#mamas have become nothing but dust

[ceilidho]

Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 3 | masterlist

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It’s not unusual for someone to mistake you for the baby’s mama.

How could someone not, at least for a moment? When you take the baby to the grocery store, older people gush over him babbling in his stroller, eager to shower him with compliments in baby-talk or tell you how much you resemble the little tyke. After hearing the same comment for the umpteenth time, you tire of correcting people by saying you’re the babysitter only to watch their face fall, somewhat mortified and feeling as though their comment should’ve been directed to the baby’s actual mother. Which isn’t you. 

It’s less typical for someone to mistake you for John’s wife, though that does happen from time to time.

You’ve become a fixture around the neighbourhood since John hired you at the beginning of the summer, and over the weeks, the other nannies and the stay-at-home moms have started to gradually warm up to you. Before long, you’re being invited on coffee runs and playdates with some of the other women, always careful to ask for John’s permission before bringing his baby into a stranger’s house.

“Just text me the address and their names,” he requests while you stand awkwardly in front of him, John sitting on the bed to finish buttoning up his shirt and fixing his watch around his wrist. You would’ve been fine standing on the other side of the door while he finished changing, but he insisted on inviting you in.

“I will,” you promise, nodding along with his words.

“And call me if you don’t feel comfortable. I’ll come get the two of you right away if you need me.”

You swallow. Nod again.

The first time you take the baby for a playdate with a couple of the moms from the park, one catches you in the act of texting John the address of the house as he requested. “Hubby wants to know where you are, huh?”

“Oh,” you choke out, face heating up. “He’s not—”

“Not a control freak, I know. They’re all like that.” Her smile is ebullient, rolling her eyes like you’re in on a joke together when you most assuredly are not. “Why don’t you share your location with him? Mine’s the same way. Here—I’ll show you how.”

She takes your phone and tap-taps something and suddenly you see it in the notifications of your conversation with John. If you bite your lip instead of correcting her assumption about the nature of your and John’s relationship, that’s for you and you alone to know. Your rationale is that any explanation will just make things tense; it’s not like you haven’t seen it happen before. 

It’s far more concerning when John doesn’t correct those assumptions. Particularly when you’re standing right next to him. 

Like at the local water park on a particularly hot weekend, wading in the kiddy pool with the baby nestled tight against your chest in his little swim trunks and floppy hat only for an employee to ask John if his wife would like something to drink. 

“Iced coffee, love?” John asks, taking your stupefied silence as a yes. “Nothing for me, mate. Cheers.” 

Your head spins like a top on that thought until a good while later. The server hands you a glass of iced coffee with condensation already dripping down the sides and John thanks him for you, taking the baby from you and pulling you to his side. You drink your coffee quietly with your thigh flush with his under the water, gripping the glass harder when his free hand squeezes around your waist, laughing at something another parent said to him.

It’s so over for you. There’s no coming back from this. 

The sight of someone of John’s size, a bulky, military man with arms of pure steel dusted with dark hairs, cradling a tiny, chubby baby with a thatch of similar dark hair on his head and big cheeks and roly poly arms unlocks something primal in you. An old, buried need. 

In the family changing room, you stand under an ice cold shower until it breaks the fever slowly consuming you. All you can do is hope it takes. 

In the evening, you sit out on the porch with John at the back of the house until the crickets swell with song, the moon a half-crescent in the sky. A cool breeze makes your shoulders lift a little, huddling into your body to keep warm. 

It’s hard to keep your eyes on the view in front of you and off the man sitting beside you when they want so badly to be running over him. He’s changed out of his work clothes into a soft pair of sweatpants and an old threadbare shirt, the sage green fabric faded after years of being run through the washing machine. It clings to his biceps and the soft pudge of his stomach, a layer of fat over the hard muscle beneath. 

A cigarette dangles from his fingers, thick wrist perched on the arm of the adirondack chair. Every so often he lifts it to his lips for a puff, always breathing out in the opposite direction from you. Considerate of your health, at least, if not his own. 

“Cold, sweetheart?” he asks before ashing his cigarette, and your bottom lip purses when you turn your head to look at him because you thought you were doing a good job suppressing your shivers. 

You stare at him, confused. He cocks an eyebrow at your questioning stare and deliberately glances down, waiting until you notice the way your nipples are protruding through your white tank top. You forgot that you’d taken your bra off earlier for a bit of relief and hadn’t yet had a chance to put it back on. 

“Oh my god,” you squeak, crossing your arms to hide as much as possible, humiliation flooding through you. “I’m so sorry—that’s so—I-I’m so sorry.”

John makes a rough sound when he rises to his feet, knees cracking as he does. “S’alright, hun. Lemme get you something to put on.”

The screen door creaks when he goes back inside briefly to fetch something only to come back a few seconds later with a big, cotton sweater that reeks of him. It looks well loved, some remnant of his younger years, and even from a distance, you can smell the distinct smoky aroma clinging to the fabric. 

When he kneels in front of you, you nearly go cross-eyed at the realisation that even on his knees, he’s as tall as you. The bulk of his waist forces your legs to spread around him. 

“C’mon, arms up,” John commands, barely waiting until you’ve raised your arms above your head before helping guide your head and arms into the right holes. 

Dragging the sweater down the way he does forces it to rub over your nipples, sending a shock through you. If you had any less self-control, your teeth might actually chatter together. 

“There we go,” he says, fluffing out the sweater around your waist before resting his hands on the tops of your thighs, the gesture coming so naturally to him that you doubt he’s even noticed the placement of his hands. “Much better. That’ll warm you up.”

He isn't wrong. You’ve already worked up a sweat. 

Late night rain.

It comes down in buckets, a dark slate rapping hard against the window pane. A bolt of lightning flickers across the horizon off in the distance. White striations across an otherwise dark sky. About thirty seconds later, thunder rumbles. 

You peek from between the blinds, chewing your lip nervously. You’ve never driven in rain this bad, but with supper done and the dishes washed, there’s no excuse for you to stay any longer. Still, the rain comes down so heavily that despite your timidity, you briefly contemplate asking John if you can stay a little longer. At least until it lets up a bit; until your headlights won’t blind you reflecting off the puddles on the drive home. 

Someone else pulls the blinds further apart.

“There’s no way in hell you’re going out in that,” John says from behind you, practically growling his words. Daring you to contradict him. 

You glance over your shoulder to find him right there at your back, staring out the window. He’s so close that you can smell the red sauce on his flannel from dinner and make out the flecks of grey in his beard that are almost masked by the darker hairs. 

“It’s not…that bad…”

“Sweetheart, don’t piss me off,” he warns.

The blinds shuttle back together with a clatter when you finally let go of them. 

“I could—I could take the couch,” you offer. 

“Sweetheart,” John sighs, looking down at you meaningfully.

“What?” you ask, confused.

“I’m not gonna take the big, comfy bed and leave you with the couch.” When you open your mouth to protest, he cuts you off. “And don’t even try arguing. I won’t hear it.”

There’s not much you can say to dissuade him after that. The furrow of his brow lets you know he’s made up his mind; no ifs, ands, or buts. Besides, there’s a not-so-secret part of you that’s relieved that you don’t have to drive home in this weather. You’re an average driver on a good day. You don’t need your last moments before shuffling off this mortal coil to involve hydroplaning on the highway before ramming into the guardrail. 

John gives you a shirt of his to change into for after your shower, which you spend far too long in, scrubbing your body with his shower gel and quivering under the warm water. When you pull it on, you bring the collar up to your nose to smell. The same patent smoky scent, musky like ambergris and leather. Intoxicating. It makes the blood rush through your ear like a conch shell, the ocean swirling behind your eardrum. 

You hadn’t asked for underwear, content at first to keep on the same pair, but after your shower, you cringe at the thought of putting your day-old panties back on. Besides, his shirt is long enough to cover anything indecent. 

He sits on the edge of the bed when you come out, the concern on his brow melting away at the sight of you. 

“Practically a dress on you, isn’t it?” John says, voice a little wondrous. His eyes drag over you, tip to toe. 

You fiddle with the ends of it. “…Are you sure you want me to take the bed?” 

“Wouldn’t be fair. It’s yours for the night.” His lips quirk up at the corners when you frown. “Don’t worry about me—I’ve slept in worse places before.”

“Like where?” you ask dubiously.

“Tents. Abandoned buildings. Shacks. In the back of a moving van a few times. You wouldn’t believe half the places we used to make camp. Definitely no place for pretty girls like you.”

His condescending tone vaguely annoys you, but it’s hard to dig into your irritation when he thumbs the edge of the shirt you’re wearing and you realise that he’s just a few raised inches away from noticing that you don’t have any panties on. You should’ve just put your old ones back on, but it’s far too late now. 

You clear your throat instead. “We could…um…we could share.” 

You don’t know what possesses you to offer to share the bed, but the words are already gone, out of your mouth and in the air. John cocks an eyebrow.

“Unless you don’t want to,” you amend. 

“Don’t know about that, sweetheart,” he rasps. “…I snore like a bear.”

“That’s okay. I’m a pretty deep sleeper.”

John scrutinises you a bit longer, looking for any sign of hesitancy. You know he’d squash your offer in a second if he found any wariness in your gaze. 

“Alright,” he finally concedes, letting go of your shirt and slapping his thighs. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you wake up and can’t fall back asleep because of my snoring.”

After his shower, during which you lie on your side facing away from the bathroom door, stomach fraught with nerves as you consider the fact that he’s naked in the ensuite, you hear him come out and rummage around in the dresser for a change of clothes. You lie beside him with your stomach twisted in knots, your hands shoved under the pillow and staring resolutely at the wall. 

The appropriateness of sleeping in the same bed beside your boss isn't lost on you, but you're too far into this now.

The bed dips when he settles onto the other side, and the sudden absence of light when he switches the bedside lamp off nearly makes you cheep. 

He breathes heavily, you notice, particularly when he finally falls asleep. It’s a deep, rumbling sound—not entirely unlike a bear, though you can’t really confirm that for certain seeing as how you’ve never slept beside a bear before. 

Those are the thoughts that would signal the approach of sleep if you weren’t soon to be engulfed by it. 

Sometime in the middle of the night, you wake up to a rough hand stroking your back leisurely. There’s a hard chest under you, your cheek propped up on a pillowy pec that rises and falls with his breaths. Sleep bobs around in you like a toulouse decanter. You struggle to keep an eye open, certain that there’s something you need to tend to, but then his hand slides down your back again to curve over your rump and sleep drags you back down. 

You wake up again to your breath wafting back into your mouth, your face shoved into the crook of a man’s neck. Humid, hot. You’re lipping at the skin of his neck, little tongue darting out to lap up a bead of sweat, salty on your tongue. 

Your cunt pulses against his leg, toes curling when John drags his hand up your thigh and hitches it higher up around his waist. 

“Baby?” he groans, his voice still rusty from sleep. The sound is a rough burr up your spine. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. “Couldn’ get comfy.”

“You hot?” he asks.

The denial on the tip of your tongue slips back down your throat when he plants his foot on the bed and draws his leg up, pressing the meat of his thigh into your throbbing sex. 

“Here, lemme help you—” he groans, reaching down to ruck up your shirt, dragging it up over your breasts and helping manoeuvre your arms out of the holes. It gets tossed off the bed onto the floor. 

Now your breasts are flat on his chest, smushed against his ribcage. It registers somewhere in the back of your head as inappropriate, but sleep pushes that thought away, focusing instead on the discomfort of moving around when you just want to settle back down and go back to bed. 

It must be the heat making you act this way. 

“Shit—sorry, sweetheart,” he apologizes, shifting under you. “M’hot too.”

He plants a hand on your ass and heaves you up his chest, giving him enough room to wiggle out of his boxers. It pushes your breasts right into his face, your nipples mere inches from his mouth. When his tongue pokes out to wet his upper lip, it nicks your pebbled nipple. 

A hard length presses against your butt when you’re slid back down, the tip wet when it catches against your skin. 

“Jus’ ignore it, sweetie,” John mumbles, petting a hand down your back. 

You lie like that for a while, splayed over his body. Want simmering just under your skin. Flustered and exhausted all at once, sleep-drained; not a drop of strength in your muscles. 

The heat is just—

Scorching. Dizzying. You feel featherbrained, slipping in and out of sleep, biting off the whimpers that threaten to crawl up your throat when John tucks his hands into the crevice of your thighs to wrench them apart, spreading them around his hips again. 

Distantly, you remember that the man under you is at least twenty years your senior. Your employer at that. A man now palming your butt, sinking his fingers into the flesh and rumbling low in his throat. 

It’s wrong—flagrantly wrong. You know that you should say something, that you should get up and tell him that you’re going to sleep on the couch instead. But your tongue is too thick for your mouth. And your thoughts are a sticky paste. The pulse between your thighs empties out all the common sense from your head. 

His palms are slick on your skin. 

Your breathing grows shallow when a hard length suddenly pushes between your thighs as well. 

When the mushroomed head nudges at your opening, you flinch, heart thumping ferociously against your chest. 

“John—John—” you breathe, panicked. As if to warn him. As if he weren’t planting both feet on the bed and lifting his hips. 

As if it wasn’t his hands, warm on your waist, dragging you down onto the shaft spearing into you. 

Your blood is molten hot in your veins. Sticky hands and sticky fingers curl into his chest hair. Your head thumps against his pecs, too weak to hold it up, lipping at the damp skin of his chest. 

“It hurts—” you bleat, tears pricking at the backs of your eyes. 

“I know, baby, I know,” John pants. He draws his hips back just to press forward again, deeper this time. Filling you up more than before. “I’m sorry, baby—I can’t, it’s just…too good. Shit.”

Resolve in tatters. Shattered like his willpower, like his determination not to fuck the girl twenty years his junior sleeping beside him in his bed. 

His hips pump up into yours, bouncing you in his lap. Each thrust plunging his cock deeper into your pussy. It’d be painful if you weren’t so wet, but you’re dripping, arousal making you leak around his shaft and slickening his way. 

Sleep still rattles around in your brain, but not even the fog of sleep can shake the ever intensifying realisation that you’re fucking your boss. No two ways around it—breasts naked against his hirsute chest; pussy wet and stuffed to the hilt with a big dick. Knocked senseless by it. 

The veins of his cock drag over the viscid walls of your cunt with every thrust. He must like the involuntary noises you make because he loses his rhythm when you cry out, growling out a string of unintelligible curses. His body feels bigger like this somehow, biceps and forearms bulging where they’re wrapped around your waist, hips forcing your legs to spread wide around him, the ache sinking deep into your muscle, into your bones.  

When you look up at him, his eyes are more hooded than usual, the blue of his irises so dark that they’re almost black. 

“Such a good girl,” he grunts, big arms like steel bands around your waist, holding you tight to his chest so you have nowhere to run. “Jus’ let…jus’ let daddy come and—oh Christ, fuck, fuck…—jus’ lemme come and we’ll go back to bed, okay, sweetie?”

“I’m gonna…” you pant, trailing off when he gets a little rough, pumping harder up into you. The sound of your pussy squelching around his length makes your eyes roll back, mouth hanging open. 

“Yeah, yeah, you—you come too, baby. Jus’ need to take the edge off, both of us.”

You squeal when he reaches a hand down to dig his fingers into your butt cheek and it makes you tense up, walls tightening around his dick. One well-placed swat hard enough to make the flesh of your ass jiggle and you come, clenching up so tight that his next few thrusts are slowed by your spasming walls, forcing him to really cram his cock into your hole. 

“Christ, that’s cute,” John growls, his pupils blown out. 

It hurts to come that hard; makes your belly cramp up and everything. Whatever gibberish spills from your mouth gets lost in the aftermath. 

That’s when the temperature goes from hot to blistering. The muscles of his thighs tense, straining with his impending release. Even his grip around your waist gets tighter, his self-control steamrolled under his approaching climax, oblivious to the way you squeal and squirm when it threads the delicate needle of being too much. 

“Sorry, baby,” he apologises, voice treading gravel. “M’gonna mess your pussy up a bit—”

“Wait—wait—” you gasp, trying fruitlessly to lift yourself up, his arms keeping you pinned tight to his chest. “You’re gonna—John, you’re gonna come inside me—”

His hips thrust up hard at your words, one last rough pump that has him digging his heels into the mattress and clenching his jaw, the veins in his neck protruding. You feel it flood inside you, hot spurts of cum right up against your womb. He curses when he comes, eyelids sliding shut, lost in the sensation of emptying himself into you. 

A few last, punishing thrusts that make your teeth clack together. More heat spurting into you. A murmured oh fuck before his legs slide back down the bed, spreading out over the mattress. 

The blanket is somewhere at the foot of the bed, all scrunched up and nearly dangling off the edge. You only start to shiver when the sweat on your back finally begins to cool. 

When he pulls you off his cock, you whimper, a hot flash snaking through you. Oh Christ did he plug you up good. Stringy, viscous cum leaks from your hole, leaving a little puddle on his thigh when you slide off his chest and to the side a bit. 

“Oh baby,” he tuts softly, reaching between your legs to feel where you’re wet and a little swollen. “Sorry, sweetheart…wanna get cleaned up?”

“No…” you rasp, so dazed that you can’t even lift your cheek off his chest. 

Exhaustion has never ridden you this hard before, but considering the circumstances…—perhaps you’re lucky to be conscious at all, is all you mean. There’s not a chance of you having enough energy to do anything as rigorous as showering though. 

“Okay, baby. Little kiss?” John asks in a murmur, lifting your head up by your chin and swooping down for a kiss. Not even giving you enough time to process his words before his mouth is on yours. 

His lips glide slick against yours, tongue slipping into your mouth like he needs a good, deep kiss to ground him. A wet twisting of tongues; a thick finger stroking up your neck. He can’t stop touching you. Running a hand up your spine and curving it back down over your ass. Featherlight touches meant to calm you down. His kisses grow sticky, lingering; each one almost the last until he pulls you in for another. 

“Go back to sleep, okay?” John says, still speaking low enough to push you back under. He smooths his hand down your back again. 

You fall back asleep with a load in your belly and your head in a tizzy. The you of tomorrow is going to have a lot to contend with from the you of tonight.

[fancyfeathers]

In your yandere!Clark Kent with housewife reader you mentioned he wanted several children, and whenever I read anything with Clark marrying with Reader and having kids I always think Jon should be one of them (but usually authors just make it so Clark and Lois divorced and Reader is just the stepparent😪)

Now let's say in your au Jon is their son, but while he isn't born... You know how when Conner showed up Clark didn't take him in as his son, and more like a cousin, very distant (makes me so angry and sad), so lets say Conner shows up, Clark wants to keep his distance, but Reader INSTANTLY imprints on him and treats him as a mama bear and loves him a lot, despite Clark's distate

LET JON BE HER SON!

But yes they do have quite a lot of kids besides Jon, he is probably the first born, but they probably have five to six biological children and no one will change my mind on this.

I imagine that Clark and his darling moving to Smallville at some point, maybe Ma and Pa passed away so if that happened then Conner would end up being taken in by them cause he is still technically a kid (a clone, but he has the mentally of a teenager). Conner probably meets Clark’s darling at the funeral, he heard about her when Clark called Martha and Jonathan, his beautiful wife… well not technically since they aren’t legally married, but that hardly matters.

Conner is just sitting there on the porch of the house after the funeral and she comes out to sit with him, bringing him something to eat. He talks with her, asking her about her life before where she is now, stuck in the middle of nowhere for the rest of her life.

At first they have a friendly relationship, since he is around she can actually do stuff around the house while Clark is gone because most of everything is tucked away from her, for her own safety of course. But soon and rather quickly their relationship gets stronger, and it becomes clear what they are to one another when Conner calls her mom while helping her in the garden after school one day. Their relationship is parallel to what Clark’s was with his adoptive mother, albeit she wasn’t able to raise him because he was never exactly a baby because he was created, but he is still her son, her baby boy.

Like I am imagining like after some world threatening incident and the moment Conner sees her he immediately runs straight to her, calling out mom or mama with such relief that nothing happened to her and excitement to see her, and he picks her up in a hug like she weighs nothing while Clark just watches.

I think after seeing the clear signs of his wife’s relationship with Conner, Clark opens up more to him, his darling probably also yelled at Clark about it, scolding him like a child. But even then when the dust settles I think she is closer to Conner than any of her other children that she gives birth to, sure Jon is nothing but sweet, but Conner is the child she chose, he is her son just how Clark was Martha’s son.

(Also I was reading this and my mind immediately went to that one tiktok sound/edit song)

[whalesforhands]

what’s yours is mine (8/?)

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pairing: geto suguru x reader x gojo satoru

You don’t know a lot of things, and you readily admit that. What you do know, is that the friends you’ve made aren’t something you will ever regret. Until your physical body weakens and becomes nothing, you’re more than happy to give your all until you wither away.

What’s yours can be theirs, too. They’re your friends, after-all. (Omegaverse AU)

“You should stop hanging around people like me.” It’s said with a grunt of conviction, low and throaty and trying to sound too much like he didn’t care. Like it didn’t mean anything if you left him.

(The only reason you can tell is because Satoru does the exact same thing.)

And you only ever have a single reply to statements like that, despite all your confusion about the origins of such things.

“Nope.” You pop the ending sound, kicking your feet up as you finish off the rest of your crumbled snack, dusting your fingers of biscuit dust as you dab your hanky against your lips. “You’re stuck with me now.”

Just like how he’s stuck with you.

“What?” He lets out a dry laugh, disbelieved green eyes narrowed down at you as the scar on his lip stretches out into a lazy grin. “Don’t tell me ya think of me as a friend or somethin’?”

“No.” He’s partially wrong, you’re pretty sure. “Adults and kids can’t be friends.”

They’re not allowed to. Something about ethics, about danger, about candy and chocolate and not even your favourite pudding. You don’t remember the whole thing, but you know kids and adults are not allowed to mix together like that.

Not allowed to be like you, Suguru and Satoru.

That’s what your Mama always taught you. That it was for the best, that you should always be careful. So you definitely think you know better as your head is tilted to the side and you point a finger at him; before directing it at yourself with that familiar grin on your face.

“So you’re my teacher and I’m your disciple.”

“The fuck?”

Mhm. Sounds about right. You nod to yourself, a proud hand on your chin as you give a pat on your own back for not only sticking to Mama’s words, but also finally claiming the scariest, biggest kid-adult around as your mentor.

Things are going perfectly as planned.

“I’m gonna get as strong and as scary as you are so that nobody can ever mess with me again.”

That’s right. You’ll grow so strong that everybody would fear you just as much or even more than Satoru— Then they’ll finally like him more. Finally be able to talk to him because they’re more scared of you than they are him. Nobody can ever make fun of Suguru, talk badly about your Mama or better yet— You can be the one that beats up all the ‘piss ugly freaks who beg to have their faces pummelled in’ like Mister Teacher here always says.

(It’s totally fine because your teacher does it too, right?)

“And what makes ya think I’m gonna teach you anything, brat?”

Well, you haven’t really thought that one through. That’s a very good question. As expected of your teacher.

“Cause I’m helpful and cute.”

‘Helpful’. Also known as using the very last of your well-loved, wacky band-aid collection on him. Your absolute favourites that you just couldn’t bring yourself to use that had been offered up to him the times you see him collapsed against the bench and snoring away.

So you took the liberty of pouring water on his cuts and heartbreakingly parting with your precious, precious band-aids.

All is part and parcel of being a hero, anyway.

(And the cute part… Mama always tells you that you are, anyway.)

“I’ll even buy you those big protective gloves so you can stop hurting your hands when I’m older and have a job like my Mama.”

“Pfft— Yea? What are ya even gonna work as to afford those?”

You barely hesitate in your reply, the turn of your head far too quick as the apples of your cheeks show through your excited smile.

“A hero.”

“And if they don’t pay enough?”

Well. You never really thought about that. Does being a hero really not pay as well as you think? Come to think of it… You’ve never seen Sailor Moon get paid. It seems like being a magical girl doesn’t come with a celery.

(Can you really pay for things in vegetables? You’ll ask Mama to help you grow some. Even if you don’t want to eat them…)

“Justice will always be rewarded.”

And this Mister that you talk to too much finally starts laughing, slapping his knee as he starts howling with laughter and snorting through his nose. It was loud, it was free.

Without a care in the world.

“You’re one dumb fuckin’ kid, ain’t cha?”

At least he’s smiling again. Even if you’re pretty sure he was making fun of you as you pout at his head that was positioned too high up upon his shoulders.

(Or maybe his neck was too long?)

“You can’t say that if you’re my teacher!”

“Then ya can’t yell at me if y’er my disciple.”

——

Even if one good thing comes to fruition, you should never be too comfortable with what the future may have in store for you. Small, minuscule little things always add up to big ones, snowballing into a problem that you just didn’t foresee before it comes hurling down towards you.

That’s what the astrology charts said, anyway. You didn’t understand then, but you think you do now that it has really ‘come to fruition’. Surely, it couldn’t be any truer now as your hand is slapped away, the smack echoing throughout the playground as your eyes widen and your skin stings with a feeling too unpleasant.

“I don’t wanna hear it! Don’t talk! Be quiet!”

Usually, Satoru telling you to shut up in 3 different ways would be less hostile, would have less weight to them. Usually, those sky coloured eyes wouldn’t glare at you with so much hatred, wouldn’t have so much pressure that threatened to pummel you to your knees.

(Because this is still your Satoru, isn’t it?)

“B-But Ieiri-chan and I are—“

“How many times are you gonna break our promise?!” His face is dusted with red— Not the sweet cherry shade that you were used to seeing when he got embarrassed or shy. The air felt like it was pricking you, prodding at you uncomfortably as you shrink in on yourself whilst nursing the area that hurt way more than you thought.

That’s why it irritated your eyes so much, right? Did the air always smell so hostile? So uncomfortably angry and horrible and heartbreaking?

“I told ya so many times that you can’t be friends with anyone other than me! That you’re not allowed to betray me! That you promised me!” It came out as an angry squeak, something adults would probably laugh at— Yet it felt like he was hammering nails into your heart as a lump builds up in your throat and the thrumming of your heartbeat against your chest becomes too much.

“Are you even trying anymore?!”

He’s right. You’re fine with your classmates whispering things whenever you walked past, fine with their trailing eyes and quiet gossips about how you’re just kissing up, fine that they’ll never truly like you for you just because you chose to associate with the Gojo family.

But you never once thought that being called a horrible friend would hurt this much. It tore through you, guilt riddling your very being as you whimper and bite down on your lip, trying to steady your breaths as you tried not to cry.

Because do you even deserve to? You’re not the one who was hurt in this situation. You’re not the one who kept true to the promise you made all those years ago.

“I-I really—“ Really didn’t mean it. Truly. It’s not a secret that you want to be on friendly terms with anyone willing to talk to you, not a surprise that you’ve been waving to and greeting the easy-going girl whenever you see her in class.

But it seems everything has a breaking point.

“I’m s-sorry…” Your hands bundle up the hem of your shirt, sweat getting absorbed by the cotton fabric, your head that tilted downwards as tears began to drip from your eyes and phlegm built up in your throat as you hiccuped your words.

“I didn’t mean to h-hurt you, Satoru…”

Because you never meant for him to feel this way. You’ve always taken him into consideration, always wanted him to be happy when he was with you; beside you.

It was your fault for trying too hard to find workarounds, to mistakenly believe that it was still fine to interact with someone who you thought was an outlier to the promise.

(Or was it simply your fault for wanting to make a decision that was far too selfish?)

And he doesn’t even say anything else to you, only the feel of his eyes stabbing into your conscience before you hear him stomp away, his familiar sneakers kicking up sand that left you in the dust as you’re left behind in this setting sun that casted your shadow behind you, growing longer and longer the more the light dimmed.

“Kimi-chan! I wanna go home!”

“G-Gojo-sama, are you not going to play a little longer? There’s still quite a bit of time left before you—“

A beat of silence.

“Understood, Young Master. I will prepare the car to send the both of you back home.”

Maybe you deserve this, you think. Maybe this was the punishment you had to bear as you’re sat in the back of the car all on your lonesome as your now silent friend makes nay a sound in the front seat.

Separated from you. Not even saying goodbye to you as Kimiko-san opens the door for you, her apologetic eyes and a polite bow as you’re left behind in the cloud of dust formed behind the car.

Silently waving it goodbye.

So you think you definitely deserve it as you drag yourself to your front door, past the genkan and kicking off your shoes as you kept your gaze stuck to the floor and your hands frantically wiping the wetness from your eyes when you hear the shuffling in the kitchen and the clatter of the lid against a boiling pot.

Your first ever fight. Or would it be more accurate to say— Your first ever fallout with anybody at all? You don’t know how to process it, what you’re gonna do now that you were left without an answer to your teary apology and small voice.

