking about her face, how confident she’d been in her own victory. He’d forgotten how nervous civilians were around ninja. He could barely wrap his head around the idea that someone like Reina might be just as nervous about ninja as the next civilian.

He’d wanted to ask more questions about her… experiments, or whatever she was doing. But he could tell she was upset despite him using his most charming smile, and so he’d left her.

Minato’s plan, then, was to give Reina a week or so to calm down while he ran a couple of missions. He’d stop by the Yamanaka flower shop and get some advice on what type of flower he could give to a young woman he wanted to be kindling a friendship with. He had never needed to know it for any of his roles as a shinobi, but Minato knew kunoichi all got trained in flower language, and so he’d often hear women complaining or gossiping about faux-pas their boyfriends made. He’d gotten his fairshare of bouquets from admirers and then had Kushina decode them for him, a flirty little game they used to play before… well.

Minato had no idea if Reina would know anything about flowers, but he wanted something pretty without accidentally telling her I love you passionately forever please marry me also you smell bad or something.

As the days passed, however, Minato couldn’t help but check in on where her Hiraishin moved. He gave markers to teammates all the time temporarily, and Jiraiya usually had one on him, but…

It was kind of exciting, to know where Reina was. He had so many questions about her, about how she saw the world and where she was going. Being able to concentrate briefly and see that she’d moved a few kilometers gave him no answers, and yet made him feel like he was learning something about her.

And then, before he could ask anyone about flowers, one day Minato realized that the mark he had attached to Reina hadn’t moved in a while. This wasn’t unusual. There were a lot of reasons someone wouldn’t move around a lot, like sleep or sitting around for some reason. But he’d checked in on her a couple times a day, and she hadn’t moved in a very long time. Even if she was hunched over a new seal to kill him for hours at a time, she’d at least get up and move around eventually.

Could she maybe not move? Had she been captured? Minato, to his own surprise, found himself worried. She was his project. And she was deadly clever, but she was still just a soft little civilian.

Minato teleported to the marker. Instead of dropping in on Reina, he found himself in the middle of the air. His own marker trembled in the wind in front of him. This wasn’t at all what he had expected.

Gravity worked faster than his brain. Minato was falling. The ground was so, so far away. It took him a couple seconds to realize what had happened, and he was lucky he was so high in the air, because he had time to think to teleport again.

Hirashin kept the user’s momentum. Minato crashed painfully into the ground, hundreds of kilometers away in a Fire Country forest. His arm slammed down to break his fall, and pain seared through him on impact.

She fractured my arm, Minato thought dully, sitting on the ground and staring down at his injured arm. His heart pounded in his chest, his blood flooded with adrenaline.

The marker he’d gone to was definitely the one he’d stuck on Reina, because he’d been monitoring her. He’d followed her path. But it… she’d somehow removed it from her body and stuck it to sealing paper, and then hung the paper over the cliff. He… he had no idea how she’d done that. It wasn’t supposed to be possible for other people to remove his markers.

Usually when he teleported to a marker sight-unseen, he was better prepared for surprises. He normally would have reacted faster. But “floating in the middle of the air” had been so far out of what he thought was possible right up until that moment, that he’d simply been unable to process it.

His stomach squeezed oddly, making his toes curl in his sandals.

Minato teleported back to the marker. Because he knew what to expect this time, he was able to keep his wits about him. He took two milliseconds to assess the situation: the paper with the mark hung by a fishing line, which in turn hung from a scraggly tree that had the misfortune of growing out from a tiny outcrop of rocks on a cliffside. The fishing line was over a meter long; he had no chance of grabbing hold of the tree, and without something to propel him sideways, he had no way to make contact with the cliff and use chakra to stop his fall.

Minato grabbed the paper out of the air and teleported back to the forest, all before he’d built up enough momentum to injure himself on the landing this time.

[...]

It took him over a week to find Reina again, partially because he took a mission in the middle of his hunt. Curly hair wasn’t common, and people noticed young women traveling alone, so her movements through towns weren’t hard to track, but he did have to do a ton of interviews.

He was slowed down briefly where she appeared to wander off down a little-used road and switch to camping. Minato was as good a tracker as the next jounin, but it wasn’t his specialty, and he sort of had to rewire his gut instincts to follow Reina. She wasn’t a ninja and she didn’t cover for herself the way a ninja would. She didn’t travel through trees, and her average speed was extremely low.

He didn’t approach her immediately when he found her in a tent set up a little ways off the road. He had, after all, promised her flowers. Flowers would also maybe soften the blow of her fury if she tried to kill him again… maybe.

Did he want her to try killing him again? It did seem a bit exciting, but he also did truly want to just talk to her.

Spring hadn’t quite hit the northern countries yet, but Minato knew things further south were likely to already be starting. He teleported through a few places deep in the southern Fire Country forests before he finally found a squat little tree, heavy with dark pink flowers. He pulled off a whole branch since, assuming he could charm Reina into not attempting to him again, he wanted to see her do something with its chakra, and more tree meant more chakra. They were azaleas, he was pretty sure. That seemed pretty safe and generic.

Maybe she can help me with senjutsu, Minato thought absently, teleporting back to where he’d left a marker just outside of Reina’s camp.

She did jump to her feet immediately when he stepped into the clearing. But there was no deadly trap, and she didn’t look upset.

“Wow, you are persistent,” she said. “Did you actually bring me flowers?”

She stared at the branch in his hands, nonplussed.

“You broke my arm,” Minato said brightly.

Reina lifted the gaze from the flower to his face, her eyebrows raised.

“Er, it’s okay,” Minato said. He shuffled his feet nervously. “I talked to my… female friend, and she pointed out that I probably shouldn’t have… marked you. If I wanted to be friends. Sorry.”

“...apology accepted,” Reina said slowly. “Sorry I tried to kill you again. Are those rhododendrons?”

She held out her hands, and Minato passed the branch over.

“I think they’re azaleas?” Minato said.

“Rhododendrons are poisonous,” Reina said, a huge smile passing over her face as she turned the branch over in her hands.

Cute, Minato thought, unbidden. This was followed by: Wait, what?

#the joke is that azaleas are in the rhododendron family #i found a list of azalea meanings in japan and based on color they mostly have to do with romance and beauty #however in western flower language rhododendrons means 'danger' because they are indeed poisonous #my writing #asynchronicity #toriverse

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fandoms-in-law · 2 days ago

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A Demon's Safehouse

Summary: Steve isn't 'neglected' or 'abandoned', He's a child who got sold to a demon before ever being born. He knows why the demon isn't around just like he knows xir roar as he fights demobats off after being yanked into the upside down.

Everyone else involved in his life and the Upside Down do not know who/what this is or why they're getting deposited in a safehouse all together.

Author's note: If you want to read this in separate chapters, it's done like that on AO3, but honestly, I'm not making 11 posts and messing about linking them all today, so tumblr can have it all in one post. This is based on/ an expansion of an idea I shared august 2023 but as that scene is included in the fic, I don't think it needs linking either. Please enjoy.

/\/\

It wasn’t something Steve spoke about, finding it too complicated to explain for nobody to believe him. Then it felt too personal, or too much like Nancy’s gun would be trained back on him never moving, to share at all.

Then again, his friends finding out like this wasn’t much more preferable either.

Perhaps the Upside Down actually was connected to Hell for his owner’s roar to be echoing through the trees. Perhaps he wasn’t about to die at the hands of these bat-like creatures.

Steve had been trying to fight, had managed to get the bat choking him off once Nancy, Robin and Eddie appeared to help fight with him, but now he dropped, the roar ringing through him as he realised he demonic owner was aware he’d been, was being, attacked. The command to stay out of it didn’t need stating beyond that noise.

“Steve, get the fuck back up! Nancy demanded in a scream. “We have to keep-” Her words cut off as his owner threw her and Robin to the ground beside him, and Steve could see Eddie dropping similarly to how he had at the sight.

“Xe enforces orders if they aren’t immediately followed.” He explained, fairly sure that only gave his ex more questions.

“Xe?” Robin asks, wriggling to grab his hand. “Xe is a name for the thing eviscerating the bats? Xe gave no orders?”

Steve laughs, “Xir pronoun. You’ll get used to it and you wouldn’t have understood it.”

A low snarl had him laughing more as he sat up, “This is what sends you on the rampage? A few bat creatures? Forget Jonathan, the demogorgan, demodogs, mindflayer, Hargrove or the Russians, this is what makes you all possessive?”

“Are you making a joke? Why are two of those beginning demon?” There’s venom in xir voice and Steve huffs, dialling back his amusement before he got in trouble. It might not have happened before but if being made to follow orders was unpleasant he didn’t want to know what a punishment would mean.

“Nancy’s brother and his friends used their game to name things. Dorks and dragons.” He explained. “And should I mention thinking this place is a hive mind? Everything but us possibly connected and wanting us dead?”

Xe growled again, but snapped xir claw moving all of them out of the Upside Down, Steve hoped.

/\/\

Steve and the demon were the only ones to remain standing when they appeared in the safehouse and he looked around half curiously. He’d only been a few times in his life and knew the rooms changed by themselves so wanted to figure out if he’d been in their current room before.

