#my nose ring hinge is BUSTED

[futureghost97]

just had to text my piercer and tell her I’m coming in this week bc my nipple barbells and my nose ring decided to, in the same day, no longer be viable jewelry options for me

[temptacioun]

yandere ! izuku midoriya

pt1?

“oh, bunny.”

his voice rings like poison in your ears ; so sickeningly sweet when he coos that damn pet name. he’s disappointed, you're aware. of what, you're not quite sure — it could be the fact that you’re hiding from him when you should’ve been greeting him at the door. throwing your arms around his shoulders and peppering his face in sweet kisses. but not today.

“you know i’ll find you, right? there’s no point in hiding.” you know that, but that doesn’t stop you from trying.

you could hear the heavy thud of his footsteps outside the door, the key inside the lock a pathetic attempt to stop him for even just a second. when both of you knew he could easily bust down that door without a struggle.

you’re cowering in the closet, legs pulled to your chest with an arm wrapped around your knees — fingers clutching a kitchen knife. your other hand was folded over your lips to stifle your breathing and quieten those cries that spilled uncontrollably.

you could hear the doorknob wriggling, a groan of frustration before his fist thumps against the door and the sound alone makes you flinch. “if you be a good girl and come out now,” he rasps, and drags his nails along the wood. “it won’t hurt too much.”

that's a lie, and you know it. izuku doesn’t even have to get rough for it to hurt ; though rationally thinking you knew it would be better to give up and try to lessen the intensity of his punishment. but the nervous pitter-patter of your heart held you back, cowering in the corner of the closet.

it’s silent then, for what seems like an eternity before you could hear the door break and the wood crack under his strength — just like you thought he would. his steps are methodical, easily bringing him over to the closet within seconds and he nearly rips the doors from the hinges.

you can’t even scream, staring up at those emerald eyes like a deer struck in headlights, clutching the kitchen knife tightly in your hands. he looks almost innocent, like the little boy you used to know ; if it weren’t for that sickening smile on his lips. his eyes flicker down to the weapon clutched in your grip and he chuckles.

“were you planning to hurt me with that, little bunny?” you were, but now it seemed like your body froze, preparing for that promised punishment. his hand reaches out and you flinch, eyes screwed shut, what you can’t see can’t hurt you. but the hit never comes, instead, his fingers trail the curve of your jaw and down the length of your throat. it’s an almost gentle touch and you peek your eyes open carefully.

izuku’s squat in front of you, head tilted to the side and he looks almost hurt by your actions. “why do you hide from me, hm?” his thumb strokes over your pulse point, noting with amusement how quick your heart must be beating ; he loved it when you were terrified of him, it made it all too easy. “i just want you to love me, is that too much to ask?”

it wasn’t, but you’ve come to learn that such questions are never good. he asks them with such a gentle voice and such pretty eyes, you’re almost tricked to think he could never hurt you. but you’re once again proven wrong when his slender fingers curl around your throat and squeeze.

your hands drop the knife instinctively in favor of curling around his wrist, eyes wide in a blind panic when you should be used to this already. he pulls you in with one hand, until you’re on your knees and your face close enough to be touching noses. “now what will you do to make it up for me, hm?” he raises an eyebrow at you, and your heart sinks when you hear the all too familiar sound of his belt sliding out of his pants.

“you’ll have to work for forgiveness, my precious bunny.”

[gerrystamour]

i could be honest, i could be human [Chapters 4, 5 & 6]

Rated E | Steddie

[ FIRST PART ] [ PREVIOUS PART ] [ NEXT PART ]

No summary to save space since this is a meaty update. SOME CONTENT WARNINGS THOUGH!! There is some vaguely described homophobia and a brief mention of a homophobic hate crime. Nothing is explicitly described.

Chapter Four: November 1984

It had been a few days since Billy Hargrove had beat the shit out of Steve and his ears were still ringing. Nancy wanted him to go to the doctor about it, saying something about his brain swelling and how that was bad. He figured he was fine. If his brain was going to crush itself on the inside of his skull, it would’ve done it already, right?

Regardless, going to the doctor would mean telling someone even a fraction of the events that happened, and he was in too much pain to keep his story straight.

Everything hurt at that point. His whole head pounded, and his jaw clicked at the hinge when he yawned or chewed any food, his nose was broken, and a bunch of Steve’s teeth were worryingly loose, shifting painfully in his swollen gums. To top it all off, he had a nasty gash on the side of his head from the plate Billy broke over it that definitely needed stitches because it kept reopening. But his head would have to be shaved to get stitches, and that was not an option.

He survived, and it wasn’t like it bled that much when the wound reopened. It was fine.

It also didn’t help that his breathing was also a little fucked up. The air inside the tunnels was definitely toxic, and their stupid little makeshift masks were a pathetic attempt at protecting themselves. He could still taste the tunnels sometimes when he managed to take a deep enough breath. Steve imagined that was what rotting meat would taste like, which was not helpful in the least.

Steve had been calling himself out of class, both because he was too messed up for the faculty to just ignore and because being in that bright, noisy, and crowded building while he felt so shitty was probably what Hell would feel like.

At that moment, he was shuffling through the aisles of Melvald’s—wearing sunglasses inside like a douchebag—to grab painkillers since he already used up his supply at home. The cashier gawked at him as he paid for the medication, and he didn’t even tell her off. Steve knew how bad he looked and he was just relieved that she wasn’t Ms. Byers.

Steve headed out into the sunlight with a groan, flinching as the bright light blinded him through his dark sunglasses. He didn’t even notice that he stepped out of the store and right into someone’s path as they passed until their shoulder caught his.

Normally, a bump like that would have made Steve stumble a step at most. This time, while his equilibrium was on vacation and he could barely even stand without holding onto something, he went down hard. Steve barely got his hands out in front of him to save what was left of his busted face from another traumatic injury.

Now, he had road rash on the heels of his palms, one of his wrists hurt, and the fall triggered a wave of dizzy nausea that actually made him dry-heave a bit before he regained some of his composure. To top that all off, his sunglasses had fallen off his face and from the sound of it, they had skittered directly under someone’s foot with a resounding crack.

“Fuck,” Steve managed to groan, and distantly he knew someone was talking to him, but it was difficult to hear them over the whooshing in his ears.

The person sounded alarmed, understandably so, and Steve managed to say, “Sorry, I promise I won’t puke.”

“Bummer, I was kinda hoping you would,” the person said, their voice finally coming in clearer as the whooshing subsided. “It would really make my day.”

Eddie Munson. Of course it was Eddie, there to witness another very low point in Steve’s life.

“On second thought, maybe I will,” Steve said, shakily pushing himself up onto his knees.

“Have you been drinking, Harrington?” Eddie asked, his voice getting closer as he crouched next to Steve on the sidewalk.

“I wish that’s what this was, Munson,” Steve replied with a wry laugh, hissing when cool fingers suddenly grabbed his chin and turned his face toward him.

“What the fuck, Harrington? Who the fuck did this?”

If Steve didn’t know better, he’d think that Eddie was actually concerned. Upset even. Like he actually cared that Steve was beaten up and concussed and on his knees in the middle of the sidewalk on a Thursday morning. Even if Steve could have opened his eyes against the bright sunlight, he wouldn’t have. He wanted to avoid seeing the grin that Eddie was undoubtedly wearing, didn’t want to ruin the illusion that someone else outside of the party cared that he was hurt. 

With a hiss, Steve lifted a hand to the side of his head where he felt warmth trickling through his hair and sure enough his fingertips felt something wet. He laughed bitterly as he pulled his hand away.

Like Eddie said on Halloween—it was only funny if Steve was bleeding, right?

“Shit, Harrington, you’re bleeding,” Eddie said, and his voice was all wrong. There was no banter, no laughter, only what Steve would describe as panic if it was anyone else talking to him.

“Yeah, that happens. I’ll be fine, I just need—fuck, why is it so bright out here?” Steve croaked, trying to open his eyes but without his sunglasses, it just felt like hot icepicks were being driven through both eyeballs.

Steve could hear Melvald’s door open with a jingle, and the tense voice of the cashier said, “he can’t stay out here like that.”

“You’re actually fucking joking, right?” Eddie snapped, his tone so full of venom that Steve couldn’t help but laugh.

“I don’t want any trouble, and both of you are scaring people—”

Eddie cut her off with a mean laugh. “He’s on the ground bleeding, and you care about, what exactly?”

“Munson, stop,” Steve murmured, trying to get to his feet again but failing miserably.

“Either you both leave or I’m calling the cops,” she snapped, her tone closed off. Panic flashed through Steve about Hopper seeing him laid out on the sidewalk like he was and he shook his head.

“Oh, I fucking dare you to, lady—” Eddie started to taunt her again, but Steve smacked his leg blindly.

“Stop, Munson, seriously,” Steve insisted before addressing the employee. “We’ll leave, okay? I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

Eddie scoffed at his apology, but the employee thanked him and the door shut as she presumably went inside.

“Okay, can you help me to my car? I parked it down the street—” Steve started.

“Like hell am I taking you to your car, Harrington!” Eddie interrupted, his voice almost shrill with his outrage.

“Well I can’t stay here, so unless you have a better idea…” Steve trailed off, his head throbbing with a new flash of agony.

Eddie was silent for several moments before the various chains he wore jingled with movement. “I’m going to take you to my van, okay?” Eddie said, his voice now coming from above Steve rather than next to him. Eddie didn’t even wait for him to respond before he grabbed Steve and easily hauled him to his feet.

Steve was surprised at Eddie’s strength, not quite expecting it from the way Eddie looked and behaved. Not only was he strong enough to lift Steve, but he was controlled enough with that strength to do it without jostling him unpleasantly. When Eddie settled Steve against his side with an arm tucked firmly around his waist, that embarrassed fluttering filled Steve’s gut again for some reason.

Maybe Nancy was right and his brain was starting to swell.

That thought was reaffirmed when they reached Eddie’s van and he had zero recollection of moving. Eddie was muttering in his ear, and after a moment of concentration he managed to understand some of the words.

“—Idiot pretty-boys passing out and bleeding all over my new fucking battle vest—”

“You regularly haul around bleeding pretty-boys, plural, Munson?” Steve groaned as Eddie startled at his voice. The other man propped Steve against the bumper of his van and carefully let him go.

“Nah, Harrington, only you get the royal treatment,” Eddie admitted with a chuckle. “Can you get yourself into the van, or do you need my help?”

Steve considered the question carefully, his eyes shut and head hanging. He could probably tough out the pain enough to get himself into the van. He had toughed out the pain and dizziness to run around tunnels made of writhing vines and crawling with Demo-dogs. Crawling into a van was nothing.

And yet…

“Okay, I’m helping before you pass out on me again,” Eddie grunted as he scrambled up into the van and knelt behind him. With a huff, Eddie weaved his arms beneath Steve’s and around his chest, his own chest pressing against Steve’s back. Curly hair tickled against Steve’s cheek and hot breath puffed across his throat. “Okay, big boy, you’ve gotta help a little bit.”

Heat burst across Steve’s cheeks, that terrible fluttering feeling running rampant in his gut, but all he did was nod and hum his agreement.

“On three, okay?” Eddie said, and once he counted them in, Steve pushed up on his tip-toes at the same time Eddie lifted him. Once he was partly inside the van, Steve was able to hook his heel on the bumper and help push himself the rest of the way while Eddie pulled.

Once inside, Steve laid on a pile of blankets on top of a mattress that was probably shitty, but at the moment was the best damn thing he’d ever had the pleasure of laying on. Distantly, he heard the van doors close, as well as some fabric shifting, and blessedly the world became a lot less bright through his eyelids. Steve found himself marveling at how Eddie’s van… did not smell bad, not even that much like pot. It did smell like pot, it definitely did, but it wasn’t awful like other vehicles he had the displeasure of sitting in after a hotboxing session.

At that thought, Steve realized he had no idea if Eddie actually did any of the drugs he sold. He could have just been selling, right? And yeah, on Halloween he offered to share a joint with Steve, but that didn’t actually mean Eddie smoked pot regularly. Steve always lied about hating the chicken nuggets at school so Jonathan would actually take them from his tray when he offered. 

Suddenly, Steve felt bad about all of his assumptions about Eddie all over again.

“M’sorry,” Steve mumbled before he could stop himself, and Eddie laughed, still moving around the van.

“What are you apologizing for now, St—Harrington?”

“What I’m always sorry for,” he sighed, reaching up to cover his face gingerly. “Being an asshole.”

Eddie was quiet for a long time, or maybe it was a short time, but it felt really long because there was a script to these moments. Steve called himself an asshole, Eddie agreed, and they moved on. Eddie wasn’t agreeing, so Steve wasn’t sure how to move on.

When Eddie spoke again, he still sounded weird, almost sad. “You wanna give opening your eyes a try, Harrington?”

With a nervous sigh, Steve slowly opened his eyes and glanced around the van. It looked old and a bit rundown, like the outside suggested, but it was clean. There was a curtain between them in the far back and the middle bench, which looked like Eddie installed himself. There was also some fabric covering the rear windows, giving the space they were laying in a dimmer, gentler light. It was light enough that Steve could see, but not so bright that it hurt him.

“That’s a lot better,” Steve sighed, and finally he looked up at Eddie’s face.

Eddie was sitting next to Steve, his back leaning against the side wall of the van with his knees bent and his arms resting loosely on top of them. He looked kind of angry, and Steve was at a loss for why he would be. He remembered the muttered complaint about blood on his vest and when he looked at it properly, sure enough, there were dark red drops and smears on the shoulder.

“Sorry about your vest. I’ll pay to have it cleaned,” he promised, and when Eddie’s stare didn’t soften, he looked away nervously.

“Seriously, Harrington, who the fuck hurt you?” Eddie asked again, as if he was about to fight for Steve’s honour or something, and Steve laughed.

“Billy Hargrove,” he said as he looked back over at Eddie, and just as he expected, the other man deflated a bit, his anger turning into something closer to fear. “It was pretty fucking stupid on my part.”

“Why were you fighting Hargrove?” Eddie asked and Steve mulled over the best way to answer.

“I was babysitting—”

“Oh, fuck off, no you weren’t,” Eddie scoffed, and Steve frowned over at him.

“Yes, I was. I’m a damn good babysitter, too,” Steve said defensively. 

He was really trying not to take Eddie’s skepticism too personally; he knew how weird that concept sounded from the outside. Hell, a year ago even Steve would have scoffed at what he was saying. Still, it was really starting to suck having everything he said and did doubted because of who he was a year ago.

“Okay, and why would you be babysitting? What’s in it for you?” Eddie asked, eying him closely.

“I was helping Ms. Byers out,” Steve replied as if that answered everything, before he continued, “anyway, his step-sister was hanging out with us, and then Billy showed up, she was scared of him, so I tried to get him to leave.”

“Looks like it hurt a lot,” Eddie said quietly, cringing sympathetically.

Steve shrugged, which was a bit awkward while laying down. “Honestly, I was out cold for most of it. Didn’t feel much after the first couple hits,” he laughed, but Eddie didn’t join in.

“That’s not a fight, Harrington. That’s a beating,” Eddie replied, his voice deeper than Steve was used to hearing and lacking any of its usual lightness.

“Yeah, I guess so. Better me than her,” Steve replied with a flippant shrug; he was no stranger to being hit, even if the only other time he took a beating to the face was his fight with Jonathan the year before. Then he added before he could stop himself, “she was afraid he was going to kill her, so I tried to get him to leave. Then he threatened to kill one of the other kids, Lucas Sinclair?”

Steve looked over at Eddie and watched him as he visibly sifted through his knowledge of the people in Hawkins. Recognition sparked behind Eddie’s eyes and his expression darkened.

“I know the Sinclairs. Nice people,” Eddie said after a bit, scowling.

Steve nodded. “He’s a good kid, too, not that I’d say that to his face. It’d go straight to his head,” he said, smirking when Eddie chuckled. With a heavy sigh, Steve said, “He threatened to kill Lucas, so I hit him and then…”

He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at his face.

Eddie was still staring at Steve when he looked back, and he started to squirm a bit under the intense gaze. “You’re just a regular knight in shining armour, aren’t you?” Eddie asked after a bit and Steve laughed, especially at how angry Eddie still looked and how begrudging he sounded.

“Yeah, totally. And you know what they say,” Steve hummed sarcastically, looking up at the ceiling. “No good deed goes unpunished and all that.”

“Maybe you should start avoiding the Byers?” Eddie suggested and Steve barked out a laugh that hurt his head and made him wince.

“Christ, maybe,” he admitted, running his tongue along his loose teeth. “Starting to think I should just get the hell out of this town,” he muttered, surprising even himself.

“Shit, the King is going to abandon his kingdom?”

Steve looked back at Eddie and met his wide, dark eyes. His expression was searching and his smirk was back, the nicer one. The weird fluttering feeling in Steve’s chest and stomach had returned in full-force, and he floundered for an explanation. He wasn’t embarrassed, for sure this time.

“I don’t know,” Steve replied after a minute, sighing heavily. “Probably not. Where would I even go?”

“Aren’t you gonna go to some fancy college somewhere?” Eddie asked with a snort.

Steve grimaced and glared up at the ceiling again. “I guess,” he said hollowly.

He missed early admission between the whole dinner with Barb’s parents and the break-up with Nancy, plus luring D’art, plus getting beat up by Billy. Well, he deliberately missed it at first because he decided to take a gap year to stay close to Nancy. Because they were in love.

Steve scoffed out loud. “Yeah, totally,” he added sadly.

“Wait, Harrington, are you… not going to college?” Eddie asked and Steve groaned.

“Yeah, Steve Harrington isn’t going to fucking college,” he declared with a listless laugh. “Decided to be all romantic and take a gap year, propose to Nancy after she graduated, go to college together. Or I would work for my dad and pay for Nancy’s school or something. Not that she would need my help, she’s so smart she’ll probably land a full-ride wherever she wants.”

When he was done with his rant, the van was silent for several moments until Eddie asked, “What’s wrong with that plan, lover boy?”

Steve nearly snapped at Eddie, nearly told him that he knew exactly what was wrong with that plan. He caught himself, though, remembering that he never actually told Eddie why he was crying on Halloween.

“She, uh, dumped me,” Steve replied, glancing away from Eddie. “At Tina’s party.”

“Shit,” Eddie said, and Steve nearly laughed at the little cringe on his face. “I’m sure you’ll get her back, right? Don’t people like you always get back together?”

Steve frowned at Eddie, not sure what he meant by that last bit. “Not this time. No fairytale ending here,” Steve eventually said, sighing. “She’s with Jonathan now.”

Eddie made a noise. “Halloween was only a week ago,” he said flatly.

“Glad you have a grasp on the passage of time, Munson,” Steve chuckled.

“No, the timing—”

“I know how it looks. It’s not like that,” Steve interrupted firmly. “She—Nancy wouldn’t do that. It’s more complicated than that.”

“Doesn’t look that complicated from where I’m sitting, Harrington,” Eddie challenged, and he looked properly angry again when Steve looked over at him.

“Well, it is. Ever consider that you might not actually know everything?” Steve spat, a bit meaner than he liked, before continuing, “Nancy is amazing and I was fucking it up the whole time, because I’m an idiot and a douchebag. She wasn’t cheating on me. She wouldn’t do that to anyone, even me. She’s not like that, okay?”

Eddie frowned at him, and Steve could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he mulled over what Steve had said. “I can’t decide if your steadfast faith in her is admirable or pathetic,” he admitted after a few moments, dragging another startled laugh out of Steve.

“Probably the second one,” Steve replied through a grimace of pain. “I think my head is still bleeding,” he complained, and sure enough when he touched the wound, his fingers came away wet and sticky.

“Jesus H. Christ, Harrington, why the fuck is your head still bleeding?”

Suddenly, Eddie was looming over him, straddling Steve’s midsection without putting any weight on him, turning Steve’s head so he could try to see the cut through Steve’s hair.

“It’s fine,” Steve said, heat rushing to his face.

“Dude, this needs stitches or something. You need to go to a doctor—”

“No!” Steve immediately said, shaking his head and grabbing Eddie’s thigh. “I don’t want to see a doctor, or go to the hospital.”

“Why the fuck not, Harrington? You’re bleeding, this cut is really bad, and—” Eddie stopped short, and Steve blushed when his eyes narrowed suspiciously down at him. “You don’t want them to shave your head.”

Steve blushed even darker and Eddie laughed, the mocking one that Steve had expected at the start of all this. It was actually a bit comforting at that point.

“Christ, I guess I shouldn’t be shocked that Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington would walk around with an open fucking head wound before he’d get fucking stitches,” Eddie grumbled as he went back to inspecting the cut.

Steve idly began to slide his thumb back and forth where it rested on Eddie’s thigh. He barely realized he had been doing it at all, the sensation of denim against the pad of his thumb soothing. He was snapped out of his stupor with a wince when Eddie prodded a bit too hard on his tender scalp.

“Knock it off,” Eddie snapped, his hand swatting Steve’s away from his leg. “That’s distracting.”

“What are you even doing?” Steve asked grumpily, feeling pinned even though Eddie was hovering above him.

“Trying to decide if it’s worth waking my uncle up to get your stupid jock head fixed,” he replied before sitting back on his heels to glower down at him thoughtfully. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Steve registered the way Eddie’s weight settled on his midsection, and that fluttering in his gut turned to a swooping sensation.

“Is your… uncle a doctor?” Steve asked nervously, still afraid for the fate of his hair.

“No, but he was a field medic in Vietnam and he keeps some supplies around. I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but I’m a Klutz with a capital K,” Eddie replied, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down at Steve.

“And he won’t shave my head?” Steve pushed and Eddie rolled his eyes.

“I can’t promise that, Harrington, but I can vouch for your pathological vanity and we’ll see what he can manage. But this will keep bleeding and probably get infected,” Eddie warned, and Steve made a face up at him.

“Stop making sense,” he complained and squirmed under Eddie’s weight.

Eddie froze above Steve, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, for several moments. With a strangled little noise, Eddie scrambled off of Steve and back to his spot against the wall of the van.

“Okay! So, do you think you can manage sitting up front or are you going to lay back here?” Eddie asked, pulling a curly lock of hair in front of his face and fidgeting with it nervously.. 

The motion was so endearing it almost pained Steve to see it. He’d seen so many girls do that exact move when they were being shy or playful with him, and it always drove Steve mad. He wished Eddie was a girl so he could reach over and tuck his hair out of his face, pull him down for a kiss—

Those thoughts came to a screeching halt as he tried to figure out where that came from. Steve’s brain was definitely swelling, that was the only explanation for the direction those thoughts went. Maybe he should go to the hospital…

“Dude, stop spacing out on me, you’re freaking me out,” Eddie said frantically, snapping his fingers in Steve’s face.

“What?” Steve asked, unsure of what conversation they were having now.

“I’m taking you to my uncle, remember? Which means I have to drive. Are you going to hang out back here, or sit up front with me?” Eddie repeated curtly.

Steve frowned. “Do you have sunglasses I can borrow?” he asked, and when Eddie shook his head, Steve gestured around him. “Then it looks like I’m getting the real royal treatment, huh?”

“I’ll take the corners super fast so it doesn’t go to your head,” Eddie promised with a wink before he said, “Shield your eyes, Your Majesty.”

Steve chuckled and covered his eyes as Eddie scrambled over the middle bench through the seam in the curtain.

Despite his comment, the drive was actually uneventful, the gentle movement of the van actually lulling Steve to a light doze. He jolted awake when the van shut off, and a moment later Eddie poked his head through the curtains to meet Steve’s eyes upside-down.

“We have arrived, Your Highness, and we’re in luck. My uncle is already awake,” he said with a bright grin.

Steve was suddenly very unsure. “Would it’ve been a problem if he wasn’t?”

“What? No, of course not,” Eddie said with a frown, shaking his head quickly before he disappeared. Steve heard Eddie get out of the van and decided to start getting himself sat up again.

“Hey Uncle Wayne, do you have sunglasses?” he heard Eddie call, and then the quiet response from someone. He couldn’t hear the words, but it didn’t sound like a yes.

“I need your help with something,” Eddie said and Steve could hear a long-suffering sigh and the sound of footsteps coming toward the van.

“What’d you get yourself into now, kid?” The tone was so affectionate that Steve couldn’t help the small smile that came to his face.

“I didn’t get myself into shit—”

“Watch your language. Shouldn’t you be at school?”

“Just listen a minute, okay? Someone from school got a little hurt and he needs stitches—”

“Then he should be going to a doctor, Eddie. What’re you doing bringing him here?”

“Uhm, this sounded better in my head but now that I’m saying it out loud with you looking at me like that, I’m realizing it sounds kind of dumb, but he doesn’t… want his head shaved.”

Steve grimaced because… yeah, now that it was being said out loud to an actual adult, it sounded beyond dumb. It was completely childish.

“Eddie—”

“Okay, Uncle Wayne, I know. It sounds really stupid, believe me, but it’s also really important to him, and I kind of get it because I wouldn’t want my head shaved either.”

There was a long silence before a heavy sigh. “I’ll look at your classmate, and I will do my best to save his hair, but I ain’t making any promises.”

“Right! I already told him that! Thank you, Uncle Wayne! One last thing…”

“For the love of Pete, kid…”

There was quiet murmuring, too quiet for Steve to eavesdrop on from inside the van, but Mr. Munson did not sound happy about whatever other information Eddie delivered to him. After a few minutes of hushed back-and-forth, Eddie knocked lightly on the doors.

“Alright, Harrington, you decent?” Eddie called, and Steve snorted, closing his eyes.

“Ready to go when you are, Munson,” he replied and he heard the van doors open wide.

Eddie hauled him out carefully, and guided Steve up a set of stairs into what Steve assumed was his house. When Steve opened his eyes, he was met with the cramped interior of a trailer, with shelves of mugs on the walls. Where there weren’t mugs, there were baseball caps.

“Huh, nice place,” Steve said, and he meant it. It was small, a little worn out, but it was cozier than his house by several hundred degrees. It actually felt like a home, like it was lived in. Like there was love there.

“Don’t be an asshole, Harrington, you’re skating on thin ice as it is,” Eddie warned in a low voice and Steve flinched.

“I wasn’t—I didn’t mean—Sorry,” he muttered, and refused to meet Eddie’s eyes when he was deposited into one of the chairs at the tiny kitchen table. He couldn’t really blame Eddie for his assumption, but still… Just like the comment Eddie made about him babysitting, it sucked.

When Mr. Munson stepped out of the bathroom with a first-aid kit, he pulled up short upon seeing Steve, his expression dark.

“This is a little more hurt than ‘kinda’, Eddie,” Mr. Munson said in a low voice, pulling up a chair to sit in front of Steve. “You get into a tussle with a bear, kid?”

“No, sir. Another classmate,” Steve replied quickly.

“Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Apple rarely falls far from the tree,” Mr. Munson muttered, almost under his breath, and with sudden clarity Steve understood that Mr. Munson was talking about his father, that there was history there.

Steve knew about his father’s reputation; the man bragged about his glory days in high school and college. Steve often heard about it the most during the worst of his lectures and punishments growing up. Richard Harrington never let anyone forget who was in charge, and he ruled over the halls of Hawkins High and then later Harvard with his fists. Richard Harrington didn’t even have to be challenged before he asserted himself, Richard Harrington never gave anyone the chance to take his crown.