“What’s wrong?” Her hand is in your hair as she pats you, your chopsticks suddenly feeling too heavy as you blink back into reality, your blurry gaze finally focusing back as you shake your head lightly—

“But you haven’t touched any of your food.” And you realize that you’ve only been blankly staring down at the steaming bowl of rice, had barely touched any of the meatballs that your Mama made.

“Is the soup not good? I forgot to pick up the miso today so I had to make do with salt.” Her chopsticks clack down as she picks up her own bowl, bringing it up to her lips as she takes another taste for good measure.

“No.” Because you aren’t the type to want to worry your Mama, not the type to want her to think too much about you whilst she’s hard at her job.

“It tastes really good, Mama.”

Not the type to want to bother her with problems that were solely your own. Especially when she’s been coming home with dark bags under her eyes and a tired smile on her face when she kisses your forehead in greeting each and every time.

She’s strong, so you want to be strong too.

It’s your own secret for now, because you want to hide this. It’s your choice, something you made for yourself as you hurriedly scoop more rice into these lips that told too many lies and kept a secret from your own Mama that you always claimed to love so much.

“Yua-sensei just gave too much homework today.” You add a smile at the end just for good measure, forcing the bright grin you usually show her as you stuff another meatball into your mouth.

Maybe you really are not as good of a kid as you thought. But you sincerely hope she believes you, hope she can fall for it— Even if it was just this once.

“I’m here if you need any help, okay?”

“Mhm. Thanks, Mama.”

You’ll solve this. You think you can’t… But you’ll still do your best to, anyway.

It’s a problem you caused.

“Are you okay?” The towel in his hair is haphazardly thrown over his head, his voice a prodding question to your conscience as you limply hold the other paper cup telephone in your hand.

“Did something happen while I was at training today?”

Your nightly talks with your Suguru.

“No,” Your voice is barely audible even through the makeshift telephone, throat scratchy as your shoulders slump even further and you think you might want to hide away forever. “But you need to dry your hair before you catch a cold…”

Because for some reason, you feel too ashamed to even face him right now.

“Speak for yourself first, (name).” His head is propped up against his arm as he raises a brow, looking at you and your still slightly damp hair from your bath as you continued to wipe off the tears that just refused to stop falling, that refused to pretend that everything was truly as alright as you wanted to make it seem.

The moon was out, and the sky was clear. So it made that the only other witness to your quiet, wordless sadness as you stare down at your hand, the sting of the hit long gone— For it just wasn’t hard enough to cause enough harm to you.

“You fought with Satoru, right?” It’s suddenly voiced out and almost scares you— Almost makes you start sobbing outright there and then.

How… Do the people around you always read you so well? How do they always tell that something’s wrong with you despite all the effort you put into hiding it? Were you bad at lying despite doing it so much? Were you doomed to simply be called a liar that wasn’t even good at the one thing they were labelled as?

(So much for lying for the ‘greater good’.)

“…cause you keep looking like you’re gonna cry.” That’s a lie. You know he’s telling a lie so that he won’t make you feel any worse, so that you won’t feel so embarrassed. You know he’s telling a lie because you were already crying, your stupid tears that just kept falling no matter how hard you’ve tried to keep yourself in check, no matter how hard you bit down on your lip or how hard you’ve tried to muffle your sniffles.

You’re the most hopeless, worst liar ever.

“Do you like her?” His voice is soft and whispered and low so that it wouldn’t startle you, trying to blanket you in his caress despite the distance between your windows. “Ieiri-san, I mean.”

Ah. You should’ve expected him to already know.

But to answer his question… You do. You really do. She wasn’t like the rest of the kids who questioned you on your relationship with the Gojo child, wasn’t like the other kids who judged you simply because you didn’t exactly fit in with the rest of them or because you didn’t really like playing outside during break.

So, you pathetically nod in reply, wiping snot off from your philtrum and trying really hard to find your voice, trying really hard to be honest so that you wouldn’t lie anymore.

So that you didn’t have to pretend like nothing was wrong.

“I like her.” You really, genuinely do. Even if she was hard to read, even if she takes things too lightly or seemed like she didn’t care… She always proved that she did in the end. Maybe it was giving you an extra of the magical eraser you’ve been secretly eyeing in her pencil case, maybe it was letting you lean on her shoulder as you read her shoujo manga beside her.

And maybe it was simply the feeling of having a girl friend that made your heart soar with a feeling unlike the times you hang around your best friends. It was like an unsaid bond, something akin to finding someone with likes too alike yours that it just didn’t make sense to not continue to hang around her.

“Hmm.” His voice is just as tender as ever even if he was simply thinking about your answer, his gaze on you turning unreadable as you wipe away another tear, stifle another sniffle.

Try to act like you really, really weren’t crying.

“And if Satoru and I told you that we didn’t,” You can see how those purple eyes of his glinted with an emotion you didn’t understand, shone with the shimmers of the moonlight that reflected from them as you try your hardest to steel yourself for whatever was coming next.

“Would you still be friends with her?”

Oh. How… Do you reply to this?

“I’m sorry for making you choose. Please don’t cry.” If only he were there beside you, if only he could be there to hold you and tell you that he would tolerate anybody that you liked. If only he could confidently tell you that he wasn’t jealous, wasn’t trying to convince you out of something that you wanted— Only then would he finally be able to fearlessly go over.

Alas, he’ll keep it to himself. He’ll tell himself that it really is all right, tell himself that he can make compromises if it could prevent you from ever crying ever again.

It would be worth it then.

“Then… I won’t try to be friends with her anymore…” Not if you’ll lose the 2 who you think are worth more than whatever you’ll ever be able to count in this life, a bubble of phlegm in your throat clearing when you cough out your reply through your tears.

“I-I don’t like making either of you sad…”

And it locks into silence afterwards, a reply unheard from your poor paper cup that you were just too afraid to soil with your tears as your handkerchief soaks yet another round of your childish dejection.

“Please don’t cry.” It now sounds panicked and not at all alike the

And maybe, just maybe— His words make you think just that little bit more as your own mind swirls in on itself. Maybe you want something for yourself for the first time ever, want to make a decision that was solely you. A decision that would usually be far too dangerous, but for once, it would be your own nonetheless.

That’s how you won’t leave any regrets, right?

“But…” You swallow the lump in your throat again as your reddened, swollen gaze met his. “Would you both please meet her first…?”

Before they decided to hate her forever, that is.

It’s not the best plan, but it was your favourite. That was enough reason to pick it, enough for you to forego any of your other intentions in favour of this.

Because it gave you too much meaning for you to regret anything else.

Though, there was a very big hole in your plan. That being the fact that Satoru… Still won’t talk to you. Even on the way to school when you nervously squeezed Suguru’s hand as you both awaited for the familiar car to arrive, even when you both silently trailed after the… Suddenly sullen boy that refused to speak a singular word towards the both of you.

It’s a boon that you’re all only 8, otherwise your blushing, stubborn friend wouldn’t be showing up at school with his head held high, stubbornly sat next to you as he did his absolute hardest not to look you in the eye all throughout the different periods.

Even if he was— Quite literally, sat next to you. Mangas where best friends avoid each other are a staple you’ve read before— But it seems that the cliches of them being able to avoid each other entirely just didn’t apply in real life.

It doesn’t feel awkward, though. Just… Sad.

“Satoru…?” You visibly deflate when he doesn’t reply, your view of the back of his head being a constant throughout today that didn’t quite settle well with you. So you make do with a frown and dejected stare down at the math worksheet that he would’ve usually been pointing at and trying to make you understand by now.

But it looks like he still didn’t want to talk. Not even when all your trays of food have been cleared and lunch would be just about over in a little while.

“Satoru, seriously?” It’s Geto’s voice that has the snow-haired boy jumping slightly, a twitch of his shoulders and his crystal blue eyes narrowed when he pouts and glares at him with only the slightest, careful turn of his head.

“How long are ya gonna stay mad?”

He could’ve chosen to not come to school, could’ve chosen to go back to his private lessons within his too big home…

But he chose to come here, still. So it means something, right? It definitely does when he finally gets called out by the most sensible out of the 3 of you, finally losing his deity-like patience the moment you’ve given up, his small hands tightly holding yours to comfort you from the all too stubborn, hard-headed friend you both had.

Gojo Satoru was not good at talking. Sure, he can talk anyone’s ear off about Digimon, can go on and on about cakes and how they could be interlinked with the wide world of physics, why his favourite soda brand should be the only one allowed to exist and so many other arbitrary things.

But he was still no good at talking. He can’t speak wholeheartedly like you do, can’t express his emotions so softly like Suguru does— He can’t do it well lest it shows the vulnerability a Gojo does not reveal.

A Gojo does not show weakness. They were raised to never do so, that’s why he’s roughly pushing a neatly wrapped box of cookies that had been crumpled when stuffed into his Digimon backpack, hurriedly snatching up the note very obviously left behind by a certain maidservant for encouragement as he blushes and glares down at his hands.

‘You can do it, Young Master Gojo!’ ٩(^‿^)۶

“K-Kimi-chan said t-this is good apology food so!” The burning tips of his ears grow ever hotter as it’s accidentally shoved off the table and falling onto your lap, curious purple and your own eyes meeting; going down to the box of cookies— And up to the extremely red Satoru that looked like a massively adorable contrast to the waves of ocean blue of his starry eyes.

“S-So just eat it and— And… S-sorry, okay?!”

You should’ve known that your Satoru has always been this way, your hands going up to your cheeks as you perk up and smooth out the crinkled wrapping paper,

“Thank you…”

(“There! I said it!” His blushing face was growing increasingly ashamed as his amethyst-eyed best friend pats his back from behind, your arms wrapped around his neck from the front as you simply can’t help the smile stretched onto your face.

“I’m sorry too, Satoru.”)

(But you still have to break the promise. Just one last time as you pull away from his hug, taking a deep breath and squeezing Suguru’s hand as you prepare to ask for quite possibly— The impossible.)

——

“Ah.” Ieiri Shoko finally sees why you were so nervous when you asked her to come over to play, why the look on your face was so deathly serious and almost constipated looking that she thought you were inviting her over so as to declare a fight to death— Or something like that.

You weren’t exactly the most normal kid around.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” She nods towards him, clearly unimpressed with this situation as all 4 of you sat within Suguru’s room, warm, untouched milk in your cup as you all sat around the low table.

“Gojo.”

Wait. What? Did she just call him by his last name with no honorifics? This— Was the first time they’ve ever looked at each other face to face— To your knowledge, anyway.

Then there could only be one explanation as you watch your cute friend practically chug down another glass of strawberry juice out of pure irritation.

(“At least have some manners when people are talking, Satoru.” Your poor host can only sigh as he watches the boy pout and glare at him, his red cheeks puffed up.)

“You… Guys know each other?”

“Mhm.” Said like it was the obvious thing ever.

“Hmph.” Huffed out in disgruntled acceptance.

“Our parents do.” She twirls a strand of her hair, neatly done up into a cute half-up braid around as she takes another sip of juice. “Our families tried to set up an arranged marriage with us once.”

What?

“I told ya she was trouble.” Your Satoru’s the one leaning his head on your shoulder, hugging you tightly to him as he glares at the intruder that dared to try to steal his precious friend. “Are we done? I wanna go play!”

“Wait— Is that why you hated her so much, Satoru?” Now Suguru’s the one looking almost disgusted, shocked and everything in between as he grimaces at the spoiled kid. “She didn’t even do anything. It was her parents.”

“She’s guilty by default!”

“The arrangement didn’t go through though,” Her cup clanks against the coaster upon the low table as her posture grows increasingly lax and unlike the ‘proper, elegant’ first impression people would see her as.

“Cause he kept rejecting it and I kept skipping out on our play dates.” She even couples it with a wide, dismissive open-mouthed yawn as her head meets your other free shoulder.

(You’re out of shoulders to lend to Suguru.)

“Hell would freeze over before I even considered marrying someone like him, though.” Because if she was considering marriage candidates, she would want someone more docile, gentle. Someone who actually listens to what she has to say. Someone like y—

“Yea, yea!” He’s huffing angrily as he lightly shoves her head off of you. “I don’t wanna marry someone like you either, Shoko! Blehhh!”

And you feel a tug of your arm towards her in retaliation, your body simply going limp as you just allow it to happen. “(name) and I would be a good fit, though. Maybe I’ll ask my mama to set up a marriage with her.”

Oh. You recognise that lilt in her voice, that sneaky grin on her face—

She’s teasing him. And doing very well at it.

“Haah?! Have ya gone insane, ya ugly hag?!” And it’s almost painful— With how hard he tugged you towards him.

“Maybe you’ve failed to consider how unmarry-able you are.”

“Well, (name) thinks I’m cute, you hag!”

“Cute doesn’t mean handsome.”

Left. Right. Left. Right. You’re basically being pulled and thrown about like a ragdoll by two opposing forces as your eyes spin and your head goes even more confused. The only saviour and your saving grace now is—

“Suguruuuu!!!” Your hand reaches out towards him for help— Barely heard above the yelling between your two friends as your confusion whirls even harder. Yet all you feel is Suguru’s familiar hand holding yours— Before he joins the pile of limbs on the floor, tightly hugging your free front and stealing any free hugging space from both of your suitors.

“No. Satoru got to spend all his time beside you and you haven’t played with just me in a while.” And you know him. Know your pretty friend so well that you can almost exactly decipher what he meant.

‘I’m jealous. So this is your punishment.’

At least you all get along now, right?

——

“Another bowl please.” Your Pokemon themed bowl that your Mama found at the department store was absolutely cleared of rice, a stray grain sticking to your cheek as you grin and plead oh so cutely for seconds.

“You seem to be in a good mood today.” She chuckles as her thumb swiped at your face, her hand warm against your skin as you giggle.

“Mhm. I’m really happy today.”

“Oh? And why is that?” Her movements are slow and careful, pressing a button that made the rice cooker pop open carefully as she scoops up another paddle of rice.

“Cause I keep thinking about the movie I’m gonna watch this weekend.” The one that Satoru had been talking your ears off of as he speaks through his snacks, making Suguru click his tongue and Shoko grimace in disgust as you simply listen intently with a sparkle in your eye.

The one that you had so nervously asked for permission so that you could follow them to the theatre for as you stood before your contemplative Mama, skittishly looking up at her with a timid smile and the tooth that had finally fully grown in— An ‘adult’ tooth as everyone calls it.

“You’re growing up too fast, you know?” Her hand gently ruffles your hair as you giggle slightly, picking up your no-longer training chopsticks. You’re even using the ‘adult’ utensils too. “Soon you won’t even need me to take care of you anymore.”

“Nope!” You swallow the mouthful of rice and egg as you chew too hurriedly. “I’ll make sure to need you forever and ever, Mama.”

“Is that so?” A playful pinch to your cheek.

“Mhm.”

“And what if I grow old and wrinkly and can’t move anymore, hmm?” Her hands thread through your hair, lightly smoothing it out first before the feel of your hairbrush glides through.

(You’ve been a bit into doing your hair a lot recently. Shoko must have rubbed off on you.)

“Then I’ll buy you super cool robot legs so you won’t feel sad that you can’t walk!”

You’re already 10, after all.

(2 years until you present.)

previous masterlist next

[sensei-venus]

Mama’s Boy, Stress Relief (Robby Keene x Chubby!Reader)

(Unedited) (Mommy Kink, Tit Sucking, Cumming In Pants, Stress Relief, Reader taking care of her boyfriend)

The pout on Robby's lips was very telling of how he was feeling. It wasn't often that the dirty blond wear a genuine pout. It was something that only ever occurred on a blue moon. It was common to see him scowl or grimace at something. Not getting his way was something that happened a lot but nothing caused him enough pain to pout.

So when Robby walked into his and Reader’s shared apartment after a long day of work, she knew something was really wrong.

Her eyes glanced over at his from the corner of her eye. Watching as he put his bag down by the door and kicked his shoes off. Huffing as he slid them off his feet and tossed them to the floor. He slowly made his way into the kitchen, head hung just a little lower than what Reader would have liked from him. Robby tried to keep his spirits up no matter what so this was a big change from his usual vibe.

“Hey babe, you doing okay? How was work?” she questioned as he fully entered the room. She was busy doing the last of her daily work on the computer. Quickly shooting off one last email before closing her laptop and giving Robby her full attention. She cocked her head as she watched him open the fridge and pull out a cold bottle of water. Taking a few sips he hummed at her, eyes downcast as he finished a long sip from his drink. She didn't really like that look at all. She gave him a moment to speak but nothing ever came out leaving the room silent.

“Robby?”

“It was okay I guess…”his reply was short and bitter sounding as he looked at the floor.

This definitely didn't sit right with Reader which is why she quickly stood up and walked past Robby. This left him in the kitchen alone as she walked to the living room. Sitting down on the couch she threw a “Robby please come in here.” in the air. The soft sound of feet shuffling filled the air as he followed her voice into the other room. He sat his water bottle on the coffee table before walking over to her. He stood quietly in front of her for a good long moment before the silence was broken.

“Come here Robby, sit on my lap.” Robby's face slowly turned a light shade of pink. Color dusted his cheeks as he obeyed his girlfriend's words. Robby had always been a bit more resistant to some of Reader's approaches on some things. He was good at taking orders but he still had a bit of how you say, fright. Secretly he was scared he would mess up and cause the girl to become upset at him for not doing as she asked of him. Sitting on her soft lap was something he enjoyed but was also sacred of. Feeling her thick thighs under him was nice but also scared him. Mostly the idea of accidentally hurting her always came to mind more than he would have liked.

Once he was fully on her lap she gave him a small peak to the cheeks. He slightly relaxed at the small kiss. His body slowly going lax under her eyes and body slumping just a little. It made her smile as she held him close.

She gave him a small smile while giving his hand a squeeze while saying “I don't think that was a very good answer. Did something bad happen at work today?” Robby gave a small nod.

“Do you want to talk about it, Sometimes that tends to help.” She gave him another kiss on the cheek as she finished her statement. He shook his head with a deep sigh. His eyes wandered to the other side of the room, avoiding her gaze altogether. With that she gave him a grin.

She pulled at the bottom of her shirt, lifting it up and tucking it under her chin. Licking her lips she said “If that’s the case…maybe mama can make you feel better in another way then.” she grinned at his flushed face. His eyes slowly crept over to look back at her. Eyes darting to her exposed cleavage, bra doing just enough to hide her heavy tits. His eyes locked on the tiny metal clasp in the middle of the fabric. It sat right between her breasts snug against her skin.

With a flick of the wrist the little metal clasp was split open letting her heavy tits fall free. They spilled out hanging heavy on her chest. Her soft nipples sitting pretty all for him. Robby could feel his mouth watering just by looking at them. His eyes widen as he looks at her for some kind of confirmation on what she was hinting at. She gave him a small nod.

“Let Mama take care of you baby, let me make you feel better after such a hard day.” she pulls him down into her warm breasts. Robby moans as he snuggled into her soft flesh. His hands gently worked at her sides. Moving up from her chubby belly to cup her underboob. He did his best to hold each one in his palms but they easily spilled over in his hands.

He insticfuly licks his lips before bending down and sucking on a nipple. It hardens against his flat tongue. His eyes flutter shut at the new feeling. He relaxes as he uses her breasts as stress toys. 

“There you go, just relax for me. Such a good boy aren't you Robby. Your be so good for me right now.” She softly smiled down at him while he suckled at her. He moaned lightly as he drew closer to her. Her arms wrapped around him and rocked him a little.

One of her hands found yet back of his head, fingers laced through his brownish golden locks. Her fingertips scratched against his scalp just right to have him shivering. Her other hand rubbed at his back. Making circles over the fabric of the dress shirt he wears. It's just enough to have him completely zone out.

Reader stops herself from giggling when she feels something poking her belly. It's hard and warm through his pants. She can already guess what it is by the way his hips try to jerk. Over time the jerking starts to become despret rutting. Brushing against the underside of her soft belly. His breathing starts to become more heavy as the minutes. His suckling starts to get harder and harder, his grip on her other tit getting stronger as well.

When his legs jerk and his hips snap she knows.

The wet stain that starts to bloom at the front of his pants speaks volumes.

With a loud pop, he detaches from Reader’s overly sensitive nipple. It's hard and engorged, dripping with Robby’s spit. Robby looks at her with a dopey look. His eyes hazed over as he still clung to her waist. Lips were plump and red from his earlier actions.

With a smile Reader says “You feeling any better now that Mama helped you get some stress out?”

“Yes.”

“Umm good, next time you need to let some stress out you just come to me. You know I'm always here for you.” she gets closer to his ear.

“Mama always knows how to make you feel good, just remember that.”

Robby’s feels himself flush over her words and ducks into her neck.

Sometimes his girlfriend knows just the way to keep him on his toes at all times.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I am politely asking for a bit more on Königs son the angst is so yummy 🥺

König loves his baby boy... Until it starts to talk.

He absolutely adores the baby when it’s born, he can’t sleep at nights because he has to go and check if the boy is still breathing in the crib. König loves to hold him close and rock him in his lap, wants to give him baths and even changes the diapers, is so invested in the little chubby nugget that it’s a bit perplexing to see him so babbly cuddly towards someone who isn’t this poor Prince’s mother.

But when the boy doesn’t need him so much anymore, when he starts to show independence and express his own will, starts to walk and run and hide and talk back to him, it makes König uncomfortable.

He’s not in control anymore, he’s not needed. He’s the one who’s always away, he’s the unfamiliar face, the stern voice, the “strange man”, the one who makes the boy look angry or afraid. He becomes the bad guy.

It’s not bullying if his own son doesn’t prefer him, König knows it. But it still hurts to feel like an alien in his own home. It feels like a personal insult to be the last choice once again.

König’s son sees his father as a judge, a tyrant, a competitor because every time he’s home, mum’s all hearts and smiles. The parent who’s supposed to represent the whole world to our Prince suddenly becomes weak and clingy and needy.

And for what? For some big foreign man who stares him down as if he’s nothing but dirt under his boot. Asks him if he’s been nice to mum and if he’s helped her with the chores. When mum’s not in hearing distance, König tells him he shouldn’t trouble her with his crying and whining... If he’s nice and behaves, König will bring him toys from his “work trips”.

He rarely brings any because “he couldn't find anything”. Mum is the one who gets foreign delicacies, perfumes and the like. König’s son soon understands it doesn't matter how well he behaves because it will never be enough.

In his dreams, he tries to kill König every now and then. The old bastard only laughs. He laughs, even in his dreams because he’s weaker than him, not a threat at all, only entertaining when he gets mad… He laughs and just won't die.

Mum comes first, always. Whatever she says is the law. Whatever she wants, she shall have. The way his father worships this woman is eerie, disturbing, and invokes so much jealousy that König’s son is not sure who he’s even supposed to be jealous of. This stupid fucker or his mum who seems to lose brain cells every time this dick returns home and disturbs their peace?

Girls are both Madonnas and whores to him after he has watched this tyrant become a babbling, spineless mess over an upset woman. The world quakes everytime his mum is unhappy because her happiness is paramount. The only time he has seen König in tears was when his mum refused to talk to him one evening: the argument was about him, of course, and how König should apologize to their son, not to her. It takes manipulation and a passive aggressive lioness to make König say he’s sorry, but it does nothing to help the situation, quite the contrary. Who would give a fuck about a forced apology?

König’s son becomes a covert people pleaser who feels lonely wherever he goes. He’s a mama’s boy whose father seemingly hates him, an angel and a demon in one man, someone who believes his worth is measured by the things he achieves in life. How well he performs, how much money he makes, how independent he becomes. With women, another one always bites the dust, with work, he never seems to find his passion. And wherever he goes, whatever he does, nothing is ever enough.

The only way for these two to find a common ground is if the poor Prince manages to settle down with some patient, loving woman who gives him a child. A grandson or a granddaughter would make König fold and become a babbling mess once more; he's so pathetic and harmless with the baby that no one can be angry at him even if they wanted to. König would kill anyone and everyone who tried to hurt his family, even a blind man can see that.

Reconciliation happens slowly but surely, even if it's another kind of hurt to see the old man give this child all the love his son would've begged his knees bloody for. But beggars can't be choosers (and apparently a king's son has no crown), luckily König becomes softer in the head as he ages so a time may come when he thinks back on what he's done and finds the balls to wholeheartedly apologize. Might demand a touching family Christmas dinner and some whiskey though.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 9: Clarence House]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, drinking, drugs, Adventures with Aegon (ft. Sunfyre the Ferret), Willis Warning, infidelity, kids, parenthood, and no more hints for you, start reading!!!

Word Count: 8.9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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He returns in an afternoon of inescapable golden sunlight, hot and muggy, bumble bees and ladybugs wheeling lazily above tall grass, cumulus clouds like tufts of cotton in a sky the color of Aemond’s eye. You hear him talking to Cadi—she’s out in the front yard making mud pies, earth for sugar and sprinkles of stray pelican feathers—and then the weight of his footsteps on the sinking, sloping porch. He opens the door, never locked, and walks through the living room into the kitchen. From behind, his arms circle around your waist; and you’ve missed him so much—dreaming of waves and storms, chains and blood—that you have nothing for him but softness, gentle smiles and a voice hushed with relief.

“How was Norway?” you ask as you roll out dough on the counter. You’re making a buttermilk pie.

“Fine,” Aemond says, resting his chin on your shoulder. But he sounds tired, low.

You turn around to look at him, raising your fingertips to his unscarred right cheek; he won’t tolerate you touching the left. You leave a dusting of flour across his skin like snow, which you have never seen in person and likely never will. The air conditioner is humming. The little pink Panasonic boombox is playing Africa by Toto. “Did something happen?”

“I just missed you.” Then he brightens. “But I was greeted by some very welcome news when I got back to the house this morning.” He’s wearing his neon teal duffle bag. He drops it to the floor and unzips it; inside you glimpse several Nintendo game cartridges, presumably for Cadi. And you think: I’m always here making things, he’s always bringing them from far away. Aemond takes two small dark blue booklets out of a pocket in the inner lining of the duffle bag and gives them to you. On the front of each is embossed in gold lettering, along with an emblem of a bald eagle: Passport, United States of America.

“…Aemond?!”

“There’s one for you and one for Cadi. I submitted the forms a month ago, but even with expedited processing it took this long. Ridiculous. What does the government do all day besides hunt down social programs to defund?”

“But…but…” You open one of the booklets. A photograph of your own face gazes back at you, serious and serene, taken against the white wall of your bedroom before you knew about Aemond being a Targaryen, or Christabel, or Amir’s exodus to San Franscisco, or the profound futility of everything, it seems. “How…?”

“I took the pictures, obviously. The rest was easy enough to find. You store birth certificates and social security cards the same place where you keep the business records that Amir showed me. Typically people have to go to a passport agency in person, but Criston and I have ways around that. Your signature might have been forged on the applications…but I suspect you won’t be filing any police reports.” Aemond grins, pleased with himself. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“It’s definitely surprising.” You stare down at the passports, amazed. “Aemond…this is a lot. But you already know that.”

“The whole time I was gone, I was wishing you could be there too. And now I can take you anywhere.”

Your heart is pounding, helpless childlike exhilaration. “Where are we going?”

“Clarence House in London.”

London: it’s another world, a distant planet, a constellation whose name you don’t know, the lost city of Atlantis.“Clarence House? Is that a hotel?”

“It’s a royal residence,” Aemond says, amused. “It’s officially the home of the Queen Mother, but the whole family goes to Balmoral in Scotland every summer, and while they’re gone they often rent out one wing to guests, not just anyone, trusted people like distant cousins or longtime, aristocratic friends. And the Targaryens…”

“You’re marrying Christabel, and she’s nobility. So you’re basically nobility now too.”

“Yes,” Aemond admits, a little guiltily, perhaps. “But you’re the person I’m inviting.”

“And Cadi.”

Now he’s genuinely puzzled. “Of course. We couldn’t leave her behind.”

Maybe I can handle this. Maybe I can make this work.

And you climb onto your tiptoes to circle your arms around the back of his neck, embracing him, thanking him, thinking: Christabel will have his ring, his last name, his family’s mansion, his acquiescent kiss at the altar of the Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens…but I have what he’s made of, dreams, soul, bones in the abyss of an ocean of blood. Maybe that’s enough.