“Stay here. I’ll get the rest then sort out whatever went on there.” Xe ordered, already turning to leave.

Steve chuckled, calling back “How would you expect us to leave?”

“How did you get there!” The exasperated call hadn’t finished when xe vanished.

Nancy had stood in the exchange and glared at him. “Who and what was that? Where are we, Steve?” She demanded.

“A safehouse.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, still a bit amused. “That was a demon, specifically xir my owner, something about a deal before I was born.”

“So the Upside Down is hell?” Robin asked, chipper as if that would distract Nancy from her annoyance.

Steve shrugged, “Maybe, don’t know. Wouldn’t have said so if xe hadn’t shown up.” Thinking about it made him snicker at the thought demons had been coming after him for years and xe hadn’t known until now.

Nancy’s eyes glinted as she started to ask something else but broke off at the sound of Erica Sinclair yelling in the next room.

“You don’t abduct kids! Put us back! This is – Steve?” Erica stopped at the sight of them, hurrying over to Steve and Robin to check they were okay.

Steve grinned, waving to Dustin, Lucas and Max too. “Hey, Xe isn’t much for introductions but in better news, I think xir going to sort this mess out for us.” Staying in the safehouse seemed like a lot more fun with his kids and Robin around. Eddie wasn’t a bad addition either and Nancy would have to calm down sooner or later, right?

“You got yanked into the lake and now we’ve been dragged here by god knows what. What’s going on?” Max asked, nearly demanding and looking around in concern but not fear after realising he was mostly relaxed.

“Demon got possessive over Steve.” Robin teased, leaning over his shoulder, “And has put us all in time out because of it.” Having the pressure on his back reminded Steve that he probably did still need some first aid, but he didn’t feel like bringing that to anyone’s attention. If it was anything like his first stay here then he’d soon be healed regardless.

Dustin’s eyes had lit up at the comment, staring at him with as many questions but at least a slightly less demanding expression than Nancy had. “Demons are real? What are they like? Do they really make deals? Why is one involved now? Is Vecna a demon?” He rattled off the questions all at once and Steve laughed.

“Yes, varied, yes, me and probably not. Does this have to be a constant interrogation?” He answered them all in order still laughing.

“Yes. You’ve hid a lot from us we definitely need to know now. Xe’s you’re parent?” Steve was surprised nobody was checking him for concussions simply because he’s laughing more at the repeated question. Nancy kept glaring as she waited for an answer though, and the kids seemed torn between looking around the house they’d all been deposited in and asking more of their own.

“Xir my owner. You know, demon deals, fairytale deals with witches, that kind of thing?” He stated.

Lucas frowned at him for a moment, “Owned like a pet or like a slave?”

“Same difference. I still have little choice over what I-” He broke off as more yelling broke out. He’d assumed only the kids in Hawkins were getting dragged to this safe house but given that was definitely Mike and Jonathan’s voices apparently he was wrong.

Steve led the others through rooms to the new arrivals just in time for Joyce, Murray, some guy yelling in Russian and Hopper? Somehow Hopper was also appearing.

Robin looked over them and back to Steve. “I know you said xe owns you but xir doing the impossible and raising the dead. Joyce, what deal did you make?”

A look of added confusion at the question told Steve enough. “Hey Hopper, by any chance were you captured by the Russians at Starcourt and tortured over the last year?”

“Yes but getting kidnapped while escaping was not my expectation.” Hopper agreed, scowling and looking around. “Especially not since it seems everyone else involved in the Upside Down has been too. What does that thing want from us?”

“Xir property to be safe and looked after. Pretty sure xe isn’t bothered beyond that.” Steve flippantly answered. “Honestly xir going further than I expected, so Jonathan, I’m very sorry for mentioning you when xe first turned up.”

Hopper leant back, glaring at him now, rather than around the room. “We’ve been kidnapped by what? Because of you how?”

“A demon I was sold to before I was born. We haven’t been kidnapped, just stored at a safehouse, I think while xe gets rid of the Upside Down entirely? Attacking a demons property isn’t a good idea if xe finds out.”

“Can I kill the Harrington’s? Is that actually the surname of your parents?” Steve had to laugh at Robin’s words, knowing that everyone’s focus was likely to stay on him for a while.

That was also when he properly registered the group around Mike and Jonathan had someone he didn’t know but also had a girl far quieter than he’d have expected. “El? You’re glaring at the wall, not reuniting with Hopper or anyone. Are you okay?” He asked, stepping over to her.

“No.” The reply was succinct but not helpful, and Hopper was moving towards her just as Steve was. “Your demon only put us all in the safehouse but other people helped me too.”

Steve frowned, “I think xe has only gathered people I view as family or who were with and helping people when xe located you all.”

“I was getting my powers back.” She said bluntly. “I need them.”

“Pretty sure you don’t.” Eddie called, waving with a grin when Hopper frowned over at him. “Guessing you’re the supergirl these guys kept mentioning and after seeing Steve’s demon in action, I don’t think you need to worry about fighting anything Upside Down any more.”

“But Jonathan hurt Steve once. I need to protect him.” El retorted.

Steve huffed a laugh out again. He knew his owner wouldn’t hurt him, or share xir name until xe decided he was old enough, but to most of the group xe was an unknown threat that had them captured before they’d got a chance to fight back. Then here was their group’s superhero being the only one to listen and connect what he’d said together. “You’re right. I can’t guarantee I can calm xim down if xe decides Jonathan needs punishing for a fight we had 3 years ago, but I will try to talk to xim first. I will do what I can to protect him, just as much as you will.” He reassured her, before blinking and glancing over to Eddie. “Also, yes Eddie, this is El or Jane as I think she’s legally called now. El, this is Eddie. He’s the DM of the boys club and witnessed the first death of this go around. We’ve been keeping him hidden as the town’s gone full witch hunt after him.”

“This go around?” Jonathan asked, trepidation breaking into his voice as everyone who hadn’t been in Hawkins froze, turning to whomever they were closest to that had stayed in Hawkins.

Robin snickered now, coming to lean over Steve’s shoulder. “Did you think this boy’s owner kidnapped us all for normal shit? Steve was trying to find out if there was a gate where the kid’s compasses pointed and got dragged through. Me, Wheeler and Munson dived in after just in time for xim to show up.”

/\/\

Steve had to get away from being the centre of attention for a while. He got it. Everyone had apparently been dealing with shit and being put in one place together wasn’t really a solution to any of it, but that didn’t mean he had any answers or knowledge beyond having been brought here once before.

After trying and failing to slip away a few times he just ignored the people calling him back, cutting through doors he remembered thinking were cupboards when he was twelve and trying to explore everywhere. He could only hope they’d believe the same now, or be too uncertain over exploring a demon’s home to try going through them.

“You doing okay?” Robin asked, coming through a different door a few minutes later. From the direction he bet she’d watched him leave and gone in the opposite direction out of the room most of the group was trying to stay gathered in. Xe must like her though, because finding him now meant the house had helped her pick the directions to try and find him in.

“Fine.” He muttered, slouching into the chair between bookshelves.

She didn’t reply, just came over to sit on the armrest, leaning over him.

“Slaves are owned by other humans and aren’t free. Children are effectively owned by their parents or guardians and have a time limit on when they should become free. I am owned by a demon and will never be free even in death. It hangs over me and I don’t know what xe wants, or expects from me other than that I’ll have to give it when asked.” He ranted, tugging at his hair in frustration. “When xe explained how to be popular I thought that was xir orders for me, but xe didn’t care when I stopped. Xe suggested I support myself. It wasn’t an order but I took it as one, and now we’re here?”

Robin’s hand brushed his back comfortingly. “You’re still worried about missing xir orders, aren’t you?”

“That growl was the clearest I’ve had in years. It was simple.” He looked at her, showing his fear and confusion. “I’m not free but xir not – I don’t know if I’m trapped either, beyond everyone temporarily being stuck here.”

“So we’re all expecting you to know what’s going on when you’re probably the most lost out of all of us.”

He sighed heavily. “The kids shouldn’t know what I’m going through. They’ve got good parents.”

Robin nodded, sliding into the chair so they were squished together. “Dustin’s trying to get Lucas and Mike to scheme with him over how to buy you from the demon even without knowing much.” She commented. “Will and Eddie meanwhile dodged out of the conversation claiming that they should try to find you after you left. I think they’re actually trying to figure each other out. Will’s upset with the other boys and on edge with Eddie while Eddie is so interested in Will. Apparently the kids apparently talk him up during Hellfire.”

“Ten bucks says one of the next campaigns covers breaking into a demon house.” Steve snorted. “This place treats people differently based on how much xe likes you.”

/\/\

“That boy cares for you and her and immeasurably for those kids. And you? You’re forever two steps from taking one of his kids away cause you never bothered getting to know him.” Xe was quiet, firm and Jonathan didn’t know what was going on.

The demon had come back to the safehouse, spoken to El, nodded through a door at Robin and tugged him through to a separate room. Xe was undeniably dangerous but the mind reading, if that’s what was happening, had him on edge more than any risk of harm.

