#i might need to plan yet another fic just to give him the attention he deserves >_<< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[triforce-of-mischief]

Hey! Would love to let you know that Red in Overcome partially inspired “Red’s Guide to Transformative Self-Love”!

aaaa that's awesome! he's so happy that he gets to help people! thank you! 💜❤️

[jeonstudios]

fontana di trevi | 01

you seek out a vampire to help you with something.

pairing: vampire!jk x sadgirl, blood donor!reader

genre: vampire au, angst, fluff (really a sadgirl fic lol)

word count: 7.6k

warnings: blood, needles, talking about how you euthanize cows and such? suicidal thoughts (not graphic or elaborated? very straightforward?)

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 1/2

<previous | next>

© between takes is copyright jeonstudios. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

It’s a freezing cold December night when you step into the dark alleyway, your thighs having gone numb under your jeans a while ago. The sun set hours ago, and the only light present is that of a few scattered streetlights. 

Your pulse quickens as you take another cautious step. Something moves further in, where the light barely reaches, and since there’s no snow yet, you hear the slight crunch of frozen fall leaves under… footsteps. From the dark, a tall figure approaches slowly in a way that would have anyone’s blood chilling.

“I have a proposition,” you state, trying to stand somewhat tall.

"A proposition?” a low voice inquires, and you have to tilt your head up to look at the face that emerges from the shadows. “I’ll fuck you, but I’m not turning you for sex.”

“That’s not what—I don’t want sex or to be turned.”

He directs his full attention to you, and in turn, you get a better glimpse of his features. He looks like a man; incredibly handsome with jet black hair, eyebrows, and eyes, but his skin is paler than anything you’ve seen, and there’s the tiniest smudge of something red tinting the corner of his mouth. Though his eyebrow is raised, he doesn’t look very entertained.

“You can have my blood. All of it, if you just take it quickly.”

He lifts his hand to slowly wipe the red from his face. The outfit he wears—a black leather jacket and black pants—looks human but is definitely too cold to wear this time of year.

“What makes you think I wouldn’t simply take it if I wanted to? Why would I need your permission?”

“I’m just saying. Take it if you want it?”

He looks at you, seemingly at least a little intrigued by the odd human in front of him. You definitely understand that most people run the other way at the sight of this big, intimidating being. 

“You realize ‘all of it’ means you’ll be dead, right?”

You nod. “Do we have a deal?”

“Regardless of if I wanted to or not, I literally just… ate, so I physically can’t. Not for another week or so.”

You feel your shoulders drop slightly, and you blink, trying to improvise a plan.

“Okay, well… Do you want to meet here in a week, then?”

At that, he tilts his head. “You want to die here, in a dirty alleyway?”

“I don’t care. So yes or no?”

“If you want me to do this, give me something in return first, okay?”

You look at him in confusion. “You’re getting my blood?”

“Who's to say your blood is even good?”

Trying not to let his words discourage you, you look around, thinking. Maybe you should’ve played harder to get? At least in the sense of giving him a hunt? You don’t want to waste any time, but he might not be your best option. 

“Fine, do you know if there are other vampires around here? How do I find them?”

It took you three weeks to even find this one, and maybe it was more luck than anything, so setting off on another search doesn’t sound too exciting. These creatures really do live in the shadows.

“No, listen. Whether your blood is delicious or not, it would certainly be helpful to have it. But…”

“But?”

“Let me stock up on it first. Meet me at my place and let me take some every week for two months and then I’ll take the rest.”

You look around again, unsure if you should just try to find someone else. Two months is not ideal; it’s too long, and you’re sure you could manage to find someone else in the meantime. 

The vampire senses your hesitation and takes a step closer.

“You want it to be quick, which means you’re scared of pain. People around here, my kind, tend to drag it out. Pain and fear equal adrenalin, which gives the blood a certain… flavor that some enjoy. Agree to my compromise, and I’ll make it quick and practically painless.”

He gives you the smallest of smiles, barely a hint of one, but it feels wicked and makes a cold shiver run down your spine. You know he’s not trustworthy, but he’s getting a lot out of the deal, and you have nothing to lose, really.

“Okay. What’s the address?”

In the middle of the day a week later, you find yourself in front of a big two-story house. It’s nice, looks pretty expensive but… like a regular house? It’s painted white and definitely not blood-red or even black. Aligning more with your expectations is how the house is partially obscured from the road by huge, towering spruces and how it seems to lie just a little bit further from the neighboring houses. There’s a thin layer of snow on the ground now, but you’re not sure whether it’ll stick.

After confirming that no, there is no door bell, you lift your fist to knock on the door. Vampires have crazy good hearing anyway, right? You’d assume so, given the fact that they’re always portrayed as super fast, super strong, super… attractive, and with super hearing, super vision, just… super all around. The mythical creatures don’t officially exist to the world, but in your little town, everyone knows they do. And they do. You found one. So if they drink blood and are super attractive—at least this one—it’s not too weird to assume there’s more truth to their pop-culture portrayal. 

You can see how the town’s vampire believers and enthusiasts shake their heads in disappointment at your relative indifference, but truth be told, you’d probably be more curious about the vampire whose home you’re about to step into if the situation was different. Or maybe you’d have some self-preservation and run the other way?

The door opens almost soundlessly, and when you look up, you meet those black, bottomless eyes. It really is his color, you think, your gaze drawn to the short-sleeve, black button-down he’s wearing, the top three buttons or so left undone. With it, he’s wearing black pants on the looser side. He looks incredibly handsome, and very effortlessly so. His hair is shiny and looks soft, and like it naturally falls into that slight side-part.

“Are you gonna come in or just stand there and ogle me?” He isn’t smiling teasingly; he just looks at you, unimpressed.

“Sorry.” 

He turns to retreat back into the house, and you’re left to enter through the open door. There are no lights on inside, and when you close the door behind you, cutting off a majority of the daylight, you start to feel like you’re truly inside a vampire’s home. Still, it’s light enough for you to follow said vampire’s back after hastily removing your coat and folding it to leave over the boots you step out of. Since you assumed he needs access to the veins in your arms, you picked out a gray t-shirt and a black zip-up hoodie that’s a little too big on you, paired with jeans. Nothing fancy—you’re not there to impress him.

With quickened steps, you catch up to him as he wordlessly leads the way into his kitchen, a place you doubt he uses much. Vampires don’t actually eat, do they? Either way, the room is clean and feels almost... sterile, despite the walnut cupboards and dark gray countertops.

On the short end of a wide, matching walnut dining table, a bunch of supplies are laid out. He gestures to one of the two chairs positioned around the corner of the table, but as you sit down, he turns to leave.

“Uhm, I don’t know how to do this,” you admit, pulling the zipper of your hoodie down and slipping one arm out. “I mean, I’m sure it can’t be that complicated in… theory, but I don’t think I can do it on myself.”

“I’m just gonna wash my hands,” he explains, and there seems to be a very slight trace of emotion in his voice and on his face that you interpret as amusement. He thinks you're dumb.

Oh. Well… does it really matter if his hands are squeaky clean or not?

Water hits the sink with a familiar sound as you focus on the table, inspecting the supplies. There’s a needle with a tube attached to it, a tourniquet, some syringes, antiseptic wipes, and a few empty blood bags. A voice in your head wonders if maybe he changed his mind and will simply take everything at this moment because those bags look pretty big, and you’re not sure you can fill them and still walk out of this place. 

The water stops, and you sit pretty and wait until he positions the other chair in front of you, a little to the side. You’ve never been a fan of needles or having your blood drawn, so you focus your eyes the other way, to a specific part of his kitchen window and the overcast outside. You hear the sound of paper and plastic ripping, and you feel his cold fingers place and tighten the tourniquet around your upper arm and feel for your veins before he wipes the area clean.

“Scared of needles?” he teases arrogantly, and you see how he reaches for the sharp object on the table.

“Bodily reaction. I can’t help it,” you explain before holding your breath and waiting for the poke.

It comes soon after; an uncomfortable but not too painful prick. With one hand, he moves some things around on the table, and you try to keep as still as possible, loathing the feeling of a needle jolting around in your vein.

“You’re not curious as to why I know how to do this stuff? Or worried that I don’t?” he wonders, releasing the tourniquet and seemingly fastening the needle to your skin with some tape.

“No. I guess it doesn’t surprise me; blood and vampires seem to go hand in hand.”

He surprises you by letting out a quiet chuckle before placing a red stress ball in your hand. “Squeeze this. I’ll be back to change the bag in a few minutes.”

Nodding, you watch him rise from his chair and leave the room.

Left to your own devices and with the filling blood bag taped to the chair’s armrest by its thin tube, you close your eyes. 

The house is entirely silent, and you have no idea where the vampire went. After he moved the stuff around on the table, you were able to count exactly three blood bags with a printed 450 ml on them. That adds up to somewhere between one and one and half liters and around 30% of your blood volume if you’ve calculated correctly. According to your brief research, a human doesn’t typically survive losing more than 40% of their blood unless given emergency medical attention. You probably won’t feel too great after today, but you most likely won’t die. You think.

Slowly, the minutes start to tick by, but you feel okay so far. You’ve got a good rhythm going for the stress ball, squeezing, holding, releasing. Squeezing, holding, releasing. The silence has your mind wandering.

“You can stop for a bit.”

The vampire’s sudden voice has your eyes flying open. He hadn’t made a single sound, returning to the kitchen. Catching your breath, you nod, keeping the ball still in your hand. You don’t look at the needle in your arm, but you see the bag full of dark red that the vampire sits down and trades for an empty one, attaching the tubes before he fastens them in the same way to the armrest. 

When he’s done, he lifts his hand, and you spot one of his fingertips covered in red. For a split second, he observes it, and then he puts the finger to his tongue. At first, it’s weird to see, and you almost want to tell him that it’s not hygienic to taste other people’s blood. That is before you remember that other people’s blood is what sustains him.

He looks to be assessing something, and suddenly, you’re worried he might not like it.

“B positive," he focuses on you, but you give him a slight, confused shrug because you have no idea what blood type you are or what it means in this context. 

“Is that… okay?”

“It’s… meh. Not the most common but also not the rarest. Most of my kind prefer A or even AB, though.”

“Oh."

Of course, your blood is substandard. You nod toward the filled bag on the table. “Will you have any use for this then?”

Truly, it would be just your luck to not even have the scary creatures, who roam the night in search of victims to drain, want your blood.

“Yeah. Doesn’t matter. I can always use it as a backup if I don’t get the chance to feed in time. Squeeze.”

Per his order, you resume squeezing. The rest of the process goes relatively smoothly, although you’ve started feeling a lot… weaker by the time the second bag is full and the vampire is about to switch it for the third. 

There’s a lot about blood and the human body that you don’t know, and you’re silently wondering what the recovery rate is and if you can really give him this much every week. Does he plan on taking less next time or has he not taken it into consideration?

“Why do you want to die?”

You blink at his bluntness, looking at his uncaring face. He obviously doesn’t care to hear the longer story, and you don’t care to tell it, so you settle for a shorter, more condensed version.

“There’s something wrong with me. I don’t belong here.”

“Didn’t taste like it.”

“Maybe not physically.”

He doesn’t dig further, but when your blood starts trickling into the third bag, the vampire stays seated. You still close your eyes, afraid that you’ll stare at his face otherwise, and he didn’t particularly seem to like that. 

You’re not sure if it’s just the blood loss or a combination of having slept poorly for the last few weeks and being in a calm, silent environment, but you’re feeling tired. Really tired. And cold. 

“Squeeze harder,” his voice instructs, void of emotion. You do your best to follow his instructions, squeezing the ball tighter even though it’s getting difficult.

“We’re done.”

You open your eyes, finding the vampire much closer than before and his fingers swiftly removing the needle from your arm.

“Okay, so… uh…” you start, finding it hard to choose words or even think of what you want to convey in the first place. “Do I come back… same time… next week?” 

“No. Make it two weeks.”

You look at him, confusion written across your features, but it’s hard to focus your eyes on his face. It’s blurry, and there are dark spots infiltrating your vision.

“I took as much as I could, and while you won’t have time to replenish everything in two weeks either, I’ll at least get more out of you than in just one week.”

He smiles, and if you had the energy and maybe (mostly) the common sense, you’d be scared by the way he truly looks so wicked. 

“Okay. I’ll see you then.”

The vampire takes the stress ball from you and rises from the chair with the used supplies in his hands. You grip the armrests best you can, but your right hand slips, and you stumble a little, trying to stand. It’s so incredibly cold, and you feel dizzy, nauseous, and weak, putting your hoodie back on properly.

Very quietly, you hear him move around the kitchen, and while he hasn’t explicitly told you to leave, you’re very much assuming he wants nothing else. So on unsteady legs, you make your way back to the front door, where you grab your coat to haphazardly put it on, and you step into your boots, unable to bend down to tie them properly.

You’re able to make it to your old but trustworthy car that you parked on the street, but when you sit down in the driver’s seat and close the door behind you, you realize that you definitely can’t drive as it’s proving more and more difficult to even keep your eyes open. You can’t walk home, you have no one to come pick you up, and even if there probably is a bus stop somewhere around here, you don’t think you’d make it there. 

So with your last burst of energy, you pull the lever under the seat to push it back a little, leaving your boots on the floor as you bring your feet and knees up. Your coat finds a new purpose as a makeshift blanket, and you cover as much of your body as you can with it. Fully knowing that as you close your eyes, you might never open them again, you don’t care that much. Dying is what you want, anyway.

Surprisingly, you do open your eyes again. It’s dark when you do, and it’s so, so cold. Your heart is beating hard as it tries to circulate blood that just isn’t there anymore, and it’s with a low groan that you move, trying to reach for the phone in the pocket of your coat.

It’s seven p.m.. You met with the vampire at two p.m., and the visit took less than an hour, which means that you got into your car at maybe a bit before three, and so you’ve been passed out for four hours. It takes you a while to come to properly, and even when you do, you feel weak, groggy, and stiff. Ideally, you shouldn’t drive, but you have no other means of getting home, so you decide on a route consisting of smaller roads with lower speed limits and less traffic.

It’s no wonder you feel like you’re on death’s doorstep because when you do some further Googling on blood donation and blood volumes at home, you calculate exactly how much someone of your size would have. And you find that the vampire took 38% of that.

Three weeks later, you’re knocking on his door again. He opens it, an eyebrow raised and looking even more unimpressed than last time. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t show last week, but I was sick,” you inform, hoping he’ll accept your apology. “Didn’t think you would’ve wanted to see… that.”

“You’re right.”

That’s all he says before he turns, leaving the door open for you just like last time. Well, you take that as a sign that you’re forgiven, and so you follow him inside. 

Trying to keep up with him, you’re feeling even smaller and weaker around the tall vampire than before, and truth be told, you are. Because according to those Google searches, while it takes the body only approximately 24-48 hours to replace the blood plasma, it takes four to six weeks to replenish the red blood cells and recover fully. And that’s from having one bag of 450ml donated; you left three and it’s only been three weeks since. Essentially, the vampire is taking your blood a lot faster than you can produce it.

Like last time, you sit down on the same chair in his kitchen, but since he wasn’t expecting you, he has to retrieve the supplies from elsewhere. You remain quiet while he organizes everything, stealing a few glances at him in the meantime. This time, he’s wearing a black t-shirt and black shorts, and you’re amazed at just how… ordinary he looks. In the best way possible, of course. 

Without being too tight, the shirt does a very good job at showing off his physique: it hangs wonderfully off his shoulders and dips slightly between his pecs. It exposes the prominent veins stretching across both his arms and hands, and you wonder if vampires also ‘live’ in the way that he has a heart that pumps blood around his body. Or if he’s really ‘dead’ or ‘undead’ like some media describe them?

“What?” he questions, having caught you staring.

“You look very human,” you say quietly. “Like a college guy.”

An athletic college guy. The one who’s just a little too handsome to be exact.

The trace of amusement that flashes across his face is so faint that you’re not sure you didn’t simply imagine it. He doesn’t respond to your observation, only sitting down and reaching for your arm. His large hands feel a little warmer against your skin than you remember them doing last time, and you turn your head when he prepares the needle. There’s a pinch and then the immediate relief when he loosens the tourniquet.

“Here,” the red stress ball is placed into your hand again. Looking down briefly, you watch your own hand squeeze it, but the red fluid flowing through the transparent tube is too off-putting, and so you close your eyes again.

A minute or so passes while you keep squeezing the ball to some sort of rhythm tied to your breaths. It won’t be long. Soon, everything will be over. 

Somewhere, you lose track of time, and to regain some sense of reality, you flutter your eyelids open. Only to see the vampire stare coldly at you. You freeze.

“I thought you left,” you admit, the surprise clear in your voice.

“I’m keeping an eye on you,” he explains, face still stoic.

You look at him dumbly. “No offense, but why? The point is to kill me, anyway?”

“No, it’s to take as much as possible,” he corrects you. “To a reasonable extent. And then kill you. Here, let me change the bag.”

You close your eyes once more as he switches the full bag to a new, empty one. The dizziness comes a lot quicker than it did three weeks ago, but then again, you’ve been feeling more or less weak and faint ever since that first donation.

“Okay, we’re done.”

You look at him, surprised. “Already? But you didn’t even fill the second bag fully?”

“I took too much last time, and like I said, I want to get as much out of you as possible.”

For the first time, you think you see a hint of a discreet fang when he gives you a blood-chilling smile.

The process of removing everything is quick, and before you know it, you’re putting your feet into your boots again. You feel faint, like your knees might buckle under you any second, but you don’t feel weak to the point of passing out for hours in your car; you do that when you’re home in bed instead.

Suffering from what you gather is immense anemia, you don’t have the energy to really do anything between your visits to the vampire besides lie on the couch and watch TV. You quit your retail job the Monday after finding him in that alleyway, confident (and correctly so) that you wouldn’t be able to handle really any job at all. 

Even rotting away on the couch with your eyes glued to the screen, you can barely understand what the shows are about. Your brain struggles to place the people and remember the plot lines, and you find yourself almost daydreaming instead. Though it’s mostly just flashing images of the vampire whose name you still don’t know.

If your heart wasn’t already so strained, it would beat harder for him in some kind of fear-filled attraction. He’s absolutely gorgeous—and there’s definitely something almost drawing you to him—but he’s also so, so intimidating. If the end goal wasn’t to die, you’d for sure be running for the hills and looking over your shoulder late at night.

Next time, there’s a slight smile pulling on the vampire’s lips when he opens the door.

“Still alive?”

You chuckle quietly, looking down at your boots. “Unfortunately.”

Taking off your coat reveals another simple outfit with no other purpose than granting the vampire access to your arms while keeping your freezing body warm. This time, it’s a thick, brown cardigan over a t-shirt, paired with somewhat baggy jeans.

The contrast between your clothes is almost funny. Even indoors, you’d be freezing in the half-open thin, white dress shirt he wears messily tucked into black, also thin-looking slacks. The gap in his shirt makes you want to reach out and touch his pale chest, but of course, you keep your hands to yourself.

Once again, you follow him inside, and while you don’t need him to, he guides you to the same spot in his kitchen where the stuff is all laid out. 

Sitting down, you slip your arm out of the cardigan and place it on the armrest. The vampire washes his hands and then comes to sit down in front of you, reaching for the tourniquet to position it around your bicep. With the elastic band tightened, he rips open an antiseptic wipe to clean the inside of your elbow, and then, he prepares the needle like always. 

You look away, holding your breath until the pinch comes and for a few seconds after. 

“The whole thing about vampires losing control around blood… I take it that’s just storytelling?”

“Depends,” he answers, and despite not looking at him, you just know he’s got one eyebrow raised and a hint of a cocky smile on his lips. “If we’re hungry and someone happens to bleed around us, yeah, it can be more… tempting. Also depends on what sort of blood we prefer.”

“And you don’t like mine,” you state, your foggy brain concluding it the reason he seems to not care about the vulnerable blood right in front of him.

He laughs this time, a really nice sound that has your strained heart almost skipping an important beat. “I changed my weekly feeding to Thursdays, so I’m still quite full. And your blood isn’t vile, it’s just not what I personally go crazy for.”

“Oh,” you let out, looking at him before something dawns on you. “Wait. You eat once a week only? How much do you eat then? Or… drink?”

He nods toward the bag he just secured to your arm. “Someone of my size typically only needs about two of these a week to survive and not maniacally hunt and kill, but to really thrive? Between two and three liters, so four to six bags. I usually go hunting Friday or Saturday night when most bars and pubs are full. It’s surprisingly easy to find a few drunks stumbling around who won’t even realize what happened the day after.”

“So you don’t… kill?”

“Not if we can help it. There’s been… an increase in vampires around here, and if people drop dead? No, it’s less suspicious and only a little more work to find a few victims instead of draining one dry.”

“Makes sense.”

“Mhm. I typically don’t have to beg women to come with me, either.”

Something ice cold travels through your body at that last sentence. You wonder whose blood was on his lips that night when you found him.

“I can’t believe you’re telling me this, though? You seem like you’d tell me to mind my own business.”

Even more, you can’t believe you asked.

He smiles. “I don’t know. Like I said, people will occasionally find out what I am, find me fascinating, and ask a thousand questions. I’ve always thought it to be incredibly annoying, and I’m not really supposed to tell them anything even if I wanted to—which I don’t—but it’s been… odd, not being questioned by you. At all. Almost boring, like I’m not interesting to you.”

His answer surprises you, and for a moment, you imagine teenage you, not bubbly per se but at least a bit more naive than the current version. Would she be the type to annoy him? You don’t think so. 

“Objectively, you are interesting, but I can’t believe how brave people are? If things were different, I wouldn’t have gone out looking for a vampire in the first place. And if I somehow stumbled upon you, I would’ve run the other way because you’d terrify me.”

Slowly, he smirks at your honesty. 

“I scare you?” 

You’d be lying if you claimed the cold, calculating aura around him didn’t.

You’re not sure if he has any super powers like in the movies, but honestly, he wouldn’t need to be able to lift a bus to kill you. The scariest thing about him isn’t how he could end your life in a hundred different ways either way, it’s how he could drag it out and extend your suffering before doing so. Of course, your body and instincts find him scary, but in a way, your mind… doesn’t? Then again, you’re here because your mind wants him to kill you.

“I don’t know.”

“Hm,” is all he says, his eyes falling to the blood bag. “I have to change it. Hold on.”

“Okay,” you mumble, finding it hard to concentrate. Your heart beats so hard it hurts, but at the same time, your breathing is slowing down. Closing your eyes, you feel him move stuff around.

“How are you feeling?” he suddenly asks, but it doesn’t sound like he cares too much.

“Honestly? Terrible,” you admit, keeping your eyes closed. 

You keep still when you feel his hands on your arm, but then you hear a little… rip.

“Fuck.”

Curiously, you open your tired eyes, seeing the vampire hold the empty bag up to inspect it. 

“This was the last one I had. This brand is fucking terrible quality; how do you make blood bags so weak they rip?”

“You don’t have anything else to collect it in?”

He sighs defeatedly, “No, it needs to be in these kinds of bags so I can store and freeze it properly.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I’ll have to stock up on them and maybe take more next time.”

You nod slowly and understandingly. That will probably be the last time, then.

About a week and a half later, you find yourself on a bench downtown, your hands in the pockets of your coat to keep them warm. It’s Saturday, and on the other side of the street, a few people are standing in line to be let inside your town’s best version of a nightclub. You’re not certain what exactly brought you here, and you’re sure that if the happy, club-dressed people took the time to observe their surroundings, they’d notice you staring and look at you weirdly in turn.

“Hello?”

Registering the almost rude-sounding voice, you blink as you turn your head. It’s a guy. 

“Huh?”

His face looks skeptic, and he’s got his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. He’s not wearing a jacket or coat of any kind over his white t-shirt, so you gather he’s in the middle of a night out. Probably left a bar for a smoke and spotted you.

“I asked you what your name is? Like three times?”

He’s good looking with black hair and dark eyes, but the tone of his voice is very unattractive, and you have no interest in him whatsoever, knowing he isn’t just looking to be your friend.

“Oh. Uh…”

You don’t say it. It’s not that you don’t remember your name or that you’re making a conscious effort to deny him the information, but it’s like your thoughts are at a standstill. 

“Beat it.”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. His lips didn’t move.

“And who are you?” he asks, irritation dripping from his words, and this time, his lips are moving. However, his eyes are not on you but on something behind you.

Just as you’re about to turn around, the man in front of you leaves. His steps are quick, his mission abandoned.

“What are you doing here?”

Of course. It clicks the moment the vampire comes into view, and you’re surprised you didn’t immediately recognize his deep voice. He’s wearing that same leather jacket and some black pants, an outfit still very much inappropriate for winter. Though, something about him feels… wilder, almost a little uncontained? You can’t put your finger on what exactly.

“Uh, people-watching,” you inform as he rounds the bench, sitting down next to you.

Because he’s beautiful like no other, you glance discreetly at his face. He’s so masculine, but in certain lights, you glimpse something softer. You particularly like his nose and its rounded tip. It gives him such an attractive profile, you think, gaze traveling over his features and lingering on his dark eyelashes.

“Why? Isn’t it cold as hell for you?”

“Uhm, I don’t know? And I guess?”

From looking straight ahead, he turns his head, redirecting his full attention to you. The light from the closest street lamp reflects in his dark eyes.

“Is there any truth to that whole ‘vampires are designed to lure humans in’ thing?”

He grins. “I lure you in?”

“You’re more intimidating than you are attractive, actually,” you admit earnestly, wincing a little on the inside at how it came out a bit like an insult. He’s definitely attractive, and maybe the fact that he is so attractive is part of why he’s also so intimidating. “I’m just wondering what you looked like before.”

“I’ve always looked like this,” he explains casually, once again peering out over the cold, dark street. “Vampirism doesn’t change anything besides, like, skin impurities and conditions. I would’ve shown you a picture, but there were no cameras around when I was human,” he smiles cheekily.

“Anyway, you should go home. It’s really cold and not really safe at this time either,” he encourages.

You nod, realizing that he wants to protect his backup supply. “Yeah.”

“Good. I’ll see you next week.”

“Mhm.”

You expect him to get up and leave, confused when five seconds pass and he hasn’t moved. The feeling seems to be mutual because he turns his head to look at you again.

“So, are you leaving or not?”

“I am.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

You look away, clearing your throat a bit awkwardly and realizing that you might just have to tell him, since he doesn’t seem to be leaving before you. “I don’t think I… can. I walked here, but I think I overestimated myself.”

The vampire looks you over briefly, probably just to be sure, but you both know that your main health concerns aren’t visible. 

“Where do you live?”

“Oh, not that far. Like less than a ten minute walk, but I…”

“What’s your address?”

“124 Conch Street.”

“Stand up.”

“What?”

“Stand up.”

Puzzled, you follow his instructions and slowly rise to your feet. Though you’ve been sitting stranded on the bench for almost two hours, the dizziness returns the moment you stand.

But the vampire isn’t satisfied. “Get up on the bench and undo your coat up to your waist.”

This time, you give him a skeptic look.

“Just do as I say,” he holds his hand out for you.

Slowly and still confused, you take it, and with his aid, you step up onto the bench.

To your surprise, he lets go, and before you know it, he’s unzipped your coat from the bottom up to your waist, positioned himself in front of you, and grabbed your thighs. Instinctively, you place your arms around his neck as he hoists you onto his back and starts walking.

“What are you doing?” you breathe quietly.

“Taking you home in an inconspicuous way. It looks like we’re a couple, does it not?”

“Definitely an odd and unexpected couple if so, but I guess?”