Most people seemed impressed by Steve’s father, they would call him a “man’s man” and strong. So many people described him as a provider, a protector even. A man that strong, that intelligent, that wealthy? He had to be doing something right.

And then there were people like Wayne Munson, the people who did real work and lived out of run-down trailers on the outskirts of Hawkins, and their disdain for people like Richard Harrington was palpable. Had Mr. Munson ever personally been targeted by Steve’s father? Maybe. Or maybe someone Mr. Munson knew had been.

The nauseating shame that filled Steve’s gut at that had him diverting his gaze to his lap. Part of him wanted to say he wasn’t like his father, to insist that he was his father’s greatest disappointment and how he didn’t care about trying to change that anymore.

The very thought of saying any of that out loud in front of anyone, let alone Eddie and his uncle, was mortifying, though.

“Where’s this cut you need stitched up, kid?”

Steve heard the question but it didn’t sink in right away, didn’t reach through his fog of concussion and shame until Eddie snapped his fingers in front of his face.

“Hey man, you okay?” Eddie asked when Steve looked up at him.

“Listen, I’m sorry,” Steve said, swallowing thickly against the nausea roiling in his core. “Thank you for offering to help, and thank you Mr. Munson, but maybe I should go. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, Harrington. Jesus, you haven’t done anything wrong,” Eddie said pointedly, and Mr. Munson frowned a bit at that. “Just show Wayne your head,” Eddie added firmly, crossing his arms.

Steve just nodded and turned his head, cringing as Mr. Munson began moving his hair out of the way to see the injury. “Jesus, kid, what the hell happened?” he asked, and his tone demanded an answer. Mr. Munson got up to collect a bowl of warm water and a washcloth, which he used to start cleaning some of the blood off of the skin around the wound.

“He broke a plate over my head,” Steve answered immediately, and Eddie made a disgusted noise. “I don’t remember much after that.”

“Knew that piece of shit wouldn’t fight fair,” Eddie grumbled.

“Was the rest of your busted face before or after the plate?” Mr. Munson asked, and Steve gave a weak shrug. “Don’t give me that, boy. Answer the question.”

“After,” Steve answered.

Mr. Munson’s hands pulled away from Steve’s head to start preparing the needle and thread. “Sounds to me like the cops should be involved,” he said shortly.

“Hopper knows,” Steve replied tensely. “I’m not pressing charges.”

“Of course you’re not,” Eddie muttered, and Steve could hear the eye-roll.

“Time for both of you to shut up now. He can’t be yapping while I’m doing this,” Mr. Munson said, which effectively shut both of them up.

Steve tried to think of other things while Mr. Munson worked quietly, and part of him was glad he was just generally in pain everywhere. He barely felt the needle. The worst part was when Mr. Munson would tug his hair just a bit too much while trying to keep it out of the way. Eventually, he huffed after a few minutes of fighting with Steve’s hair and the needle.

“That’s it—” he started and ice-cold fear lanced through Steve’s gut.

“Please don’t shave it,” he begged, and he hated how pitiful he sounded. He was struck again with just how stupid his concern was, as if his goddamn hair was actually important.

It was just one of the few things he still had going for him. Even if he no longer had the popularity, or Nancy Wheeler, or a future his father might be proud of, he still had his stupid hair.

Mr. Munson sighed, his eyes softening at the plea. “I’m not gonna shave it, kid. I promise. Eddie, get over here and make yourself useful,” he said over his shoulder, and Eddie jumped forward. “I need you to gently hold his hair away from the cut, got it? Don’t pull so hard you’re reopening it or yanking the stitches, just enough that it stays out of my way.”

Eddie nodded and stepped behind Steve’s chair to frame the cut with his hands. With hands smoothing his hair out of the way and holding him so firmly, Steve sighed and relaxed into the chair.

“That good, Wayne?”

“It’ll do.”

Steve winced when Mr. Munson got back to work, and one of Eddie’s thumbs started moving in soothing little strokes behind his ear. The effect was immediate, his body relaxing as much as it could at that moment while actively keeping his head up. Behind him, Eddie chuckled and stepped closer so Steve could rest his head back against him. The thumb kept sliding back and forth behind Steve’s ear, lulling him into a quieter state of mind for the first time in a while.

Steve startled when Mr. Munson pulled away and Eddie’s hands disappeared.

“That should do’er,” Mr. Munson sighed as he started to clean everything up. “Come back in a few days and I’ll remove them.”

Sitting up on his own, Steve asked, “Can I remove them on my own?”

Mr. Munson looked at him flatly, before looking at Eddie above Steve’s head. When he met Steve’s gaze again, his expression brooked no argument. “Come back in a few days and I’ll remove them,” he repeated and Steve nodded carefully.

“Of course, sir,” Steve muttered, looking around. “I should probably go home.”

“I’ll give you a ride,” Eddie said quickly, and when Steve looked up at him, he caught the tail-end of a wordless conversation between uncle and nephew. Eddie was shaking his head sharply before he turned a strained smile down at Steve, and Mr. Munson was rolling his eyes tiredly. “C’mon, Harrington, your chariot awaits.”

When Steve stood up, he was a lot less dizzy, which was a relief. He knew the vehicle would still be hell, but it was a necessary evil. This time, he decided he would ride up front with Eddie instead of laying in the back like an invalid.

The sun was still painfully bright, but even that was getting manageable. Once inside the van, he leaned back and shut his eyes tightly.

“You good, Harrington?” Eddie asked as he started the van.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just relaxing my head,” Steve replied, swallowing thickly. “Didn’t wanna say this in front of your uncle, but can you just drop me off downtown? My car’s still—”

“Harrington, if you think I’m going to knowingly let you drive like this for even a second, you must really have one hell of a concussion,” Eddie interrupted sharply. “I’m taking you home.”

“Not even taking me to dinner first?” Steve teased before he could stop himself.

Eddie barked out a laugh and didn’t respond.

“Seriously, Munson, my car—”

“Can’t someone else pick it up for you? You can give me your keys and I can give them to anyone you want,” Eddie suggested and Steve’s brow furrowed as he turned his face toward him, eyes still shut.

“This is ridiculous, I’m perfectly capable of driving,” he insisted and Eddie scoffed.

“Sure you are, just open your eyes,” Eddie challenged and Steve grimaced.

“Fuck you, man,” he sighed without any heat to it and Eddie laughed again.

“Seriously, though, give me your keys once we get to your house I’ll make sure your car gets back to you,” Eddie promised.

“Even if I told you to take my keys to Chief Hopper?” Steve challenged and Eddie barked out another laugh.

“Bold of you to assume me and Hopper don’t like each other,” Eddie teased and Steve actually opened his eyes just a bit to look at him.

“Seriously?” Steve asked and Eddie just chuckled and shrugged.

“I mean, the guy’s had plenty of opportunities to make my life hell, but he hasn’t,” he said evasively, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “Figure that has to count for something.”

Steve just shrugged and closed his eyes again. “Maybe. Fine, then take my keys to Hopper,” he decided, if only because it would be less out of Hopper’s way to bring his car to him than literally anyone else.

Steve wasn’t sure how much time passed, but he was startled again as the van stopped.

“We have arrived at Castle Harrington,” Eddie proclaimed as he turned the van off, and he was smirking when Steve opened his eyes again to look at him. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

“Sure,” Steve said, and he felt his cheeks heat with a blush. Confused at that reaction, Steve got out of the van as quickly as he safely could, careful not to trigger another dizzy spell.

When he unlocked his front door, he paused to look back at Eddie, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet. “Did you want to come in?” he offered, his words a bit stilted.

“No,” Eddie laughed, looking up at the huge house. “I’ll pass, Harrington. Plus, I have an errand to run for you.”

“Right, uh, here you are,” Steve replied, handing his key chain to Eddie. “Thanks. For everything. I really appreciate it, Munson.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it, Harrington,” Eddie replied, and Steve watched as a blush rose to Eddie’s cheeks. He looked Eddie over again and remembered the blood on his vest. 

“Shit, your vest. Let me get it cleaned for you,” Steve insisted, pointing at the spots.

Glancing down at his vest, Eddie shook his head quickly. “No way, Harrington. I’ll handle it. Plus,” he started, grinning broadly as he leaned into Steve’s space. “It’s kinda metal, don’t you think?”

Steve stared at Eddie, a dazed little smile rising to his lips. “I have no idea what that means, Munson,” he admitted, and he felt a little proud at the loud laugh that got.

“Oh, Harrington, when you say shit like that, it makes me wanna corrupt you,” Eddie sighed, tilting his head as he took a step back. Steve rolled his eyes at that, the tips of his ears feeling hot.

“I’ll see you around,” Steve said, stepping backward into his house and Eddie nodded with a little wave before bounding down the walk back to his van.

Steve watched from his doorway while Eddie sat in his van and appeared to begin scolding himself. The man was always very animated, his gestures huge and typically very clear to read—the way he ran his hands through his hair in frustration, or the light smacks to his forehead, or the way he seemed to lean back and plead skyward. It was hilarious to watch if a bit baffling.

Eddie glanced back at the house and visibly jumped at seeing Steve still standing there. He couldn’t see from that distance, but Steve was positive that the nervous shake of Eddie’s head was paired with a blush. With another shake of his head and a laugh, Eddie leaned over to the passenger side of the bench and rolled the window down.

“The hell are you still standing out here for, Harrington? Get the fuck inside!” he shouted at Steve, his grin huge.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve called back, waving at Eddie before he finally turned and shut the door.

After an afternoon being tucked into the back of Eddie’s van and then inside Eddie’s trailer with his uncle, the big Harrington house felt cavernous. His parents weren’t even in town anymore. They left again for business around the time Steve was on the train tracks with Dustin setting the trap for D’art. When he had finally gotten home after that entire ordeal, he had been relieved to have the house to himself.

There was a smaller part of him that had ached for someone to be there and care that he was hurt, to take care of his bruised face and call him in sick to school. There he was, almost eighteen and wanting his mom like a child. That ache was there again, but with an angrier edge to it that he was too sore and too tired to unravel.

With a huff, Steve went upstairs to wash up as best as he could and get changed. Belatedly, he realized that he had lost the bottle of painkillers he bought, making his entire excursion earlier pointless.‘Not completely pointless,’ Steve corrected himself as he fussed with his hair gently, a reluctant smile coming to his face as he thought about the overall afternoon.

Chapter Five: B-Side

Steve groaned at the booming cop-knocking at his front door as he shuffled toward it. He had been dozing on the couch and his equilibrium was slow to reacquaint with itself upon waking up. It was a lot better than earlier, at least.

“I’m coming, Jesus, relax!” Steve shouted as he got to the front door, opening it with a bit too much gusto and losing his balance.

Hopper was quick to catch him before he toppled over, one big hand on his shoulder and the other around his elbow.

“Jesus, kid, you somehow look worse,” Hopper grumbled, stepping inside without letting go of him.

“Thanks, Chief,” Steve said with a self-deprecating laugh, and he didn’t fight when Hopper sat him down on the stairs.

“Your folks still not home?” Hopper asked as he looked around, his eyes landing on the note that was on the side table at the door from Steve’s parents. Picking it up, he read it with a frown.

“You got a warrant for that?” Steve grumbled, tipping his head back to stare at the high ceiling instead of the subtle, sad tilt of Hopper’s frown.

“I’m off-duty, kid. I’m checking on you,” Hopper said, and Steve could hear him crumpling up the note. “This says you’re on your own for Thanksgiving?”

“Does it?” Steve asked, and genuinely he hadn’t even read it. His father’s handwriting was hard enough to read at the best of times, and the head injury didn’t help with that.

“You’re coming to Thanksgiving with me and the Byers,” Hopper said firmly, and when Steve looked at him again, his expression brooked zero argument. “And if you argue, I’m telling Joyce you’re home alone with a head injury, you got it?”

Steve glowered weakly up at Hopper before shrugging. “Okay. Should I bring something?” he asked, rolling his eyes at Hopper’s smug smile.

“I’ll get back to you on that,” he replied before leaning back against the front door, his expression stern. “What’re you doing with Munson?”

Steve frowned up at Hopper. “We ran into each other when I was out earlier and he helped me out,” he replied after a bit, shrugging. “I’m not doing drugs if that’s what you're asking.”

“That wasn’t what I was asking, Harrington,” Hopper sighed, but the uncomfortable way he glanced away said differently. “I’m keeping your car at the station until Wayne removes your stitches at least—”

“C’mon, Chief,” Steve protested, his mouth hanging open in shock. “You can’t be serious!”

“You heard me! I’ve half a mind to ticket you for driving earlier on principle!” Hopper shouted over him, just loud enough to shut Steve up. “As I was saying, I’m keeping your car at the station. I’ll bring you to Wayne’s place to get your stitches removed since you refuse to see a doctor. Then I’ll decide if you’re good to have your car back. Do you understand?”

“This is ridiculous,” Steve grumbled.

“I asked you a question, Harrington,” Hopper pressed, stepping forward to loom over him.

“Yes, sir, I understand,” Steve agreed, glancing away from him.

“Glad to hear it. Munson also gave me this. You apparently left it in his van,” Hopper said, pulling a bottle of painkillers out of his pocket and handing it to Steve.

Steve blinked at it before accepting it, smiling down at it a bit. He wondered if Eddie had been removing the blankets he bled on and that was when he found the bottle. “Uh, thanks, I thought I lost this,” he said, nodding up at Hopper.

Hopper stared down at Steve for a long while, frowning thoughtfully in that way that scrunched up his whole face. Then he sighed through his nose. “You’re a good kid, Harrington. I thought you were a snotty little prick like your old man—”

“Wow, thanks—?”

“But I was wrong. Munson’s a good kid, too, but he’s on a track that doesn’t look great. People in this town will talk,” Hopper said very deliberately. “You should be ready to deal with that if you’re gonna be running around with him.”

Steve stared at him, and he knew Hopper was right. What if word somehow got back to his parents that he had been in the local drug dealer’s van and trailer, and that drug dealer was at their house? Was that a fight he wanted to deal with while he was still firmly under his parents’ thumbs? He thought back to the argument Eddie got into with the cashier at Melvald’s and cringed. He’d be lucky if he didn’t get a “concerned” phone call from his mother within the week.

“I’m not running around with him, Chief. He was just helping me out today, okay? We go to school together, so we’re friendly,” Steve said, shrugging under Hopper’s hard stare.

“Good talk,” Hopper said before glancing around one more time. “Put your shoes on and grab a coat. You’re coming to dinner with me and El.”

“I’m not really up to going to a restaurant,” Steve declined, making a face up at Hopper.

“You need a proper meal, and I already told El you were coming,” Hopper replied, shrugging at Steve’s puzzled look.

“I don’t even—why would that matter to me?” Steve asked, even though he already felt his resolve to say no waning. He had a soft-spot for all of the kids, but especially the quieter ones like Will and Eleven. It was baffling though that him not going would possibly disappoint her. “Why would that matter to her? I’ve only really been around her like, three times, and I don’t think I’ve spoken to her once.”

“Listen, I make it a point to avoid understanding what teenage girls think about, kid,” Hopper sighed tiredly. “I told her I had to come by your place and make sure you weren’t dying on our way to dinner, and she asked if you were coming.”

“And you just told her yes?” Steve asked incredulously, even as he stood up to collect his shoes and coat.

“Of course I did,” Hopper replied, snorting. “I mean, it wasn’t like it was that hard to convince you anyway.”

“Where are we even going? Is it okay for her to be out?” Steve pushed, frowning.

For the first time since the conversation started, Hopper faltered and Steve glared. “We aren’t going to a restaurant,” Hopper admitted after a moment. “We’re going to the Byers’ house for dinner.”

Steve groaned, imagining his evening sitting at dinner with a cop, a girl with psychic powers, a boy they just barely saved from possession, his ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend, and Joyce Byers. Who would take one look at him and freak out completely. After everything that had happened and between them all splitting up, Joyce hadn’t actually seen Steve after all was said and done. Come to think of it, neither had Jonathan. Nancy only knew how messed up he was because she came to his house after school on Monday when he didn’t show up.

“You said if I agreed—” Steve started to argue and Hopper shook his head sharply.

“I said I wouldn’t tell Joyce you’re home alone with a head injury,” Hopper replied, crossing his arms. “And I won’t tell her.”

“She’ll figure it out, though. She’s not stupid,” Steve snapped, and Hopper just shrugged at that.

“I didn’t say I would hide that you’re home alone with a head injury either,” he stated flatly and Steve groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Fine, I’ll go,” he finally conceded. He knew he was resigning himself to weeks of being fussed over by Joyce, but he was too tired to keep arguing in circles and he was getting hungry.

Steve pointedly ignored the way a very small part of himself that ached constantly went quiet for once.

Chapter Six: Bonus Track

Hopper groaned when the phone on his desk rang, spiking his headache to an entirely new level. He was exhausted, still recovering from everything that happened over the weekend, particularly the way he very nearly died in the tunnels.

“Yes, Flo?” he greeted as pleasantly as he could manage as he picked up the receiver.

“Incoming, Chief.”

“Wha—?” Hopper started to ask just as his office door slammed open and in came Eddie Munson like a force of nature.

“Heya, Chief,” Eddie greeted loudly with a grin when Hopper flinched at the volume. He threw himself into the chair opposite Hopper and threw his feet up on the desk. “How’s it going?”

“What do you want, Munson?” Hopper asked flatly, eying the dirty shoes on top of his desk with disdain.

“Can’t a guy catch up with his favourite cop?” Eddie asked, batting his eyes innocently at Hopper as he fished out a cigarette and lit it.

“Cut the crap, Munson. Give me one of those if you’re going to sit here wasting my time,” Hopper demanded, and Eddie tossed him the pack. With a huff, Hopper took one of the three remaining cigarettes then pocketed the carton.

“Is it so hard to believe I just wanted to say hi?” Eddie pouted before taking a drag from his cigarette, and the effort it took for Hopper to not roll his eyes was tremendous.

Hopper lit his cigarette and willed the nicotine to calm his steadily fraying nerves. “Why would a drug dealer—”

“Alleged drug dealer,” Eddie interrupted pointedly. “Never been caught and convicted, and you know how it is, innocent until—”

“I will search you right here and now, Munson,” Hopper threatened half-heartedly and Eddie got a mischievous look on his face.

“Hop, I’m annoying, not stupid. You wouldn’t find a damn thing on me or in my van,” he said with a teasing tilt to his head and Hopper took a deep breath in through his nose and held it for five seconds. Releasing that breath, he took a drag off of his cigarette on the next one.

He would not let Eddie Munson get under his skin when his day was so close to being over. He only had to make it through two more hours until he could go home and pick El up for dinner at the Byers’.

“How. Can I. Help you. Munson?” Hopper asked slowly and deliberately before reaching over to shove Eddie’s feet off his desk.

Eddie had apparently been supporting most of his weight that way and yelped as he nearly fell out of his chair completely. Hopper couldn’t deny how much that alone raised his spirits.

“Shit, Hopper, you made me drop my smoke,” Eddie complained, picking the cigarette up and tossing it into the ashtray on the desk to burn out.

“Munson, either get to the point of your visit or leave,” Hopper pushed, and maybe something in his tone finally got through to the kid. Eddie righted himself in his chair properly before reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket. After a moment, he frowned and stood up to dig in his other pockets.

Hopper studied the kid a bit now that he was distracted, and his eyes focused on the dark stains on his shoulder. “Munson, is that blood?” he asked, alarm overtaking his annoyance as he stood up and came around the desk to look closer.

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie said as he glanced down at his denim vest, shrugging. “Yeah, it is. Not mine though.”

Hopper stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate. Eddie just continued digging in his pockets until he pulled out two sets of car keys and sat back down. Blinking up at Hopper, Eddie asked, “What?”

“Whose blood is on your vest, Munson?” Hopper said in a low voice, and for the first time since Eddie entered the room, he looked a bit less cocky.

“Steve Harrington’s,” Eddie replied, and Hopper stared at him for several long seconds, again waiting for him to elaborate. Eddie just raised his eyebrows up at Hopper before the corner of his mouth quirked upward into a little smirk.

“Edward Munson, you have five seconds—”

“I ran into him on the street, he ate shit, and had a massive bleeding wound where Billy Hargrove broke a plate over his head, so I took him to my uncle,” Eddie said in a tight tone, and Hopper realized that the kid was angry now. More than that, the kid was angry at him for some reason. Was he pissed the whole time and Hopper was only just figuring that out?

“Christ, Munson,” Hopper grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose as his headache throbbed behind his eyes. How did Wayne live with this kid and his moods?

“Steve claims you know about the fight,” Eddie said, and it was said like a statement, but it was clearly more of a question, like he didn’t quite buy Steve’s story.

“Yes, I do. He declined pressing charges,” Hopper replied, crossing his arms and leaning back against the desk.

“Did you know about his head?” Eddie asked, and Hopper sucked his teeth. Steve had, predictably, played down his injuries when Hopper got back from the lab with El, and all of that hair of his helped hide the alleged open wound.

“Where is Harrington now?” Hopper asked instead of answering Eddie’s question, looking around for his truck keys and hat.

Eddie huffed. “Don’t worry, I made sure he got home alright. He asked me to give you these,” he said, holding up the keys for Steve’s Beemer. “It’s parked in the alley around the corner from Melvald’s.”

Hopper took the keys, a flash of anger spiking through him that the kid was stupid enough to drive with a concussion at all. When he glanced down at Eddie, he could see he was still pissed off. “What, Munson?”

“What are you going to do about Hargrove?” Eddie asked, his tone low. “Steve said he was going to kill the kids he was supposedly babysitting.”

“He was babysitting,” Hopper said, almost defensively, on Steve’s behalf and Eddie reared back.

“That’s the part of my sentence you focus on?” he asked and Hopper held a hand up.

“First of all, I will remind you that Steve declined pressing charges—”

“Why does that matter?” Eddie interjected angrily. “Does attempted murder need the victim to press charges?”

Hopper dropped what was left of his cigarette into the ashtray as he pushed off the desk to go shut the door of his office. Once he was back at the desk, half sitting on it and looming over Eddie, he said slowly, “There were extenuating circumstances surrounding the bullshit with Hargrove that you are not, and cannot be privy to, Munson. So yes, while I would love to do something about that little shit, I can’t about this incident because Steve. Is not. Pressing charges.”

Eddie glared up at him, crossing his arms over his chest and jutting his chin out defiantly. Hopper immediately thought of the day he met Eddie, and despite his generalized annoyance with the kid, he felt a sad sort of fondness.

“Why do you even care this much about it, Munson?” Hopper asked, trying to return his focus to their conversation. But when Eddie immediately looked away nervously, his face turning pink under Hopper’s stare, Hopper heaved a huge sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face.

It was about a week after Hopper returned to Hawkins to take up his post as chief of police when he met Eddie. The kid’s hair was a lot shorter, still growing out an unfortunate buzz cut, and he was skinny in a way that spoke of the neglect he dealt with before the system dropped him onto his uncle’s doorstep. Hopper had been driving around, reacquainting himself with his hometown after years away, when he happened upon a group of young men jumping Eddie. The cowards had bolted before Hopper’s truck came to a complete stop.

He could still remember the conversation they had while Hopper took the kid’s statement at the hospital.

“What started the fight?”

“I’m a faggot.” Tone sharp, full of venom.

“Is that what they said?”

“Yeah, that’s what they said, but they’re right.” Conviction, even as his eyes were full of tears, that defiant tilt of his wobbling chin. Waiting for Hopper to hit him, too. “I am a faggot.”

Hopper tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Eddie,” he sighed and Eddie huffed.

“You can’t say shit to me I haven’t already said to myself, Chief,” Eddie grumbled miserably, his crossed arms squeezing himself tighter as he folded in on himself.

“Harrington, though?” Hopper asked him, trying to keep his tone light, teasing almost. “Of all the boys to be all… hormonal and mushy about, it had to be a Harrington?”

“Again, Chief, I’ve already said all of that to myself. Repeatedly,” Eddie said with a shrug. “And Uncle Wayne said it all in even more colourful terms.”

Hopper heaved another sigh. “He wants you to be careful, stay safe. Hell, that’s what I want too,” he said.

“Yeah, whatever,” Eddie replied, and he slouched in his chair. “Steve’s a lot nicer now.”

“That’s true,” Hopper agreed flatly as he crouched to better meet Eddie’s eyes. Heaving a big sigh, he added, “you should still remember who his father is, and that Steve might still follow in his footsteps.”

Hopper went to high school with Richard Harrington, had been on the receiving end of his fists more times than he could count, and he knew how Richard felt about gay people. He knew how much more brutal his fists could get if he thought someone was queer. Hopper did not want Richard Harrington to find out about Eddie at all, which would be easier if the kid stayed away from Steve.

Eddie sighed and looked away from Hopper, spinning the rings on his fingers around nervously. “Yeah, I know,” he agreed reluctantly.

“Okay, good talk,” Hopper said, standing back up and returning to his chair. “Now get out of my office.”

“That’s it? You’re not going to try and tell me to stay away from him?” Eddie asked skeptically.

“I’m not your parent, Munson. Be careful, though,” Hopper replied, shrugging. “Even if Steve isn’t a problem, he’s still living with his parents.”

“We’re not even friends, Chief. You don’t have to worry about that shit,” Eddie said as he stood up and started for the door.

Hopper nodded and then he asked, “were Steve’s parents’ home when you dropped him off?”

Eddie looked back at him from the door and shook his head. “The house seemed empty. And I mean, he had to get his own—oh yeah!” he said excitedly as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bottle of painkillers. “He forgot this in my van. Can you get it to him?”

Hopper took the bottle of pills and nodded. “Yeah, I’ll get it to him, kid. Now fuck off,” he barked and Eddie snorted as he left his office with just as much noise as he arrived.

“Hey, Callahan! Love what you’re trying with the mustache, man, really distracts the eye from just… the rest of your face. Yeugh.”

Hopper snorted, allowing himself one moment to be amused by Eddie Munson’s nonsense.

[ NEXT ]

[ AO3 LINK ]

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[anika-ann]

One Door Closes... (S.R.)

Type: one-shot, pretty much canon

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader     Word count: 2700

Summary: For Steve, your door is always open... or he thinks so. And even when it isn’t, it is.

In which one small Zoom mishap leads to an (un)usual ‘welcome home’.  

Warnings: brief mention of blood and violence, lightest angst, attempt at humour, crack-ish, fluff and language

A/N: For @anjali750, because this is totally her fault. Thank you for inspiring me :-* Have a little bit silly weekend reading, y’all!

“Tell me about it,” Steve encouraged you gently, soft smile playing in the corner of his mouth despite the pain it must be causing him due to his busted lip.

You couldn’t but grin at the lenient picture he made. Feeling blood rush to your cheeks at the thought of him probably calling you cute in his mind if his expression was anything to go by, you obliged, proceeding to tell him about the new project at work.

Your project. Because somehow, you finally earned your boss’ confidence and could bring the great ideas in your mind to life.

You felt so giddy just talking about it! So you started explaining, excitedly gesturing with your hands so Steve would get the right visual and you grew so enthusiastic that you almost forgot to keep an eye on him.