Still he disagreed. “I know Harrington well enough.”

“Then tell me when he and Nancy broke up.” Xe stated. Something showed xe were annoyed but controlling xirself carefully and part of Jonathan wished he could identify what.

“Tina’s Halloween party in ‘84.”

“When Wheeler was black out drunk and went to seek him out the next day? Nope, they didn’t.”

“Well then that’s when.” It seemed like the logical assumption, but Jonathan stepped back as he realised he only had assumptions now, that Nancy had never said and he hadn’t thought to ask, even through Murray’s matchmaking conversation and that night.

“Still wrong. They were arguing but not breaking up. My boy got her flowers and was going to try talking it through later.” Xe stated and now what xe was saying grew clearer.

Arguably Jonathan was one of the first people involved with the Upside Down and one of the first to take steps to fight back against it, but in that moment he wondered just how much of the story he’d missed. It definitely showed that some of the interpersonal relationships had gone unnoticed or ignored because they focused on Steve Harrington and he hadn’t cared to know.

“I don’t read minds. I see the past and intentions or desires of people. You know nothing of my human. You are blinded by rumours and assumptions plus a bad day which your actions made worse. Lose them and get to know Steve.” Xe ordered. “Or I will ensure it’s him all the kids go to first for brotherly help and advice.”

With that the demon left and Jonathan froze, wanting to ask who Steve’s kids were despite already knowing. Xe could estrange Will to him if he didn’t listen and that terrified him more than any attack or threat of physical harm could.

/\/\

Nancy had watched the door since the demon took Jonathan through it and was already standing when xe walked straight past her. “Aren’t you going to drag me off too?”

She’d thought over what Steve had said more due to El’s worries and had reasoned xir mentioned protectiveness would mean xe had judgement for her too.

Xe looked at her like she was an irritating bug. “No. You’ve already realised how little you know of Steve and already seen how easily Michael can estrange or replace you. There’s nothing to say that wouldn’t waste breath.”

The dismissal almost hurt more than whatever she’d expected. It only made her feel smaller when xe went to kneel at Erica’s side, “Young Miss, you made a deal with my human we need to discuss.”

/\/\

Erica didn’t fear this demon. Xe might own Steve and use pronouns she’d never heard of but she had xir number: If xe expected them to believe Steve was just xir property xe shouldn’t have gathered everyone for him.

“So are you looking to renegotiate for Steve or tell me to let it go?” She asked, following xim in the direction Will and Eddie had gone exploring in.

Xe looked over xir shoulder at her, amused as xe reached into a cabinet of the kitchen they’d entered, “Neither. I’m giving you your due.”

“A bowl and a spoon?” She eyed the items sceptically. “We have plenty of those at home.”

“But can you state an ice cream flavour and have it appear in those?” There was a challenge in xir eyes that she met easily, deciding what to test the bowl with.

“One scoop lemon dream, 2 scoops chocolate brownie, topped with caramel sauce.” She glanced down after saying to see the ice cream she’d requested there. “This is staying with Steve for now. I don’t need my parents getting suspicious of it, but why?”

Xe watched her, assessing but not judgemental. “Steve misunderstood something I said. This is how I’ll help my boy for now.”

She narrowed her eyes for a moment, tempted to wait it out and try for more information but shrugged it off, realising that she shouldn’t push a demon too much. “Okay then. Are we safe now?”

Xe only said yes before xe was gone back towards the room everyone else was in.

/\/\

While xe had been with Erica, Nancy had vanished from the visitors room. Xe was certain she was trying to find Jonathan, and xe knew that some of the kids had gone into a neighbouring room when xe arrived to discuss freeing xir boy; a sweet sentiment.

The teens and kids remaining looked uncomfortable so xe offered, “If you want to explore, go ahead, kids. Steve will find you when you get lost.” Getting lost was assured for most of them and xe wasn’t going to lie about it.

The powerful girl hesitated, looking from xim to the adults. “He’s learning. Be nice.” She cautioned but corralled the other kids with her, claiming Jonathan would be nearby when the final older teen tried to remain.

“Smart kid, knows which battles to pick and yours is already lost.” Xe commented, turning to the emancipated man who’d jumped up. “Although your latest months have been punishment enough for that.”

“What’s lost?” Hopper demanded, glaring and moving closer. Xe found it daring but stupid, as if simply sending the kids to explore had been a threat xe needed attacking over.

Xe smiled coldly, the temperature of the room matching xir expression. “Any chance you or her can claim to care for my boy.”

“We do!” Joyce protested. “He’s a good-”

“Shield.” Xe interrupted. “That’s what you use him as. A body shield for the kids you leave in danger.”

Both humans bolstered and Hopper snapped, “That is not how we see him. He’s brilliant.”

“It is pretty much how he gets treated.” Murray said nonchalantly, still sitting and looking around at the exits to the room. “I mean, Joyce’s eldest and his girlfriend have already had their talking to, sorry for my part in that, I guess, but we’re the grown ups here. No kid should be left to protect others but that’s exactly what we’ve done twice and unknowingly a third time I’m gathering.”

Xe laughed. “This man, he argued against kids being involved at all the one time he was active in the fighting. Makes him the best parent of the lot of you after my boy. Steve accepts that they’re involved and will not stay out of it through any restriction less air tight than literally spiriting them away to a safe house they can’t leave.”

“My kids are my world.” Joyce protested.

“Who you abandoned with lies instead of an explanation when you decided to try saving him.” Xe countered, gaze darkening. “And who weren’t willing to share the bullying they’ve gone through or the fact one of them was apprehended for an assault before you left that she’s since been arrested for. The entire mess I’ve cleared up is the only reason she’s not in a cell still. Good parents don’t forget to look after their kids because of a ransom note.”

Neither Hopper or Joyce knew how to respond to that and even Murray was shifting uncomfortably

“I am involved and I will do what you failed to do.” Xe stated. “El believes you are learning but you had better learn quickly, because currently I will support my boy adopting any of those kids he thinks needs a safer or better home and support system. He’s proved himself in doing that already. You have not.”

/\/\

The demon was still there. Dustin had checked and kept listening on the conversation through the archway. Xe had been harsh on Hopper and Joyce from the bits he’d been able to make out clearly enough, but hadn’t left.

Actually Hopper and Joyce had been the ones to leave, storming out through the room Dustin had pulled Mike and Lucas through to and further into the house. Given how many people had gone through the 3 doors into these rooms, Dustin was beginning to suspect it shifted around them.

Either way, it gave them the chance to make their case. Murray wouldn’t stop them and whoever the new man was didn’t seem to understand English so couldn’t.

The demon looked amused as he pulled his friends through, leaning back in a chair, showing xir control of the situation better than any executive ever could. “You have a question?” Xe drawled meeting each of their eyes.

“We want Steve.” Dustin began but fell silent at xir dismissive laugh.

Xe waved a hand to one exit of the room, “He’s through there. I’m not keeping him trapped here. Once I know that area is completely gone, you’re all going back to Hawkins, my boy included.”

He stuttered for a moment, but hearing Mike’s argumentative noise tried again, “You can’t own people! We want Steve.”

“And you can?” Xe stood, looming over him for a moment, “That’s what you’re asking for, ownership transfer and frankly humans treat people they claim to own worse than any demon has treated anyone they’ve owned.”

“As if we believe that!” Mike snapped, coming to stand beside Dustin and cutting off any attempt to focus on what they’d give to have Steve. “You’re a demon. You lie.”

The demon scoffed now, gesturing vaguely around the exits to the two rooms, “Look at your girlfriend and best friend. Steve is my boy. That’s not changing.”

Both boys huffed, glancing back to Lucas who remained slightly behind them silently. Dustin only took a moment to think over the demon’s words before arguing, “He shouldn’t be owned by anyone. Let him go.” He was proud for a moment, thinking that changing the phrasing would explain what they wanted better.

“No. He won’t see it as giving him ownership of himself. He’ll see it as ownership transferral and you brats already push his boundaries and take advantage of everything he does for you. I will keep my boy and ensure he knows refusing you is okay, encouraged even when he needs a break.” Xe explained calmly now, but firm.

“We do not-” Mike began to argue.

Xe stepped to lean close to him, “Wheeler, you treat him the worst of your friends. Don’t test a demon of the treatment of their human. It won’t end well for you.” Xe stated quietly, straightening after. “Now, this attempt of yours has been sweet. Go explore now.”

Dustin’s shoulders drooped as he turned to try and plan some more arguments, but Lucas stepped forwards now. “Nobody should be a slave.”

“Entirely agree.” Xe smiled at him, “But is Steve a slave? Would you have thought that before learning of me?”

Lucas shook his head slowly, but still watched xim with narrowed eyes. “No, he seems to think so though.”

Xe was grinning now, turning to sit back down and nodding. “My boy has many thoughts of me and my ownership but they’re complex. Nothing as simple as slavery implies though. Your sister is more astute.”

“I’ll start paying closer attention then.” He confirmed, turning and tugging Mike with them away from the demon.