“You’re a pretty girl, you know?”

Your lungs hold your breath for an extra second before slowly releasing it, and then you hum, but it’s only to actually provide him with an answer. You definitely don’t think you’re anywhere near pretty enough for someone like him. He doesn’t call you out on your vague answer.

You’re not the most common sight, couple or not, and people still watch you as you pass them. Unsure as to how to meet their curious gazes, you don’t; turning your head forward instead. When you’re so close, you inevitably catch his scent, only to find that he doesn’t smell like a whole lot. There are traces of soap, laundry detergent, and maybe a hint of cologne, but not much else. No lingering smell of sweat or anything like that.

He walks you through the city and past the alleyway where you first found him. It’s quiet, except for the muted sound of his footsteps as well as those of a man a bit ahead, evidently hurrying to get home and away from the cold.

“Are there more vampires here?” you wonder, looking around the silent street and thinking it might not be as empty as it seems. 

“Yes,” he confirms casually.

It has your brain working, and the surroundings reminding you of why you’re with him in the first place.

“How are you going to kill me?”

If he’s caught off guard by your straightforward question, he does a good job of not showing it. 

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. But I’d rather not bleed out,” you say, body aching at the mere thought. Although you’re certain there are much worse ways to go, you really don’t like the feeling of severe blood loss.

“It’s the easiest way though,” he explains. “It’s not as easy to drain a body without a heartbeat to move the blood around.”

“Are you familiar with livestock?” you ask, thinking back to what your three-year-older cousin once told you as you biked past a field of cows one summer when you were ten. “You can kill the animal and then ‘deblood’ them by hanging the body upside down and cutting their throat. The blood will drain easily. Do you have a bathtub?”

“You’re… a person though, still,” he says, and though he doesn’t falter in his steps, you can tell your words don’t sit quite right with him. “There’s no dignity in an ending like that. And don’t you care what happens to your body?”

To say you’re surprised is an understatement. You thought vampires were all bloodthirsty monsters, only biding their time until they can rip someone new apart. The messier, the better. The vampire, who’s carrying you on his back, made no effort to appear nice either. At least not at first. Now, you don’t even know.

You shrug slightly. You’re not a spiritual person, and you’ve never believed in something like an afterlife. “It’s just meat and bones. I won’t be here anymore, and no one’s going to be looking for me, anyway. There’s no use in keeping things ‘pretty.’”

He doesn’t say anything in turn, and you wonder how much about you he knows. How much about your life he realizes.

The vampire’s smooth movement lulls you further into relaxation, and you lean your head partly against your own arm, partly against him. He doesn’t say anything.

Way sooner than if you would’ve walked with your own two legs—if you would’ve made it home at all—he puts you down in front of your apartment complex. You search your pockets, locating your keys in the left one. 

“Going home now? Since you can’t enter without permission,” you joke tiredly, unlocking the front entrance with the key fob. 

The vampire raises his eyebrows. “I might as well make sure you don’t somehow trip and spill all my blood on the way to your apartment,” he smirks, grabbing the door and opening it wide without breaking eye contact. “And you shouldn’t believe everything you see or read.”

The smile he’s wearing as he makes a show out of stepping inside the building is another chilling one. You can’t say that you expected him to hit an invisible wall or anything, but for some reason, it would’ve almost felt… nice if that were the case. Considering your situation, you’re not sure why. 

The elevator is empty and waiting for you, and after getting inside, you press the button for floor two, the vampire coming to stand beside you.

“Is there anything that is true regarding vampires?” you ask quietly as if someone would hear you inside the elevator.

“Besides the fact that we drink blood?”

“Yeah. Are you like, immortal and stuff? Super old?”

He chuckles. “Kinda. I don’t think anything’s truly immortal, but we do have a longer life span, yes.”

“What about senses? Can you hear my heart beat right now?”

“Yes. It sounds like it’s about to burst through your chest.”

Yeah, because it’s strained to hell and back, trying to keep you alive even in the condition you’re in.

“And super speed, super strength and all that?”

“Mhm, although we’re not so fast we go blurry. Are you impressed?”

“I don’t know? What do you use it for? I can’t think of even one thing having those powers would improve in my life.”

“Tough crowd,” he chuckles, avoiding your question as he follows you out of the elevator. 

You understand that being physically superior is helpful when you’re a literal predator, and yeah, maybe being able to walk a tiny bit faster to work every morning would’ve saved you some time, but what else? Oh, yeah, one time, you had to throw away a jar of pickles because you simply could not get it open. Being stronger would’ve definitely helped you then. 

Reaching your door, you’re quick to unlock it and pull it open to head inside, ignoring the two envelopes lying on the floor in your hallway. The vampire stays at the door, watching as you start to remove your coat two or so steps away from him.

“Are those… bruises?”

Turning your head as you make your way to the wardrobe to put the coat away, you see the vampire looking almost worried. You look down at the skin on your arms. 

“Yeah.”

“Let me look at them,” he urges, holding his hand out.

“Why? They come with anemia; why does it matter?”

“Still, I want to see. Come over here.”

Despite looking oddly insistent, he makes no effort to actually enter your apartment.

Your eyes widen as you look at him. “You really can’t come inside without an invitation, can you?”

He sighs exasperatedly. “Technically, no, I can’t step inside unless you give me permission.”

It makes you laugh a little in wonder. “Wow.”

He rolls his eyes, but you can tell it amuses him a little too.

“Listen, I’ll be fine until we meet again and if the bruises are still there, you can look at them then. I kinda don’t actually want to invite you in, is that rude of me?”

“No, it’s not. Very reasonable, actually.”

“Okay, then I’ll see you Friday?”

He nods politely and steps back. “See you.”

You watch him leave, his footsteps sounding through the hall as you bend down to pick up the envelopes you’ve been ignoring for days. They’re probably bills, and you’ll be dead soon, so who really cares if you pay them or not?

Mindlessly, you approach the door to close it, your focus on the white paper in your hands. You put your finger under the fold to rip the first envelope open, wincing when the paper cuts through your skin instead.

Holding your finger up, you inspect the damage and the little bead of red that’s forming next to the invisible cut. You look at it, furrowing your eyebrows at how you feel like something’s… missing? A moment later, you realize what it is, and your body freezes. 

The footsteps have stopped.

It dawns on you, as you look at the blood, what the vampire was actually doing tonight and why he looked wilder than usual. Early Saturday night, lurking around the clubs until he found you and had to abandon his plans. 

He was hunting.

Your eyes widen and your heart stops as you hear it. One footstep. Then another. And another. They’re speeding up, and soon enough running toward you.

Before you’ve had a chance to shut the door, it flies wide open. Panicked, you move farther into the apartment, but you fall backward and by pure instinct, crawl back as quickly as you can.

Despite claiming that he couldn’t enter without your permission, the vampire falls to his knees, then all fours, to reach you. You’ve never seen anything as scary as the bloodthirsty creature grasping the air, trying to get you. He moves so quickly, and his hand is just about to grab your foot when it’s like… he’s held back by something. 

You're breathing heavily, trying to understand what’s happening. Why doesn’t he just move another three centimeters? He licks his lips in frustration, exposing fangs that are definitely longer than you remember. Meeting his eyes, they’re cold like never before, and he exhales angrily. He’s still reaching for you, and frozen in your spot, you look over at him, briefly wondering if his feet got stuck or something when it hits you.

He can’t step inside.

You sit there, your feet mere centimeters from his grasping hand when there’s a sound down the hall, and in a split second, the vampire seems to snap out of it. He looks at you, appearing to realize what he’s doing and somehow gaining control over himself. Looking around, he gets up, and he leaves. Quickly and without a word.

Wide-eyed and with your heart beating painfully, you remain on the floor, wondering what the hell just happened. Even when his footsteps are long gone, you’re too afraid to get up and close the door, worried that he’ll return and be able to reach you. 

You’d like a very serious word with whoever established the ‘no entering without permission’ rule but also decided that the vampires could cheat it by keeping their feet outside and crawling inside.

You sleep a little uneasy the following nights, thinking a lot. Of course, your thoughts are mostly occupied by those cold, black eyes, thirsty for your blood.

<previous | next> happy halloween <3<3

[the-weeping-dawn]

This is a normal level of interest in the prism, don't worry about it, you're not being brought along because of a shared need for the free will box.

Nope. Disguised mindflayer.

Easy mistake to make oddly enough.

[froggiewrites]

other request - sanji and face sitting (maybe he really likes it?) OR sanji being a sub and you tell him how he should touch himself idk >///< your sanji & zoro fic made me feel things Lol

I was trying to write your other request first because I was originally planning on writing in the order I received them but I genuinely have not been able to stop thinking about your second idea since you sent it in. Honestly I might go back and write the face sitting later too, I'm soooo obsessed with Sanji I need him so bad 😭

Instruction

Pairing: Sanji x Reader

NSFW

Summary: You give Sanji some gentle instruction, and he's more than happy to listen. Warnings: Porn Without Plot, Sub Sanji, Masturbation, Praise Kink (Sanji receiving) Word Count: 1k

“Are you ready, my love?” Your hands hold his cheeks as he stares up at you with something bordering worship. 

His lips brush against one of your palms, his facial hair tickling your skin. “Of course, my love. I would do anything you asked of me. I was born to serve you.” His eyes are half lidded, pupils already blown out with lust. His shirt is open, chest exposed, and his pants are unbuttoned and unzipped, his underwear still obscuring what you really want to see. You briefly trace your hands over his happy trail, stopping right before you make contact with his bulge, and he lets out a quiet, shaky moan as his face flushes red. “Please don’t tease me, angel. I won’t last.”

“You’ll last until I say you’re done, sweetheart.” Another quiet noise. “But I’ll be nice. Start slow. Take off your pants.”

He slides slowly out of his suit pants, revealing his thighs and calves to you. He discards them next to the bed before his hands start to reach for his underwear, and you softly tut at him.

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?” He looks at you with confusion.

“I want you to run your hands over yourself just like I would. Can you do that for me, Sanji?” You keep your voice a sweet coo, encouraging and kind. Only the gentlest words and tone for your beloved. He hesitates a moment, looking into your expectant eyes, before lightly tracing his fingertips up his torso, running over his abs and up to his chest. He traces a path back down, fingers brushing over chest hair and old battle scars, before he reaches the waistband of his underwear. He pauses, looking to you for permission, and you consider him for a moment. He flushes further under your intense gaze, but he doesn’t look away or cower. He seems to soak up your gaze, your attention, no matter how it embarrasses him. You nod at him, gesturing to his boxers, and he eagerly slides them off, exposing himself fully to you.

You take a moment to admire him before giving him his next instruction. “Go ahead and start, love.” He wraps his hand around himself gently, beginning to move a tick too quickly for your liking, and you quietly say, “Not so fast. We want this to last, don’t we?”

“Yes, my love!” His hand slows, moving tantalizingly up and down his length as he shifts to show off better for you. He maintains his pace, but you can see him quickly start to lose willpower as he struggles to keep steady. His eyes linger on your still clothed chest, on your thighs, on your mouth, and you can practically see the images he has in his head: you, pinning him down and riding him hard and fast, tits bouncing, head thrown back with pleasure. When he looks back up at your face, his eyes pleading for you to give him permission, but you simply give him a grin and lean closer, giving yourself a better look at his dick. It’s leaking with precum, and you’re so tempted to tease him with a small lick, but it isn’t time for that now.

“Sanji?”

“Yes, dear?” His voice cracks a little as he struggles to maintain his composure.

“Do you want to move a little faster for me?”

He lets out a small whine of relief. “Yes, please.” He starts palming himself faster, grip tightening, small whimpers leaving his mouth.

“Good work, my love. You’re doing so well.”

Another choked whimper.

“No need to hold back those noises, darling. They’re one of my favorite parts of this. Could you be a little louder, for me?”

“Yes,” he keens, eyes falling further closed. The whimpers and whines grow louder and louder as he continues, loud enough that someone might overhear, but you’re so enraptured by him you can hardly bring yourself to care.

“You’re doing so well, Sanji. So good for me. Such a good boy.”

He makes the most wanton noise you’ve ever heard at that, speeding up even more, head falling back. He starts to beg, though you can’t quite figure out what for. “Please, more. Please, please, I’m being so good!”

“A little faster, Sanji. That’s it.”

His voice starts to break as he grows close, and you can see him really start to lose himself. Even in such a state, he still opens his eyes to look at you, eyes begging for permission.

You smile at him warmly, lovingly, and say in the sweetest voice you can, “Go on and cum for me, my love.”

He breaks instantly, cum covering his stomach and hand. He leans back on the mattress, breathing heavy. You sit in a moment of silence, before he asks in a hopeful and vulnerable tone, “Was that good? Was that what you wanted?”

“Yes, Sanji, that was perfect. You were perfect.”

A pleased smile makes its way onto his face, one that’s just on the edge of smug. You move forward, kissing him softly on the forehead, before standing to grab a towel.

His hand not covered in cum catches you. “Are you leaving?” His eyes are wide and pleading, the look on his face a fragile one you know he wouldn’t dare to wear outside of this room.

“No, darling. I was just going to grab a towel so you could clean yourself up.”

“Can you stay?”

You look at him, looking so small despite his usual bravado, and sit back down. “Of course, Sanji. I’d do anything you asked of me.” You giggle slightly, hands reaching for his face and caressing his cheeks.

He closes his eyes and leans into your touch, basking in it, before sliding his shirt off of his hands and using it to wipe himself up. After he’s satisfied with his cleanliness, he practically dives into you, head against your chest, ear right against your heart. His breathing evens out, his heartbeat slows to match with yours, and his fingers intertwine with yours. “I love you, angel.”

“I love you too, Sanji.”

[505oclock]

Just Friends (18+ mdni)

rafe cameron x barry x f!reader

where rafe and barry are your best friends, but won’t stop at the first chance to put you to work.

first obx fic so pls be nice !! and lmk if u want a part two!! <3

warnings: might lead to smut?? drugs, a little bit of objectification

you’re honestly not sure how you stumbled into the friendship of barry and rafe. you had grown up around kooks and pouges, but never really fit in with either of them.

you guessed that’s how you ended up here, hanging out with the neighborhood drug dealer and kook prince, the two people you really felt yourself around.

they loved their weed and coke, but you really only stuck to alcohol. you loved getting fucked out of your mind, and coke and weed didn’t really do that for you. barry and rafe we’re the opposite, but all substances had you all in a different head space.

it was a saturday night and the three of you had no plans; this resulted in you on barry’s couch, drinking beer and watching the boys take turns on the blunts barry rolled earlier.

“just one hit princess” rafe begged you to take a hit of the blunt. They had yet to witness you high, and were dying to see it happen.

“you gotta give it another go eventually, listen to country club over here” barry clapped rafes shoulder, the both of them pleading with you. You had smoked before, but it honestly wasn’t your thing. You thought it was cute hwo much they wanted to see you smoke.

“I know i knkw i will eventually, just not tonight”

they both groaned and you smiled wide, since it was your routinely response everytime the three of you hung out.

You were running low on your beer, “Gonna go grab another, you guys need anything?” You asked as you stood up, fixing your shorts that kept riding up.

“Nope” they said in unison, focused on the video rafe was showing barry on his phone. However, their attention drifted from the phone as you walked to the kitchen, your ass looked fantastic in the shorts you were wearing.

While the three of you were strictly friends, there was no denying the underlying sexual tension that surrounded the three of you everytime you guys hung out alone. You thought both of the guys were hot, and when rafe and barry were alone, they couldn’t help thinking about how it would be to spend a night with you. The attractive was naturally undeniable.

And while you three could keep it together normally, something different was in the air tonight.

A few beers later, whilst you were still aware and in control, you were the perfect drunk. This meant you were extra talkative and a little too horny for your own good.

Rafe and Barry were high out of their minds, between the shared blunts and lines they were snorting, and they couldn’t keep their eyes of off you. You were a giggling mess, eyes bright and glossy, and you’re smile so bright it made them feel a way they shouldn’t feel

“Oooh i loveee this song!” you jump up when the speaker starts playing, and start silly dancing. the boys just watch you and roll their eyes, used to this.

With the extra alcohol in you, you start really dancing to the music, swaying your hips, doing a hw most. While it’s completely innocent on your end, the guys change their composure as they watch you.

“Cmon- Cm-dance with me!” you’re a giggling mess, oblivious to your effect over the two men in front of you. You bite your lip in a smile as you grab rafes hands and pull him off the couch.

He smirks at you, then at Barry, as he hovers behind you as you continue to dance to your song. You sway to the music, and before you realize it, Rafe is swaying too, with his hands firm on your hips.

His hands slowly move up and down your waist, completely innocent. you play into it, continuing to dance, feeling his hot fingers trace up and down you.

It hits you what you’ve done, when his hands start tracing up, closer to your tits. Through the fog of alcohol, you can sense him, and decide to make a subtle move. You grab his sliding hands, guiding them to your tits, squeezing on them with his hands. This sobered you up to how close he was to you, feeling the heat of his breath on your neck.

You smiled at Barry through hazy eyes, watching as he used one hand to smoke his blunt and the other resting on his crotch.

Rafe whispered in your ear, “This okay princess?”

Your “mmmhm” was all he needed as he started planting kisses on your neck, his hands moving down to grip harshly on your hips. He found the soft spot on your neck and sucked, evoking a small moan from you.

“Country clubs got ya fucked up, huh, princess?” Barry says, locking eyes with you as Rafe continues to attack your neck.

You vite your lip to suppress a moan, feeling rafe get hard on your ass “mmmf” is all your foggy head can get out, before you realize barry has gotten up and is walking towards the two of you.

“Can’t expect me to sit here and not join,” he smiles as he comes close and kisses you, placing his hands on your waist. Barry doesn’t waist time, sticking his tongue down your throat as he slips a hand down your waistband.

It was all too much. Rafes hard dick on your ass, placing kisses down your neck, while barry kisses you deep and plants his fingers on your pussy

“We’ll take good care of you baby” Rafe slurrs as his hands make it back up to your tits, more aggressively this time.

“Gotta get princess out of her clothes so we can see her pretty tits, hm, country club?” Barry smirks as he rips your shirt over your head, Rafe undoing the claps of your bra to let your breast spill out.

“Fuck” the guys say in uníson, making themselves laugh. It hits you how tucked up you all are right now.

“You’re a pretty girl, princess” Rafe whispers in your ear, sending a chill down your spine.

“So pretty” Barry agrees “Gonna be our girl for the night princess? Can you do that for us?” Barry asks

“Yes, i can be your girl” You tell them, excited to see where this night will take you.

[thelarriefics]

HOLIDAY FIC REC, PART V: Below you’ll find 25 fics that have to do with the holiday season.

📖 Larry Xmas Countdown 2024 by @28goldens (133k)

Different fic prompts posted across 25 days

📖 Twinkling Lights, Fated Nights by @darling-28 (87k)

A story about healing, love and finding home in each other.

📖 Home For The Holiday by @larrysmomfics (86k)

Harry needs to run away. In an attempt to get out of his own routine and his own life for a while and get over his extremely toxic ex, he decides on an emotionally fueled whim to do a house swap with someone in LA who's itching to get out of his own routine and get away from his best friend and business partner for a bit. In a quirky turn of events the best friend Liam was so desperate to get away from happens to be the most lovely, kind, and beautiful man Harry's ever met. What ensues is a self healing journey with the help of a found family, a wonderful man who becomes his home, and above all love. A "The Holiday" inspired AU where Harry meets Louis after agreeing to swap houses with a stranger on the internet for three weeks over the holidays.

📖 Secrets in Winter by @softfonds (82k)

If Harry Styles thought he was going to have a peaceful winter while staying far away from the rake who lived across the street, he was sorely wrong on two fronts. A Victorian AU.

📖 2024 Advent Calendar by @the-larry-way (40k)

25 independent one-shots with wintery/Christmas themes centering Larry Stylinson

📖 Heart Beat by @allwaswell16 (35k)

Hideaway Haven is the place that Louis has always called home. It's also the place that Harry had tried to leave behind him. When Harry returns to start a music academy in his hometown, he finds himself face to face with his high school crush—and his charming daughter who wants to learn to play the drums.

📖 You Should Be Here With Me by @lululawrence (34k)

The festive period is a traditionally hectic one in the world of Premier League football, and this year is no different. A lot is riding on how Manchester United is able to come through the fixtures in the coming weeks. Louis and his teammates know all too well the pressure that is on their shoulders. They need to prove, not just to fans of the club but the entire league, that they still have what it takes to be a team worthy of fighting for the top of the table. Throw in the fact that Louis is all too aware that he's not getting any younger in a profession that demands your peak physical fitness year round and the incredibly fit Harry Styles, who is part of the club's social media team, and this year's festive period might just be the most important one yet.

📖 I Guess I'll Surrender by @bravetemptation (29k)

A lad’s Christmas holiday provides the perfect opportunity for Louis and Harry to prank their friends. They decide to fake date. Feelings kind of get in the way

📖 We Can Roll in the Darkness by @letthemusicmoveyou28 (29k)

Or the one where Louis and his best mate Niall decide to take the plunge and open a pub. The goal is to open Christmas Day, but the building renovations are proving trickier than expected. Insert: a construction company with a questionable name, a certain curly haired builder who catches Louis’ attention, and a little festive chaos along the way.

📖 Your Reign is Free (to give along to Santa) by @londonfoginacup (28k)

It’s Christmas Eve. It’s a totally normal Christmas Eve. Harry and Louis have some friends coming by, and some totally normal birthday and Christmas plans. It’s a totally typical totally normal Christmas Eve. A fic that takes place over 24 (+1) hours where surely everything will go totally to plan. Happy Christmas, here’s to many more.

📖 One for the Books by @neondiamond (25k)

Or the one where there’s a bookshop, a cat, OT5 friendship, a budding romance, and all the festive vibes.

📖 Lonely Cards Club by @hellolovers13 (25k)

Harry's life in Cardiff is rather uneventful. Until he receives a strange Christmas postcard. It gets even stranger when he finds another one the next day. 💌 An Advent story about missed opportunities and second chances.

📖 light me up, put me on top by @larrydoinglaundry (24k)

Harry takes Louis back to Northern Europe to experience his first Nordic Christmas in their beloved cabin, surrounded by nothing but peace and snow. So much snow. Short "spin-off" to 'Love is a word, you gave it a name' universe. Takes place after the second part of the main story, but before the final epilogue.

📖 Secrets, Santa? by @indiaalphawhiskey (19k)

Right, okay, so Harry had confessed his deepest, darkest, dirtiest secrets to a stranger who turned out to be his boss. No big deal. This was probably just the beginning of Harry’s own hilariously heartwarming, wildly romantic Hallmark Christmas movie, come to life, right? …Right? -- very loosely inspired by Sophie Kinsella's Can You Keep A Secret?

📖 You Are The Fever (What A Lovely Way To Burn!) by @yoursolosong (18k)

Harry is an alpha who realizes he’s also into alphas and wants to be submissive. He battles between his instincts and what he wants.

📖 Christmas At Cedar Farm by @babyhoneyheslt (17k)

Inheriting a derelict farm with no knowledge on how to look after the land and a farmhouse in dire need of renovations, Harry’s stuck with two options; sell it, or do it up for himself. With the help of his friends and the cute farmer next door, Harry sees the potential and creates a Winter Wonderland at Cedar Farm.

📖 Santa, Baby by @hazzabeeforlou (16k)

Nothing in Harry’s life has gone to plan. From giving up his art dreams in favor of a stable 9-5, to singleness, to a bought with cancer that left him infertile, Harry finds himself wishing for a Christmas miracle. When one seemingly occurs, Harry meets the sperm donor of his dreams and begin to imagine the impossible. But not everything with Louis is as it seems, and soon an elusive art agent is adding to the chaos of Harry’s very unexpected holiday season. Set against the backdrop of New York City, this hallmark-style rom com is filled with a bit of drama, a drop of angst, and a touch of Christmas magic.

📖 knowing you're in love with me is the greatest gift of all by @dreamersdivin-headfirst (6k)

Harry just wants to fall back to sleep in his husband’s arms, wanting to treasure the quietness of Christmas morning before their kids wake up and realize what day it is. That dream is short lived when there’s a small shriek of joy from downstairs.

📖 I'll Show You How Good It Could Be by @lovingstheantidote (6k)

Harry makes Santa a drink and Louis gets naughty.

📖 me without you is like a present without a bow by @wecantalktomorrow (5k)

The reassurance from Louis had Harry grinning and running his hands down his husband’s sides. “I think you’re going to like it,” he murmured confidently, starting to play with the hem of his own jumper when he sat back against his husband’s bent knees. “Sorry you don’t get to unwrap it, though. Knew you’d be more reluctant to be tied up if you saw it first.”

📖 Mistletoe and Eggsnogging by @parmahamlarrie (5k)

Harry has a plan. It involves mistletoe, a night out at a club, and the hope that perhaps he might pull a nice boy tonight. The night does not go in any way like he had planned, but it all works out in the end.

📖 A Man After Midnight by @galacticlarry (4k)

Harry thought kissing Louis on New Year’s Eve would be a one-time thing, but they keep running into each other and it becomes a tradition. What happens when feelings start getting involved? Or the five times Harry kisses Louis on New Year’s Eve and the one time he kisses his boyfriend.

📖 Santa Baby (one little thing I really need) by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed (3k)

When Louis himself had first heard those words - all the nurses at the A&E have a secret line to Santa’s sleigh on Christmas Eve-, not nearly long enough ago to be considered a child himself, but long enough that he hadn't really felt like an adult all the time, he’d laughed them off. Thought they were sweet, of course, but just a line, something said to appease the kids who ended up having to stay overnight. Something to explain the presents that parents brought to the hospital on Christmas morning, or that were waiting for them at home, if they were lucky not to have to stay any longer. Something that would allow a little bit of Christmas spirit in the sometimes sterile rooms of the hospital. But that was before he’d met him.

📖 Have yourself a larry little christmas by @enchantedlandcoffee (2k)

A plan to exchange presents lead to more than both Harry and Louis bargained for.

📖 Too Many Beds - A Christmas Tale by @silverstuff50 (2k)

Louis was fine to share a room with any of the lads on their Christmas weekend away. Anyone, except the one lad he hates. He definitely hates him. He's annoying and big and gorgeous and, yeah, annoying.

[loulou-land]

Fuck it Friday

and also first lines of 2025

Thank you for the tag! ✨ @perfectlysunny02

This is a rockon fic I started recently, Deacon takes Rocker with him on one of his security jobs, things go very wrong and our boys need to keep each other alive while ignoring the elephant in the room (they haven’t gotten down and dirty yet in this fic) 👀 I was planning on it being a one shot but uh…I’m thinking it’s gonna turn into a multi-chapter 😮‍💨

Snippet

Deacon sighed, glancing around the room as if someone else might materialize and volunteer. No such luck. He already knew Hondo was busy, so no point asking him. He was about to give up when the door swung open, and Rocker strolled in whistling an off key tune, a towel hung around his shoulders.

“Everything all right?” Rocker asked, his tone casual but curious as he found himself the center of attention.

Deacon hesitated for a moment—not because he didn’t trust Rocker, he’d taken him with him on other jobs before. But, because something had been simmering between them lately, an unspoken tension in every interaction that he couldn't quite figure out. It had been driving him mad. Still, he pushed that aside and said, “Got a last-minute security detail. I need someone to ride shotgun. You interested?”

Rocker raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting into a familiar smirk. “High-profile client? Another heiress?”