Maybe.

~~~~~~~~~~

First class, cheerful stewardesses, an array of magazines purchased from a gift shop in New Orleans International Airport: the National Enquirer and Food & Wine for you, The Face and Smithsonian for Aemond, and National Geographic Kids and Zoobooks for Cadi. The Zoobooks animal this month is the eagle, how quintessentially American. You are served antipasto Italiano, shrimp cocktail, Perrier, and champagne (Cadi gets a Shirley Temple) over the Atlantic Ocean. Aemond shows you and Cadi how to chew gum to pop your ears as the pressure builds to pain. When there is turbulence and he leans in close to tell you everything is fine, Aemond smells like Wrigley’s Doublemint, cologne, Marlboro cigarettes like the logo on his red and white jacket. You press your palm to the cool window, and clouds float by through the gaps between your fingers. The world is older than anything you could fathom; the world is brand new.

There is a black limousine waiting outside Terminal 3 of Heathrow Airport. The driver gets out to load the sparse luggage: Aemond’s teal duffle bag, a frayed and battered rolling suitcase that you borrowed from your mother, a Super Mario Bros. backpack that you found for Cadi at Kmart. Aemond doesn’t have much time to spare, only 4 days, practically a long weekend; but it feels like an eternity stretches out in front of you as the limousine zooms through the narrow, winding streets of downtown London, Starship’s We Built This City piping from the radio. You have never had more than a few uninterrupted hours with Aemond before. Now you will have a hundred.

The London air is cool, grey, misty; fresh rainwater bleeds into puddles, dark pools of mirrorlike reflections. With the windows rolled down and clean slate-colored air unfurling in your lungs, Aemond points to the landmarks you pass: Gunnersbury Park, Chiswick House and its gardens, cathedrals, museums, shopping districts, centuries-old cemeteries, stations of the London Underground, the River Thames, Hyde Park, the Ritz Hotel, Buckingham Palace, Saint James’ Palace, and at last Clarence House. It is a boxy white four-story townhouse with columns at the entranceway that remind you of the Targaryens’ estate on the shore of Lake Verret, the beautiful yet temporary home they call The Last Desire.

Aemond says that the entire first floor will be yours for the duration of your stay. There is the Lancaster Room, red and gold, and the Morning Room of creams and weak watery blue. There is the Library, the Dining Room, and the vibrantly pink Horse Corridor named for its ample equine paintings and sculptures; Cadi immediately proclaims this to be the best part of the house. She lingers in the hallway examining the art pieces as you and Aemond proceed to the Garden Room, which looks out upon a sea of lavender and shrubs meticulously shaped into a maze no higher than your waist. It has a golden harp and a grand piano, and a vast bed large enough for at least five people, in your estimation. I wonder if Aemond has ever tried that, you think distractedly. I wonder if there are temptations I can’t satisfy for him.

“You and Cadi can have this room,” Aemond says. He keeps wincing and bringing his hand up to the left side of his face; you doubt he’s even aware of it. “I’ll sleep on one of the couches.” Of course he will; Cadi thinks you’re just friends, and she’s aware he’s getting married to someone else. He knew exactly what it would mean when he bought a passport for her. “Queen Elizabeth and her husband Philip lived here before she ascended to the throne. They loved it so much that at first they refused to move to Buckingham Palace, which is the traditional residence of the reigning monarch. But their insolence was worn down. No one gets to break the rules.”

I shouldn’t be in this place, you keep thinking as you gaze around at the portraits on the wall, the stiff unnatural photographs of royals, the vases, the chandeliers, the fireplaces, the plush intricate rugs, the garden on the other side of the windows. People like me don’t belong here. “Aemond, are you alright?”

“It’s my eye,” he confesses with an uneasy, apologetic smirk. “Sometimes flights…the altitude changes…it aggravates the nerve damage. It’s like needles in my skull. But I’ll be okay.”

“You fly a lot for work, don’t you?” You hurt yourself for Viserys, in body and soul.

“I do,” he agrees. He unzips his duffle bag and produces a bottle of Percocet. “Why do you think I carry these around?”

“Take one,” you say. “Lie down, rest. Cadi and I can entertain ourselves for a few hours.”

He’s relieved, he’s grateful. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. You can even borrow the bed.”

“Back between your sheets, huh?” Aemond says, in pain but smiling through it. He draws a semicircle from the part in your hair down to your chin, a weightless sweep of his fingertips like a kind breeze. “You are incurable. You can’t resist me.”

“I have my own scheme in mind.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” You grab the front of his Marlboro jacket, appropriate for the overcast London weather. He belongs here, this house, this city, this way of life. He wasn’t made for the primordial heat of the swamplands. You fold into him, close enough to tease, to quicken his heartbeat and momentarily clear the wounded furrows from his brow. “I want my pillows to smell like you. I want to breathe you in all night. It’s how I sleep best.”

“I’ll try not to disappoint,” Aemond says, a little stunned; but he’s elated too. For a moment, you’ve distracted him from his suffering entirely. “I’ll roll around all over them. I will mar the bedding irrevocably, the Queen Mother will never invite me back.” And he watches as you leave, his gaze transfixed and meditative and—more than anything else—hopeful.

“Hey, honey,” you say when you find Cadi in the Horse Corridor, poking a 100-year-old oil painting that she is definitely not supposed to be touching. “Let’s go explore and grab some dinner. Aemond isn’t feeling great, but we’ll hang out with him later.”

“Is it his face?”

You are startled. She knows so much. “Yeah, actually, it is.”

“He showed me,” Cadi says casually, still peering up at the horse; and you remember the day when he took her out to the front yard after she said she wished you were more like her friends’ mothers. “He even let me touch it. Radical, right? It’s so gross, but super cool too.”

Aemond couldn’t stand for me to see how he was maimed, but he forced himself to endure it for Cadi. “What did he tell you?”

“That I should appreciate having a good mom, because not all parents treat their kids right. He said his dad let his eye get crushed. And he told me he’d bet $1 million that you’d snap someone’s neck if they hurt me like that.”

You reach out to skim your fingers through her dark disheveled hair, smiling faintly, fondly. Cadi doesn’t seem to mind. “He wasn’t wrong.”

“Can we get fish and chips?”

“Totally. I have 50 British pounds in my wallet, I assume that’s enough for dinner.”

“Wow! How much is 50 pounds in dollars?”

“I have no idea,” you say. “Let’s go spend them.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In the evenings, you, Cadi, and Aemond gather around the television in the Lancaster Room and help yourself to the extensive VHS collection stocked for guests. You let Cadi pick: Raiders Of The Lost Ark, The Terminator, Firestarter, the Karate Kid, Aliens. You make popcorn in the extravagant kitchen in the basement of Clarence House and the three of you devour bowlfuls of it as you giggle on the couch, engulfed with throw pillows and playfully kicking at each other beneath the blankets. One night at Cadi’s request you bake Betty Crocker’s Party Rainbow Chip cupcakes with mix purchased at a Tesco down the street; on another you make hot chocolate to sip from antique tea cups. Each day, Aemond has new destinations picked out to tour. You ride the Underground like true Londoners to the Hampton Court Palace, the British Museum, Westminster Abbey, the Natural History Museum, Big Ben, Trafalgar Square, Tower Bridge, the National Gallery, the Kew Gardens, Imperial College where Aemond received the petroleum engineering degree he never wanted.

As he shows you the classrooms where he attended lectures and seminars—you aren’t sure what the difference is, though you can sense that there is one—Aemond doesn’t talk about math or oil drilling. Instead, he tells you and Cadi about the people he learned about in the history classes he managed to slip into his exacting schedule like splinters into flesh: Sir Harold Gillies who pioneered plastic surgery in his treatment of World War I veterans, Phillis Wheatley who was enslaved as a child and became a renowned poet and abolitionist, Boudicca who led a rebellion against the Roman invaders and upon her defeat succumbed to some tragic, enigmatic doom. Aemond loves stories like this, you can see the light that sparks into the crystalline blue of his right eye. There is nothing he deems more heroic than people who took circumstances beyond their control and made something worthwhile out of them.

The night before the flight back to New Orleans, you’re staring at the crown molding of the Garden Room as Cadi snores softly from the other end of the massive bed and silvery moonlight covers the world. You can’t stop your thoughts from roiling like the North Sea; you can’t stop thinking about desks and chairs and books and clever blue-blooded girls jotting down in their notebooks not cake orders but mathematical equations or dates of conquest. When you breathe in the smoke and cologne Aemond left on your pillows, it tastes dark and forbidden. You climb out of the bed, roomy Bob Dylan t-shirt, pink cotton shorts, hair loose and wild, bare feet.

He is outside pacing around the sundial in the center of the garden, puffing on a Marlboro cigarette and pondering the full moon. “Can’t sleep?” Aemond asks, exhaling smoke as he glances over at you.

“You must think I’m stupid.”

“What?” He stops pacing. “Why?”

“Imperial College,” you say. “And the sorts of people who go to places like that. You must have known a lot of women who could recite Shakespear and name all the kings of England, all of Jupiter’s moons. Things I never learned. Things that I have no use for. I don’t write books or design machines or study the secrets of the universe. I bake cupcakes.”

“And they’re brilliant,” Aemond says, smiling. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“No?”

“No,” Aemond insists. “I think that if you’d been born where I was, you would have done far more with it.”

“Aemond…” You walk across the wet cobblestones to meet him by the sundial. It’s been raining again. The night air is chilly, foggy, painting you with goosebumps. “You still have time to become who you want to be.”

“No. I don’t.”

It’s coming from somewhere, distant but still audible, a parked car or a nearby building: Kyrie by Mr. Mister. Aemond chuckles, flicks the end of his cigarette into the lavender bushes—surely against the rules—and takes your hands in his.

“I remember this,” he says as he dances with you slowly, clumsily; you don’t know the steps. Still, you don’t want him to stop. “In your kitchen.”

He remembers everything. “Right before we went to Olive Garden for the first time.”

He sighs, pretending to be exasperated. “Of course that’s the part you committed to memory.”

“I’ve held onto a few other details too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like how small the back seat of your Audi Quattro is.”

“A limousine would be far more comfortable. I should invest in one.”

You laugh as he twirls you and you trip over your own feet; he pulls you upright before you can fall to the slick cobblestones. And you think: This is real. No matter what happens between him and anyone else, what we have is safe and extraordinary and real.

“I’m glad you’re here, Cupcake,” Aemond murmurs through your hair, holding you without seeking more. “You and Cadi.”

You want him again, or you’re so close to wanting him that the line is less of a boundary than a quagmire, indistinct edges and quicksand that can drag you down to drown in it. “I never knew that this was possible. Thank you, Aemond.”

“It can be like this all the time.”

Not all the time, you think, knowing that there will always be Jade Dragon, the Targaryens, the stock market, the world, the past and the future, Christabel. But some of it.

Is that enough?

~~~~~~~~~~

Willis agreed to you and Aemond taking Cadi out of the country on one condition: that you return her to him the second you arrive back in Napoleonville. It’s late Tuesday afternoon when the plane’s wheels hit the runway and squeal to a halt. Aemond has left his red Audi in the Park-and-Ride lot. You collect the car and soar west on Route 10 into the red-gold horizon, chasing the setting sun.

“Daddy!” Cadi bellows when she throws open the front door of the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office, waving his gift bag excitedly. Inside is a refrigerator magnet, several packages of McVitie’s Digestives in different flavors, and a miniature red-coated Queen’s Guard to keep on his desk, perpetually covered with disorganized papers and crumbs from innumerable desserts. From her poster on the wall, Heather Locklear simpers at you. At the center of the dartboard, poor Tommy Lee is impaled in four different places.

“Comment ca va, cherie?!” Willis opens his arms to hug Cadi when she barrels into him. He guffaws, his eyes are shiny; he has missed her. “Ya had a real good time, I reckon?”

“It was totally tubular. But I’m glad I’m home now. Can I get a horse? His name is Patches and I love him.”

“Huh? What the hell ya need a horse for?” He peeks around Cadi to look at you, a curious blue gaze beneath the thick dark bangs of his mullet. “What’s she talkin’ ‘bout, sugar?”

Beside you, Aemond groans irritably. Then you hear a voice from one of the holding cells, almost always empty: “Hey, cake lady.”

“Aegon?!” you and Aemond say at once, and sure enough, when you check the last holding cell there he is: unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, blue shorts, rainbow flip flops, hair like he’s been in a hurricane, a new eyebrow piercing.

Aemond asks Willis: “What did he do?”

Willis picks up a clipboard from his cluttered desk and begins reading. “Possession with intent to distribute cocaine—”

“I told you, I wasn’t distributing anything! It was for me!”

“Aegon, shut up,” Aemond pleads.

“Possession with intent to distribute marijuana, possession of drug paraphernalia, possession of methamphetamine less than 28 grams, operatin’ a vehicle while intoxicated, possession of MDMA, possession of alcoholic beverages in a motor vehicle, operatin’ a vehicle with a suspended license, resistin’ an officer…” Willis flips the page. “Speedin’, reckless drivin’, disturbin’ the peace while in an intoxicated condition, possession with intent to distribute Xanax, theft—”

“What the hell did you steal?!” Aemond demands.

“Burritos. I forgot my wallet at home.” Now Aegon is indignant. “But I saidI’d get them back! They didn’t need to call anybody about it!”

“Aegon, Taco Bell does not offer payment plans!”

“I can release him to ya, I guess,” Willis tells Aemond in a slow drawl.

“I really appreciate that. I’m so sorry about him, I’m absolutely mortified, I’ll pay whatever fines you want—”

“Wait, no,” Aegon says, panicked. His hands are gripped around the iron bars. “I don’t want to leave.”

Aemond stares at him. “You’re asking to stay in jail…?”

“I can’t go home. Stephanie’s there.”

“Of course she’s there. You knew she was flying in for the wedding.”

“Please let me stay here until she goes back to Monaco.”

“Definitely not. How’s everything else?”

“There’s something wrong with one of the Lake Verret rigs. Viserys mentioned a…a…I don’t remember, a dirt dump or something.”

“A mud pump?!”

“Yeah! That’s it. That’s what he said. It exploded.”

“Fuck,” Aemond hisses, then remembers that Cadi’s still there. She gives him a sly grin. You messed up, she means. Aemond looks to you, apologetic, disappointed. “I’m going to have to drop you off and then head straight home. There are messes to be mopped up.”

“No,” Aegon moans as Willis unlocks the holding cell and then wrestles him out of it when Aegon resists. “No, I’m a felon! I’m a danger to the public!”

“Don’t,” Aemond snaps, and this time his brother listens.

You say goodbye to Cadi—she barely notices—but as you go to follow Aemond and Aegon out of the Sheriff’s Office, she has a question. “Aemond?”

He stops. “Yeah, Cadi?”

“Can I go to the wedding?”

“Weddin’?!” Willis exclaims. “Already?!”

“Not mine,” you say.

“You really want to go?” Aemond asks Cadi with some reticence. But he seems to be considering it.

“Well, yeah. Mom said she and Amir are going. You’ll be there. Lots of cake will be there. And I’ve never been to a wedding before. I want to see what it’s like.”

Aemond turns to you, then to Willis, searching for permission. “It’s alright with me,” Willis says. “As long as someone there is keepin’ an eye on her.”

“It’s your choice,” you tell Cadi. “If you’re interested, I have no objections. But you have to be nice to Christabel.”

“Christabel?!” Willis says.

“That’s Aemond’s fiancée.” And there is a collective uncomfortable silence: Willis nodding slowly as he squints at you, Cadi chewing on her thumbnail, Aemond looking down at his Adidas sneakers, Aegon staring vacuously at the Heather Locklear poster on the wall.

With Aegon squeezed into the back seat, Aemond drops you off at the home Cadi calls the Fall-Down House. The new house hasn’t closed yet, but probably will in the next week. The adolescent gator is sunbathing in the last of the daylight in one corner of the yard; you can hear the pink Panasonic boombox inside playing Another One Bites The Dust.

“Ho, you’re back!” Amir cries, jubilant. He hugs you energetically, staining you with the flour on his hands; he’s been watching the bakery while you’ve been gone and keeping every cent of the profits in recognition of his labor, as agreed upon. “How was London?”

You give him his souvenir: a purple t-shirt with Princess Diana’s face on it. “Rainy. Wonderful.”

“Did you have any kinky sex in the royal grandma’s bed?”

“No,” you say, laughing. “But it was…I don’t know how to describe it. Calm. Normal. Easy. Like we could live that way forever.”

“So you’ve decided to be his Camilla.”

“Some moments I have. Other times I haven’t. But more and more, I just…” You try to decide what you mean. “The thought of giving him up feels impossible. And Christabel…they’re so distant with each other, so disconnected, so platonic. Their relationship doesn’t feel real. Maybe I can ignore it. Maybe this is the best I can hope for.”

Amir pushes his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose and raises an eyebrow. “It might feel more real in three days.”

The rehearsal dinner is on Friday; the wedding is only 24 hours later.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You really should consider writing a cookbook, dear,” Alicent says from where she sits across from you. The dining room table is covered with flickering pink candles, bouquets of wildflowers, drinks garnished with cotton candy and Pop Rocks. Balloons bump against the ceilings, their long ribbons streaming down like the tentacles of a jellyfish. The stereo is thumping out Caught Up In You by 38 Special. Everything is pink and red: the colors of love. Yet just like at the engagement party, no one is talking about the couple getting married tomorrow. You could almost forget that there’s going to be a wedding. That makes it easier; and if denial is the terrain you live on now, so be it. That is far less agonizing than the alternative.

“Oh, no,” you demur, taking a sip of a cotton candy cocktail. You exchange a glance with Aemond, sitting several seats down from his mother. He is in a suit—black and white, fitted, faultless—and smiling, proud of you. “A book?! I couldn’t. Not in a million years.” I never even finished high school English.

“But all of my friends from home are captivated by your recipes, darling, and it would be so much easier if I could simply send them a copy of a cookbook rather than trying to describe every dish to them! Please consider it. Do you promise?”

“That I’ll think about it? Not too taxing a commitment. I suppose so.”

“Good,” Alicent chirps, then turns to whisper something to Criston, who drapes an arm briefly across her shoulders and gives her a reassuring little embrace. Amir is chatting with Aemond about San Franscisco. Christabel is talking to Helaena, who has been forced into a voluminous, magenta taffeta dress that she clearly despises; her chameleon Dreamfyre lurches around the table, occasionally stealing tastes of people’s food. Daeron, with Tessarion perched on the back of his chair, is trying to discuss something called seismic testing results with Viserys but getting ignored. Viserys is deep in conversation with Christabel’s father, the marquess, a large loud man whose booming voice drowns out everyone else. The two of them seem delighted, celebratory, very much in their own world. Their schemes have come at last to fruition. Christabel has several younger sisters in attendance—her bridesmaids—but no mother. You gather from pieces of dialogue you’ve overheard that her mother died when she was a child, a terrible and irreparable loss. Otto is so bored he’s flipping through a picture book about Kiribati. Aegon’s wife, Princess Stephanie of Monaco, is a headstrong, charismatic, and rather critical woman with short dark hair. She notifies Aegon each and every time he fails her, which happens frequently: You’re using the wrong fork. You missed a button on your shirt. You haven’t fucked me properly in over two years. You didn’t send flowers to my grandma’s funeral. This is evidently Aegon’s worst nightmare; he has disappeared upstairs in an effort to escape her.

Dinner is finished, and dessert has been brought by the servants. It turned out more like a crepe cake than a Napoleon cake—the layers of puff pastry didn’t want to fluff up as much as they should have—but no one seems to notice. This time, you and Amir knew the dress code expectations. You are both wearing black to fade into the backdrop like shadows, like distant memories. You are invited guests, but you are also locals, inferiors, recipients of charity.

“Where’s Aegon?” Helaena says. “He has to try this cake, it’s delicious! The cherry jam cuts the heaviness of the cream and pastry dough and makes it a perfect dessert for summer! And the color is delightful! It looks just like blood!”

“Where the hell is he?” Viserys demands, looking around, twisting in his chair. “It’s his brother’s rehearsal dinner, for Christ’s sake. One night of this importance and he can’t handle it? I swear to God, if he’s snorting or smoking anything up there I’ll have him committed to an institution—”

“I’ll find him,” you offer as you stand from the table. You have to visit the bathroom anyway, too many glitzy pink cocktails; two birds, one stone. You depart from the table and Aemond’s gaze follows you, a low heat that is building towards incineration, a baiting promise of dark euphoria that you can no longer pretend you don’t want desperately, defenselessly. Christabel gives you a sweet little wave. She is dripping in gold—dress, heels, jewelry—and seems happier tonight, more self-assured. Perhaps with the wedding so close, her trepidation concerning Aemond’s commitment has evaporated. Surely it is too late to call off the ceremony now. Tonight they feast, tomorrow they recite their vows, and then…

But no, you don’t think about the honeymoon. You will not allow yourself to. It can’t exist to you, and that is how you’ll survive this. Christabel will be in one universe, you in another, two timelines that never cross like something out of Star Trek. And the way she and Aemond interact is so impersonal, so untactile, that it is not so difficult to treat anything beyond chaste pecks on cheeks as an impossibility.

At the top of the staircase, Vhagar is lurking. She wags her long twiglike tail when she sees you and licks the knuckles of your left hand. You give her a pat on the head—and then several more when she whines as you try to leave—then at last she lopes off down the hallway.

Aegon is exactly where you’d assumed he’d be. He’s in his bedroom hunched over his computer and hammering furiously at the keyboard. There’s white powder on his fingers and in his thin mustache. On the screen, bizarrely, is what appears to be neon green grass and an ox-drawn wagon like the ones from the pioneer days. Sunfyre the ferret is stretched out across the bed napping, his angular face resting on his paws.

Aegon whirls around to face you. He is wearing a lime green satin suit but has forgotten to put on a shirt under it. “What? What? What do you want? I’m playing Oregon Trail. I have dysentery.”

“You have what…? Never mind, it’s not important. You need to come downstairs and eat some dessert. People are wondering where you are.”

“I’m busy.”

“If you don’t make an appearance on your own, Viserys will come looking for you. Also there are some Cap’n Crunch treats I left on the kitchen counter that you might be interested in.”

“Consider me tempted. I’ll be down momentarily.”

“You better be,” you tell Aegon, then retrace your steps back to the kitchen. Amir and Christabel are both there getting cans of Pepsi from the fridge and making very cumbersome small talk…or perhaps only Amir thinks it is that much of a burden. Christabel is chattering blithely away about different types of wildflowers. He gives you a look like Oh thank God, an excuse to escape and wastes no time heading back to the dining room.

“Did you notice what’s playing now?” he asks you just before he vanishes, then points towards the stereo in the grand foyer. You listen; it’s Money For Nothing by Dire Straits. “You think they know this song is about class warfare?”

“You should tell them,” you joke.

“Yeah, if I want to end up on Unsolved Mysteries.” Then Amir is gone.

“How are you doing?” you ask Christabel to be polite. You open the refrigerator and start hunting for your own can of Pepsi. “Excited? Nervous? You seem a little more relaxed than the last time I saw you. Are the wedding jitters finally dissipating?”

“They are,” she says, and when you glance back at her she is wearing a bashful sort of smile. It’s not an expression you can read. You resume digging through the refrigerator for a can of Pepsi; Amir and Christabel might have taken the last ones.

“That’s good,” you say noncommittally, hoping she’ll leave. But Christabel doesn’t leave. She seems to have something she needs to say. Just as you spy a lone can of Pepsi at the very back of the refrigerator and lean in to grab it, she proceeds to unburden herself.

“Well, you know, I was so concerned about me and Aemond before. I had no conviction that he especially liked me, and we never had anything to talk about, and he was so dreadfully undemonstrative…I was just beside myself, truly. I didn’t know what to do. But I feel much better about everything now. Norway was so good for us.”

Norway?

You close the refrigerator, your ice-cold Pepsi can clutched in your hand. You’re going cold all over. Slowly, you turn towards Christabel, glittering in her gold dress.

Norway???

“He took you on the North Sea trip.” You hear the words, but it doesn’t feel like you’ve said them. They sound flat and dazed.

“It’s a bit of a secret,” Christabel says; and again, her smile has no cruelty or sharp awareness in it, but her cheeks are pink. She’s blushing. What does she have to be embarrassed about? “My father doesn’t know. He wouldn’t approve. But I just felt…I felt ready, you know? I’m sure you understand what I mean. You aren’t so clinical and aloof about everything. I had to know if Aemond and I really had something between us before we got married.”

“You felt…ready?” Ready for what? Ready for WHAT, Christabel?

“I asked Aemond to take me with him. I begged, actually.” She giggles. “I won’t try to be proud about it! And finally he said yes. We stayed at a lovely hotel in Bergen, and during the day he would have to fly by helicopter out to the rigs, but at night…”

You’re staring blankly at her. You can’t believe what you think she’s going to say. Surely it must be something else, anything else—

“It wasn’t my plan to ever be intimate with a man before marriage, but sometimes…things change. Minds change, circumstances change. And I knew I wanted it. And it went so well! Now what do I have to be nervous about? All the uncertainties are resolved. Now we just sign the paperwork and start our lives together.”

He took her to Norway.

He slept with her in Norway.

“I hope it was just as good for him,” Christabel muses, a compulsive sort of oversharing. But she has had a few cocktails and she thinks you’re nonjudgemental and there’s probably not a single other soul she feels she can be truthful with…so why not the girl who got knocked up at prom and had a baby at seventeen? Surely she’s in no position to judge. “It’ll be even better once we can…you know. When we’re officially trying for a baby and there’s no need to worry about any precautions. I want Aemond to enjoy himself as much as possible. I want to be a good wife to him.”

You feel dizzy; you feel violently ill. And now you see everything: Aemond kissing her with his mouth open and ravenous, his hands between her legs, his hips pressed to hers, peeling off her clothes and learning how to make her moan, make her wet, make her come, and you think of how careful he must have been with her, a girl with no past, no ex-husband, no childbirth that nearly killed her, no stretchmarks and no baggage, just a smooth pristine rivulet of flesh that was so pure and uncontaminated it was weightless, and you can hear—though you don’t want to, though it feels like it will kill you—how tender he was, how encouraging, not a dominant who drinks down fantasies like a vampire sustained by blood but just a man, and a man who has at last found a woman he doesn’t need to grab, bite, bruise, handcuff to a bedpost to feel satisfied with.

He took her to Norway and he never told me.

You are saying something, and Christabel is nodding appreciatively, accepting the sage wisdom of a tarnished life. Your words don’t matter. They are folktales and charms, the croaks of bullfrogs, the whispers of the wind through Spanish moss, the Morse code of ripples in the water of the bayou. You are a novelty and your counsel is a souvenir; one day when she is living in California or Argentina or Australia or Alaska or her ancestral castle back in the U.K., Christabel will tell Aemond’s children: Once I met a nice single mom from Napoleonville Louisiana, and she told me to follow my heart and not let anyone shame me for wanting to be close with my soon-to-be husband.

Vhagar trots into the kitchen and begins nudging her massive head against Christabel’s bare knees. “Hi, big girl!” Christabel coos as she pets the blue merle Great Dane, clearly accustomed to this. “Who’s a giant gorgeous girl? You are!”

What did I expect? I knew they were getting married. I knew they were going to sleep together.

Yes, you knew it, but you hadn’t felt it, and now you have.

I can’t do this, you realize. I thought I could but I can’t.

“Christabel?” Alicent is calling like a windchime. “Darling, there are just a few more things we have to discuss before tomorrow, will you come back to the table please?”

“On my way!” Christabel replies obediently, and she gives you a quick, impulsive hug before vanishing.

I’m going to be sick. I’m going to have a heart attack. I’m going to drop dead right in the middle of this fucking kitchen.

Leaving your can of Pepsi forgotten on the countertop, you escape to the living room and then out the French doors into the garden. You run past the pool all the way to the pond full of multicolored fish you once hadn’t known were koi. You drop to your knees, then lie down on the cold cobblestones, and when it hits you again—Aemond touching her, Aemond loving her—you rupture into sobs that are breathless and shuddering. You try to stifle the noise with your palms; you clasp them over your mouth and smother your wails. It feels like you’re being ripped apart; it feels like you’re in labor, but there is no end, no consolation of a new life, no point at which your body chooses whether you live or die. It is only a razored wheel that turns in you again and again and again, shredding muscle and splitting bones.

There is a hand on your shoulder; someone is patting it awkwardly. You look up to see Aegon standing there. “Sorry,” he says. “You look…not good.”

“I’m really not good. I’m fucking terrible.” Your face is soaked and stinging with tears, your voice is strangled.

“Do you want some coke?”

“No, Aegon.”

“Do you want a ride home?”

“From you? Yeah, for sure, getting impaled by a stop sign would be a great next move for me.”

“I’m totally fine to drive.”

“Can you just pull Amir aside without anyone else noticing and tell him to say his goodbyes and then meet me in the driveway, please? He drove me here. I need him to take me home.”