Dustin just heard a satisfied “Good” as they went to sit back in their plotting room.

/\/\

Steve didn’t know whether to be concerned or amused when he led Robin back to the room they’d been brought to originally only to find everyone except Murray, the Russian and the demon gone. “So we’re not going back to Hawkins soon then?”

“Give it a day or two. Removing offshoots is difficult, even more so with this much mortal influence in the creation of it.” Xe replied, “But I think it’s time you tell me just what those quips when I arrived meant.”

That was an order. It resonated in Steve and he tightened his grip on Robin’s hand at the unfamiliar sensation. “You mean the times I’ve fought over the last four years?”

“Yes.” Xir eyes narrowed, scanning over his form. “As well as why no-one has checked your injuries since I brought you here. That’s only healing because of the safehouse.”

“They had questions and I didn’t feel like combining an interrogation with getting first aid.” He replied, tugging Robin with him to sit down. “Let’s start with the Russians so I can explain why.”

Murray looked over at that, “Starcourt, right? Never got told why the kid could give directions. Can I listen in?”

“Sure.” Agreeing was easy, but even with Robin there beside him Steve didn’t know how to start.

The demon didn’t let him hesitate for long. “Do you have specific names for the people who hurt you in this Starcourt?”

“No, just Russians. If names were said between them it was after I was too concussed to remember them or said in Russian.” He answered, sighing. “I kept their attention, kept yelling before that, wasn’t going to let Robin get hurt if I could do anything to stop it. She might-” He drifted off, meeting Robin’s concerned gaze and knowing she didn’t know any names either.

She let out a small noise, squeezing his hand. “They had a base under the mall, trying to get through to the Upside Down, where you found us,” She paused, gesturing to xim. “Dustin intercepted their radio message so we investigated, managed to get in, even got Erica and Dustin out but we got captured. Steve tortured. I never knew why I wasn’t also. Thought they’d killed him when I was dragged into the same room as him after hours.”

Xe looked between them, reaching over to rest a claw softly on Steve’s knee. “How long did they have you for?”

The pair shared a glance, saying guesses at each other until Murray cleared his throat to get their attention. “Too long and let’s leave it there instead of guessing.”

“That wasn’t all they did.” The words, condemning missing information, made Steve’s shoulders slump in, almost curling protectively into Robin.

“Once we were together they left us alone for a bit, tied back to back. Long enough I woke up and Robin tried planning a beginning of an escape. Then they drugged us and were going to torture us again, removing finger nails or something. Said we were hurt but the doctor would help us when that was starting. Dustin and Erica came back then, used some overpowered taser rod thing to attack the doctor when the others had left. I think it killed him but Dustin can’t know that. He can’t have the trauma of knowing he might’ve killed someone when he was just trying to save me, save Robin.” Steve finished, words growing quieter as he ended that story.

Robin rested her head on top of his, arms coming around him too. “From there it was getting out, hiding in a movie, hiding again when we saw Russian guards checking the people leaving to try and find us, the other kids arriving in time for El to save us from those guards, adults coming in, crashing the car into Billy’s to save the kids, fighting the mindflayer, same old chaos everyone else could tell you about.”

The claw on his knee dug in for a moment, not enough to hurt, but enough he knew how tense xe was before xe shot up and stormed from the room. “Wait, I’ll do your first aid now. You two comfort each other we can talk about the other things you’ve mentioned later.”

It was an easy instruction for Steve to hear, already wrapped in Robin, but xir departure was paused by Murray. “Dmitri says he might know some of the names of people involved, or know where the records for that infiltration would be.”

“Write them down and I’ll review them later. My boy needs looking after first.” Xe grunted still leaving the room.

/\/\

It didn’t make sense to Robin.

Steve spoke of being owned and worrying over it but still talked back and seemed relaxed by the demon’s presence and the demon? Xe wasn’t parenting her friend but xe were close to it.

Xe was gentle with Steve, letting him hide and warning him of any actions xe did. When xe finished checking one side for injuries, Robin thought xe would just move him, and went to speak but instead xir grounded Steve with soft words and a hand heavy on his knee, waiting until he looked up to request, not order, the position change.

She couldn’t help wondering more and more why Steve worried in the way he’d just confided to her. This didn’t seem like an owner treating xir possession. If anything she thought xe was acting a little like a cat owner.

“Well I can see why Nancy asked me to set you two up.” Murray commented, watching them swap places around Steve. “Don’t think she’s right, though.”

Steve snorted and Robin pulled a face at him, “No thanks. We’re platonic and happy that way.”

“Soulmates actually. It’s almost as strong as mine over his soul.” The Demon remarked, glancing up before nudging Steve’s arm to reach a wound more easily.

“Platonic.” Steve used moving his arm as a chance to swat at xim.

Xe chuckled, catching his wrist and gently guiding it to Robin’s shoulder. “Didn’t argue with that. You two took never leaving each other more seriously than most marriages though. Was that because of the story you just shared, or something else?”

She glanced sharply at xim, ready to scold for asking questions when they’d all agreed to leave it while Steve’s injuries were treated, but xe was looking at her, same as Steve was.

“Yes.” She replied bluntly, set on not going into more detail until Steve was fully bandaged up.

“I’m glad my boy had you there then.” Xe stated, nodding genially.

/\/\

“This house is moving around us.” Will observed.

They’d turned back from their exploration a while ago, but neither he or Eddie could figure out how to return to the original rooms. Eddie laughed at the statement. “I’m sure we’ll be found if something’s going on, right now I’m just wondering how we could use this in a campaign. Give them an unmapped place, maybe offer the players the option to draw a map as they go and see how long it takes them to realise the rooms are changing.”

“Then it would be a case of how to provide them an escape.” Will mused. “Getting in would be easy, and finding conflicts or challenges in different rooms fun, hell if we worked together as joint DM’s we could swap for each room and pull an enemy or type of room out of the hat each time but there’d need to be a reason.”

“Or an ally outside of the area that could bring them back out of it if signalled.” Eddie suggested. “Maybe someone wanting a specific treasure.”

Will huffed a little, “As long as it isn’t a rescue the village mission. Never managed to make them focus on campaigns like that.”

“Hey Will, Eddie, You want to find my old room with me?” Steve appeared in the door they’d been approaching, tugging Robin along behind him.

“We were actually just-” Will began to say but paused when Eddie held his hand up.

Looking over the paid, Eddie was sure Steve was avoiding some emotional moment while Robin thought whatever had happened was incredibly awkward. “Sure Harrington, if you know the way cause this safehouse says we don’t.”

“His demon decides who finds each other. Xe isn’t going to let Steve get lost.” Robin chimed up, nudging Steve teasingly, “Just everyone else.”

“Useful. Also his demon? The ownership thing goes both ways?” The remark was laughed after, Will snickering a little too.

Steve just rolled his eyes. “No. But apparently just talking about someone using pronouns is too boring for Robin. Xe hasn’t told me xir name so I doubt anyone else is going to learn it. What’ve you two been up to?”

“Exploring and getting lost trying to get back to you all.” Will said, gesturing around, “Then figuring out how we can make this part of a campaign.”

“Great, another time getting put into your game.” Steve sarcastically cheered. “So you pair decided to be friends then?”

Will shook his head then, “Nope, I just decided not to blame Eddie for Mike’s lies or Dustin’s hero worship. Still trying to figure out why Lucas barely mentioned him though.”

“Did you blame me when Dustin and me started hanging out?” Steve blinked, wondering how often the kids had stayed in touch since that definitely suggested the closest friends of the group had shifted while the Byers were in California.

“Nope. You didn’t separate him from us. Mike’s the one who claimed to have a grudge over that, but we all think he’s just looking for reasons to be annoyed at you.” The answer was easily given, but with an expression that said an insult was either disguised in it or a word away.

All the older teens laughed anyway, before Steve narrowed his eyes on Eddie, “This is why you need to let the kids enjoy their own hobbies. Lucas not mentioning you to Will says just as much as your reaction to the Championship Game did. Sort that out.”

“Get me to Lucas and I’ll start the apologies now.” Eddie agreed, hand on his heart and exaggerating his sincerity by kneeling. “But I’d already pledged to welcome Sir Will the Wise into Hellfire from my sheepies reports of his skill. Mayhap even declaring him heir to the DM title, although I think Jeff will be annoyed to graduate with me and miss that chance.”

Robin huffs at him, gesturing in the direction Steve had started leading them, “Then let Jeff have a go while you still lead the club. Come on, I need to know if Steve’s room is as bad here as it is in that house of his.”

“What’s wrong with my room at home?” Steve protested. “It’s clean and spacious.”

“Devoid of personality and a plaid overload.” She countered, “Tell me, was that your choice, or xir choice?”

He pouted at her, moving to sit down as they entered a living room. “Not letting you see my room now. I like the pattern. I can graph things on it and they always vanish before I’m next in there.”

“Not sure what’s worse, that you draw on your walls, or that you want guide lines to help you draw on them. Did xe start that when you were a kid?” Robin retorted.