But you were watching him – always.

His lower lip was split, but already healing – it would have healed much faster if he stopped tugging at the healing skin whenever he talked or smiled at you from the screen. He looked a little drowsy, a shadow of a bruise forming on his cheek, but as far as you knew, those were the only injuries he had; that and many hours of sleep to catch up on.

Steve had a habit of calling you via Zoom whenever he got back to the Tower from a mission. He usually took a quick shower and was online until the last second before he had to leave for a debriefing; the only reason why he didn’t head straight to your place.

He admitted once that he loved seeing your face and talking to you even if for a moment after a mission, that it grounded him. On a very sappy and loveable moment, he even called you his sun; and the fact that after few minutes of being with you – as much as technology allowed – his face always seemed brighter, made you think that it truly was how he felt.

Even exhausted as he was now, you could tell his half-lidded eyes shined with life unlike when you started the call.

And so you kept rambling, feeling your heart bursting with love for your man and with euphoria, because goddammit, finally some recognition at work!

“Well, obviously, to reach as much general public as we can, we’re gonna launch a world-wide campaign! World-wide!” you emphasized with a blinding grin, throwing your hands wide to demonstrate.

---and your fingers caught in a cord from the laptop, pulling at it.

Steve’s benevolent face disappeared as your screen went black.

Because of course it did.

You had been talking yourself into buying a new laptop or at least having this one fixed for a few weeks now, because this was always the result whenever you accidently unplugged it. The battery was useless, ready to retire.

“Motherfu--- ugh!“

You wanted to be mad at the device – but this was totally on you.

Sighing, you hooked up the laptop again, waiting for it to wake up from a coma, shooting Steve an apologetic text in the meantime. Closing your eyes, you let your forehead lightly fall against your desk, mentally cursing yourself.

Dummy. If you only weren’t so lazy… and didn’t hate certain aspects of adulting with so much passion… you could have been talking to Steve-

Your eyes flew opened when it felt like it was quiet for too long; no reply to your text. Dread filled you and you quickly reached for your phone again, this time to dial.

You prayed you were wrong; but as the phone kept ringing with no one to answer it on the other end, you felt misery creep up you back and whimpered. Sliding your phone on the tabletop, your not-so-deft fingers stumbled over the keyboard, harshly welcoming it into the world of living by opening Zoom again to reconnect the call.

Your breath hitched in anticipation as the window opened---

An amused and yet somehow unimpressed face of Natasha Romanoff welcomed you and this time, you didn’t bother slowing down as your head hit the desk. It hurt, but that was only a presage of the real pain.

“Nooooooo,” you whined loudly, faking and not quite faking a sob, because shit.

“Oh yes,” Natasha hummed nonchalantly.

You straightened a bit in your chair, narrowing your eyes at her as you noticed the corners of her lips twitching while she pretended to be busy checking out her possibly-mission-broken nails.

“It’s not funny.”

She snorted and glanced at your no doubt desperate face.

“It really is. But also kinda sad,” the spy noted, something resembling concern flickering over her face before she scrunched her nose, irises twinkling. “And disgustingly cute. It has Rogers written all over it.”

You glared at her some more, not even bothering to roll your eyes.

“Tell that to my landlord,” you muttered under your breath, leaning your elbow on the tabletop and dropping your chin to you palm. A second later, a brilliant idea hit you and you tried to manipulate your legs from under you.

The thing was, even if you had a pretty good idea of what was coming if you didn’t stop it and knew that it would be a bitch to deal with, Natasha was right.

In a way, it was utterly cute, disarmingly charming and entirely heart-warming. Your stomach fluttered, the fabled butterflies flipping their wings, your face grew hot and your heart… well, it felt as if it was growing in size.

It was also sad, heart-breaking even; Steve, especially after a mission, was a man running on instincts. It was one of the reasons why he had developed a habit of calling you, why he wanted to hear you ramble about your either boring or exciting but always wonderfully normal day. A day which involved no shooting and no blood besides papercuts and a quarrel with your stubborn boss who shoot you glares at best.

On a mission, these carnal automatisms often meant survival. But back home, Steve didn’t want to be a sum of instincts of survival, fight and fear; he wanted to feel again. And with you, he did. He wasn’t just a Captain America, a soldier to be put on battlefield whenever the general found fit. He was a human being. A wonderful one at that, with beautiful soul.  

So yes. It was also rather upsetting.

And in a way, it was a little funny too. You knew it was totally your fault and that Steve was being kinda ridiculous, because he knew you and your inclination to wild gesticulations ending up catastrophically. On top of that, he was aware of this particular problem being almost a daily occurrence; hell, he tried to talk you into having Stark look at your laptop and failed.

And now... well. Here you were.

“You know, maybe if you get up and welcome him with door opened…” Natasha teased you with your own genius ides and you grinded your teeth, frantically trying to move your foot, which was pretty much on fire and yet dead.

“I would, but I… eh, pins and needles, was sitting on my feet,” you explained, embarrassed, testing whether your feet could carry you or not, naturally finding that without support, you’d be down before you could take as much as a step.

This time, Natasha didn’t snort in amusement.

Instead, she graced you with an outburst on honest full belly laughter, her red hair unfairly shiny for a woman who just spend week on a mission in damn Moldova and probably kicked more asses that you could imagine.

“You know what, Romanoff…” you grunted, forcing yourself to wobble towards the door. Very slowly. And cautiously. Knowing your luck, you might actually get hurt.

“I’m not even sorry,” she choked out and then continued to howl in laughter. “You so deserve each other. I finally know what the ‘idiots in love’ mean. Thanks for that!”

“You’re very welcome,” you huffed, voice dripping with irony.

Finally able to put full weight on both of your feet, you headed towards the exit – and entrance – of your apartment.

Halfway, you decided it was a lost cause. You would be willing to bet that the moment you’d touch the doorknob, you’d get hit to your face. It wasn’t worth it.

Yes, maybe if you did get hurt, it would make Steve think twice before coming all guns-and-shield blazing into your apartment; then again, it would probably cost you a broken nose.

Not to mention Steve’s tendency to get swallowed by the enormity of his guilt.

So not worth it. Best if you stayed put.

That was what you kept telling yourself when you stood there for about two minutes, in which you’d be able to open the door about forty times. Your annoyance – mostly with yourself and the cackling redhead – and the anticipation was becoming unbearable. As seconds ticked by, you were trying to convince yourself into taking the last few steps and opening the door and save yourself some trouble---

You yelped when the loud bang rattled your apartment the door sent flying of their hinges along with a spray of powered plaster despite knowing it was coming.

A glint of metal appeared next, the striking red, white and blue no longer there as it was covered in more bland colours for stealth missions.

And then a large figure cladded in blue shirt and grey jeans entered, his chest heaving, face flushed with red. Piercing blue eyes wiped of all previous traces of tiredness scanned the room, instantly falling on you as you awkwardly stood there, dumbfounded, startled and utterly speechless.

Also, much to Steve’s puzzlement, you were perfectly fine otherwise – even with both legs functioning, no remnants of pins and needles present.

Steve eased his posture instantly, eyes narrowing and then widening as he looked you up and down, lips parting in genuine surprise – and relief.

He said your name, clear and almost reverent, dropping the shield on the floor with a clang.

The ‘hi babe’ got stuck in your throat as you could see the tension leaving his shoulders, his eyes turning glassy and absent despite relief rolling off him in damn tsunami waves.

It hit you like a train – that you were delighted to see him, actually see him, even under these circumstances; and you truly didn’t want him to withdraw to some freaky brain-space after he had probably got one of the most ridiculous scares of his life due to the fact that his brain was not fully back in the normal world.

In the normal world where you abruptly disconnected a call without warning, because you talked too animatedly and not because some terrorist high on the FBI’s, CIA’s, NSA’s and SHIELD’s most wanted list found out you were Steve’s girlfriend and decided to take you out.

So to prevent another psychical horror trip of his, you went for distracting him – with a very relevant issue.

“You broke my door.”

Steve blinked, gaze refocusing on you fully, simply staring for a long moment.

“You went offline,” he objected quietly, a hint of accusation in his voice. God, you missed his voice.

“You broke my door, Steve.”

As if hearing his name was a spell, his frozen figure came to life and he took a cautious step closer, repeating his previous statement, this time with a hint of guilt.

“You went offline.”

“And you broke my door. That’s the second time this month, Steve! My landlords gonna k--- be real pissed at me,” you corrected yourself in the last second, not wanting say kill.

Steve ignored the slip and apparently got the message, his face twisting in genuine apology. “I’m sorry. I’ll fix it!”

With efficiency of a supersoldier, he spun on his heels and rushed to pick up the door as if it was lighter than a paperweight and swiftly put it in place.

Only for the door to slowly tilt his way again. He caught it with a loud curse and moved it aside, leaning it partly against the wall. The action sent more plaster down onto the floor, like the only truly white snow in New York City. Peripherally, you noticed Steve grimacing, his face an expression an epitome of yikes.

You let your eyes slipped shut, shaking your head with a sigh, but couldn’t but chuckle. When you looked at Steve again, he resembled a 240 pounds giant Labrador puppy, truly regretful, approaching you reluctantly as if he was afraid you would slap his big paws for being clumsy.

What he would deserve was for you to clip round his ear for impulsiveness, but could you blame him? God knew what he had seen in Moldova in the past week, what horrors he had lived through and what a nightmare his mind had created when you ‘went offline’.

Him barging in like this due to your own dumbassery was kinda sad; a prove of his demanding job full of terror.

It was cute and heart-warming, because he just cared for you that much.

It was a little ridiculous, because as Steve finally crossed the distance between you two, the head of your elderly neighbour peeked from behind the empty doorway, puzzled and rather concerned.

You snorted unattractively, the scene in front of you seeming epically hilarious all of sudden.

“I’m good, Mr. T!” you called over Steve’s shoulder after the poor man who gossiped like an old woman and was just as hospitable. “Just my boyfriend fussing because of a technology fail!”

A grin spread on his wrinkled face; a testimony to years of laughter and amiability. “Oh. Hi, Mr. America!”

“Afternoon, Mr. T! I am verry sorry for disturbing you.”

The older-looking man waved off Steve’s politeness.

“It’s fine. You keep taking care of your lady, Mr. America, and keep her safe!”

“Yes, sir,” Steve humoured him with a salute, earning a wink.

As your neighbour walked away with a fresh topic for his Sunday tea party, Steve turned his attention to you again, eyes searching, wide, apologetic – but also soft, taking in the view of you, revelling in it.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he whispered lowly, the lopsided smile you loved so much gracing his face, once again pulling at that damn split lip. You grimaced a bit, the sight of him almost brining tears into your eyes; the gentleness and the remnants of fight punching you straight in the gut.

His eyes fluttered close when you lifted your hand and traced the line of the bruise on his face with the lightest pressure you were capable of. This time, tears definitely prickled in your eyes, but you blinked them away, cupping Steve’s cheek and pulling him close.

“Oh come here, babe,” you breathed out, fingers carding through his hair as he leaned his head on your shoulder, lips brushing the crook of your neck, strong arms embracing around your form.

He was warm and big and held you a bit tighter than necessary and dammit, you loved your sweet of heart and occasionally dumb of ass boyfriend. Boyfriend, who was crazy in love with you. Sometimes with emphasis on the crazy.

“I missed you, sweetheart,” he muttered, nose nuzzling the sensitive skin of your neck, breathing in deeply. You pretended it didn’t do things to you as he did everything to get lost in you and leave all the bad behind. You failed.

“You’re totally paying for fixing my door.”

Well, maybe not failed entirely.

“Of course,” Steve assured you dutifully, no hint of humour in his voice.

It broke you on a completely new level; he was serious. Dammit you loved this man!

“I missed you too,” you finally admitted and this time, he did chuckle, squeezing you even tighter, hand running up and down your back. Without any warning, he tightened his grip and lifted you from the floor so you had to cling to him entirely, causing you to gasp.

You never got the chance to gather your wits and comment on that, because an annoyed voice of a certain redhead sounded from your laptop.

“…alright, you crazy kids, you had your cuddles. Now, Rogers, should I tell Fury you’re coming back for the debriefing or should we just finally change with the times and do it over Zoom?”

Clutching Steve’s waist and shoulder, face contentedly in his chest, you voted for the latter.

Steve Rogers masterlist

Lovely divider by whimsicalrogers​.

A fic from collection ‘This was supposed to be a drabble.’  Also, I couldn’t for the love of god figure out a better title.

I hope you enjoyed at least a bit :-*

Thank you for reading!

[fruitcoops]

Hi!! So I was listening to paper rings by Taylor Swift today and the lyric 'I like shiny things but I'd marry you with paper rings' made me think of coops and o'knutzy. Could you write a prompt about this?! <3

This song is so perfect for Coops and it’s the best way to start of the long-awaited wedding series! Yay! Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

Combined with:

1. Domestic Coops

2. Remus making fun of Sirius’ initials

3. Sirius trying to make Remus moan while he’s on the phone with his folks

4. From @colored-rain: Taking Hattie to the vet

TW for mild smutty content, taking a pet to the vet, and the inherent stress of wedding planning

I: Six Weeks Before the Wedding

“Where are we even going to do this?” Sirius asked, running a hand through his hair.

Remus shook his head silently, pressing his forehead into the wooden edge of the table. “What if we elope?”

“Celeste would skin us both.”

“True. Oh, god, my dad would cry if we did that.” Remus slid down in his seat and stared up with sad eyes. “Can’t we just be married already?”

“I could get tinfoil from the kitchen and just…” Sirius mimed wrapping it around his ring finger and Remus snorted.

“Baby, I would marry you with paper rings, but I think we want them to last.”

“You like shiny things!”

“I do, that doesn’t mean I want tinfoil on my hand for the rest of my life,” Remus laughed, pulling him in for a quick kiss. “Alright, let’s go through our list again. We agreed on small, right?”

“Just the team and families. We still want it to be outside?”

“Yep.” Remus checked off two boxes on the piece of paper they had been grappling with for the past four days. “Rings have already been ordered?”

“I’m doing that this afternoon. What kind of cake do we want?”

“Uhhh…an edible one?” Remus shrugged. “I don’t have a huge preference. Chocolate is really good but all the ones from the store are spongy.”

“Wow, an edible cake, so original,” Sirius teased. “We can ask Celeste what she thinks.”

“Good plan.” He paused for a moment. “Where outside will we do it? We need an actual venue. I think people would be upset if we just had a wedding in a public park.”

“The media would be all over it, too.” Sirius scrunched his nose up in thought just as their timer went off and both sighed as they headed for the door. “It’s going to be hard to focus on practice when we know next to nothing about the wedding we’ve been planning for over six months.”

“We’re disasters.”

II: Four Weeks Before the Wedding

“We’re not putting that on the cards.”

“Why not?” Sirius frowned and looked down at the mock-up invitation. “It’s our initials. It’s cute.”

Remus blinked at him. “Sirius. Your initials.”

“Do you not want my initials on our joint wedding invitation?”

“I would love to have your initials on our joint wedding invitation, except for the part where it’s the same acronym as ‘son of a bitch’.”

Sirius paused, then groaned and put his hands over his face. “Fuck, I forgot about that.”

“You forgot your own initials?”

“I forgot the son of a bitch thing!”

“Okay, I clearly don’t tease you enough for that,” Remus snickered, wrapping an arm around his waist to kiss his cheek. “Alright, attempt number eight is a bust.”

III: Three Weeks Before the Wedding

Sirius ran his fingers gently through Remus’ hair, feeling him shift in the darkness. “What’s on your mind, mon amour?”

“Are we changing our last names?”

“Did we…not discuss that?” Sirius wracked his brain, but it was so exhausted from wedding topics that he came up empty.

“I don’t think so.” Remus scooted around so he was on his side, facing Sirius. “Both our names are super connected to our jobs. Plus, Lupin-Black might be a little long for jerseys.”

“I’d rather not go through the whole name-change process.” There was a beat of quiet. “Though I do like the sound of Sirius Lupin.”

Remus’ breath audibly caught and he leaned closer to Sirius, nuzzling against his shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

IV: Eighteen Days Before the Wedding

Remus’ back hit the mattress with a soft bounce that was quickly stilled by Sirius’ weight pressing him down by the hips, his mouth skimming along all the right places on Remus’ neck. “Yes,” he hissed as Sirius ground down, their bare chests bumping together. He dipped his hands beneath the waistband of Sirius’ sweats and he shivered, nipping the hinge of his jaw.

“Wait,” Sirius gasped, pulling back to straddle Remus’ waist.

“What? Is this a flamingo moment?” Remus panted, still buzzing with arousal.

“Did we invite your parents to the wedding?”

Remus stared at him in disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

“I don’t think we did.”

“Sirius, you are literally about to—holy fuck, did we invite my parents?”

“I don’t know!”

Remus groaned and let his head fall back against the pillows before tapping Sirius’ hip and swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and dialed his mother’s number, taking a few deep breaths to collect himself as it rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey, mom, how’s it going?”

“Oh, it’s going fine out here. How’s wedding planning?” Hope asked. Remus could hear her smiling.

“That’s what I’m calling about, actually. Did you—” He bit his lip as Sirius’ fingertips trailed up his thigh. “Uh, did you get an invitation?”

Hope was silent for a moment, save for a few rustling sounds. “Now that you mention it, I don’t think so. Lyall! Honey, did Re send us a wedding invitation?” There was a low humming noise as his father responded. “He says we didn’t get one.”

Remus winced. “Sorry about that. I can text you the details, if you want.”

“Will you mail one as well? I want to put it in our memory box.”

Sirius’ hand slid further along Remus’ leg, growing closer to his inner thigh by the second and doing nothing to quell his frayed nerves. “Yeah—yeah, mom, we totally can.”

“Are you alright? You sound a bit out of breath.”

“Hattie was running around and being a little crazy.” Remus covered the speaker with his hand and turned to glare at Sirius, who grinned and kissed his cheekbone.

“Okay,” Hope sounded skeptical. “So you’re not getting sick or anything?”

“Nope. Healthy as a horse.” The last word came out a little breathless as Sirius licked a stripe up his neck and bit down on the junction to his shoulder, making Remus’ eyes flutter closed. He smacked Sirius’ hand halfheartedly and felt him grin.

“How’s Sirius doing?”

“Fine, he’s fine. We’re a little stressed with the wedding planning and everything, but things are good here.” Really good, he thought as the heel of Sirius’ hand pressed down just next to his dick. He swallowed down a moan and squeezed his eyes shut. “Alright, I’ll text the details to you this afternoon love you mom bye.”

“Love you t—”

A millisecond after the call ended, Remus slammed his phone into the nightstand and pushed Sirius into the sheets, bracketing his face with his elbows. “What the fuck was that?”

“I’m just keeping things interesting.” Sirius tugged his lower lip between his teeth and smirked, which really left Remus with only one option: kissing him senseless until he couldn’t even remember his own name.

V: Three Days Before the Wedding

Sirius’ leg bounced up and down nervously and he gripped Remus’ hand as they waited in the lobby of the vet’s office. “She’ll be okay.” His voice was noticeably higher than usual and he cleared his throat. “She’ll be fine. It’s just a cough.” A cough that’s been going on for four and a half days.

Remus hummed his agreement, though he hadn’t stopped twisting Hattie’s leash in his hands since they arrived. “Just a cough. Probably a cold, or—or something like that.”

The doors ahead opened and both of them stood as Hattie trotted out next to the vet tech, who looked rather amused. “What’s wrong with her?” Sirius asked, scanning her for any signs of illness. “Is she alright?”

“She is a very talented actress,” the vet said, rubbing Hattie behind the ears. She whined pitifully and cuddled into Sirius’ side. “Have you two been busy lately?”

“We’re planning for our wedding.” Remus looked as confused as Sirius felt. “Why?”

“Because Miss Hattie here is one of the healthiest, snuggliest dogs I’ve ever seen.”

“But she was coughing.”

“She was faking.” The vet knelt next to her and petted down her back, raising an eyebrow. “Weren’t you, munchkin?”

“Hattie!” Sirius exclaimed, torn between relief and shock. “You little monster!”

Remus frowned and tapped her forehead lightly as he slid her leash on over her head. “We were so worried about you! Why would you do that?”

“She’s probably been sulking because you’re busy with wedding stuff,” the vet said with a smile. “Quite the drama queen you’ve got there.”

“Tell me about it,” Sirius huffed as he kissed her head. “Don’t ever do that again, young lady. You’re in big trouble when we get home.”

“Thank you for your help,” Remus said, shaking the vet’s hand. “We really appreciate it and we’re so sorry for wasting your time.”

“Are you kidding? She was the best part of my day,” he laughed. “All the other techs can’t stop talking about Hattie cuddles now. Have a good one, you three.”

+1: The Lions, the Media, and the Locker Room

Word spread like wildfire in media circles, and the rumor mill had never worked harder once news of the Black-Lupin wedding came out.

Naturally, the Lions decided to have a little fun with it.

“Pots! Pots, what can you tell us about Black and Lupin’s wedding?” Four different microphones were shoved into his personal space, but James put on his best confused face.

“What wedding?”

A wave of murmuring spread through the reporters. “So you weren’t invited to Sirius Black and Remus Lupin’s wedding?”

“There’s a wedding?”

Across the room, two other interviewers mobbed Thomas Walker in his stall. “Talker, do you know anything about Black and Lupin’s wedding?”

“Who?” he asked with a perfect act of innocence.

“Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.”

He bit his lip. “I don’t think I know them, sorry. Are they fans?”

“Talkie!” Remus tossed him a towel from the adjacent stall, and he caught it with a grin.

“Heads up, Loops!” Talker threw it right back and headed toward the ice baths with a wink to the cameras. “Good chat, guys.”

One of the interviewers muttered under their breath and hurried over to Pascal, who was still unlacing his skates. “Dumo, when is the wedding between Sirius Black and Remus Lupin?”

Dumo frowned. “Quoi?”

“The wedding. You were invited, yes?”

“Desole, je ne parle pas l’anglais,” he said regretfully. “C’est un…wedding?”

“Yes, the wedding between your teammates.”

“These words, I don’t know them.” His French accent was almost comically thick as he shook his head. “Desole.”

Out of view of the cameras, Sirius gave him a thumbs-up and reached over to high-five Pots.

[pieces-by-me]

Golden Eyes

Words: 2627

Summary: There aren’t only rats in the tunnels under York. A big surprise for Ivar that takes his breath away.

Warnings: mentions of blood, death, imprisonment. English is not my first language and first time writing for Vikings.

@maggiescarborough​ - thank you again for the help with this!! I hope you like it and still want to read it (Even though it took me four months to write this)

Ever since Eadrick and Hilda found out she was with child they knew that it would be special. They knew because the pregnancy felt different. Hilda didn't have sickness in the morning and her emotions stayed the same all throughout the months. When they went to the healer of their small village he told them that it was a curse from the Devil. For no women had ever a pregnancy like it, it was unnatural. Eadrick couldn't understand why the healer had the idea that his child could be a curse. How could it be? They tried for so long and never were blessed with one and now that it finally happened they had to hear that it was the Devils work? Hilda had tears running down her face as she stood tall and declared that the healer should feel ashamed. “My child is not made by the Devil but blessed by God!” The healer sneered after them as they exited the small cottage.

Months passed by and the happy pair couldn't wait to see their little boy or girl.They didn't care what the child would be as long as it was healthy. But with the time fleeting and the stomach growing the looks from the people of the village would grow as well and become more and more evil. Word had got out that Hilda supposedly carried the Devils child and with every day that passed Eadrick became more worried for his wife. He knew that he had to protect her and his child, so he did everything to build them a little home in the middle of the forrest surrounding the village.

When Hilda went into labor Eadrick feared for his beloved. The healer refused to help birth 'a cursed child' and they were alone in their small home. Only a fire to help and warm them in the cold winter month. The birth went so fast it was as if it never really happened. And the strangest thing was that Hilda felt not one bit of pain. She was smiling when she pushed and then her child came into the world. Hilda birthed a little girl and Eadrick couldn't help but look at his family with love and adoration. He swore to God that he would do anything, even sin, to protect his family.

She didn't scream when she came into this world. Her big eyes were just looking, searching, for her mother and father. And as soon as her little eyes met the tear filled ones of her father she let out a little laugh that made both her parents cry for joy. Her eyes had the color of light. An almost golden hue that could not be discribed. She was not a curse. She was a blessing. They decided to name her (Y/N). The little girl with sunshine in her eyes.

_______________________________________________________________________

Ivar wobbled through the streets of York with eyes in search for any small thing he could have missed. He had to make sure that everything was in order and that nothing would go wrong. The smoke from the burned up rats and rotten meat made it hard to examine the traps but he managed. More annoying was the smell. He had to swallow back his already eaten food to not vomit all over the street at some points. That would not be a good look for the ruler of the Heathen Army. But that also was something he managed. Ivar sent Hvitserk away to survey the catacombs under York after his big brother questioned his plan. Idiot. As if he didn't build everything in his head to a point and thought about how everything could turn out. Of course he had a plan. A plan that would soon be taken into action, for as the Saxons were on their way to take back York. With an almost malicious smile Ivar made his last round around the outer ring of the city. Oh yes, the Saxons would come soon and think that death took all the heathens away. But they would be met with nothing but death for themselves.

Hvitserk cursed his younger brother. He knew very well that Ivar was not an idiot and had a plan. He just wanted to be included. Not be left out and always chasing answers and responsibility. Not unlike with Ubbe. But now he kind of wished that his brother would have given him another order. And not running around the dirt and rat infested tunnels that stretched out under this Christian city. He didn't really know for what he, and the other worriers that went down with him, should be looking for, but he guessed that if he found something suspicious or wrong he would see and know.

After walking through the foul-smelling tunnels for hours, Hvitserk was about to call it quits and wanted to go back up the ladder when he caught something in the corner of his eye. It was a door. A rotten door with huge metal bolts that looked like it would bust with one small push and fall out of its hinges. He walked closer to it, intrigued to find something after hours of nothing. The wood on the door felt rough to his touch making him think that it was not used often. When he tried to open it though it wouldn't give. It stayed shut and only then did he see the whole for a key.

'You're not the first thing that wanted to stay untouched but I always got my way.' He thought with a mischievous smirk as he thought about some of his past conquests. When he slammed his body for the third time against the door, with running start, and it's still not budging he grew irritated. The wood definitely being more robust then it appeared. What the hel was behind this door that needed to be so protected? After one last push something in that room moved. Hvitserk could hear it. Almost like a hound. Whimpering and shuffling as if to get away. Why would the Saxon leave an animal locked in these dark tunnels?

His thoughts were broken up by the sound of running feet and people flooding the tunnels. The time has come. The Saxons were here. With one last glance to the door Hvitserk made his way back to the entrance where he was supposed to meet up with Ivar. As he rounded the corner he saw how his little brother was being hoisted down and someone was already waiting with his crutch on the ground.

_______________________________________________________________________

The Saxons entered the city. Empty of all beings except the rats that crawled over the muddy grounds. Why were the rats on the ground? The Bishop looked at the small rodents with uncertainty. It was not common for rats to run this free around people. Soon the cheers of the soldiers were washing his worry to the back of his head. Bells were ringing and people celebrating; they have defeated the Vikings.