“Okay,” Aegon says, and then: “Thanks for the Cap’n Crunch Treats. Thanks for remembering something I like and caring enough to bring more. No one really does that around here.” And he’s gone before you can think of a reply.

To get to the driveway without going though the house, you climb over a 5-foot wrought iron fence swarmed with rosebushes and ivy, no easy feat in a black Kmart dress and matching ballet flats. You acquire a dozen shallow gashes on your hands and forearms, but make it to the Ford Escort just in time for Amir to meet you under the full, cloudless moon, tossing his car keys from one hand to the other.

“What did—?” Then he sees your face. He gasps, knowing how bad it is. He’s never seen you like this. He didn’t know it was possible for you to look like this. He unlocks the Ford Escort and joins you inside, turning the key in the ignition. “What the fuck did Aemond do to you?!”

“I have to go home. It’s over, it’s over, I can’t do this.”

Amir is spinning out of the driveway. “Did he hurt you, did he—?!”

“He fucked Christabel in Norway,” you say, sobbing uncontrollably. “And I know I have no right to be jealous, I know we don’t have a conventional relationship, I thought I could handle this but I can’t. I can’t stop picturing him with her, and hearing it, and I…I…I don’t understand why this hurts so goddamn bad.”

“Babe,” Amir says gently, a palm on your trembling thigh. “You’re in love with him. That’s why.”

“This is killing me,” you whisper. You’re shaking all over. You feel like you’re battling for every breath.

Your best friend—your only friend—is quiet for a long time. “Don’t go tomorrow,” Amir finally says. “You don’t need to see the wedding. You shouldn’t put yourself through that. I’ll go, I can handle the cake alone, especially if Cadi’s with me to help with carrying plates and stuff.”

You don’t say anything. You stare out the nightscape window and mop tears from your face with McDonald’s napkins you find in Amir’s glovebox.

“Did you hear me? I don’t think you should go to the wedding tomorrow.”

“I won’t,” you agree hoarsely. “I can’t watch them have my wedding.”

“Willis is dropping Cadi off in the morning, right? I’ll pick her and the cake up from your house and bring her back when it’s over. You can tell her whatever you want…you have another cake order to work on, you’re sick, you’re injured, your mom needs a ride to the doctor, whatever.”

“Okay,” you whimper.

“Hey, look at me.”

You do, sniffling, shivering, in agony.

“You don’t deserve this. You deserve better than this.”

I don’t think I do. I think if I did, it would have happened by now. But you know Amir will not accept this answer. “Okay,” you say again, trying to make yourself believe it.

In the gravel driveway of your sinking house, Amir asks if you want him to say. You tell him no, you want to be alone, you have to think, you have to plan. Really, you just don’t want anyone to see you this shattered. It’s humiliating, it’s like you’re an animal, like something less than human needing to licks its wounds in a dark place. You walk into the Fall-Down House and flip on the kitchen light, artificial yellow luminance. You don’t start the air conditioner. You don’t touch the Panasonic boombox. You stand there mindlessly in the sounds of the bayou: cicada screams, owl hoots, the far-away hissing of gators. The wedding cake is in the refrigerator, banana bread, cream cheese frosting, a kaleidoscope of wildflowers painted by Amir’s expert hand. He’s leaving. Aemond’s leaving. Everyone is leaving.

There are tires crunching on gravel in the driveway, there are footsteps on the sloping porch. He is able to yank the door open because you never lock it. He blows in like a storm that kills.

“What the hell happened?!” Aemond shouts. “Why did you leave?! You didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye to me—”

“You took her to Norway.”

Aemond’s face goes from furious to lost. “Why would she tell you that?”

Not That’s not true, not Let me explain, not It didn’t mean anything. Your stomach sinks, a basket full of stones. “Because she thinks I’m her friend.”

“It wasn’t…” Aemond sighs. “It was a last-minute thing, and it was her idea. She really, really wanted to go to Norway, and I figured…you know…what’s the difference between the wedding night and a few weeks before it? So yeah, it happened—”

“Oh God,” you whisper, starting to sob again.

“And then I came home to your house, to your doorstep, because I missed you the entire time. The entire time, every hour, every minute, and there are no exceptions, okay, are you listening to me? I took her to Norway because I had to. I took you and Cadi to Clarence House because I wanted to. What I do with her is a reflex, an obligation, I’m on autopilot, I’m thinking of you to get myself hard, I don’t know how else to express to you how completely different these situation are in every single goddamn way.”

“She said it was good,” you say huskily, tears snaking down your cheeks that are raw from trying to dab them dry.

“Of course it was good for her!” Aemond flings back. “I’ve had a lot of casual sex, I know how to make women come, it’s a math equation, it doesn’t mean we’re soulmates!”

“I know I have no claim to you, but I…” You gaze out the kitchen window, dark and still, nothing to see but stars and lighting bugs. “I can’t do this.”

Aemond asks, kindly now: “What do you want?”

I want to not have to beg you to choose me. “I want this to be over.”

“No,” he says, panicking. “No you don’t.”

“I do.”

“You’re going to give this up as soon as it gets painful? I’m not worth fighting for, what I can do for you and Cadi isn’t worth a little pain? Because I’m no stranger to it either. You think I’m not hurting, you think nothing ever keeps me awake at night?”

“You could leave your prison any time you want to. But instead you built a brand new one around me.”

“You don’t understand what the kind of responsibility I’m beholden to feels like.”

“Yeah, a town named after Napoleon is the right place for you,” you seethe, enraged. “You’ve felt so fucking small your whole life that now you’re starving for what it tastes like to be in control. But I can’t let you destroy me. I can’t let my daughter grow up watching me settle for less than I need from a man. She’ll learn to live the same way.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“Aemond,” you say, and you wait until he looks at you. “Do you really want children?”

When he answers, his voice frayed and his right eye misty. “I love Cadi.”

“That’s not what I asked. Do you want children of your own with Christabel?”

“I have to,” he says, miserable.

“No,” you plead. “You cannot have a baby with that girl. You can’t, Aemond. You are going to ruin so many lives, not just your own.”

“I have to,” he says again.

“Then get out. Viserys owns you, and Viserys wouldn’t want you here. He would want you back at the mansion impregnating your child bride.”

“She’s a legal adult, she’s 19, and she wants me, she begs for me, I’m not twisting her arm—”

“Then go!” you roar, striking him hard, both palms to his chest. Aemond doesn’t budge. “Get out, go home, go have kids you won’t give a fuck about just like Viserys never cared about you. Go repeat the cycle all over again. I’m done. I can’t be a part of it.”

“I won’t be like him,” Aemond swears.

“You will be. You already are.” You shove him again, but still, Aemond doesn’t move. You know what he’s waiting for, you know the right word to say. But you can’t get it to launch from your lips; it catches in your throat like a blade through the windpipe. “Get out!”

Your fingers hook into the lapels of his black suit jacket and stay there; you can’t let go. You’re both breathing heavily; you can hear it, you can feel the heat in the air. You keep his jacket gripped in your hands, he can move no closer, no farther away. When he leans into you, you breathe in his smoke and cologne; when his hands cradle your face, you feel the benevolent power that once gave you peace.

I want him. I need him. Not forever, no, I understand that’s not possible. But just for right now.

You look up at him and Aemond kisses you, his lips and tongue claiming you like untouched land; he puts down roots, he slits the jugulars of trespassers.

Here. Now.

You drag him down with you. When you drop to the floor, you strike the back of your skull against the scuffed, sloping wood and bite back a yelp.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Aemond says, though it isn’t his fault; he reaches for your head and cushions it with his right hand. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” You’re tearing open his white shirt; tiny translucent buttons go flying in every direction. Your palms glide over his chest, up to his throat, to his jaw, to knot in his hair. He reaches beneath your dress to slide off your panties, then buries his fingers between your legs. You moan helplessly, needfully, spreading your thighs wider for him. No man has ever been able to do this to you before: to make you forget everything, to make you feel—if only for a moment—beloved, worthy, chosen. He’s kissing you like he knows this is the last time. You’re touching the left side of his face and he doesn’t even notice, he won’t realize until later that there was a time when he was cured.

Aemond pulls his wallet out of the pocket of his suit pants, flips it open, and roots through it until he finds a condom. He starts to rip it open, moving with desperate speed, dire impatience.

“No, don’t,” you say. “Please don’t. I want all of you.” And I won’t get another chance.

He exhales in deep, ecstatic relief; he wants it too. You’re soaked, you’re ready, you’re aching for him like mending bones. He eases himself into you, gasping, and you are stunned by how good it feels already, how close you are, every rope of nerves and muscle glimmering with an opening heat that builds higher and higher, the reverse of a tornado finally touching down on earth. His hands are linked with yours and pinned to the floor above your head; he’s kissing you, he’s moaning into you, he thrusts deeper and harder when you beg him to do it.

Aemond untangles one hand from yours and reaches low to stroke you. Your fingers find his again and catch him, capture him, bring his hand back to the floor where it can be entwined with yours and his weight can hold it to the scraped wood. “I don’t need it, I’m close. Stay here. Stay with me.”

“I’m here,” he whispers, panting; and the friction of his body against yours overtakes you, and when you come it is blinding, bone-breaking, a whirlpool that traps you for what feels like over a minute, soaring highs punctuated by the illusion of fading over and over again until you think you can’t stand it, and only then does it end, Aemond collapsing on the floor beside you covered in your sweat and your wetness, you feeling the remnants of him bleeding down your bare thighs.

You drag yourself upright—muscles sore in your belly and back and thighs—and roll onto your knees so you can stagger to your feet. You tug on your panties so he doesn’t drip out of you onto the floor. Then you straighten the skirt of your black dress, turn on the little pink Panasonic boombox—it’s a U2 song, Where The Streets Have No Name—and begin washing a muffin tin that was left in the sink.

Aemond stands up and runs a hand through his hair, getting his bearings. He looks down at his pants and fixes his zipper and belt. He tries to close his shirt and then remembers you tore off the buttons. They lie scattered across the floor, useless.

As you scrub the muffin tin, you hear Aemond’s footsteps behind you. His palms begin at the small of your back and then skate around your waist to encircle you.

“Stop,” you tell him; and immediately his hands fall away. Aemond waits for you to say more, but you don’t. You don’t even look at him.

He walks to where the kitchen becomes the living room—you can tell by the creaks in the floor—and again, he waits. After a while he says: “I’ll call you when the new house is ready.”

“No. Have Criston handle it. I don’t ever want to talk to you again.”

“You get that I’m in love with you, right?” Aemond forces out, and when at last you turn to him there is the metallic glistening of tears on his right cheek. “I never feel this way about anyone. I don’t know how to handle it, I didn’t even know it was possible. But it’s true.”

“It’s not enough,” you say simply, and resume scrubbing the muffin tin.

He waits in silence, thirty seconds, a minute, two minutes. Then the door opens and shuts—like the jaws of a beast—and he’s gone.

[sidekick-hero]

My heart's desire: you

(steddie | 1.7k | mature | written for @steddie-week day 3: holding me by Warlock | AO3)

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Season/Series 04, Eddie Munson as Kas the Betrayer (Dungeons & Dragons), Monster Eddie Munson, Protective Eddie Munson, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eddie Munson Needs a Hug

Eddie never expected much from life, if he was honest.

Sure, once upon a time he had dreams. Big ones. Go to LA, become a rock star, leave this shithole of a town behind. Find his people, a place where he belonged. Not a freak, but someone worthy.

Deep down he didn't really believe they would come true - not for people like him - but it was nice to have them. They helped him fall asleep at night and even more to get up in the morning.

All those dreams bit the dust when he did. The dead don't dream, right?

Right.

It's just that he's not exactly dead. But he's not alive either. So what does that mean for his dreams?

He doesn't sleep anymore. Doesn't need to. Sometimes he manages to drift, his body completely still while his mind is somewhere else.

But when that happens, he's not dreaming. He just remembers.

Remembers his mama and how she used to dance around the house with him to Elvis or Roy Orbison. Blue Bayou was her favorite.

Remembers his father's pale face as he left Eddie behind, running from the law while Eddie stayed behind to take the fall, just because he couldn't let a cop bleed to death because of his father's schemes.

Remembers Wayne, his gruff voice and warm hugs. His unconditional love and unwavering support. The one person who always believed in him, who gave him a home and a family when Eddie had nothing.

Remembers practicing his songs with the boys and endless afternoons filled with music and campaigns and laughter. His own little corner of the world where he was free to be himself, loud and unapologetic.

Remembers Dustin and Mike and Lucas and Erica. Red and Buckley and Wheeler. Their fierce determination, their selflessness, their love for one another. He had been helpless but to join them, even when everything inside him screamed to run, to hide, to never look back.

Most of the time, though, he remembers Steve. Which should be weird, since they only spent a week together, him running from an angry mob, Steve helping him while also trying to save the world. Sure, he remembers the looks they shared, the touches, the pet names, and the flirting. But it was stolen time, stolen moments without real substance - the reckless abundance of someone who never expected to make it out alive.

He didn't. And yet here he stands, hidden among the trees surrounding the Harrington estate, watching Steve through the windows of his kitchen as he makes himself a sandwich.

It's not the first night he's spent like this, and it won't be the last.

Ever since he clawed his way out of the Upside Down, he's been watching over them. His friends, he thinks. They had been his friends. When he was still human. Can you still have friends when you're not alive, or are they like dreams, out of reach when your skin grows cold and your lungs stop breathing?

He doesn't know. All he knows is that when he came back different, wrong, he still had his memories. He remembers the love and affection he once had for them. That's why he watches over them, he tells himself. Because he had loved them once.

A few months ago, when the portals to the Upside Down were wide open, everyone had gathered here at Steve's, so Eddie had been there, too. Not inside the house, of course, but watching. Guarding it.

Not being alive makes him almost invincible. He has claws on his hands and fangs in his mouth. He's faster and stronger than ever. Any monster that tried to sneak up on them was killed in seconds, a few minutes at most. Soon they didn't even try anymore.

It's as if they somehow know that Eddie is the strongest predator around, and that these humans are his.

They defeated Vecna in the end, closing the gates once and for all.

And Eddie is still here. Still not alive.

Still watching over Steve, with the full moon above him and the warm late summer wind blowing through his hair. The clouds covering the moon provide enough cover for him to come closer, still hidden in the darkness as he continues to watch.

Time feels strange sometimes, but he thinks he has been watching Steve for as long as he can remember.

A lonely boy with strawberry blond hair, waiting to be picked up from preschool long after everyone else has left. A gangly teenager on his first day of middle school, looking lost and alone again. The same boy, taller now, finally filling out his form, sun-kissed skin and windswept hair. Popular, attractive, but still lonely deep inside.

The Eddie he had once been had been intrigued by Steve Harrington. The boy had been an enigma, even more so when Dustin and Lucas, and sometimes even Mike, sang his praises as if he were their greatest hero. And then he had seen again and again how badass Steve was, how brave and self-sacrificing. How much he was willing to give for the people he considered his own.

Back when his heart was still beating, it had been beating for Steve. Can you still love someone when your heart is no longer beating?

Eddie doesn't have an answer to that question. All he knows is that the sight of Steve brings a warmth he can almost feel, a flicker of something that might have been hope if he still had the capacity for it. And for now, that flicker is enough to keep him watching, night after night, hidden in the shadows.

Tonight, however, something feels different. Eddie watches as Steve steps out of the kitchen, his eyes scanning the darkness, almost as if he senses a presence. Eddie tenses, ready to retreat further into the shadows, but something holds him back.

Steve takes a few hesitant steps towards the edge of the property, his gaze unwavering. "I know you're out there," he calls softly, his voice carrying a blend of fear and determination. "I don't know who or what you are, but I know you're watching."

Eddie's breath catches—or it would have, if he still breathed. He remains still, his eyes fixed on Steve, who continues to inch closer. The moonlight breaks through the clouds, casting a silver glow over the yard, and Steve's eyes widen as they meet Eddie's.

"Eddie?" Steve whispers, disbelief and something else, something Eddie can’t place, coloring his tone. "Is that really you?"

For a moment, Eddie considers fleeing. Every fiber of his being screams at him to retreat into the safety of the shadows. To hide his monstrous self. But the look in Steve's eyes, the raw mixture of hope and sorrow, roots him to the spot. He steps forward, emerging from the shadows, his form illuminated by the moonlight. "Hello, Steve," he replies, his voice rough from disuse. "I'm... different now, so you be the judge if it's still me."

Steve stares, taking in Eddie's altered appearance—the fangs, the claws, the otherworldly aura. Yet, despite the changes, there's something unmistakably Eddie in his eyes. "How?" Steve asks, his voice breaking. "How is this possible?"

Eddie shakes his head. "I don't know. I woke up in the Upside Down after you all left, not alive but not dead either and clawed my way outta there. I've been watching over you, all of you, ever since."

Steve takes another step closer, his hand reaching out tentatively. "But… Why didn't you come to us? We thought you were gone. I - We missed you. Dustin -"

"I didn't know if you'd accept me like this," Eddie admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not the same person I was. I’m a monster now."

Steve's hand finally makes contact with Eddie's arm, and the touch sends a jolt through both of them. Eddie's skin, cold and unfeeling for so long, seems to come alive under Steve's touch. The sensation is overwhelming, flooding him with emotions he thought he'd lost. "You're still Eddie," Steve says firmly. "And that's all that matters."

For the first time since his transformation, Eddie feels something akin to hope. Maybe, just maybe, he can find a new place in this world, even in his altered state. And maybe, just maybe, he doesn't have to watch from the shadows anymore.

As they stand there, bathed in moonlight and the warmth of newfound connection, Eddie allows himself to believe that he can still be part of something, that he can still matter. And for the first time in a long time, he feels a glimmer of peace.

But more than peace, he feels a longing, a deep-seated yearning that he can no longer ignore. The way Steve looks at him, with such trust and acceptance, stirs something inside Eddie that he thought was long dead. He realizes that he's not just watching over Steve out of a sense of duty or lost affection; he's watching because he still loves him, with a love that doesn’t need a beating heart to stay alive.

"Eddie," Steve whispers again, his voice softer now, filled with an emotion that Eddie can't quite name but feels deep in his bones. "Stay with me. Don't disappear again."

Eddie's heart, or whatever remains of it, aches at Steve's words. He wants nothing more than to stay, to be close to Steve, to feel that warmth he's been yearning for. He’s been so cold for so long. "I'll stay," Eddie promises, his voice trembling with emotion. "For as long as you'll have me."

Steve's eyes shine with unshed tears as he pulls Eddie into a hug, their bodies fitting together as if they were always meant to. In that embrace, Eddie feels more alive than he has since he died.

And so, under the silver light of the moon, Eddie and Steve stand together, holding onto each other with a love that defies the boundaries of life and death. For the first time, Eddie dares to believe in a future where he doesn't have to hide in the shadows, where he can be with the person he loves, and where he can finally find a place to belong.

As long as Steve is willing to hold him like that, he doesn't need to be alive. All he needs is to be here in Steve’s arms.

[suguruslut]

During your pregnancy

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴

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🐉𝒯𝒶𝓉𝓈𝓊🍳

–he has read every single book on pregnancy there is, and religiously follows a pregnancy blog and sends in questions every.single.day. He needs answers on how to help his woman!

–Tatsu already does the cooking, cleaning, housework, but during your pregnancy his workload somehow triples. He literally invents new things to clean, and why he has to clean them for your health

– “Do ya have any idea what dust can do to a fetus? Do ya?! The damage is irreversible!”

–“I’m pretty sure you just made that up, Tatsu.”

– “Did not! Now move outta the way so I can take on those germs!”

–will stop whatever he’s doing to make you whatever it is you’re craving; doesn’t matter if it’s a five minute recipe or a five hour recipe. Whatever you want, babe. And if you’re feeling insecure about your growing body, Tatsu will be the first to shut those feelings down. He knows it isn’t that easy, but no wife of his will be moping around feeling bad about herself

–While Tatsu is usually vocal about his worries, he tends to become quiet during your pregnancy, not voicing his concerns because he doesn’t want to make you anxious. He knows it’s hard enough being pregnant and dealing with hormones…the last thing Tatsu wants to do is stress you out

–really, though, Tatsu is such a worry wart. Always so concerned when you go outside, concerned when you’re moving around too much, concerned if you don’t want to eat or aren’t drinking enough. It’s touching, but sometimes gets on your nerves a bit

–in addition to worrying about you, he also worries about the baby. He hides this anxiety by talking to your stomach every night, speaking a way that reassures both the baby and himself

– “Don’t you worry there, little dragon…mama and papa are takin’ real good care of ya. And we always will. Little dragons never have to fly alone.”

–massages! Tatsu attends a class where he learned what exact places ache the most during pregnancy, and he’ll massage your troubles away every single night

–Tatsu is insanely protective anyway, but when you’re pregnant? Omg. Unless you’re at work, he does not let you out of sight. Even then, he sometimes spies on you from outside, and acts as an unofficial security guard for your building

–fortunately and unfortunately, Tatsu is a stickler for budgets, so you can’t go all out on adorable baby clothes and accessories. You wore him down about the dragon-themed crib, though. And the dragon themed crib mobile. But after that, he cut you off, already having prepared an itemized statement of what you guys needed to save for come delivery day

–at the end of each day, Tatsu likes to spoon you in bed with a hand on your stomach. Occasionally you’ll hear him whisper promises of protection, how he can’t wait to meet your little dragon and help them navigate life. He often falls asleep like that, and has worry-free dreams about how life will change once you give birth

–for now, Tatsu is happy to just experience the lows and highs of pregnancy with you, reading up on anything that can make it easier for his beloved S/O

🐅𝒯𝑜𝓇𝒶𝒿𝒾𝓇𝑜🍰

–ohhhh man. If you thought Tatsu was overprotective, wait till you get a load of Tora.

–you go NOWHERE alone. Not happening. Shopping, work, walking, going to the laundromat, Tora is right at your side, glaring at anyone that looks or speaks to you. He is not risking anything…not after he finally has a normal life, with a normal wife and normal child on the way. Nothing will hurt you, ever.

–since Tora doesn’t think he’s naturally comforting or domestic, he borrows a lot of books from Tatsu on how to be a good parent. He did something similar when you two started dating, but now, he feels an immense amount of pressure to be a perfect dad. There’s literally a stack of parenting books at his nightstand, and he reads them with his glasses on like an old man

–weirdly, Tora’s emotions also mellow out a lot during your pregnancy. Instead of being his usual spirited, loud and obsessively passionate self, he does his best to be level headed and speak evenly. He doesn’t want anything to upset you, and doesn’t want to upset you further when you’re already in a bad mood. Tora keeps his cool so you don’t have to. Scream away!

–of course you can wear his clothes when you’re pregnant! Tora will be the first to suggest it after your own clothes are too itchy or too tight. His big shirts comfort you, and he loves seeing you wearing them, especially with your little round stomach beneath it. Makes him feel like he is capable of supporting you by giving you the shirt off his back

–Tora knows what a budget is…he just doesn’t care! When you go shopping for baby things, Tora goes all out. If he sees anything tiger themed, forget about it–he’ll fight any mother around for the correct size. Tiger themed pants, pajamas, socks, bibs, shoes, everything. He’ll take the lot, and he doesn’t care how much it costs!

– “Your total is 43,000 yen.”

– “43,000 yen?! Here’s a coupon I got from a guy I know. That’ll help with the monthly payments, right?”

–This applies to you as well. You’re craving Indian food? Done. You want a foot bath machine? Here you go. Tora read about how uncomfortable pregnancy can be, and if there’s something that can alleviate your annoyance, consider it done. Even if that annoyance is him, lol…he’ll take himself out STAT

–Tora won’t try to be intimate with you during your pregnancy. If you initiate it, sure, but even if he’s so horny he can barely stand, he isn’t going to come onto you. To him, it was disrespectful to ask that of his wife when she was busy carrying their child–and you know how Tora feels about disrespect. He is the last person in the world who wants to disrespect you by annoyingly asking for sex all the time

–treat maker!!!! Will make you any sweet treat you want, and will let you eat it down to the last crumb. He is keeping an eye out for gestational diabetes, though.

–On slow evenings or afternoons, Tora finds himself just staring at you, wondering how this is all possible. It was almost inconceivable to him, that you chose him, that you chose to carry his child; and he’ll tell you all about how thankful he is, how beautiful you are during your pregnancy, even if you don’t agree. Tora won’t accept your insecurity, and showers you with affectionate talk and compliments that make you blush

– “Trust me, { Y/N }, the only way our baby is gonna be cute is if they look like you! A lil tiger with big brown eyes…and claws!”

🐕ℳ𝒶𝓈𝒶🥡

–ngl, you being pregnant would almost be as rough on Masa as it was on you. Dude is so unprepared for the mood swings, sickness, cravings, anxiety, everything. He has no idea what he’s doing, but he tries his best

–Masa is always startled by your outbursts and little annoyances. He doesn’t get how something that never used to bother you before could bother you now; he learns his lessons, though, and next time he won’t bring tuna home for dinner, because yikes! You did NOT like that one bit

–Unfortunately Masa doesn’t have a strong stomach, and if you’re vomiting, he won’t be able to hold your hair back or anything. When you’re done, though, he’ll bring you some water and tuck you into bed, putting on your favorite reality tv show. But if chunks are flying, he’ll be flying out the front door

–forgets to read the books Tatsu borrowed him, so has no idea about any of your pregnancy symptoms. Hot flashes? Food cravings? Sudden fatigue? Leg cramps? These things baffle him, and you have to very patiently explain it to him when they happen. Then he is very understanding and will try to help

–often forgets that you’re pregnant. Which is weird, considering you waddle instead of walk, and your stomach is three times the size it normally is. Masa will suggest you go ice skating, or roller blading, and you’re sitting there with a bowl balancing on your stomach like ???? He can be clueless, but always finds something you can both do safely. Like video games, and more video games.

–Masa can’t cook, but he gets very good at picking out foods from the convenience store that you like. He grins proudly when you surprisingly like the Hokkaido Potato Beef Croquette and Raisin Butter Biscuit Sandwich combo, glad he did something right. You’ll need to be the one who monitors your sugar intake, though, cuz Masa would let you eat sweet treats all day long

–seriously, this boy won’t deny you ANYTHING. He literally can’t disappoint his pregnant wife. It would kill him. Doesn’t have enough money for the fancy pillow you want? He’ll steal it. The last pair of pink baby shoes was taken? He’ll snatch it from the lady’s cart. No matter if it puts him in debt or gets his ass kicked, Masa will make it happen

– “No, really, {Y/N}, I have no idea why that guy’s banging on our door at two a.m.! He must have the wrong address! I didn’t borrow any money from him for that neck massager, I swear!”

–Masa tries really hard to hold down a job during your pregnancy. Usually you’re the breadwinner, but he did listen to Tatsu when the boss told him to do everything he could to take the stress of responsibility off you. Although he hates his job, Masa would never let you know it; he’ll come home with a smile and fake cheerfulness, happy to see you and your unborn child after a long, tiring day

–one thing Masa is naturally good at is calming you down. If you get into one of your annoyed pregnancy moods, Masa can always make you smile again, whether it be through sweet words or silly actions. One second you’re screaming into your pillow with uncontrollable, random rage, and the next you’re giggling at Masa using his dirty socks as puppets with a dramatic storyline

–the baby moving inside you actually freaks Masa out. You have to forcibly hold his hand on your stomach so he can feel the baby kicking, and even then, he has a weirded out expression on his face. Eventually, though, Masa gets used to all the strange pregnancy happenings, and is constantly touching your stomach, even offering complete strangers the chance to feel your baby kicking, which you do not appreciate.

–he is confused at how much baby clothes you guys need. There are different sizes for different times? Why do babies grow so fast? Do you really need a crib, or can the baby just sleep on the couch? Masa learns a lot about babies, and the boatloads of information blow his mind

–it is inconceivable to Masa that you feel insecure about your appearance during your pregnancy. You, the most beautiful and perfect person he had ever seen, feeling bad about yourself? No. Masa will ramble on and on about how your swollen stomach and big thighs only make you look more gorgeous. One thing he will not tolerate is you speaking badly about your appearance when your body is literally so incredible that it’s able to create and carry a whole ass baby while looking drop dead beautiful

–when you put him in charge of buying you maternity clothes (you can’t wear his clothes, because he’s smaller than you), Masa takes it very seriously. Despite his seriousness, he comes back with Zebra striped sweats, cheetah print tees and even a fake gold chain that says MOMMA on it. Wild, yes. Also very comfortable.