“To make graphs a bigger size, if you must know.” Steve snarked back.

/\/\

Will hadn’t expected this when he decided to introduce himself to Eddie. He’d meant to make a sarcastic comment about the other having magic to get Mike playing DnD again and explore on his own, but the other had insisted on knowing him.

Steve was on a rant about struggling with maths but learning as much as he could of geometry after a teacher explained how it impacts basketball. Honestly it bewildered Will a little to hear the generally accepted dumbest of the party going off about angles and throw heights and just how having plaid walls helped him understand it all. A glance at Eddie and Robin suggested they were having similar thoughts before Will had to exclaim, “You can do all this but refuse to play DnD because adding a small amount to the roll of a die is too difficult?”

“Nah, I’m just bitching at Dustin when I say that. He knows I’ve played when Erica needed cheering up.” He waved the words away, “Besides, He, Mike and Lucas all got into Hellfire and aside from the entire club having great reasons to hate ‘King Steve’, I’m not giving up work shifts or dates to join a high school club.”

“I didn’t hate you.” Eddie mumbles, getting the group looking at him curiously. It was the quietest that Will had heard him.

He scoffed, “Jonathan hated him for a while and I know he wasn’t really on Steve or Tommy’s radar before I went missing. Rumour has it you’re usually making yourself the target of bullies so who did you actually hate?”

“Billy.” Simple word, but Eddie laughed a little when Steve waved a hand to tell him to continue. “Steve didn’t pay attention. He was popular because he was good as sports and everyone wanted to figure out what actually went on in his head. Tommy was a jerk and a bully, but the King? He barely looked at us all in judgement. It did my head in but wasn’t enough to be hated for, especially when Billy joined the school just wanting to fight anyone. The amount of kids that learnt they could be great at track because that boy terrified them in his first months at Hawkins High could’ve tripled the size of the club.”

“Is that why Max says she only tolerates you?” Will asked. El had mentioned it after one of the few calls they’d managed to get since the move and he’d assumed it was something to do with Lucas earlier.

Eddie fell back, hand to his chest, “The insult so harshly given. I thought we were sisters in arms, bound by the good fight, and here I am betrayed?”

“No, it’s cause of Lucas being pushed out a little from dragons club for playing Basketball, don’t tell him, only a few poorly timed insults about Billy were heard and she’s heard them from most of the party now unfortunately. The tolerating is because Eddie and Wayne help out in the trailer sometimes, have done since they moved in.” Steve explained, swatting at him.

“Steve. I forgot to mention, tell your kids to be more careful when talking to demons.” The demon was suddenly in the room with them, and Will had to push himself further onto the couch to avoid falling off when he startled. “Three of them literally just tried to demand you off me.”

Steve stared at xim for a moment, blinking and looking over to Robin, “Mike got talked into that?”

“Emotionally he was only slightly less fervent in the appeal than Dustin. Lucas at least was somewhat cautious over it.” Xe replied.

“You told them no, right? Those shitheads are not getting into some mess with you in my place.” Will blinked at the confrontational tone in Steve’s voice. When they’d been talking about how he’s owned earlier Steve had seemed resigned, almost fearful of what he could be made to do on the demon’s will but now he was ready to fight xim.

Xe laughed, shaking xir head, “Of course I rejected the idea. Humans do not treat each other correctly if ownership is mentioned and I will not have you subjected to that no matter how good their original intentions.”

/\/\

Steve hesitated, turned to the door having declared he’d get the other kids together to sort out dinner and bedrooms. It felt wrong to walk away from his owner and friends, especially after hearing what some of his kids had tried.

“Perhaps we should talk first.” Xe offered, getting a warning glare from Robin as xe moved to follow him. “You’re more anxious than normal.”

He nodded, “And you’re acting oddly.” With that he led them into the next room, not worrying over his friends listening in as xe wouldn’t allow that.

“I’m looking after you as you’re allowing, the same as I always have.” Xe stated, sitting on the floor as Steve curled into a corner of the sofa there.

He shook his head at the words. “That’s not – Don’t lie. You’re my owner. I do what you want, not this, the reverse.”

“Yes, I do own you, but what does that mean to me?” Xe asked and he folded, arms trying to hug and protect him from the question.

“I can’t know your thoughts.” He mumbled, sure that even if he’d argued and bitched at the demon before this was a dangerous time to do so.

Xe still pushed xir question, “What do you think it means to me?”

There was the feeling of an order again and Steve hated realising it hadn’t been directed at him before. “I don’t know!” He repeated, springing up. “I thought you wanted someone popular, to get deals from my friends or something, but you didn’t care about that. I thought it might be to show off, like Tommy’s parents did over expensive things, but you never do that. I’m not a slave cause you never make me do anything and it’s not company cause I barely see you for months at a time. You own me and want nothing somehow. Everyone wants something and they say demons trick and are evil but you just don’t care.” The words felt like they exploded out of him and Steve grabbed a cushion as he fell back onto the sofa to hide.

“Demons aren’t humans.” Xe replied, moving to sit next to him, resting a paw on his back. “These are all very human views of ownership. Do you want me to tell you how I view owning anything?”

A sniffle and small nod was all the response he could give. It felt odd but natural to fear his owner a little after the day he’d had and the years where his religion classes and history lessons all taught him how dangerous it could be to be owned.

“I’d describe it as being the emergency contact.” Xe began. “At least if I’m putting it in human concepts. I own you because someone else values other things over a precious life so I need to take what was a flicker and let it grow. If that’s into a flame or a forest fire that transforms the world isn’t my choice. I’m just here to enable it to happen.”

Steve watched xim warily. “You said values. My genetic donors still don’t care, do they?”

“No and I could see this when I accepted the deal.” Xe agreed. “It used to be that demons would accept deals like yours to save families. That’s where the myths came from of magical beings taking first born children in deals and how evil demons are. Some people made the opposite deals, asking for children and putting them through horrible lives and still pay for it now in torture and pain from the demons they hurt the children of. We can see intentions but they can be hidden and we can’t take the living out of the human world. For you I tried another way.”

“Have any parents wanted the sold children back?” He asked.

“Sometimes, and I do, just like most demons, check in, have the chance to amend deals if that’s the case. Usually it’s for visitation rather than parents having their kids back.” Xe shifted, form adjusting to be more jelly. “Yours never have. They’re vain and barely remember Hawkins or the pregnancy. I know they’d intended to offer you to the lab if no demon appeared for them.”

Steve didn’t reply for a moment, letting everything xe shared settle into his brain as his eyes flickered over the room. “Robin’s my emergency contact.” He eventually said, “The hospital said your information was out of date and I didn’t know what to put instead.”

“Her claim on your soul is nearly as strong as mine.” Xir voice stayed calm, trying to soothe him. “But I will add details to be a secondary emergency contact again.”

/\/\

Recognising his safehouse ceiling made Steve breathe easier after a week jerking awake, wondering if Vecna had taken anyone else. The night before he’d insisted on all the rooms for Robin, Eddie and the kids to be on the same hallway as his, getting the demon to promise it would stay that way until he woke at a minimum.

Nancy and Jonathan hadn’t re-emerged from wherever in the house they’d gone to, and Argyle had been given directions to find them when Steve levelled a glare at his owner. He would have tried keeping them near him as well, but being fairly sure xe had spoken to them about their pasts he didn’t. It might’ve ended up in an emotional confrontation when he needed to talk with his kids about how serious demonic deals were.

The adults had also been shuffled away from him, although Hopper did manage to stay long enough to call a wellbeing check in over at him. Steve had found it odd, but went along with it easily enough.

“Steve? Please say your room hasn’t moved.” Robin called, knocking on his door.

“It’s not. Xe did promise it wouldn’t. Come in.” He replied, comfortable lounging in bed for now.

She didn’t, just opening the door enough to lean around it, “Just me, or are all of us allowed in?”

“Might as well have all of you. Come make it a slumber party.”

/\/\

Steve noticed he was being watched during breakfast. It wasn’t a new feeling when everyone was together but the expressions on Hopper and Joyce’s faces were unsettling for how difficult Steve found them to read.

In the past they’d scrutinise him, waiting for him to mess up or something, and occasionally try to move their kids away from him, but none of that was happening now. If anything they seemed to be getting frustrated at each other the longer the meal went on. He kept glancing over while making sure everyone had their choice of breakfast and answering a few more questions along the way.

“Nope.” He got utterly distracted from trying to figure their expressions out as he saw Erica’s choice of breakfast was ice cream. “Actual food first, ice cream after 9:30.” He stated, barely surprised when the bowl emptied itself to show the current time. “Of course xe gave you this.” He sighed, meeting the glare now levelled at him. “I said at least halfway healthy breakfasts, Erica.”

She huffed, glancing around the table. “So if I had cereal on my ice cream?”

“I’d want there to be more cereal than ice cream in the bowl. How about pancakes and bacon instead?” He suggested.

For a moment she glared some more, but eventually nodded. “I suppose that’s acceptable.”

“Can I have pancakes too?” Dustin called out, too loud for being a seat away from them and getting the other kids, except El, to start agreeing.