“No,” Deacon answered vehemently. “I automatically veto those. One was enough, thanks.” He said, cringing at the memory of the entitled heiress who’d spent the whole drive to Vegas flirting with Rocker.

Of course, Rocker found that hilarious. He threw his head back and laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls. Deacon’s eyes were immediately drawn to the curve of Rocker’s throat, the way his neck stretched taut with the motion. It was ridiculous—he’d never thought of a neck as biteable before, but now the idea crept into his mind, unbidden and unwelcome. Before he could chase that thought, he slammed the mental door on it with a force that surprised even himself and quickly glanced away, clearing his throat.

“All right, chuckles,” he said, his voice a touch sharper than he intended. “What do you say?”

“Sounds like fun. Overnight job?” Rocker asked as he resumed shoving clothes into his backpack, still grinning like he knew exactly what had just crossed Deacon’s mind.

Uh I don’t know who to tag for this and I think a bunch of my mutuals have already done it. But if you see this and post something, feel free to tag me in it ☺️💕

[alphabetboyluvr]

THROTTLE - JJK | NINE

one/ two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

warnings - plans are being set in motion!!! back to busan we go! references to drugs, shitty driving, the usual. no smut! a rarity! plot!! one of my fave metaphors / set of lines in the entire fic is in this one!!

word count - 11.4k

minors dni // series masterlist

"I've been thinking," you tell Hoseok a little after dusk. The sun sets later these days, mid-year sun never wanting to settle. A monsoon has been looming for a few days now, but the grey clouds sit defiant in the air. "You were right."

He looks at you, contemplation sinking into the creases of his frown, the crisp white shirt he's wearing unbuttoned to his mid chest. A pair of thin-framed glasses adorn his eyes as he skims over the notes of a casefile from work.

"What about?"

His voice is soft as he asks.

With your hair like this - top layer in a half-undone bun, the rest wisping around your shoulders - he's reminded of how you used to be.

There's a lot to be said for your relationship, or lack thereof, but once upon a time, you'd cared for another. Would dance in his parents' kitchen when they were out of town, you in one of his shirts, bare feet padding against the ondol heated floor.

You look younger with your hair like this. Like yourself, he thinks. Someone he used to know.

It's part of the reason, you think, that you're so awful to another. You grew up together. He's a part of your formation, and you a part of his. There's a reminder of the innocence that once was.

He knows how much you wanted to get out of the fold. Knows you wouldn't have come back without an ulterior motive. He isn't naive to this. Isn't naive to anything you do. Is well aware you've been doing things that no woman with a diamond on her ring finger should be doing.

But he's no saint, either. The ring was given to you with a purpose. Just like his dress shirts are dry cleaned with a purpose. Saves you from having to wash his secretary's lipstick out of them.

"I need something to fill my days," you say. "I think I'm going crazy cooped up here."

It's not a lie.

It's also not the full truth; not what's prompting this conversation, but that's neither here nor there.

Hoseok nods. Put his case file on the coffee table and turns his full attention to you. There's a softness to him now, one that he didn't have the last time you spoke.

He's not all bad, not by any stretch of the imagination. Is just caught up in a God-awful world. He's like you, in that regard.

Whatever freedoms once belonged to you have been traded for protection - not just from the men who lurk around dingy boxing clubs, but from your own family, too.

Hoseok's position within the police force gives you an added layer of armour. He's chainmail. He knows this. Knows you need him.

But he needs you, too. He's got a greasy pole to climb. Helps him out if you're throwing him towels from the Mayor's office. Will get him to the top a little quicker.

It's unsurprising that he had been the one to suggest picking your relationship back up where it had been left a few years prior.

He had painted the idea as a beautiful utopia; Daegu's darling children, reunited. A powerhouse. Unstoppable.

You didn't have a plan back then, not yet - but power seemed like a good place to start.

"You've been away for a while," he muses, well aware that it's not been an easy adjustment for you. "I... Look, you and I both know this isn't ideal. I know you wouldn't be here if you thought there was another option for you."

When you nod, he thinks you might cry.

The person you are isn't the person he once knew. You're so strong in some regards, far more powerful than he ever thought you would be and yet at times you can seem so docile. So timid. Weak. He doesn't understand it. Not really. Doesn't understand you.

Because if he did, he'd know there's nothing docile about you.

"I don't actually want to ruin your life," he says with a small smile that seems sincere. Might not be. You choose to believe it is.

"It's fine," you offer back an equally minuscule smile. "I do a good enough job of that all on my own."

He presses his lips together, and contemplative dimples etch themselves into his cheeks. "What are you thinking? Let's work together. Find a solution."

Men. So easy to wrap around your finger.

"I'm thinking of proposing a library initiative to get the city kids reading. You know how much my Father likes a good press release," you say. "I'm not too sure yet. I could volunteer at the library, start promoting for the education sector. Something like that. It will give me something to do, and gets me in a public role that is pretty much as safe for publicity as can be. If I'm working as a volunteer, there's no need for additional expenses."

As you recite your lines, you think of Jimin - and how good he is at putting words together to make them sound convincing. He and Jin are definitely the brains of Kang's boys. Namjoon and Jungkook the brawn.

Like clockwork, you're thinking about him again. Thinking about the way he didn't take his eyes off you for the entire meeting. Thinking about the way he didn't crack a single smile. Thinking about how he'd followed you out afterwards, just to ask if you were okay - and about how forlorn he'd looked when you told him that you're none of his concern, and that the only thing between the pair of you anymore is business.

And then he had smirked. Told you that business was the only thing that had ever been between the pair of you. Told you not to get it twisted. Told you not to flatter yourself, and reminded you that he was the one who had orchestrated your entire relationship.

"Whatever's between us -" He had almost snarled. "- Is what I made it to be."

You'd laughed. Stepped a little closer. Toyed with the key still around his neck, and said, "we both know that's not entirely true, don't we?"

He was silent. Could barely breathe, let alone think straight. Wasn't till you were a mile across the city that he seemed to remember how to function like a human being again. He knows one thing for certain: he absolutely cannot be around you. Not if he wants any shot at sanity.

And so when you walk into the boxing club the next day, Jungkook pauses.

He watches how you scan the room, but drops his gaze before your eyes are able to reach his. He doesn't care for making conversation with you. Knows that it will be a fruitless endeavour.

It feels like oceans bloat the distance between you, and he's never much been one for swimming. Loves the freefall of the dive; hates the dictation of the currents.

"Is Jin about?" You ask, an air of indifference to your tone.

Following the conversation with Hoseok, you'd been granted approval from the Mayoral office to start planning the campaign. You'll be working with the PR team, but it's your domain. They'll be there to hold your hand if you need it, but you'll be the guide.

You're just here to report back to Seokjin. Aren't here for small talk. Would rather swallow a razor blade, you think. Much more pleasant.

Still in his workout gear, Jungkook doesn't look at you. Just shakes his head, slams his locker door shut, and kicks the heavy metal side door of the club open.

"You shouldn't be here," he says as he exits. "Ain't safe for you."

And he's right. It's a terrible place for you to be. Not for the risk of Kang showing up, or you being spotted fraternising with the enemy, but because of the way Jungkook makes you feel like your heart might stop beating entirely.

Part of you thinks it would be preferable if it did.

The door slams behind him, and echoes into the lofty room. The chime is haunting. Almost sounds like the same one that used to be in your stomach.

You're looking at your feet, gearing yourself up to leave, when the door swings back open.

Jungkook is agitated. Chewing on his cheeks, thunder in his eyes; he's the monsoon that's been looming all week.

You wish he would just crash. Pour down. Bless you with the glory of what it feels like to be covered in his torrential rains.

But there's a ring on your finger, and a hole in his chest. His mouth is constantly dry in your presence, and he's all cried out. He's got nothing left to give.

You look so familiar. So much like home - but Jungkook lost the keys a long time ago, and the one around his neck won't work on any of the fucking locks. He's shut out. An intruder every time he tries to peep inside the windows. It's invasive, the way he looks at you.

Has you drawing the curtains shut.

"I wasn't kidding," he says, his rounded white teeth clamping on his bottom lip before he can speak his favourite letter out loud. Doesn't wanna call you the name he used to trace on your back in the dark of the night. "You don't what it's been like since... You don't know. It's not safe."

"It's never been safe," you sneer. "Why the fuck are you acting like you care now?"

You watch as his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. He shakes his head. Looks to his feet.

There's something calming about it. You've seen his head hung low like this many times over.

It's never been due to your faults, but his, instead - his own disappointment, his own shame.

When his eyes fall back on you, dark and heavy, you're reminded of exactly who he is: danger.

So yeah, you're right. It's never been safe. Not with him around. Not safe for your life, not safe for your heart.

Never safe.

But he's always cared.

He wants to curse you out. Wants to say that you've no fucking idea how hard this has all been for him. Wants you to know that the only reason you're both still in this mess is because he cared. If he had never cared, then he never would have fucked it all up in the first place.

The words on the tip of his tongue are knocked back down his throat when a familiar rattle sounds in the parking lot. Thick and heavy, the gargle belongs to an exhaust pipe, and Jungkook has been around these parts for long enough to know exactly who it belongs to.

"Shit," he hisses. Doesn't answer your question. Holds the door open, instead. "Out."

When you stay put, he snarls.

"C, get the fuck out. It's Kang. You wanna fuck things up all over again? Wanna prolong the time we have to spend together?"

You start walking as soon as he finishes his final question.

"S'what I thought," he mutters when you walk past, and closes the door behind you both. "Go slowly. Don't turn the corner into the parking lot. Wait for me."

He clicks the lock shut; scrambles the code on the padlock. Keeps his eyes on you while you wait by the corner of the building. Appreciates that you listened to him for once in your life.

Old Man Kang only comes to the boxing club these days to check up on Jungkook - to make sure he's fighting fit. He's got a boxing match coming up. A big one. Puts him up against some boys from Busan. He knows they don't take well to 'traitors', which is what he's deemed as, now that he's fighting for a Daegu club.

Kang's banking on a heavy return should Jungkook win - but there's no 'should' about it. He has to win. If he doesn't, his debt to Kang - for the money lost on you - will only increase.

"You drive here?" Jungkook whispers as he comes to stand behind you, peeking over your shoulder to get a view of the parking lot. You choose not to inhale through your nose. Know that you might just die if he still smells the same.

He scans the cars, but can't spot the Merc you've been driving.

Of course he can't. Hoseok needed it for work. An out of town job.

"Got the bus," you say back, just as quietly.

"M'kay," Jungkook says gently. Goes to put a hand on your waist. Stops himself. Remembers things aren't how they used to be. "Take my key, get in the passengers side. Keep your head down. I'm gonna go back in for a minute, and make it look like I'm just leaving. They'll ask questions if they hear me drive off without seeing my face."

"I don't-"

"It's not up for debate. If they see you here, it fucks everything up. Just get in the damn car."

It's silent, save for the faint hum of traffic on the main road a few blocks away. Just you, and Jungkook, and the sound of the city. Neither of you really understand the way you feel. It's not quite sorrow. It's solemn. Sad - yet there's serenity, too. A saving grace for those who have fallen from it.

Jungkook decides that you're too stubborn, but also knows the one thing that always got you on side was a little desperation.

He gets closer. Puts his hand on the back of your neck. Wonders if you can feel the pulse in his thumb, and how it's beating a mile a minute. Squeezes ever so gently. Whispers, "Please, C."

The bus stop is two minutes up the road. You know that you could make it there - and be on the next bus going anywhere - by the time Jungkook has finished distracting Kang. You don't need him to save you. You don't need his protection. His kindness.

Yet you hold out your hand. Take his keys, and say, "Please be quick."

All he can do is nod, because truthfully, he'll do whatever he can to get himself beside you again.

"I'll be as quick as I can be. Promise."

It's funny. He's broken every single promise he's ever made you. Strange of him to think it holds any merit, now.

Doesn't stop you from holding out your pinky, mind you. Also doesn't stop him from linking his with yours. Pretty little promise, wrapped up with a pink bow. All perfect and pristine, satin against skin.

At least it's not red, you think. Not this time.

You hear Jungkook greet Kang - "Hi! Didn't see you there. Was just about to leave! What can I do for you?" - and decide that the coast is clear. Glancing around, you make a beeline for Jungkook's obnoxiously bright tin can of a car.

You hate it. Hate it in the same way that teenagers hate their hometowns. No matter how much you want to run from it, you know it will always be the place you go back to.

But of course you will.

It's home.

Some say it's where the heart is.

And considering you've been without one ever since Jungkook left your apartment all those months ago, perhaps it's not a bad place to start looking for it.

As you approach the bright, siren-red car in the parking lot, Jungkook's keys sit snug in the palm of your hand.

The satin lanyard strap is a little worn through - a freebie from a car show he'd attended a few years ago - but is just as soft as it always has been.

There's comfort to be found in it, like a blanket from childhood, or the warmth of a heavy duvet after a long day. It's a comfort you haven't felt in Hoseok's bedding, nor in the childhood bedroom you're able to visit again now that you're back on cordial terms with your family. 

Jungkook had never smothered you. Not once. Not like a blanket nor a duvet could - and that's exactly why you kind of used to wish he would. You had craved the weight of his body; wanted your airwaves cut off by the very essence of everything he was. Deprivation had made you desperate.

Foolishly, it seems like not much has changed. Not much and everything all at once.

When you hook your fingers beneath the door handle, you can still feel the burn of his touch. In fact, your pinky finger almost feels numb. You hold it out a little, away from your other fingers. You want to preserve the feeling; lodge the sensation in your memories, embed it into your skin. Never wanna lose it, as if you have any choice in the matter. 

Sinking into the passenger seat (alternatively known as the closest thing you've ever had to a second home) it's the scent of his leather that hits you first. A little oaky. Well-aged. Cared for. Restored by a pair of rough hands that hand touched you with just as much gentle cautiousness, once upon a time.

It's details like these; his discipline when it comes to making sure his car is looked after - preserved - that let you know just how meticulous Jungkook is. Nothing he ever does is purely up to chance.  Luck isn't something that comes naturally to him. It's something he crafts. 

Like Rumplestiltskin, he'd spun gold from straw in the form of your relationship. None of it was real. Not really.

A few tears brim on your lashline and threaten to fall - but you've never taken well to threats. You wipe them away. Won't let him know that being back in a place that once felt so much like safety is scaring you half to death, now. 

It's a vow you've made to yourself: Jungkook will never know how he affects you. He won't see you cry. Will never know your skin is forever changed by his touch, numb to everything else but the tips of his fingers and the taste of his tongue against your own.

He'd lost the luxury of 'you' the very second he decided you were expendable. 

Shifting in your seat, you're acutely aware of the little changes that have been made in your absence. There's a new air freshener, but it smells just the same. Some sort of pine. Gas station staple.

There's no hairband around his gear stick, like you know there used to be. No receipts from GS25 in the cupholders, no dirt from your shoes in the footwells, no bottles of soju left to roll around in the back.

His car is void of all essence of you. 

The centre console - the old store for your snacks after late night shifts - is empty, save for a pair of silver-rimmed glasses.

They're large - clear lenses - and slightly more rounded than you'd expect of his taste, but the thick dark frame on top of them seems apt. You can't imagine him wearing them. Think it might be fatal. Decide you'd never like to find out.

When you flick down the sun visor to check yourself in the mirror, you almost miss it; the one relic of you.

Tucked in a small slip where his tax documents should be, is a photo strip. Taken in a beachside photobooth after a few too many drinks, you remember it well.

It's rough at the edges. Torn in half. Jungkook is gone, and yet you remain. 

The removal of himself from his own memories is stark. Confusing. Distressing. Forces you to focus on yourself; the smile that you know was caused by him tickling at your ribs, and the tattooed hand on the side of your face in the second picture, that you know for a fact was pulling you in for a kiss, even if you can't see it. 

In the photographs, your eyes are bright, despite the black-and-white filter (his pick). There's a stupid pastel purple frame around each one of the pictures, with miniature Kuromi's perched on the edges (your pick).

You wonder where the other half is. Decide you're better off not knowing, but don't have time to give it much thought though, for Jungkook's yanking at the drivers-side door, and asking for the keys before you even have a chance to flip the visor back up.

He looks at you - eyes jagged, jawline sharp - and lets his gaze fall to your hand, where the pictures sit pretty.

"That's still in here?" he sneers, as if it's a surprise; as if he doesn't look at it every time he stops by the river to breathe for a moment. Just like he didn't sit on the beach in Busan last month and set fire to the other half; watching himself disintegrate. "Keep it. I've got no use for it."

He holds his hand out for his keys, so you make sure to drop them just beyond his grasp and into his footwell. You know you're pressed for time, and that you really shouldn't be fucking about, but he's too much of an asshole, you decide. 

"Real fuckin' mature," he grumbles, pulling on the lever beneath his chair to push it back so he can reach down for them. There's silence as his posture restores and he sinks his key into the ignition. A spark lights in his engine, the exhaust roaring into action. He knocks the gear stick into reverse, and holds onto the headrest of your seat as he looks over his shoulder. Swings the car around. "Head down."

You do as you're told. 

It's mainly because you don't want to give him any more reason to snarl, but also because the quicker you do, the quicker you can just get the fuck out of his car.

It's claustrophobic now that he's sharing the space with you. You don't wanna breathe; don't wanna smell his aftershave. Don't wanna listen; don't wanna hear the way he mumbles to himself. Don't wanna look; don't wanna see his tattooed hand knock the gear stick into first, then straight up to third.

In fact, you'd quite like to stop existing altogether. 

Jungkook used to say how much he enjoyed it. Enjoyed existing with you. 

You hope it makes him feel fucking sick, now. 

"Just drop me at the end of the road," you say. "I'll make my way from there."

"End of the-" he scoffs, not even finishing his repetition of the question. He coasts around the corner, foot on the clutch. You wonder if he's exercising a complete lack of control on purpose. Wonder if he's baiting you. "That private school education of yours really didn't give you any street smarts did it, huh?"

He definitely is baiting you. There's no doubt about it. He's petty motherfucker when he wants to be - and you can be just as bad. You just can't decide on how you want to respond. 

Firing back would be the easy option. It's what he would expect. What he knows of you. 

Staying silent looks meek, you think. 

The final thing you consider is crying. Do you want to? Not really. You're more frustrated than you are sad. Thing is, he wouldn't expect it. Wouldn't know what to do. Would definitely make him freak out a little. Might even get him trying to make things better.

But you just can't bring yourself to do it. 

Instead, you laugh. Look straight ahead. "Baby, these streets are mine. We both know I'm untouchable."

His hard stare on the road intensifies. You're approaching the bridge. Neither of you want to speak, both too aware of the impact that first night had on your lives; how it planted a seed that turned out to be nothing more than a venus fucking fly trap. 

And yet Jungkook just can't help himself. He doesn't want to let you win.

It's pathetic, and he knows it. Knows that he's the one who fucked you over; that he's the one who did all of this. Knows that you've every right to be hurting, and every right to want him hurting, too.

But you're engaged, he fumes internally. Due to be married. Have committed your life to someone else, as if the time you had spent with Jungkook meant nothing. It's only been about four months since it all went to shit. He can barely look at the watermark he still hasn't cleaned off of his bathroom mirror. 

Lies were fed to you between his kisses, but every single one of those was real. He meant it every time he pressed his lips against yours; every time he told you he needed you in his sheets eternally.

He makes assumptions like you used to do. Thinks about your fiance. Assumes it's love. Has to be.

It's clear to him now that the feelings you pretended to have for him were always a lie. 

He doesn't understand why.

Sure, he knows why he lied to you. Knows that he filled your head with half-truths, and tiptoed around the facts of the situation, but he was always honest with how he felt. Never told you bullshit about wanting to keep you close. Meant every single word of it. 

But you didn't. It's obvious to him that your lies went beyond your family tree. Nobody likes a liar - not even the boy who cried wolf, himself. 

"Untouchable?" he smirks. It's cruel. Juvenile. "We both know that isn't true, don't we?"

"Haven't you heard, baby?" You simper, voice sweet a honey laced with rat poison. You hold up your hand, and wiggle your fingers. Light catches in the cut of your diamond. "I've got a ring. I'm untouchable in every sense of the word."

It stings. Almost like your diamond's encrusted on a dagger, and you've impaled it into his chest.

He doesn't look at you as he drives. Not like he used to. Doesn't throw you a single glance across the centre console, doesn't hold your knee nor your hand beneath his on the gear stick. Instead, his jaw remains taut, eyes ahead on an endless horizon that he hopes he never reaches. If he keeps driving forever, none of this has to end. 

For a little while longer, he can pretend. 

Pretend that things are as always as they were; that perhaps you've just had a small argument - over what to have for dinner or the way he'd rolled his eyes at a suggestion you had made - and that you'll crack a smile soon. He'll say something dumb, play your favourite song. Tell you he's sorry. Pull over, and refuse to drive until you hold his hand. 

But your hand has a ring on it now. He'd feel it lodged beneath his fingers. Would be indented with the mark of commitment from another man.

And that's what makes him crack. 

"Engaged," he laughs quietly, not an ounce of humour in his voice as he shakes his head. His eyes stay on the road. He can't look at you. Knows he wouldn't be able to look away.

You're silent for a moment. Consider not responding - but his tone bothers you. 

"Uh-huh. We've established that - but you've no right to pass judgement."

Jungkook doesn't want to pass judgement. He wants to be vulgar. 

Wants to remind you of the way you were taking his cock a matter of months ago. Wants to ask if your fiance hits the spot like he knows he used to. Wants to know if your body is still stained by the colour of his claim; rosy handprints on your ass, plum bruises on your chest left by his lips. Wants to know if it's his name that reverberates in your head when you bite onto pillows. Wants to know if your fiance even fucks you well enough to make you do that. He doubts it.

He doesn't want to know the answers to any of those, though.

"I'm not passing judgement, C," he says in perhaps the most judgemental tone you've veer heard, flicking his indicator to merge into the next lane. "What's the dress like? Can't be white, can it?"

Bastard.

"We're going traditional," you lie. It hasn't even been discussed yet.  You also don't plan on sticking around long enough to see it through to the big day, but that's none of Jungkook's business. "Hanboks only. No modern dress."

Funny, Jungkook thinks. Had never pictured you as the traditional type. Then again, never pictured you walking down the aisle with anyone but him.

Truth be told, it's not like he's ready for any of that. He's not good with the future. Not anymore. Moves from one bad decision to the next. No point in planning ahead.

He disregards the flashing amber light over the pedestrian crossing, narrowly missing it as it changes to red. His foot is on the gas, and he doesn't seem to be easing.  You adjust in your seat. Cross your legs. Hold onto the door handle. 

"Slow down."

The way he ignores you is childish, and the way he speeds up is even more so.

"Jungkook-"

"Don't tell me how to drive my own damn car," he snaps. 

"Then don't drive it like a fucking idiot!"

The tyres screech to a halt. You're almost certain you can smell burnt rubber.

Around you, the road is empty. You're just a few blocks over from the bridge, not far enough for the coast to be clear, and you both know it. There's silence. No static from his radio, no chatter of former lovers; just his engine, purring softly, echoing into the night.

Neon lights from the amalgamation of churches and noraebangs rain down on you through his windows, painting your skin in a red haze. The beam of his headlights on the road ahead is intrusive, decrepit buildings shown in all their miserable glory; paint peeling from the walls, rust forming beneath nails like tears on cheeks, railings covering windows to keep outdated electronics protected. You hate this area. Always have done. Can't believe you used to consider it home.

"Fine then," he snaps. "Get out. Walk yourself home. See what I care. Don't get hit."

He expects resistance. Expects you to defy him. It's what he wants. Wants you choosing to stay - but like fuck are you gonna let him speak to you like that.

It's so hard knowing what's false with Jungkook. 

Some days, you think it was all ingenuine; that you've never seen the real him. 

On others, you tell yourself that the version of Jungkook you'd first met on the bridge was a facade; that you'd worn him down. Seen within. 

Most days, though, you believe the version of Jungkook you'd met on that very first night is exactly who he is. 

Everything that followed? A carefully crafted performance for an audience of one.

And now it seems like he wants a standing ovation - and who are you to deny such a skilled actor his applause?

Yanking just hard enough to piss him off, you pop open your door and stand beside the car. Applause comes in form of his door slamming shut, and the click of your heels piercing the emptiness in the air as you walk up the sidewalk.

"Where are you going?" He shouts after you from his window - but you just hold your middle finger up in his direction and continue onwards. "C?"

You wouldn't tell him even if you knew. All you know is that you selfishly kind of hope he'll call after you again. He does. You smile to yourself, and ignore him. 

Cursing to himself in the driver's seat of his car, he revs the engine back up. 

There's a sinking feeling in your chest, but you're the one who put it there. 

Only have yourself to blame.

You choose not to watch as his car hurtles past you. The sound is soul-destroying enough as it is.

Jungkook takes a moment to consider his choices. The obvious is to let you go - but he's done that once before, and has hated it ever since. He knows chasing after you will only end in him chasing his own tail, but he's been doing that ever since you left, as it is. What difference will it make? At least this way he can say he tried.

He pulls into a side road.

Derelict and dilapidated, it's no place for a car like his - but then again nowhere in this city is. He sticks out like a sore thumb. None of the other Pony's are polished quite so well, no have been lowered like his. None of them rag about in the dark of night, only for him to fix his faux pas in the light of day the following morning. He'll never let it rust. Never let it falter. Never let it down; and in turn, it won't let him down either.

It will always take him exactly where he needs to be - and right now, he thinks it's beside you.

Slamming his door shut far gentler than you had, Jungkook pushes the key into its lock and twists it shut. He doesn't want to use the electric locks today. Feels like the only way to do things right is to go analogue. Old school.

Wishes there was a way he could go back in time with you, too.

His feet splash in the shallow puddles as he trundles back down the alley on foot, pulling the hood of his jacket over his head. He's still in his workout gear - a pair of joggers and some beat-up trainers - but doesn't care for keeping up appearances.

He waits as you approach. You notice him immediately, but make no acknowledgement of his presence. Just keep on walking. Even when he begins to walk alongside you, not a single word is spoken. Cars pass by, passengers gazing out of their windows at the strange pair walking side by side yet miles apart. 

You wonder if they make assumptions about you like you know would.

If you were to see yourself, you'd guess that you were angry. A couple in the midst of a fight but too far from home to go your separate ways, maybe. The way your arms are crossed definitely suggests ice to the relationship, but of what the relationship is, you don't think you'd be able to tell. Lovers? Friends? Enemies? All of the above?

You wonder if they'll make up a life for you both. Wonder if they'll resolve the argument they must think you're having. Consider that maybe in their mind, you get a happy ending.

Maybe your observers will be just as naive as you once were. A fool with a fragile heart who gave it to a man who didn't know his strength.

Or perhaps he did. Perhaps he just never cared if he were to break it.

Jeon Jungkook; a rebel with a cause, just without care.

Asshole, you think. Wind whips loose stands hair against your face, cold despite the heat of summer that has now arrived. A storm is coming this evening, but you don't plan on being around to see it.

It's a shame. You've been looking forward to it. Hoseok's away. Work retreat to Yeosu. Some sort of training programme. You had anticipated a night alone watching the raindrops sinking down his apartment window.

The idea of going 'home' right now doesn't appeal to you. 

Though when you come to think about it, home is standing next to you as you wait at a zebra crossing, waiting on a green light.

When green lights up the sky, you continue forward. Take a left a left when you reach the hospital. Walk seemingly without direction and yet there's only one place this road leads to. Jungkook knows it well. Isn't really sure what you're doing. Thinks you're playing some kind of joke.

And yet he doesn't speak up. Just follows. 