–Masa is his usual affectionate self with you, even more so in public, his way of being protective by showing everyone how close you two are. He tends to overdo it, but is quick to dial it back if you get annoyed at his PDA. Masa does initiate sex once in a while, but he won’t push it if you’re not in the mood, happy to return to his regularly scheduled program of cuddling on the couch together, humming some obnoxious pop song to your stomach (and to you)

🐉 🐅 🐕

[sweatervest-obsessed]

In Your Dreams, Whatever They Be - Part 1

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader (uses she/her pronouns)

WC: 11,223

TW: Alcohol, violence, stabbing, boats, spiders, sarcasm, jealousy, trauma, trauma bonding, blood (and lots of it), nightmares, Vecna, mentions of death, smoochy kisses, mentions and flashes of past traumas, Billy Hargrove gets mentioned, brief allusion to second base, graphic descriptions of violence, graphic descriptions in general. If I'm missing any please please please tell me and I will happily add them!

A/N: So this was supposed to be a quick and easy 4k one shot, and now I'm in a two parter, rewatching the series to try and make it as accurate as I can be. I forgot how himbo Steve really is. It takes place starting with s4 e5, and it goes to s4 e7 or 8, I don't remember. This is based off of my favorite song of all time, and the fact that they used it in this show makes me so unbelievable happy. I hope y'all enjoy this one! any and all constructive criticism is welcomed and wanted!!!

Part 2

“What’s going on in there?” Steve gently rapped on your head with his knuckles, “hello? Anyone home?” 

He watched as your eyes shifted back into focus, looking at him. 

“It’s nothing Steve.” 

“Yea and I’m the queen of England.” 

“No need for the attitude,” You grumbled, sitting up, attempting to get off the boys bed before 

this turned into a full blown thing with interrogations and prodding in places you didn’t want Steve to see at the moment.

He softly said your name, grabbing your wrist and rubbing his thumb over it. “Will you please talk to me?” 

Your eyes fluttered closed at the contact. A soft inhale and exhale to remind yourself to calm the tears before giving Steve a smile. 

“I’m seriously okay Steve. If it was something that was actually worth anything, you’d be the first person I told.” 

He contemplated your answer, studying the way you wouldn’t look at him. “Pinky promise?” 

You looked over at the clock on his night stand before jumping up and dusting off the proverbial dirt from your thighs. 

“Actually, I, um, I have to go—Steve. Um. I’ll see you later!” You quickly grabbed your bag off the ground of his bedroom floor and quickly made your escape down the stairs and out the front door. 

Steve flinched as it slammed shut and sat there, pinky still outstretched wondering what the actual fuck just happened. You never ever ditched him like that, let alone ignored a pinky promise. 

You, on the other hand, were suffocating. The room had suddenly become too suffocating and Steve—sweet, lovely, kind, perfect Steve immediately noticed, and you just couldn’t let him go poking where he didn't need to be. 

Your headaches had started to come back, but it was nothing new considering your period was about to start anyways. And the last thing you wanted to do was make Steve all worried about some stupid little headache—

“Oh for fucks sake.” You grumbled again before turning right back around on the porch and storming back into his house again. 

Steve had just made it down the stairs when he collided with you in the hall, the door slamming shut a second time. 

“What are you doing—-“ 

“We made that stupid Fucking New Year’s resolution for a year of no poor communication. So. I’ve been having headaches.” 

“…..headaches?” 

You nodded and ran a hand through your hair. 

“Yeah.” You whisper, now suddenly feeling a lot less confident about the situation. 

Steve was silent, his mind racing a million miles an hour. Out of all the people in the world, he absolutely downright refused to let you become the next mangled body. He had seen Eddie’s face when he relieved what Chrissy had gone through, and he had seen Nancy after they had discovered Fred; for fucks sake he was there when Max was levitating in the cemetery. He couldn’t lose you. He seriously couldn’t lose you. Because he didn’t know what he’d do with himself if you weren’t with him. He’d loose his fucking mind—that’s what he would do. He’s become some crazy old man like Murray or—-

“Steve.” You took his hand in yours and narrowed your eyes. “Are you listening to me?” 

Steve shook his head and squeezed your hand. “I said, I usually get them the week before my period, and they’re right on time. But with the whole….” 

Steve nodded and looked at your hands together, eyeing the ring you wore on your pinky finger—a pinky promise to him that you always wear.  

“But.” You yanked his hand a little bit to make him focus back up on your face. “Because of everything going on I just didn’t want you to freak the fuck out. But that’s what’s been on my mind.” 

Steve let out a shaky breath. “Yeah…yeah okay I just…” 

“I know.” Even when you could potentially be in true, real danger, you managed to stay level headed, or at least put up a really good front; it’s what Steve admired most about you, and simultaneously loathed about you. 

“I know everyone is at the Wheeler's house but do you want to make them come over here?” 

Steve squeezed your hand in response to your question, his voice still gone. Somehow snatched away with the rest of his mind from the moment he realized you could be taken from him. 

“Okay, do you want me to call them?” 

Steve was a very physical person. He showed his love through actions—getting an eyelash off your nose, buying your favorite flowers, and so forth. But he truly showed his appreciation for someone through small touches; a hand on a shoulder, the squeeze of a hand. But when Steve pulled you into a hug, you were a little surprised. He may love small actions of touch, he rarely was one to give hugs or full body contact, even to someone he has loved for a long time. The boy was getting more and more self conscious ever since the Fall of King Steve and the Bullshit of Nancy Wheeler. 

“Steve I promise I’m okay I promise.” 

“But what if it’s not just any headaches…” he whispered into your hair, tightly holding onto you, terrified to let you go. 

“The second I start getting psycho visions or freaky nightmares, you’ll know okay?”

“Y-yeah.” He sighed, just holding onto you for a bit longer. You rested your head on his shoulder, forehead against his neck, and slowly started to sway with him, trying to drag his mind away from the pit he was dragging himself into. 

He complied, still drowning in ‘what-if’s’. He listened as you started to softly mumble a song to yourself as the two of you stood in the foyer of the Harrington Household, sunset peaking through the windows. 

“Stars shining bright above you, Night breezes seem to whisper I love you, birds singing in the sycamore tree, dream a little dream of me.”

Steve focused on the sound of your breathing, the beating of your heart, the low hum of your voice. 

“Say nighty-night and kiss me, just hold me right and tell me, you’ll miss me”

“I should be comforting you.” He grumbled, as you continued to sing and sway. 

“While I’m alone and blue as can be, dream a little dream of me.”

“What’s the name of the artist again?” He whispered 

You stopped short and looked up at him, taking only half a step back knowing Steve might lose his shit if you stopped being in direct contact with him. 

“Steven Harrington this is only my favorite song of all time, and you don’t know which version I like the most?! Jesus, you’d think my person would know that.” 

“Okay but that doesn’t answer my question.”  His heart fluttered a little bit when you called him your person. 

“You’re a pain in the ass.” 

Just as Steve went to sass you back, the phone rang, making him jump. Steve stared at it while you were looking at him, watching him flinch every time it rang. “You gonna answer it, or just stare at it.” 

“Well….”

“Steve.”

“I’d really rather not.” 

“It could be important, Stevie.” 

His insides started melting as you called him that. “I really don’t want to.” 

The phone stopped ringing and he smiled cheekily at you before taking your hand and bringing you out towards the patio, sliding the doors open with ease. 

“What are you…” 

“I want to keep dancing with you without any distractions.” 

You blush a bit and shake your head. 

“Okay hot shot. Show me your moves then.” 

“Only if you promise to keep singing.” 

The both of you stepped out onto the patio and closed the sliding doors behind you. He brought you around the pool to the small yard behind it, offering his hand once more. 

“You, Steve Harrington, are something else.” 

He slid his arm around your waist and took your hand in his. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” He whispered, kissing your head.  

“Depends.” 

“On what.” 

“Stars fading but I linger on dear.” 

You shrugged. And started swaying again, resting your head on his collarbone. 

“Still craving your kiss.” 

“Oh you crave my kiss huh?” 

You rolled your eyes and continued singing, smiling up at him. 

“I’m longing to linger till dawn dear, just craving this.” 

Steve cheekily kissed your jaw, causing you to smile and squeeze his hand. 

What the two of you missed was the consistent ringing of the Harrington Household phone, that stopped ringing after the fourth or fifth attempt. 

“Sweet dreams, till sunbeams find you. Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you. But in your dreams, whatever they be, dream a little dream of me.” 

Steve took the opportunity to spin you around, interrupting your singing. Your laugh was music to his ears, besides the actual singing you were blessing him with. 

“Stars fading, but I linger on dear, still craving your kiss.” 

Steve leaned down and kissed you softly, interrupting your song. You smiled and kissed him back, tasting your cherry chapstick on his lips. 

“You stole my chapstick, I knew it.” You mumbled before swiping your tongue against his bottom lip. 

“Nuh, uh.” He whispered back, moving his hand to your jaw, pulling you a little closer to him. 

You were interrupted by the screaming of Steve’s name and the pounding on the front door. 

The both of you jumped apart, hearts pounding. You looked at Steve while he turned and looked towards the inside of his house. 

The both of you heard the strings of curses from a small army when nobody answered the door, followed by yells about where he kept the spare key, and why was it locked because it was never locked Steve let go of you, much to both of your dismays, before moving towards the slider, only to be interrupted by a “are you SERIOUS Hanginton?” 

Dustin’s head had popped over the fence near the edge of the woods, scaring the shit out of both of you. 

“What the hell Henderson!” You yelled, stumbling back into a chair. Your heel caught on the side, and the metal left a little gash on the top of your foot as you fell into the lounger, the definition of ungraceful. You let out a yelp as you collapsed 

“Shit, Shit, are you okay??” Henderson yelled, attempting to jump over the fence, and only failing slightly. 

Steve rushed over to your side, panicking since the last time there was blood near his pool, well….

You were examining the gash, taping it lightly and flinching at the sting. But then you saw Steve and immediately switched gears into calming Steve down, completely ignoring the blood dripping down your foot. 

“Steve. Hey.” You put your hand on his shoulder but Steve was freaking out. His eyes were wide, and his breathing was erratic. “Handsome, look at me.” You whispered to him, taking his jaw, aware of your audience. 

You loved touching Steve, and he loved touching you, in every way each other's minds could think of, but the two of you tried really hard to not be super all over each other in front of the others. It wasn’t that you were hiding your relationship per se, you both were just private people when it came to your relationship. You were both taking it slow, wanting to make sure everything was just right, earning trust and figuring out one another without the influence and nosiness of your beloved friends. They knew you had at least kissed a couple of times, and were official enough to hold hands in public, but what they didn’t know was that you had been dating each other for over a year now. In fact, you were sure this was it for you—your endgame. You felt such an all consuming love for him, and he knew it too. He was terrified of the ways you would go to bat for him, which is why the sight of your blood near his pool sent him into a slight panic attack. But your touch sent a little shock through his system and he looked up at you, eyes wide and a little manic, lips parted. 

“I’m okay. We’ll just get a bandaid or tw—“ 

The next minute unfolded to be one of the most overwhelming both you and Steve had experienced. First, Henderson had finally scaled the fence and fell over it with a thud and a loud yell. Then, Nancy shoved open the sliding doors, which meant the rest of the kids, and Robin were probably in tow. Dusting had managed to run over to you and started to freak out about your foot, panicking outwardly like Steve was panicking inwardly. 

Nancy finally made it over to the both of you, but only looked at Steve.

“Steve? What the fuck! Where the hell have you been? Y/n wasn’t answering her phone and so Max and Lucas went over to her house—“

“Nance…” 

“and her mom said she was at work but she hasn’t been at work because I was just there and she didn’t take over for me and——“

“Nancy.”

You squeezed his hand. 

“And then you weren’t answering your phone and we called so many ti—“

“Holy shit what the fuck happened to your foot!?” And there was Robin, kindly interrupting Nancy’s ramble. 

Nancy whipped around and looked down at your now slightly blood soaked foot. It was seriously nowhere near as bad as it looked, but because you had been free bleeding trying to help Steve and then everyone burst into the backyard, your foot looked worse than it was. 

“Oh my god!” She squeaked out, thinking back to Barb, and looked at Steve. She noticed his panic and decided it was her responsibility to fix it. 

“Hey Steve?” Nancy knelt down next to him, which made you inhale sharply. Nancy had been….well. Ever since Jonathan had moved to California, she was a bit all over the place, and everyone knew it, including Nancy. Her emotions were running wild, and she had been eyeing Steve again. You were far from jealous, knowing how much Steve loved you since he reminded you over and over and over again. But there was something about the way she was eyeing him, the way she reached out to him, that made your trust waiver—not in Steve, Never in Steve, but maybe in Nancy. 

Steve caught the tail end of your inhale, and looked up at you, his eyes still not focusing a hundred percent but he was trying for you. 

“Can you go get some bandages for my foot Nance?” You asked, squeezing Steve’s hand again, trying to ground him while also trying to politely tell Nancy to back the fuck up. You looked over at her and gave her a smile, as if to say that you got the whole Steve situation under control. 

She eyed your hands before nodding, and heading off into the house. As she had walked into the house and up the stairs, Robin corralled all of the kids mumbling that the show was over. Dustin put up a little bit of a fight but Max and Lucas had dragged him inside and closed the sliding doors. All of the teens did their best to pretend to not look out at the couple on the patio, whereas Robin was casually trying to not stare at the two of you through the kitchen window. Everyone was extremely curious about the secretive couple. 

You squeezed his hand again. “Steve. I need  you to listen to me. I’m okay. It’s just a cut on my foot.” Your other hand came up and slowly took his other hand, hinting that he should be next to you on the lounger. 

Steve obliged, mind still far away, panicking to no end, conjuring up the worst endings he could possibly imagine. 

You gently took one of his hands and placed it on one of the pulse points on your neck. 

Robin had snatched Nancy from exiting the house, shushing her as she tried to justify going back onto the patio. And even if she managed to get through Robin, Dustin and the others would not have let her through anyways. 

Robin had shared a look with Dustin, examining the scene before them. Almost no one had ever seen Steve this vulnerable, and actually no one had witnessed the two of you have such an intimate moment together, collectively making everyone in the house question whether or not they knew either of you at all. 

You were taking slow breaths, letting Steve not only feel your pulse beneath his fingers, but also your breath. It caused him to slowly start to match your pace, chest moving slower and hands stopped shaking. His eyes started to focus in on you again, the hint of a grateful smile ghosted across his lips before it fell under a frown of complete self deprecation. 

“Shit, baby I’m so sorry.” He whispered, not moving his hand from your neck quite yet. “I-I just…it reminded me of…”

“I know, I know.” You whispered. “But it’s just a small cut, and I’ll let you give Henderson the talking to of a lifetime, once I know you’re back with me, yeah?” 

Your eyes had been monitoring his, watching for when he was fully back in the present. Steve nodded and placed a quick kiss on your forehead. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, I’m here all week.” You teased, before sighing and looking down at your foot. “It’s definitely not that bad but I do want to clean off my bloody foot.” 

Just then, Nancy made her way back onto the patio, with very upset Dustin trailing behind her. Dustin looked so guilty, and so apologetic, and Nancy looked….upset? Mad? Jealous? Whatever it was, Nancy was doing a good job of making it not as important as fixing up your foot.

“Oh thank you so much Nance.” You smiled at her, only faltering slightly when she only responded by giving you a tight lipped smile,  dropping the first aid kid on the chair, and walking Back inside. 

You and Steve looked at Dustin who just shrugged. Whatever it was would have to wait. 

“So why were you people hunting me down?” 

“There’s been another….” Dustin looked down at his feet, and Steve took one of his hands and put it on the kids shoulder. 

“Okay.” You breathed out, taking the medical kit in your hands and digging through it to find all the necessary things to clean up your little wound. 

“ Y/N, I’m really sorry. I-I didn’t mean to—you know. It was a total accident.” Dustin gushed at you and you just smiled in response to him. 

“It’s all good Dusty Bun.” You joked at him, while the kid tore himself into pieces, feeling fucking awful. 

“Shit happens. It’s okay. It’s not like you snuck back here with the intent to injure me….unless.” You smirked at him, letting Dustin’s cheek turn bright red and he shook his head vigorously. 

“No. No. I would never do that to you—“

“She’s joking Dustin. It’s okay.” Steve tried not to laugh at the poor boy, watching as his face fell into a slightly more comfortable expression. 

“Dustin, can you go and round everyone up in the Living Room, so we can talk about everything?” 

Dustin nodded and started to run off before he stopped and turned towards you again. “Promise you’re okay?” 

“Cross my heart and hope to die, kid. I’m all good.” You took your finger, crossed your heart with it and lifted it in the air. “Steven Harrington as my witness.” 

Dustin cracked a smile before going back inside and trying to round up everyone into the Harrington's living room. 

Once you had properly bandaged your cut, you sighed and cast a quick glance at the patio doors, noticing only Max and Lucas lingering, but still giving you all the privacy they could with a glass door. But Lucas was solely focused on Max, making sure her headphones for her Walkman were sitting just right on her head. 

You turned and kissed Steve, soft lips on his. “Are you okay?” You whispered to him, letting him lead the kiss, giving him the control he needed to regain in that moment before facing the troops. 

Steve gently swept his tongue across your lip, allowing him to deepen the kiss a bit more. He sighed so prettily into your mouth and you couldn’t help but smile. 

“I will be, yea. I just….” You nodded and pulled away from him. Steve glanced over at Max, noticing the headphones and his face fell flat. He had been the one to hold her close when she collapsed outside of Billy’s Grave after floating in the air. And suddenly it was you he was cradling, unconscious. 

“What’s the artist?” 

“What?” You gave him an incredulous look, turned and looking where his gaze was set on Max. “Oh Steve, I don’t think—-“

“Please.” It was so soft, and pleading. Your heart broke as he looked back at you. 

“The Mamas and The Papas.” You said softly, tucking a loose strand of his hair behind his ear.

“Dream a Little Dream of Me, right?” He squeezed your hand once more as you nodded. 

“Alright.” He sighed and kissed your head before getting up. The two of you could rest when you’re dead, you figured. You stood up with him and brought the first aid kit back in with you. 

Once everyone was back in the living room, the rest of the day was a whirlwind. Lucas was telling you about the fact that Carver and his teammates were hunting down Eddie and anyone who tried to help him. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

At some point you found yourself stuck in the back of Nancy’s car. Then, you found yourself stuck in between an argument between a mother and his son about Skull Rock. 

“Yeah well it wasn’t popular until I made it popular, alright?” 

You snorted at that one, while Steve turned towards you, slightly horrified about admitting that in front of you. But you knew King Steve, and it wasn’t like you were unpopular. You were one of those people that managed to fly under the radar by being on everyone’s radar. Nice to everyone simply worked best, especially when it meant you got to kiss and tell without it ruining your life. You smirked at Steve before turning to Dustin. 

“But he’s right though Dustin. It’s over that little hill, on the right, past the two trees.” You slowed down to break the news to Dustin, Max moving to catch up with you, both of you snickering to one another while the rest of the gang looked at you, seriously doubting their knowledge of you at all. 

“Stop gawking Harrington, and move those legs. Let’s roll.” Steve fixed his pace and trudged ahead, eager to prove his best friend wrong. 

You and Max just observed the two. You had been Max’s babysitter since she moved to Hawkins. She was definitely too old for one, but her mother insisted, and she would have much rather spent time with you than with Billy. She was your little sister, your everything, the Dustin to your Steve. You were the one who got her so addicted to Kate Bush in the first place. So when Steve had told you about Max floating into the air, you almost caused several accidents driving from your house to the Wheeler’s, where Max was being kept safe.

 The two of you were giggling about the bickering between the two idiots when you heard Steve and Dustin ahead of you. 

“Bada Bing, Bada Boom, There she is Henderson. Skull Rock, in your face man.” Steve pushed past the both of you, a shit-eating grin on his face. “In your stupid, cocky little face.” 

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“Yeah, Yeah, even when it’s staring you right in the face, you can’t admit it. You just can’t admit that you’re wrong, you little butthead.” Steve smugly stared up at the rock. 

Two boots landed on the ground, right next to Dustin. “I concur. You, Dustin Henderson, are a total butthead.” 

Dustin started jumping up and down before rushing Eddie into a hug. “Jesus, we thought you were a goner.” 

“Yeah, me too man.” Eddie mumbled, looking over at the rest of you wearily. You watched as Steve and Eddie interacted like some sort of divorced parents in the parking lot of a McDonald’s before deciding to ease whatever tension the two of them had going on. 

You smiled and waved at him, “Oh my god, is that the serial killer Edward Eddie “The Freak” Munson, leader of the Hellfire Satanic Club,” 

Max let out a snort, before trying to cover the giggle seeping out of her mouth. 

 “You’re funny there princess, you know that?” 

“Oh I do, Edward. How are you.” You mumbled, patting his back, while you eyed Dustin, who was losing his fucking mind over his compass.

Steve was not the jealous type, or he liked to pretend that he wasn’t. You were a kind person to every single person you met; somehow every single person in the world knew you, and yet nobody had a vendetta against you (to his knowledge) or anything awful to say about you. But it was moments like these, when Eddie called you Princess, or got a little too close, where he would start to tense up. 

“Better now that you’ve brought yourself, and also some food.” He hastily grabbed one of the paper bags from Nancy and grabbed one of the flasks filled with water, drinking almost all of it. 

“When I got to shore, I tried calling you guys but uh, my walkie was busted, man. Drenched. So uh, I did the thing that I do now, apparently. I ran.” A sardonic smile spread across his face, and he shook his head, looking down at his hands. 

“Do you know what time this was, the attack?” 

“No i -i- I know exactly what time it was.” Eddie takes the watch off his wrist and tosses it to Nancy. “My walkie wasn’t the only thing to get soaked.”

“9:27.” 

Robin’s eyes lit up. “Same time our flashlights went kablooey. 

“Which means what exactly?” Steve chimed in.

Nancy sighed, looking down at the watch in her hands before tossing it back to Eddie. “That surge of energy was Vecna attacking Patrick.” 

“Well, we’re one step closer–we know how Vecna attacks.” You mention, watching Dustin pace back and forth. 

“And where he attacks from.” Lucas added on. 

“So now we just need to sneak into his layer in the Upside Down and drive a stake through his heart.” Max sighed, crossing her arms. 

Robin mumbled quickly, “If he even has a heart.”

“A stake is he like a vamp–is he a vampire?” Steve’s eyes widened.

“Oh Steve, babe.” You sighed, pinching your eyes.

“Itt was a metaphor.” Max scoffed in reply to him. 

Eddie looked up from the ground and towards Max. “Uh bullets work on him right?”

“I say we chop his head off.”

“That’s great Lucas.” You muttered, not fully believing this conversation was happening. Steve on the other hand looked at Lucas with a “What the fuck” type of look. 

“Yeah I’d say all of the above, but we can't do any of that until we find a way into the Upside Down.” Nancy sighed. 

“We need El to get her power back.” You nodded in agreement with Max.

“Everything was wayyyy easier. We had this girl, she had super powers–”

“Superpowers, yea, you mentioned her.” Eddie cut off Steve with a nod before peering over at Henderson.  

“Hey uh, Henderson’s not cursed is he?” 

Steve shook his head. “Cursed, no no, he’s fine. Mental? Absolutely.” 

Just then Dustin raised his arms to the sky, turned to Steve and Screamed the word Boom, at the top of his lungs. Everyone flinched at the loud sound, but your head had started to bug you the second you had found SKull Rock, and you weren't one to say anything, but Dustin screaming at the top of his lungs definitely wasn’t helping. 

“Bada. Bada. Boom.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

And just like that, the day sped up again. Your head continued to bug you all the way to the lake. He had noticed that your head started bugging you halfway through the walk to the shore, holding you hand and quietly whispering the lyrics he remembered from the song earlier, just to you. It made your heart melt a little, just how much he cared for you. It was a bonus that it calmed him down in the process. 

“What is Mordor?” He whispered to you, watching as the shore grew closer. 

You laughed softly and shrugged. “There's this book series called Lord of the Rings.” You answered back to him. “And the heroes leave The Shire to go to Mordor to stop the big bad.”

Steve let out a little “huh”, and nodded. The little green monster known as jealousy came back full force. Of course you would know what Eddie was talking about. Of course that was something else Eddie had over him. “And you’ve uh, read this series.” 

“Yes Steve. All four books.”

“Did you like them?”

The questions surprised you. It’s not that Steve didn’t like the things you liked, or didn’t care about what you liked, but this was an interest that you simply hadn’t mentioned because it didn’t seem in his wheelhouse. “Ye-Yeah…why do you ask?” 

You looked at him with a curious smile on your face, and Steve shrugged. “I don’t know. If both you and Butthead up there like it then…”

You stopped and kissed Steve on the cheek. “You’re adorable Steve.”

Just then, Dustin sprinted forward, yelling about the fact that something was happening. Eddie managed to save him from stepping into the lake, when Steve ran up ahead. 

“You gotta be shittin’ me.” He huffed and turned and looked back at you, exasperated. 

“Yea. I thought these woods were familiar.” Eddie’s tone was flat, and disparaging. 

“Lover’s Lake.” Robin sighed, staring out at the water. 

“This is confounding.” Dustin muttered, looking back and forth from the water to his compass and back again. 

“There’s a gate in Lover’s Lake?” Max looked over at you. 

Nancy spoke next, “Whenever the Demogorgan attacked, it always left an opening. Maybe Vecna’s the same way.” 

“Yea, only one way to find out.” You grumbled, also not exactly happy to see the lake. 

Eddie pulled back a tarp to reveal a little boat, definitely not big enough to fit all of you. Once Eddie and Steve had gotten the boat in the water, Robin climbed over the two of them. Eddie went next and helped Nancy get into the boat as well as you. All four of you looked at Dustin, who tried to get onto the boat. 

“Hey, Hey, you trying to sink us?” Eddie shoved Dustin's head back a little and shook his own. “The boat holds four people, tops. okay?”

“It’s better this way, okay?” Nancy walked over to try and comfort Dustin.

And you agreed. “You guys stay here with Max.You keep an eye out for trouble.” 

Dustin was flabbergasted. “You keep an eye out for trouble.” 

You gave him a look considering he just snapped at you, but he only continued. 

“It’s my goddamn theory.” 

Robin leaned over. “You heard Nance and Y/N.” 

Dustin just rolled his eyes. “Who put them in charge?” 

“I did.” Robin sassed back, watching as Dustin tried to process everything that was going on. 

“Compass.” Nancy held her hand out as a very, very upset Dustin reluctantly placed the compass in her hand. 

“Hey. There ya go.” Steve threw the backpack at Dustin before pushing off of the shore with the boat, jumping in at the last second. 

“You said Four!” 

Steve whispered a “sorry” to him as the group began to paddle out towards where Patrick died. 

Robin smiled at them, “Bedtime at nine Kiddos.” in which Dustin just flipped her off. Robin just stood up and waved, “Miss you already.” 

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. 

As you all sat on the boat,slowly paddling through the darkness of Lover’s Lake, when suddenly Nancy yelled out. “Woah Woah Woah, slow down guys, slow down.” 

All of you leaned in and looked at the compass, it was spinning in circles, no actual direction. 

All of the sudden the walkie lit up and spoke: Guys what’s going on. Come on guys, talk to me, what’s going on.

Robin picked up the call, still staring at the spinning dial. 

“Uh Dustin your compass has gone from wonky to Wonky with a capital ‘aah!” 

“Steve, what are you doing?” Nancy’s voice reached your ears, and everyone immediately snapped their heads towards the boy who was starting to undress. 

“Somebody’s gotta go down there and check this thing out.” He pulled off his other shoe and sock. “Unless one of you three can top being a Hawkins High swim co-captain and a certified lifeguard for three years then…It’s gotta be me, no complaints. Alright.” That last section ws slightly more aimed towards you than anyone else, but you just stayed silent. 

“Hey, I’m not complaining. I do not wanna go down there.” Eddie looked around at the water uneasily before taking one of the flashlights wrapping it in one of the plastic bags they had brought. It was better than nothing. 

Steve pulled his shirt off, and that’s when you caught Nancy staring. This time, you were a little more upset at her openly staring at Steve’s half-naked body. Robin looked between you and Nancy and made a little face, deciding to wait to ask any and all questions to you once Steve was gone. 

“Hey.” Eddie handed him the flashlight. “Good luck.” 

Steve nodded. “Thanks.” Before looking at you and giving you a small smile, meant to be an apology. 

Robin pulled a cigarette from out of Eddie's mouth, mumbled a “gross”, and chucked it into Lover’s Lake. 

Steve stared straight ahead psyching himself up. 

“Steve?” You couldn’t help yourself. 

He looked back at you. You had a horrible feeling about this. Yet you held your tongue because there was no way that Steve “The Hero” Harrington was going to risk anyone else’s life, and trying to talk him out of it was like trying to convince the sky to turn purple—it wasn’t going to happen. All you could offer him was something to maybe calm his nerves. 