But while the rats ran free on the ground the tunnels swarmed with Viking warriors lusting for blood. Ivar did it again. He came up with a plan that fooled his opponent and would guarantee his success. He looked up through the manhole to the feet of soldiers walking over him unbeknown to the threat underneath their them.

Hvitserk arrived and made his way over to his little brother. The two Ragnarsons met eyes and in both radiated the intend and want to kill and mark the streets of York with the blood of the Christians. In the back of Hvitserks head the thought of the mysterious door and animal surfaced for a split second, he would go back there and try to open it when the battle is won. With a little shake of his head to get back to now he heard the Saxons cheer for their victory.

Ivar and Hvitserk met eyes again, both smiling like two mad men. Anticipation running through their veins at the thought of finally running their sword and axes through bodies and bones. And with a small turn from his body Ivar watched his warriors, everyone at the soles of their feet to start, threw is right hand in the air and ladders were pulled up. Everyone had to be silent.

As the first men stepped through the opening, Ivar and Hvitserk letting out roars of battle, the Saxons had to realize that they made a huge mistake.

Cheers turned to screams of shock and the streets turned red with blood and gore.

The Heathens were not dead but they brought it with them.

_______________________________________________________________________

The battle was done. The bishop in chains and Ivar was basking in his win. Heahmund thought he was looking in the eyes of the devil when he saw the crawling figure coming closer and closer to him. Chuckling like a demon. While he relished in the humiliation of the Christian, his brother was distracted by something else. In the back of the church were two dogs that fought over a bone, it seams that ever creature was fighting on this day. But the display and sounds brought back a memory to Hvitserks mind. The animal in the tunnels.

He went out of the building without a word in search of a bigger ax. His brother not even realizing he left. When Hvitserk made his way back into the tunnels he had a harder time finding the mysterious door again. The shine of the torch not being light enough for him to see everything. With his luck we would get lost. But the gods were on his side and after he ran into a dead end for the fifth time he found it. 'You're done'

His shoulder hurt after the battle. One Saxon having brought their sword down further then Hvitserk could reflect with his. The dried up blood was still on his clothes. It seamed to open up again as warm liquid trailed down his arm in small droplets. But he didn't care. He needed to know what exactly was behind this stupidly, hard to open door. With a final blow of the ax the wood splintered away and gave sight into the room.

It was dark and the smell of sick and rotten flesh made its way into his nose. It was worse then when they burned flesh for the plan. Even with his torch he couldn't see inside so he made his way back a little and began to bring the ax back to the hole he created. More and more wood split away and after only four more hits he could fit through. Of course it was probably not the best idea to go blindly into a locked room but his curiosity won over common sense.

At first he didn't see anything. No animal running towards him. No treasure or anything being stored in this room. All his eyes were met was stone walls that were covered with vines and mold, water running down in small streams down the sides and puddles of old and dried up blood littering the floor. This was not a room for save keeping. No this looked like a cell if he ever seen one. He turned around and was about to climb back through the door when a sound made his body freeze.

It was the same thing. The small whining of a broken animal. Barley there but in the silent room it appeared to echo from everywhere. He turned around and really searched every corner and halted when his eyes came on a small bundle of brown fabric. Fabric that moved in a feeble attempted to get away from the viking. He took a step closer, cautious as to not scare it even more. He didn't even know what lied before him until two golden eyes looked back at him with so much despair he faltered in his step.

It was a girl. A small, sickly Saxon girl that, by the looks of it, was trapped in this cell for only the gods knew how long. She trembled and flinched and even though he didn't move closer she tried to get away even more. But her body seemed to gave up on her. All throughout her weak attempted to escape the threat they held eye contact until the gold vanished and she collapsed on the ground.

'What in the name of Odin?'

Hvitserk ran up to the girl and up on a closer look saw that her hands and feet were shackled to the walls. Her wrist scraped raw and red. Ankles crusted over with old blood.

Unbeknown to Hvitserk the closer he got to the girl the less his shoulder bled and hurt. But with the situation a little bit more severe he just simply couldn't focus on it. He blamed it on his new discovery and excitement and moved on. With his ax he had little effort with the chains that weighted more then the girl herself, picked her up over his shoulder and made his way back to the church. He couldn't wait for his brothers reaction of his find.

Ivar was getting impatient. Sitting on the table at end of the hall he wondered where his brother was. A small feast was being held to celebrate the defeat of the Christians. He wanted to talk to him about the bishop and then rub it in his face a little that his plan worked. The rumble of conversations died down a little with the sound of opening doors and people made room for whoever entered the hall. By now Ivar could see that ,finally, his brother came. But what he nor anyone expected was the sleeping girl in his arms. What was going on?

With each step from his brother Ivar felt something change inside his body. He couldn't put it into words but there was a force spreading from his chest to his legs. Hvitserk went to the middle of the room and laid the girl on the floor right to his feet. Ivar's eyes widened, breath stuck inside his lungs. Could it be? He didn't feel like this since he was just a little boy. He only remembered that once he had felt it because his beloved mother told him. With a start so abrupt he made everyone in the room look at him he lowered his body to the ground.

Hvitserk looked at his little brother who crawled over the unconscious Saxon girl. Faster then he ever crawled. As if she was the only thing that would keep him alive, that she was the last drop of water for a dying man. His whole body covered hers and he was only breaths away from her. The look on his face was a fuse of shock, astounding, revelation and skepticism. But also, if you were close enough, fear. He looked as if the biggest treasure lay under him. The other vikings in the room stopped at what they were doing and observed what their leader would do. No one said a word. There wasn't even the sound of a single breath. Ivar's eyes didn't even blink as he slowly graced her face with his bloodied hand. Leaving a small trail of blood on her cold face. Who was this girl?

“Ivar, what it is? What are you doing?”

Ivar could only vaguely hear his big brothers words. But they came through the haze he was trapped in and with a small voice, so quiet Hvitserk had to lean closer to the two bodies lying on the ground to even hear him, he said:

“I don't feel any pain in my legs.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Thanks for reading and let me know what you think about this. I have an idea for a little series with this. 

Hope everyone has an awesome day!

[kth1]

Piquant [Jungkook x Reader]

Piquant [Jungkook x Reader]

Pi-quant / adjective: having a pleasantly sharp taste or appetizing flavor.

⟶ Credit: @kimtaehyunq​ ⟶ Genre: Smut | 21+ | Vampire AU | One Shot ⟶ Warnings: explicit, sub!jungkook/whiny lil thing, vamp!jk, oral (M&F), fingering, blood/blood play, biting, period blood, noona kink, adult content, bondage(M), unprotected sex, language, semi overstimulation, semi cock-warming, creampie, squirting, roommates to ?, multiple orgasms, etc ⟶ WC: 12k ⟶ Summary: Jungkook is your awesome roommate who also happens to be a vampire. There’s nothing wrong with that of course, even with the playful tactics he does to fluster you. Until you realize those quipping taunts meant more than he led on. ⟶ Teaser: “He savored your flavor; his mouth finally got the taste it has been curious about for a long time now. He wanted more before his taste-testing was over, and he knew exactly how to get it.” ⟶ Author’s note: Hello everyone, this story is a precious gift to @jkeuphoriadreamland​ – as Yoly fully enjoys a bit of a whiny brat version of Jungkook. And NOONA KINKS. I tried my best to write him as a sub, and I truly hope you enjoy this fic. Nervous as all hell because you are a wonderful, glorious writer; and gifting you a fic of my own makes me kasdjhf. Anyways, this is unedited bc reasons - I had fun being your Peach Peep and writing this for you! (I didn’t mean to make it as long as it did… oops. xoxo)

“You smell pretty tasty.”

“Well, I’m not!” You retorted.

“Let me have a quick taste? That’s all I’m asking for.” Jungkook requested.

“Koo, no! You have plenty of bottles of blood in the fridge – just heat some up.”

Jungkook snorted with disgust, “Tch, that blood is synthetic. It’s not as good as straight from the source.” His finger trailed up the inside of your wrist, his body taking a step closer to yours.

You snatched your wrist back to yourself quickly, glaring up at your pest of a roommate. “Oh no no no – Jeon! You stop that!” Jungkook took another step, a grin present on his sculpted face. You respond with a pointed finger, raising your eyebrows in question. He wanted to play this game again.

“But Noona, please!” He whined with a pout. The vowels drawing out with the sentence with a childish tone, but his eyes shared something deep and dark. Thirst.

“I am not your bloodbag Jeon Jungkook!” your accusatory finger now prodding his chest.

“True, you’re not. But you are my friend.” He smiled, cupping your hands in his, “friends help another out.” He let out a little giggle when he saw your flustered face.

You scoffed, laughing as your roommate continued to plea. “You don’t need help! You have blood in the kitchen! B negative to be exact. It’s a fresh stock!” You shooed him, ushering him to turn around and pushing him towards the opening of the kitchen.

“Noona!” he droned again.

Oddly enough, Jungkook adored using this nickname towards you. Even though he is a hundred and something years older than you, his ripened age of vampire is in his early twenties – when he was changed into one, he found it humorous to call you Noona because your human years have surpassed his frozen age. Thus resulting, in his mind, you being ‘older’ than him. That, and the fact you get flustered up over the nickname.

There’s no doubt in your mind that your pesky little vampire friend could overpower you at any second if he really wanted to, but there was a firm alliance between the two of you. He has control over his hunger after all, he’s not a savage. Just because Jungkook is a vampire doesn’t mean he was a monster. For years vampires have lived among the human race, they aren’t out to rule the world or anything. Just trying to survive like every other creature.

Still, he and you were good friends. Actually, when you first met him you developed one of the biggest crushes on the mysterious vampire – but that feeling subsided drastically when you realized more about his lifestyle.

The two of you met through friends of friends. Trustworthy, as you had his back and he had yours. And now, you two shared an apartment in the busy city of Seoul, making ends meet as he works at the local vamp lounge, being a bartender. You wallow yourself forever in an office desk job providing customer service over a phone and through your computer.

“I swear to god if you ask me one more time, I’m going to throw my silver jewelry at you!” you threatened. “And stop calling me Noona!”

He scrunched his nose, annoyed at your rejection. “Ahh, you’re no fun.” He grumbled under his breath, turning away and departing towards the kitchen.

“It’s my blood! My property!” you yelled to the back of his dark ruffled hair, watching it sway with each of his steps before it vanished behind the wall.

“Then stop bleeding around me! Don’t get another paper cut and I wouldn’t ask!” he shouted from the other room.

The shuffling noises from the fridge to the microwave was audible enough to hear. A hint that he’s reheating a bottle of blood. Luckily for him, you were nice enough to stop by the convenience store on your way back home to pick him up a fresh batch of blood. Picking up his favorite flavor for his special acquired taste.

You looked down at the coffee table that was littered with a pile of mail, some ripped open and some still untouched. Your eyes darted at the piece of envelope that was sharp enough to break through your skin and cause a nasty little cut. You mentally scolded the piece for causing a stinging pain in your index finger. The irony of the rent notice cutting into your wallet was the act paper that cut into your flesh.

With your hand still close by, you examined the cracked cut that adorned a leaky line of red with a bead of blood threatening to drip off. “Wouldn’t ask.” You mocked Jungkook, speaking to yourself. “Oh please – you’re such a begger.” You sucked on your finger, attempting to take the small sting away and ridding your blood while you continued to reorganized the mail on the table.

The audible footsteps of Jungkook resonated as he approached back in the living room, bottle attached to his mouth. You glanced over your shoulder to see what was up with his lingering, and he answered your gaze with narrowed cut, stink-eyes. Sipping bitterly hard on his warm thick fluid drink, he rolled his eyes and continued down towards his bedroom.

He heard what you said.

Jungkook was gone, a scheduled vacation to meet up with some old friends for the weekend. You have the whole apartment to yourself for once, and during this time you had an untimely visit from your aunt flow. It tainted your mood, unwanted pains and cramps forcing you out of whack. Your weekend consisted of kissing your lips to Ben & Jerry’s selection of ice cream flavors, watching movies and downing your own dosage of Advil and other pain killers.

The apartment wafted with your heady scent. Something you couldn’t pick up with human smell alone but to a vampire like Jungkook, he could pick it up instantly. Like a shark in a water, he can catch whiff of all kinds of scents with those advanced heightened senses.

You were fast asleep in dreamland, a heating pad atop your stomach that lulled your cramps at an ease. Curse the world that during this period, your cramps were ungodly painful, and you felt like complete and utter shit.

What you didn’t know was that your roommate had decided to cut his group hang out short – coming back home in the middle of the night. Not like he couldn’t come and go as he pleased – it was his house too. But tonight, it was slightly… different.

He stepped up the stairwell in the apartment complex, fidgeting with the ring of keys in hand. A strange smell entered his nose, something foreign yet so similar to him. It forced him to halt his actions, standing still while looking down the corridor. It was coming from this floor – his floor.

Jungkook reached level 3, turning his way down to his apartment with the scent leading him all the way to the front door. A succulent aroma enticing him, ticking his hunger. He soon realized that sweet pungent smell that he zoned into was your scent – your blood was lingering in the airway in a heavy dosage.

“Oh fuck!” he unlocked the apartment door in a rush, speedily running in as fast as the bulk of your musk entered his sinuses. Immediately Jungkook thought the worst, thinking something happened to you; you were hurt and bleeding out. Were you okay? Why are you bleeding?

His feet brought him to your bedroom door, “Y/n! Y/n!?” he’s frantic. The moment Jungkook busted your bedroom door open almost off its hinges, he was relieved to see you intact and unharmed – seeing your body sprawled out across your mattress fast asleep.

But the sudden commotion jolted you up out of your slumber, the booming sound of your door flinging open and Jungkook’s voice calling out your name startled you.

“Kook?” You whipped your head towards him, a groggy voice to match your terrible bedhead you sported.

“Shit, sorry! Fuck, I didn’t mean to wake you! I just – I,” his thoughts were cut off, that rambling of his mouth seized when you shifted yourself on the bed, rolling the comforter around. The blanket that sealed the majority of your scent now accidentally releasing in a wave, the sweet tangy smell hitting Jungkook face first.

His hand latched to his nose, plugging his ability to smell you any further. Internally he was fighting his natural urge to go for it, to have a taste of this juicy aroma that was causing his mouth to water and fangs to sharpen. This impulse was worse than any other time, like when you got papercuts or accidentally nicked yourself with a knife. You always had a peculiar smell, something that made him curious, and now he’s invested.

He knows he needs to leave the area, go get himself a bottle of blood or find a unfortunate prey on the street, quickly. He can’t touch you; he shouldn’t touch you – but god do you smell so good and your scent was incredibly inviting.

His backpack slunk off his shoulder to the floor with a thud, the intoxicating smell was so deadly that it was forcing a haze of thirst run over him. “I thought you were hurt.” He confessed.

You rubbed your eyes to remove any forming crusts, “Hurt? What? I’m not hurt. That’s why you woke me up?”

Jungkook shook his head, staring over at your confused and puzzled face. “N – no Y/n, you’re bleeding. Like a lot.”

It took moments for you to register what he was implying. Widening your eyes when you finally came to realization. “Oh no… shit. Sorry Koo. I’m fine I swear.”

You scurried, flipping the covers over you to witness a decently large stain that had accumulated through your night shorts. You bled through your bottoms, something you haven’t done in years, yet mother nature is always good at being unpredictable. You sighed, face palming yourself to how you practically ruined the fabrics and it will take a miracle to clean them completely.

Jungkook froze, all instincts fighting to break free the moment his sensory eyes laid on the darkened patch that decorated between your legs. His fist tightened; his body completely stiff with blown out eyes. “Run Jungkook, fucking run.” He ordered himself internally.

You carefully moved your body around, attempting not to get any more blood on your sheets. Thankfully you didn’t have any cramps right now. Typically, you were very cautious around your roommate during times like these. Plugging yourself up with tampons from beginning to end of your cycle, refusing to stay around him or the apartment for too long, even he would take time away to give you your space. It was out of respect for another, established as a primary rule before you two signed your contract to the apartment.

As you hobbled closer towards the door in which Jungkook stood, you couldn’t understand why he refused to move out of your way.

“Kook, I have to go to the bathroom.” You seek to brush pass him but Jungkook’s hand snatched your arm – grip strong.

In a slow raspy voice, he breathed, “Noona.”

You blinked up at him, watching a flicker of red flash over his darkened orbs. You felt caught, trapped by his intense stare. His build was larger than yours, almost menacing when his body hardened to block the frame of the doorway.

“Jungkook… relax…” You felt the temperature of your body shift. Should you be worried? Scared? Embarrassed?

“I can’t.” his other hand held onto your free arm, slowly backing you away from the door with trembling steps. His eyes frantically searched your face, pupils wide while the chocolate brown of his eyes shaded to a vibrant red.  

His eyes were demanding, a scare or warning that there was no going back from this. You’ve witnessed this look before when you visited the bar he worked at, when his eyes catch onto a delicious treat in the crowd. It won’t be easy to escape this situation. Jungkook was invested in getting what he wanted, what he was craving…

“This – this would be weird. It’s – Jungkook listen to me for a second.” The back of your legs touched the edge of the bed. “Jungkook!”

He hummed, glossing his eyes over you once more. His tone beckoning you to continue.

“This is period blood!”

He shrugged, rubbing his hands along the expanse of your arms, not allowing you to sit down just yet. He can feel the warmth of your body, how you are much warmer than usual. “It’ll just taste a little off. It’s not like I haven’t had it before.”

“Ew, Kook! No that’s gross! Like, do vampires actually enjoy? This?” You tried wiggling yourself out of his grasp. But he stepped closer – closing whatever distance there was between the two of you. You swallowed thickly, feeling quite intimidated and small under his presence. But you took note, his tight chest now flexed in front of you and hands held firm to your arms as if he was holding onto dear life.

“Y/n.” Jungkook whispers, leaning closer to your head. His phantom breath tickled the shell of your ear, “Please let me have a taste. Can I please…?”

It sounded so sensual coming from him. A shiver running down the base of your spine from the odd request. His hands now ghosted your hips, fingers etching a tingly sensation into your exposed skin. He carefully played with the waist band of your shorts – dipping a finger under it in a teasingly way.

Jungkook was controlling himself to all extremes. He knows he can’t attack you the way his nature wants him to, you’re his friend after all. He shouldn’t be stalking towards you like this. He cannot ruin you the way you’re ruining him right now. But he’s surely thinking about it.

You felt shy, nervous but oddly turned on by your roommate’s intimidation. All his persistence, his pleading whines slowly getting to you. You should feel disgusted – right? The idea of blood, your blood, your period blood, being taste tested by your friendly vampire. Which makes you question yourself even more when you tell Jungkook, “Okay…”

You’re shocked and so was Jungkook. Your confirmation is all he needed to hear, so he didn’t need to stop his action of snaking his hand down your shorts, slowly trailing his fingers towards your core.

A small gasp escaped him the moment the freshly soaked patch on your undies came in contact with the pad of his index finger. The urgency of pushing his finger down onto the cloth to collect whatever residue he could overwhelmed him.

It was an odd feeling – your roommate exploring his wondering hand down your shorts. What you didn’t expect was how it still felt somewhat good. The sudden contact of your lady bits now getting attention not by your own hand, but of someone else’s. Causing your body to jump with a sexual alert and now you’re the one holding onto Jungkook’s arms as if you were going to buck under him.

Jungkook brought his fingers back up to meet his face as he inspected the redden stain that now coated the tips of his digits. A strange manner – something no human in their right mind would do – Jungkook sniffed at your remainder. Naturally this would be so revolting for a human. But Jungkook is a blood-sucking vampire. Any form of human blood wired him up and he lived off of it, literally.

You watched him with your bottom lip between your teeth. You watched as he stuck his fingers in his mouth and exhaled a very audible groan thought his nose.

“Fuuuuck, Noona…” his tongue dragged between his fingers, then lips to savor the flavor. Suddenly his hand disappeared back to the waistband of your shorts, this time less hesitantly now. “You tasted like this all along?” He speculated while advising you to sit down, tugging harshly at your bottoms.

You nervously fumbled trying to catch his hands before he could hoist your bottoms off. He was fast, desperate for more. “Kook! You said a taste!” you squealed.

“I’m not finished tasting!” he growled. A more aggressive side taking over his demeanor. In his swift act of removing your bottoms you heard the ripping of seams. Fabrics pulling apart. Then your used panties and shorts were discarded off to the side – there was no saving them now.

Jungkook held your hands, staring down at your now pinched thighs that hid his juicy treat. He can sense your uncertainty, your nervousness – so he tried to look as apologetically pleading as possible while kneeling down in front of you. “Noona – please!” The pitch of voice didn’t match the way of his eyes that stared you down. “I’ll make it feel good, I promise. Just let me show you!”

He shoved his face between your knees, attempting to pry your legs apart, that strong scent now mere inches away from his mouth. Jungkook couldn’t control his hunger any longer, not when there was free blood just asking to be eaten.

It was almost pathetic at how desperate Jungkook was being, wiggling his head further into you. His eyes glowing pure red as they fixated at the crack between your thighs. He dragged his lips across your skin, planting reckless open mouth kisses. The sight of your roommate on his knees for you sparked a deep desire within your core.

“Kook! Let’s talk about this!” You flushed as you pinched your thighs as tight as possible. Jungkook’s hands firmly held yours still. He grunted at your resounded rebuttal, pleading more with a high pitch – needy whine.

He wasn’t listening, he couldn’t hear you as his hunger took over his senses. His throat felt dry though his mouth watered for your flavor. Heat embedded into your cheeks, rocking a wave down to your bundle of nerves. You squeaked at the shifting movements of Jungkook wedging his face even more. “Kook is this even right?!”

Complete turmoil ran through your mind – you’re sharing yourself with your friend. Someone you had a crush on, and now that attraction crept back up. An act that you two have never experienced before. This wasn’t your average ‘oh here take some blood from my wrist’ situation. Jungkook was aiming for more than just a snack and it didn’t seem like the vampire didn’t mind what-so-ever.

“I’m okay with it Noona – are you?” He nipped your leg lightly, slowly dragging his now sharpened fangs on the soft skin. His lips formed a pout as he looked up at you with reddened puppy-dog eyes. “I won’t bite you.”

Everything about this situation seemed so wrong, but Jungkook was making it sound so right. You never realized how the excitement of the situation was causing your chest to rise erratically, an ache in your core now persistently present and you swore the puddle down below wasn’t just blood now.

You were nervous and body slightly shaking. It’s late, it’s wrong, this whole circumstance entirely dangerous. But that didn’t stop your body acting on its own accord by widening your legs just enough for Jungkook’s head to slip in. A spark lit bright in Jungkook’s eyes when he laid them upon your dirty flower, the sight looking as appetizing as ever.  

“Yeah.” You breathed. “It’s okay with me. Don’t bite me or so help me god –“

“I won’t.” Jungkook didn’t hesitate to slide himself in – licking up the blotches of blood that escaped onto your inner thighs. The sensual feeling of his tongue tracing patterns around your pussy.

Lewd noises came from Jungkook, devouring your juice as if it was the best meal on Earth. Satisfaction releasing through his nose that moment the flat of his wet muscle licked up between your lips, flicking at the tip of your clit.

He released your hands as he felt you ease into him, moving them to your upper thighs to kneed lovely circles into them.

“Oh!” you moaned. Your fingers carded though his hair – head nestled deep between your legs. “Koo-!”

He grinned against your sex. A slight giggle escaped his lips, “Yes, Noona?”

Jungkook looked up at you through his eyelashes and with a cock of his eyebrow, mouth entrapping your cunt. He flicked his tongue up you once more just to see your reaction.

You shuttered – back landing onto your mattress. You openly sighed with a ridged breath. The dangerous mouth of Jungkook eating you up like it was his job. “Fuck, Kook.” You giggled at your shameless moans. The feeling of bashfulness creeping up on you from enjoying the sensation, those disgusting thoughts fading away against the immense pleasure. Stimulation being particularly focused on your small bundle of nerves, especially when Jungkook sucked on it.

The mess that dressed your cunt was most definitely already cleaned up by now. But Jungkook continued to pleasure you in return – after all he did say he’d make it feel good.

He savored your flavor; his mouth finally got the taste it has been curious about for a long time now. He wanted more before his taste-testing was over, and he knew exactly how to get it.

“Let me thank you, Y/n…” he purred.

Snaking his fingers under you, he teased the pads of his digits around your entrance. Prodding slowly along with the rhythm that his tongue set. Your cunt clenched around the insertion of two of his fingers that eased in effortlessly.

You allowed him to have a taste and now he wanted to repay you back by giving you a treat you won’t forget. You gasped for air the moment Jungkook’s fingers curled up into the thicket of your inner walls, pressing long drawled out strokes against it.

Your hips bucked, jerking up into the wild tongue of Jeon Jungkook. It was sinful the way he ate you out, and even at the right angle you felt the sharp of his fangs that threatened to dip into you. His word was true, he wasn’t going to bite you, just clean you up.

With the constant thrusts of his vicious digits, he was also swiping out any hording residue of your unfortunate mishap that got you two in this situation in the first place. Of course, this luscious taste is distinct, but Jungkook can also relish in the flavor of your natural essence that extracted from your cunt. And the mix of these two delectable tangs together soon made their way to the top of Jungkook’s palate.

Your body tightened, the sudden rush of your climax rushing through you as goosebumps rise across your skin. The fist you steadily held in his hair, tightened. Your back arched off the mattress, Jungkook’s hand holding your hips securely down.

Vibrations ran through your body while you moaned Jungkook’s name, creaming all over his face. He groaned in return, lapping up every inch of you.

He leaned back, removing his mouth and fingers. Wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, Jungkook peered up at you with constraint. You remained laying, staring at the ceiling and feeling completely washed out. That just happened? You had one of the best orgasms of your entire life all because Jungkook was thirsty?

“You good, Y/n?” A mousy voice drew your attention out of your thoughts, back down at the man who hesitantly stood up. His hands moved your legs back together, and he assisted you to sitting back up right on the edge of the bed.

You nodded, reserving your thoughts for another time as you looked up to Jungkook. His eyes were no longer blood-lust red but instead his wide doe-eyed nuisance you’re oh-so used to seeing. They wouldn’t be so annoying if they didn’t work on you, but they did. Every. Damn. Time.

“I’m good, Kook! Uh – thank you.” Your expression of gratitude stammered out of your mouth faster than you could think.

Jungkook murmured under his breathe, but it was loud enough to hear the “Yeah, of course.”

Oh boy. You can feel it – the awkwardness setting in.

Before there were any more unsettling silences between the both of you, you spoke up. “I should really get myself cleaned up, if you can excuse me, I should really go to the bathroom.”

With that announcement you scurried, more like dashed yourself to the bathroom that was adjacent to your room. Leaving Jungkook to stand in your bedroom bewildered. He glanced down over at your discarded ripped bottoms that lay lifeless on the floor, still stained with your pungent aroma. He faltered battling with his inner thoughts when his lips quivered ever so slightly.

“Fuck.” He seethed the profanity through his teeth while palming over his groin.