The sign of the KTX station lights up the walkway, the rattle of overground trains polluting the silence between you. There are only a few more services for the night, but it means that freight trains are gearing into action, and they're so much louder than the passenger trains.

As much as he might not know what you're doing, you don't know either. Haven't really thought any of this through. 

All you know is you just don't want to stop walking with him. 

You hate yourself for it. Hate how weak he makes you feel. Hate that he gets to be okay and just live his life after ruining yours. Maybe you're misplacing your blame. Know full well that you've made some bad decisions as of late. Would take them back if you could.

Jungkook is one of those bad decisions you wish you could undo. If only life came with a rewind button. Ctrl+Z. Reboot. Restore to factory settings. 

And yet the idea of not knowing him - the sound of his laugh in the early hours of a Sunday morning, the feel of his cheeks a few days post-shave, the pressure of his lips on the crown of your head - fills you with dread. You may hate the memories, but you don't want to lose them, either.

You know Daegu's KTX station well. Hanger left as you enter, straight towards the self-service kiosks. Pick one that accepts card, then rest your palms on the pale blue plastic casing of the machine. There's a touchscreen full of choices - endless opportunities - but Daegu's KTX autofill route is the only one that you care for. The only one that feels right. 

Busan.

You tap through to the next menu, ignoring Jungkook's presence beside you. You don't care what he does. Are only thinking about yourself. 

Funny, really. He's only thinking about you.

Jungkook knocks your hand to the side to stop you from pressing through to the transaction screen. He reaches over a little further. Presses the small plus sign next to 'passengers'. Says nothing as it jumps from '1' to '2'. 

You just watch as he clicks on through to the following screen, and slides his card into the slot that's flashing green at you. There's no conversation. No acknowledgement of what he's done; just acceptance. 

The machine spits out the tickets into a metal tray, so you take yours and turn on your heel, leaving him to collect his own. He can follow you if he likes. You won't wait for him. 

Realistically, it's not like you'll be apart for long. The assigned seats are side by side.

Of course, you could just leave. Buy a ticket elsewhere. Go home. Head down towards the subway and lose him in a sea of people.

The possibilities are endless.

Yet you find yourself checking the departure screen for train 071, instead. 

The menu flickers through the upcoming departures, before finally falling back to the screen 071 is on. Platform two, departing in four minutes. 

It's enough time to get to your track, but not enough time to run to your favourite coffee stand. You just sigh. Today is just disappointment after disappointment. 

Jungkook walks straight past you. Makes no acknowledgement of you. 

Just heads towards the exit for the tracks. Another sigh leaves your lips.

But you find yourself following him.

You're the one orbiting him, now.

And like the planets you're convinced rule your life, it doesn't feel like you can stop any time soon.

Your train is already on the platform by the time you make it down the stairs, quietly purring in its bay. Doing one final check of the platform, the conductor blows his whistle just as you're hopping on. 

Heading down the aisle, you're displeased to see the train is only half full, knowing it means your assigned seats will be beside one another - and once you reach carriage four, you can see the top of his head poking out from the row you've been allocated.

It's interesting how he's taken the aisle seat, when his ticket is for the window. Still, questioning it means engaging in conversation, and you're still pretending like he doesn't exist - to the point where you don't ask him to move. You just step over him, and cringe at the way you know your ass brushes the top of his knees from the awkward positioning.

If he were in a better mood, he'd smile, aware of your annoyance and the fact you're probably cursing out your own ass in your head.

But Jungkook is in a foul fucking mood, and all he wants to do is hold your goddamn hand. 

He knows can't. 

So he won't. 

He'll just sit, and stew, and lament the fact he's on a train to fucking Busan with you.

The jokes he knows he would have cracked six months ago are lost, now. There'll be no nonsensical conversations over who would die first in a zombie apocalypse, no dumb declarations from Jungkook about how he'd protect you no matter what.

Would have been a lie, anyway. 

In the row ahead of you, a teenage couple share a pair of headphones. 

Between the crack in the seats, you can see their heads leaning together, hairs melting into one another. The girl is peroxide blonde, but has dark roots growing through. It's a bit like Jungkook's hair used to be. Her (presumed) boyfriend has a streak of blonde peaking through his dark hair. She no doubt did it for him (again, you presume). The sight of it makes you feel sick.

Jungkook notices it too. Watches as the girl flicks through the boys playlist. Searches up a song he doesn't know, and presses play. When she locks the phone and puts it down on her boyfriends lap, she shuffles closer against him. Jungkook feels a little unwell, too.

The silence continues.

It's only 45 minutes to Busan. Not a long haul by any stretch of the imagination - and yet it feels endless this evening. When the train eventually rolls into his hometown, Jungkook thinks he's going crazy. Hates being alone with his brain. Hates that you hate being alone with him, too.

The hushed nature of your pairing prevails as you make your way onto the subway. Rammed full of late-night punters, you're forced to stand by the entryway. He stands behind you, and holds the bar that's over your head. Doesn't say sorry when the movements of the carriage cause him to lean against you slightly. He pulls away from you as quickly as he can, but you're surprised to find that you miss the weight of his body.

But of course you do. You've been missing it for months, now.

The subway trundles through underground tunnels, metal screeching every so often, more and more passengers departing - until it's just you and him. You take a seat, and so does he. You're opposite one another, eyes unashamed as you stare one another out. There's no trust. You're like cats, stalking their prey.

Or should that be you're like a cat. Jungkook is a lion. Could rip you to shreds if he wants. Has done it before. Your scars are barely healed. Can still feel him all over your skin. It's insidious. Makes you want to take a fucking potato peeler to your body, just to rid yourself of your memories.

The way he looks at you, all dark and brooding, like he's some kind of 90's heartthrob that never stood the test of time, makes your fingerprint-shaped scars burn.

You ride the subway until the very final stop; not because you wanted to, just because you were following his lead.

Stupid, really. He was following yours. Of course he was.

The static voice of the automated alert lets you know you've reached Dadaepo.

Jungkook knows it well. Was his favourite place to explore as a kid. A hidden rocky alcove just beyond the cliff walk was the site of many discoveries as a kid; sea glass, bugs he can't remember the names of, and - in his later years - the scent of marijuana.

The fact you're still giving one another the silent treatment is comically unbelievable. It's been upwards of two hours since his car door slammed shut back in Daegu. Even longer, actually. Closer to three hours.

There's something so childish about how petty you both are - but at least this way, you can't miscommunicate. 

You just don't communicate at all, and you think you prefer it that way.

The waves roll in as you sit, staring at nothing. Side by side. Miles apart. It all becomes a bit much for Jungkook. He knows he shouldn't make a sound, but he thinks he likes it better when you fight. At least that way he gets to hear your voice, no matter how scathing it can be.

"The last train back is in half an hour," Jungkook says quietly, unsure of how much time has passed. Dadaepo is fifty minutes away from the station. You'll have missed it, and are fully aware of it.

So you just shrug.

"Not have a fiancé to get home to?" He questions, and almost manages not to sound bitter. Almost.

Again, you shrug.

Hoseok is away for the week - an all-expenses training retreat over in Yeosu. 

When your Father had still been in the police force, before moving into local politics, he'd gone on the same training programme. It's a yearly excursion. Just an excuse to get shitfaced with his crew and a chance to slip his wedding ring into his wallet, knowing your mother would never find out.

She'd always know. She was the one who did his laundry, after all.

Unlike your mother, however, you won't spend the week in a foul mood because of it.

That's not to say you won't spend the week in a foul mood - it's just that the reason for your awful mood is currently sitting next to you looking over the East China Sea. 

"You should stop concerning yourself with my life," you tell him, voice quiet - but he hears you crystal clear, regardless. He's listening out for only you. Fuck the waves, fuck the dog walkers, fuck the traffic and the coffee shop soundtrack blaring just a few feet behind the woodland. You're the only one he hears.

He considers saying nothing, but just can't help himself - so he scoffs, and says, "shall I stop breathing, too, while I'm at it?"

It's a stupid comparison to make. His life doesn't depend on you. You tell him so.

"You need to breathe to stay alive. You never needed me to stay alive." 

Never needed me at all.

"I don't know, C. Kang was pretty pissed when we let you get away," he says as he purses his lips. It's a miracle his nose still looks the same as it always did - unless it just got broken so many times that it somehow snapped back into place.

Thing is, Jungkook's not really thinking about that. The pain subdued. After a few weeks, it was like it never happened.

But the ache in his chest remained. His one source of chronic pain, and you're the one who held the knife. Sure, he's the one who guided your hands. Pulled them into his chest. Inflicted it upon himself. 

"Your coworker," Jungkook finally sighs. He's not even sure why he's asking. He doesn't want the answer. "Is it... The ring. Is it him?"

And while you want to hurt Jungkook as much as you possibly can without laying a single finger on him, you know you've done Yoongi enough damage. Makes you sick thinking about his tender face; the way it'd light up around you. You think of Jieun, and the time spent together in the shop and it's so consuming that you can't even think of an appropriate response to Jungkook.

"Yoongi," you correct, but Jungkook already knew his name. Just didn't wanna acknowledge him as more than a meagre colleague. "No. It's not Yoongi."

But just for a night? It had been Yoongi. Or was it two nights? Your head taunts you. You fucked Yoongi. Fucked his life up. Fucked it all. Whatever becomes of you is what you deserve.

Jungkook is unaware of this as he clamps his lips together to stop the smile that's begging to break through his hard exterior.

"You ever..." You begin to mumble, but then realise who you're talking to. You don't want to converse with him. "Nevermind."

He knows this. Doesn't care. "Have I ever what?"

There's a moment of silence; waves lapping against the shoreline in place of your words.

"You ever do something that just destroys you?" 

Your words linger like the brief seconds waves will take to kiss the shoreline; white bubbles sinking into sand, murky water retracing its steps and dissolving into the currents.

"Destroys you?" he asks, not because he needs clarification, but because he can't possibly imagine what you've done.

You simply nod.

And so he takes a moment to think. Decides it's about time he gave you some honesty.

"Yeah," he says gently. Can see there's something you're grappling with. Doesn't want to intrude, though. "I've done things that have destroyed me, C. You know I have."

The silence resumes once more. It's louder now.

If you listen closely enough, you can hear that chime in your stomach again. It's faint. You ignore it.

Jungkook can hear it too. It rings and rings like tinnitus. He can't ignore it. He can pretend that he detests it, though.

Moonlight ripples on the surface of the water. It rolls into shore, then pulls away again. Gets just close enough to touch, but not far enough to soak your feet.

It runs away from you as soon as it gets close, and the irony isn't lost on Jungkook. He'd always thought you'd behaved like the moon and her tides, after all. Cyclic. Endless. Eternal.

It sort of feels apt that you'd end up back here.

Yeah, he thinks as he refuses to look in your direction. Too consumed with the way the vast expanse almost looks like a black hole. Just like the tides.

But waves can roll up on any beach, and the moon caresses every inch of the earth during her slumber. There's nothing unique about the pair of you. Nothing special. 

Insignificance has always been a fear of his. A life that could be chalked up to birth, then death; records in a library system forgotten about for years upon years. His impact? Null.

He'd seen it with his mother - her vibrancy, her love for life, for others - and how she'd all but been forgotten. Sometimes, he feels like he's the only one who remembers her.

Even his father seems to forget why he's in such a sorry state. His brother has a new family, now. And what does Jungkook have?

No family. That disintegrated. Yeah, they're still around, but they're not present. Not there for him when he needs them.

No career. Sure, he can get work wherever electricity is, but he's under Kang's thumb, now. He trains, and he fights. Time for honest work is non-existent.

No love. He's never been the type to need a relationship, but he'd gotten a little foolish. Gotten used to the comfort of another human. Now that he knows what it feels like - how nice it can be - he feels half alive without it.

The Jungkook beside you is just the same as the Jungkook you first met.

He's a little stronger, a little broader. Is missing a few of his piercings, and wears his hair dark now instead of the blonde you had always adored.

He's exactly the same, and yet forever changed.

He digs his fingers into the sand beside his thighs. The grains slip through the hollow gaps between his knuckles. Even the things within his grasp always seems to get away from him. 

He hates the silence. Hates that he never knows what to say anymore.

And thankfully for him, you hate it just as much. 

"Fighting a lot, these days, aren't you?" You ask, not that you need any clarification. You saw a note in one of Hoseok's files earlier on in the week. Just a small scrawl about Kang's, and the illegal gambling ring he's running. JJK had been written down, with a set of odds next to his name. Pretty good odds. Baby is a champion. You'd be proud, if the circumstances weren't so harrowing.

"Not any more so than usual," he lies, shutting down the conversation as soon as you start it. He just can't help himself. It's like he's hard-wired to fight.

You turn to look in his direction and are momentarily caught by how ethereal he looks when basking in silver moonlight. The tip of his nose looks cold, and yet his eyes are warm. Watery. Welcoming you to dive right in.

Sink, or swim?

He's got a bruise on the top of his cheekbone, and a small graze just in front of his ear. It's clear to see that he's been through the wringer recently. There's really no point in lying to you.

"No?" You ask, just to let him know you're aware he's full of shit.

"What does it matter if I am?"

"It doesn't."

And so silence settles again. Neither of you know how to interact with one another anymore. It's awkward and uncomfortable, and you both hate it - and yet there's nowhere either of you would rather be. No one else you'd rather be in discomfort with.

Time gets away from you. It chases through the night, just like his car used to do down the backroads of Daegu, with you in the passenger seat and your hand beneath his on the gear stick.

You wonder if he ever thinks of it; if he ever thinks of you in the same way you think of him. 

You don't ask him, because no matter what the answer will be, you'll convince yourself it's a lie.

Midnight creeps in, and so does the chill of night air. It may be summer, but the sea breeze can be biting at times.

Jungkook's fine - his workout gear is keeping the heat in well, but you're underdressed. Huddled up and clearly not enjoying yourself but refusing to voice discomfort, Jungkook is the one who forces you up. Says it's stupid to still be out by the water. Tells you that there will be loads of bugs about, soon.

You both know that the bugs have been out since dusk. Leaving now makes no difference.

Ignoring the hand he holds out as you get to your feet, you rid your legs of sand, and head towards the pathway through the small wooded area. 

Neither of you have any idea what to do. The keys in Jungkook's pockets are rendered useless, his car still down in a back alley of Daegu, and the buses have stopped running. Subway, too. 

You've no bag with you, just your phone (that's dangerously low on charge) and a card tucked into the back of the case. 

Jungkook's phone is new. Holds it's charge well. He's not worried about it.

He's got his wallet, too, so at least he's a little bit more foreign-city-ready than you'd been upon your decision to run off to Busan. He's glad he came with you, now.

He figures he'll just stay at his Dad's place - but it means getting a taxi, and he really can't be fucked with an hour's drive this late at night.

He's unaware that the card in the back of your phone isn't yours. It's under Hoseok's name. He gets a notification every time it's used. It's why you're so selective about how you spend your money. 

You've no ID with you, either. Left it in your purse back in Hoseok's apartment. Hadn't really expected to end up in Busan, in all honestly.

Especially not with Jungkook.

If you wanna check in to a hotel - which is the only option, really - you're gonna need your ID. Standard policy around these parts. No ID, no room.

You tell Jungkook this. 

He sighs. Grates his jaw a little. 

"And you didn't think that maybe it would be smart to take your ID out with you? What if you'd gotten in an accident, huh? No one would have known who to call, 'cause they wouldn't know who you are."

"I was hardly gonna get in an acci-"

"How do you know?" He cuts you off. "You can't plan these kinds of things, CC. Accidents just happen."

"Is that what this is, then?" You scoff, folding your arms over your chest as you walk a little further away from him up the sandy sidewalk. "Another calamity of yours? Just ended up here accidentally?"

Sometimes, he considers kissing you just to stop your from spouting off at him over nonsensical issues.

Jungkook thinks it's obvious he ended up in Busan for one reason, and one reason alone:

He'll follow you to the end of the earth, if it means he gets to be with you. 

He's hardly gonna tell you that, though, is he?

"Ended up here cause I missed the beach-" And I missed you, too. "- but it's late," Jungkook says as you meander back up the sidewalk without much aim, and nods across the road to a beachfront hotel. "Let's just crash here and figure out how to get home in the morning?"

For reasons you can't understand, you find yourself agreeing. When you explain that you can't use your card, he shrugs. Says he'll cover it. Says he doesn't care. 

It's a different story when you're in the hotel. 

The presence of the concierge makes you feel unsure of yourself. Reminds you of how embarrassed you are by what Jungkook did to you; how foolish you had felt. You feel the need to defend yourself.

"Do you have any suites available?" You ask the concierge with a smile so sweet it could rot his inside. He thinks you're sweet. Thinks Jungkook should smile more. Knows he'd be smiling if he had you alone in a hotel room.

"All booked out, I'm afraid," the concierge says as he checks the screen in front of him. The glare reflects in his glasses, and you wonder how many times he's been caught out looking at things he shouldn't. Not just at work, but in general. He seems like a sweet kid - but a kid nonetheless.

"What's the most expensive room you have available, then?" You query instead.

Jungkook shakes his head. Looks at his feet. Tenses his jaw. Thinks you're fucking unbelievable.

You know he's got money problems. Know he's fending off sharks from his poor Father's back. Know that the only reason he fucked you over was to finally have a decent payday.

And yet you choose to do this? Knowing he won't kick up a fuss in public?

Spineless bitch. Spiteful. 

But, oh, how you love to hit him where it hurts.

The concierge is none the wiser of Jungkook's discomfort. Tells you both that there's a deluxe sea-view room left.

"It's gone midnight, so I can give you a discounted rate," he says, and still quotes a price that would make even a black card owner raise an eyebrow.

Jungkook looks at you. Holds your gaze. Passes over his card. Waits till the concierge is retrieving your keys to hiss, "you're the most expensive mistake I've ever made."

You just smile. "Shouldn't live life with regrets. They give you wrinkles."

"And stress gives you grey hair," he counters, insinuating that you've got some growing through. The concierge returns to his position behind the desk, so Jungkook plays his role up. "You been stressed lately, baby?"

The concierge coughs. Holds out your key. "Seventh floor. Follow the corridor from the elevator right to the end, and you'll find room number one." Jungkook takes the key with a polite nod. "If you need anything else, the front desk is open twenty-four hours. I do hope you enjoy your stay."

The tension between you and Jungkook is palpable. The little routine you've cooked up in which neither of you speak unless it's to bait each other out continues. Doesn't end until you're in the room - and what a fucking room it is. 

Crisp white sheets on a bed that is far too big; a bathtub in the corner of the room instead of the bathroom. Huge windows that let the midnight view of the ocean pour in, and chiffon curtains that will keep you hidden from the outside world. You won't close the blinds. Will want the morning sunlight to bathe you in its glory; make you feel like you belong to the days instead of the nights. 

So much of your relationship with Jungkook was hidden in the shadows of Daegu nights, but it had been different in Busan. It's hard to pretend as if you don't miss it.

Hard, but not impossible.

You toss him a pillow and the stiff cotton throw from the end of the bed. "Here. The bathtub looks cosy. Sweet dreams."

"I'm not sleeping in the fucking bath," he laughs, but it's full of scorn. He finds no humour in this situation. "If I pay for a hotel room, I'm sleeping in the bed. Bath is all yours."

And yet you stay put.

When Jungkook turns off the main light? You stay put.

When he grasps the back of his sweater and pulls it over his head? You stay put.

When he says, 'No? Not fancy the bath?' as he tosses the pillow you had thrown at him back onto the empty side of the bed? You stay put.

When he walks around to that side? When he pushes the duvet back? When his weight dents the mattress? The scent of his aftershave intrudes on your senses? The sound of his bare skin nestling into the sheets is all you can hear? When he turns his back to you? Turns off the bedside lamp?

You stay fucking put.

And you know you shouldn't, and know that this is all kinds of wrong, but my god, it's all you've wanted for months: the past. All that's missing is your arm looped over his waist.

When he turns to face you? Looks at you, eyes all glassy, lips pursed? Tries to get a read on you?

You don't move a muscle. Just look at him right back. Wonder how he can still look so beautiful in such darkness. Wonder if his hair always spilt onto the pillow as it does now, and you'd just never realised when he was blonde. 

And then you wonder if maybe someone else had been in this position with him during your absence. 

It would be okay if they have. Wouldn't be their fault. Wouldn't be his, either. You're the one who left. Have a ring around your finger, now, no matter how loosely. Would be incredibly unfair to expect Jungkook to spend the last few months alone.

But the more you think about it, the more you get caught up in your own head, and how he'd kissed you beneath his shower, skin coated in red dye. Has you thinking about the way he'd always kiss you as he came, and the 'forever's he'd whispered in the dark of night. 

So fucking cruel of him. He always knew that forever wasn't an option. There was no reason he had to pretend there was.

And maybe you're just tired, or maybe you've just been keeping it all bottled up for so long that the pressure had finally reached full capacity, but you just can't help yourself as you say, "why couldn't you just leave me alone?"

Your brows furrow. Lips pout. You know what's coming and you can't even be bothered to stop the tears. Maybe he should know how badly he affected you. Maybe it's the only way he'll understand. Maybe then he'll care.

For now, you can't bring yourself to think too hard. You just let the tears fall.

"C'mon, C," Jungkook whispers as his thumb strokes over your cheek. His hands are a little rough. He's been working on his car a lot lately, and hasn't taken time to look after himself, instead. It's self-sabotage. Thinks he doesn't deserve to feel good. Physically, mentally, whatever. "This isn't you."

Oh, it's laughable. Hilarious, you think, that he seems to think he knows who the fuck you are. You wanna scream. Wanna tell him that he knows fuck all. Tell him that you never let him see even an ounce of what makes you 'you'.

Denial is a strange thing. Has you lying to yourself like it's a bible oath. Jeon Jungkook knows exactly who you are. You just wish that he didn't.

"You've no idea who I am," you whisper back through partially gritted teeth, that are stopping your sobs from leaking through.

Jungkook purses his lips together. Shakes his head. Strokes away another tear. Is almost silent when manages to croak out, "I wish that were true." 

And you might be wrong, but it sounds like he's holding back a tear or two, as well. 

You reach over to toy with the key around his neck. It's warm in your fingers, the heat of his skin keeping it cosy. It's amazing how warm he always is, you think. Never met anyone like it. When your eyes flick up to his, ever so briefly, you notice that they seem warm, too. Just a byproduct of his body temperature, you decide. 

"Why coke?" You whisper as you bring the key to your lips. Press it against them, just to feel the pressure of something that belongs to him.

He'd kiss you now, if you asked him to.

But you won't, so he doesn't. 

He just shrugs instead. 

"Why do we do anything of the things we do, C?" He pauses, but doesn't anticipate a response from you. Just continues, instead. "To feel alive? To feel closer to death? I don't know."

Lost one drug, he thinks to himself. It's just a replacement. 

And it's funny, because aside from the lines he'd snorted on the first night you'd returned just to fucking cope with it all, he's not touched it. Thinks if he could just touch you, he'd never go near coke again. 

You hold the key to his lips, now. Wait for him to press his lips against it. He does so, keeping his eyes locked on yours. Funny. Seems the key works on something, after all.

When you pull the key away, you let the chain hang slack, before dropping it to his chest. The ridges of the metal are sharp against his skin, but he's numb to it. Can only feel the print of your fingertips and the scars that are embedded into his skin from them.

"You should stop," you whisper, stroking down the bridge of his nose with the side of your index finger. His eyes close. Jaw tenses. He inhales. "It'll ruin this pretty nose of yours."

And then he smiles; eyes still closed, lip ring flipping in the corner of his mouth. 

But the tepid movement of your finger doesn't stop. It reaches the tip of his nose. Trails down his septum. Encroaches on his cupid bow - and then it comes to rest on his lips.

Just like the key, he presses against it. Kisses the side of your finger. Keeps his eyes closed. Lets it linger. 

He hears the change in your breathing. How you inhale a little sharper than before. How it sounds painful. 

Doesn't wanna open his eyes. Doesn't want to look at you, knowing that you'll probably look so tragically hurt that it would be captivating, in a way. He'd wanna kiss it all better, but knows better than to attempt such a thing. 

"I don't think I can, C," he eventually says. Opens his eyes. Is devastated by your beauty. "Don't think I'll ever be able to stop."

You both know he isn't talking about coke.

"Then it'll ruin you," you whisper, pretending as if you still are.

He just nods. "So let it."

[unecoccinellenoire]

A change of luck extra snippet? it’s still my favorite fanfic of all time 🙏

Ironically this isn't a fic I had anything to hand for, and while it was pointed out to me the Ladrien storyline in it was never really wrapped up and I do plan to do something for that, have a quick unedited post-fic Gabenath snippet.

"Wait-" Nathalie pulls out of his kiss, "Gabriel, wait. I- I think there's things we need to dicuss again before we go any further."

He frowns. Everything had seemed to go well he'd thought. Her health, Adrien, Ladybug's magnimanity so, "Things? What Things?"

"Earlier." She has that cute line he wants to kiss away before her eyebrows, "Ladybug- when you asked about the risks of getting me pregnant, I don't think she understood what you were getting at at all."

She might well have a point. But, "At least if she didn't then Adrien doesn't."

"Much as I agree I'm not sure Adrien is that naive Gabriel. He knows I sleep in your bedroom."

"Our bedroom." He corrects her.

"OK," but her lips tilt into a little smile. "Our bedroom."

"And I'm sure that my son has the sense and the respect not to think about it."

"hmm. He is your son. But on the other hand, god knows what he read on the internet speculating about what Panthera and Shadow Moth got up to out of sight."

He shuts his eyes and pinches at his nose and tries to forget some of the very interesting storylines he'd come across looking for information about Panthera himself. Things he'd never want his son to see regardless of her being Nathalie.

"That's a wonderful thought to have in my head when I see him tomorrow at breakfast Nathalie. Why would you tell me that? And why wouldn't you block any sites talking about that from his computer?"

"I might have looked a little suspscious if I blocked all speculation about Panthera." She points out sounding annoyingly reasonable in that way she has. "I was already lucky Adrien was more worried for me that about me."

"Adrien loves you. Of course he was. You know you've become another mother to him."

"And that's why we should be thinking of him here."

"I don't follow."

"If I- we, did concieve how would that make Adrien feel? It's not as if we've fixed things with him. He just- just isn't ready to lose us. He needs our attention not a baby sibling that would take that away."

"I'm not unware of how complicated it would make things. Especially with how uncertain your health still is. There's a reason we're not letting nature take it's course here." He'd been the one to ask Ladybug after all.

He knows everything she's saying. They'd agreed this. He doesn't want a baby right now.

And yet for some reason hearing Nathalie make the same arguments outloud he had in his own head has him feeling unmoored somehow. Like there's some empty hollow in his body where his stomach should be.

It worsens at how she's frowning more deeply now and drawing back. "Including the fact that we're only just started dating."

Now he's the own frowning. "Do you really still worry we won't work out?"

"I don't know. This still doesn't even seem real."

The scabbed over injury in his heart wants to break open.

"I love you Nathalie Sancoeur." He promises her, taking her face in his hands. "And I'm very hopeful that one day, when you're ready for it that you'll be Nathalie Agreste, and that perhaps we'll give Adrien that little sibling after all."

Nathalie is very still, and then she blinks and blurts, "I'm sorry- you'd actually want to have a baby with me?"

"Why is that so strange?" He can't help but sound a little offended.

"I mean, we're lucky Adrien doesn't hate us. We're hardly parents of the year are we?"

"Mistakes have been made. I concede that. But we're still beating our parent's aren't we?"