“Be careful.” 

You all sat there, each of you doing your own thing to not think about the fact that Steve was under the water. 

“Where are we at Wheeler?” Robin asked, bouncing her leg up and down, glancing from Nancy to the water and back again. 

“We’re closing in on a minute.” Nancy responded with a slight air of worry. 

“Come on Steve.” You mumbled, still watching the water. Robin placed a hand on top of yours and gave you a small smile, just trying to provide at least a sense of comfort even though her best friend was down in the depths of Lover’s Lake. 

When Steve popped up, you all jumped. Eddie yelled slightly with an “Oh Christ!” But you immediately reached your hand out to him, which he was more than willing to reach for. 

“I found it.” 

“You found it?” Nancy piped up before Steve smiled, trying to regain his breath. 

“I found it. Yeah I found it.” He smiled, and unlike the rest of this day, the next thirty seconds seemed to go by in slow motion. 

Steve was hanging off the edge of the boat, still trying to regain his breath before he would climb into the boat, still holding onto your hand with his own. 

“Dustin, you’re a goddamn Einstein. Steve found the Gate. It was right where you said it was.” 

Steve was panting. “It was pretty wild. It’s more of a snack-sized gate than a mama gate.” Reference Robin from earlier. “But still, it’s pretty damn big.”

Steve’s head was pulled under the water. All of you moved towards him, trying to get him onto the boat. He resurfaced, a concerned look on his face.

Just as he reached for you, Steve’s face dropped, and he was pulled under. Nance, Robs, and Eddie all yelled out his name, screaming for him to come back. You immediately pulled off the jacket you had been wearing and dove straight into the water, no hesitation. Nancy, Robin, and Eddie then started screaming your name. Your new white converse had been covered in mud and now they were soaked in murky water as you swam for your life to get to Steve. You watched as he was pulled into the gaping portal beneath you. You watched as he was dragged through the water with ease. You swam faster, pushing through the gate not even ten seconds after Steve. 

Your lungs were burning. You fell to the ground with a hard thud, groaning as you tried to ignore the large bruise that would be all along your thigh and shoulder. All of this while trying so desperately to breathe but the air was suffocating. You managed to stand up, and looked around for Steve. Red lightning struck above you both, maybe five hundred feet apart. 

That’s when you heard it, the screeching. Your eyes managed to locate Steve before they were moved to the sky as the creatures started to surround the both of you. You watched as he ran towards something on the ground and picked up an oar, hitting one of the bats that swooped down on him. You ran towards him, picking up a second oar, and started batting, fighting your way to each other. 

Then, you saw Steve get swiped off his feet. A bat around his neck, and two others circling, ready to go in for the kill. Steve kept trying to swipe them off but was starting to fail. He let out a blood curdling scream as his body convulsed on the ground beneath your feet. 

Your blood ran colder than Lovers Lake. You ran towards him, listening as he screamed your name, crying out helplessly for you as they tried to feast on his abdomen and while one was slowly strangling him. 

Anger and panic filled your body up to the brim as you came closer to him. You hit two home runs before you slammed the oar down on one of the bats, eating away at Steve’s stomach, and blood splattered up and across your entire body. You’d be pissed about your clothes if you weren’t already so enraged at the thought of the pain Steve was in. There was blood scattered across your face, and you could taste it on your lips. Dustin might have called you badass if you weren’t so fucking terrifying.

You didn’t notice as Nancy, Robin, and Eddie barged through the portal, and immediately started beating the shit out of all of the remaining bats that tried swooping down on the group of you. 

Instead, you continued bashing in the body of the bat next to Steve. Robin had started watching you, slightly scared of the force you used to bring the oar down onto the bat. But all you could see was Steve. His mouth was open but no sound was coming out as he struggled to breathe, trying to pull the bat's tail away from his neck. You gave it one final blow to the head and watched its body give out beneath you. 

Just as you went to thwack the head of the bat suffocating Steve, something wrapped around your ankle. You dropped to the ground as the bat swiftly pulled you down, bloody oar out of your grasp. 

Robin and Nancy were to take care of the bat that was strangling Steve, Eddie continuing to swing at any bats in the air he could. 

“Nancy behind you!” She turned around and thwacked the bat that came at her before she delivered one final blow, releasing Steve’s throat as it went limp. 

A blood curdling scream left your lips as one of the bat’s bit down into your thigh. All you could see was white and red and all you could feel was white hot pain. The teeth tore through your flesh like butter, and it might have had some sort of venom dripping from its teeth because the exposed flesh felt as if it was melting off your body. 

Steve had managed to rip the bat off of him, and tore it in half with his mouth, willing to tear the bat limb from limb, but then he heard you scream. Steve always assumed he would freeze because in his nightmares he would watch as the dogs tore you limb from limb, or as a demogorgon dragged you into the depths of the upside down, and he would freeze watching as he let you die. 

But not this time. 

His body raced towards you, ignoring the sharp rocks and fuck else that would stick into his bare feet. The adrenaline in his body caused him to pick up the oar you were dragged away from and bash the head in on the bat digging its teeth into your thigh. You were screaming, you were screaming for Steve. His mind clouded with rage as he broke the oar in half and stabbed down, impaling the bat and leaving it stuck to the ground of lovers lake. 

There were tears streaming down your face, as Eddie and Robin helped pull you up and away from the dead animal laying next to you. A sob escaped your lips as you put some weight on your right leg. 

“Jesus Christ, Jesus H. Christ!” Eddie screamed at the sky, still trying to hold you up. 

Steve’s breathing was labored as he stood above the bat’s bloody carcass. He heard another sob escape your lips and immediately snapped his head towards you, but just as he took a second step towards you, the screeching of bats over head caused all of you to look up at the sky. 

“Shit shit shit.” Eddie muttered, looking around trying to find a spot for cover. 

“There’s not that many, we can take them.” Steve huffed, still running purely on adrenaline and spite. 

Another bellow of screeches came from the sky across the barren lake. 

Nancy ran over to you and gently squeezed your shoulder, luckily the one that wasn’t bruised. “We need to find cover. Now. Can you make it if Eddie and Robin help you?” Her eyes search yours, simultaneously checking for your inevitable concussion based off of the way you dropped to the ground earlier. 

You just whispered out Steve’s name, eyes starting to close. 

“Hey. Y/N. Look at me. He’s okay. He’s alive okay? I need you to stay with me for just five more minutes, okay?” Nancy was starting to freak out the more you drifted in and out of consciousness. She turned to look at Steve, who was shutting down on his own, his own adrenaline starting to wear off. 

“Eddie, Do you have Y/N?“ Nancy practically shoved Robin towards him while wrapping your arm around his neck while he supported you. “The more people that help her the better.” 

Steve had reached out to help but Nancy shook her head, “ I need you to focus on finding us Skull Rock, and not collapse while holding her. Got it?” 

Steve stared at Eddie, his frame supporting you, and huffed before nodding. 

Once everyone had secured their position, you all quickly made their way towards Skull Rock, well as quickly as you could possibly be. Eddie spent the whole time whispering how proud he was of you and how badass you looked and how good you were doing while walking, all of the encouragement and little jokes you needed to stay awake and push through the pain to get to get under the rock. While Robin was freaking out about Rabies, which was so extremely helpful of her, thank you robin!

Once you had all taken cover from the bats, you leaned against the wall, just trying to breathe again. That’s when Steve started to lean on the wall, and eventually collapsed to the ground. 

“Steve?” Nancy immediately stood up and made it to him in record time. 

You would have turned bright green if you weren’t starting to pass out on your own. 

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” He grumbled, slowly sliding down to the ground. 

“No no no, you’re losing blood. Shit.” Nancy had ripped her skirt to provide some bandages for Steve. 

“Steve?” You mumbled before, your legs gave out, Eddie managing to catch you. 

“Shit Shit shit.” He started panicking and looking at Robin, who in turn started panicking again. 

“Nancy!” Robin yelped, kneeling down next to you trying to keep you awake. 

Nancy took one look at you and turned back around to Steve who was trying to get up and reach for you. “Steve, I need you to stay still.” She turned back to Eddie and Robin. “You need to rip her jeans!”

 “No no no, hey. Stay with me. I need you to stay awake Y/N.” Robin whispered, squeezing your hand. All she could think about was dying by animal bite, which was so not comforting for any one involved. 

Steve gasped as Nance tightened the bandage. Once it was secured he scrambled over to you. 

“This is going to hurt baby, I’ m so sorry.” He mumbled to you, before gently taking the places where the Bats had broken through and ripped the jeans, creating one short leg. He pulled the bloodied pant leg down, trying to avoid the gushing wound on your leg. As quickly as he could, he tore up your jeans and started using it to wrap up your thigh, causing you to moan in pain anytime he would come near it, which resulted in a string of sorry’s coming from him.

You managed to take a look at Steve, covered in makeshift bandages and Eddie’s vest. If this were any other time, you’d make a quip to only him about how hot he looked but instead all you could do was slur his name and keep your head tilted back against the rock, doing your best not to pass out from the pain. 

“Shhhhh baby it’s okay.” He whispered, as you whined again when he tightened the bandages. 

All you could do was whimper and lean your forehead against the rock. At least it was cool to the touch, providing some relief for you. Your breathing was becoming more and more labored as the minute passed, and all Steve could do was whisper to you as it happened. 

“I cant…” you mumbled to him, the first coherent words besides his name that you uttered since the boat. “I’m so tired.” 

Steve shook his head. He finished tying the bandage before placing one of your hands on his pulse point, and his hand on your own, refusing to let this happen. 

“Fuck. No no no. Y/N hey. I need you to stay awake, pretty girl. Come on.” His voice quickened and his eyes quickly flitted to Eddie and Nancy and Robin. 

“We have to.  We have to go. Now. She can’t.” Steve was trying so hard not to cry, and was barely making it through a full thought before the next one came. “Fuck. How are we.”

“Steve, I don’t know if she–”

Nancy had never been scared of Steve before, but the look he sent her made it clear that whatever thought she had should not be said out loud. 

“We need. To find. A way out.” He said through gritted teeth, listening to your breathing get slower than he’d like. 

You hear him call your name once, and then twice, and then the next four hours of your life are all a blur. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You awake on Nancy Wheeler's couch in the Upside Down, while Steve is screaming into the abyss at Dustin. 

Your head is pounding and you groggily go to sit up, but immediately get hit with a wave of nausea. As soon as you do make it up you keel over and start coughing, dry heaving really. 

All four heads snapped in your direction, and Steve dropped the Lite Brite on the table, rushing over just as you start to feel the bile in your throat. 

Steve quickly dragged over one of the stupid little trash bins that Mrs Wheeler kept around the house that the Upside Down had magically decided was necessary, and placed it in front of your face before grabbing most of your hair. 

His efficiency was appreciated since you started to vomit into the trash, your head pounding and your throat burning. 

Once you had thrown up everything in your stomach, plus what felt like your actual stomach, you gagged a bit on the air in your throat.  

Steve was rubbing your back and mumbling soft words while you were still hunched over. 

“Morning Princess.” Eddie called from the dining room, and while you didn’t have the energy to give him some choice words, you did have enough energy to flip him off quickly. 

Steve shot him a look but Eddie only let out a chuckle at your antics. Clearly the brink of death suited you well since your sense of humor and your attitude were still intact. 

“Why were you yelling at a lamp?” You eventually managed out, voice hoarse and almost completely gone. Robin had come over with a water bottle they had found in the fridge of the neighbors house. 

“I thought you were gonna die.” She whispered to you, in which Steve turned his glare towards her instead. 

You gratefully took a sip of the water, swallowing it before it immediately was rejected by your stomach, which causes you to vomit it back up into the trash bin. 

You winced at the sting on your throat, and Steve winced because that wasn’t a good sign. 

“Thanks Rob.” You send her a quick, but soft smile. She quickly took your hand and squeezed it, knowing that was all she was going to be able to say without starting to cry. “If you….well. I think I would’ve had to kill Steve because he would've been so unbearable.” 

Which causes you to giggle slightly and nod. “I can see that happening.” 

“Guys!” Nancy yelled over, giving you a very relieved smile, “we’re heading to Eddie’s Van in ten. There's still the kids' bikes at the house still so we can take those.” 

Steve stood up and had a lot to protest but you just pulled his hand, causing him to look at you. “Steve. Really, I’ll be okay. We just need to get out of here.” 

The others dispersed, getting ready to leave, letting you and Steve have a moment to yourselves. 

Steve sat back down next to you and kissed your hand. “I—, you looked so hot beating the shit out of that bat.” He joked, causing you to muse a smile at him. “I know right. Sexiest murderer around.” You jested back.

“You….” Steve swallowed down the lump in his throat and let you see the tears building up in his eyes. “I—“ 

“But I’m all good. I promise. My head still kind of hurts though. Guess we’ll have to play period, concussion, or Vecna.” You tried to joke, but Steve just sent you a glare. 

You sighed, and what you did next was for mostly your benefit, partially for Steve’s benefit, and slightly to piss off Nancy who was pretending like she wasn't watching you both from her kitchen alongside the other two. 

You kissed Steve. It was simple, and quick, but mostly it was reassuring. 

He hummed slightly before letting you pull away. “Even after you ripped a bat to shreds with your mouth, you still taste like my fucking chapstick.” You laughed softly before looking down at your legs. You were no longer in your jeans, but in a pair of Nancy’s shorts. Your leg had been bandaged a lot better, but you knew the second you got back into the real world, you would need to get the disinfection of a lifetime. 

“Does Nance have any alcohol?” 

Steve gave you a look. “I don’t think now is the time to start drinkin–”

Much to Steve’s chagrin, you stood up. A groan left your lips as you put weight on your bed leg. “Hey Nance? Where does your dad keep the good stuff.” 

She looked up at you before running off to go get exactly what you needed. 

“It’s going to numb the pain Steve, and I love you, but right now, I need to not feel my thigh so I can ride a stupid bike over to Eddie’s stupid van.” 

Steve shook his head and stood up. “Look, Y/n,” he sighed. “I really don’t want to fight but–”

“Then don’t, Steve. This is not your call to make right now. Just. I need you to trust me okay?” 

Steve huffed. “Fine.” before he walked off into a different room. 

Nancy slowly came in with a bottle of scotch from her father’s liquor cabinet. “Hey…”

“Shit, Nance. I’m sorry you had to hear that.” you mumbled, sitting back down on the couch. 

She shook her head and sat down next to you, uncorking the bottle and handing it over. “How…How long have you guys been together?” 

You took the bottle, and took a swig, letting the liquid burn your throat. “God this is awful.” You coughed and laughed a bit with Nancy as she cracked a smile. You offered her the bottle and she gladly took a swig. 

“I would also like to know.” Robin piped up, moving and sitting on the floor in front of the both of you. Once Nancy took a swig, she handed it to Robin. 

“Oh, fuck. It’s uh…What is it, March?” The girls nodded and you sighed. “A year, give your take.” 

Both of their jaws dropped. “I’m sorry what!” Robin’s eyes were wide open. “Since when!”

“Since like February of 85 Rob, get it together.” You took the bottle from her and took another swig. 

“Holy shit.” Nancy mumbled, realizing she needed to reevaluate her entire life at this point. “Why didn’t you tell anybody?” 

“Well, we had just started dating, right, and we wanted to take it slow really try not to fuck it up, ya know?” You took another swig before handing it back to Robin. “And we were gonna tell everyone but then Starcourt happened and uh. Getting the shit beat out of you by Russian thugs, and being forced into taking a truth telling serum really makes for complicated relationship updates to your friends. And Steve had just graduated and was really trying to figure his shit out—I don't know. Honestly, it never came up, nobody asked.”

Robin took a swig and shoved the bottle into Nancy’s hands. “Well I thought he was just pining after his best friend, who is waayyyyyy out of his league if I’m being so honest right now.” 

“Thanks Rob.” Steve mused from the doorway, leaning against the side of it while Eddie just stood there, arms crossed. 

“You guys started partying without us I see.” Munson interjected, with a smile on his face. 

Robin turned bright red before shaking her head. “Steve I—”

“Don’t apologize. I mean she is quite literally so out of my league, it’s a miracle she even likes me, let alone loves me.” 

You sent him a wink, while Eddie and Robin passed a look between the two of them. Nancy just took a slightly longer swig of the alcohol. 

“We need to get going.” Nancy mumbled, standing up and walking into the kitchen. 

“Is she okay….” Steve whispered to you, coming and offering you his hand to help you stand up. 

You shook your head. “She’s been going through a lot lately, and I think she’s trying to figure out all of her feelings. She’ll be okay.” 

He kissed your head before looking at the others in the room. "Let's get going then, shall we?" 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your head was throbbing. It felt like it was split open. One moment you're standing with Steve, watching Nancy climb up the rope, the next you're falling through the air. With a sudden thud, you land on the ground, and scream out in pain. Your leg was so fucking sore, and your whole body ached as you stood up.

You look around and realize you're back in the parking lot where the mall was. You see something laying on the ground further away, watching as the vines around you pulsed. Slowly you took step forward and then another before you left out a gasp. There was Billy, lying just how you remembered him, on the ground. His body was covered in vines and a slug slowly started to crawl out of his mouth. You stumbled away from him, trying not to sob, looking around for anything.

Do you remember what you did, y/n?

You look up towards the sky, trying to find where the voice was coming from. Flashes of your last moments next to Billy as he died in your arms while Max watched. 

Or have you already forgotten.

Flashes of Steve’s lips on yours, Max floating in the cemetery. 

When I kill someone...

Another of Max sobbing into your chest, Billy's screams in your ear, Steve’s hands on your body. 

I never forget.

The Mind Flayer stabbed through Billy’s chest. Blood poured out of his mouth as he looked at you.

Suddenly vines started to over take the parking lot, from all sides. You spun around, panicking, trying to find a way out. You ran past a few cars, ignoring the shocks of pain through your system. Once you had run far enough away, you realized that it was no longer the parking lot of Starcourt.

You were suddenly standing on the staircase of the dilapidated old Creel House. A clock ticks, floating by you, as you slowly start to descend, eyes frantically moving back and forth. Your chest was starting to close up.

I see you've been looking for me Y/N. You were so close. So close to the truth. How was old, blind, dumb Victor.

You reached the bottom of the stairs, and spun around slowly, still trying to locate wherever he was.

Did he miss me? I've been meaning to check back in, but I've been busy.

You look to your right, and there's Chrissy's mangled body, vines clutching it. Her jaw was wide open, her eyes were gone, and you could see the snapped bones.

So very busy.

You watched as a door formed in front of you, the Creel House, except it was brand new. You watched as the little girl walked by you, claiming the house was a fairytale.

You stared at the gaunt little boy in the corner of the foyer, eyes dark.

He watched you back, and your whole body shivered. You slowly followed him through the house, watching as he made his way to the bathroom, and took off the grate. You turned away once you realized what he had been holding in his hand, unable to face something you so grotesquely hate. 

Suddenly a boy went past you, and you followed him into the attic. He had created this sort of altar, filled with candles and little jars filled with Black Widows. He was just a child. 

You wandered down the stairs, and watched the boy watch the clock in his foyer. The ticking of the clock rang in your ears, and all you could do was stare at this boy. The anger festered and festered and festered.

A shrill scream caught your attention as you turned around, suddenly in the yard, watching as the young boy caught and tortured a bunny. Its screams rang out as he reached out, not touching the animal, and slowly started to destroy it. Your chest was heaving as you ran back into the house, slamming the door closed, not wanting to see another moment. 

You watched as a crib, covered in fire, rocked itself in the fireplace, infants screaming all round you. The fire lit uo Henry’s face, eyes closed, moving back and forth underneath his lids. 

Suddenly, as you turned around, you heard music. Ella Fitzgerald’s voice rang through the halls. 

Stars shining bright above you. 

You let out a strangled sob. This was your favorite song. The family sitting at the table was formally dressed up. It must have been a special occasion for all of them to have looked so cleaned up for a family dinner. The Radio started moving between stations even though no one was touching it, but Henry was looking at it. 

The lights started to flicker. The radio couldn’t hold down a station. Everyone was suddenly on high alert, trying to figure out what was happening. Your voice was stuck in your throat as you watched the mother float up into the sky, her bones shattering and splintering as her eyes bled. She landed on the table with a thud, causing you to jump back. Vecna has a sliver of blood draining from his nose. You watched as he murdered his sister, and then moved onto his father. Lights flickering. Radio shattering. But then he collapsed on the ground. His father was quickly arrested and blamed for the murders of his wife and daughter. 

You watched as this boy was subjected to the tortures of Dr. Martin Brenner. You watched as he was tattooed, branded, with the mark of 001. 

“See? Not so bad. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Doctor Brenner said, looking at 001. “Is there Y/N.” His head turned towards you and you took a step back. 

Why Don’t you take a seat.

And you ran, You sprinted as quickly as you could to get away fromBrenner, from Vecna. The hallways were filled with the dead bodies of guards, the screams of the children held hostage, the lights flickering. It was carnage. The blood smeared against the walls caused you to just freeze. You tried to run the other way. You tried to run as far as you could. 

Steve was screaming in your face. He had both of his hands cupping your cheeks begging you to come back to him, to stay with him. His heart was racing. All he could see were your eyes, rolled back into your head, your body just unresponsive. It was his worst nightmare come true. He screamed at the others to hurry up, just shaking you and begging you to come back to him. 

“Please Y/N, fuck. Please, stay with me. Come back to me. I can’t–you need to come back.” 

Erica had run into the other room trying to help the rest of the team speed through all of Eddie’s tapes. “Steve says you need to hurry!” 

“Yeah no shit!” Yelled back Dustin, while Max screamed that they couldn't find anything useful. 

“Seriously what is all this shit.” Robin was just throwing tapes, trying to find the right one. 

“What are you even looking for!?” Eddie yelled back. 

“Madonna, Blondie, Bowie, Beatles. Music We need MUSIC.” She yelled at him. 

“This IS MUSIC!” Eddie screeched back. 

You were running as fast as you could through the damp hallways. The walls were never ending and they were painted in blood, so much blood. You had to maneuver around bodies, all the while looking behind you, trying to out run Vacna. Your eyes were stinging from the air of the Upside Down, and your lungs couldn’t keep up. The exit had been nailed shut, covered in boards. Your panic was setting in as you looked around, trying to find any answer. You kicked and pulled at the boards until one came loose. As you got your hands around the second one, a voice came from behind you. 

Y/N. 

You slowly turned around, shaking. There he was. Vecna was slowly stalking towards you, like a predator watching its prey. 

What are you doing? It’s not time for you to leave. 

You clutched the door handle, praying to whoever out there that would listen to help you. You keep yanking on the wooden plank. Another one came off as you started to yell. The third one was looser but refused to budge. He kept coming closer to you. 

Now that you’ve seen where I’ve been. 

And closer. 

I would like very much to show you where I am going. 

And closer. 

You managed to get the final one off before you shoved through the doors, using all of the will power you had left. But suddenly you were no longer in the hallway, it was the same room you had just been looking into. 

Dr. Brenner stared at you, eyeless. “Take a seat y/n.” 

The lights flickered out, and all you could hear was your breath, terrified to even move.  

When the light’s came on, you realized you were strapped to the table. The straps were pulled so tightly, you were starting to lose feelings in your fingers. You struggled against them, unable to be freed. Vines had wrapped around your legs, chittering away as you started to cry, thrashing around, trying to get out of the chair. They were slowly coming up your arms, getting tighter and tighter. You couldn’t move. Vecna was across from you, stalking towards you once more. You couldn’t get out, you couldn’t move. You couldn’t–You couldn’t even think straight. He kept coming closer, and closer and closer. You tensed up, letting out a whimper as he slowly leaned in. 

I want you to tell Eleven. I want you to tell her everything you see.

His claw came up over your face and flashes of lights filled your minds. Steve dead in your arms. The town cracking and being swallowed whole. The clock tolled. Your friends screaming your name as Vacna took them one by one. Splits in the earth throughout everything you knew and loved. You screamed out, struggling against him. Another clock chime. More death. More Destruction. 

Tell Her. 

“No!” You screamed back at him, tears streaming down your face as you continued to struggle. Max dead in your arms. Lucas laying on the floor in front of you. Robin tore to pieces. Cracks in the earth. The clock tolls again. Vines covering your home. 

Tell Her Everything.

You scream at the top of your lungs as his claw presses against your face. 

You inhale and suddenly stumble back away from Steve’s grasp, tears start to stream down your face, as you collapse to the ground. Steve immediately catches you. 

“Woah woah woah. It’s okay. It’s okay.” He cradles you against his chest, as you struggle to breathe, panting and sobbing. “I’ve got you. It’s okay. I’m here. I’m right here.” 

You stare up into Steve’s eyes, paralyzed, and for the first time, Steve doesn’t know what to do. 

[alilarew23]

there is no wrong way to have something

i want you to imagine you finish work today and decide to go to target to buy a dope t-shirt.

wardrobe’s been feeling a little meh, you’ve been feeling more yourself—you know it’s time to upgrade your style.

so, you drive to target, park, pick up your starbies order, head to the t-shirt section and there it is!

a plain, oversized tee in your favorite cobalt blue color.

to an outsider, there’s probably nothing all that special about the shirt—it’s just a shirt—but to you, well, you love it. you just *know* it’s yours.

so you buy it!

and you’re excited about it.

you’re cruisin’ home with the windows down blasting zach bryan or the tallest man on earth or tupac thinking about how cute you’re gonna look in your new shirt, you get home, maybe you tell your husband or your girlfriend or your mama or your dog that you found the perfect, most basic, most *you* shirt imaginable, then you throw it in the washer/dryer, take it out, hang it up and, well, from here on out, you probably don’t think about it all that much—except for the split-second when you first put it on and look in the mirror and feel fly as fuck, or when your hubs tells you how beautiful you look in that color, yada yada—because it’s just yours now. no biggie. not much to think about.

but ok. let’s say you’re kinda shirt-obsessy, and you love that shirt so much that you think about it legit every waking hour of the day. hell, you might even dream about it! or it kinda surprises you but you don’t feel much of anything when you put it on, or you wear it to go on a coffee date with your friends and you feel so at home in it that you decide it’s your luckiest shirt ever and from then on out that is precisely what it becomes.

you know what doesn’t change, regardless of how much or little you think about the shirt, or how you feel about it, or what meaning you imbue it with?

you. have. it.

you purchased it.

it is yours.

period.

same goes for your desires.

you can think about them 24/7. you can feel in love, held, confident, secure, powerful when they come to mind. you can feel literally nothing at all. you can throw them in the back of your proverbial closet and let them accumulate dust.

it does not matter.

they are yours.

so, please, stop with the worrying and the conditioning.

you don’t have to “detach,” you don’t have to “feel”—by which i mean EMOTIONS—knowing is a different story—you don’t have to saturate your mind, you don’t have to do anything except HAVE.

and how could it possibly be difficult or confusing to have something you already have?

it simply could not.

that would be bonkers.

so, boom.

decide your manifestation is a cobalt blue t-shirt.

you purchased it. it’s in the bag. it’s in the washer-dryer. it’s in the closet.

you’re free to go about your life now. to do/think/feel whatever the fuck you want.

no worries, no conditions.

what’s yours is yours.

i love ya.

[asphalt-cocktail]

Lead us to Temptation- Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Precious Lord Take my Hand

Summary: In the small town of Eden Ridge, you knew several things to be true: church happened every Sunday, the saloon served free lunch with the purchase of a drink on Thursdays, coal miners left work at 7PM sharp, and Bucky Barnes was a man sent from the depths of hell dangling the threat of temptation and sin right in front of your face. All you need to do is reach out and grab it.

A/N: As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are immensely appreciated. There will be no tag list because I am far too lazy to do that, but feel free to turn on notifications for me or bookmark it on AO3 where it will also be posted per usual.

Pairing: Outlaw!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Nicknames, religious themes, suggestive language, profanity, pining, mentions of criminal activity, period typical misogyny, physical fighting, mentions of alcohol and gambling

Word Count: 3.3k

Masterlist

Read me on AO3

There were a handful of things you could always count on happening in Eden Ridge: the saloon having a free lunch every Thursday with the purchase of a drink, church every Sunday, the coal miners leaving the mines at 7PM sharp, and that springtime would bring a sloppy muddy mess. When your family set out westward you stopped about halfway to Oregon and found your home in the town of Eden Ridge, named after the Eden Ridge Mountains which served as the beating heart for the small but quickly growing town.