It’s been a week since the misadventure that happened between your roommate and you. Determined, you choose to take the path of act-like-everything-is-fine. Nothing was wrong, no of course not. Right?

You had a full week to dwell on these thoughts, by yourself. No interests in opening your mouth about it to your best friends, or any random stranger at a bar or even the same clerk you run into at the convenience store every now and then.

So what – you let Jungkook have a taste of your blood? You’re an adult, and it was perfectly fine! He needs blood to live anyways – if anything you were doing him a favor! So, you told yourself…

But strangely enough after that night, after the mind-blowing orgasm that left your core fluttering for days even at the thought of that night, Jungkook distanced himself from you. No matter how many times you addressed him to partake in a casual event that the two of you normally participated in like enjoying a movie on the couch, having drinks together, running to the store or even playing one of his blasted videogames – Jungkook declined more than often. It was always.

Jungkook was hardly to be seen, stating he picked up more shifts at the lounge or hanging out with others. Meanwhile his nights remained occupied, and your days were busy with your office job – it caused more of a space between the two of you. When his actions persisted, you couldn’t help but think there was something wrong.

By day four of post orgasm those flooded doubts came running in. What you two did wasn’t right, you fucking knew it. Jungkook must have known it too. “This totally fucked up everything didn’t it?” It’s the only excuse you could devise with the series of events.

Now day seven you sat there in the middle of the couch; legs crossed over another as your foot impatiently tapped in the air. It’s been exactly a week from that treacherous night, and the more you thought about the risky behavior you both endured, the more it couldn’t escape your mind. You’re putting too much effort into something that shouldn’t be minded.

At least, that’s what Jungkook was doing – right? Not minding the incident…

With a glass of wine in hand, you sipped with resent as your flickered through the list of movies to preoccupy yourself with. Something needed to stand out, something to distract you from your irritated mindset. Maybe a comedy, maybe some horror with a bit of action?

You settled for something, clicking play and started up towards the kitchen. Swallowing the remains of your glass in honor of filling it right back up to the brim. In the course of your tipping the wine bottle into your cup, watching the dark liquid pour out of the nozzle so fluidly, you heard the entrance of your apartment open up.

That can only be one person – Jungkook.

Placing the bottle of wine back down on the counter, you turn with a full glass in hand. You walked out of the kitchen to be met with the emptying of the living room once again. Jungkook must have bee-lined it straight to his room.

A sudden rage rose up within you, not particularly enjoying this cold-shoulder act Jungkook insisted on giving. You want to confront him; you’re getting tired of this odd behavior and if there was an elephant in the room that refuses to leave then you will kick it out with all your might.

“Jungkook!” You hollered, feet stepping down the narrow hallway towards his room that was hidden in the very far end. “Kook!” Your voice belted his name a few more octaves higher.

Your knuckles contacted his bedroom door, tapping against the wood. “Can you open up?”

Through the wood you can hear the rummaging of Jungkook throughout the room. He was ransacking his drawers, the sound of his chair wheeling back and forth as his steps moved to and fro. “I’m busy right now.”

A stern huff escaped your lips. To calm yourself you took a long swig of your wine, hoping it cooled you down – or even give you more of a liquid courage to speak up.

“It will only take a minute!” You barked.

He didn’t reply back to you, but instead he continued to rustle around his room for god only knows what. With this indication, you felt peeved and your hand was fast to the doorknob. Twisting the handle fast enough to fling the door open so you can face him.

Jungkook was in the midst of tucking in his black fitted button up shirt, belt still hanging loose through the loops. Matching with his black sleek trousers and set of tuxedo shoes that went along with the monochromatic attire for work. For a brief moment, your mind zoned in on how Jungkook would look… when not just dressing, but undressing. That thought bubble was popped abruptly when he whipped his head in your direction and yelled at you.

“I said I was busy!” he repeated, tone fully capturing the blunt of his attitude.

“Jungkook, come on you’ve been avoiding me all week.” You inclined.

Jungkook ruffled out the last bits of his shirt, tapering it into the band of his pants. He fastened his belt security along his waist with the clinks and clacks. “I’m late Y/n. I don’t have time for this.” Jungkook breezes past you towards the bathroom with his stationary bag lugged over his shoulder. He eyes himself in the mirror, tidying up his hair and quickly rinsing his mouth with mouthwash.

Your feet pattered to the bathroom door, now leaning your body against the frame of the entrance. You can notice the harsh side-eye you receive from Jungkook, but you pay no attention in giving a reaction to it. “Kook, what did I do for you to avoid me? Was it because of what happened?”

There was sadness laced inside your voice, but it was taken over by puzzlement. You were just concerned, what happened to the dynamic between the two of you? Why can’t Jungkook even look you in the eyes half the time and run away to steer clear of you?

He spit his mouthwash into the skin, checking his teeth in the mirror for any imperfections. He shimmied the other string of his bag on to his other shoulder and turned to leave the bathroom, seeing that you now stood in his way he gave you an uneasy glare. “Move.”

“What the? No! –“ you protested. Your finger jotted out towards him, “Stop avoiding me!”

He can tell by the flare of your nostrils that you were fuming, and your tone of voice rising with each word you spoke only added to the obvious fact that you were indeed pissed. If it wasn’t for the clear sight that you’re holding up a cup full of alcohol, he’d most definitely would have smelt it lingering off of your breath. Jungkook attempted to grab the glass of wine out of your hand, assuring you that “you probably drank too much already.”

“Hey! – No, give me that!” You argued, holding tight with your fingers circling around the base. He’s shuffling around, pulling at your wrist to let go of the damn thing, but it was when his hand latched over yours that covered the base an unexpected shatter echoed in the apartment.

Wine spilled between the two of you, decorating the bathroom floor and your feet with the murky dark liquid. Pieces of bladed glass scattered around, and you winced when you felt the sudden jab of a shard that dug itself into your palm.

You yelped, jumping back in surprise and pain. You held your hand out, outstretching your fingers to see the blossoming of red liquid leaking from the shard. “Fuckin’ hell!”

“Shit! Y/n, I’m sor –“ Jungkook cut himself mid-sentence after reaching out towards you. The blood oozing out from that blade of glass was spilling out your sweet tasteful scent, and it wired Jungkook. His inner thirst now aroused.

Pain was plastered over your face as you ripped the piece out from your palm. You pressed firmly against the open wound, looking at the mess that is now below you. Glass everywhere and wine seeping into the cracks of the tiles.

Your eyes met up with Jungkook’s just as he was pushing pass you, down the hall and out the front door. Astonished at Jungkook’s utter rude mannerisms, you held your mouth wide open. He just up and left you in the middle of a mess that was caused by him. That you now have to clean up after taking care of this fresh cut inside the palm of your hand.

And he still didn’t answer your questions.

Another week went by with your poor attempts of consulting Jungkook and him avoiding you like the plague. And with the last ‘real’ incidence where the two of you spoke more than a few syllables, you ended up with a fresh cut to your hand and having to mop and sweep up glass shards and your favorite flavored wine off of the floor. And at this point, you felt like you were avoiding him just as much.

The animosity in the air between the two of you went down a gruesome hill. Tumbling down into smithereens where neither one of you can easily look at another. Jungkook still remained busy as ever, staying out of the house only until you leave for work. The only things that made you know he was still alive was the empty blood bottles left in the sink, the shower curtain being tossed every-which-way, and the half-hazard filing through your piled up mail when he picked out his belongings and left yours disorganized.

Needlessly to say, Jungkook stressed you the fuck out. You were bending to his routines, you were seeking shelter away from him, and all casual activity between the two of you completely vanished. Your confusion turned into spiteful hatred, wanting to smack your roommate upside the head.

Now you’re on week three of roommate-distancing. Your room became your safe haven. The living room was a crossfire full of casualties. The kitchen is a death wish. And the bathroom became your secret chamber when you needed to relax with a steamy relaxing shower and your bubbly loofah.

All this time, your mind already grew curious about Jungkook. There was no way you can repress your emotions when it came to him completely shutting you out. But you did stop remembering that night that turned the sequence of things between the two of you. You wanted to forget; you don’t want to think about it – ever.

You spent weeks dwelling over this roommate dilemma, and it tainted your mood entirely. Your job lacked enthusiasm, your tv didn’t please you enough after watching the same junk over and over. Tonight, you felt appropriate to go out for the night, treat yourself. Because you out of all people know you deserve some fun after the bullshit you are handling.

Fuck it – you’re going to the bar.

Pleather jeans hugged your legs, a blouse that you had tucked in lays low on the neckline flaunting your clavicles and upper chest. You jeweled yourself with a silver body chain that connected at your neck and dipped down between your breasts underneath your shirt. To top of your rocking outfit, you selected your best pair of open-toed red high heels lacing up the front and pinning up half of your now curled hair.

After finishing off the last touches of your make-up you gave yourself a quick look over in your standing mirror. Amused with your selection of attire you gave yourself one last twirl before grabbing your purse and heading out your front door.

You just needed time out, grab yourself a few drinks. There’s no shame of going to the bar alone, plus you enjoyed becoming acquainted with the bartenders here and there. It always gave you a sense of comfort knowing, even though it’s apart of their job, you can vent to them about your worries.

The Snake Pit, a clever yet sinister name for a bar tended to be one of your favorite hot spots to visit. Not only it had a dancefloor and an elongated bar that stretched to the full extent of a wall, electro pop music, and it had its own special feng shui to it.

Heel’s clacking against the hard-wooden floor beneath you, you strutted yourself over to an available seat by the bar. You smiled sweetly at the oncoming bartender who was headed your way, “Hey there! It’s been a while hasn’t it, Y/n?”

You handed over your card to the young chipper male who gleamed down at you, “Open a tab for me please. I’ll start with a mojito, Jin.”

“One Mo-Jin-To coming right up!” he smiled, whipping around to grab the appropriate glasses and mixtures. You bobbed your head to the music waves as you checked out the crowds around you. It was packed here tonight, and you’re happy to see people enjoying a great time.

“How’s it been?” Jin questioned after placing the glass on a coaster in front of you. He leaned in resting his elbow against the bar. Jin was a notorious little flirt, but with good intentions. He just wanted to make his customers as happy as possible – or maybe just enjoyed swooning the ladies to give him better tips.

“It’s… alright. Been better. Just needed to blow off some steam. And of course, I came to visit my favorite bartender. Can’t ever forget a face like yours.” You laughed along with Jin, taking a quick sip of your drink. “Oh? You made it a strong one.” You gave him a thumbs up, “yup, definitely my favorite bartender.”

Jin responded with a playful wink before leaning back up to assist other customers who beckoned for his attention. “Let me know when you need round two!”

And round two came sooner than later. Possibly drink three being concocted as you continued to sip down your mojitos like they were juice. When you grabbed your freshly made glass, you made your way to the dance floor to find some fun.

Within the course of an hour the beat of the music picked up drastically. Bodies swayed left and right in formations, lights flickering and buzzing around your sights. You were so into the rhythm that your hips moved naturally to the tunes.

Until a hand grabbed at your waist, turning you slightly towards them. A man slightly taller than you and maybe just as tipsy as you decided to take his chance on dancing with a pretty lady. “Hey!” he slurred over the loud music. “Let’s dance?”

His invitation wasn’t much of an invite, considering that he was already dancing along with you. But you accepted with a wide smile, urging him to come closed so you could relax your arm around his shoulder as you continued to drink. “Might as well, it is a dancefloor.” You giggled.

The bar felt like you were playing musical chairs with suitor on suitor. Eventually your drink vanished completely, and you were on your third dance with another random, but handsome, stranger.

“You smell just as pretty as you look.” He whispered into the shell of your ear, rocking his pelvis into your backside. His hands found a home on the curve of your hips, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his confession.

“That’s got to be one of the better pickup lines.” You hummed. “I’ve heard worse” you teased as you whipped yourself around in place, now placing your hands through the man’s hair. It was thick and hardened with some sort of product. You glanced around at the bar, noticing your favorite bartender flirting along with an innocent girl that sat right in front of him. A couple having a heavy make-out session just a few feet away from their interaction.

But you found a spare seat that was left empty, a motivation for you to go back for another drink? Or just relax from dancing since you felt like you needed a break.

“That’s not very nice,” the man prodded. Nudging your head aside so he could place a tender kiss against your neck.

With reflex you jerked your body away, avoiding the man and pushing him away. “No thank you.”

As you were turning on your heel, the male stepped close to you once more. Arm linking around your body, “Where do you think you’re going? Thought we were dancing?” He grinned eerily, an odd ominous vibe now shining from him.

Your hands came up to shove him away, but there was a movement in a blink of an eye that you didn’t catch. Maybe your vision was impaired, but you could have sworn you were just in the clutches of this man, and now he stands five feet away from you with a bewildered look.

“Back off.” A low grumble resounded next to you, a face popping into your perception. Jungkook?!

Jungkook’s jaw was clenched, grinding his teeth against another as the muscles flexed on the sides of his jaws. His arm was now linked around your waist, holding you close to him.

“What the fuck man?”

“She said ‘no’, didn’t she?” Jungkook challenged the man, stepping in front of you now to face the male. From here you can see his back tensed up under his dark t-shirt. You couldn’t comprehend the duel going on between the two, or maybe you couldn’t hear over the voluminous blaring of techno beats.

When the male fled the dancefloor, Jungkook turned to look at you. “What the fuck Kook!” You blurted. He was taken aback for a second, confused why you’re all of a sudden yelling at him. “Excuse me? Shouldn’t you be thanking me!?”

“Not that. I don’t care. But what the actual fuck?!”

All your pent up and inner rage towards your roommate from the past few weeks was making you hostile. Even seeing his face stirred you up to the point you wanted to hit him for being so idiotic.

“Y/n, seriously. Not right now. I just need to get you out of here. Please.” He grabbed your elbow, leading you a few feet before you tugged back on your arm.

“No!” Your hand gripped around his wrist, trying your damn near hardest to pull him off of you. “You need to explain right the fuck now!” You stomped your feet, throwing a small tantrum.

Jungkook’s patience was very thin, especially when it came to drunk you. He stepped closer, tugging your body next to his. “Fucking listen to me for a second, dammit. I need to get you out of here. I’ll talk to you when we’re outside.” He spat back at you.

“Why?” You rebutted, glaring up at his face.

“Cause you’re fucking bleeding, Y/n! And if it wasn’t for me that sleazy vampire would have had you for dinner!” He bit back. Both him and you were bickering back and forth, drawing attention from surrounding bystanders.

“What’ do you mean I’m ‘bleeding’” you air quoted with your fingers. You belted out an obnoxious laugh. Your unpleasant emotions were getting the better of you – resulting in making an ass out of yourself when all your roommate was trying to do was help you out. “Next thing you’re gonna say is that we’re friends too, right?”

Jungkook’s nostrils flared, his brows raised as high as they can reach. You were acting quite absurd and he didn’t understand what had gotten into you. “Y/n, I can fucking smell you.” He seethed out the words through his teeth. That’s when you noticed his fangs were now elongated and sharp. Jungkook wasn’t joking around.

A moment of realization kicked in and your eyes widened. “Wait, really?” You trembled.

“Yes. Now let’s get you out of here.” Jungkook escorted you through the crowd, hand now holding yours. The two of you quickly grabbed your tab from your helpful bartender while Jungkook looked out for any wondering eyes. If both he and that strange vampire could smell you, he was sure others can too.

Jungkook followed close behind you, being extra protective while scanning the areas outside on the way back to your apartment. When the two of you made it about four blocks down in complete silence, besides the sound of your heels hitting the concrete below, you decided to chirp up. “You said we’ll talk outside. So, talk.”

“Alright. What do you want to talk about?”

Your feet came to a halt, twisting your neck to look at Jungkook who walked a few paces behind you. “Seriously? You can’t imagine anything, not one thing, as to what I want to talk about?”

Jungkook ignored your stare, dismissing the obvious topic of interest by responding with. “Well, it’s easy for a vampire to tell another vampire apart. For one, they don’t have a heartbeat. So, when I saw him up on you, I grew curious.” A smug little grin pulled up on Jungkook’s face.

You balled your hands into fists, frustration pulling on every nerve in your body. “Don’t play coy with me! Stop. Fucking. Ignoring. Me. Jungkook.” You marched yourself right up to where he stood, invading his personal space. “I’m tired of it. Just talk to me. What did I do?”

“Nothing.” He mumbled. “It was me, not you.”

You snorted; the classic phrase used in so many cliché break up scenes. But this time, it’s not a break up. It’s literally two friends who have a weird misunderstanding with another. “Oh? So that’s it? It’s you and so you avoid me?”

“Keep walking, we’re only a few blocks away.”

You shook your head in defeat, crossing your arms and held tight to your body. The faster you get home, the faster you get to clean yourself up and the faster you can close off Jungkook. Little did you know that your furious speedy walk gave your butt just enough jiggle in those pleather jeans you decided to wear. Giving Jungkook something to admire from a far as his senses were being laced with your aroma.

“I’m sorry Y/n…”

“No, I’m sorry I have a shitty friend like you.”

Jungkook kept up with your pace, walking step by step along with your strides. He knows you don’t truly mean the words coming out of your mouth. It was his fault, and he was trying to admit blame for it all.

As the two of you made it up the stairwell in your apartment complex, Jungkook tried speaking up to you once more. “Y/n, look I know what I was doing wasn’t –“

“I don’t want to hear it.”

You slotted the key into your door, twisting it open and walked yourself into the darkness of your living room. Your night out became a terrible mess, rounding back to the initial problem that you’ve been trying to avoid. Once you kicked off your heels, tossing them aimlessly across the floor mat, you did the same to your purse and keys.

“Y/n.” Jungkook’s voice broke through. He reached for your arm, tugging you to face him. “Look I’ll talk all right?”

“Oh? So, I go weeks with being ignored by you, but you can’t last a night when the tables are turned?” You mocked Jungkook, looking at your roommate straight into the eyes.

“I had to, Y/n!” Jungkook pleaded for reason. “Please, I needed time okay?”

By now you were sobering up, any remains of your alcohol intake must have been sweated out during dancing and on your walk home. Jungkook was sporting his infamous doe-eyes while he looked desperately back into yours.

“Time? Time?!” you rose your voice. “Time to be an asshole? Needed time to ignore me when we could have discussed the problem? You literally circumvented yourself away from me for weeks? Was eating me out that terrible?!” Your fingers found their way to pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Whoah! Y/n, Y/n whoah whoah. No!” Jungkook grabbed at your shoulders and leveled his head with yours. Surprise took over his body, clearly the both of you were having polar opposite battles going on with your minds. “No that’s not the – that isn’t. Gah… Fuckin’ hell. Eating you out was great! I enjoyed it.” Jungkook eased his hands over your shoulders, “Wholeheartedly, even when I don’t have much of a heart to comment by, I promise you. I think… it was too good actually. But, that wasn’t the problem at all!”

Your face froze in place with your mouth forming an ‘O’ shape. Only a few times you closed it, just to open it up and speak. “Wait… I’m confused. What’s the problem then?”

Jungkook exhaled a long, exasperated sigh, rolling his eyes at you. “Y/n. Your – uh your blood is a problem for me.”

“Well now I’m slightly offended, Jeon! You said I smelt good!” You wacked his chest with your palm. During which, a brief flicker of red cut through his irises and it made you pull your hand right back from him. It was at that moment, even when Jungkook’s gazed turned to a scowl, you knew he meant something else.

“You should really get yourself cleaned up.” His voice didn’t sound like a sincere worry, but more of a threat.

You snapped back at him, “You should really learn how to control your hunger.”

Jungkook squinted his eyes at you, licking his lips with a fixed gaze. He leaned forward suppressing the enigmatic smile he wanted to show you. “May I remind you, Noona, you’re bleeding right now.”

There it is again, that pet name that he enjoys cooing you with. The name that slightly makes you shy because you yourself don’t know how to react. Or maybe it riled you up, it was his way to flirt around with you shamelessly.

Your heady scent wasn’t as strong as the last time, no not at all. It was as dull as usual when you covered it up with tampons, only a faint aroma wafting from you. Not a pile of blood decorating your skimpy nighties in the middle of the night.

But it was the fact that Jungkook has already had a taste of your blood, he knows what it tastes like. He knows how good that succulent flavor drips so freely from you. Jungkook refuses to let any other vampire pry on you, like that bastard back at the bar. This blood was favorable, and god dammit he’ll protect it at all costs.

You crossed your arms over your body, staring down Jungkook who was quickly turning into the Jungkook from a few weeks ago. “And if I am bleeding, you sir, aren’t getting any of it.”

Jungkook held back his tongue, prodding it against the inside of his cheek instead. Your scent secretly became a dangerous drug for Jungkook. Almost addictive in a sense. He was lucky to have been walking the streets near The Snake Pit, smelling your custom flavor in the air. But he was so completely unlucky when he skipped out searching for a quick drink that he was left thirsty.

And the agonizing walk from the bar back home to make sure you remained safe, getting a nice view of your ass swaying with each step in those tight pants, only tantalized him further because all he could do was sniff you out. You invading his vicinity only teased him worse.

He let out a breathy sigh again, “What can I do?”

“I’m sorry?” You blinked at him.

“I haven’t eaten tonight, and I know there isn’t any more bottles because you stopped buying them… what can I do to get some of your blood right now?”

You quizzed Jungkook, “I don’t know, what can you do?”

Jungkook reached for your hand, unfolding your arms from your front. He raised it to his face, where he placed your palm flat across his cheek. His hunger was forming an empty pit in his stomach, he physically could feel his abdomen churn inwards at the thought of your blood touching his tongue. His voice came out as a soft whisper, “I’m so sorry for mistreating you recently.”

Jungkook’s thumb rubbed along your inner wrist, stepping closer to your body. He can feel your heartbeat pick up pace, the warmth of your hand against his face grew clammier the longer he stared at you. “I – I would really love some, if you let me. I was good to you last time, right Noona?”

His words were sweet, his eyes were sweeter with the pleading look he emitted even when the color of his orbs turned to that deadly crimson. Fuck. You don’t know what it was about Jungkook that triggered you in the most sinful of ways.

Was it the way his smile looked so dashingly sexy even when he’s being a childish punk. The effortless good looks no matter what style of clothes he was wearing? His entire aspect, the living (well actually dead) embodiment of Jeon Jungkook was everything you actually craved.

You breathed, “Yeah… You were very good to me.” All of those memories of that night flooded back. The feelings. The satisfactions. How hot and heavy Jungkook’s tongue felt against your swollen sex.

“Let me be good to you again.” Jungkook advised, kissing your inner wrist now.

“Only on one condition.” You stated as your grab both of Jungkook’s wrists in your hands. You guided Jungkook down the apartment hallway, ignoring the poorly lit areas and towards his room. After pushing open his door with a foot, you pointed to his bed.

“My bed is the condition?” He grinned amused at the option in front of him. Thinking that this condition was nothing serious, but easier for him. He complied to sit down facing you with a questionable look. “What now, Noona? You have me.”

Your hands reached behind your neck, unclasping the body chain you decided to wear out tonight. “This. This is my condition.” You held the long piece of jewelry up. “It’s pure silver. I’m sure you understand.”

Now you drew Jungkook’s curiosity even further, what did you have in mind with that chain? He never knew his roommate was so kinky before. You peaked his interests with entertainment.

“Wrists. Now.”

“But how am I going to be good for you if you cuff me?”

“Do you want my blood or no? Because I’m certain just about a minute ago you said –“

“Okay. Okay. Fine.” He shook his head while displaying his wrists out to you.

The burn of the chain sizzled against his skin as you twisted it around another, tying his wrists together. It was painful for a vampire, not only does it burn but it also paralyzes the affected, so they cannot pull the material off of the area so easily.

Jungkook’s face had irritation written all over it. The pain biting him with annoyance. The only thing keeping him going is the fact that whatever he may do will give him the blood he desired.

“This is for you ignoring me for weeks.” You raised his arms above him, pushing him back onto his bed and securing his wrists to one of the posts with the assistance of a sturdy belt.

Jungkook groaned out, “Hey, I said I was sorry!”

“Apology is not accepted.” You smiled.

He watched you carefully, eyeing your bar outfit, your face, the excitement behind your eyes sparking at the actions you chose to partake in. “So, this is my punishment?” He winked.

You shrugged, making your way over to the other side of his bed to sit down next to him. “I’m pretty sure this is a reward for you, since you want my blood.” You reminded him waving your wrist in front of his face.

There was struggle, Jungkook’s eager bloodshot eyes now zoning in on the span of your wrist. You watched as his adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow. He was thirsty.

When his eyes glanced back over to yours, he had desperation screaming from them. His breath turned jagged, inhaling your lingering scent some more. “Noona – please. What do you want?”

You leaned back laying down and used Jungkook’s abdomen as your pillow, staring up at the ceiling. His innocent pleas sounded mesmerizing to you. You wanted to hear him talk, to confess.

“Besides my blood what do you want, Jungkook?”

Jungkook leered down at you. With this angle he can see the expanse of your neck on show, stretched long and elevated on his waist. He can only dream about sinking his fangs into that supple skin, slurping up whatever poured out of you.

“I want to put my mouth on you.” He declared.

You rolled your eyes, turning to face him. “I said besides my blood.” Indicating that he would want to repeat the same process as last time.

“Not down there. Not right now at least.” His eyes conveyed a secret promise.

A blush snuck up to your cheeks, raising the color of your skin to a warmer shade.

“Would you like that, Noona? Will you let me put my mouth on you?” He said with excitement. The strain of his wrists tugged at the post, Jungkook eyeing you through heavy lids. “Please, let me do something. I’ve been smelling you all night.”

On a whim you perched yourself up over Jungkook, straddling above his waist. “No.” You smiled wryly once you grabbed at the hem of his shirt.

Jungkook parted his lips, licking over his set of teeth. The two of you exchanged a brief heated look, a challenging gaze. Then the sudden tear of his shirt ripped in two as you tore the seam apart with all your might. You exposed his flexed stomach all the way to the top of his chest. “And that’s for my shorts and underwear.”

Jungkook whined, not at the lose of his shirt, but at the bold movement of your actions. It was hot. Your initiative was something he’s never seen before coming from you. And the image of you hovering your dirty flower right above his pelvis is forever going to be ingrained into his memory.

His chiseled upper body was on full display for your eyes now, disregarding the shreds of his shirt still linked around his arms. Fuck, Jungkook was sexy. The entire idea of this sculpted creature under your demand was turning you on second by second and you decided to take advantage of your leverage.

“Noona, just a taste please?” Jungkook begged with a reedy voice. He thrusted his hips up into you, wiggling his eyebrows. He was under your control, completely wrapped around your finger and it didn’t stop him from begging.

You fingered at his nipples, running your thumbs around the softened skin to cause them to perk up. You traced patterns with the tips, running up and down along his abs. “Where do you want to put your mouth?” You inquired. Tapping your digits around his cool skin. “Here?” you prodded, pointing at his upper chest right under his clavicle. “Hm, what about here?” you ran your finger over the prominent vein that bulged out of the side of his neck from constraint.

You watched the way Jungkook’s eager looks turned into anguish, the agony of not having what he craved was tormenting. Your teasing wasn’t helping, you were testing him.

“Anywhere.” He stuttered. “Everywhere.”