She snorts. "Such a high bar to clear."

Carressing her cheekbone with his thumb he says. "I'm not going to force you my dear. But I thought- after this therapy you and Ladybug are forcing on us, it might be a coversation we'd revisit."

"That's...not crazy. But are you ready for if my answer's still no?"

"I have Adrien. He was always meant to be enough, "and that's true," but..."

Nathalie eyes search his face, "But?"

"You wouldn't feel...I wouldn't want you to feel less than Emilie for us not sharing a child."

"I'm not Emilie. I don't have the same desires as her."

"No. That's becoming strikingly apparent. I'm not going to push you if this is something you don't want. Though there's not much I can do if the Ladybug Miraculous decides otherwise for us."

Nathalie's hands return to where they'd been on his hips before they'd stopped. "I'd cherish any child it gave us. I'm just...it doesn't seem like a good idea, but then I've only got so many years I can change my mind in, and- I don't know. Maybe I'll know once I work everything out."

"We'll work it out." He reminds her.

She smilies again but this time it looks forced. "Together this time."

"Yes." He agrees.

She relaxes against him, "And at least I know you won't be angry if our protection fails. That's one less thing to be worried out."

"You thought I'd be angry?"

"Not at me I don't think. But- maybe. I mean you can't have a child more planned than Adrien."

"And as you've pointed out that's hardly worked out perfectly. No, if the past years have proven anything it's that one has to run with the unplanned. Like a beautiful woman in a suit that shows off every contour of her body."

Nathalie groans. "Please don't remind me of that outfit."

"I liked that outfit." And- he'd

"I'm aware. All of Paris is aware."

"Hmm, and I'm sure most of Paris liked it too. But I'm," he says it with a smirk, "the only one who gets to see you in nothing."

"That's true. And...you could go back to kissing me again now. If you want."

"Now that my dear Nathalie is not even a question."

[rosesloveletters]

1971!Willy Wonka NSFW Alphabet

Pairing: 1971 Willy Wonka x Reader

Word Count: 2,069

Warnings: nsfw / sexual content.

Summary: Filled out NSFW alphabet template.

Author's Note: I think this was requested, but I had planned to write it anyway. Since I don't know when I'll have another full fic to post, here's a lil treat. Enjoy <3

divider created by @/saradika on Tumblr.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Willy is very attentive to your needs after passionate lovemaking sessions. Need help getting cleaned up? He’ll take the initiative to get up first and help you clean yourself up. Want some cuddles? He’ll be there with open arms, waiting for you to curl up in his embrace. Whatever it is that you need, he is more than happy to oblige. As long as you make your needs known, he will always do his best to meet them. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

As an intellectual, Willy loves his brain and all things connected to it, i.e. his thoughts, ideas, desires, etc. His mind is what attracted you to him so how could he not fall in love with it just a little bit? He would also say that he is quite fond of his hands because of how easily he can use them to create things, carry out his whims or bring you pleasure…

He is also in love with your brain and all of the beautiful things in it. There is not one specific thing he loves the most about your physical appearance. Every part of your body is equally intriguing to him, but in different ways. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Wonka is not fond of cum, mainly because of the mess. His creative, artistically inclined mindset often means that he is disorganized, yet he is never dirty or messy. He takes pride in his appearance, so anything directly related to any bodily functions are taken care of discreetly and with haste. 

He is a gentleman and perceives that ejaculation anywhere on his lover’s body is disrespectful. 

He treats his partner with respect and only cums inside of them, while of course wearing a condom—safe sex is incredibly important to him. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He occasionally fantasizes about his partner hiding beneath his desk and giving him a blowjob while he works. 

Or perhaps his thoughts might drift to them taking him aside in the chocolate room and dropping to their knees behind one of the trees or mushrooms and satisfying him there. 

He would never, ever let it happen, mostly because he could not stand the thought of someone seeing or catching him in the act. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Not as experienced as one might think, but he knows enough to engage in the act without needing any guidance. 

He has only had a couple of sexual encounters in his lifetime, mostly because he has a low sex drive and doesn’t think about it or experience urges very often. His mind is preoccupied with creating new products and he doesn’t have much time to think about or engage in sex. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary is his favorite. 

It’s a classic and he loves to be able to gaze into his partner’s eyes, watching all the little emotions that flicker across their face as he makes love to them. 

A close-second is having his partner straddle his lap while they ride him. Sometimes it is enjoyable for him to let them take the lead and he certainly appreciates sitting back and letting them use his body to bring themself pleasure.  

On the rarest of occasions, he will take his partner from behind, mostly if he is already in a more possessive mood.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It depends on his mood. 

Wonka is usually very jovial and a bit of a trickster. 

He does not believe that sex must be serious all the time, but he will read the room and conduct himself after the precedent his lover sets. 

His partner’s overall enjoyment is his top priority and if cracking jokes or laughter helps make the experience more fun for them, he’ll be sure to find little ways of bringing a bit of humor into the personal encounter. 

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Wonka tends to be a bit vain. 

He is well-groomed; trimmed, not shaven. 

The carpet does match the drapes in terms of curliness, however down below is thicker and one or two shades darker than on top of his head.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Willy is a romantic at heart.

Every aspect of intimacy is very romantic and, depending on how comfortable his partner is with it, he will make sure that every sexual act is steeped in romance. 

He wants his partner to feel comfortable and safe enough to be vulnerable with him. After all, Wonka is being just as vulnerable as they are and the romantic aspect is in part done for him as much as for his lover. 

He loves to give kisses and nuzzles and gentle touches. 

His hands will guide his lover’s movements, helping them maneuver themselves if they are finding it difficult to do so on their own. 

Often, he takes it upon himself to shoulder the more dominant position, however, he can find plenty of ways to be romantic in a more submissive role if his partner feels more comfortable with that.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Wonka rarely, if ever, masturbates. 

He thinks too much and is unable to achieve orgasm. 

It doesn’t bring him pleasure the same way that making love to his partner does and if he is seeing someone, then what is the point in doing it himself?

If it ever comes to it, he’ll masturbate in the shower because he can easily get rid of the evidence and clean himself off immediately afterwards. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Wonka isn’t very kinky. 

However, he prides himself on being a brat tamer and isn’t afraid to speak his mind, sometimes sending his partner into a tailspin because of the things he says to keep them in line. 

There is a bit of a darker side to him and, on occasion and with the right stimulus, he can be persuaded into becoming demanding, playing the role of a very dominant partner for the sake of having passionate, possessive sex. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Wonka is not interested in having sex anywhere except in the bedroom. 

He does not even want to think of anyone having perceptions of his sex life or the knowledge that he engages in anything of a sexual nature, even though he is not ashamed of it or anything like that. 

He likes to maintain his privacy and therefore he won’t risk anyone seeing him perform any sexual acts. 

Occasionally he might be persuaded into making love on the couch, yet he still does not appreciate how exposed the living room feels in comparison to the privacy of the bedroom.  

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Clever word play and wit are very stimulating for Wonka. 

Wonka has sex using his mind, not just his body. It entices him when his partner matches his intellect and can find ways to stimulate the conversation the same way one might do with his body. 

It gets him going to see his partner dressing up for him or taking pride in their appearance for him. It turns him on to no end if he ever sees them casually wearing one of his shirts or trying on his clothes. 

He’s got a bit of a thing for seeing his partner in lingerie…

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Willy would never do anything to cause his partner any pain or discomfort, nor would he take advantage of them or knowingly cross any boundaries without direct approval or consent. 

He will be checking on and following up with his partner throughout any sexual encounter to be certain that he still has their consent and will immediately stop if he even suspects they are uncomfortable or do not wish to continue. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Wonka prefers giving rather than receiving, but he wouldn’t turn down a blowjob every once in a while, especially after a particularly rough day. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and steady is just what Wonka likes.

Nothing about the way that Wonka makes love to his partner is ever fast and rough, unless they would like for it to be. 

Wonka takes his time, striving to give pleasure to his partner over time, building up to a crescendo of emotion and release rather than giving it everything all that once. 

Foreplay is incredibly important to him and he won’t skip it; it takes incredible skill to get it just right. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

As stated above, Wonka likes to take his time and therefore, he wouldn’t go for a quickie unless it was the only option. 

He would prefer to wait if no other options were available to him because times spent with his lover is so precious to him that he would not want to be rushed. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Wonka is not a risk taker when it comes to sex. 

Unprotected sex is a big ‘no’ for him. He is not interested in having children of his own and he cares enough about his partner to take their feelings and needs into consideration as well. 

There are times for risks and intimacy is not one of them as far as he is concerned. 

As for experimentation, he is willing to try most things at least once, especially if his partner asks for them. 

The only thing unacceptable to him is causing his partner any discomfort or pain. The most one might be able to coax out of him is a bit of spanking, but do not expect it to cause much pain at all. He hates even the thought of accidentally hurting his partner; he would find it nearly impossible to forgive himself if he harmed them. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Wonka makes up for his lack of stamina with his passion, charisma and charm. 

Due to the duration of a session, he is usually exhausted and satisfied after one round.

However, if his partner wants more, he will do what he can to satisfy them, although he always makes certain that this is a rarity; he is gifted in knowing how to please his partner so that one round is almost always plenty for both of them. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

This might come as a surprise, but Wonka can be a bit jealous and territorial regarding his partner. He would not like the idea of them relying on a toy for personal pleasure when he is willing and perfectly capable of satisfying their every desire. 

He does not forbid his partner from pleasuring themselves, nor will he be angry if he were to find out they owned and used toys, but he would want to have a conversation about whether or not their needs were being met so that he could do his best to meet them and would use this opportunity to check up on them and make sure he isn’t doing anything that they don’t like or do not wish for him to continue doing.  

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

In the right mood, Wonka is a relentless tease. 

He can undress his partner with just his eyes, leaving them squirming under his piercing blue gaze. 

He’ll be a bit unfair sometimes, using his personal wit and charm to debilitate his partner and leave them crumbling beneath him. 

He can and will talk circles around just about anyone. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Willy is not very loud. 

The most his partner will get out of him are a few grunts and the occasional breathy moan. 

Unless directly requested, he won’t make very much noise. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Along the lines of a more sensual headcanon, Wonka would love to shower with his partner. 

Cleanliness is very important to him (it must be since he works with food) and showering together is a nice way to help him feel more connected with his partner and to warm himself and loosen up his muscles before intimacy occurs. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Wonka’s body is very soft. 

He is not chiseled or have a rigid, sharp bone structure. 

His skin is very soft and plush, conducive to being cuddled and squished. 

He is somewhat toned and has an average build with some defined muscle, specifically in his biceps and thighs. 

He has a broad chest that lacks a lot of hair, though he does have a faint happy trail leading from his belly button down to his pelvic area. 

His manhood is slightly above average. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

My personal headcanon is that Wonka is greysexual and therefore his sex drive is very low. 

He does not strike me as someone who values sex as a defining part of a romantic relationship, although he does appreciate it for its role and has desires and urges he needs to satisfy from time to time. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It takes him a while to fall asleep afterward, mainly because he is concerned with making sure his partner’s needs have been met before he allows himself to relax or take what he needs. 

Once they have been looked after, Wonka will relax, cuddling into them and letting himself drift off into dreamland. 

[markerofthemidnight]

Blinding Eclipse - A CCCC Oneshot (Prompt: Fluff)

Yesterday’s poll sure was a thing, so I wrote this in 24 hours!

I don’t have the attention span to go through all the trouble of making a new fic and beta-reading it myself for now, so I’ll just keep this and the second one on Tumblr for now, then post them to AO3 once all three are done!

(Honestly kinda worried about this? The last time I wrote a oneshot about two weirdos who don’t like each other having an awkward conversation that results in them understanding each other better, and ends in them hanging out and being dorks, it was a fic that I now rather infamously don’t like and will probably put me off writing gift fics for a year. Anyways, here it is:)

Blinding Eclipse

After a particularly nasty fight, Heart gives Mind the time to recover from his injuries by (against his will) sheltering him in his room. By the time the conversation ends, he might understand the emotional side a bit more.

***

A short hum echoed through the dark room followed by a dim blue light, as the android’s systems restarted following a rather… forceful shutdown of them.

He groaned, grabbing his temples. For him to pass out during a fight with Heart was rare: he must have been especially aggressive today for some reason. Where was he now?…

“Hiiiii.”

Oh, goddamit.

He looked up to see a certain avian asshole staring at him with… probably not the smuggest look he’d ever seen on his face, but it was definitely in the top five. It took him a bit to realise… he was lying in his room, in his bed… and had been using his chest as a pillow while he was asleep.

“…Get the hell off me.”

Heart smiled in response. “Technically, ‘Mister’ Mind, you’re the one on top of me. And you’re still not the boss of me. You’re only leaving when I let you leave.”

Mind narrowed his eyes. We’ll see about that, then. When he turned around, trying to wrestle his way out of his grip, he realised- oh fuck. Fuck, he had his wings wrapped around him, this asshole had this planned to a tee.

He shifted uncomfortably in his grip, something Heart clearly noticed as his wings tightened. “C’mon, I had to. I had a, like, 200-and-something-pound robot lying directly on top of me: they would’ve gotten crushed if I didn’t.”

He was absolutely not 200 pounds, but he wasn’t in the mood to correct him over something so trivial right now. Rather… “You carried me all the way here?”

“Yeah. I’m stronger than I look, you know? Turns out, getting into fistfights with a robot on a daily basis does wonders for your muscles,” he gloated.

“No, that’s not- I mean, why?” The android raised a non-existent eyebrow, glaring in confusion at his other half. “You were literally just trying to kill me. Why bother dragging me here when all it would likely do is start another fight?”

“Wanted to make sure Soul doesn’t find out when he comes back,” Heart simply replied. “I needed to make sure you recovered quick, and make you promise you wouldn’t tell.”

“And why would I ever do that?”

“If he finds out, we’ll probably both get punished. He blames us both for the fighting, you know. And besides… don’t you think we should at least try to get along? Just this once, for Soul?”

After he said that… he stopped, and thought for a second. That… sounded about right. Recently, he’d noticed Soul had stopped caring about who started the fights: the way he saw things, if they both participated in the fights, they both deserved punishment.

…Goddamit, Heart was actually making sense right now.

Mind didn’t feel like getting disemboweled- or… whatever the robot equivalent was- today. He was still aching from faux pain from the previous fight right now, as a matter of fact.

“…Fine. I’ll play along with this game. I promise not to tell Soul.” He gave in, sighing. “Well? Now let me go.”

The avian stopped at that. He winced, and hesitantly shook his head. “Not yet. Your legs still feel pretty banged up.”

Now, that came as no surprise to Mind. His legs still hurt like hell- though it wasn’t too big of a deal considering he, unlike most androids, had his own healing factor. He didn’t know exactly how it worked, like most things in the Headspace, but it definitely came in handy often.

Not to mention, it was common knowledge by now that Heart had empathy that bordered on superpowers: all he had to do was touch you, and he’d understand exactly what you were feeling in the moment. Not just your emotions, but physical sensations too, so it was no wonder he’d be able to tell so easily.

Still, he really didn’t feel like staying here for too long. So as uncomfortable as he was, he grumbled and laid his head down on his other half’s chest, to which he smiled and held him closer.

They were sitting like that for a short while. One wallowing in his own shame and embarrassment that he needed Heart’s help, the other simply enjoying the peace he could get with his pseudo-brother.

The Moon stroke his hair, sighing as he broke the silence. “And besides, this is your chance to ask questions. There’s still a lot you want to learn about me, right?”

The Sun didn’t reply, simply nodding. “Well, go ahead. Anything you want- that won’t piss me off- ask away.”

He thought for a second. Well, now he was mentioning it, there were a few things on his mind… “How are you so perceptive?”

“Because I have ears?”

“No- well, yes, but that’s not what I mean. I’ve seen how precise you can be at times. Mid-flight, you always seem to know exactly what you’re targeting and where it is, even if hearing alone shouldn’t be able to help you,” he elaborated.

Heart tilted his head, trying to consider his answer. “It’s kinda hard to describe- I think it’s just… intuition. I just know where my target is immediately, even in the heat of the moment.”

Well, that didn’t help at all. Leave it to the stupid asshole to give a stupid answer.

“That’s the way it feels while flying, anyway. Normally, it relies more on muscle memory and hearing.” He looked away from the Sun at that, with a melancholy smile on his face. “When you lose one of your main senses… you have to learn to adapt.”

He couldn’t help but be intrigued by that, for that smile was so obviously pained that even Mind, who admittedly wasn’t very perceptive when it came to feelings or “reading the room” as the others called it, could notice. “…Do you ever miss it?”

“Kinda?” Came his instant response, as if the blind man was expecting him to ask that. “Like, you know how much I hated it at first. I didn’t know how I could live without sight, but then I forced myself to adapt and… now I see it’s not so bad. Well, it is bad, but I got over it.”

And then, his smile disappeared. “Really, the worst part is the memories. Everything from before I got blinded seems so far away, and I’m trying to hold onto them, but… hell, I barely even remember what you two look like, let alone anything else.”

Heart sniffled, before sighing and internally suppressing the pain. His grip on Mind tightened as he pulled him into a pseudo-hug… and, intentionally or not, began smothering him in his chest’s violet fur. The faint scent of lavender permeated his nostrils as his muffled scream of protest went unnoticed by his fluffy kidnapper.

Seconds after, the grip loosened, at least giving him some room to breathe. He reflexively gasped for air despite not needing it, and sighed. “S-sorry,” his other half sheepishly replied, “Might’ve forgotten how hard I was hugging…”

“See, this is why I call him a creature,” he groaned to himself, “Not because he acts like one, but because his anatomy makes no sense.”

Heart hummed in confusion, tilting his head at that. Mind blinked for a second before elaborating, “Come on, you must know what I mean. All you need is decently-sized wings and you can fly despite a lack of streamlining and flight muscles. Your neck works like an owl’s. You used to hoard shiny objects, I’ve heard you make bird noises on multiple occasions, you- you smell like lavender, for fuck’s sake!”

The Moon continued to stare for a few seconds before simply shrugging, “What’s wrong with lavender?”

“It’s fucking unnatural, that’s what! Humans don’t smell like plants, and neither do animals- it’s just… how are you so satisfied with living as this, when you know you’re supposed to be human?!” He snapped.

Admittedly… Mind let a lot more of his insecurities show just now than he would have liked. Then again, Heart was perfectly aware of said insecurities, so he wasn’t too shaken up. He was staring at him with an empathetic gaze as he finished, and simply turned to the ceiling. “I dunno. Maybe I just find this more… exciting? The flight’s fun, and my wings look really pretty… or used to, but the point is, it’s a lot more interesting than just being a regular person, don’t you think?”

Well, what was wrong with being regular? It wasn’t his fault the boy lacked an attention span and thus thought “order and logic” meant “depressing and bleak”. He should hate being the way he is, just like how the Sun wants to be human again: because being a robot is confusing, frightening and just plain wrong whereas anyone with a working brain knows how being a human works.

Heart should hate being some kind of weird, furry bird-person-creature for the same reasons. After all, it’s not like there were any practical applications that came from some of your limbs catching on fire depending on your emotions.

As he was lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed that Heart had let go of his grip, still staring at the ceiling. His foot tapped against the side of his bed a few times before he clicked his tongue and turned to him. “You know what?”

Mind raised an eyebrow and sat up, his other half doing the same as he continued. “I think your problem is that you’re so uncomfortable with being a robot that you only see its downsides, and ignore all the good parts.”

He narrowed his eyes, stuttering. “G… good- there is no ‘good’ parts, dumbass. I barely resemble everything I used to be, and as time passes all it does is make me look more like a… a-“

“-Monster?” He interrupted. “That’s what you want to say, isn’t it? It’s how you see yourself. You try to hide it, but it’s still there. Well, think again: after all, I’d say only needing to sleep once a week is a pretty big perk for someone as workaholic as you.”

He stopped at that. He opened his mouth to retort, but felt it slowly closing soon after. That wasn’t exactly… incorrect… he did appreciate that, at least.

“See?” Heart smiled, tilting his head. “I know that silence! You do like that, don’t you? And then there’s your healing facto…” he trailed off before, suddenly, leaping off the bed. “Oh crap, right, your legs! A-are you okay? Can you walk now?”

He, too, had almost forgotten his legs were damaged before this moment. Regardless, he took a few seconds getting off the bed, slightly shaking as he stood up. “…Not perfectly, but I’ll manage just fine. Thank you, Heart.”

Consumed by his thoughts, he likely didn’t even notice that he was thanking him, and if he did, he had no idea exactly what for. Either way, as he took his first slow steps towards the door, the avian once again wrapped his arm around him, forcing him to lean on his shoulder. “Not so fast. I’m not taking any chances with how badly they were banged up before.”

With that, he began borderline carrying the android back to his room. He wanted to complain about this, but… he didn’t.

“We should do this more often, you know,” he smiled. “This is the first time we’ve been able to have a normal conversation in months.”

“Yes. This was… quite satisfactory,” he hesitantly replied. Crap, how should he have worded that?

“Can we hang out again later too? I know walking in to see us getting along for once would really startle Soul!~” the emotional side playfully quipped. “What was that game you were playing earlier? The one you decided to restart cause you… weren’t satisfied with your last run, or something?”

“Lobotomy Corpora-… wait, how do you know about that?!”

“These walls aren’t exactly soundproof, y’know,” he teased. “No, seriously, your little mutterings while playing that’re probably the most emotion I’ve ever heard from you! It sounds like fun!”

——

Another day, another argument.

That was what Soul was expecting to see, anyways, as he materialised back into the Headspace for tonight, only to be met with silence… mostly.

He could hear voices. Distant and quiet, but they were there. As he followed the trail, he realised they were coming from Mind’s room. Huh. Weird of Heart to willingly enter Mind’s room, and they were being so passive as well… what was going on there?

He opened the door expecting to see… anything, really, only to do a double take as he saw what was probably the least likely scenario he could imagine.

Heart, sitting down on one of his little bean bags, was listening intently to an oddly calm Mind as he sat at his computer, taking the time to carefully and even somewhat happily explain the details of some game he was playing to him.

What. The fuck. Was he watching.

Was… was this real? He’s not just, like, hallucinating Heart and Mind getting along, right?! This was actually happening? Being Whole again was a possibility even without his help?!

Regardless, as he opened the door, Heart heard the creaking and turned to the opposite corner of the room, knowing who it must be.

“…so even if Penitence’s defences seem better at first glance, since this is one class higher it’s actually the superior-“ Mind was cut off by his other half tapping his shoulder and pointing to Soul. He looked at him for a few seconds before quipping, “How is it that you look even crazier now than you do when you’re stabbing us?”

…The ruler slowly closed the door, not knowing how else to react. What was that. How did that happen. How did they will themselves into getting along so easily, he could hear Heart giggling like a madman from behind the door like he thought this earth-shattering revelation was funny, oh my god he needed some time to think.

***

Soul would later go on to sit in the kitchen slowly drinking a Monster for ten minutes, all with this disbelieving smile on his face, before going to “supervise” them (really he just wants in on the fun).

Well, aforementioned anxiety aside, I liked writing this! Establishing that Heart makes bird noises as well as his lavender chest floomf, and projecting my Lobotomy Corp liker onto Mind was really fun!

Expect Mind’s instalment, its prompt being Self-Discovery, to come out soon. Or maybe not, after all DoaI Vol. 1 comes out tomorrow so I may be a bit busy.

[soft-hard-peaches]

Reaction: You Changing Your Hair Style

Note: long time no see everyone! i've really miss making fic so i'm posting things i've had drafted forever ago lol. i'm a bit rusty but wrting again was fun.

+fluff+ +crack+

Kim Hongjoong

>”can’t”

>...

“whyyy” 

>”Busy thats why but i should be done by 7”

>”Busy? You have no life thooo”

You ignore his last message. You weren’t going to dignify that with a response. You put down your phone and look at yourself in the mirror. Hair fully saturated with drugstore box dye, forehead stained messily, and adorning an old no longer white tee shirt that you never gave back to your ex. Usually you ask your bestfriend Hongjoong for color recommendations but you have a sudden burst of energy and now youre here I guess lol. You laughed at your appearance thinking would a person with no life clear up their busy schedule to dye their own hair because paying a professional sounds ridiculous and expensive. Once the laughter dies down you start to have second thoughts on your logic and skill set but you are already twenty minutes into the process so you must see it through. 

*VRRRR* The vibration grains your attention downwards. You unlock your phone to see the full message for Hongjoong.

>”I’m bringing your favorite for dinner as an early apology because I might be late since my boss wants me to head back to the studio for a bit.”

“Thank god!’’, you exclaimed. This means you have more time to talk yourself into thinking this was a good idea again and hop in the shower to finish this possible disaster. As you stain your porcelain white tub with colorful dye you think of Joong’s possible reaction. In all the years of your friendship, you’ve really admired his sense of fashion and eye for art. You don’t put him on a pudistal but you look up to his opinion. Maybe you were too confident thinking you could both choose a color and dye your whole head by yourself but you hopped out and headed to the mirror to see the finished product.

You gasped at your reflection, covering your mouth as you muffled yourself. “It’s actually cute”, you say, uncovering your mouth. You needed some more convincing so you grabbed your hair products to style it into something presentable for the hour or so. After styling your hair, you change into something not discolored and cover up the clumsy stains on your forehead just in time to hear your doorbell. It’s time to show off your totally perfectly planned dye job to Joongie. 

You practically swung the door open giving a little pose for a startled Hongjoong. "So this was why you were so busy today!” He laughed holding the hot food, shimmying into the apartment. You grabbed the bags to place on the table so he stopped to marvel at your work. “Y/N, you really should pick my next color.” 

His words were an ego boost.

Park Seonghwa

Every now and again you’d visit your boyfriend in the practice room to keep him company during his long practice hours. You would bring him something to eat or drink to keep his energy up and tell him about your day. He enjoyed this time together as much as you do. With both of your schedules usually clashing, this is one of the few moments of the week that you can enjoy one another.

He sat down in front of you admiring the vibrancy in your hair.

"…what?", you sheepishly ask.

He doesn't respond yet, still gazing at your beauty. Wide eyed and enamored.

"What??", you slap your hand on the dance floor between you two trying to gain his attention.

In attempts to play it off cool, he shoots you a smirk, "N-nothing. You just look really good in this color." You both cringe slightly at his corny behavior as he lets out a breathy laugh, looking away finally. You smile knowing his compliment was genuine.

Jeong Yunho

“Babe, looks like we’re twins!” You messaged him a picture of your new look fresh out of the salon. You wanted to try a new look so what better than having your hair colored like your boyfriend’s. Yunho loves when you two match whether it’s clothing, accessories or miscellaneous items. He’s 100% the type of boyfriend who would buy matching sets of things just to show off. You’re his first love so he wants the whole world to know your love for one another.

Today while you had a free day you wanted to surprise him with this eccentric display of partnership by getting your hair dyed to match his oreo styled white and black hair. You were pretty proud of the results and thought your puppy dog boyfriend would be obsessed but when he finally messaged back you were confused to say the least. 

> 🥲🥲🥲🥲

>”what do you not like it??

You were worried if maybe you took the matching too far. I mean matching hoodies and bracelets are one thing but you fully dyed your hair for him. While wondering what his message could have meant you get a face call from him and immediately picked it up. As his image pops up you immediately gasp at the sight of his black hair… not oreo but black. He tries to explain with a straight face that the company had planned to dye his hair black earlier that morning unbeknownst to both of you. As you hear laughter from his bandmates in the background you couldn’t do anything but giggle at the ridiculous situation with them. 