Steve just laughed, nodding at them and turning to the adults. “Murray, do you and Dimitri want including in the pancake orders? Joyce? Hopper?”

“Oh I can do that Steve.” Joyce offered, standing as Murray translated the question and seemingly a lot more for the Russian.

“No! Mum, no need. If Steve needs a hand cooking, we’ve got this, right?” Jonathan interceded before steve could react, tapping Will’s shoulder and getting an agreement from him too.

For a moment, Steve looked between the family, grinning at the out of place reactions. “Thanks for the offer, Joyce, but you’re our guests. I’m not making you cook and am happy to do it.”

‘And we want edible pancakes.’ Will mouthed, not visible to the adults further along the table.

“Looks like the kid has this, Joyce. I’ll have pancakes if that’s okay.” Hopper said, tugging Joyce’s arm to get her to sit down again. “If this is a shifting labyrinth of rooms, where’s the food coming from?”

Steve shrugged, already pulling ingredients out of the cupboards, “Xe buys it whenever we stay here. I usually get taken with xim, but I think xe went as we slept.” He explained. He hadn’t seen the demon yet that morning but knew xe had been around while he gathered the party together.

/\/\

After everyone separating to explore or talk the day before Xe was surprised that they were staying together through the morning. Xe was less surprised to see Steve surrounded by his kids, with Eddie and Robin pulled into the group as well.

“No one trying to escape today?” Xe asked, joining the group and looking around at everyone more spread through the room.

“We’re planning how to clear Eddie’s name from the accusations.” Dustin said, barely glancing up from a notebook they were using to plan.

Xe laughed, shaking xir head, “Not needed. He spent that night teaching Steve guitar and stayed over. Since then you brats have kept him busy stopping you from trying to do the police’s job. Given that bunch of monkey’s can’t prevent an angry mob from forming, it was for the best.”

Steve groaned, holding a hand out for the guitar he knew would appear, while the rest had to scramble out of the way of other instruments appearing. “I think I’d prefer orders over this.”

“You wouldn’t and I won’t use them.” Xe reaffirmed. “They aren’t going to expect you to play to prove his alibi.”

“Wish they weren’t idiotic enough that I can’t believe that.” He grumbled, but looked at Eddie curiously. “Are you alright doing this?”

Eddie had leant back, blinking, barely even adjusting how he sat when his own guitar appeared in his lap. Slowly he picked it up, looking Steve over. “Sure Big boy. I’ll have you shredding in no time.”

/\/\

With the guitar in his lap, Steve thought about taking off, insisting on learning without an audience but decided against it. When he’d led Robin, Will and Eddie back to the group the night before Mike and Dustin had complained about being replaced again and he wasn’t going to let feelings like that grow if learning around everyone could stop it.

He was just looking from Eddie to the guitar, wondering if he should ask something to start when Mike came to sit closer to him.

“Can I learn too?” Mike demanded more than asked. “I want to play good music though.”

Eddie and Steve exchanged a glance before Eddie turned to him, “What’s with the emphasis on good music, Little Wheeler? You’re not getting far enough to play any songs today, anyway.” He leant forwards, eyes focused and promising offence would be easily taken.

“Like you play, not Steve.” He stated, matching the look. “No whining singers, either.” Max scoffed from her seat a little ways off, but didn’t say anything.

Steve huffed, “Judgemental shit, glad you weren’t the one trying to save Hawkins. How about Eddie shows us how to hold the guitar, first?”

He got a nod in return, and immediately Eddie started instructing them, barely acknowledging when another guitar, acoustic this time, appeared beside Mike for him to use. There were still other instruments around the room, but nobody moved to use them, and only claimed one if they knew how to play it, like Robin claiming hers.

/\/\

Lucas sighed after a while of everyone watching the guitar lesson, “So how do you decide which hobbies are cool and which aren’t?”

“Go with the chillest and you’re on the right track.” Argyle called, leaning back with Jonathan nodding beside him.

Max shook her head. “It’s the rebellion, the energy about it.” She countered.

Steve rolled his eyes, moving the guitar to one side as the conversation distracted him. “You shouldn’t. All hobbies are both cool and nerdy depending on how interested we are. In high school, the ones most people are interested in, or pushed to be, become cool, like basketball. In this group, a lot of you mostly the weird kids at school, DnD becomes cool. It’s just a popularity contest for activities.”

“How much of that was Robin and how much your way to delude yourself you’re still cool?” Mike sneered, getting a sharp glance.

“Some of it was things I wanted to yell at half of you shitheads when I saw nobody but me there supporting Lucas in the championship game.” He snapped back. “What happened to not splitting the party and supporting each other, huh, Mike?”

Mike blustered and so did Dustin, “We tried to reschedule! To postpone or something. Eddie wouldn’t let us.”

“And I was wrong not to. I’d spent too many years in that melting pot taking on the bullies to shield others that I did the same thing the jocks do and tried to make Lucas give up something for our club.” Eddie spoke up before more of an argument could start. “Steve’s right, we should have supported him, “He turned to Lucas now, “And I’m sorry for my part in stopping that, as well as how I’ve treated you over the laundry baskets game.”

Lucas took the offered hand then, a cautiousness in his eyes, “In full apology you need to try shooting some hoops with me when we get back.”

Eddie laughed outright, “Damn it Sinclair, making me exercise, but your condition is agreed too.”

The exchange reminded Steve of a room he’d asked for on his last visit so he slipped off, waiting in the doorway when he saw Dustin had spotted and was trying to follow.

/\/\

“So where are we going?” Dustin asked after the third room they went through.

Steve smirked over his shoulder, “Basketball court. I asked for one the last time I was here.”

“Really? Actually how can basketball be nerdy? That makes no sense. It’s for the jocks.” Dustin was excited though Steve knew he had no enthusiasm for exercise.

“Ask Will. Apparently I complain over the math of DnD too much to have tried so hard to learn geometry for basketball.” He snickered

Dustin hesitated then, “You’re not mad at me over how I reacted when we got here, right?”

The question confused Steve for a moment, before he realised that he hadn’t actually had one on one time with Dustin since they’d arrived so of course he friend would be worrying. “Not at all. I knew you’d have questions. It was just a lot for me when everyone expected me to know the most and I really don’t.”

“Okay,” He nodded, “Now teach me this basketball math you somehow do.”

They laughed together when the next door did bring them to the court.

/\/\

They’d been in the safehouse for only two days when the Demon said xe could return them to Hawkins. The days had been filled with catching up, comforting each other over new and old traumas as well as everyone trying to learn more about Steve.

Steve had found himself having in depth conversations with everyone, which he’d expected for the kids. He hadn’t expected it so much with the adults and other teens near his age and assumed that his owner was the cause or inspiration for them all trying to actually know him. The oddest of the conversations had been Murray giving him advice over how little was noticed about relationships by people both outside and inside them, but it was a nice change compared to most of the group dismissing comments about that as useless gossip.

The relief of hearing they could return to Hawkins was cut through by Hopper asking, “Do you mean all of us are going back to Hawkins?” He’d looked from the Demon, to El, the Byers and Argyle.

Xe looked at him in amusement, “Would you prefer to be returned to where I took you from?”

“No.” A deep frown etched itself across Hoppers face, “But California to officially move back with the Byers would be more reasonable.”

“I want to go home again!” El protested, “It’s too hot there!”

A cacophony of requests and protests broke out then, everyone having some view of where they’d either be needed, wanted or expected to be, until Steve clapped twice, getting everyone’s attention.

“The kids coming back to Hawkins, I’ll look after, whether that’s telling frantic parents where you’ve been or having you stay with me, I’ll sort it out. Murray is best at sorting out the press from what I hear, so I want him to come back to Hawkins too. The rest of you are old enough to sort this out quietly! Without arguing. Discuss and decide.”

“Or I will drop Steve and the youngest at home and everyone else close to where I found them.” Xe agreed, serious in tone but Steve could see xe was teasing them all.

At those words, Joyce and Hopper moved to talk in a corner while Nancy left her argument with Mike to talk with Jonathan and Argyle.

“That invite to stay include me, Sunshine?” Eddie asked, nudging Steve with his elbow.

“Not sure I was planning to let you leave if you tried.” Steve replied. “Staying in murder houses isn’t fun.”

It looked like Eddie would ask more but Nancy called him over then, “Steve! How well can you sweet talk my parents.”

“Depends, are you about to make me explain your disappearance to Cali and Mike’s appearance back in Hawkins?” He asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

The trio gave him sheepish looks and he muttered under his breath while walking over. The stories he’d have to share would either get more complicated than a spiders web or need to basically just be reading parents into what they’d been dealing with for years.

/\/\

In the end, Murray and Dimitri joined Steve, Eddie, Robin and all the kids in going back to Hawkins, while Argyle, Jonathan, Nancy, Joyce and Hopper went to California. It made sense to ensure the California house was sorted and any issues there cleared up but Steve was now worried over how Dustin’s mum and the Sinclair’s parents were reacting since the kids had all been missing so far as they knew for days, right after murders had happened.