Jungkook gasped when you pushed down your weight onto his hips, his growing bulge now receiving attention instead. You smirked; you knew Jungkook was turned on by this. “Jeon? What do we have here?”

He swallowed thickly. Trying to straighten out his mind to respond to you properly but nothing but natural instincts were getting in the way. “I’m hard. I’m horny. And you’re extremely hot right now. As much as I am hungry, I’m thinking many other things about you right now.”

“Enlighten me, Koo.”

Jungkook dropped his head back onto the pillow under him with a whimper. He was parched, he was sexually aroused, and infuriated that he couldn’t do anything about either of them.

“Noona please!” He cried. “Do whatever you want, please. Just help me out.” Jungkook drawled on and on. His wrists continued to strain against the custom-made handcuffs that burned into his skin, rendering him from movements.

Jungkook pointed with his chin towards the junction of your bodies, “Help me.”

It dawned on you, how sleeping with your roommate right now probably wouldn’t be the wises of ideas. And those uncertainties were calculating on your face. Jungkook notices this, jumping at his opportunity to speak. “Y/n. Hey – Look at me. I’m okay with this.” His voice came out soft, still whimpering under you.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Fuck yes! You have no idea how much I need you to touch me right now.”

You hesitantly unbuckled his belt and unlooped the button to his jeans. His dick was prominently swollen, being constricted against the layers of materials. With a swift tug at his bottoms just below the curve of his ass, you released the beauty of his hardened thick cock, red at the tip with a spruce of precum glossing over the head.

Jungkook exhaled a shuttered breath, his cock aching to be touched. His member twitches cutely at the ghost of your hand hovering above it, and another whine resonated through his nose. You couldn’t help but admire the curve of his dick, the vein that ran over the underside of it. How soft his frenulum looked to the touch.

“Is this what you want Kook?” you firmly grasped at the base of his dick, right above the well-groomed hairs. His hips jolted up at your touch, flexing his muscles and pulling his arms from the restraints.

“Y – Yes!” he choked out. “Help me Noona. I promise I’ll be good for you.”

You didn’t doubt his promised plea. Last time he promised you something he surely delivered it.

You smothered his leaky precum over the head and through the slit. Fisting his shaft nicely just to watch Jungkook thrust his head back further into the bed. The angel of his jaw tilted back that showed up his thick neck was a delicious sight to witness.

To surprise him, you dipped your head down. Kissing your lips to the tip of his dick and running your tongue along the area. You hummed in satisfaction when Jungkook’s thighs started to shake underneath you. Who knew you’d have this power and demand over your friend.

Your mouth sank down, taking him in an inch and he choked out vowels. He tasted of a sweet salt, miraculously this part of his vampire body remained animated. “Noona!” His teeth remained clenched together, fangs threatening to bite into his bottom lip. “Don’t stop.”

The wetness of your mouth coated along the rest of his cock, submerging him as far as you can go and wrapping your hand around whatever portion you couldn’t reach. His tip touched the back of your throat when you took him in. Subconsciously you made sure to suck hard as you pulled away.

A string of saliva linked between your mouth and his dick, thinning out right before it snapped. Jungkook groaned out at the sight. He was painfully hard, and his stomach constantly reminded him he needed to drink before he depleted himself.

He whimpered as you abandoned his member, letting it relax against his stomach. He huffed out with a buck of his hips, “I was good to you last time!” he reminded.

“That you were.” You sat at the edge of the bed, untucking your blouse from the band of your pants. “So good.” You blushed.

“What are you doing?” His kicked you softly with the side of his foot. Your fingers found their way to the zipper of your bottoms, undoing them and shimmying them off. The blouse and bra you wore was soon tossed to the side. “I’m going to ride you if you let me.” You peered over your shoulder, baring your backside to him.

Jungkook’s eyes lit up, beaming the red hues that decorated them. “Yes, please. My god – please ride me.”

You straddled yourself over Jungkook’s waist, making sure not to fully sit down on top of him just yet. You wanted to tease him of the sight from a few weeks ago. Your lovely lady-bits wafting his favorite flavors together. “I guess I was bleeding a little bit huh?” You laughed to yourself.

His mouth watered; lips parted. Your smell lingers into his nose and filled his lungs. Jungkook was thankful you tied him up otherwise he was sure to have attacked you to get this treat.

“Rub yourself on me, please. I want you to coat my dick.”

He caught you by surprise, this lewd sentence spilling out of his mouth. But you conceded, sitting yourself back on his throbbing member, just to run yourself up and down on it. Your wetness caused an embarrassing and loud squelching noise, your taint painted on Jungkook’s cock like a canvas.

He met the swing of your hips with his own, grinding up into your slick sex. His pressure was forceful up into your folds as if his dick was asking for permission to enter you. “Is this what you want?” you teased again.

He nods vigorously, controlling his impulse to thrust up into you. His hunger remained dominant, but the lust for you became top priority.  

You locked eyes with him the second the tip of his dick threatened to push past your hole. He was yearning to break through and glide his dick against your velvety sleek walls. His lips are pink and bitten while he continued to let out those cute pleading noises you enjoy hearing so much. Jungkook’s eyes fluttered closed in a tormented bliss.

He was ultimately at your mercy, within your clutches and you could break him at any moment. Leave him hot and heavy to get back at him if you really wanted to. You didn’t speak, just waiting for a sign that he was close to his breaking point.

Jungkook whines again brokenly, “Please, please Noona. I want to be inside you. Can I please?”

So needy. So deprived of his wants and wishes. You feel for him, you really do. Feeling him shake like a leaf from the anticipation of plunging his cock so far up into you. And you allow it.

You leaned down further, allowing just the head to sink in. He groans out your name the moment you slipped him back out, just to repeat the process once again now easing yourself all the way down on him. You stiffed a moan yourself, humming along with the series of loud whiny noises escaping his mouth.

“No more ignoring me, Koo.” You rolled your hips up. “If we have a problem, we should address it. Right?” You circled, bobbing yourself on his cock. “Right?” Your hands found perch on his chest, pinching his nipples enough to harden them and forcing an animalistic growl out from Jungkook.

He gasps, choking out breaths, “Right!” his eyes skewed shut. Jungkook’s wrists were bleeding, pinned together tightly. His lust fogged mind wished to get his hands on you, to guide the movements of your hips or even flip you over just to pound himself inside your cunt.

His eyes opened just enough to stare at the way your body moved on top of him, a small raspy groan leaving him. God you look like a delicious treat – he’s even questioning himself how he lasted this long without taking you before.

The pants that hugged his thighs were preventing him from widening his legs. The fabric softening the blow of your ass landing down on him. The stinging burn of pain mixed with the immense pleasure of your pussy clenching around his smooth cock has got him spinning down in spirals.

“I – I’m, Noona. So close.”

“No.” You asserted, slowing down your pace to a halt. “Not yet.”

Jungkook kicked his feet out, eyes blown wide. “What, Why!?” His cock twitched inside of you the same way his hips jerked up.

“Bite me first.” Your wrist made its way in front of Jungkook’s mouth. His tongue swiped out licking your delicate skin. His mouth latches onto you with no hesitation, the sharpness of his fangs burying themselves inside forcing you to hiss at the sudden infliction.

It was like biting into a peach, liquid spilling all over her mouth. Jungkook sucked with fervor, drinking down your delectable juicy liquid while his hips jutted up into you. He wanted you to continue, keep moving before his orgasm gets denied. He muffled a cry against your bleeding wrist when you swivel your hips at a certain angle.

You were panting in the open air, picking up your speed to meet his urgency. Face gorgeously flustered, unshed tears sparkling from Jungkook’s eyes. Your blood pushed Jungkook over the edge, freefalling down into a pit of pure bliss. He chases his orgasm, using a sharp uncoordinated sloppy thrust to bury his cock deep inside your cunt as he came. Cum jetting out of him in streams like a fountain.

His fangs retracted from your wrist, being replaced with light butterfly kisses over the wounded area. Jungkook flops back to the pillow, short of breath. Portions of your blood smeared around his lips and also his dick.

“Holy shit – “ his words faltered.

You gave him his moment, allowing him to take it all in before you moved off of him. Lifting your body off of Jungkook he cuts your action with a sharp tone, “Where are you going?” His eyes dawdled on your exposed body, forcing you to freeze mid pull-out.

“I? I was going to clean up?”

He shook his head frantically, “Don’t get off me just yet. Ah. You didn’t cum – I want to make you cum.” Jungkook edged his hips up with a spasm of overstimulation, his member hiding back inside of you. “Sit back down on me please.”

He was softening inside of you; you can feel it slowly shrink and the idea of cock-warming to get you off wasn’t something that sounded promising.

“Kook, it’s really okay. I don’t need to.”

“I want you to. Get me out of these chains.”

You sighed, leaning forward enough to hold Jungkook’s cock inside of your super slippery walls. Giving Jungkook the opportunity to place hot open-mouth kisses to your breasts that dangled down in front of him. The make-shift bondage was released, pulling the chains off of his ruined wrists. They’ll heal back shortly anyways.

His hands latched to your waist in a blink of an eye, digging his nails into your skin. There was a pool of mixed liquids between the two of you, glistening in the light. He didn’t bother to yank his pants off, he wanted to focus on you instead. He guided you to run your hips a certain way, tilting them down so your clit can run against his pelvis.

“Hold me inside you, can you do that for me Noona? I’ll get hard again just by watching you use me.”

His voice was filthy whispering those sentences in the air. Involuntarily causing you to clutch around his dick.

“Ah – just like that,’ he cooed. “Play with me, do what you want.”

He continued to pilot your lower half on him, running your drenched pussy into him. Your breath turned labored; clit throbbing with sensitivity from the build up of stimulation. Your hands ran the expanse of his chest, his biceps, around his collarbones and up. Finger’s interlacing with the tendrils of his hair at the nape of his neck.

He was bringing you close to your release just as his cock started stiffening back up. Your breath caught in your throat, a brief squirm of your body reacting to his dick prodding into your sweet spot.

Your mouth dropped open, pleasure taking over your face. “Right there?” Jungkook taunted. “You like my dick against that spot?” You nodded like a bobble-head. He moved you again, repeating the action.

You never noticed how your hips were moving on their own accord now, how greedy you were being as you used your roommate as a pleasure toy. A very hot, sexy, vampiric sex toy indeed.

The moans escaping you were coming out as a song, heighten with each second your lower stomach started tingling. It was happening. You were at the brink of your orgasm, railing your clit into Jungkook. “Fu – fuck. Kook!” Your eyes clamped shut and your bottom lip was bruising from your demanding teeth. “I’m so – gasps – im so close.”

You practically hiccuped the moment his fingers pinched your bundle of nerves, tweaking it between the two digits. Forcing your body to thrust forward with a maddened cry. Orgasm after orgasm erupted through you, vibrations shooting through your body the same way you squirted all around Jungkook.

Jungkook caught you before you could collapse on top of him, sitting his body up so he could hold you in his arms. He petted your hair as you rested your head in the crook of his neck trying to calm down from the aftershocks of your numbing body.

“Hey, it’s alright, I gotcha.”

The warmth of your body captivated him. Your smell of arousal and blood dampening his body and sheets are sure to stir some problems in the future if he didn’t get it cleaned up quickly.

“Thanks…” you murmured under your breath, inhaling his manly scent.

“Clean I get you cleaned up?”

You nodded, circling your arms a and latching your legs around him. Exhaustion was whipping over you and you swore you started to see stars in your peripherals. What was it about Jungkook that caused the best orgasms you’ve ever received?

He chuckled, “Noona, I’m still inside you right now. If I’m gonna clean you up, I need to be able to move. You’ve made a mess everywhere.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, trying to get a better view of your blush fucked-out face.

“I feel a little weak.” You embarrassingly whispered.

“Of course you do – I fed on your blood. And you came about 3 times in a row.” He held you tighter, shifting himself to swing his legs to the edge of the bed. Everywhere was soaked. Leaking fluids colliding with anything it touched. It was then he decided sleeping in your clean bed will be easier for the both of you. “I’ll get you something filled with vitamins to help you replenish.” He gave a quick peck to your temple, examining the way you dozed off.

© All rights reserved under @kimtaehyunq​ - do not copy, repost, modify, edit, or translate any of my work without my direct consent. This tumblr is the ONLY place my fics are posted.

[honestgrins]

could you do a continuation of chapter 29/49??

I'm glad you liked Reflection and Retribution, but I think I'm done with that universe. Could I interest you in Private Investigator!Caroline hired to infiltrate a criminal organization instead?

Also, many thanks to @recyclingss for being a kind ear and a supportive voice as I try to find my writing groove again. Thanks for the love, lovely (and sorry it’s not a new chapter of Burned)!!

Wanted || Klaroline

A squeak of hinges was all she had in the way of warning. Hurrying to tuck the files she'd been snooping through back into their respective cabinets, Caroline needed an excuse for her presence in the boss's office - and she needed one fast.

To give herself a bit more time, she slipped into the private bathroom. Her purse was lighter than her usual go-bag for an investigation, but that was the peril of working undercover. She shuffled through it anyway, only to find the makeup she needed to reapply between shifts, her wallet, car keys, and Taser. Fortunately, she had learned to be resourceful, and a plan quickly formed with what she had. 

Unfortunately, the plan could go very wrong. As footsteps sounded through the door, however, her time to improvise had run out. Slathering on a fresh layer of lipstick for luck, Caroline fluffed her hair and made her presence known. "Sorry to intrude, Mr. Mikaelson, I just— Who the hell are you?”

Her winning smile had fallen flat at the stranger making eyes down the line of her mostly bare leg. True, the outfit had been meant to draw attention, but he wasn't her intended target. She'd been expecting the fastidious Elijah Mikaelson, with perfectly tailored suits and a too polite charm that just screamed serial killer underneath. This guy was far messier with untidy curls and the paint-splattered jeans. Cute, though. And that smirk.

"Mr. Mikaelson," he answered cheekily, "but please, call me Klaus." Making himself a drink from the bar cart, he poured a second glass for her. His brow arched when she refused. "Come to ask favors of the boss, but you won't drink his liquor. I assure you, he only buys the good stuff."

"I'm fine, thanks." She narrowed her gaze as he draped himself over one of the armchairs, giving her another appreciative look. "I thought the brother's name was Kol?"

His nose scrunched. "Unfortunately, there are five Mikaelson brothers. A sister, too. Nosy for a dancer, aren't you? Most of those 'Lijah keeps on the roster know to mind their business."

A mild panic took over; she was usually better at playing it cool. Now, she was going to get busted for asking too many questions. If she couldn't handle the unexpected brother, she really had no chance at taking on the mob boss himself. "Not a dancer yet," Caroline answered, aiming for sheepish with her hands tucked into the tight back pockets of her shorts. "I'm just a waitress until a stage shift opens up."

Ideally, she would be long gone before that happened, if only to avoid breaking an ankle in the heels. Not even her most rigorous pageant training could have prepared her for the skill those things took to work. That, and she needed to tidy up this case fast to get Damon Salvatore off her speed dial. And Stefan - she never would have accepted the job had he not played the friend card. Her only solace was the fact they agreed to double her usual rate for a job like this. 

The tips were pretty great, too. Even just waitressing had earned her some nice spending money to splurge on clothes and pampering. Had the high-end strip club not been a front for Elijah Mikaelson to launder his ill-gotten gains, she might seriously consider moonlighting once the gig was over.

With the way the boss’s brother was eyeing her, though, that might happen sooner than she’d like. It wouldn’t do to get found out before she could track down what Damon asked her to find, and she did not relish the idea of handing back the hefty check he’d already given. Bristling, she crossed her arms, hoping to annoy him off the scent of her subterfuge. “Can I help you?”

Klaus, however, seemed unperturbed by her attitude. “If it’s better pay you’re after, I might have an opportunity for you.” When she gave an outraged splutter, he merely waved her off. “Not quite what you’re thinking, love, though I apologize for any offense. I’m in the market for a new model.”

“For your burgeoning porn empire? No, thanks.”

“I’m an artist, I would like to paint you,” he clarified with a wry grin. Leaning forward on his knees, he lowered his voice as though letting her in on a secret. “Any wardrobe choices — or lack thereof — would be entirely up to you.”

Sensing his interest wasn’t entirely aesthetic, Caroline figured she might as well learn what she could from the cad. “Don’t try to play me. The girls at the club talk, you know. I heard a rumor the Mikaelsons were, like, connected. The whole starving artist thing doesn’t really add up, so I’ll pass.”

Again, his gaze focused on her in an assessing way, lips still curled up. He took the bait. This was almost too easy. “I do alright, family connections aside,” he joked. “Perhaps you’d like to see some of my work...” Trailing off, he left her with an expectant look.

She pretends to cover a flattered expression with irritation. “Candy.”

“And if I were to check Elijah’s meticulous hiring paperwork?”

A beat passed. “Candice,” she relented with a sigh, reminding herself to buy Bonnie something gorgeous to thank her for crafting a bulletproof identity, complete with an otherwise authentic Social Security card and active social media accounts. “Candice Moore.”

That smirk of his spread to a full smile, and she was a bit stunned to see the utter delight on his face. “Funny,” he said, standing to move closer. Without meaning to, she swayed toward him in return, only to catch herself when he gave a teasing tug to her tousled braid. All her attention snapped to the mere foot between them, then to the intense blue of his eyes. "You look more like a Caroline to me."

Rearing back, she blindly reached into her bag. But Klaus was calm and collected as he plucked the Taser from her grasp. "Now, no need to panic, Ms. Forbes. I merely want to talk."

"Bullshit," she huffed. "How—”

He sat back in his chair, watching her with obvious amusement. "You're good. The cover might have worked had your application not been flagged by my security team. Don't feel bad, they're very thorough.”

The pieces were falling into place faster than she realized they were even missing. Unfortunately, she couldn't make herself focus past the first big answer. She finally took the drink he'd poured for her and downed it in one gulp. More potent than she thought, her voice was hoarse after a bracing cough. "Your security team."

His smirk was positively evil. "You seemed determined to learn the particulars of my organization, sweetheart, though I'm sorry to disappoint that Elijah's file cabinet wasn't able to satisfy your...professional curiosity. I, however, am more than interested in your questions." 

With a snap of his fingers, the office door squeaked, and Caroline caught only a peek of the guard she hadn't even noticed lurking outside before the lock clicked into place. Alone with an underground kingpin without a weapon, she fell back into the other chair like the sitting duck she was. "I don't suppose I could distract you by accepting the modeling offer," she tried with a weak laugh.

Ever the surprise, he chuckled with her. "Always. But if you tell me what I want to know, I can offer you a far more lucrative employment. Good private eyes are hard to find, and you're the first to get this far without ruffling feathers."

"I ruffled yours, didn't I?"

If his smirk was evil, his bright smile was disarming. "Who hired you? I believe I owe them a nice thank you for this introduction."

Caroline watched him carefully, confused at the game he was playing. "My clients pay for results and discretion," she answered politely. "If you were to secure my services, with a healthy retainer fee—"

"Of course."

"—I would promise you the same. Unfortunately," she sighed with a pout, "I think this little mishap constitutes a conflict of interest. But thank you for your interest in Forbes Investigations. Can I go now?"

He leaned forward on his knees, his hands folded in front of him. "You know, I might be of some help to your current clients. Were I to assist in your investigation, there would be no conflict at all. The opposite, in fact."

Chewing her lip in thought, she shook her head and decided to cut her losses. "It has nothing to do with the business, not really," she promised. "I've been tasked with finding someone, someone I thought your brother might be supporting with some creative accounting. That's all."

"Don't tell me," Klaus groaned. "Katerina conned your clients then clawed her way back into Elijah's good graces to hide from the consequences of her own actions."

She scoffed. "Says the guy who lets the world think his brother is a criminal mastermind while he's pulling the strings behind the scenes."

Smirking, he didn't seem offended in the slightest. "Elijah's better with paperwork, but his decision-making is unreliable. I think Katerina is example enough of that."

"Fair." Caroline only met her once, but everything she had learned since Damon hired her painted quite the picture. That, and the fact she all but disappeared after he gave her an heirloom engagement ring, despite the fact she was openly gunning for Stefan throughout their entire relationship. "But it sounds like this was a surprise to you, too, so you probably can't be of much help to me in finding her."

"Reverse psychology is beneath you," he flirted. "And I've already offered to help. You're the one being stubborn."

With a roll of her eyes, she finally stood to pour herself another drink. "Yeah, I'm the stubborn one. You probably have a hundred investigators already on staff. What do you want with little, old me?"

He just smiled. "You want my secrets, you'll have to earn them, love. Now, do we have a deal?"

Oh, she was going to regret this; if only she wasn't so damn intrigued. Draining her glass, she set it on the table between them with a thunk before stretching out her hand. "Deal."

Klaus shook her hand with a firm grip, the contact distracting to say the least. Then, he just had to open his mouth. "The modeling job is a standing offer, by the way."

"Good to know."

[themusicplayedherlife]

Some Sugar

Part 4: I Need Something Fake

pairing: sugar daddy!steve rogers x reader characters: reader, steve rogers, others word count: 5k+ warnings: angst, fluff summary: things are looking up and you’re flying high a/n: ive broken i need something fake//it’s just manners to pretend into two parts after last chapters mishap. it was starting to get unnecessarily long lol

prev || all || next

Your mom is finally home. 

She still has to go back to the hospital for a final check of her arm and the chemotherapy treatments she has left, but you can finally breathe with relief that she’s home.

Esmeralda seems to be more at ease now that she’s back, too, less reluctant to stay at home while you’re at work. Not that she had to worry about that anymore. With what you’re getting from Steve, you’ve been going back and forth with the idea of turning in your two weeks notice at the restaurant or cutting back your hours at least. But you still can’t completely decide. Selena says you should quit, and you haven’t been able to get Steve's input with him currently being away on a mission. But you have a feeling you know what his answer is going to be.

“You cleaned,” she says softly and you smile.

You shrug. “I did what I could.”

Esmeralda throws a pillow in your direction and you dodge out of the way, laughter bubbling from your chest. “I helped too!”

“Did you?” you tease, passing by her with a ruffle of her hair. “If I remember correctly, you were just throwing shit at me instead of cleaning.”

“I was not!” she shoots back, curling herself into your mom’s good side, legs over her lap and her arms around her shoulder and stomach. “I really wasn’t, mom.” She really is the baby of the family.

Before your mom or you can say anything, a loud banging from your neighbor causes you to jump. It’s soon followed by muffled yelling from Mr and Mrs Pallomari, the two trying to outmatch one another’s voices—nothing new.

Your sister sighs heavily and your mom shakes her head. A loud, “Fuck you!” resounds through the hallway and into your apartment as the door is slammed hard enough to shake the walls.

“Straight couples,” Esmeralda says in a serious tone with a deadpan expression she throws in your direction as if she were in the Office, after a moment of silence she breaks it with a giggle and you and your mom can’t help but laugh with her.

However, your laughter is cut short when there’s a bang on your door, the hinge making a horrible screech as if ready to fall over followed by a loud, “Fuck everyone!” 

Esmeralda sighs and stands up, moving towards your tool box. “I’ll check the door.”

You send her a gracious smile tinged with nervousness. “And I’ll get started on dinner.”

You can’t sleep, body jerking awake with every sound you hear coming from the main hallway. Any little or loud sound could be Mr. Pallomari ready to fight with his wife and drag all of you into it, as he usually does. Their fighting hasn’t escalated in a while, but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t again. 

It’s exhausting having to deal with them and all the shitty people that live in the building.

Not much you can do about that except move out. Maybe eventually you’ll have enough to do so. It’s plausible, but you don’t want to splurge, not yet anyway. Not until you’re more secure.

And besides, not everyone in this building is like them.

There’s Doña Garcia and her son Benito, who live across the hall from you. Sweet woman. And her son? A college student that your sister looks up to, having found a kindred spirit in him when she started questioning her sexuality. Both of them check in on your family whenever they have the chance, dropping off food when Doña Garcia cooks too much (but you have suspicions that she actually does it on purpose).

Then there’s Mayra, the sex worker who lives a floor below you, along with her five year old daughter, who you’ve fondly dubbed Juju; and her grandmother Marsha, who loves to gossip with Doña Garcia and your mother. You used to babysit Juju when you had the time, but now it’s Esmeralda who offers her assistance when she has the chance, which is rare since Marsha loves taking care of her granddaughter, but sometimes the older woman needs a break too.

Because of them, because there are good people, you’re not in any hurry to move out, but maybe you should start keeping your options open, especially if you’re lying awake late at night in fear of your neighbor and his tantrums.

You sigh, throwing your arm over your eyes, the faint sounds of people yelling out in the streets and sirens wailing filtering in through the closed windows. Should you make yourself a cup of tea? No. The pot makes a lot of noise and you don’t want to risk waking your sister up. 

You reach for your phone resting on the coffee table and quickly unlock it to scroll through your Instagram feed. You would text Steve or Selena, but you’re afraid of messaging him in fear of getting him in trouble or waking up Selena, who is guaranteed to be asleep by now. For now, you settle on liking pictures from old classmates you no longer keep in contact with.

So many old faces getting married or having kids, graduating and getting their masters, or just having the time of their lives.

It’s amazing how easy it is to lose contact with people who were once your friends. Everyone got so busy, including you, to make ends meet that you were no longer able to keep up with one another. You wonder what life would’ve been like if you didn’t live like this, if you had actually finished school—would you be in grad school? Married maybe? Thinking about kids?

Fuck. This is why you usually stay away from Instagram. You hate yourself for ever allowing yourself to think “what if?” when all you can do is work towards a better future, not a different past.

Your breath stutters and just as you’re about to place your phone back down after liking another picture of someone partying, it comes to life with Steve’s name. With your heart racing, you quickly answer.

“Steve! You’re back!”

He’s quiet for a moment and you suck in your bottom lip. “I’m back,” he finally says, soft and followed by a chuckle. “What are you doing up, sweetheart?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Did something happen?” He asks, worry ringing in his voice.

You stare up at your ceiling, not sure how to tell him about your neighbor. But it’s not important, and you’re most likely being paranoid anyway. “Not really, I just—mom is home and I've been kicked out to the living room. The couch isn’t very comfortable.”

There’s rustling on his end and you wonder if he’s getting ready for the night. “That’s great! Not you having to sleep on the couch, but your mom being home. How is she doing?”

“Fine. I think. Tired, but that’s nothing new.” He hums and you readjust yourself, pressing your back against the length of the couch's backrest as you turn on your side. “How was your mission?”

“Tiring,” he admits immediately, letting out a sigh—and he definitely sounds it. Frustrated too if that grunt he lets out absentmindedly as he moves around is of any indication. “Recon was a bust. Complete waste of time.”

“Is it okay for you to be telling me this?” 

He chuckles at your haste words and heat crawls up your neck. “Can’t give you details, but yeah, yeah I can. I want to.”

Your grip on your phone laxes, and you hadn’t even realized how tightly you were holding it. “Okay, then vent away.” You wonder if he can hear the smile in your voice.

“I wasn’t expecting you to answer.” He pauses. “At best, I thought I’d hear your voice through your voicemail and that would’ve been enough for me. But being able to talk to you right now… it makes me forget how stressful this mission has been.”