The hills were full of coal and iron which your father proudly exploited along with the good hard working people of Eden. He controlled the mineral exports and the main work force in town. The hills acted as a hungry maw, devouring the hopes, dreams, and even bodies of the coal miners that dug down to the depths of hell just to keep your father’s pockets fat. It was the only town where the sunset was painted with a harrowing combination of orange and gray and where the air was so heavy with coal dust you could taste it.

Once your older brother was of age he quickly found a wife and married off, having two kids in the blink of an eye. It was common knowledge that your brother was the heir to the Eden Coal & Iron company, but only after he did his time laboring in the bowels of the Earth

The coal mines weren’t the place for a lady, so you didn't know much beyond the fact that your father was the owner and employed 90% of the town. You liked it that way, it kept you cleaner than your brother. You saw how filthy he was when he came back from a long day under the mountain, skin so blackened by coal and filth his eyes and teeth seemed to glow even though the hills stole the light away from them. But your father wasn't going to let your brother become some pencil pushing fancy boy if he could help it. If your daddy had to do his time in the mines, so did anyone who wanted to take over his business. It garnered respect from the laborers and it helped your brother get a glimpse of the bigger picture when it came to a business like this.

Your brother’s future was clear as crystal, but yours was always a frequent topic of discussion. Who were you going to marry being the number one. Since you were the ripe age of 25 your mother spent most of her time about town talking with the other wives and figuring out who the most eligible bachelor was. She told you not to worry, because she had a list made that you could take your pick from. You’d long since thrown away your dreams of traveling and leaving Eden Ridge, those were the dreams of a little girl, and mama always said dreaming was unholy. God gave you what you needed, nothing more, nothing less. So, you best be grateful for it. The older you grew, the more you questioned that statement. There was no way that your father needed to control the coal and iron exports in town. 

Your boots slapped against the wet, gray, mud as you walked through the town. You were grateful that your mother hemmed your skirt a couple of inches shorter than normal to try and help keep your dress clean and prevent it from dragging in the wet earth. 

Outside of the saloon a large group of people gathered right where you needed to walk through. You frowned, the closer you got the more you could tell how rowdy the crowd was and the closer you got the easier it became to see the two men fighting in the street. 

“You lying little snake.” One said swinging and punching the dark haired man in the jaw. 

James Buchanan Barnes. 

Of course he was the one getting his face rocked in the middle of the muddy street. You often wondered if he was the devil incarnate, a handsome sweet talking man brought up from the depths of hell to tempt you into sinning. It took all your strength not to give in and see what else his mouth could do if you just simply let him. For the last two months he’d taken every approach in the book to get you to go out to dinner with him and each time you shut him down. 

Hard.

He was relentless though, stubborn, insisted that he’d treat you good if you just let him and by God you knew he would. He’d been in town for a short but annoying two months and seemed to have quite the reputation with the ladies. If you had to hear one more woman giggle and go “Hi Bucky.” while wiggling her fingers you were going to be the next one kicking Bucky’s ass in the street God help you.

Bucky staggered, shaking his head, trying to unscramble his brains, his cheek was red and already beginning to swell from the blow “I’m a lot of things but I ain’t no damn snake.” He hissed back at the bald man, Tomas. 

“One of your little buddies was telling you what my cards were, I just know it.” Tomas yelled, tackling Bucky to the ground. The worst part was that one of them probably was helping Bucky cheat at cards. Anyone with a pair of brain cells knew he famously cheated at all card games, but Tomas famously lacked brain cells.

They struggled for a moment on the ground before Bucky got leverage, flipping the two over and sitting on top of the other man’s chest, “I told you I’m not a cheat.” He said, punching Tomas in the face, emphasizing each of his words as he spoke. 

Someone pushed through the crowd, Steve, one of his buddies, and grabbed him, “That’s enough Buck.” He spoke harshly, pulling his muddy friend off the unconscious Tomas, “Can we please go into town and not get arrested for once?” The blond grabbed Bucky by the back of his soiled light red button down similar to how a mother cat would carry a kitten by its scruff and shoved him down to walk towards their horses. 

You looked in the muck and saw a worn out, sun beaten hat discarded. You picked it up and looked over at the roughneck then back to the hat

“Excuse me!” You call after the pair, “Mr. Barnes!” 

Bucky turned, immediately recognizing your voice and grinned. It was truly blasphemous how handsome he looked despite the bruised cheek, cuts and dried blood, and black eye starting to form. The beat up look seemed to suit someone like him. “You know, we have got to stop meeting like this sugar.”

“I think you need to stop fist fighting before the sun has barely set.” You couldn't help but return the smile, it was contagious like the plague.

Gingerly, he took the hat from you and brushed some of the mud from his hat before putting it on and wiping his hands clean on his soiled jeans, “I was fighting for my honor!” He completely ignored Steve, following you instead as you began to walk off.

You scoffed, “Honor, sure…” you mumbled, “was someone telling you what the cards were?” 

Bucky grinned proudly, “Of course, Sam always helps me when we play cards.” 

“There is a special circle in hell for liars and cheaters, Mr. Barnes.” 

“Sweetheart I’ve done much worse than lie and cheat, I think I’ll be forgiven for this one.” He statement sounded dismissive and you didn't doubt that wasn't true for a second. There was something mysterious about Bucky Barnes and the crew he ran with. You never could quite figure out what he did for work or what his source of income was, but you figured it was A: impolite to ask and B: not something you wanted to have any part of. “When are you going to let me take you to dinner?” Bucky almost whined, grabbing your hand and stopping you. 

You turned, yanking your hand out of his grasp “When I’m dead.” 

Bucky groaned in annoyance, “I’d treat you so good sweetheart, better than any of these other guys around town.” He reached out for your hand again. This was a talk the two of you had at least twice a week for the last two months, three times if you were extra unlucky.

“I can’t.” Bucky Barnes was the type of man fathers warned their daughters about, and boy did your father have a rather strong warning when it came to Mr. Barnes. “My Daddy warned me to stay away from men like you. A roughneck like you brings nothing but trouble to a good girl’s life.”

“Sweetheart, your daddy has no idea the type of man I am, trust me.” He stepped in front of you, stopping you from walking, “Just humor me and let me take you to dinner, no funny business, promise.” He put his hands on your hips, “How’s about tomorrow, I take you to dinner in the next town over. That way you don’t need to worry about any prying eyes from these nosey folks.” 

Bucky was serving your words to you on a supper plate and gave you a fork to eat them. You told yourself, just this once, and maybe that would get him off your back. Maybe he would go bother some other poor girl. But the thought of that kind of pissed you off, you didn't need to look deep down to know that you enjoyed the little game the two of you played. “No funny business?” All you needed was one little taste, nothing more.

“No funny business.” Bucky echoed you, nodding his head.

It didn't sound so bad going and grabbing dinner in the next town over. Thunder Creek was a lovely area, great food, great music, no one from Eden Ridge to run and tell your family you were out with the local drifter, “How about you ask me once your face doesn’t look such a mess.”

Bucky beamed at you, “Deal.” 

The next time you saw Bucky, almost a full week had passed. His face had healed nicely; the big purple bruise under his eye was now a yellowish color, and the cut along his nose and cheek had scabbed over and shrank. “Have you thought about my offer, dear?” He asked, leaning on the hitching post as you readied your horse. He looked like a stray dog seated in front of a plate of steak, hungry and ready to devour like Saturn himself.

It distracted you, caught you off guard even, “What? About dinner?” You licked your lips nervously and couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze again “Yes, I’m free tomorrow evening. I’ll meet you at the train station at 3 and we can ride over” 

He looked victorious, like he’d won a marathon, like he’d just been told God had saved him a spot in heaven, “3 o’clock at the train station.” He repeated back to let you know he heard and he would be there.

You weren’t shocked to see Bucky already waiting on a bench at the train depot at 3pm sharp just like you’d asked. What shocked you was the fact that you’d managed to travel the two hours to the next town over and have a nice sit down meal with him, all without him making a single pass at you. He made small talk, asking you about your horse and how long you had him for, asking you your favorite books, your life before moving out here, your fathers mining company. He picked your brain and devoured every piece of information you gave him, listening actively and intently.

You learned a lot about him as well. Bucky was 10 years older than you and hailed from New York, which explained his odd hybrid accent. He fought in the civil war as a boy some 20 years ago for the union which was where he met Steve, John, and Sam then they managed to pick up Peter along the way. He called him and his troupe ‘traveling workers’, they went from town to town doing odd jobs and when those ran out or they overstayed their welcome they left, moving on to the next town. 

What he didn’t tell you was that he was a wanted man in 3 states, his traveling work consisted of robbing banks and trains, rustling cattle, and stealing horses, with a small dash of bounty hunting, and a big dash of murder. Sure there was some good honest work sprinkled in there to help keep his conscience clean but it was mostly crime. 

He’d originally come to town to rob the local bank, since Eden Ridge was on the up and up, which meant lots of people came here with lots of money to start a new life and those rich assholes needed somewhere to store it all. His plan was to steal most of the money and use it to finance his next run to the next town and help pay off some of the minor bounties tied to his boys’ heads, but you were a bit of a distraction from his original plan 

It almost made him not want to go through with it.  

Almost. 

Bucky liked you, he liked your soft curves, how you somehow managed to never have a speck of mud on your dress, he liked how sassy you got with him, like when you told him you hoped his horse would drop dead after he flicked mud in your face, and he liked the pretty white lace prayer veil you wore to church every Sunday. He wanted to marry you, come home to you wearing a little apron cooking dinner with a child on your hip. With HIS child on your hip. God the thought of making you his wife drove him near feral. 

There was an added bonus to how pissed off it would make your no good crook of a father that made Bucky want to do it even more. 

But, since a man was only as good as his word, he stayed true to his no funny business promise and only took you to dinner. You hated that he was a perfect gentleman and actually made you feel nice and cared for. You had no doubt that this was how he was able to get the other girls in town wrapped around his finger. 

“You gonna let me walk you to church on Sunday too?” Bucky asked, grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary. He knew all the right things to say to you much to your chagrin. 

You chewed your lip nervously, your father would not like it if he saw Bucky walking you to church and you knew that to be truer than the word of God itself. But, He had been such a perfect gentleman at your little dinner date, “Fine. But you can’t sit with us for the mass, my parents don’t like you.” You didn’t care if what you said hurt his feelings, it was true and you wanted to be kind enough to spare him the judgemental gaze of your father while Father Liska spoke the word of God, “And you have to sit through the mass and walk me home after.”

“Ok, deal.” Bucky grinned, a win was a win after all.

Bucky was more nervous about stepping foot into a church than he was to walk you there. Women he could handle, religion… well not so much. He half expected to burst into flames the moment he stepped foot into the holy threshold. He swapped out the filth covered denim for his best set of trousers and wore his nicest button up, just for you. 

You didn’t have to worry about the prying eyes of your family when he came to your home to pick you up for your short little walk. Bucky greeted you at the door, you had to admit he cleaned up nicely, “You look nice, sugar.” Bucky reached up and and touched the scalloped edge of your mantilla, rubbing the delicate lace between his rough fingers. 

You swatted his hand away, “Don’t touch that.” You hissed and adjusted the head covering. 

Bucky reached out his hand for you to hold, begrudgingly, you took it, “Are we going to get dinner again sweets?” He tried to act coy by not looking at you, but you knew. He didn’t spend two months practically begging at your feet for dinner only to maybe want a second one. 

You gave him an inch and he was going to take a mile. Maybe even two miles if he was feeling extra bold. 

Bucky held the large wooden doors of the church open for you. He was flooded with the overwhelming scent of frankincense as he entered the church. It has been years since he’d set place in a place of worship. Maybe communing with god would be good for him. You looked uncomfortable under the watchful eyes of people kneeling, your presence disrupting their pre service prayers. 

You dipped your fingers into the holy water and crossed yourself, holding your head high. Oh, they were going to have a lot to talk about at their weekly bible studies. You, showing up with a man to church? Well that was going to be the talk of the congregation, hell, it was going to be the talk of the town! 

Bucky gave your hand a comforting squeeze before he dropped it, suddenly feeling the watchful eye of the Lord upon him. He gave you a polite nod and you almost wished you didn't tell him to sit elsewhere because now you had to walk down the aisle to the front of the room while everyone stared.

Your mother looked at you and you chose to ignore her until she leaned over and tugged at the sleeve of your dress, “What is all that about?” She said and nodded back towards Bucky. 

He looked uncomfortable, like a bull in a china shop, sitting stiffly next to the Barton family. If he managed to sit through Sunday mass it would definitely get him bonus points and another dinner, “Nothing Mother.” You knew you were going to have to answer her poking and prodding after the service. 

Father Liska finished the sermon and it took all your strength to not book it out of the church. You waited, ambushed by your mother who wanted to play twenty questions about Bucky. The number one being: do you think you’ll marry him? She loved to emphasize that you were a bit too bold and men didn’t like it when you told them to drop dead or that you’d rather walk across hot coals than meet with them. She would probably die early of a broken heart if you became a spinster. 

“Please mother, we’ve only gotten dinner once and today I let him walk me to church. It’s nothing serious.” You hissed and hushed her once you saw Bucky walking over.

“Everything is serious when it comes to courting, dear.” Your mother reminded you. Marrying you off was serious business and she in some ways was your manager. “Mr. Barnes.” Your mother greeted him, almost breathlessly and offered her hand to him, “It's such a pleasure to meet you, thank you so much for accompanying our daughter to mass today.” 

Bucky bent, kissing your mothers knuckles, you rolled your eyes at the display of chivalry, “It was truly my pleasure ma’am.” Of course mothers loved Bucky Barnes, why wouldn’t they? He was the type of man mothers loved and the type of man fathers warned their daughters about.

“I can’t believe you made him sit all the way in the back,” your mother chastised you, blushing after Bucky kissed her hand, “ Mr. Barnes dear, near Sunday please sit with us, we’ve got the best spot in the congregation.” 

“Well Daddy doesn’t like him.” You said frowning, “What if Bucky doesn’t want to come to mass next Sunday?”  

“Oh nonsense, he’ll be here next Sunday,” Your mother answered for him, “He loved the sermon today, didn’t you, dear?” 

Bucky flashed another pleasant grin at your mother, “Of course, I loved hearing, uh, Father.... Father...” 

“Liska” You filled in the gap for him knowing he never set foot into the Church of St. Michael the  Archangel for the entirety of his two months here. 

“Right, Father Liska, I thought it was incredibly moving.” You said a silent prayer for God to smite him down.

 “Why don’t you come by the house for lunch.” Your mother urged him.

You shot Bucky a glare, “Oh I don’t think I should.” He said after glancing at you, if looks could kill Bucky would be 6 ft under.

“Bucky can stop by when he picks me up for dinner later in the week. Let’s not bore the poor man any longer.” You hooked your arm in his and pulled him towards the door, “Goodbye mother.” You said sharply. 

Bucky patted your hand with his own, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.” 

You huffed, “I am most certainly not jealous.” You took your arm back and crossed them over your chest. You were jealous. Jealous and annoyed mainly with your mother.

“Don’t worry sugar there’s plenty of me to go around.” He grinned and stuffed his hands in his pockets. 

Chapter 2- Good Old Fashioned Catholic Guilt

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Brief history of this request! 🤡 I originally wrote this as a response to it; the original interaction went up a little while before the book 7 part 3 update was released… and that update happened to give us a lot more information about the Shroud family dynamics. It was unfortunately bad timing!

This post is a rewrite which incorporates the new Shroud family canon from the update.

***Contains major plot spoilers for book 6 of the main story!***

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

The students of Night Raven College had become accustomed to rather odd sightings—so when young Ortho Shroud sailed by them with two floating tablets in tow, no one batted an eye at it. That shut-in brother of his, the rumor was, maybe he multiplied. In a sense, there was truth to that theory.

“It’s so nice to have the whole family together!” gushed a woman’s squeaky voice from one device. “Isn’t it, Papa? Everyone’s so busy, we hardly get to do these kinds of things anymore.”

Beside her, her husband cleared his throat. He replied with a blunt, somewhat stiff, “Mmm, quite. It is… certainly a different environment than the laboratory.”

Idia didn’t know which was worse—his mother’s smothering cuteness, or his father’s calculating aloofness. The love and the logic. In anime and manga, they were amusing enough archetypes. But in reality? Cringe with a capital C, especially when they were acting as a unit in public.

He could feel the heat of his peers’ gazes directed at him as they passed like phantoms trailing over a graveyard. The curiosity, the whispers, the stares. The only thing that was keeping Idia sane was the safety offered by his tablet’s screen.

Hunkered down in his Ignihyde bedroom, he was safe from direct judgment—but not free of the embarrassment his parents provided. No, that was always eternal.

“Wh-Why did you guys even bothering showing up on the NRC Family Day banner…” Idia grumbled under his breath. Man, the one time I didn’t want to pull the SSRs… and they came home anyway!

There was an appalled gasp from the end of the line. “Of course Mama and Papa came! It’s Family Day. It’s a time us parents to see what mischief our genius little boys have gotten up to while they’re away!”

Idia couldn’t see his mother’s image on her screen, but he could only imagine she was winking in a conspiring manner to Mr. Shroud. He would give an awkward smile beneath his helmet and probably say something in agreement with her.

“Ideally, we’ve have liked to come in person,” his mother continued.

Mr. Shroud cleared his voice and neatly cut in. “However, with the recent incident… well, let’s just say we’ve had to lay low and wait for the dust to settle. My staff are working overtime moderating the metrics of this situation.”

“Quite right, dear! We can’t exactly waltz into Night Raven College! It would put us at risk of being scrutinized, especially with all the viral internet rumors swirling around.”

“Shadowy secret organization puppeteers Twisted Wonderland,” Mr. Shroud recited, shaking his head in disapproval, “Lizard people real, global warming is a hoax, tap water turning the frogs gay… Where do the youths come up with such preposterous claims?”

They’re covering their bases, Idia told himself. After that incident… We never wiped the subjects’ memories with the River Lethe. It exposes a chink in our armor—they could talk, spread what they know.

Then… Th-There’s no way people wouldn’t be curious. Internet sleuths with nothing better to do will dig up dirt from the most obscure corners of the web and tout it as truth!! That’s why even STYX has been having such a hard time containing it.

“What are you gonna do? Haters gonna hate.” Idia shrugged. “… I get it. You don’t have to go explaining yourselves to us. It’s a waste of breath.”

Cynicism slipped in at the last second. A habit, hard to squash.

Ortho chimed in, clearing the air with his cheer. “Nii-san’s right! What’s important is that we get to spend time together, bonding like any other family does.”

He extended his arms to them, as if reaching for hands to hold. Bur though there was nothing for the android to grasp, there was no hiding his effervescent smile. “I’m really happy that we can do this!”

Idia’s heart, so familiar with the ice that encased the Phantoms and the chill of Tartarus, melted. “Ortho…”

An ear-splitting squeal came from one of the tablets. “Kyaaaah! You’re so cute, Or-kun!! Mama wishes she was right there on Sage’s Island to squish your little face!! You too, Idia-kun! Don’t think you can escape from your mother!”

Mr. Shroud’s voice dragged into a patient sigh. “We discussed keeping a low profile.”

“Aww, but papa!” (Idia could practically hear the pout in her tone.) “It’s a parent’s instinct to want to hug and shower her children with love~”

“Y-You’re going to attract unwanted attention though…” Idia nervously pointed out—one thing he could see eye-to-eye with his father on. They were split down the middle.

Through his camera, he could already spot passerbys slowing and staring. Sweat collected on his palms, on his forehead.

“What’s going on over there…?”

“There’s a boy with blue flames for hair.”

“Is he a Shroud?”

“He has weird things floating around him.”

Unperturbed, Ortho waved at the curious gawkers. “Hello!! I’m spending time with my family today!” he announced with his full chest out.

“Aw, what an adorable kid.”

“Are they phoning in? Gosh, they must be busy—but they still care enough to attend. That’s great!”

“Have fun with your family, champ!!”

Eh? Ehhhhh?! What’s what this after-school special I’m seeing play out?! Everyone’s so upbeat and sparkling… a-almost like one of Cater-shi’s impossible Magicam filters was just applied to the whole campus!!

Something in Idia wanted to scoff at the sight, to dismiss it outright. For as long as he could remember, the Shrouds had been shunned by the sunlight. A bloodline cursed by the gods. Never to be heroes, never normal.

But if Ortho is happy, then… this was all worth it, wasn’t it?

Yet something else, too, called out. Some small, almost forgotten, fragmented part of him. A small flower growing in the darkest pits of the Underworld.

Hope.

A zero that had suddenly turned into 0.001%. Connected again, heart to heart—even if only for a single fleeting moment.

“… Dad, mom, Ortho,” Idia said slowly, “we can’t stand around like NPCs waiting to be talked to. We’ll miss out on the limited time event. Let’s go, the whole party.”

“Nii-san…!!”

Ortho’s whole face lit up, his joy turning absolutely electric. He nearly tackled Idia’s device as he seized it and spun in a giddy circle. There was laughter from the younger Shroud, and confused sputtering from the elder one.

“Would you look at that, Papa?” Mrs. Shroud giggled softly to herself. “It looks like our boys have become such good friends.”

“… That’s good,” her husband replied. “I was concerned that Idia was still beside himself with grief—but thankfully, he’s made tremendous progress.”

“Ehehehe. It’s all thanks to Or-kun coming into our lives. He ended up being the password to unlocking Idia’s almost impenetrable fire walls.”

“Indeed. Our children have come a long way.” The corners of Mr. Shroud’s lips threatened to pull up and back. “No longer boys, but young men.”

[fandom-chic]

Please Please Please: Chapter 11

Summary: Y/N is only a child when she and Tommy Shelby meet. The two quickly become best friends as they grow up in Small Heath. As the years go by, Y/N and Tommy know there may be more to their friendship than they originally thought.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Y/N

A/N: Sorry for the delay! Life has been kicking me in the ass. Please enjoy this chapter :)

Previous chapter

The door slammed shut behind her, shaking the house with a force she didn’t know she had in her. Her body collapsed against the wooden door as she sank to the floor. Her chest heaved up and down as she struggled to catch her breath. She couldn't believe that she had just run home to escape Tommy. How old was she, twelve?

Still, she couldn't get his face out of her mind, or the way he gazed at the barmaid. Then there was the manner in which his eyes left the songbird and moved to her and lingered. She knew there were words in that look that she didn't want to comprehend. She didn't know if she could do that without screaming. She knew these thoughts should be gone, that he should be wiped from her mind. He left her on that dock all alone that day. But something deep inside her also knew that was not possible. He was hers, and she was his. She could run as far as she wanted to, but he was there in the tiniest crook of her heart. It was his to claim, and claim it he did.

Y/N had finally reached the floor, her legs fanned out in front of her. Her ears were ringing, uncertain of how her heart could be so foolish. She had a wonderful husband who loved her with all his might. But here he was, Tommy, ripe for the picking, and she had to take a bite.

The ringing began to subside and turned into another sound, one she was well acquainted with. The wails of Jane filled up Y/N's home, seeming to penetrate every crevice. Although Y/N wanted to spend the next five years sitting in shock, she knew her baby needed her.

So, she pulled herself up, wiped invisible specks of dust off her skirt, and made her way upstairs. She followed the familiar cries until she saw Jane, clenching the bars of her crib and wailing.

"Sweetheart, it's okay," Y/N soothed, gliding into the nursery. She scooped Jane into her arms, holding her close.

"Mama," Jane moaned into her shoulder as wet tears coated Y/N's dress. Y/N bounced her child, trying to calm the wails.

"I'm here, don't worry," she whispered to Jane. And she was. She was here for this beautiful girl. This girl who would always need her. This girl who would always come before any man, even her husband and especially...

A strong pair of arms wrapped around Y/N's waist, pulling her in. She couldn't help but lean her head back and sigh. And for a moment, as she closed her eyes, she felt Tommy's arms, but she knew better.

"Is everything okay? I was in the office, and there seemed to be a bunch of noise," William asked, his words waking her up from her trance.

"I'm fine, we're just having a tough day." Y/N didn't elaborate on who was having that tough night. William sighed. He knew everything about his wife, especially when she was keeping something from him.

"What happened?" He questioned. Y/N knew what he was asking about but hoped he might have meant something else.

"Oh, there was a bang that must've-"

"Not Jane, you," His words weren't malicious, just stern. Y/N pulled out of her husband's embrace and turned to face him.

"Nothing happened."

"Y/N, please." His words stung. They pierced her heart like a needle.

She took a minute to string her words together before she answered, "I saw him."

"Who?" But William already knew.

"Tommy." The word came out as a whisper. She knew once she spoke it into the room, it was real. A long exhale left William's nose as a hand went through his hair.

"And where did you see..." William didn't want to say his name too many times, worried he might summon him. The baby seemed to finally be starting to calm down as the cries turned into little hiccups. Y/N walked to the crib, putting her daughter down to rest. She gave her one final look before venturing to her husband.

"The Garrison. I wanted to grab a drink and," Y/N motioned toward what seemed to be a ghost, "there he was." She let her eyes wander into the dim light of Jane's room, imagining the look on Tommy's face from tonight. Y/N took a deep breath before taking a seat in the rocking chair. William didn't move toward his wife. He stayed where he was, hand in his hair.

"And," Y/N could sense the gears in his mind working as he tried to put his words together, "how do you feel?" Y/N didn't want to answer this. She knew whatever she said wouldn't be enough. If she said there was nothing there, she knew William would deny it. She knew that if she claimed it was like no time had passed for her and Tommy, she could lose the life she had built for herself.

Instead of attacking the question, she stared at the wall and muttered, "I feel like I could use a strong drink." Even in this mayhem and uncertainty, she heard a snicker come out of her husband's lips. He was a good man. A kind one. An understanding one. She felt his presence finally move, and he was behind her, his hands resting on the back of the rocking chair. He smelled like home.

"We are out of anything good right now, but Finnegan's is fully stocked. I'll watch Jane, you grab a good glass of wine." Y/N looked back at William, expecting to see a touch of annoyance behind his kind exterior, but the only look there was love. Y/N's hand reached up and gave her husband's a light squeeze.

"I won't be late." He pulled their hands up to his lips, giving her knuckles a kiss.

"I know." And she set off. Time must have passed quickly because the sun already seemed to be setting. Although she knew fall in Small Heath meant shorter days and longer nights, she didn't know it constituted an almost non-existent amount of sunlight. When she reached Finnegan's, she let herself in. She knew to expect a good number of patrons since it was almost dinner time, but the place was empty.

She took a sigh before moving into the back office, placing her jacket on her husband's desk chair. The lack of business was a trend that had begun once the soldiers came back. Y/N truly expected it to cause a boom and for some more money to finally come in, but it seemed that people were tightening their belts and using their remaining cash on gin and wine. She smoothed her skirt, trying to avert her gaze from the bills littering William's desk. It wasn't her business.

She stepped out of the office and walked up to the bar. She knew the bartender, not intimately, but well enough that he slid a glass of chardonnay right in front of her before she had fully settled into her stool. Y/N gave him a smile and a nod before he wandered off, going to the back to clean glasses. And there she was, alone. Alone with her thoughts and allowed to mull them over.

Almost on cue, as she was about to finally begin to take apart the situation and look at it from different angles, she heard the front door open. She began to call for the bartender to come back and serve the customer who had just walked in, but as she looked back to see the number of patrons, all she saw was one. One man who had yet to leave her mind.

"Y/N." It was his version of a greeting. Words seemed to stick to her throat, not wanting to escape. Tommy took a step toward her, letting the door shut behind him. Her body stayed still, but her mouth began to work.

"What are you doing here?" It was almost a whisper, but she knew he heard. Before he could answer, she cut him short, "You can't be here. This is my husband's business. You have to leave." Her limbs started to loosen as she gained the power to rise from her seat.

"I wanted to-"

“No, please stop.” She rushed into her husband’s office and gathered all her belongings in her arms. Tommy followed her and so did his words. She couldn’t hear them, she knew she couldn’t. 

“Tommy stop!” At her exclamation, he silenced. She knew she had to leave this man. He was a snake in the garden and she wanted to pick the apple. But she had to look at him one last time. So she gazed into those blue eyes for one more beat before letting her feet guide her out the door. She didn’t look back as she found herself racing back home for the second time today. He didn’t follow after her.

This time when she arrived home, she didn't slam any doors. She shut the door slowly behind her, turning the knob in a way that it didn't make a sound. Her hand lingered as she considered going back into the night. The darkness called her, but she turned away from it and stepped into the living room of her family's home.

She couldn't help but smile at the sight before her. William was passed out on the couch with little Jane atop his chest. A thumb was in her mouth, and her other hand was in her father's. This was why she didn't venture into the night. This is what her life was: a little girl who needed her and a man who was good to her. She let the warm feeling subside in her stomach as she made her way to the bedroom for a much-needed night of sleep.