“The look suits you better anyways baby.” he finally compliments between chuckles.

Kang Yeosang

Though this isn’t your first acting gig, it is the first where you had to dye your actual hair. You’ve never even gotten highlights before but they want you to dye the whole head. You’re pacing his room thinking out loud as he watches, eating potato chips. Yeosang is more than used to having his hair changed every other comeback or so but he understands how you feel. He gets up to hand you the bag of chips and sits you down on his bed in his place. “So what color do they want for you?” he asked, now standing. You respond, now stuffing your face with chips,” Light brown. Like a milk tea color.” He claps in encouragement, “That’s not that bad Y/N. I’ll probably look really good in it.”

Yeosang tends to be optimistic most of the time but you take his words as honesty. “Really?”, you ask, wiping your mouth. He walks towards you planting a few kisses on your lips, “Of course, nothing can stop your beauty.

Choi San

You’ve always been hesitant to try out new things whether it’s a new restaurant or a new look, to the point that it took you this long to pierce your ears. You are a creature of comfort and disrupting your routine doesn’t sound pleasant to you but deep down you want to branch out even if in a small way. Your bestie San has always been the first person to hold your hand and encourage you so when you told him that you made an appointment with a salon to change your look. You reassured him, or more like yourself, that it’s not going to be a huge change but he’s excited either way that you're ready to get out of your comfort zone.

He drops you off at the salon for a few hours while he runs some errands. When you text him that you're done he gets back to you excitedly. Ready to see your new choice of look.

“San!!”, you waved at him cheerfully, “Do you like it?”. You seem so happy with the outcome that San didn’t want to pop your bubble. Honestly he’s happy youre happy and trying new things.

"... Wow...Y/n it’s great." Practically it’s the same color but you’re so cute when you’re giddy that he’s excited for you.

Song Mingi

Getting tired of the same old same old, you wanted to spice up your look somehow before your boyfriend came back from touring. Mingi would have loved you if you were a worm but you wanted to wow him nonetheless. You messaged him about your thoughts and he suggested you to maybe get your hair trimmed or try lightening the color. He’s so gentle with your feelings, he didn’t want to over suggest and seem like he wanted you to make a big change. He adored you and wanted you to be happy with yourself more than worrying about what he wants. So with those few options you took them and ran. A handful of days later and it was time to meet your boyfriend from his long travels.

He knew that you did something to your hair but not to what extent since you kept it a surprise. You eagerly headed to his dorms, excited to greet him and show him your new look. Once his manager opened the door, he greeted you with a compliment and a welcoming gesture into the house. Luckily the boys weren’t around to see you before he did. Once you called out his name he came jogging down singing yours offkey but the sight of you caught his eye and his heart. “Wow you’re like a new person babe! So beautiful.” He walked up to marvel at your newly colored short shaggy hair. Smiling ear to ear, you're happy with the new look and more than happy that your boyfriend loves it maybe more than you do.

"We should go out today so everyone can see how hot my girlfriend is." He says leaning down for a kiss.

Jung Wooyoung

"Bestie! Open the door bestie! My arms hurt!!" He proceeds to bang on the door impatiently, "Y/N?" he shouts almost completely without energy. You finally open the front door causing him to step back.

"Stop it, youre gonna wake up my neighb-"

"WHEN'D YOU BLEACH YOUR HAIR?!?!?"

You grabbed the food and tried to close him outside for yelling so much but he fought his way in. You both laugh from the bit of rough housing then Wooyoung closes and locks the door behind him, following you to the kitchen to help you set up the breakfast. The way the sunlight from the window shines on your now golden locks distracts him causing him to fumble with the cups.

You catch him staring with his lips parted a bit making you chuckle, "So how do you like it?" It takes him a moment to respond, "you know Y/n I've never really noticed how wavy your hair is. You blonde brings it out nicely."

That comment causes your face to flush suddenly. You hardly ever get complimented on your curl pattern. Honestly you're more used to backhanded compliments. Wooyoung senses your awkwardness and reassures you. "Your hair is really pretty."

Choi Jongho

You like company whenever you have to run errands around town but usually Jongho is busy working so you’d have to either go alone or ask other friends so when he had a day off you took that opportunity to drag him around from place to place. Usually he wouldn’t mind because quality time is his love language but when you told him you needed to get your hair touched up he tried to get out (unsuccessfully). He begged, pleaded, even started pouting since it always works on his hyungs, nothing worked.

Being a seasoned idol, he’s all too familiar with how long and grueling salon trips can be (even though he hardly gets his hair dyed lol). But you told him you need to get your hair done for work and once you gave him your puppy dog eyes he stopped protesting almost instantly.

He sat patiently, making small talk every now and then with the stylist and patrons there during the few hours of wait with his only time of freedom being when he left to get you a snack. To be completely honest, Jongho enjoys any bit of time with you just as much as you with him. He’s enjoyed your time so much that he’s started developing feelings for you, even if he hasn’t realized yet.

Once you’re finally done paying for your hair you walk up to him ushering to leave but the sight of you with lighter hair makes him lose his sense. Already at the door, you look back at him still sitting. “Come on, this is just one place i need to go today”, you say smiling down at him.

He gulps as he regain’s himself to get on his feet. Realizing the budding feelings.

[peacexatxlast]

Thomas Shelby; I'm Here

I had plans for this to be smutty... But then it took another direction and became angst with an inkling of fluff if you squint. This is my first fic of him, so if you enjoy it, let me know if you want a part two with smut? Or just give me some feedback! Thankss xx

Word count: 1,500 ish Summary: Thomas' wife has a nightmare, and once again... he's working. Warnings: Ahhh, not much. Angst! Might be swearing, I don't remember.

She had grown accustomed to sleeping alone. More accurately, falling asleep alone and almost always waking up with the ghost of comfort and warmth lingering where her husband once lay. Lately, that ghost had turned into her envy. That damned apparition getting more of her attention, lying by her side than her own partner did. Speaking to him at night more often than she had spoken to him in months. Whether or not he actually slept beside her anymore was a mystery, for she would only occasionally rouse from her slumber when the bed shifted and the scent of whiskey and cigarettes engulfed her. She used to despise the scent. It was all she had now, feeling like home in many ways. 

Sex had become a fading memory of her marriage vows. To have and to hold… so long as Thomas Shelby deemed appropriate. Whenever he had time in his busy schedule. Whenever the stress of life became so burdensome he needed to unload it upon her in a quick and passionless fuck. She never complained. She never turned him away. Any time spent under his attention was time well spent. It gave her hope. 

She dreamt that night. Alone, the only warmth was wrapped against her body in a blanket. It did little to melt the ice within her subconscious. In this state of catatonia her brows furrowed and body curled into a fetal position to return to the protection only offered while being inside of her mothers womb or being wrapped in the arms of the most dangerous man alive. A man's heart was a wretched thing. Her mother's womb stretched and made room for her, but her husband's heart would not bleed for her nor separate room for her from his work.

It was snowing in her dream. Her bare feet trod through the white tundra, and yet she felt nothing. She supposed that her concern for her husband outweighed the frostbite threatening her inside of this facade. She could see only the outline of his person, and no matter how far she traveled, no matter how quickly she ran and called for him, Thomas never was reached. Even when her breath suffocated her with each exasperated attempt to capture oxygen in her lungs, she got no nearer to him than the three hundred steps that passed. Another three hundred. And another. He was still only a silhouette of something she needed but could get to. 

“Thomas! Behind you!” The storm of snow had silenced her shriek, and the shadow of death closed in on her husband. She ran faster, tripping and rising again and again. She screamed for him. She begged his attention. She was too late, too slow, the gun rising and just as the grim reaper pulled the trigger-

She woke up with a cry. Sweat coated her forehead, hair sticking to the side of temples. Alone. She was alone. The whistle of the wind whipped at the window. It was snowing. Fear crept into her ribs, slithering around her lungs and squeezing. It drove her to her feet, wrapping herself in silk and thrusting the door open. “Just a dream… just a dream…” the mutter followed her downstairs, towards the office door where she knew he would be. She knew it; she had to see it. 

His eyes, though vacant and tired, reassured her of his safety in the house. Her gaze went past him, and there was no shadowy figure threatening him. Only himself. 

“It’s late. What’s wrong?” His pen stilled, and annoyance settled within her. What was wrong? This. All of this. Him. Her. The lack of him in their wedding bed. How could he not see the drift of their marriage? Did he see it and simply not care? 

“I had a dream. You weren’t in bed. I wanted to make sure…” She trailed off, closing the distance until the desk was all that separated them. “That you were alright.” It was only for a moment, but she swore that something crossed over his features. It had to be her imagination. She hadn’t seen anything other than absence in his eyes for months. 

“I’m alright. Just have a few letters to finish. I’ll be up in a minute, love. Go back to bed.” Up in a minute. She had heard that one too many times to believe it to be true. 

“Tommy…” Her cry came much quieter than in her nightmare. She could see him, though she didn’t dare reach out and touch him in fear of being thrown back by the wind and snow just as in her dream. “Please come to bed. You can leave when I fall back asleep. Come back down here to your wife and leave your mistress in bed.” She smiled despite the truth hidden in her statement. There was that brief expression of emotion upon his brows, furrowing at her comment. Guilt twitched against her lips, burning her tongue at how she’d possibly offended him. Even so, he stood. 

“Alright, Mrs. Shelby. I’m coming.” 

His hand grounded her from floating away, clinging tightly to the only thing she had left. Her mother had passed away three years prior to meeting Tommy and even then it was impossible to crawl back into her womb for comfort. He was all she had… 

Passing through the threshold of their bedroom, he stopped her. Pulled into his chest, withholding her from the mattress where sleep would capture her into a cold hug, she wished to be nowhere but wrapped in his embrace. Hands trailed up his chest, undoing the buttons of his waistcoat. He hadn’t even changed or visited his wife since coming home. From one office to the next. But now he was here, her nails soothing down his scalp to rest at the back of his neck. He tasted like cigarettes when he kissed her. She swore she licked the remnants of sorrow off of his bottom lip, the bitter likeness to whiskey reminding her of one of his vices. His words, however, were coated in regret. That was unmistakable. “My wife.” 

She swallowed, gaze moving from his lips to his eyes. His lips spoke lies far too often for her to trust them, but his eyes never misguided her. “Have you just remembered?” Nails drag along the back of his scalp, soothing the stress from his day with each melancholic stroke. He sighed, and again her guilt tightens her stomach into a knot. It was a woman’s duty to make a man’s life easier, not harder. Though she simply couldn’t help it. She was hardly his wife more so than a whore sleeping in his bed… He had many of them. At least they never were permitted to spend the night. Sleep in the cold bed. Was that a curse or a blessing? 

“I’ve been busy. It will be over soon.” Vacant promises assaulted her, and she no longer felt she could contain her distress. 

“I dreamed of death, Thomas.” Fingers trailed across his neck to cup his face, “It came for you. It came for you, and I couldn’t stop it. I tried, I tried so desperately to reach you but-but- I couldn’t!” 

His own hands found her face in return, shushing her soft outburst. “I’m here; I’m right here.” The blue in his eyes pierced her deeply, the cold shard of ice digging into her chest. Even in his absence he would find a way to secure a piece of himself into her being. The ice would melt, seeping into her bloodstream and mingling with her DNA; he was a part of her. She wanted to be a part of him. 

“I see you, but you’re not here with me. Where have you gotten lost, my love? Come home to me.” The rough pad of his thumbs swiped at the silent drops of torment slipping down marbled flesh. Gears were churning beyond his perplexed stare. The air within her lungs stilled to a faint whisper, searching for the metallic clanking of the ridges shifting and clicking into one another. Silence. He only breathed, shaking his head softly in a dumbfounded ignorance. 

“I’m here,” from the mouth of a liar came his subtle plea, begging her to drop the topic. They held each other, foreheads pressed in a holy union to bind two lonely and lost souls once again to one another. It occurred to her then that maybe this was their problem: they didn’t attempt to connect their sloughed minds nearly often enough. 

Her chest deflated with a sigh, sealing her lips together before she spoke to keep the negative response from slipping from her thoughts. Her husband was a busy man. His work was laid on the desk there for him downstairs, and yet he had stopped to come and see her to sleep. She tugged him with her as she backed away, guiding him towards the bed to where she would finally fall asleep with a body laying next to her again.  “Okay, Thomas. Be here then. With me, please.” 

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Space-Time Continuum [Hotch x Reader]

Photo credits: Left (@everydayschristmas) Center (@masterwords) Right (@happyheidi)

Prompt: Aaron and the reader take down the last of the Christmas decorations. As they work and spend a relaxing afternoon together, Aaron realizes he wants to ask the reader to move in with him and Jack. 

Pairing: [established relationship] Aaron x fem!Non-BAU!reader. The reader uses she her pronouns 

Category: fluff/comfort 

Word Count: 4.4K

Content Warnings: mention of Haley’s passing, implied intimacy. If I missed any, please let me know. 

A/N: Hi loves! Here is another fic based on the amazing @imagining-in-the-margins January/February Writing Challenge about New Beginnings. This story is inspired by the dialog prompt: “The time will pass anyway.” This is pure domestic fluff. I can just imagine Aaron looking forward to asking you to move in with him. I hope this story warms you up as winter keeps wintering. If you like this story, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. If you’re starting school (uni) next week, or you're already back, just know I’m proud of you! Love Levi - ❤️

List with all stories 

_y/n_ = your name

_y/f/c/b_ = your favorite caffeinated beverage 

_y/f/c_ -= your favorite color 

_y/f/s_ = your favorite scent  

_t/c_ = tea or coffee

_y/f/c/b_ = your favorite caffeinated beverage 

_y/f/p/b/s_= your favorite perfume or body spray 

_u/sf/d_= up, straight forward, or down (depending on your height)

_f/b/c/m/m_ = your favorite book, coming, manga, magazine 

_y/n_ woke up warm. Aaron had his arms wrapped around her and he was already half awake. He murmured, “Moring.” _y/n_ smiled into his chest and replied, “Good morning. Have you looked out the window yet? The weather said it might snow overnight.” Hotch shifted in the bed and sort of repositioned _y/n_ to his left side while he used his long muscled arm to pull the curtain on the window to the side. _y/n_ could have done this herself, but she wanted to bask in the warmth of Aaron’s broad chest just a moment longer. After a second Aaron said, “Well the weatherman was finally right. It snowed. Still is actually.” _y/n_ hummed to see for herself. Outside small flurries gently fell from the side and to the frozen pavement three floors down from Hotch’s apartment. It looked like about five inches had fallen overnight. _y/n_ was very grateful that it was the weekend and that she and Hotch could sleep in for a bit longer. They could also let Jack sleep in too. When _y/n_ and Aaron had gotten serious, Hotch’s son had taken to _y/n_ quickly. Over time when she started staying over more often, not just on the weekends, she’d started getting Jack ready for school if Hotch was rushed to get to the office for a case. Then _y/n_ dropped Jack off at school for the first time and they’d sung songs in the car on the way there. Aaron was so relieved that Jack and his partner had bonded. It warmed his heart that _y/n_ loved his son so much. Even though _y/n_ was younger than him, _y/n_ had great parental instincts and often spoke to Jack when he threw a fit or got into trouble as well as he would. _y/n_ was very good at putting difficult concepts into understandable, neat packages. It was one of the things Hotch loved about her. If they had a fight, or needed to talk, he always had her full attention, and if she didn’t understand where he was coming from, she tried to see it from his shoes. That was something he’d never been great at in his personal life. After a moment of quiet, _y/n_ sat up and asked, “So, what are the plans for today? I hope they don’t involve a lot of going outside.” Hotch chuckled, knowing that _y/n_ didn’t love dealing with the cold and snow. Aaron stretched giving _y/n_ a small peak of his stomach and elastic of his briefs for a second. Aaron cleared his throat and said, “Well I need to shower first. But one thing that’s been on the list forever is taking down the Christmas tree and decorations. It feels overdue.” _y/n_ nodded. The tree had been up for some time after the holidays. Neither of them had had time with the return to work bustle. Then Hotch had been sent to cases back to back and had been too exhausted to think about it last week. But not that he was rested it felt like as good a time as any. _y/n_ nodded and said, “Sounds good. We can figure the rest out as we go. I’ll change, start breakfast, and get Jack up while you shower, okay?” Aaron smiled and replied, “Sounds great, _y/n_.” 

Under the hot water, Hotch lathered his body with soap. As the foamy lather rinsed off his body and down the drain, he contemplated how relaxed _y/n_ could be. He appreciated that she didn’t have to have every second planned. He’d had to do that more at work recently. There had been a threat to national safety and the team had made it in time, but Strauss was still slightly unimpressed with how long it had taken the BAU to take down the threat. He had started seeing things in timed chunks and thinking about efficiency, even in his personal life. He didn’t enjoy the feeling. But _y/n_ was a reminder that it didn’t have to be that way at home. It was doubly admirable because _y/n_ had stress in her life too. Stress with family, and work, and friend, and her crappy apartment that was literally falling apart. It wasn’t the same kind of stress he faced, but it was still stressful, and Aaron admired her ability to put those things aside and still see life with optimism and happiness. After a few more minutes under the flow of water, Hotch turned off the tap and stepped out of the shower. He dried off and wrapped a towel around his waist. He moved over to the sink to wash his face and brush his teeth. 

_y/n_ heard the shower start running as she quickly made the bed. She made sure the sheets and comforter were neat and tucked in at the corners. She then moved to Aaron’s closet and grabbed a comfy outfit for the day. She settled for some soft leggings and a _y/f/c_ shirt that she layered under a knit cardigan. As _y/n_ pulled through her clothes in the walk-in closet, she realized how much of her stuff had migrated to Aaron’s. At least half of her wardrobe now resided in Hotch’s space. It had been a slow transition, but once Aaron had bought her favorite _y/f/s_ed body wash, hairspray, and sanctuary products, it was pretty much an invitation for her to start getting more comfortable in his space. And boy was his space more comfortable than her leaky, small,  cold, old apartment much farther from her job than Aaron’s. _y/n_ smiled knowing she was so welcome here. Even if she didn’t get to spend as much time with Aaron and Jack as she liked, when she was here, it felt just like home. With her outfit on, _y/n_ moved to the kitchen and started making the batter for some pancakes, eggs, and bacon. She woke Jack, and then Aaron joined them and they had a relaxed morning. Jack watched some cartoons, and _y/n_ and Hotch worked on a puzzle from Rossi from Christmas. In the early afternoon, they all started to work on taking down the tree. Aaron got the boxes from the closet and they all set to work. 

After an hour of work, Jack gave Aaron his biggest puppy dog eyes possible, and after a minute, Hotch said, “Alright Jack, what do you want?” Jack’s face burst into a smile, and the little boy replied, “Hot chocolate!” Hotch sighed. It was still cold enough out for a sweet cup of cocoa and it wasn’t too late for his son to have one more small sugar rush before naptime. With a fake look of defeat, Aaron said, “Well alright, but just a small cup. I can’t have you bouncing off the walls while we’re all trying to take down the Christmas decorations. Isn’t that right, _y/n?_"_y/n_ nodded with mock seriousness saying, “Of course. Dad’s right. Remember when you ate all of your Halloween candy two months ago? You couldn’t sleep and then you couldn’t wake up for school the next day?” Jack’s face took on a little frown, as he nodded yes. Aaron’s eyes moved over to _y/n_’s, and he gave her a smile that was just meant for her. Hotch got up from his seated position and said, “Let me see if we have the stuff to make it here.” Hearing this, _y/n_’s ears perked up, and she said, “Oh. We do. Or we did, but I used the last of the milk in my afternoon _t/c_. Sorry, Aaron. I forgot to put it on the list. I was going to run to the store later tonight to get stuff for dinner. Hotch didn’t mind and said, “You don’t have to apologize, _y/n_. I’ll just run to the coffee shop on the corner. Do you want anything?” _y/n_ grinned at his consideration and said, “No. I think drinking _y/f/c/b_ right now would have more than just Jack bouncing off the walls.” Aaron chuckled and said, “Alright. Well if you change your mind, you can text me.” _y/n_ nodded and tipped her head up and back, as he stood behind her and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. He then moved to his son, ruffled his short dirty blond hair that always reminded him of Haley’s. When Hotch was at the door, _y/n_ called out in a clear voice, “Be safe on the roads. I’m not sure they’re all done thawing, even with the sun coming out.” Hotch replied, “You got it,” and then slipped out of the door. 

_y/n_ listened as Aaron grabbed his keys from the stand on the kitchen counter, then as the door swung open and clicked closed. Now that Hotch was gone, _y/n_ moved to the space where he’d been next to Jack. She could feel his residual body heat on the carpet, and it comforted _y/n_ to no end. Jack was reaching for an ornament above a level that his arms could grasp. Without saying anything, _y/n_ got up and picked the boy, so he could reach the ornament. It took a moment for _y/n_ to realize that Jack was crying now fully. _y/n_ set him down, got on her knees in front of him, and wiped away one of the tears coming from his eyes. _y/n_ hadn’t expected this and asked, “What’s the matter, Jack? Why are you crying, sweetheart?” Jack sniffled and said, “I don’t want Christmas to end. I don’t want to go back to school. I don’t want you to leave.” As _y/n_ processed the emotions Jack was feeling, Jack continued in a voice obscured by a small hiccupy cry, “Why can’t everything just stay the same? Why can’t it be Christmas all the time?” _y/n_ didn’t fully understand where the core of these feelings were coming from, but she could agree with the sentiment. The week of Christmas had been so nice because they’d all just got to hang out and be together. The stress of work and the often boring tasks of cleaning the dishes or taking out the trash seemed so much less terrible when they were happening with Aaron and Jack. Sure, part of that was that she and Hotch shared the tasks and split things between them, but it was more than that. Just being with Aaron made life better. The small things felt alright when she was near him. It wasn't that she tried to hide anymore. In the early days of their relationship, _y/n_ had feared that the simple joy of being near Aaron would scare him away. After all, he was an intense man, but as it turned out, under all the suits and his tough exterior, he needed someone who cared for him as much as _y/n_ needed him back. Now, in front of Jack, _y/n_ tried to think about the right thing to say. She thought about her own experience first. The feeling of being jerked around sometimes with Aaron’s inconsistent schedule, and the constant danger he was in didn’t help either. _y/n_ didn’t talk about that often. What good would it do? She had slowly become content with praying or wishing him a safe return when Hotch told her he was heading on on a case. If it was hard for her, then it must be much harder for Jack, who couldn’t fully understand exactly what his dad really did. Not yet at least. Add onto that the fact that Jack had been in the house while Haley died. One hour his mom had been alive, and another, she was gone. _y/n_’s heart ached for Jack, as she said in a soft, reassuring voice, “That seems nice, Jack. I think I’d like that too. But that’s not how life works.” Jack sniffled and said in an angry voice, “Why can’t it? Why can’t it be nice all the time?” _y/n_ took the ornament from Jack’s small hands and quickly put it away before taking his hands in hers. She replied, “Because time, as mean as it can seem, knows what’s best for us.” Jack had such big eyes as he asked, “How? How is it good that we can’t have it be nice all the time?” _y/n_ bit the inside of her cheek and tried to think of an appropriate and understandable way to talk about the need for balance in life.

With a small breath, _y/n_ realized that she could use his candy incident as an example. _y/n_ cleared her throat and said, “Well, think about Halloween. Did you think you were going to like having all of your candy in one night?” Hesitantly, Jack nodded yes. _y/n_ replied, “Good. Do you think you’ll do that again next year?” The little boy shook his head, no, and _y/n_ smiled at how hard he nodded. _y/n_ ran her sleeve under his nose that was dripping and said, “Sometimes life is like that too. It sounds fun to have Christmas, Thanksgiving, and your birthday all back to back. It might even seem nice to have that happen forever. But once we have it a lot, or too much, the thing doesn’t taste or feel very good anymore. It just turned into another day or toy or sweet. But, if you just let time pass, then you get these really special pockets that mean a lot. Not that every day isn’t special, just that it’s good to have some normal ones too. Does that make sense buddy?” Jack stood still for a moment while he processed what _y/n_ had said. After a few seconds, he said, “I guess so. I just wish it didn’t take so long.” _y/n_ waited to say anything because she felt that Jack would say something more, and he did in a voice just above a whisper, “Mommy really loved Christmas too.” _y/n_ nodded and blinked back tears. She didn’t want to seem sad in front of him and make him cry again. _y/n_ leaned forward, taking him in her arms, and said softly in his ear, “I bet she did. I bet they were the best Christmases ever, but just because we’re taking the decorations down doesn’t mean you have to forget her. We can remember your mom every single day. Just like your mom loved you every single day.” _y/n_ could feel Jack nod against her shoulder. When _y/n_ pulled back, she asked Jack, “How about I pick you up and we get the last of these ornaments? Maybe you could tell me about some of the happy memories you have with your mom during Christmas?” Jack agreed, and _y/n_ helped him onto her shoulders and let him talk and remember. By the time Aaron got back, Jack was happy and animated again. Hotch walked into the room and smiled at the scene before him. The sight of _y/n_ and his son in the light of the Christmas lights still on the tree. Jack ran over to him and hugged his legs like he’d missed him a lot. Hotch smiled and said, “Your hot chocolates on the table Jack. Why don’t you drink it in the kitchen?” Jack smiled and said, “Sure Daddy.” The child let go of his father and moved into the kitchen on excited legs. _y/n_ who was still standing stepped toward him and kissed him softly. His mouth was still cold from being outside. His lips were slightly chapped, but _y/n_ didn’t care as she warmed them with her mouth. When they pulled away, Aaron reveled in the scent of _y/f/p/b/s_. He said, “Sorry I was so long. The light was out on the corner and there was a line almost out the door at the shop. _y/n_ smiled and said, “It’s alright. Jack and I had a good conversation.” Aaron raised an eyebrow and set his arm around _y/n_’s lower back. He noticed that all of the ornaments were off the tree and said, “How about we tackle the lights? I can take the bottom strand and you take the middle?” _y/n_ agreed and they set to work. 

Hotch sat down with a small grunt. They could hear Jack from the other room pull out his chair and sit at the table. _y/n_ and Aaron would go to check in with him in a minute, but Aaron wanted to take just a minute alone with _y/n_. These moments were rare these days with their busy schedules. Aaron started unspooling the lights around the bottom of the tree. He looked over at _y/n_ and asked, “So? What did you and Jack talk about while I was gone?” _y/n_ gave him a little grin and said, “Oh you know, just the inevitable, unstoppable march of time. I don’t think you’d understand it. It’s adult stuff.” Hotch, chuckled, the sound came deep from his core and reverberated up his chest. He shifted around _y/n_ to continue removing the lights and said, “Well I’m willing to learn, _y/n_. If you’ll teach me?” _y/n_ smile grew. She loved it when Aaron played the bit. Hotch being more than a few years older than her had worried _y/n_ for a while. They wondered if the differences in culture and knowledge would make them an unequal couple. A couple set up from scrutiny. But, as it turned out, age was just a number when you were both that in love with each other. Out in public, they did get a few stares, but Aaron’s practiced glare worked well on everybody, so _y/n_ didn’t worry. Over time, _y/n_ had started joking about their age gap much to Hotch’s amusement, like they were doing right now. _y/n_ cleared her throat and said in a mock educational tone, “Well, I told Jack that you can’t have all the nice things at once. You kind of have to spread them out so they become more enjoyable. Life gives us lots of nice things, but an equal amount of mundane things. So the highs and the lows feel big, and we need to enjoy them and understand them as much as we can.” Aaron let out a breath. He loved the way _y/n_ spoke about everything. Condensing ideas into little ways of understanding like he did with information in a case. Even if it was just silly banter, Aaron loved it. He loved all of _y/n_ and a realization he’d been contemplating for some time now, clicked. 