A soft kind of heat envelops you, taking hold of your heart with every sincere word he speaks. “Steve…”

“So, there isn’t any need to vent about. Really,” he adds softly.

You cover your chin with your blanket as if to hide your ever growing smile from him, dumb really. Not as if he could see you right now. “I get it.” And you do. You really do. “I think… I think I’ll be able to fall asleep now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The conversation lulls, his relaxed breathing filtering through the phone. And you can almost picture him sitting on the arm chair, head against the backrest, eyes closed as he breathes through his nose. Even when you close your eyes, you can feel his presence next to you.

Is this what it feels like to have someone to rely on? Someone who makes you feel safe and protected?

But your relaxation is short lived—loud noises and a male yelling fills the hallway, causing you to let out a gasp and to jerk up. On the other end of the line you hear Steve slur, asking you if you’re okay, but the noise drowns him out and a loud bang on your door causes you to drop your phone and to stand.

“Sis?” Esmeralda’s alarmed voice reaches your ears, and you quickly spare her a glance over your shoulder as she comes closer.

“It’s fine, Esme, go back to bed.”

“But—“

Another bang and the door makes a loud creaking sound. “Open the door, you dumb bitch!” 

Your heart tightens at Esmeralda’s wide eyes, fear slipping into them as they drift between you and the door. “Esme! Go back to bed, please. I’ll handle it!”

“He’s going to break the door!”

Before you can yell at her again, your door is thrown open and Mr. Pallomari stands in front of you, ragged and a complete mess. His eyes hazy and misted over—drunk. 

Fuck.

“Where is she?” He demands, face blotchy as he staggers forward.

You quickly stand in front of Esme, pushing her behind you, ignoring the way your heart races and breath picks up. “You have the wrong apartment, Mr. Pallomari! Your wife is not here.”

“Don’t lie to me!”

You need to get Esmeralda away from here. “Mr. Pallomari—“

“Where’s my wife?! Where is that bitch?!”

You push Esme further back and bend your neck to talk to her, doing your best to keep the drunk man in your peripherals, “Go. Call the police.”

“But—“

For fucksakes! Why doesn’t she ever listen to you? “Esme—“

“I’m going to kill her when I find her!”

It all happens so quickly that it almost feels like you’re dreaming—Esme lets out a loud shout and you turn just in time to watch Mr. Pallomari surge forward, his hands reaching for you. There isn’t enough time for you to push Esmeralda and yourself out of the way, not with your feet rooted to the ground—and before he can even grab an inch of you, his round body is tackled to the ground by a smaller, thin body.

“Benito?”

Benito has him by the arms, face pressed down to the ground, but he’s struggling to keep the older man's pudgy body down with his petite frame. It’s the concerned call of your name by Esme’s small voice that has you moving, dropping down to your knees and keeping a part of your weight on the buckling, drunk man to keep him down.

“Ay, dios mio!” Doña Garcia exclaims and Benito lets out a frustrated huff as he asks his mother to call the police just as you do the same with your sister.

“Thank you, officer.”

She nods and moves away from you to walk over to her partner as he pushes Mr. Pallomari into the back of the cop car.

“Good for Alicia for finally leaving her good for nothing husband,” Esme says, leveling a glare in the direction of the cop car flashing red and blue. “Poor woman needed a break.”

You crack a tired smile and wrap an arm around Esme, who leans into you. “She sure did. You okay, Bennie?”

Benito looks up from his phone, most likely texting his boyfriend about what transpired tonight, and nods. “Fine. A little sore,” he says as he circles his arm and holds his shoulder. “But I’ll live. What about you?”

“Rug burn—“ you kick your leg out to show off the wicked pattern on your knee from where you practically slid to help Benito—“but I’ll live too.”

He snorts. “I’m going to check up on our moms.” 

You nod as Esme pulls away and she looks up at you. “I’ll go with him and get started on the door.”

“Okay, I’ll be up in a minute.”

She squeezes your hand and follows after Benito, looking back at you once before disappearing behind the heavy metal door leading into the building.

Sighing, you cross your arms over your chest, gripping your forearms tightly as you watch the cops fill out some paperwork; Mr. Pallomari in the backseat with his eyes closed and teetering between the space of a drunken haze and sleep. Will he regret his decisions tomorrow? Or will he act like nothing happened?

Frowning, you’re not sure which one you’d like better.

You knew of people like Mr. Pallomari, regretting it for one night and then going back to the same old bullshit, pretending as if nothing ever happened. 

That kind of person isn’t  safe to live with or be around, and—you hate thinking it, but—you’re not sure if all the good people you live around is enough to keep you rooted here anymore.

A frantic call of your name causes you to jump in your skin, hands falling to your side as your eyes widen when you spot Steve jogging in your direction with only a cap to conceal his identity. 

“Steve?”

You don’t get the chance to meet him halfway because he closes the distances between you two in record time, engulfing you in his strong, sweaty arms. His chest heaves under your ear and you stand there dumbfounded, not returning his hug.

How?

He pulls away from you to check you over, hands on your shoulder as his eyes rake up and down your tired form. For a moment relief fills his eyes but then they sharpen at the sight of your forearms—crescent shapes digging into your skin. “What the—”

“I did it,” you hastily mumble, returning your arms to where they were before, easily slipping your nails into the shapes they left behind. “Bad habit.” He sighs softly and removes your hands from your forearms, gently rubbing at the spots with his thumbs, and you relax at the touch. “What are—what are you doing here?” 

“I got worried,” he says, lowering his head as if to get a better view of your eyes under the bill of his hat. “I heard the yelling and—“ Shit! 

You tightly clench your eyes and hang your head, berating yourself for allowing him to worry. “I’m so sorry! I completely forgot to call you back!”

He breathes in and smiles lopsidedly as you meet his gaze, warily and sheepishly. “It’s fine. I’m just glad you’re okay.” His warmth leaves your arms, gaze moving from you to the cop car. A frown replaces his smile as he glares in that direction. “Is he—“

There’s a bubbling in your stomach, breath catching in your throat and a deep fear beginning to surface as Steve takes a step away from you. Without thinking, without realizing it, you’ve latched onto the hem of his grey v-neck, immobilizing him completely as he turns to look at you. “Don’t leave. Please.”

You can’t meet his gaze, you try; lifting it, but immediately hanging your head once more when they come to a stop at his chin. “Please.”

His chest rises and falls deeply. “Hey,” he starts softly, his warm, heavy hands falling onto your shoulder and pulling you into him. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

You press your face against his chest and quiet down the sob that escapes your lips.

“I’m right here,” he repeats softly, an arm wrapping around your back and the other slipping behind your neck, pressing you closer to him—and god you’ve never felt more thankful to have someone like him in your life. Someone who can hold you and look after you. “You did so good, baby. You were so brave. ‘M so proud of you,” he whispers into your hair, and you sniffle in response. “It’s okay to let it all out now. I’m right here for you.”

Your hold on his shirt tightens and you breathe him in, the smell of sandalwood, detergent and clean clothes filling your senses. “I just need a minute,” you mumble.

Something soft pressed against your head—a kiss, a soft kiss. “Take all the time you need.”

Frustration is all you can feel as you walk around Queens looking for an affordable, vacant apartment. 

Esmeralda follows behind you dutifully, hands shoved into her pockets and barely holding back a grimace. Maybe you should’ve asked her to stay home, invite over Peter and the others to distract her. 

You both had tried fixing the door, changed the hinges, but the actual door? With another attack, the chance of the door breaking in half is highly likely. Your landlord doesn’t exactly use thick, sturdy doors, preferring the thinner less reliable models because it’s more cost efficient. And you’d think because it was cheaper, he’d get off his ass and replace the damn door, but getting him to do anything is like trying to tame a bull. And you can’t even buy the damn door yourself because then your stupid landlord will throw a fit and try to kick you out for fixing his damn apartment!

When you brought up the prospect of moving, Esmeralda had jumped at the chance, agreeing that there had to be someplace in Queens you can afford! Your mom was more reluctant, and unsure, but after a wave of optimism from Esmeralda, she had relented.

And that’s how you and Esmeralda find yourselves outside of another building with high rent. What was this? The tenth place you couldn’t afford? Another place that wasn’t even sure running your credit was worth it?

“Why is everything so expensive?” She finally breaks her silence and you pause in your steps to look at her.

“Hey, we just gotta keep looking. I’m sure there’s a place out there that we can afford.”

“Yeah,” she says with a snort. “With the same shit heads we’re already surrounded by.”

You can’t bring yourself to scold her. You’ve had those thoughts, too, but you’ve always caught yourself before your thoughts could get worse. Because it isn’t fair, not to the people who have been nothing but good and kind to you, and not to your mother who has tried her best to give you everything she could. “Esme,” you start slowly and she grimaces.

“I—I didn’t mean it like that. I meant—I’m just tired.”

“I know, baby.” You approach her slowly, like one would with a small, frightened kitty, and take her hand in yours. ”Let's call it quits today and go home. We can stop by a bodega and get ingredients for those chicken enchiladas you love so much?”

“With queso fresco?” she shyly asks, her earlier frustration melting and showcasing that joyful youth that is rare to see in her.

“With queso fresco,” you promise, the two of you walking with your hands laced together like when you were children walking home from school.

The three of you stuff yourselves until you can’t eat anymore and even make sure to feed Doña Garcia and Benito as a thank you.

When you pack yourself a lunch for your break, your sister whines that you’re stealing her leftovers, but you only stick out your tongue and place it into your bag—all the while hoping Steve will like it.

The bar is alive with soft chatter and noise; Cassandra is behind the bar with a coworker and new hire you’ve been helping train. You clocked out five minutes ago, but you find yourself occupying the booth in the dark corner, watching Steve as he takes a forkful of the enchiladas you made earlier with Esme straight out of the Tupperware.

His mouth closes around the fork and his eyes close, letting out a sinful moan as he slowly pulls the fork out of his mouth and chews.

“Good?” you ask when his eyes flutter open to reveal brilliant blue eyes.

“So good,” he affirms. “Really good.” His lips form into a teasing smirk. “You sure you made these, sweetheart?”

“Hey!” Reaching over the table, you smack his arm with a pout and he bubbles in laughter. “Gimme that, you don’t deserve the rest of these—“

With the quickest reflexes you’ve ever seen, Steve pulls the plastic container away from your reach and beside his being where you can’t grab it unless you round the table. “It was a joke, sweetheart. Promise.”

You let out a mock of a huff, fighting off the smile that’s trying to work it’s way to your lips. “It better be.”

He chuckles and takes another bite, moaning and humming as he goes, practically cleaning out the dish. Watching him devour the whole thing causes pride to swell in your chest.

Resting your elbow on the table, you cradle your cheek. “I probably should’ve brought you more, huh?”

“I’d probably be able to eat a whole tray of these.” You believe him.

“You’d probably have to fight Esme for it.” He laughs and you grin. “But I’ll keep that in mind.” For next time, are the unspoken words. Because there will be a next time and you’re looking forward to it. Is he?

He pauses, eyes skipping up at you and softening as they roam your face for a moment too long, your breaths stalling until he finally says: “I’d like that.”

You breathe out and smile. “Good.”

He flashes you a toothy grin. “How has the apartment hunting been?” Whatever Steve sees in your face causes him to place down the fork and reach for your unoccupied hand. “That bad?”

“Yeah,” you say with a sigh. “Rent has really skyrocketed over the years. I’ll probably have to rescind my resignation from the restaurant at this point.”

“Let me help you,” he says with a  squeeze of your hand. 

“Steve—“

Before you can tell him he’s done enough, he interrupts you, thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand. “My job is to make your life easier, remember? If helping you find an apartment and helping pay rent does that, then I’m willing to do just that.”

You purse your lips, eyebrows drawing together as you think about it. “You really have done too much, Steve. I feel like I haven’t done enough—“

“Are you kidding me? Just knowing I have you, that I can be able to call you after a mission—all of that has done wonders for me sweetheart.” Your breath hitches at his confession and you can’t help the heart that crawls up your neck. “If it really bothers you that much, why won’t you be my date for the upcoming charity gala Pepper and Tony are hosting at the tower?”

He knows that’s part of your agreement! If he needs a date, you’ll be there. Why is he giving you more than you can give? “That’s a given, Steve.” You bite your lip. “Just promise me you won’t go over the top? Even if it’s just a one bedroom apartment in a moderately safe area, I’d be okay.”

He didn’t go over the top, but my god did he almost. 

The place he found, not only is it close to May and Peter’s place, but it’s also close to your mom’s clinic. No more having to pay ridiculous prices during rush hour for an uber or cab, no more having to worry about something happening to Esme or your mom on the subways or walking home.

No more.

Your eyes scan the front of the house; it’s light blue, cute with a small patio where a lemon tree is growing, a few specks of yellow showing on the top of it and your heart drops to your stomach only to fly back up and smack itself against your rib cage—it reminds you so much of your childhood home. Your small little home with blue coated walls and yellow window panes that you and JC hated so much because it clashed with the dark blue exterior—“it gives the house personality” your parents would say.

“Steve…”

He smiles down at you, taking your hand in his and pulling you with him. “Come with me.” Pushing open the small white gate, he gently tugs you along with him up the three steps leading you to the front door. He slowly inserts the key and opens the door, and moves aside, allowing you to enter first.

Your hand never leaves his as you enter and he follows after you, not allowing his fingers to slip away from yours. 

“Welcome home,” he murmurs, and you don’t have to look at him to know he’s smiling.

You stifle a sob trying to push through your throat, eyes taking in the beautiful, newly renovated home—wooden flooring, fresh painted walls, gorgeous L shaped stairs leading upstairs—and you have to blink to will the tears away. You turn to Steve and find him already looking at you, gauging your reaction, and he looks so soft and proud and happy and—and, god you want to kiss him. 

So you do.

You kiss him softly, slowly, tentatively and unsure, and every other synonym of those words. He’s frozen under your touch, completely unaware of what to do, and your heart stutters. Too soon? As you begin pulling away, his hand leaves yours to wrap around your waist and tug you impossibly snug against him, his lips landing on yours for another take—one you gladly accept.

Your arms wrap around his neck, bringing him down closer to you and one of his hands cradle the back of your neck, fingers digging into your skin

He tastes so so sweet—sweet like juicy strawberries straight from their bush during a warm, Spring day.

And you don’t think you’ll ever get enough. God, why did you take so long to do this?

His forehead rests against yours and one corner of his mouth lifts into a confident, boyish smile. “I guess that means you like it?”

Laughter bubbles out of your throat and you nod. “Like it? I love it. More than you can ever know. Thank you.”

The hand on the back of your neck, smoothly cups your jaw as he lets out a sweet sigh. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

His lips dance against yours and his warmth wraps around you, and you know you’ve found something with Steve, something that you can’t quite put into words, something you don’t know if you want to put into words.

Not yet.

A couple of days later, you’re settling everything with your old landlord and moving into your new home. Your mother couldn’t believe it and neither could Esmeralda, but once you told—lied to, really—them that Selena found an old friend of hers that was renting their home because they were leaving out of state, your mother and sister accepted the keys you dangled in front of them.

May and Peter immediately offered their help; Doña Garcia and Benito did too; and so did Cassandra and a few of your coworkers from the bar. Steve tried to offer his help, too, but you waved him off, promising to let him know when you were completely moved in. He begrudgingly accepted, not like he had a choice. He was sent on another mission during that period of time. You miss him, and even though you know he couldn’t check his phone, you send a message everyday with your move-in progress.

Esmeralda throws herself onto the sofa as your mom hums in the kitchen, and you can’t help but send Steve the selfie you took with Esme and your mom when the living room was completely furnished.

A smile blooms on your face as a text bubble appears and your finger smooths over your lips, strawberry lingers on your lips and as you read his message, you want to taste him again.

You look beautiful, sweetheart—all three of you do.

Can’t wait to see that beautiful smile of yours in person soon xx

next

[loveburnsbrighter]

37? Lol for the prompt

37. "I missed you."

i'll have this up on ao3 soon but i'm excited to have it finished. and it's been so long you probably forgot you asked for this oop. i hope you like it!

There's a man in David's house.  He can hear him moving around downstairs.

There's a man in his house and it's three in the morning and Patrick isn't here to protect him, he's away at a Canadian Small Business Bureau convention.  For the whole long weekend.  So David is going to die alone, probably by way of ax murder or something equally grisly, and he won't even be able to tell his husband he loves him one last time.

David listens to the intruder come up the stairs with a slow, heavy gait and thinks about how he should have let Patrick buy a dog.  When they moved into their house and finally had a yard ("finally" was Patrick's word), Patrick had wanted to get a German Shepherd.  Apparently he'd had one as a child and they'd been nigh inseparable.  If David had only given in and allowed Patrick to bring an animal into their home, the dog could bite the murderer before he got to the bedroom.

The footsteps proceed down the short hallway, and David squeezes his eyes shut and holds his breath and listens to the door open.  The hinges have been creaking since the day they moved in; for almost an entire year now David has been meaning to oil them.  The slow creak as the door opens a centimeter at a time, as though the intruder is trying to be silent, makes David feel like the victim in a horror movie.

The door creaks back closed, which is just plain unsettling.  What kind of ax murderer closes the door first?  David dares to crack one eye open — 

The murderer is standing right over David.  "I have a weapon!"  He scream-lies, using all the breath he's been holding and every ounce of adrenaline in his body to get the words out.

"What the fuck?!"  The murderer says, voice as startled as David feels.  Except that it's a familiar voice. 

"…Patrick?"  David says tentatively into the darkness.  "Why are you trying to ax murder me?"

"What?"  The lamp on Patrick's bedside table clicks on; David blinks through the yellow rings in his eyes and ascertains that his assailant is, in fact, Patrick.  "I'm trying to come to bed!"

David, finally breathing properly again, pauses for a second to ensure that he hasn't pissed himself in fear — all clear, thankfully — and then lifts up onto his elbows so he can scrutinize Patrick with an appropriate level of judgement.  "You're supposed to be at a motel in Elm Ridge!"

"The conference was a bust, so I came home early!  I missed you!"  Patrick is looking at David like he's rabid.  

"You crept up the stairs in the dark!  You didn't call!"

"I decided to leave late!  I didn't want to wake you!"

Patrick and David stare at each other, at an adrenaline-spiked, incredulous impasse, and finally, Patrick cracks, laughing.

David puts a valiant effort into being offended, because it's just plain rude to scare someone half to death and then laugh at them, but finally he cracks up right back at Patrick — Patrick, who's standing there with his shirt only still on one arm, who decided at what must have been around midnight that he missed David and decided to drive three hours in the middle of the night to be with him.

"I mean," David says, as their laughter softens, "I missed you too?"

"Clearly," Patrick says, "Seeing as how you shrieked like you were being attacked at the mere sight of me."  He tugs off his jeans with an undignified little wiggle of his hips, and sits on the edge of the bed in just his boxer-briefs, which have some Doctor Who something on them — because David has married exactly the sort of ridiculous man who buys novelty underwear.

"I did not shriek," David insists.  "I have never in my life shrieked.  I did a very masculine…yell, of, of startlement."

"Okay," Patrick says, completely mocking David's distress.  He pulls back his side of the covers and slides in.  Then he tries to curl backwards into David, and really, there is a line to how much David is willing to take.  He doesn't move from his position propped on his elbows, choosing instead to clear his throat meaningfully.  Patrick cranes his neck to look at him.  "What?"

"I know that usually I let you be the little spoon when you get back from these trips."

"Because sleeping alone in a strange bed is awful, and I want my husband to hold me," Patrick says defensively, rolling back to look at David properly, brow furrowed.

"Mhmm."  David reaches out to brush an errant, slightly greasy curl from Patrick's face.  "And I completely sympathize, but usually you don't end these trips by trying to give me a heart attack.  I'm still very shaky."

Something in David's face must convince Patrick that he's serious, because his face softens and he reaches for David, cradles his cheek with one broad hand.  "I'm really sorry, baby," he says.

"I'm not mad," David rushes to assure him.  "It's very sweet of you to have missed me that much that you would drive in the middle of the night, but you did actually give me a scare and I could just…really use being held by you right now."

"Of course," Patrick says.  He snuggles down and opens his arms, and David wriggles forward into them, burying his face in Patrick's chest, warm and bare and familiar.  He hooks his arms around Patrick's waist, and Patrick drapes a heavy arm over his shoulders.

After a few moments of soaking up the comfort, they have to adjust; David has scrunched himself down to press himself into Patrick, and Patrick has to reach back and turn off his lamp.  In the inky darkness, David twists up and rolls backwards against Patrick; he feels Patrick's nose and forehead against the back of his neck.  "Hey David?"  Patrick says quietly against David's cotton sleep shirt.

"Hmm?"

"When you yelled when I came in, you said — why did you say that you had a weapon?"

"I don't, but, like, a murderer wouldn't know that," David justifies.  "I mean, I don't think it makes me look any tougher than I am, but it could at least make me look like more trouble than I'm worth, you know?"

"That almost makes sense," Patrick says, approvingly.

"I learned it from my mom," David says, because he learned everything from his mom — how to dress, how to dance, how to be a big fuckin' drama queen when need be.  He feels Patrick nod slowly.  "Although, in case a murderer does come in here, maybe we should keep, like, a baseball bat or something."

"Okay, dear."  David feels Patrick's smile where he's pressing it into his back.

"This kind of teasing is not a good look for you," David informs him, but he can't help snuggling back a little into Patrick's embrace.

"Hey David?" 

"Mm?"

"I really, really missed you."

David smiles to himself.  "I really missed you too."

[katsukikitten]

I love your writing first of all *chef's kiss* they make my day when I see you've written a new chapter. I was interested in an angst to fluff scenario with Bakugo and his S/O where S/O hasn't been hanging out with him as much and more with Kirishima, but the reason why is because S/O has been planning to propose to Bakugo. The proposal day arrives, but no one can get in touch with him. Maybe Kirishima or S/O finds him. Or you can resolve however, I trust you completely! Much love!!!

Distant

Ask and ye shall receive!

Bakugou wakes slowly, eyes leaden with the weight of sleep as late morning sun dances across his flushed cheeks. His hand instinctively reaches out for you but when his wide palm finds cool sheets he shoots up. His ears perk as he listens for two of your tell signs that you are home. He does not hear the steady stream of water coming from the adjacent bathroom not does he smell your heavenly shampoo. He sniffs the air further and the missing notes of robust coffee causes a small tug in his stomach.

He pushes it away with a harsh growl as he reaches for his phone. Angry that you have not been staying with him at his apartment lately, leaving early in the morning. Not making his coffee or singing off tune in the shower.

Not even lightly snoring away after an exhausting night of hero work and fucking late into the early morning.

You were treating him like more of a one night stand than your boyfriend of three years. He bites his lip before unlocking his phone, or even passing his finger over the screen as he damns himself for being so soft, vulnerable.

And all for you.

The two of you have been through a lot even since day one. Meeting at a new years party at Kirishima's house. He had begged Bakugou to come and the ash blonde filled out his obligation as the ruby haired man's friend but little did he know he was playing match maker. Katsuki figured not seeing his closest if not only "friend" for almost a year was not good for the friendship. But the two of them had been busy with their first years of Pro hero work. Bakugou especially quickly climbing into the top five.

Katsuki wouldn't have gone if he knew Kirishima was going to convince him to get drunk.

Especially wouldn't have gone if he knew you were going to be there. The two of you getting off on the wrong foot from the beginning. An assignment gone sour due to you both being too headstrong.

His one and only failure as a pro hero, it haunted him. No one else cared that the perpetrator slipped through y'alls fingers the first time. The second time Bakugou went alone and bust the whole drug ring thinking that would rectify his record for himself.

But it hadn't not even after six months and there you laughed with Kirishima, leaning close, *blushing*. And oh did that last part piss him off. How dare you.

How dare you have a grand fucking time as if you didn't almost "ruin" his career. Frankly he had enough to drink to confront you. Kirishima silently panicking as he dragged an extremely perplexed you into a half bath. He had meant to yell at you, pushing you against the wall as an asshole power move.

He had meant to really tear you a new one, to tell you that you needed to listen to your senior and not go off on your own.

That your injury could've been avoided had you just fucking listened!

Instead he kisses you, fiercely. Honestly not knowing why he did. Something about your flushed cheeks, half mast eyes. Plump lips curved up in a cat smile as if *you* were the one up to no good in every interview or assignment news coverage you were in.

Maybe it was how hard you punched him after that fateful day when he called you a dumbass even with your broken ribs.

He honestly had no intention to bend you over that vanity in the half bath, glaring at you through the mirror as you took him so well.

You rasping out his name in a drunken hush, trying so hard not to let everyone know what the naughty deeds the two of you were up too causing him to pound into you harder.

Wanting the whole party to know what a beautiful little slut you were.

And all flushed just for him.

He told himself that he didn't really care about you. That he was sexually frustrated and didn't realize it with being so busy climbing the rankings. That you were an easy fuck, a one time thing he needed.

Yet at every party he found himself gravitated to you, pulling you into any secluded room he could to make you his.

And you happily let him.

Until one day you pouted in the same half bath the two of you started this little arrangement in. Blushing furiously and not from his wandering hands or tongue.

*"Bakugou will you go out with me?"*

He tells himself that he only said yes so he could fuck you more often.

If that were true then why was he so scared to even check his notifications to see if there was a text from you.

"Come on Katsuki you dumb dick. Man the fuck up." He tells himself as he unlocks his phone to see a text from you.

Kitten🐱: 'Good Morning my King Suki. I went out with Eji 🚒 this morning. We are most likely going to be out all day. I know you have a shift this afternoon at the office. I packed you a small lunch and hopefully I set the coffee to brew around when you get up ☕. Much love ❤💋🐱'

He glares at his phone before sending a one word message back to you, knowing it will irritate you to know end.

'Again?'

Is all it reads and he know you will be furious. He slams his phone down before opening the nightstand drawer to stare down at the little black box that has been haunting him.

The same box he has carried on the last three or four dates. Somehow talking himself out of asking you.

That you would never want to marry an ill tempered, pig headed man like himself.

So boyfriend was good enough for now, that's what he tells himself as he slams the drawer shut. He rises making his way to the small kitchen in his one bedroom apartment to your promised coffee.

He is sourly disappointed to see a cup already brewed. The coffee stale by an hour or two and he curses himself aloud.

"Did I really sleep in that fuck all late?" His dark eyes find the time and the clock does not lie. He only had about and hour and a half to get dressed for his afternoon meeting and paper work.

He only hoped you be home for dinner tonight. He had promised to cook you your favorite last night but he made a meal of you instead.

He cannot help the irritation that grows steadier as the day grows older.

His shower seems colder than normal although the steam fogging the mirror says other wise.

His room much too quiet for his liking despite the music he was blasting.

A song you had suggested to him with the sly remark of knowing he would just *love* it.

Even his commute to the agency was seems dull as he stepped on and off the train.

Walking up the seven flight of stairs to his office. The door sticking like normal causing him to blast it off its hinges.

And it didn't help that you left him on fucking read.

Where the fuck were your cute 😡😡😡🤬🤬🤬🤬 emojis you would spam him with until he replied to the whole text? Where the fuck was the 'Suuukkkiii?!?!?!?' that followed the string of messages that he could hear in your whiney tone clear as day in his head.