Erica was also thinking about that and tried to demand a lift home as soon as they were dropped back into Steve’s home.

“No. I’m calling everyone’s parents, and Eddie’s uncle to come here. One explanation for all of them.” He decided. “Get drinks, snacks, and Erica, find somewhere to stash that bowl of yours too.”

He did call the Sinclair’s first, knowing better than to argue with Erica’s glare too much.

Something in him withered when Mrs Sinclair answered the phone with “Lucas? Please say that’s you.” She sounded frantic.

“It’s Steve Harrington actually, but-” He hurried to continue hearing a sob, “Lucas and Erica are with me. I’ll explain everything if you come over. A couple of Lucas’s friends also need their parents calling so-”

“We’ll be right there!” She promised, cutting him off and hanging up, already yelling “Honey! Steve-”

The call to Claudia went similarly, but Steve was sure the last two would be odd. That was why he easily let Robin take the phone. Her call was quick and basically left her parents even more convinced they were dating than they had been. Steve shook his head when Dustin heard it and was clearly about to ask if they were together now. The Buckley’s were the only ones that belief was allowed for at Robin’s request.

Then he was being given the phone back and dialling the number Eddie had given him to put off talking to either Wheeler parent a little longer.

“Who’s this?” A gruff voice answered, “And why are you calling the factory?”

“This is Steve Harrington and I’m trying to get in touch with Mr Wayne Munson.” He put on the overly polite tone his mother used for staff in shops.

He got huffed at before hearing a yell away from the phone for Wayne. There was a thud as if the phone had been walked away from and Steve could only wait, hoping Wayne was where Eddie expected him to be.

“Hello, why was I told a Harrington is calling for me?” The question made him wince, knowing nothing good was likely said about him before.

Eddie shoved a note under his nose. “What?” Steve asked aloud before shaking his head and just reading it; “Letting you know the Garfield Mug will get repaired.”

“Eddie only just told you to say that, didn’t he?” Wayne sounded thoughtful, “Insisted on a code to say someone is safe but always forgets it.”

“Shoved the note in front of me without saying anything.” Steve grumbled. “But we’ve been helping him since, well since Spring break started. He’s gonna stay with me for a bit but I’ve got to explain everything to a few others soon if you want to come see him and learn what’s been going on.”

Wayne let out a noise, enough to know he’d been heard, and, Steve guessed, thought for a moment, “He’s got info about Eddie beyond the pigs backtracking. I’m taking off.” Wayne called, the volume of it startling Steve as the phone clearly wasn’t moved when he yelled. “You’re in the fancy district. Which car should I look for?”

“BMW.” Steve replied, amused that that was how Wayne planned to find his home.

“I’ll be there soon.”

Steve took a deep breath as he hung up, closing his eyes for a moment only to meet Mike’s expectant glare when he reopened them.

“Are you going to call my parents or not?”

He narrowed his eyes, “I could just make you call them, see how well you explain anything to Karen.”

“Like that’d be hard.” Mike huffed, getting Steve to turn back to the phone with a roll of his eyes.

Half dreading the call, Steve dialled and soon had the call answered, “Hello Wheeler household. This is Karen.”

“Hi Karen, how are you?” He began, trying to delay explaining the mess, given neither Wheeler kid wanted their family to know what was going on.

“Steve, I’m wondering where Nancy is. I know she was dating Jonathan Byers the last I was told but have you gotten back together and stolen her away?” Karen asked, half teasing as she clearly tried to bury her concern.

Steve laughed a little, “No, but she is with Jonathan, and that’s her location too. There’s been some drama with her relationship and Mike’s friend group so Mike has come back to Hawkins early, while Nancy has gone to talk with Jonathan something about college I think but I’m not sure.”

“She’s driven there? Are you sure she’s fine.” Karen sounded alarmed now, “And how did Mike get back?”

“One of my relatives helped them sort out travel and they’re both fine. I checked in with Nancy just over an hour ago and have Mike glaring at me currently. I’m returning him as soon as I’ve got some other stuff sorted, okay?”

Karen laughed lightly, “That’s fine, I know you’ll keep him safe, but tell him no more changing travel plans without telling me beforehand.”

“I will. See you later.” Steve hung up, leaning against the wall, amazed that had been so easy to do.

/\/\

In the end, nobodies parents were fully told about the Upside Down. Steve did start to, but the conversation got side tracked so the most Claudia and the Sinclairs knew was that the Lab had caused everything and the government was involved in them not being told. He almost felt guilty but Lucas and Dustin seemed happier with that happening.

Robin was still getting judgemental looks from Lucas after admitting she was the one to get Erica involved but let Steve shoulder the ice cream deal mostly. Both she and Steve were amused by that and definitely relaxed as those kids headed home.

Wayne had listened to the explanation but didn’t make any move to leave as the kids did, sharing a glance, Steve took Robin, El and Will with him to drop Mike off. “You tell him anything you want. Nobody has got involved here yet, so do it now.” Steve reassured, last one to leave the house deliberately so he could.

He only hoped Eddie did actually inform Wayne of it all, since they seemed really close.

/\/\

Since El had mentioned getting help to get her powers back, Steve had expected the government to get involved, even if he doubted Hawkins had really had enough happen to get that attention. What he didn’t expect was his owner to walk into Family Video halfway through his and Robin’s shift, looking every bit the business man Hawkins assumed his parents were, and plant himself behind the counter with him.

After that he wasn’t surprised to see the black cars of government officials coming in, or Doctor Owens coming into the store with someone else wearing a doctors coat beside him.

“Excuse me, people who torture children are not welcome in Hawkins.” Xe spoke before either worker could give their normal greeting.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Doctor Owens replied, “I’m just here to talk with Mr Harrington and Mrs Buckley about their absences over the last week.”

They both scoffed, “That would be Keith’s job and in his words, ‘Shutting the store for a mourning period was a great publicity move.’” Robin countered, “And Family Video has no need of Medical Doctor’s when we rent videos to people.”

“You’re not discussing anything with my son when I am here to represent and protect him.” Xe followed her words with an unmoving stare. “Now, Brennan, if you don’t wish to experience the tortures you’ve put others through yourself, you should leave Hawkins immediately. I’ve cleaned up the hell you tried bringing here and your favourite kid is dead. Henry Creel tried to steal part of hell and is paying for that forever more.”

Brennan tried to meet his glare and Steve could only assume this was El’s papa. After a moment of that he turned and left, waiting in the car as Doctor Owens was still there.

“I don’t know what your son has been telling you but-” Doctor Owens began to say, only to fall silent though his lips still moved.

Xe glanced back at Steve. “He told me nothing until I was charging through a land that definitely wasn’t Earth to save his life and that of his friends. What I’ve learned since then says you’ve been giving less than the bare minimum to everyone plagued by your failures and the governments inability to treat people humanely.”

“You want to negotiate?” Doctor Owens asked, clearly uncertain over what was happening.

The demon’s grin was like an alligator shining his teeth as xe nodded, “For everyone involved, from my boy, to the Munsons and even to the emancipated Chief soon moving back after being captured by Russians. You are going to compensate them all into wealth for the amount of trauma and pain you’ve heaped on them. Would you like the demands now, or after all of Hawkins knows what the abandoned lab used to do?”

He looked at xem in horror, never doubting the xe could manage that, then out through the doors. “Now, and I will do all I can to get them agreed to.”

“If you don’t, the world will know just how cruel America was before Russia even dreamt of it.” Xe vowed.

As the door closed behind Doctor Owens Steve and Robin started snickering, “Steve, your owner is brilliant.”

“Apparently!”

Xe smiled at them, shaking xir head, “Thank you. I’m keeping an eye on you for a while until I know this is as safe as it used to be again.” Xe informed them.

/\/\

“So, Demons! Can I ask more questions now?” Dustin had been holding a notebook even as he got into the car, watching Steve expectantly.

He shook his head, “Surprised it took you this long.” He admitted, before sharply looking over, “And if I ever hear of you trying to deal with demons even after I’ve answered whatever questions you’ve got, your ass is grass.” He pulled off, taking Dustin to the arcade where Eddie and Mike should be meeting them.

In the back of the car El and Will were sitting quietly, happy to just listen to them.

“Xe told you?” Dustin pouted for a moment before looking at his notebook, “So does xe only have that bipedal but with horns and claws form?”

“Xe changes and chooses xir form based on what’s happening and how xir feeling. No, I don’t know if all demons can do that.” Steve guessed the second question and decided to stop that possibly getting repeated a lot from the start. “I’ve not met any other demons so can’t say anything about them, just the one that owns me.”

Dustin nodded, crossing out a few questions and writing a note, presumably of that lack of knowledge. “Have you been to hell? Other than the Upside Down?”

Steve shrugged, glancing over as the road was quiet. “Again, I don’t know. Xe moved us to the safehouse so do you know where that is? But I don’t think so. Xe is pretty closed off about things that might risk me or just some information about xem.”

“Did xe know about everything else we’ve been through?” El asked, looking calm when Steve glanced in the rear-view mirror at her. He was just pulling up to the arcade now and wasn’t going to leave Max waiting for a ton more questions to get asked.