Gently he said, “Well that was quite an analysis. Thank you. I think I understand the space-time continuum much more clearly now.” _y/n_’s clear laugh washed over him like a shooting star. He stopped with the light strand and said, “Mind if I add to your lecture?” _y/n_’s eyes glistened as she nodded yes. Without overthinking it like he did most things in his life, Aaron said, “Yes, it’s important to highlight the big things. The weddings, birthdays and holidays. But there’s pleasure in the small things too. Seconds make up minutes, which make up days that go on and on forever. We only have so much time in those moments. So who you spend them with becomes pretty important if you think about it in that context. Who do you share that time with.” _y/n_ looked at Aaron with wide eyes. They wondered if this was happening right now, in early January. _y/n_ wanted to be at eye level with Aaron and sat next to him. _y/n_ asked, “What are you saying, Hotch?” _y/n_ needed to hear it from him, to know they weren't making this up. It was important because as relaxed as _y/n_ was on time, she did value knowing where their relationship was going. And Aaron had agreed that they should move in together before progressing to a thing like a proposal. But moving in was the next big step for them. Aaron took in her beautiful curious face. He pondered how _y/n_ never could keep her emotions at bay. How honest _y/n_ was without even having to try. He smiled and said, “I want you to move in with me, _y/n_. When the time is right and you're comfortable with it, I’d like you to live with Jack and me. I want to spend all my time when I’m not working with both of you. Does that sound good to you?” _y/n_’s face lit up and she had to stop herself from laughing because Aaron looked so serious, and _y/n_ felt like she was swimming in a tub of serotonin. _y/n_ pulled Hotch to his knees and into a tight hug. _y/n_ looked _u/sf/d_ at the love of her life and said, “Of course, I’ll move in with you both, Aaron. When I’m here, I’m home. I’ve felt that way for about a year, but this makes it official. Aaron Hotchner, I feel more at home here than I’ve ever felt in my whole life.” All Aaron could do at hearing _y/n_ say something so special was to kiss her forehead and say, “You make this house a home, _y/n_. You have no idea how much joy you bring here.” _y/n_ traced a hand down his shoulder and to where Aaron’s heart was steadily beating in his chest. The rhythm of the muscle kept track of each second they stood in each other's presence. The idea of being home, made _y/n_ think about Jack’s comment about her leaving, and _y/n_ said, “Speaking of Jack, he was afraid that I might go away. I think maybe we should tell him about this. I think he’ll be happy.” Aaron’s brow furrowed slightly and he repeated, “Jack thought you were going to leave.” _y/n_ brushed a hand over Aaron’s knuckles and replied, “Something like that. But I think that’s more of a long conversation we can have later. Once he’s in bed.” Aaron nodded just a tiny bit. Jack’s happy behavior and _y/n_ saying they would talk about it later allowed him to relax and believe _y/n_ was right. This conversation, whatever it was, could wait. He did want to let his son know that _y/n_ was going to be a more permanent fixture in their lives going forward. 

Jack was ecstatic at hearing the news and _y/n_ pulled him into her arms and said, “I’m not going anywhere, Jack. I’ll be here for you and your dad for a long time to come. Aaron moved behind his son and embraced both of his greatest loves. That evening, after a lengthy conversation about Jack and making sure Jack felt the most secure as possible, Hotch and _y/n_ moved to bed. As Aaron stroked a hand over her naked back, her body was pressed to his under the covers. He kissed down her jaw and the ghost of stubble rubbed against _y/n_ skin. She made small contented noises, and his hand traced lazy circles over her back. Hotch asked in a bit of a husky voice, his thoughts more on the feel of _y/n_’s skin under his fingers than his statement, “Would you send me a copy of your lease tomorrow? Maybe I can find some loophole to get you over here more quickly. I want all of you here.” _y/n_ shifted up onto her elbows, giving Aaron a better look at her bare body. _y/n_ smiled and said, “Sure love. But I think even your JD is going to have a difficult time getting me out of this lease. My landlord was such a pain when I renewed for half a year instead of the full twelve months.” Aaron smiled and said, “We’ll see about that, but I think there are more pleasant things to think about right now, don’t you think.” _y/n_’s eyes gleamed with desire in the dark space as she said, “Say less.”

It wasn’t until the next weekend on Saturday that Aaron had the time to look over _y/n_’s lease. They were sitting in his office in the field office. Aaron’s long sigh had _y/n_ look up from her _f/b/c/m/m_ and say, “Is there no way out of it?” Hotch ran a hand through his hair frustratedly and said, “Apparently not. That is unless you want to pay the last two months' rent plus interest without a chance of you getting your deposit back.” _y.n_ cringed at the idea of how much money that was.” Aaron looked up at _y/n_ and she seemed disappointed, but not crushed. He said, “I was hoping to get you out of there sooner.” _y/n_ leaned closer to the desk and took his hands in hers saying, “The time will pass anyway. It’s just two months and the important thing is I have you. I couldn’t ask for anything more than that.” A smile tugged at Hotch’s lips. He appreciated how differently _y/n_ interacted with time. Aaron was used to tight timelines and all-nighters on cases. Aaron reflected again about how _y/n_ saw life. Even though she had her moments of stress or insomnia, just saw time as a thing that happened. She saw the good and the bad but chose to focus on the good when she could. Like the fact that she was moving in with him at all. She didn’t complain that she would have to wait to have that dream come true, because the dream was in front of her at all. Aaron hoped that with _y/n_ living with him, some of _y/n_’s view of life would rub off on him. He hoped to just see things as they were. To accept the good and let go of the bad, even in cases. With _y/n_ and Jack by his side, that didn’t seem so impossible after all. He’d take it a day at a time. As _y/n_ had said, “‘The time will pass anyway,’” and it was going to be wonderful to pass it with her.

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[little-annie]

Just Another Steddie Christmas Fic

The roads are shit and when Eddie finally decides to pull over and find somewhere to stay for the night, him and Steve find themselves shivering in a shared bed of a janky ass motel.

I can't imagine what that scenario might bring.

@steddieobsessed I hope this fic finds you well ✨️ Happy Holidays

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It's chaos, but it always is in the moments coming up to a road trip.  And the fact that it's also Christmas break doesn't help.

Steve's ready, he has been since last week. Bags packed, gifts wrapped and assignments submitted. The only thing he has to do now is get dressed and head out the door.

But Eddie on the other hand…

Well, Eddie's the embodiment of chaos.

Eddie for the last month has been raving about Christmas but hasn't bothered to take a minute and think about what all it entails. He's called Dustin and the rest of the gang to make sure they're ready for the one shot he's taken the time to prepare, but otherwise?

Otherwise his gifts aren't wrapped, his clothes aren't packed and he's all but forgotten about his assignments. Now he's anxious and flitting around the apartment like a twitchy cat trying to gather his bearings before they leave for Hawkins. He's muttering to himself as he tries to do all three tasks at once and while Steve's enjoying the last few bites of his late day snack, sat at the kitchen table in nothing but his pyjamas, he can't help but feel obligated to help.

“Ed,” Steve starts, abandoning his Cheerios and pushing his chair out with a quiet scrape against the floor, trying to gain his friend's attention while he watches the man pace and struggle between what needs to be done next. Eddie's in the living room now, an empty duffle bag in front of him, a pile of unwrapped gifts next to him and a textbook clutched so tightly in his hand his knuckles have paled. 

“Eddie,” Steve repeats as he ventures closer, floor creaking below his feet before grabbing the metalhead by the shoulder and squeezing until he turns to look him in the eyes, “Tell me what you need me to do.”

He can feel Eddie tense under his grasp, but only for a moment, his breathing slowing as he allows their eyes to linger. After a few short seconds and one deeply inhaled and grounding breath, Steve watches as the tension leaves Eddie's shoulders, and he leans into the touch while asking, “Gifts?”

Gifts. He can do that.

Offering a gentle smile and giving Eddie's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, Steve nods, “Gifts.”

—

After wrapping six presents and helping the man pack his bag too, Steve eventually finds himself in the passenger seat of Eddie's van. Soon enough it's nothing but Metallica, grey skies and shitty roads from there on in.

It's a route they've regularly travelled but come winter time, it never seems to be any easier. They've lived in Chicago for what feels like ages, having moved together to attend college in 87’ and yet every year they never seem to leave enough time. Every year it's either shitty roads, poor timing or a combination of the both and well, this year….

—-

“You're sure the roads are fine?” Steve asks Eddie for the twelfth time in the last two hours, worrying the inside of his cheek as he glances between a far too confident friend and the obviously not great roads ahead of them.

The pair are on their way to the Hopper- Byer’s home for Christmas, The Party and all other family members having planned on staying at the couple's large, government funded ranch house for a couple days. But that's if they arrive at all. Sitting in the passenger seat of Eddie's beat up van, Steve watches as a winter storm swirls outside casting the already fading light of the now evening sky a gloomier shade of grey. It's obvious there's ice on the roads, it rained just last night and they haven't seen a single plough truck along their journey. And if that's not enough evidence, the way the van sways uncontrollably every several miles is.

But Eddie's confident. Apparently.

If it was Steve driving he would have called it quits no more than a few miles out of Chicago, but no, his car’s in the shop and if they had to take Eddie's van back to Hawkins, Eddie would drive. He insisted upon the matter in fact, stating rather dramatically, ‘I am the only man this van will ever know behind her wheel and no one else.’

So here they are. And Steve's nervous… and maybe a little bitchy.

He's even more nervous as Eddie doesn't answer and only clutches the wheel tighter as the van starts to drift sideways, edging them closer and closer to the ditch.

Instinctually Steve reaches for Eddie, clasping a hand over his thigh and holding on for dear life. He's sure he'll leave bruises, fingerprints branded into skin that he'll think about at a later hour, but at the moment he doesn't really care, he just hopes they'll make it back for Christmas in one piece.

Soon enough though the vehicle's righted and moving down the highway as it should be. Though that doesn't mean Steve's grip loosens on Eddie's leg.

“Steve…” Eddie says quietly, voice comforting but lingering with something like a question.

It isn't until Eddie moves a hand from the wheel to lay over Steve's and give a gentle squeeze that he clues into his still iron grip on Eddie's leg.

“Shit,” Steve pulls back with a quiet, embarrassed huff, “Sorry.”

“You're alright,” Eddie grins, shooting Steve a dimpled smile before he reaches for the map to hand to Steve, “Roads are quiet shit though, you wanna try to find a place for the night and see how roads look in the morning?”

Yes. God, yes.

Steve's already unfolding the map before he can even get it entirely out of Eddie's hand. He'd do nearly anything to get off of these roads. 

“We have time?” Steve asks, truthfully not caring if they're late for Christmas if that means they'll survive the trek back home. Joyce won't mind, the kids might be livid but they'll understand. He just has to remember to call them when they find a place to stay.

“Quit your worrying.” Eddie reminds him for what feels like the hundredth time, “We'll be fine. Plus, we left a day early anyways, didn't we?”

—

Twenty minutes and one more scary slide down the highway later, the boys find themselves standing at the reception desk of a questionable looking motel. Eddie claimed the place had ‘character,’ while Steve was adamant it was just generally creepy. But if by ‘character,’ he meant, ‘looks like a place you go to get syphilis, drugs and die of a gunshot all in one night,’ well then sure, Eddie's right on the money.

Standing in the lobby, lights flickering above head and pipes groaning in the walls, Steve tries his hardest to look anywhere but the poorly done taxidermy that litters the panelled expanse of the room. He's already called Joyce and has been reprimanded by Eddie for getting snippy with the lady at the front desk,  so now he has no choice but to hang back or wander. 

A variety of stuffed woodland creatures all seem dead set on staring at him while he does so, but one particular deer in the corner somehow seemingly maintaining eye contact wherever he is in the space, doesn't help the creepy factor one bit. If anything the unwanted attention and the flickering lights seem to set his nerves on fire for all the wrong reasons, but with a clench in his jaw and a want to reach out for Eddie, Steve has to remind himself that the Upside Down is long gone and Vecna is dead. Things can be creepy and lights can flicker without any ulterior motive.

The old gal working the desk isn't much better. Teeth few and far between, Mary-Sue, according to her name tag, somehow manages to keep an eye on them both at the same time. One milky and wandering, seems to follow Steve while the other remains locked onto Eddie as they continue to visit and she hands over the single room key, the nub of a rabbit's foot hanging from its small silver chain. 

After they give their thanks and Mary-Sue nearly dies of a coughing fit, they find their way out of the lobby. The rickety door and Mary-Sue’s parting words cracking through the blustery air behind them, “Don't enjoy the room too much boys! I'll be bringing by fresh sheets in the morning!”

—

“Of course she thought we were together ” Eddie grumbles under his breath while he tries the key in the door. This particular topic has been an ongoing conversation since the old gals parting remark as they left the lobby. The insinuation of them messing the sheets together had Steve blushing for reasons he's not willing to admit aloud, while Eddie did nothing but cackle his way to the van to get their bags. “Steve, we’re two dudes looking for a room late at night. What do you think she thought?”

“I don't know,” Steve huffs back, breath coming out frosty in the night air while he tries to go through the interaction in his mind. They hadn't been overly close, sure maybe Eddie pinched his hip when he was getting bitchy over all of Mary-Sue's questions, but they weren't hanging off of each other. They're just two guys who needed somewhere to sleep out the storm. Sure, maybe the idea isn't far off from Steve's own late night fantasies but it's not like it's going to happen. Just because Eddie's interested in men doesn't mean he's interested in him. He huffs again, adjusting his freezing grip on his duffle bag before he continues, “That we needed a room for the night.”

Shouldering the door open Eddie barks out a laugh, “Hah! Yeah, sure, Big Boy.” 

When they're in the room, door shut, shitty weather behind them and bags dropped to the floor, Eddie turns on the light to reveal the room and what Steve would describe as its horror. The carpet’s a yellowed beaten down shag that shows every commonly followed route in the room, a definite trail from the door to the bed and the bed to what he assumes to be the bathroom. The walls are wood panelling that's in surprisingly decent condition, not unlike the lobby, though the ceiling is anything but perfect, off white and stained with cigarette smoke, water damage and a browning splatter that Steve refuses to think any deeper about… He just hopes if someone was murdered in the room, they at least changed the sheets.

Eddie only takes a moment of pause before plopping down onto the single double bed in the middle of the room, falling backwards onto the comforter and letting out a loud groan as he stretches out, not unlike a cat. 

Steve, albeit hesitantly, settles down next to him, leaning back on his elbows, trying adamantly to ignore the way Eddie's shirt has ridden up and the sharp edges of his hips jut out above his belt line. It's become a problem in the last few years, his eyes finding every intriguing part of Eddie's body to ogle, and sometimes he does just that, but for right now he pulls his eyes away and forces them to focus on the ceiling.

It's quiet only for a moment.

“You know,” Eddie starts, rolling onto his side to face Steve, propping himself up on an elbow as the bed creaks under his movements, “at the very least she probably thought you were a hooker.”

“Me?” Steve laughs, disbelieving, giving Eddie a shove to the centre of his chest until he's flat on his back again, “a hooker? Why me?”

Covering his face with his hands Eddie lets out a breathy laugh, mumbling a hardly audible, “Jesus H. Christ,” before he turns his head to give Steve a flat look, resting his hands across his partly exposed stomach. “Really? Why would the pretty boy in the too-tight jeans be the hooker?”

Steve can't help but feel a heat spread through his cheeks as he nods, it's not uncommon for Eddie to call him pretty, but still, it gets him every time. Makes him feel warm and fuzzy and maybe wish Eddie were calling him sweet nicknames in a different setting. One maybe a little more intimate. At that thought and the images it brings to his mind, Steve bites his lip to smother the smile that wants to break free and waits for Eddie to continue with another nod. 

“Steve,” Eddie starts, cheeks pinkening and eyes searing as his gaze never breaks, “let's just say, I'd easily drop this month's rent and more for a night in bed with you.”

Jesus H. Christ is right. Fuck. At Eddie's words Steve can't help but to feel the spread of heat that floods through his veins, spreading from his cheeks to his chest and further south. He coughs into his fist and pulls his eyes away, telling himself Eddie's just joking. He has to be joking.

“Sure,” Steve eventually settles with, voice a touch shakey, now refusing to meet Eddie's eye as he counts the dots of the very possible blood splatter on the ceiling and decides to play along with whatever this game is that Eddie's got going. "You're better looking than I am, first of all.” Steve smirks, seeing Eddie's attention turn to him from the corner of his eye, “You have that whole hot bad boy thing going on. Plus, you took charge of that entire situation when we checked in. I hardly got a word in, then you pinched me when I got bitchy like it was a punishment. No, Eddie,” Steve shrugs, refusing to stop but also already beginning to regret what all he plans to say next, “you're some hot Dom, that rich assholes pay a shit ton of money to, to just step on their balls.”

At least he makes the effort to say rich assholes instead of I.

That has to count for something, right?

God, what's he doing? What the fuck did he just say?

Aside from Eddie's sharply sucked in breath, the room's eerily quiet after that. Both of them unmoving, refusing to look at one another. He sees Eddie open and close his mouth like he's trying to say something but nothing ever comes. Steve's sure he can feel the heat coming off of Eddie's body from the few inches away that he is. Maybe he caught on, maybe Steve wasn't subtle enough. Maybe Eddie's laying there regretting the idea of getting a room for the night. A room where Steve's just now clueing into the fact that they'll have to share a bed, because lord knows what they'd catch from the carpet if one of them slept on the floor. God, they're going to have to share a bed.

Nothing ever comes. Eddie says nothing and Steve stays silent. The tension is thick and awkward, heavy in the stale air as they both refuse to speak any further.

That is until a loud moan nearly rattles the walls, the creaking of a bed frame following, along with the smacking of a headboard meeting the wall adjacent to theirs. They can't help but burst into laughter as Larry, according to the screams from next door, blows out someone's back. 

They're snorting and crying by the time it subsides. Steve having sat up, chest hurting from raucous laughter and Eddie having moved so his head’s hidden in Steve's thigh, the light wash denim now wet with tears as Eddie continues to shake and wheeze, eventually huffing between giggles and hiccups, “W-who d-do you think the h-hooker is over there?”

Steve snorts again, giving Eddie another shove that nearly sends him to the disease riddled floor.

—

An hour later they find themselves sitting in bed, backs against a headboard that's thankfully silent on the other side, shoulders brushing as they get comfortable. It'd taken a while to fully calm down after their giggle fit and still, after such a break in tension Steve felt a heat lingering in his core. So much so that he had to brave the rusty shower to deal with his problem. The smoke stained mirror, yellowed walls and piss poor water pressure did nothing to quell his need. He'd jerked off in record time and couldn't even be bothered to feel bad about it when he's sure Eddie did the same not more than five minutes later; if the choked off moan he heard from the bathroom was anything to go by.

There's still tension between them, but at least it's dissipated since their mutual, not so mutual, relief. Plus, the chill in the room doesn't really help to set a mood. Now that they're still and not all hot and bothered, the room's actually pretty damn cold. Eddie took a look at the radiator and when nothing worked he resorted to kicking it several times, only being granted a hiss from it in return. Now they're bundled up in sweaters and sweatpants, shuffling closer and closer together to steal one another's warmth. They, against Steve's better judgement, even got under the covers, pulling the comforter up to their chins as they searched the TV for a functional channel. So far the only one that seemed to be clear enough was a porno and well, after the earlier events of the evening, there's no way they were going to watch that. Which means they settled on a staticy Christmas episode of Golden Girls instead. If anything it really just provides a sound buffer to the room, it's not like they can see enough between the snowballing to understand what's going on anyways.

Eventually, even through the cold, the fear of bed bugs and the hiss of static from the TV, Steve begins to doze off. Eyes heavy and consciousness fading, he hardly registers when Eddie gets up to shut off the lights and TV, crawling back into bed to settle onto his back next to Steve. At some point apparently Steve had slumped down to the pillow from the headboard, its fabric rough and scratchy against his cheek. 

He's been fighting to keep his eyes open, lashes fluttering open every few minutes to catch Eddie's profile illuminated by the lights in the parking lot that shine through the cracked window. He can't help but smile when Eddie rolls onto his side and lets their eyes meet as he whispers, “Go to sleep, Stevie.”

“M’ not tired,” Steve mumbles back, blinking slowly as he looks over Eddie's features. The darkness of his eyes, the fullness of his lips and the way his mouth curves as he sleepily smiles. He looks so soft in the light breaking into the room, the warm light like sunshine across his face. He looks so soft and warm. Pulling Steve's attention away from the man across from him, there's a loud gust of wind from outside that seems to send a breeze through the room forcing him to shiver again from the chill in the air. Pulling the blankets up high and burrowing deeper, he complains, “Too cold to sleep.”

Eddie offers nothing more than a hum in response before he's reaching for Steve and pulling him into his chest. It's almost instant relief and the complaint on the tip of Steve's tongue dies the moment he feels Eddie's arm tighten around him. 

He can allow himself this right? If not for the fact that he's closer to Eddie than he ever has been, than for the sake of warmth and a moderate night's sleep. Steve hums in agreement with himself and presses closer to Eddie's chest, feeling the man's heartbeat on his cheek and the wrap of legs around his own as they become impossibly closer. 

Sleep finds Steve easily soon after, the feeling of Eddie's body pressed against his own following him into his dreams.

—

***

With nothing but heat and hands and pressure wrapping around him, Steve lets the timber of Eddie's voice penetrate his skin. Words like honey in their sweetness, “Look at you Stevie, being such a Good Boy for me.”

He feels nothing and everything all at once, though it's never enough, but the touch is what he believes Eddie's hands to feel like against his skin. Warm, rough and smooth in all the right places, grabbing and pulling everywhere that it's needed.

“Such a Pretty Boy. So full.”

Steve can feel himself whine, his sleeping body pushing against the solid pressure at his backside. 

He wants. He needs so bad.

“Eddie,” he feels himself gasp into the air, voice naught but desperately begging.

All he can see is light, all he can feel is love and warmth and a pressure building inside of his core that's nearing unbearable.

He wishes he could taste. The dream version of himself wanting very little more than to sink his teeth into the pale flesh he's dreamt about for years.

Into the man he's dreamt about for years.

…

***

—

Steve never does reach the end of his dream, the chill of the night and the hands tight on his body, pulling him just close enough to the cusp of consciousness that the images fade and refuse to return. 

He's left with nothing but need and desire remaining in his bones as he wiggles around in bed. At some point he'd rolled over only to have Eddie pull him back against his chest, hot breath against his back and a tight grip around his waist.

Until morning he remains dead to the world and his (aside from Eddie) less than ideal surroundings.

—

Waking the next morning Steve first notices two things. 

1. He's in a bed in a horribly disgusting hotel room that looks like the set of some horror film.

2. He's in a bed in a horribly disgusting hotel room that looks like the set of some horror film… and he's not alone.

And then all at once he becomes aware of a few more things.

The weight at his back and the arm around his waist, the warm heat of breath at the nape of his neck and the solid line of what he's rapidly realising is Eddie's hard dick pressed firmly against his ass.

With a sharp breath so many visions appear in Steve's mind. So many questions and a few concerns. He thinks back to his dreams of last night, of their conversation from yesterday and how he wishes it would have gone differently. He thinks about how Dream Steve had the courage to push past the tension and awkwardness and how he ended the night nude, sweaty and nearly sated. He wonders if Eddie even realises he's cuddling him, a strong arm around his waist with a nose buried in his neck. He wonders if Eddie's awake and knows he's hard and pressed so close. He wonders if when Eddie does wake if he'll go rigid and shy away or if he'll grab Steve tighter and pull him all the more closer. 

He wonders what any of that could mean for them and this thing that for months, maybe even years, has been toeing the line of something.

Mind going in a million different directions, Steve's too preoccupied to even notice the way he subtly rocks his hips back. As if driven entirely by animal instinct, he bites his lip and does it again, letting a soft gasp escape his lips.

He only clues into the fact when Eddie grumbles from behind him, shifting his hand from Steve's waist to the naked edge of his hip where his sweater has ridden up and pulls Steve closer, rocking his own hips forward to meet Steve's motions. His hard cock shielded by thin layers of cotton sliding against Steve's ass.

Into the cold air of the room, Steve breathes a hardly audible, “Fuck,” and presses back once again. Maybe Eddie just stirred in his sleep, maybe he's dreaming and Steve's in the right place at the right time or maybe….

Eddie's grip on his hip tightens and Steve has to swallow the groan that tries to escape as Eddie's pulls him against his cock again, pressing his hips forward as he lets a heavy, jagged breath fall to the nape of Steve's neck, hot and damp where it falls as he says Steve's name like it's a question and a prayer.

At the confirmation that Eddie's awake, Steve can't help but push back further, feeling the grind of Eddie's dick against his ass as he bends his arm back to pull Eddie's lips closer to his neck, a hand tight in messy curls, desperate to keep him close.

That, along with the breathy, begging, “Don't you dare stop,” that leaves Steve's lips seems to be confirmation enough for Eddie as well. Steve's hardly able to finish his sentence before Eddie's mouthing at what he can reach of his neck, cutting off Steve's words with a strangled gasp.

They rock back and forth meeting each other's movements, Eddie's grip punishing on Steve's hip as Steve's is in his hair. The air of the room is quickly growing hot and polluted with the sounds of gasping breaths. 

The only friction Steve's dick is granted is the wet drag of his precome dampened sweatpants and it's quickly coming to be not enough. He needs more. So much more. A hand, a mouth, whatever Eddie's willing to offer. It's after Eddie pulls him back again and whines into his neck that Steve finally asks.

“Touch me. Touch me, please.”

He can feel Eddie's smile against his skin as he answers, voice low and raspy from sleep, “Such good manners, Sweetheart.” 

The bruising grip on his hip disappears only for Steve to feel the motion of Eddie's hand sliding beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. It's tight and warm when Eddie takes him in hand, his hips still rocking against Steve's ass as he squeezes and slowly drags his thumb over Steve's leaking tip.

And that's when Eddie starts talking.

“Never thought we'd get this far. Thought I'd just have to jack off to the thought of you beneath me for the rest of my life.”

Steve whines at the words, the thought of Eddie getting off to the idea of fucking him and the all encompassing everything that surrounds him.

“But look at you, Sweetheart, being such a Good Boy, using your manners, grinding that beautiful ass against me until I wake up.”

Eddie picks up his motions, rolling his wrist and smearing the slick leaking from Steve's dick down the rest of his length, not stopping until he's able to reach Steve's balls and squeeze until Steve keens and arches his back against Eddie as he continues to whisper against his neck.

“Let me guess Stevie… you're the rich asshole that'd pay for me to step on your balls? Hm?”

Emphasising his question with a mind numbing squeeze, Eddie rolls his hips again, rhythm stuttering as he bites Steve's neck and groans.

“Y-yes.” Steve stammers out, the edge of bliss quickly approaching when he decides to twist his neck and crash his lips into Eddie's.

“Yes,” he repeats again into the hardly there embrace that they're both messily clinging to. It's hardly a kiss and his neck already hurts but Steve can't get enough. They share breath and bond, spit messy between them, lips hardly meeting properly as they continue to rock against one another.

“Yes,” Steve repeats again, but for an entirely different reason, voice wrecked and letters swallowed by Eddie's tongue. He's so close to his release that when Eddie surges forward and bites his lip he can't help but topple for the edge. Hips stuttering as Eddie's hand finds his cock again and strokes him until it's edging on just too much.