Y/N awoke the next morning to a pair of lips being pressed to her forehead. Her eyes opened to see William above her, dressed for the day. She turned to the clock on the wall to see it read 8:00 AM. Jane had to be awake by now. Y/N began to rise before William put a hand on her shoulder.

"I took care of Jane. She's fed and her diaper has been changed. Take your time." This caused Y/N to relax slightly, knowing she didn't have to spring out of bed for her baby. She let her gaze wander to her husband's.

"Thank you," she said, reaching out to brush a hand across his cheek.

"I'll be back late tonight. Don't stay up too late for me." At this, he pulled Y/N into a kiss. His lips lightly pecked hers before he went out the bedroom door. Y/N waited until she heard the door close and lock before she lazily swung her limbs out of bed. She knew Jane could wait for her, but she had to see her daughter. When she walked into the nursery to see her smiling baby, she knew her day would be a bright one.

And that was how that lazy Saturday was. Y/N spent the morning cleaning the house, taking care of the baby, and planning a dinner for her husband. It was the perfect image of domestic bliss. It wasn't until Jane's afternoon nap that it was interrupted.

A knock on the front door echoed throughout her home. Y/N placed down the book she was resting with and went to the door. It had to be William; she wasn't expecting anyone else. Without checking the peephole, Y/N opened the door.

"You said you wouldn't be home until-" She cut herself off when a familiar pair of blue eyes looked back at her.

Next chapter

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[dreamlandreader]

Teddy Bear’s Picnic

When Feyre and Rhysand are called into an emergency meeting, it is left to Elain to look after baby Nyx. But, when the Night Court heir won't stop crying Elain may have to ask for help from an unexpected source.

Masterlist

Pairing: Elain x Lucien Content Warnings: N/A Word Count: 2936 Words

I'm very excited to share my first ever Elucien fic for day one of @sjmromanceweek (even if it is a couple of days late ... oops)🌸 I got this idea from the prompt 'First Date' and knew immediately I wanted to write about the (unofficial) first date of Elain and Lucien. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it 💗

The warm interior of the River House stood unusually still. Tiny specs of dust danced in the sunlight streaming through the windows, undisturbed by the house's vacant halls. The ordinarily bustling hub of the inner circle had emptied abruptly an hour prior after an unexpected and hastily written letter caused panic, and left the occupants with no choice but to leave the sanctuary of their home.

The stark silence that lingered over the property, however, had not befallen the gardens, where a flustered Elain Archeron was teetering on the brink of tears as she rocked her bawling nephew back and forth, fat tears rolling down his pudgy cheeks. 

“Shh, come now sweet, there’s no need to cry,” Elain whispered to the babe, who paid no attention to her words and let out another piercing scream.

Nyx had begun to sob the second his mother winnowed away and had barely stopped to take a breath in the hour that had passed. Feyre had been incredibly concerned about leaving her son, who had been clinging to his mother more and more in the month since he had started teething. Had Tarquin’s letter not been scrawled so urgently, then Feyre would not have second-guessed staying home with her little boy, but the request had asked for both the High Lord and Lady, and his plea was too desperate to ignore.

“Please stop crying Nyxie. Mama will be home soon,” Elain whispered, bouncing the baby gently in her arms again like she had seen Feyre do so many times before to calm him instantly. Much to Elain’s dismay, the poor babe continued to cry, his tiny whimpers enough to crack even the most icy of hearts.

As the only family member not working within the inner circle, Elain had become the designated babysitter for her tiny nephew, a role which she was thrilled to take on. She had been offered a place within the inner circle, harnessing her seer powers and working with Azriel on intel, but she had gracefully declined. Whilst she appreciated the offer, Elain had never desired a life filled with politics and action. Feyre and Nesta had always been the firey ones, destined for big things, but Elain had always wished for a gentle, quiet life. So she was thrilled when her sisters supported her in opening a flower shop in the lively market at the heart of Velaris.

The shop had brought her such joy whilst she was still trying to heal from the trauma of the last few years, and it had even allowed her to explore Prythian. Rhysand had been able to put her in contact with florists from various courts who, after some enthusiastic correspondence, had invited her to see the beauty of their courts for herself. So far, Elain had visited the bright sunflower fields of the Day Court, witnessed the blooming of the cherry blossoms in the Dawn Court and spent hours roaming the endlessly stunning gardens of the Spring Court.

Nyx let out another heartbreaking cry, and a guttural sob escaped Elain as she sat on her knees in the grass and cried alongside her nephew.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what to do,” Elain sniffled. She had tried everything; bouncing, singing, dancing, tickling, reading, swaddling, cuddling, but nothing would work. She felt like a failure.

When Nyx was born, the three Archeron sisters had agreed that no matter what, the tiny babe would never experience an ounce of the pain they felt through their childhood. They had long since begun to stitch the wounds of their past and had many a tearful conversation to clear the air about the toxic years they spent trapped within the four walls of their dilapidated home. Despite this, Elain still carried a kernel of guilt for allowing herself to be shielded and ignorant from the worries of her younger sister for so long. She was determined she would no longer be the one her sisters had to hide their fears or anxieties from, she wanted to be there for them and her nephew. Which was why Elain had taken her inability to comfort poor Nyx so personally.

Just as Elain was considering calling on Madja and asking if there was a rare fae illness going around that caused non-stop crying, she heard the door to the garden creek open and determined footsteps leading down the garden path.

“Feyre!” She exclaimed, standing quickly as she twisted to face her sister, but it was not Feyre who stared back at her, but Lucien Vanserra - her mate.

“A-are you okay? I came to see Feyre, but the house was empty, and then I heard crying. When I saw you on the floor, I- I thought something must have happened,” he stumbled, concern contorting his face.

Elain felt a twinge of guilt at Lucien’s evident nerves. She hated that he thought he had to justify visiting his friend because of her discomfort in their bond. Still, she couldn’t swallow the anxious butterflies that floated up from her stomach and clogged her throat whenever he was around. Elain had thought about approaching Lucien now that she was feeling more settled in her fae life, to see if there was anything there, and so that they could both move on if there wasn’t. However, something stopped her every time.

Elaine’s nerves were abruptly overshadowed when Nyx let out another piercing scream.

“He won’t stop. I’ve tried everything, but I can’t calm him down. I’m the worst Aunty ever,” Elain bawled, thrusting the babe towards Lucien, who gently took Nyx from her arms, hardening his face to avoid giving away the fact that the brush of her hand against his had ignited his skin.

“Elain, you are not the worst Aunty. You are the most dedicated Aunt I’ve ever met. You should hear Feyre and Rhys singing your praises every time they get a spare five minutes for a coffee because you’ve taken Nyx for the afternoon,” Lucien said, shouting slightly over the squawking child.

“Maybe you just need to try a different tactic? When I was a child and I wouldn’t settle, my mother would try to surprise me with something outside of my daily routine, and the curiosity of it would make me forget whatever had upset me,”

“I- I don’t really know. He just wants Feyre. I wouldn’t even know what to try,” Elain sniffled.

Lucien looked out at the beautiful gardens and was struck with an idea. The organised floral designs close to the River House gave way to patches of wildflowers and rolling hills surrounded by cosy meadows and orchards. It was the perfect setting for his plan.

“I have an idea. Take Nyx inside for a few minutes, and when I’m ready, I’ll call you out,” he said, placing the babe back into Elain’s arms.

“What? But-”

“I need you to trust me, okay?” Lucien’s eyes were so sincere, even if it did feel like his gaze was burrowing into Elain’s soul.

“Okay,” she whispered before turning on her heel and returning to the house.

Ten minutes later, and breathless from running back and forth into the River House, Lucien called Elain out to the garden.

A pale blue gingham blanket had been carefully strewn across the floor, surrounded by a sweeping carpet of cornflowers. Plush cushions skirted the border of the blanket, and a row of Nyx’s most loved teddy bears sat in a line, staring at the buttered scones, chocolate-covered strawberries and an ornate tea set.

“What is this?” Elain questioned, still bouncing a mewling Nyx.

“A teddy bear’s picnic,” Lucien announced proudly, opening his arms wide, a lopsided grin gracing his lovely face.

Elain cautiously walked towards the edge of the blanket, popping Nyx next to his toys before gracefully sitting beside him.

Like a miracle had washed over the scene, Nyx’s cries faltered as he crawled towards the nearest bear. A minute later, he had fallen completely silent as he stuffed the poor bear’s paw in his mouth and began to chew.

“It worked,” Elain whispered, wide-eyed, a grin taking over her delicate face as she looked up in awe at Lucien.

“You aren’t joining us?”

“Oh, I thought now he’s settled that you may want some peace and quiet,” Lucien suggested nervously, the awkwardness seeping back into the air around them now that the babe had been calmed.

For a moment, Lucien and Elain merely stared into each other’s eyes, neither one brave enough to break the silence that had settled, until Lucien bowed and suggested it was time for him to take his leave, turning back towards the house. He had taken only two steps before Elain’s voice rang out behind him.

“Stay. Please,” His heart was beating so hard that he wouldn’t be shocked if it had burst out of his chest and fallen before the woman it so clearly belonged to. In the time since their bond had been revealed, Elain had never once asked to spend time with him or shown any interest in his presence. He thought he may be sick from the anticipation, hope clenching in his stomach.

Sitting down next to Elain, he ran his sweaty palms down his breeches and searched desperately for something to say to ease the tension.

“I’m presuming the tea was not for the six-month-old,” Elain said, beating Lucien to it.

“No,” he laughed. “I thought, given how upset you were, that you deserved something nice too,”

“That’s very kind, Lucien, thank you,” She blushed, looking over at Nyx, who was happily babbling away to himself.

Lucien took the opportunity to drink Elain in. She was all soft lines and gentle curves, radiating such warmth and sunlight that the mere thought of her embrace gave Lucien goosebumps.

“Would you like some?” Elain asked, breaking Lucien’s reverie by pouring herself a cup of lavender and chamomile tea.

“Please,” he replied, clearing his throat, the look she gave him making his mouth instantly dry.

Elain was having much the same trouble. Her breath hitched as she watched Lucien pick up a strawberry, his lips wrapping around the fruit and his tongue cleaning his mouth of the lingering juices, sending a flash of heat between her legs. She had never taken the time to truly admire him before. And that was what it meant to look at Lucien, to admire. He was beautiful, and Elain was suddenly struck by how strange it was that Feyre, knowing this male for years, had not made him the sole focus of every painting she had created to date.

“I think Feyre and Rhys will want you to live here if they find out you can work your magic like this,” Elain said, looking pointedly away from Lucien and towards the little boy, now fast asleep.

“Oh no, it was nothing,” Lucien retorted, waving his hand as though his help was no big deal. “He probably tired himself out with all that crying, and the sight of his bears managed to calm him down for long enough that he fell asleep,”

“Either way, I’m incredibly grateful,” Elain tapered off, filling the silence with a sip from her tea. She had to say it now. It was the perfect opportunity. She just needed to get it out before this moment passed.

“So -,” Lucien started, interrupted almost immediately.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” Elain blurted out, eyes wide in almost as much shock as the male before her.

“Oh?”

“About the- about the bond,”

Lucien’s heart dropped as he steeled himself, preparing for the blow, for the decision he had known was coming for a long time.

“When you first revealed the bond to me, I wasn’t in a good place,” Lucien met Elain’s eyes and took in the sorrow that filled them.

“Nesta and I had just been turned into the creatures we’d feared our entire lives. I was in a new body, a new land. Feyre had been taken away from us again and put into another dangerous situation. I’d lost everything I’d ever known. The future I saw for myself had been ripped away one minute, and then I’m being told fate, or the Mother, or whoever has decided on a new future for me. One with a male who I did not know,”

“I’m sorry. I should have handled the situation far more delicately than I did,” Lucien sighed, rubbing his calloused hand over his face before continuing.

“For such a long time, I thought it impossible I would ever find a mate, and the shock I had at that moment meant it slipped from my mouth before I could think. I regretted immediately revealing it the way I did. I was paralysed by fear that I had let it slip with an evil bastard like Hybern in the room,” he shakes his head, despair taking over his eyes. “I guess I just lost my head, and once it was out, I couldn’t take it back.

Elain slowly nodded, taking in what Lucien had so vulnerably revealed, and reached over to gently clasp his hand.

“After everything that happened, I lost myself entirely. I know I hurt you by refusing to meet with you, by ignoring your existence. Things were bad, and I was in a dark hole I couldn’t find my way out of,”

“I understand Elain, you’ve no need to explain yourself,”

“No, I do,” She said, taking a deep breath.

“I’m at a point now where things are looking up again. I finally feel that I’ve found my place here. I feel my family is happier than- well than we’ve ever been actually, and for the first time, I actually know who I am and what I want,”

Here it was. Lucien closed his eyes, begging his resolve to stay intact until he was alone, where he could mourn what might have been in privacy.

“I know I would like to give this a chance,”

“What?” Lucien’s eyes flew open, taking in Elain for any sign that this was a cruel joke, but she looked back at him with such soft sincerity that he was utterly lost for words.

“I’m not promising anything. I don’t want either of us tied to one another just because of a bond. If anything comes from this, I want it to be because we both want it,”

Lucien nods, still in shock.

“But, I would like to get to know you, Lucien. Not just the stories my sister tells me or the small glimpses I’ve had at family dinners where we are surrounded by people, but to really get to know you in our own time. Because I have seen my sisters and how happy their mates have made them, and I am ready to let some of that light into my life, too. If you are willing, of course?”

“Yes!” He radiated. “Yes, I would love that,”

“So, maybe we can start with a date?” Elain suggested, a rosy blush colouring her cheeks.

“Yes. That would be perfect,”

“Good,” She smiled. “Although with this lovely set-up, this does sort of feel like an unofficial first date,”

“Oh no,” Lucien beams, “Our first date will be much more spectacular than a picnic in your sister’s back garden, don’t you worry,”

"I can't wait", Elain laughed, and the joy in her voice made Lucien's heart ache with delight.

After half an hour of tentative conversations and shy smiles, Elain decided it was time to put Nyx to bed.

"You take him in. I'll clean this up," Lucien offered as Elain scooped the sleepy baby into her arms and walked towards the house.

By the time Elain made it to the stairs, Feyre and Rhysand were trailing through the front door, exhaustion lining their faces. The High Lord walked right up to Elain and, thanking her, took his son into his arms, a quiet calm washing over his body as he walked slowly up the stairs to Nyx's room.

Feyre, smiling at the sweet scene, hung up her coat and let out a sigh.

"Thank Gods, it was a false alarm. Tarquin got some false information about Beron-"

Feyre stops, raising her brow as she looks at her sister's face.

"Why do you look like that?" Feyre asked, a suspicious glint in her eye.

"Like what?"

"All glowy and happy,"

Elain rolled her eyes, feigning annoyance, a blush creeping up her cheeks. "I'm not allowed to look happy now?"

"Of course you are! But something weird is going on. I can sense it,"

Elain opened her mouth, ready to retort, when Lucien walked through the door, a bright smile taking over his face.

"Oh, hey Feyre," he said, stopping in his tracks, looking like a deer in headlights. "I was just here to return that book Rhys lent me. I left it on the kitchen counter!"

Lucien looked shifty as hell, and Feyre could only laugh and look pointedly at her sister.

“Well, I best be going. Later Feyre. Goodbye, Elain,” Lucien blurted quickly, dipping his head and swiftly taking his leave.

“What in the Mother’s name was that!” Feyre burst out the second Lucien had disappeared behind the front door.

“Nothing,” Elain replied, walking towards the living room, desperate to escape her sister’s questions.

“Elain Archeron, don’t you dare lie to me in my own home,” Feyre joked, chasing after her.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll call for Nesta,” Feyre sang.

Elain glared daggers at her little sister before sighing, resigning herself to the interrogation she knew she was about to receive.

“Urgh, fine, just call her. I’ll tell you everything. But grab a bottle of wine before we start!”

[lace-coffin]

Thomas hewitt with mommy kink 🥺👉👈

Or/and some tiddy sucking 🧏🏼‍♀️☺️

Thomas Hewitt with a mommy kink x afab!Reader (nsfw)

You really should have seen this coming, considering the non existent relationship between Tommy and his birth mother. In your defence you had more important things to be considering when stranded in the middle-of- fucking-nowhere Texas. Thankfully a handsome tree of a man and his uncle found you and towed your car back to the run down family owned gas station down the road. You weren’t sure if now being deeper into the town was a blessing or a curse…no time to dwell on that now. Atleast you were in civilisation…..kinda?

Cut to a few months later and things had evolved from there, car in need of more than a few major fixes. As Hoyt, you’d come to find his name was, put it, “your lucky that shit can didn’t blow up on you 50 miles back” go figure. With no place to stay whilst your car was out of commission you ended up staying in the Hewitt house. A few days turned into a week, a week turning into ‘staying a few extra days to help around the house, to pay your debt back’ your bond with Tommy and his family developed deeper and your now up to scratch car gathered more dust outside. The whole ‘how I found out my emotionally repressed boyfriend kills and eats people’ story happened is for another day.

In the present day you lay spread lazily across the double bed you share, book in hand and eyes beginning to become unfocused from fatigue. Maybe it’s time to put the book away. Just before you can finish that thought, Tommy stomps in, making quick work of his boots and kicking them towards the door. The bed dips from his weight as he slumps down onto it.

“Hard day, big guy?” You question, setting the book aside on pushing yourself into a sitting position by his side. You only receive a grunt for confirmation.

“Hoyt been busting your ass?”

A longer exhausted groan comes from behind his hands. Ah, it’s one of those days. Thankfully you have a way to help with a 90% success rate, even if he doesn’t feel up to it you can offer a warm bath and a cuddle.

Shuffling closer to Tommy you gently slide your hands under his head, raising it to meet your gaze in the process.

“Do you need some pampering time baby? A little time with mama?” You coo, lazily drawing patterns over the leather half mask adorning your partners face.

You can tell by the way the larger man’s eyes seem to almost mist over and get more distant that it’s a yes, already falling into the headspace and wanting to let go. Tapping his cheek to get his attention you speak again.

“I’m going to need clear consent baby, are you sure you want this? If not we can try something else ok? I won’t be angry or disappointed”

Eyes shifting back to focus on you Tommy signs an “I’m sure” and waits for you to take the lead.

“Good job honey”

Pulling the pair of you down onto the bed you position yourself so Tommy is resting his face onto your chest, feeling the way it rises and falls with each breath. For now you just lay there in eachothers comfortable presence, whispering sweet nothings and praises into his long unruly hair. It’s peaceful and sweet while it lasts but you know Tommy never lasts long before getting wound up like this. Sure enough your hand not so subtly finds its way to his crotch, battered work trousers tenting in the front.

“Are you all pent up down here baby? You need mommie to take care of it?” You ask in a sickly sweet manor, it’s a rhetorical question, you know how bad he wants this, wants you. Tommy lets out a shudder and a muted groan, bucking into your warm hands.

“How about this, I take care of you and you take care of mommie ok?”

His head raises, looking you in the face as if it will answer what you’re implying, almost looking like a big lap dog with his head sat on your chest like that. His questions are answered as you start to unbutton your shirt, revealing your naked chest to his hungry eyes. Giggling at his reaction you lean to take Tommy out of his trousers, eliciting a gasp from him as it’s exposed to the air.

“Be a good boy and suck on mommies tits will you? I’ll treat you right if you can be a good boy for me and keep your hands to yourself”

Wasting no time at all Tommy dives into your chest, cupping both breasts in his calloused hands. You let a small sigh escape, practically melting into his palms as he begins to lay kisses onto the meat of your tits, teasingly avoiding the nipple, keeping you on edge and waiting.

Tugging his hair you hiss out after a particularly hard suck.

“Stop being a brat and get to it, you do want to be touched, don’t you?”

Groaning at the delicious sting in his scalp he nods fervently, plump lips finally latching onto your sensitive nipples.

“Shit..hah..perfect, just like that baby”

As a reward for his efforts you finally bring your hand back to his cock, slowly working it over in languid strokes, not slow enough to tease but not fast enough to let him cum so soon, you aren’t that kind.

With a last nip to your right breast he finally switches to the other, giving the now lonely one an equal amount of attention with his large hands. The way he moves his tongue should be illegal, it’s sloppy and dirty, laving over your abused nipples like a man starved.

Arching your chest into his mouth you speed up your ministrations, you can tell by the way his breath is beginning to hitch and his hips twitching that he’s close. Paying extra attention to the spot under the head you decide he deserves his reward. Pulling your hand away you pat him on the flank to gain his attention that’s currently focused on your panting chest.

“You’ve done such a good job making mommie feel good baby, how about you come up here and get your reward?” You giggle devilishly, patting your chest and tugging Tommy a little to encourage him to perch himself on your chest. You bite your lip as his thick cock slaps onto your chest, leaving a smear of precum to run into the valley between them.

It doesn’t take long at all after Tommy begins to fuck your tits, If he was barely holding on before then he definitely isn’t now. The noise his cock makes between your slick tits is disgustingly lewd and only spurs him on further. Before he knows it he’s on the edge, a quick “please?” is Clumsily signed out in desperation. He’s so cute still asking permission even like this, such a good boy.

“Are you gonna cum for me baby? Gonna mark me up and get me all dirty? Go ahead, you’ve earned it for being such a sweet little thing” you coo, encouraging him into his orgasm. With one final pathetic whine his cock twitches and paints your tits in warm cum, thick spurts dripping down the sides or pooling into the centre.

With few final weak thrusts, Tommy effectively collapses onto your now sticky chest, it should gross you out to have the quickly cooling cum pressed between the two of you but you’re both too blissed out to really give a fuck. Sitting in quiet again you run your hands through his hair, easing over his scalp that you abused earlier as an apology. As much as you want to stay like this forever you both need to get cleaned up before it becomes annoying.

Patting Tommy’s back you speak up again.

“Ready for that bath handsome?”

You get another tired grunt and a thumbs up from your boyfriends face down fucked out form. Stifling a laugh you continue.

“If you’re quick I might let you return the favour…”

Suddenly he’s up and into the bathroom, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him move that quick.

[shangchiswife]

joel miller- sweet nothing

summary: you can joel take a trip down memory lane

joel miller x fem!reader

warnings: making out

word count: 1421

....

You remembered the first time you met Joel.

You had been trudging through the snow with half-lidded eyes as the cold nipped your barely covered skin.

You wore a gray fleece jacket with a black t-shirt underneath and jeans. Your outfit was unable to combat the cruel Wyoming winter.

You shivered as you walked praying that someone, anyone would be around to help you.

You had traveled far to be in Wyoming, hearing about a small town called Jackson that functioned the way things were before the outbreak.

The sun was beginning to set and you shivered from the sudden loss of minimal warmth.

Suddenly you heard the sound of boots crunching in the snow along with trotting.

You looked up and realized you were suddenly surrounded by a show of people adorned with oversized coats and many horses.

They had their weapons aimed at you.

“I’m not infected I promise!” you shouted with the little effort you had in your body.

The people all stared at each other quizzically before one of the riders stepped off his horse.

His face was covered with a tan-colored bandana and his head was shielded by a large cowboy hat.

He whistled and a large German Shepherd appeared at his side.

“This dog can sense whether or not you’ve been infected. If you’re not then you’re all good, but if you are she’ll rip you to shreds,” the man had a Texas accent that slipped into his words.

“So reassuring,” you rolled your eyes with the little strength you had left as the dog ran beside you, sniffing all over.

The man snorted at your sarcasm.

Once the dog was done with its examination it wagged its tail offering you a sweet smile before it moved back beside the man.

“Looks like you’re good,” the man said.

At that moment you felt your eyes droop as you fell face-first into the snow.

The last thing you heard before you slipped into exhaustion was “yikes.” 

You smiled at the memory as you cut an assortment of vegetables on your cutting board for a pasta dish.

You hadn’t know that that cowboy who had told you that there was a possibility of getting ripped to shreds would become your husband and was now about to be the father of your child.

You hummed to yourself as you turned around to face the stove and placed the cut vegetables into a searing pan with sauce and chicken.

At that moment the door to your house opened and your husband entered, a large coat adorning his figure as well as a small beanie on his head.

“Hey Joel,” you grinned at him as he stripped his multiple layers.

“Hey honey, it is freezin’ out there,” he said, taking off his beanie that was dusted with specks of snow.

“Oh I’ll bet if you’re taking off that many layers,” you said as you coated the contents of the pan with the sauce.

Joel let out a hearty chuckle as he walked over to you and kissed your forehead.

“How are you sweet pea?” he questioned.

“Are you talking to me or the baby?” you arched your eyebrows.

“Both of ‘ya,” he said as he crouched down and pressed a kiss to your swollen belly.

“You treating mama well?” Joel asked stroking your clothed belly softly as you watched fondly.

“This baby has been kicking all day since you left. Probably just missed her papa,” you sighed as a genuine smile stretched across your husband’s face.

He stood up as you returned to your cooking, now placing the contents of the pan into a large pot full of cooked pasta.

“Smells delicious,” Joel got up and rested his head on your shoulder, his arms wrapping around your stomach as you mixed the pasta and the sauce.

“Thank you, baby, I just finished if you want some,” you said as he pressed a soft kiss to your neck.

“I think I’ll wait till Ellie comes. Speaking of where is that girl?” he asked, his eyes flickering around the house for any sign of her.

“She’s out with Dina on a little date,” you smiled as you shut the heat to the stove.

“Oh is she? That means I have you all to myself then,” Joel smirked mischieviously as he rubbed your body sensually and kissed your neck.

“Joel!” you giggled as he picked you up over the counter, sucking the sweet spot on your neck.

“So fuckin’ cute,” he said before lifting up your chin and pressing his lips to yours.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss as he slipped his tongue in between your lips.

You moaned at the feeling of your tongues battling for dominance as his hands wandered around your body.

Joel then removed his lips from yours and carried you over to the sofa, laying you delicately against the cushions.

Before Joel could climb on top of you, you pushed him down on the opposite end of the sofa.

“Joel, Ellie should be coming back any time now,” as he slid beside you placing a hand over his heart with an expression that feigned hurt.

“Oh shut up,” you smacked his hand watching him grin wolfishly as you rested your head over his chest and nuzzled into him, inhaling his manly scent.

It was silent for a couple of moments with the both of you enjoying each others warmth along with the warmth that came from the little fireplace in front of you.

“Joel?” you asked lifting your head up.

He angled his jaw downward so that his brown eyes could glance at you.

“When was the first time you knew you were in love with me,” you asked, your eyes staring adoringly at him making him chuckle.

“Do you remember karaoke night two years ago?” 

You laughed bashfully as you put your face even closer to his chest.

“Yeah, I remember,”

That night had been a blur. You were celebrating a year being in Jackson and the town had put on a karaoke party for you.

You had bought yourself a new dress from the boutique and was so excited to wear it.

You remember twirling the night away to the live music at the local bar, a glass of wine in one of your hands.

What you never noticed was Joel Miller perched on the counter, eying you from afar with a crooked smile on his face.

From the moment you two had met when you had landed face-first in the snow, you had become quick friends.

But Joel couldn’t help the way he caught feelings for you.

The way you smiled and waved at him whenever you saw him, the way your eyebrows furrowed as you took in what he was saying, and the way you took care of Ellie.

You were just so fucking perfect.

He watched with a dazy smile on his face as you spun around and took a swig of the drink in your hand every so often.

He didn’t notice the way his brother sidled up next to him.

“You’ve been watching Y/N for a while, it’s getting a little creepy,” Tommy chuckled as he clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

Joel’s eyes snapped away from your figure and turned to his brother.

“Is it that obvious?” Joel stroked his beard.

“To everyone in town yeah but I don’t think she knows yet,” Tommy said, chuckling as his older brother exhaled.

“Maria thinks you should tell her…so do I…and even Ellie,” 

“Ellie knows too?” Joel’s eyes widened as Tommy laughed again.

“Joel, I told you everyone knows. Everyone loves her and everyone would be very happy to see you both tie the knot,” Tommy said before Maria walked over to the pair. 

“Mind if I steal him?” the woman asked Joel who shrugged his shoulders.

“He’s all yours, ma’am,” he said as Maria took her husband’s hand in hers.

“Let’s dance, cowboy,” she winked as Tommy grinned at his wife.

Joel’s eyes returned to your figure as you continued to dance drunkenly, sending a smile to his face.

He was down bad.

The day after that he had asked you out and the rest was history.

You pressed your lips against Joel’s as he shut his eyes.

“I love you so much,” you blurted out as he brought his hands to your face.

He gave a long kiss to your forehead and rubbed your belly affectionately.

“I love you so much more baby,”