“No. Xe hasn’t shown up for the others and hadn’t realised what I’d gotten into. Apparently other humans xe owned had some bad injuries over their lives too.” He answered, “No more questions when you could be attempting to beat Max’s scores again.”

/\/\

They’d been back in Hawkins a day when they heard the roar again but Steve didn’t drop, ignoring the clear order and everything in him wanting to.

Jason and the rest of the current basketball team did stumble back however, staring in fear over his shoulder.

Lucas hadn’t faltered either, solidifying his stance and bringing his slingshot out of his pocket to aim at his teammates. “Eddie is innocent. No devil worship is done in a game. It’s done by hate-filled bastards like you, thinking you’re owed more than you’ve earnt.” He spat.

“Tell that to the demon you summoned.” Jason stuttered back, a shaking hand raising to point over their shoulders.

“Oh no, Xe’re here because you attacked me and xe’re keeping a closer watch currently.” Steve straightened from his defensive stance, rolling his eyes, even while sidestepping so the demon could pass. “It’s really dumb to attack a demon’s property, you know.”

Jason looked angrier for a moment, seeming to judge if he’d get past Steve, Lucas and the demon to Eddie again. “They already sold you! You call that innocent Sinclair?”

“My boy has been mine since the 60’s and you are already due for hell.” Xe growled out, startling Lucas as he moved past them with many limbs and spikes on xir current form. “I’ll escort you there.”

Steve couldn’t tell if it was xir words or xir lunge towards the boys that had them sprinting away, and didn’t care much, the fact he’d ignored the order weighing on him the further they went. “Sorry I didn’t drop out of the way but I wasn’t letting them past me.”

Xe huffed. “My roar doesn’t mean get down or drop. It means don’t block me.” Xe grumbled. “Go get your injuries checked.”

“Are you doing this so I can learn when something’s an order? ‘Cause I’ve got that figured out now.” Steve muttered, going to his car where the door was still open from him jumping out to help Lucas fighting the club back from Eddie.

Xe nodded, “Yes, you’ve torn yourself apart looking for them too much and I’m not getting Robin on my case again.”

“Why would Robin do that?” Lucas asked, giving Steve a chance to actually make the call on his walkie. He’d moved to help Eddie up who had dropped upon hearing the roar, though since he’d been the target Steve wasn’t sure if an injury from before he and Lucas had gotten the attention from him influenced that reaction.

“Very protective friend.” Xe answered, eyes narrowed as xe checked the area one more time. “Very protective and too ready to fight me.” As soon as Xe finished speaking Xe was gone.

Steve shook his car keys to get Eddie and Lucas’s attention from the now empty space. “Come on, Robs has the Family Video first aid kit waiting for us.”

/\/\

A month after their return had everyone back in Hawkins, even Steve’s owner hadn’t fully left yet. Most of Hawkins had accepted Eddie’s innocence now, although some of the basketball team still tried to start fights occasionally.

Steve was worried still, since he had expected the Demon to leave after dealing with the government, but xe hadn’t. “So are you just staying in Hawkins now?” He had to ask eventually.

Eddie and Wayne were in the kitchen but he’d wandered out to the pool, knowing xe would be there too. Xe knew when conversations were needed and Steve never bothered to ask how, perhaps one of the more curious or confrontational of the party had done, but that wasn’t his concern.

“No, I’m not staying for much longer.” Xe replied, but tugged him to sit beside xim.

“So what happens then? Do I just carry on with Robin as my emergency contact?” Steve had to ask. He’d learnt enough about his owner now that he doubted xir detachment; he just didn’t know how xe could remain updated with what happened around him now.

Xe looked through him for a moment. “Now you live. Carry on doing your best to look after this family you made and be happy.”

“And never seeing you unless you decide to visit?” He challenged. It had been nice letting someone else be in charge of his wellbeing even in the small ways xe did.

“That is an option, but there are others you might prefer.” Xir lap suddenly held a variety of objects, including a crystal ball, a plain notebook and a phone handset.

Steve looked over the items, brow furrowed for a moment, “Are you saying these are ways I could call you?”

“The notebook I’d need to refine and then anyone who wrote in it would be contacting me. The other two I can ensure are set up for you to contact me, the phone already is really since I am your secondary emergency contact once more.” Xe explained, handing the notebook over when Steve reached for it.

“Is that only for important stuff? Not just letting you know things happening.” He checked.

Xe shook xir head, “It’s for anything you want to tell me, but definitely if off shoots of hell are formed again.”

“Oh.” Steve blinked, stunnd that it was this easy to get a way to contact his demon. “Thank you. Um, Did I disappoint you? Doing all that stuff I thought you were telling me to?” The thought had grown since he’d heard how xe viewed this ownership situation, and if xe was talking candidly with him it seemed like a good time to ask.

“No, I understood it. This isn’t a situation humans can explain, even in their stories, so I knew there’d be some confusion as you grew up. I just didn’t think it would upset you so much otherwise I’d have spoken about it with you sooner.” Xe spoke gently, patting Steve’s shoulder. “Now you can go on living your life just getting in touch when you want to without worrying over orders it’s unlikely I’ll ever give you again.”

“Unless I’m in another life or death situation.” Steve finished wryly.

Xe laughed, “Unless that happens, yes.”

/\/\

After xe left, Steve found it easier to return to daily life than he had so far following Upside Down instances, easily accepting the Munson’s into his home while the investigation of Chrissy’s death was finished and their payouts sorted. Xe had told Steve xir demands of compensation so he would report back how much ended up being offered since that hadn’t yet been finalised.

“You really saved me, you know.” Eddie commented slouched on Steve’s sofa while Steve and Robin messed around in the kitchen supposedly sorting out dinner and drinks for their hang out. “This town would’ve killed me if it wasn’t for you and your demon.”

“Xe isn’t mine, just my owner.” Steve laughed, “And of course we were gonna help. Dustin alone would have been insufferable if we hadn’t.”

Robin laughed too, “Yeah, that boy can get Steve to do anything he wants, I swear. Have you seen their secret handshake yet?”

Steve rolled his eyes, “Dustin put a stop to that before he started high school, apparently it’s too childish to keep doing.”

“Damn, sounds like it would’ve been revolutionary to see. King Steve doing a dorky handshake.” Eddie teased.

“As if the pats and slaps the basketball team does are any different. Dustin’s was just more fun.” Steve huffed, “Are we gossiping over how we got each other through that shit or going to watch a film?”

Eddie grinned at him, shaking his head, “I’ve got stuff to say first.”

Steve gestured around the room, “Then the floor is yours, what do you want to share.”

“My gratitude, yes to Robin as well, but mostly to you. You might not have been the most willing to help from the start but you did anyway, and you did everything you could to keep me feeling okay. You’re worlds better than I ever imagined you could be and then when you could have just dropped me off home you not only let me stay but got Wayne to as well. And it’s wonderful.” Eddie had stood and faced Steve as if he was actually making a speech or a toast at a wedding. “If I was better at cooking I’d offer to make you dinner every night, but instead, let me take you out to dinner soon, Enzo’s maybe, to thank you for all you’ve done.”

Robin gasped at the offer, hands shooting up to cover her mouth and Steve raised an eyebrow at that, before running Eddie’s words through his mind again.

“I’ll agree either way, but is that just a thank you dinner or is it a date, Munson?” He asked, watching Eddie’s expression carefully.

He flushed a little, hand going to tug his hair in front of his face, “So it’s okay for it to be a date? Really?”

“I’m saying now, I’ve never dated a guy before, but you are hot.” Steve cautioned, knowing from some of Robin’s rants that it was better to be honest about that, “So long as you don’t mind that I’ve got that shit to figure out still, then we can try a date.”

Eddie didn’t react for a moment, but Robin did, launching herself at him for a hug. “I’m not alone, Steve! Dingus! I’m not alone here!” She exclaimed excitedly.

“Guess not,” He laughed, “And I still say you should do exactly what Eddie just did and ask Vickie out!”

“You said yes!” Eddie blinked back into the room, latching onto Steve’s other side. “I get to date you! I’ll make it a great evening!”

With that promise made, Steve grinned but nodded at their seats. “You do that, we can sort out when tomorrow, now, I need to get food out of the oven and you can get the movie put in.”

/\/\

Three months after Steve’s Demon had closed the Upside Down and got the government to given them far more than they’d need to live comfortably for the rest of their lives, the Party decided to have a celebratory dinner. Steve offered to host it since even with the payouts he had the biggest home still.

Hopper and Joyce had insisted on being the actual hosts despite the location and with Jonathan and Murray’s help managed to get the dinner made and dining room set for everyone to be able to fit in.

Before they began to eat, Hopper stood, “Yep, this is fake formal but seriously, lets toast to Steve’s Demon. Xe has better morals than too much of humanity and all of the government. Here’s to xem!”

Everyone laughed as they reached up and down the table trying to clink all their glasses together. “To Steve’s demon.”

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #dustin henderson #demon owned steve harrington #demon deals #the party stranger things #erica sinclair

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