Then not a moment later, no rhythm to be found and hand back to laying a brand on Steve's hip, Eddie grinds against him one last time before he shudders and breathes profanities over his tongue.

As the seconds after pass, breathes heavy and air thick, they never part and their grip hardly eases, though Steve does turn just a touch more so it's easier to reach Eddie's lips with his own. This time though as their breathing slows and their heartbeats settle, it's not as ravenous or as animalistic. It's slow, gentle, unhurried as if they have all the time in the world. Steve doesn't even have the mind to worry about what's next because this part feels easiest. The way they stay, the way they linger and tease and smile and kiss like it's something they've done a million times before.

Eventually after an unfathomable amount of time has passed and they've shared kisses and cuddles and softly spoken words, they make their way to the shower, Eddie slapping Steve's bare ass along the way.

It's awful in so many ways, the floor has rust spots and the space is hardly large enough for one man, let alone two, but they make do. It's cramped and the only way they manage to stand is in each other's arms. Eddie's around Steve's waist as he rinses him clean and Steve's around Eddie's when he does the same. 

The water pressure is pathetic, and the temperature’s anything but warm, but still they stay. They let their lips press together as the water falls around them and they feel the warmth of one another's body against their own.

They tease and let lips and mouths and fingers wander. Even in the small space Eddie manages to get Steve gasping again, this time with two fingers in his mouth and one in his ass as Eddie ruts against him promising all of the vile things he'll do to him when they're somewhere safer, somewhere cleaner, somewhere that feels more like home.

When they're rinsing off for the second time, water cold as it falls to their flushed skin they can't help but giggle over the ridiculousness of it all. Sure they finally got together, pulled their heads out of their asses, but you'd think it'd have happened somewhere like their home, the apartment they've shared for years and not some horrific motel.

They dress and gather their things, hands roaming freely as they pass one another and lips meeting in soft presses when the time allows. They laugh and they giggle and they call each other idiots, because duh, how could they not have caught onto one another's flirting over the years. 

When they decide to brave the cold they're greeted with blue skies and the promise of a safer drive back to Hawkins.

Eddie's hardly out of the door when he trips, finding himself caught in Steve's grasp as he notices the folded sheets sitting on the ground in front of their door with a note pinned to the top that reads, ‘You sounded a little busy. Figured I'd leave you to your fun. ♡ Mary-Sue’

Eddie snorts a laugh, pockets the note and picks up the sheets while Steve flushes red and hides his face in the back of Eddie's neck.

—

They check out, leaving the fresh sheets on the countertop with parting a wink from Mary-Sue and a coupon for the diner down the road. 

It's noon before they manage to leave town, but when they do their bellies are full and their hearts are happy.

—

Over the next few hours they make their way to Hawkins, stopping occasionally for gas, snacks or if Steve has anything to do with it, a very impromptu make out session. 

Like right now.

Sure the tension had finally snapped between them, but now that Steve was allowed to touch, allowed to do all of the things his dirty little mind had conjured in the last few years, he wasn't going to waste any time.

They'd pulled over a few times already for Steve to climb into Eddie's lap and kiss him stupid, but now he had a little more on his mind.

It'd started with an innocent hand on Eddie's thigh that climbed higher and higher as time went on until Steve could brush a knuckle against the inseam of Eddie's jeans. 

And from there, aside from the skidding stop Eddie made into a gas station parking lot, they made their way to the back of the van. Eddie had thrown the vehicle into park only to grab Steve by the hand and pull him with the force of a man starved into the back, crashing their lips together and unbuttoning their jeans with a blur of haste. 

Duffle bags and Christmas gifts at their feet, they share breath and shuddered words, as their hands fly with intensity over one another's hardness. It takes no time at all for the spit they'd used as lube to be accompanied by a mess of white, their knuckles covered in a combination of their desperation until Steve licks Eddie's hand clean, along with his own.

Turns out, when they're as clean as they can manage and stumble out of the back of the van, they're in Hawkins. Or more specifically, the parking lot of the ratty gas station just across the town's limits. 

Eddie snorts when they catch a familiar face wave at them from across the parking lot. Someone from high school, a jock Steve remembers from the basketball team and Eddie had probably known from his previous career as a drug dealer, surly visiting family of his own for the holidays. A man hopefully clueless to the events that just transpired in the back of the van.

Steve waves and reaches for Eddie's hand to drag him away before he can begin a conversation with the man. He knows if Eddie had the chance he'd happily shake the previous jock's hand with remnants of Steve's come dried to his palm, the sick fucker.

—

They wash their hands and straighten themselves out from the dishevelled messes they were in the restroom mirrors. Graffiti and odd memories from their past surround them in the oddly familiar space. Eddie having done many of drug deals between the four cinder block walls and Steve participating in other nefarious activities. Activities of which Steve can't help but giggle at while he watches Eddie sputter at the admittance.

Eddie snorts again, a trait Steve seems to love more and more every time he does it, while he looks back at Steve through the mirror, disbelief colouring his face, “You did not hook up with some chick in here. The poor girl. Steve. There's no way.”

Steve shrugs, fingers tracing over the colourful walls, while he wanders and nonchalantly admits, “Never said it was with a girl.”

He can hear Eddie pause, breath caught in his lungs before he lets out a shuddering breath and turns to Steve while leaning against the countertop, arms crossed over his chest before he whispers, more to himself than Steve, “Why's that so hot?”

Steve shrugs again but pauses his meaningless wandering to step closer to Eddie, their toes nearly touching as he invades the other man's space. Confidence he hadn't had a day ago flows through his veins like lava when he reaches out to take a chunk of Eddie's hair and twirls it between his fingers, pulling the man closer until their breaths are shared.

“Tell me,” Eddie whispers, words catching on Steve's lips as they lean closer together and his hands find Steve's hips, calloused fingers skimming beneath his shirt to press against warm skin.

It's so stupid, anyone could walk in, they're in a public space for God's sake. In Hawkins of all places. Not to mention that whoever walks through that door they'd probably know. But knowing that information only makes Steve press closer, the growing need in his pants pressed against Eddie's own as he answers back, voice so sultry it even makes him shiver. 

“Gave my first blow job in that stall,” he says while nodding his head back to the stall in the corner, “Got my first from a guy in there too.”

Eddie swallows, already looking ravenous when Steve chances a glance, pupils blown so wide his eyes nearly look black.

“Let a guy fuck me too,” Steve adds, hips rolling forward while he nips at Eddie's bottom lip and ventures southward, licking at the man's pulse, continuing, “right against this counter.”

Steve's hands find the sharp edges of Eddie's hips and pull him impossibly closer, burying his face in the warmth of flushed skin just beneath Eddie's ear, when he adds, “Kinda wished it was you, even back then.”

Eddie groans and lets his head fall back further, exposing his neck all the more for Steve to bite at and rocking his hips forward to press into Steve's. 

“Tell me more,” Eddie breathes into the air with the gentle command, one hand finding the back of Steve's head where ringed fingers weave into chestnut locks and grip tight, “Tell me what a slut you were, Sweetheart.”

Steve shudders and tries to not melt at Eddie's tone and the grip in his hair, he'd felt like he'd had the upper hand, but as he licks and laves at Eddie's skin and the grip in his hair grows tighter he can feel himself slipping.

“Liked the way he pulled my hair and made me watch in the mirror,” he shudders at the thought, picturing Eddie doing the same, “m’ and the way the countertop left bruises on my hips.” 

Feeling like he's floating from the taste of Eddie's skin alone, Steve gasps when Eddie spins them around, turning Steve to face the mirror as he presses against his back, one hand tight in his hair, forcing him to look at their reflection just like Steve had imagined. Eddie's other hand reaches down, cupping Steve over his jeans and squeezing as he speaks against Steve's ear, maintaining eye contact through the mirror. “You want me to do that for you?” Eddie asks, his grip tightening at every point of contact as he continues, “Want me to bruise you up, Baby? Treat you like a whore and let you walk into Christmas all marked up?”

Steve tries to nod, vision blurring at the edges as it pulls at his hair more and his knees feel even weaker. “Yes,” he barely manages to breathe out, picturing the bruises on his hips, the marks from Eddie's teeth, forgetting entirely why they're in this restroom in the first place.

Feeling as though if Eddie were to let go he'd slide to the floor, Steve tries to lean back further, letting Eddie take more of his weight as he feels the rise and fall of the man's chest against his back. 

God, he'd want nothing more.

He can feel Eddie emit something of a growl against his neck as he begins to pull at the tongue of Steve's belt, leather snapping and metal clanking in the emptiness of the room they occupy. 

Eddie's hand is down Steve's underwear, grip nearly punishing when he feels the man speak against his ear again, “I'm gonna be-”

*BANG*

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” comes the sharp shriek of Robin's voice and for a minute Steve thinks he's in the middle of a nightmare. He and Eddie freeze as though if they don't move she can't see them, Eddie's one hand in Steve's underwear, fingers still holding him tight in hand and the other only barely loosening the grip in his hair.

“Oh my god,” they hear whispered from the doorway Robin's still standing in, the door she had aggressively flung open now sitting wide open for the world to see. “Like… woo, you got together after years of being idiots,” she coughs as the pair continue to remain still, “but um… Eddie, is your hand still in Steve's pants?”

All romance and heat sucked from the room, Steve can't help but snicker as Eddie pulls his hand free to rest on his stomach, his other hand soon following, both now only holding Steve close to his chest as he whispers sheepishly, “Not anymore.” 

There's the unmistakable chime of Nancy's voice calling for Robin, soon followed by a giggle from the door that they can only assume now means Nancy's there too.

“Nice to see you two finally got together.” The young woman confirms her presence by adding to the conversation.

Eddie groans from behind him, letting his head fall to hide against Steve's shoulder, while he himself finally gains the energy to turn and look at the girls who appear far too giddy for what they just witnessed, “What are you even doing here? This is the men's room.”

Robin levels him with a look that says ‘you think I care, Dingus?’ as she carelessly strides into the restroom and lets a stall door fall shut behind her as Nancy remains at the entrance, shrugging as if she's gotten used to her girlfriends antics.

“I needed to pee and the ladies restroom was closed.” Robin says matter-of-factly, from behind the metal door as she does her business. “Wanna explain what you're doing in here?” Nancy raises a manicured brow to accompany the other woman's question and Steve can only imagine Robin's accusing expression.

“We-” he starts, only to be pulled closer by Eddie and feel a kiss to his shoulder before he's interrupted by the man, “Well, the plan was Steve, I'd have you know. But, thanks to your barging in, I'd say my chances of that are now less than zero, Buckley.”

Robin lets out a loud cackle as she flushes and re-emerges to wash her hands at the sink next to them, looking with a pointed brow from Steve to his still clearly undone pants. “Clean yourself up, Babe,” she tuts, “we're supposed to be at the Hopper-Byer’s in an hour.”

And with that she flicks her hands dry, finishing the job by flapping them as she walks to the door, spraying both men with water, until she yells, “Love you!” and leaves the door to slam shut behind her, Nancy most likely by her side giggling on their way back to the car.

Steve and Eddie stand there for a minute, Eddie's arms still around Steve's waist as he props his head on Steve's shoulder to look at him in the mirror. 

Steve can't help but smile at the site, sure his pants are undone and they almost fucked in the Hawkins gas station restroom, but still, it's kinda sweet, kinda laughable, and all kinds ridiculous.

Eddie kisses his cheek and smiles back, whispering with mischief in his tone, “So, a bit of an exhibitionist are we, Sweetheart?”

“Shut up,” Steve huffs, lightly bunting Eddie's head with the side of his own.

“Makes sense,” Eddie says with a shrug, dark eyes glittering in their reflection, lips pulling into a bright smile as he kisses Steve's cheek again, “I'd presume most hookers are.” 

— 

Thirty minutes later they find themselves ambushed by hugs and wails of ‘Why weren't you here yesterday?!’ the kids being just as upset with their late arrival as Steve had guessed. But it's nice to be surrounded by family again otherwise, Joyce pulling both him and Eddie into a crushing hug, Hopper slapping them both on the shoulders and handing them a beer the moment they walk through the door and Wayne pulling Eddie into a hug only to whisper something in his ear that forces the man into a serious blush.

Across the room Robin sits in Nancy's lap where she, the moment no one's looking, makes the gesture of giving a blow job, forcing Nancy into a fit of giggles while she tries to pull Robin's hand away from her mouth.

Once the kids have finally bored themselves with giving both Steve and Eddie shit, Steve makes his way over to Robin, flicking her in the forehead when he reaches her, hissing, “You're a pain in my ass, you know that right?”

Robin stares at him for a moment, Nancy's arms snug around her waist again as her blue eyes dart to Steve's side where Eddie's appeared. The metalhead's ringed hand is warm where it gently settles at the small of Steve's back, only for him to notice the smirk Robin gives him as she hisses back, “No. But I bet Eddie is.”

It's Eddie's turn to flick Robin then, joining the conversation, “You know for a fact you interrupted that opportunity, Buckley.”

“So you weren't just standing in the mirror with your hand in Steve's pants?” Nancy decides to butt in, much to Robin's delight if the grin that spreads across her face is anything to go by.

Both boys refuse to answer knowing that if anything they can't win an argument against Nancy Wheeler. 

But Robin looks like she hasn't even started, a menacing look on her face as she glances between the three around her, mouth opening to say lord knows what before Hopper's yelling over the chaos of the house, “Suppers ready shit birds!” Joyce's immediate scolding of her husband follows.

“You know,” Robin says, extracting herself from Nancy's lap, eyes still focused on Steve as she rises, “this doesn't mean you're off the hook. I want details, Dingus. All of them.”

“I don't think you do, Birdie,” Eddie chimes, singing his way out of the room, hand outstretched to pull Steve behind him.

“All. Of. Them.” Robin repeats with a concerning look, pinching Steve's side as she passes him into the kitchen.

—

Steve doesn't share the dirty details of his now…relationship? with Eddie, with Robin just yet, but he knows he will have to in the near future. He knows the girl won't give up.

But for now, he enjoys Christmas with his friends and family, Robin to his left and Eddie to his right and everyone else he loves surrounding him. 

He doesn't know what he and Eddie are, they never really had that conversation, but really, Steve doesn't feel like they have to. It feels special, permanent, it feels easy.

Easy like knowing their lives will hardly change when they head back to Chicago. That, yeah, maybe they'll share a bed and be closer in all the ways that matter most, but Steve will still wake up every morning with Eddie being at the forefront of his mind and go to sleep every night happy that the man is a part of his life at all. Just now, maybe Eddie will be laying by his side when those thoughts cross his mind.

As a hand lays on his thigh and he turns to look at the man he's pretty sure he loves, Steve can't help but smile. Eddie's grin matching his own.

Maybe Eddie was thinking the same thing.

“Merry Christmas, Sweetheart,” Eddie whispers, grip tight on Steve's thigh as he leans over and presses a kiss to Steve's cheek.

“Merry Ch-”

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!”

“DUSTIN!”

“EDDIE JUST KISSED STEVE, DID NO ONE ELSE SEE THAT?!”

The chaos further erupts as questions soar and Eddie only makes things worse by grabbing Steve by the cheeks and pulling him in for a searing, sloppy, life long kiss.

[oceanbilly]

Sorrow's native son

hi, i've never posted a fic and what i wrote might seem strange and unusual, so i wanted to give an explanation beforehand. i happened to read that one page from the stranger things book, max's book to be exact, it was the scene where neil abused billy with a belt and something in me broke and what i wrote was like a knee-jerk reaction to that. it's not really a romantic setting, i think it ended up being gender neutral too (but not 100% sure), i just needed to find a way to make billy less lonely. anyways, i hope there's at least one person who will enjoy it and relate to it.

My finger slid across the different boxes on the shelf. My eyes eventually landed on the one with the sale sign hanging below it. The store was quiet except for the low buzzing of the fluorescent lights. It was getting late.

I heard a bell announcing someone’s arrival. The cold air wrapped around my body like a blanket and I shivered. As I entered another aisle, my eyes fell on Billy Hargrove.

Our paths rarely crossed, yet his sight was uncomfortably familiar. Back in high school, he always made sure to be obnoxious enough to be noticed by everyone. He was loud and bold. Liked showing off his body even in the most inappropriate places and despite the dreadful weather, as if he was rebelling against Hawkins for the sake of it. He liked being intimidating and feared. He liked being admired.

All of that used to make an impression, until the thin veil of bullshit dropped and I saw the nasty truth.

Not long after graduation, when I was walking down Cherry Lane, I saw him carrying a big box out of the back door of his house. I wouldn’t pay much attention if it wasn’t for his father, who was walking closely behind him, pushing him to go faster. When Billy tripped and the box fell with a loud clash, I stopped. I wasn’t planning on helping – it was sheer curiosity more than anything else.

Before even a thought could pass my mind, his father’s booming voice rang in my ears. His mouth danced around the word ‘useless’ like he was used to it, like it was his favorite word and saying it caused him great pleasure. I wanted to scowl and move on, telling myself that it was none of my business, but a pained noise made me freeze. A heavy boot collided with Billy’s ribs once, twice, three times and I felt every kick in my own body. His father spat on him, yelled a few more offensive words and left. I saw Billy push himself up until he was on his hands and knees. His head hung low as he took a few deep breaths. I didn’t know what I should do, or if I should even do anything at all. Billy, however, decided for me, because when he raised his head, his cold eyes pierced through mine and I knew I shouldn’t get close.

In that position on the ground, he seemed like a wounded animal, glaring at me silently. I felt like an intruder. I looked away and forced my feet to start moving again. I walked, but it was harder now, slower, because of the heavy guilt that kept weighing on my shoulders.

After that day, I saw him everywhere. It was like I was being punished for what I did. Or didn’t do. His sight alone always brought back the shame and the guilt.

Right now he was browsing the medicine shelf. He picked up the aspirin and then put it back down. He pulled out a crumpled five dollar bill out of his pocket and looked at it like it was offending him. He also looked different. His hair was gathered in a bun, and instead of his usual showy outfit, he was clothed in sweatpants, a plain t-shirt and a red plaid shirt thrown on top of it. It hung loose on him, too, and it was dripping wet. I looked outside the window, where the heavy November rain was wreaking havoc. He eventually stuffed the money back into his pocket and put the bottle down. He huffed, irritated, and stormed out of the store.

I bit my lip nervously. I quickly grabbed the aspirin and made my way to the checkout. When I went outside, I saw him walking slowly down the street. He wasn’t in a hurry, like there was nowhere he was supposed to be in this nasty weather. His figure illuminated by the street lamps seemed small.

I chased him down and stopped in front of him, successfully cutting him off. I pushed the bottle of aspirin into his hand. He furrowed his brow and looked confused for a second, before his features were clouded by anger.

‘I don’t need fucking charity,’ he spat.

‘Take it or don’t, I don’t give a shit.’ Lies.

Billy has been all I could think about. Every time I saw him in public with his father, my heart sank. It was easy to miss – the light shoves, the way Billy never really looked him in the eye. Whenever I saw him, my mind immediately recalled the image of Billy on his lawn. It was burned into my brain and it paired well with the pang of guilt somewhere in my chest.

He also seemed to remember this moment well, because whenever he spotted me in town, his body tensed and he turned his head away. We never actually talked, but his posture was a warning in itself.

Billy clenched his jaw, but his hand tightened on the bottle. The dim orange light couldn’t hide his swollen eye and a bruised cheekbone. He opened the bottle and took out three pills. I dug in my shopping bag for a water bottle, which I passed it to him. This time he accepted it without any biting remarks. My gaze flickered down to his hands and one look at his clean knuckles told me everything I needed to know. He swallowed the pills.

‘C’mon, I’ll give you a lift,’ I said and pushed past him to go get into my car.

I half expected him to just leave and not look back, maybe flip me off as a goodbye, but to my surprise he slipped into the passenger seat next to me. I took in his face which scrunched up in pain for a second, but he schooled it very fast. The raindrops slid down his cheek.

Billy didn’t seem like the person who could simply accept help. It wasn’t taught to him. His pride got in the way too. His whole body was stiff, like he was ready to bolt any second. Like he was still on the verge of making his final decision. However, these last gruelling months have taught me that he also had a strong survival instinct. If he did something uncharacteristic – he did it out of pure need.

‘So what, you just pity me? Is that it?’ His voice was low and quiet. There was a layer of anger to it. This situation was taking away his control and he didn’t like that.

‘No,’ I replied, starting the engine and pulling out onto the road. ‘I pity your dad.’

‘For having a useless son?’ He asked louder now. The cool mask of anger was cracking, allowing the anxiety to seep through. From the corner of my eye I could see the end of his sleeve gripped tightly in his hand. I flinched at the word. It was now my least favorite word.

‘For being a braindead pissbucket.’ I spat. ‘I believe it’s incurable.’

I risked a quick glance at him and found him staring at me like I grew a second head. He snorted loudly and turned towards the window, a smile playing on his lips. I felt a bit lighter now that he was slightly less tense.

‘Do you want me to…’ I hesitated, knowing I was about to bring his mood down, ‘drop you off at home?’

He didn’t reply, but he shook his head, still looking out the window. I clenched my jaw, eyes fixed firmly on the road. He was out late in the pouring rain in the middle of November wearing these damn rags. He clearly walked for a while and he didn’t have his car. I wondered briefly if his father would be above kicking him out of the house for the night. I didn’t ask where to take him, because I had a feeling he didn’t have anywhere to go.

After ten minutes of silence I pulled up to my driveway.

I got out of the car and leaned down to look at Billy. ’C’mon.’ There was no point in asking. I let him make his decision based on what he really needed right now. He followed me without a word.

I opened the door and pushed him inside first. The pleasant warmth of the house made me sigh in relief. I took off my jacket and shoes, and looked at Billy, who was currently leaving a small puddle on the floor. I walked up to him and gently slid the dripping plaid shirt off of his shoulders. I was going to put it on the radiator in the kitchen, but something caught my eye. His white shirt had splashes of red all over his back. My heart stopped and the shirt slipped out of my hands. No. No, no, no.

‘Billy?’ My voice sounded weak and uncertain.

‘Yeah?’

‘You’re… You’re hurt,’ I said, eyes glued to the blood stains.

He tensed immediately. He didn’t reply and I was worried I saw too much. The most he had hoped for was probably just the painkillers and a place to crash. He didn’t actually plan on letting me in and now I accidentally stepped into his personal space. I was too close to the issue and I knew it scared him.

‘It’s fine,’ he said in a defensive tone. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

I could just let it go. In fact that’s what I should’ve done.

But then I felt it again. It creeped upon my shoulders slowly just to crush me all at once. The guilt. It didn’t let me move. It didn’t let me breathe. After that the panic started to set in. I let him suffer for so long.

I grabbed his hand, led him into the kitchen and made him sit in a chair. I pulled the first aid kit out of the cabinet and I saw it in his eyes. The flash of anger and betrayal, but I have already made my decision.

‘Take your shirt off,’ I said in a serious tone. ‘Please,’ I added quietly.

I expected him to put up a fight or at least make a suggestive joke, but he didn’t. He knew there was no use. The curtain was ripped away a long time ago and he had to accept that. But it was clear that he had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that someone knew the truth.

He gripped the hem of his t-shirt and started pulling it up, but halfway through he made a pained noise and let out a frustrated sigh. I grabbed the shirt for him and gently pulled it off.

When my eyes landed on his back, I felt dizzy. His tan skin was littered with angry red welts. The bruises were slowly blooming all over his back and the skin was broken in places. My first instinct was to ask him if he was hit by a car, but I knew better. And then I saw a few deep red squares that made me sick. The belt buckle.

“Jesus,” I breathed, before I could stop myself. I reeled back horrified. I’ve never seen anyone hurt this badly. I tried not to overreact – I had a feeling he would just run if I did. I suppressed my rising panic and closed my eyes for a second. It didn’t help much, the image already burned behind my eyelids. “I’m gonna clean it up, is that okay?” I asked, full of hesitation. I wasn’t sure how to even approach this without making him upset or ashamed. He was in a very vulnerable position, which could trigger his fight or flight response.

He didn’t reply, but he did give me a quick nod.

Feeling slightly relieved, I took out a cloth, dampened it and gently pressed it against his skin, trying to clean the dried blood away to see the wounds clearly. He flinched, but stayed quiet. I had to resist the urge to just take my hand away, so that I wouldn’t cause him any more pain, but this had to be done.

I drenched a gauze in an antiseptic and with a light hand started to disinfect the injuries. That did get a hiss and a muted fuck out of him, which I tried my hardest to ignore. Looking at his massacred back up close was making me lightheaded.

How could someone do this to another person? To their own kid?

The shame I felt was shattering. I knew. I knew this whole time and I failed him. My mind was cruel enough to make me feel like I was the one holding the belt.

I tried to be quick with the antiseptic, because his body felt like a tightly wound up string, ready to snap at any moment. I looked at the pile of bloodied gauzes and felt nauseous.

I took a few clean ones and covered the wounds, and then secured them with some medical tape. It looked a bit ridiculous and not professional at all, but the aesthetics didn’t matter right now. After I was done, Billy didn’t say anything. He wasn’t really moving either. I could only imagine what was going through his head right now.

I sat down in front of him to check how he was doing and I was met with a very hard image to take. He wasn’t crying. His head was hanging low and he was staring at the floor. His eyes were eerily hollow. Emotionless. There was no dramatic reaction, no sobbing, no fighting. Just acceptance.

I put away the first aid kit and cleaned up the used supplies.

‘Any cracked ribs?’ I asked standing awkwardly next to him. He shook his head without looking at me.

I was conflicted. I didn’t feel like I had the right to act like his friend now, but leaving him alone was not even an option. I looked at him sitting there. His body wasn’t as muscular as it used to be, he looked thinner. When he was hunched over like that, his skin stretched over his ribs grotesquely. He seemed to be a shell of the Hawkins High king he once was. All of his friends who used to worship him left the town. He was alone.

I put the kettle on and prepared some hot tea to warm him up. He didn’t even move, didn’t speak. He was lost in thought. I put two mugs on the table and sat down in front of him.

I wasn’t certain if I should say anything, but when I looked at him my heart broke. I saw my hand reach out involuntarily and cover his. It was cold. His head snapped up and he looked at me surprised.

‘I… I’m sorry, Billy. I’m sorry for what I did.’

He seemed confused. ‘What did you do?’

‘I pretended like I didn’t see it. I acted like I didn’t know.’

He looked down again and shook his head. ‘It’s not your job to help. I manage on my own.’

I squeezed his hand lightly.

‘I know we’re not friends, but… I don’t want you to be on your own anymore. If you let me, I’ll be there for you. With you.’

The look he gave me was indescribable. His brows were drawn gently like he didn’t quite understand what I was saying.  The feeling of support was so alien to Billy he wasn’t sure how to react. I wanted him to know that if he shared this burden, it would get a bit lighter. He didn’t have carry it alone anymore.

He didn’t sob or open up immediately. He did not pour his feelings out to me. He sat there quietly for a long time, but I could see that there was no anger or fear darkening his beautiful face anymore. He was weighing his options, thinking carefully about the secret he has kept for so long. He was now forced to confront it, to look this monster in the eye and call it by its name. He had to acknowledge his pain, really feel it instead of burying it deep under his skin.

The yellow overhead light in my kitchen betrayed Billy and I caught the glimpse of how glassy his eyes were. He didn’t let the tears fall. He didn’t even let his voice break.

All he said was: ‘Okay.’

And I knew he was ready to let me in.