He purposefully loses himself in backlogged paper work that the Director demand he catch up on now.

He hated reports. What was the point? You knew the end result!! Why add complicated details and play by plays when all one really needed was the criminal was captured, this is the quirk they use, the information they gave, and the organization they associated with.

Not that it was 12:55am and the perp was interrupting the dirty texts you were sending him.

Reminding him of all the things you were going to do to him.

He was in the middle of reminding you of the sinfuly things he too was capable of when the perp landed hard on the steak out he and Deku were forced to share.

Recalling the night had him picked up his phone.

Two hours.

Two hours you had left him on read while spending your fourth day with Kirishima on some "errand".

He hates to admit but it had him thinking something horribly awful as of late.

Considering you haven't been joining him for these light lunches at the often like you used too.

The past few weeks you've been aloof, so much so that you'd even taken your cat back to your apartment.

And damn it he missed that furball asshole who was finally warming to him. Lying on him when he was on his phone or batting at the food headed for his mouth as the cat perched himself on the back of the couch.

He didnt like you and Mr. Grump being at your apartment when you belonged at *his*.

"Kaachan!" Izuku all but sings, he lets himself into his office, "Finished with the report?"

"Deku why dont you ever fucking knock?" Katsuki pinches the bridge of his nose wondering how this day could get worse. He was tired of thinking of you.

Tired of feeling like he was constantly chasing you recently.

And tired of the read status.

Even this late as his key slides into the apartment lock two hours later than normal.

Further fueling his dark thoughts as his mind wanders back to that new years party he first saw you out of hero work. Blushing and too close to Kirishima for his liking.

Still no fucking message. Still no voice memo or even phone call to say you'll be late or that you've even noticed that he was late, by accident not out of spite, and that you were missing his cooking.

Jealousy plagues him as he flicks on the lights in his apartment. He grips onto his phone tight enough that it groans from the pressure before furious fingers fly across the screen.

Your phone pings out on the coffee table in Kirishima's apartment.

"No I think this is a bad idea. Katsuki won't like it." You say before picking up your phone, "I'd have to do it differently."

Blood pounds in your ears drowning out Kirishima's retort.

SukiDaddy💣💥: "Made it home. Don't come over for the next week I'm too busy to give you time. Don't forget about our date this Sunday like you forgot about our dinner."

You bite your lip angrily as you slam your phone down next to a black box carrying a black band.

The little box weighs heavy on your mind.

The week passes slowly but it does. Its Saturday. You've packed your bag, gotten Mr Grumpy's things together all waiting at your house but you needed one final thing.

"Kiri I'm so fucking nervous." You jump from the nerves as you grab onto him. Blush dusting your cheeks as he cannot help but smile at you.

A scene to play out at the wrong time as Katsuki stops cold in his tracks. He was on his way to the flower shop to grab sunflowers, your favorite.

But no longer were those in his head. No only the image of you blushing towards Kirishima while he beams back at you. He takes a step forward. Thinking of confronting you and his supposed best friend.

He changes his mind last second, he watches you pull out your phone fingers flying across the screen.

Kitten 🐱: "Five right?"

He reads the message and crushes his phone in his hands. Hoping to never see your nickname pop across his screen again.

×××××××××

"Baby! I'm here early. I brought Mr. Grump!" You sing song as you waltz into Suki's dim apartment. When he doesn't answer you figure he got called into the office for a few. You turn on the lights, humming your favorite song as you let out your cat. He stretches before trotting into the bedroom to laze on Katsuki's half of the bed.

Three o clock is what your phone reads as you prepare some last minute stuff. You aren't sure where Bakugou is taking you but you know you're ready. You set your body con black dress that you wore to the first new years party onto the plush comforter. Cranking the hot water all the way up in the shower before taking your time to get ready. Blow drying your hair, braiding part of it. Applying lipstick that matches his eyes and lining your eyes with dark liquid liner.

The final touch of slipping into your dress has you smiling ear to ear in the long mirror. Your heels give you an extra few inches in height putting you close to Bakugou's eye level.

"I'm ready grump butt and just in time too." You say as you pet caramel fur glancing at the clock. 4:45pm. You set yourself down on the couch and wait patiently.

Time seems to tick by slowly.

5:00pm finally rolls around and your heart gushes when you hear a jangle of keys and the thud of boots on hardwood floor in the hallway. But the footsteps seem to bypass the door moving on quickly down the hall.

You frown, Katsuki left your message on read and never really confirmed 5 o clock. Nor did he tell you he was called in or anything of the like.

He could be running behind.

But he has never forgotten to text you that he would be.

5:15 turns into 530 then 545 accompanying several text messages and missed phone calls that go straight to voicemail. At first rage slithered through your veins as you tried to figure out where your boyfriend could be. But as 630 rears its ugly head on the clock your feelings begin to change.

Now worry starts to sink into your muscles, causing a severe ache to form in your chest as your mind began to play out scenarios in your head.

Dangerous ones at that.

Finally you break down and kick off your heels, phone in hand calling Kirishima.

"Have you heard from Bakugou?!?!" You scream into the receiver in panic.

"Ah no I haven't. Is everything okay? I haven't spoken to him in about aaaa....a week I think."

"He's an hour and a half late you know he's very punctual." You rush as you shove impatient feet into black converse. Grabbing your keys and jacket. The ring forgotten in the bottom of your pocket as you rush out the door.

"Alright. I'll call the agency and Izuku. You look in his usual spots."

"Eji what if..." Tears burn your eyes as you jump over the railing of the stairs landing hard on the bottom floor.

"Y/N this is Bakugou we're talking about." He says softly, "I'll send Izuku and others out if they don't know where he is okay. He's okay."

"He better be." You growl, anything to keep yourself from crying.

630 quickly turns into 7, 8, 930 and you're in a complete panic.

No one has heard or seen Bakugou all day. You stop at the mouth of an alley way as the large clock in the city rings out the time. You dry heave as a sob wretches your body, panic full on as thoughts bring you to dark places.

Him tied in a basement, his quirk being pulled from his body or his body contorting into a grotesque shape as more quirks are added until he becomes a shell of himself.

Or dead.

Your eyes find the full moon winking behind whips of clouds and then it hits you.

There is one place you haven't checked. A place you took him months ago, dragged him really when you saw an article about a super moon online.

You break out into a sprint, pushing through the crowd to catch a train. A train that moved too slowly at 80mph arriving an hour later. You push the doors open jumping onto the platform running full speed again.

Shoes echoing in sparsely lit streets as you smell the cleaner air and little to no light pollution to better see the moon.

A spur of a moment trip taken in leggings and basket ball shorts.

The moon was huge, so much so you felt as if you could reach out and touch it. You turned your head to gauge his reaction and when you caught him staring at you, as if *you* were the reason the two of you were here.

Not the freaking celestial body floating in the sky by mere fucking chance of placement.

That was the moment you knew you wanted to ask Bakugou to be your husband.

The cliffs edge could not come fast enough, the street could not move under your feet fast enough as you propel yourself through the biting night air of fall.

You begin to see a silhouette of a man, shrouded in shadow by the large moon. The muscular looking body seeming to throw something. You sob pushing yourself on. Talking your self out of the possibility that that might not be him.

But when you see a spark fly from deadly hands, illuminating his face for a fraction of a second you know.

You'd spot those blood eyes and ashen hair anywhere.

"BAKUGOU!" You scream anger catching up to you as you skid to a stop a few feet in front of him. His hands now dangling over the railing.

"Where the fuck were you?!" Voice raw as emotions fist fight in the pit of your stomach.

"Where the fuck was I? Where the fuck was *I*?!" Bakugou begins to heat up but makes no motion to move hands still dangling, voice dipping down dark, "I know where *you* were and have been for the past month."

"What?! I'm not the one who's gone fucking missing." You shout stepping closer, "You're not the one who fucking got stood up!"

"I'm not?! Really?!" He shouts, turning his face to you, his eyes are narrowed to slits, "I'm pretty sure I HAVE been the one being stood up for the last fucking month. Left behind after a good fuck so you could hang out with Kirishima!"

You take a step back as his voice gets dark once more

"Do you call him King too *kitten*?" He growls and it sounds animalistic.

It also cuts deep as tears well in your eyes, nausea ripping up your throat before you huff out puffs of heated air.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" The little box in your pocket suddenly popping to the forefront of your mind. You rummage clumsily by way of anger through the jacket gripping onto it had enough that the points bite into your palm.

"I was asking him for help!"

"For what?!" He barks, "What would you be asking him for help for that you couldn't fucking ask me?

Silence settles over the air before you produce the box, slamming it into his bicep, hot tears falling down your tender cheeks.

This was not how you wanted to do this.

These were not the feelings you imagined either party to feel when you asked him.

Not jealousy that is swirling thickly in the air as Bakugou's eyes widen staring at the box

"Wha...what is this?"

"What is it? It's a fucking box holding something that I got Kirishima's fucking help with!" You shout, box still pressed hard into his skin, hard enough it leaves an indent. He laughs a bitter laugh as explosions dance over exposed skin. He holds up one of his dangling hands, a diamond ring that he twirls upright for you to see better.

A nervous laugh bubbles up your throat before echoing around the two of you. You pull the box back to you with red cheeks.

"You're fucking kidding. This WOULD how this played out for us?" You laugh again, he pulls his hands to him slipping on the ring before you slip on his.

"You mean dysfunctional as fuck?" He says coolly, eyes falling onto the ring. He loves it, it matches him to a t. Not flashy, simple, a black band that shines in low light but would not catch the eye.

He sighs, looking at you painted in moon light reminding him of the exact moment he wanted to marry you as your eyes rove over the ring happily.

He grabs onto your waist pushing your back against the railing trapping you between a death drop and his deadly, hungry, gaze.

"Were you that impatient to be asked kitten?" He smirks as you blush. Lips easily finding that tender spot on your neck. You attempt to swallow desire.

"Did...did you tell Eji you were going to propose?"

He stills agaisnt your throat before biting down hard enough to produce a moan from your plump lips.

"Don't say another man's name while my hands are on you." He squeezes your hip harshly as he speaks husky in your ear, "Got it kitten?"

"Ah...Yes king." You rasp back before he grips onto your chin, leveling your face with his

"If I told him do you really think he would have let you get a ring and let you beat me to the punch?"

You laugh before shyly saying yes, he probably would.

The moon paints you in the best light as it always does, it brings out that twinkle in your eyes. The curve of your lips and hips. Bakugou leans in and kisses you slowly, savoring one of the first moment that would lead to the rest of your lives.

Knowing he will never doubt your distance again.

[midnightlie]

title: the first to the last (kiss fic #8) pairing: keith/lance notes: we made it into s8 territory fellas. in which keith has a plan.

*

So. Keith had these...plans.

A lot of it was typical stuff. Small stuff. Like, he had plans to read this long list of romance novels he’d accumulated over the course of the past year. He had plans to ask Hunk for a few cooking pointers since he was kinda rusty when it came to variety in the kitchen. He had plans to fix up his old hoverbike after one of the gears busted, to repaint it, to gift it to Acxa, who seemed fond of the thing. He had plans to go through his old belongings in that long-forgotten shed in the middle of the desert, to clean it out and take what he needed, to leave what he didn’t.

But...there were some big plans, too. Huge plans.

Like: taking Lance to Cuba.

Like: having a very important conversation with Lance’s mother, about a very important, very top secret question he wanted to ask.

Like: asking Lance this question.

He didn’t have everything figured out, but he wasn’t really worried about that. Keith had never really been the type of guy to make plans. Impulse and reckless abandon were more his speed, but he’d learned that he was capable of a lot of things he never knew he could be, after Lance.

Like: gentleness.

Like: loving someone, and being loved in return.

Like: making plans.

It is easy, to want to do these things. Lance, with his thousand watt smile and his adorably tousled hair, turns his big blue, sparkly baby-i-love-ya eyes on him and that’s it. He doesn’t even have to ask. Keith just—wants.

But as a paladin of Voltron, and a ranking officer in the Garrison - as a soldier - plans are always subject to change. Which is how Keith found himself in the middle of space with a new set of plans. They are much less about Lance, which sucks, and much more about finally putting an end to this god forsaken war they’d all been dragged into.

Most of the time, they are dangerous, too. So, despite the separated missions, the orders from high officers on the ATLAS, the risk of death hanging over their heads every damn day, Keith’s first and only priority is making sure that he comes back to Lance, every time, no matter what. There is little else to fight for, if not for this future he sees so clearly behind closed eyelids. Every night, he dreams of waking up in a house near the beach, smothered beneath a sleepy, heartfelt boy who wears a ring on his third finger and a dog as big as a horse, lined in the gold of the morning sunshine, dust motes twinkling like stars.

They’ll get there someday.

That’s the plan, at least.

Keith pulls away from those thoughts as the black lion’s jaw hinges open and he steps into the hangar. It’s kind of late - he was due back hours ago from a simple mission to pick up supplies on a nearby planet, but there had been complications and well—

The wind is suddenly knocked out of him as a flash of blue barrels into his chest and collapses on top of him as he hits the floor. He doesn’t have any time at all to recover because Lance is there, pressing harried kisses into the screen of his visor, hands gripping fiercely at Keith’s shoulders as he crouches over him, unforgiving in his crowding presence, though Keith remains totally unbothered by the close proximity.

“Lance,” he laughs, one arm pinned by Lance’s knee, the other reaching up to grab at the his waist. “Lance—“

Lance doesn’t even pause, expression a total blur, as he rips the helmet off Keith’s head and then leans in desperately, hands cupping Keith’s face firmly as he presses his mouth against his. The hand on Lance’s waist curls, applying more pressure and snaking an armored arm around as Keith struggles to free his other arm. His eyes flutter shut, groaning as heat explodes under the collar of his high-necked flight suit when Lance licks his bottom lip aggressively and bites down.

Lance seems to approve of that sound, his knees sliding further apart in a wide straddle as he melts to rest the majority weight on top of Keith, freeing the trapped arm. His hands stay near Keith’s face, brushing away the spill of dark hair around his ears and holding the strong line of his jaw. Keith gathers him closer as he reaches up with his other arm now to grip the back of Lance’s neck, eagerly returning the kiss with scrunched eyebrows and a starburst of pleasure burning low in his belly.

After a moment, Lance separates their mouths with a humid pant against Keith’s lips for air, but he dazedly pulls Lance back down with another groan, a part of him going absolutely wild when Lance responds with a whimper caught in the back of his throat. His mouth is hot and wet, opening easily to Keith, welcoming the attention, drowning in it, the pliant lines of his body begging for it.

Mindful of the hard plating of his paladin armor, Keith rolls them to settle his weight over Lance, hips resting in the cradle of his thighs, and that’s when he loses himself. For a long while, they lay there tangled up on the metal floor, kissing like they’ll never get another chance. Lance’s arms end up around Keith’s neck, hands buried in his hair as he lets Keith ravish him into a drunken mess of unsteady heartbeats and sweet little gasps of pleasure.

Once he feels mostly satisfied, Keith pulls back slightly, only enough to admire the way Lance’s eyes flutter open, low-lidded and dark, parted mouth shiny and red and perfect. He’s gorgeous all the time, but there’s something especially wonderful about a Lance that is looking up at him with a greedy sort of expression, like he can’t stand the space between them and is thinking about asking for less of it.

“You’re late,” Lance murmurs breathlessly, thighs bracketing Keith’s hips firmly in an attempt to keep him close.

Keith runs his gloved hand through the wild ends of Lance’s hair with as much gentleness he can before curling his fingers and kissing the delicate line of Lance’s eyebrow. “Sorry,” he says softly.

“Your comm went out.”

“There was a storm on my way back.”

“You can’t do that to me.” Lance’s expression clouds over and there’s a crack in his voice. “You can’t—you can’t—“

Keith leans down and kisses him quiet for a long, sweet moment. Lance slides his hands from Keith’s hair down the curve of the armor on his chest and then down to his waist with a sigh, holding him there as though to steady himself. Keith separates after he’s sure he’s eliminated that fragile thing in Lance’s voice, nosing his way down to then kiss his jaw.

“How was your assignment?” Keith asks against his skin.

“Sucked,” Lance whispers into the ridge of Keith’s eyebrow. “Missed you, Keith.”

Keith kisses up to his ear. “You came back safe.”

“Had to. I promised.”

That makes Keith warm on the inside. He leans back to smile down at Lance. “Thank you.”

Lance responds by sticking out his tongue. “Maybe you should take a page out of my book.”

Keith scoffs and reaches down, inching his gloved hand under Lance’s T-shirt, wishing that it was bare so that he could feel the the heat of his skin against his palm. “I came back safe, too.”

He’s rewarded with narrowed eyes and a shiver from the gentle touches on his rib cage. “Babe, you were late. I lost, like, ten years of my life tonight waiting on you to show up. You’re just lucky you did, or I’d have to kick your—ah.” His eyes flutter as Keith runs the hand back down his side, and dips his fingers just barely beneath the waistband of his pants, shifting the weight of his hips. Lance tilts his head back, arching into the touch, and Keith can’t help himself when he leans down and opens his mouth against the delicious skin of Lance’s throat.

“I’m always gonna come back to you, Lance,” Keith tells him. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“I know,” Lance says, breath heavy as he smiles. “You still gotta make an honest man out of me.”

Keith chuckles and presses one last kiss into his skin before pulling away and sitting back on his knees. “Who said I was ever gonna do that?”

Lance props himself up on his elbows and he looks—Jesus, he’s cute. His hair is mussed, mouth still bright, bitten-red, eyes glittering with equal parts mirth and exaggerated outrage. His shirt has been pushed up, exposing a pretty stretch of a lean, brown stomach, his legs parted obscenely wide and open on either side of Keith. He wants to lean back in and press Lance into the floor, the hunger and the heat low in his belly wild with desire.

“I know you wanna marry me, Keith,” Lance accuses playfully, pointing a finger in Keith’s direction, eyebrows sharp over his pretty blue eyes. “Someday, I’ll get you to admit to it. Mark my words.”

Keith flashes him a toothy grin, thinking about Cuba, about Lance’s family, about that one little question. He thinks that Lance says that stuff to tease him, says it because he knows that they’re in love and it’s the real kind, the forever kind. Thinks that Lance doesn’t really expect it to happen any time soon. They’re still young, but Keith already knows he’s never going to want anyone else. It’s always been Lance, it always will be Lance, from the first to the last.

A blush rises into the crest of Lance’s cheeks as he pulls his hand back and then pushes up into a sitting position. He reaches towards Keith and cups his face in his hands, squishing his cheeks. “Stop looking at me like that, Kogane, my poor heart can’t take it.”

Keith can feel how soft he is, how Lance’s flustered little statement only makes him softer. He circles Lance’s wrists with his fingers and pulls his hands away so that he can kiss Lance’s palms reverently.

Lance stares and groans, cheeks growing more ruddy by the second. “Babyyyy.”

“I need to report in to Shiro,” Keith whispers, kissing up Lance’s arm slowly as he leans in. “And then I need to get something to eat.” His mouth presses just above the crook of Lance’s elbow. “And get out of this armor.” Lance’s bicep. “And take a shower.” His shoulder. “And then,” —his throat— “I think we should go to bed.”

Lance drops his head to the side and shudders through a breathless laugh, basking in the attention. “I’ll do anything you want if it means me getting up off this floor.”

“You attacked me.” Keith kisses his cheek.

“Maybe, but you flattened me like a steam roller when you flipped us over.” Kisses Lance’s lovely mouth, watches as Lance’s eyes flutter again when he lingers.

“You weren’t complaining.” Keith draws back slightly and smirks.

Lance grins crookedly. “No, I really, really wasn’t.”

Keith laughs at that and then finally makes it back to his feet, pulling Lance up after him. Immediately, because he can’t help himself, he leans in for another kiss, and then another, a little zip of pleasure lighting up his spine when Lance leans into him and makes a soft noise in the back of his throat.

“I have a question to ask you,” Keith whispers between their mouths.

Lance hums, half-gone. “Lay it on me, pretty boy.”

Keith, distantly, thinks about Cuba, thinks about Lance’s family. Thinks about the war, and how close they are to the end and how he wants to do this the right way, because that’s what Lance deserves. He cups Lance’s face and kisses him with a little more pressure. “It can wait.”

He meets no resistance. “Okay.” A sigh, sweet and light. “Okay.”

Maybe they stand there kissing for another ten minutes before Lance is finally able to break the spell and drag Keith out the hangar by the hand, flushed and starry-eyed, scolding him for being so damn insatiable.

Maybe that had been a part of Keith’s plan, too.

[shesawriter39049]

|The call| Namjoon| Smut

(Gif not related he just looks FINE AF...and this is what made me feel the need to write something...because...fuck!) 

1.5k ALL SMUT

Basically you being a brat while Daddy Joon is trying to handle a business call���

Warnings: Slight dom Namjoon, slight daddy kink, slight spit play, top OC, dirty talk, unprotected sex...ugh yeah just read it 

To say you were being  a bit of a brat was an understatement, as you sat in Namoon’s studio mindlessly scrolling through Instagram while he was on the phone. The conversation was obviously in his native tongue and you weren’t fluent enough to even attempt to put two and two together and to be honest you really didn't care. 

But it’s been a good..oh I don't know 10 or so minutes and now baby’s bored, and there's no reason you should be bored when Kim Namjoon's less than 10 feet away. Strolling over in his direction slowly, a harmless smile playing on your cheeks, well harmless if he didn't know any better. “Behave” slipped past his lips in nothing more than a whisper, yet the authority within his voice was clear as day.Unfortunately for him all that did was add to the heat pooling in your stomach as your eyes shamelessly fucked him from head to toe. 

Always forgetting how big your man truly was until he sat down, everything from his thighs to his chest, shoulders, and more importantly his cock..this man was built! Slowly lowering yourself on his lap before lacing your arms around his neck, clawing at the hair at the nape of his neck. Namjoon’s eyes cut over in your direction instantly giving you, your final warning which you blatantly ignored. “Babyyyy” Cooded past your lips as you brought your hands down to palm at his chest, keeping your lips permanently connected to his ear. Nipping at the tiny hoop that dance along his lobe “Joon…” tone initintially breathy, and whiney you were almost moaning at this point. A growl ripping from his throat as you bounced against his lap lips brushing against his clothed length which was only getting harder as we speak.Slipping your hand between the two of him to palm him slightly, though you were teasing yourself more than anyting “Fuck, daddy your so big...so thickkkkk” 

Letting the last syllable roll off your tongue ...which ultimately got caught in your throat once his fingers made contact with your already oversely senstive nippels. Pinching it between his index and middle finger, the thin fabric of your shirt not creating much of a barrier since you opted out of a bra tonight! Twisting, and twisting until your’s eyes rolled to the back of your head yet you still didn't get the hint.  Rolling your hips back even deeper...you could feel yourself making a mess all over him…”I could come like this, from grinding my -”

“Y/N” Cut through his chest, and you couldn't help but shiver at how deep, and raspy his voice was, you got to him so easily now, leaning up to nip at your bottom lip. Sucking it between his own until you kneaded out, not pulling back until he was somewhat satisfied. An amused smirk playing on his lips, as he continued his conversation, or at least he thought! You eased up for a little, playing in his hair lazily,letting your hands slowly roam under his shirt, you appear to be behaving so he didn't complain. Namjoon actually loved the attention, the feeling of your hands warm and gentle against his skin, slouching slightly enjoying the “Innocent” distraction. 

Leaning down to brush your nose down the side of his jaw repeatedly until he shivered, arching into your touch unintentionally. His body worked on autopiolit when it came to you, instantly craving more than what you were giving. But Namjoon wasn’t one to beg, though you pride yourself on the fact that you could break him down like no other. “I know you can feel how wet I am...I’m damn near sitting in a puddle…” Purred past your lips as you flicked the hinge of his jaw with your tongue before sucking it between your lips. “God your so sexy….” A slight hiss slipping past his lips at the sudden praise, snaking his hand under your shirt, smacking his palm against your bare ass with such force his own hand was pulsing afterwords. . Only earning a menacing chuckle to flutter through your chest, as you licked your way down the vein protruding down the side of his neck. Leaving an array of messy open mouth kissing on every inch of skin you could reach, moaning out slightly against his flesh as if it was the best thing you’d tasted all day. 

“Stop!” Slipping through clenched teeth, gripping the side of your jaw the slight pressure you felt only made you moan, taking the opportunity to lap your tongue around the edge of his thumb. Giving in ever so slightly, allowing you to suck his finger into your mouth, taking him knuckle deep until your tongue was flicking at the ring that laid along his finger. Head reclining agaisnt the wall, eyes locked with yours as you suctioned your lips around the diget. “Babyyyy….” The slight need in his voice let you know you were prying at the last bit of self control this man nad, and there was nothing sexier than watching him lose himself. 

Slowly hopping off his lap, a relieved sigh leaving namjoon's lips and he ran his fingers through his hair. Eyes fluttering down to the wet spot that laid along his pelvis. Trying to regain his composure as he continued his call,that’s until you positioned yourself between his thighs. Soothing your palms under his shorts, moaning slightly at how tense his muscles became at the sudden contact. 

Gently letting your fingertips tease his public bone before dipping your head down, licking up the silk of his basketball shorts, paying close attention to the prominent outline of his dick even beneath the material. “Y/N I swear to god-” Growled past his lips probably louder than it should’ve because he suddenly switched right back to Korean mumbling something along the lines of “Yes, I’m still here , please continue…” Which inturn you assumed applied to the both of you!

Gazing up at him almost innocently, from under you full set of lashes, as you took long slow drags against his clothed length, suctioning your lips around the imprint. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't help himself from getting his fingers get tangled in your hair instinctively bucking into your mouth. A smirk playing on your lips as your freed him from his pants, spitting on the tip of his cock until it was completely lubricated..yet you didn't put him in your mouth which threw him off completely. Instead you stood up, pulling his shirt off your body.. Leaving you completely naked, taking his length in your hand trailing up your folds the sound of your own arousal sliding down his shaft as you teased your entrance with the tip. 

‘Don’t you dare fucking tease me…” He said it so low you almost wanted to fuck with him and make him repate hisself but you knew you were already pushing it ! Gazing up at your through heavy lips, jaw tight, teeth daggering into his bottom lip as he tried to continue his conversation. Considering he didn't hang up already you figured it was work related, voice fluttering his his chest as he tried to continue like nothing happened. 

“Yes sir” Turning around so your ass was facing him, grabbing his hand leading him to take an almost possessive hold you the curve of your ass. Purposely digging the blunt edge of his nails into your cheek, the sight alone had him ready to bust once he realized what you were doing.  Slowly lowering yourself onto his cock so you could ride him reverse cowgirl, not even allowing yourself to breathe as sunk down, not stopping until he disappeared completely between your lips. Biting your own so hard to muzzle yourself you were surpried you were bleeding, , nails digin into his thighs you felt so full, so fucking full you almsot had to remind yourself to breathe.  His dick felt like it was damn near poking your esophagus thighs already trembling and you haven't even moved yet. 

“Oh fuckkk” slipped past his lips as he felt you pulsing around him while he was almost pulsing around you. A sudden sharp pain against your scalp had a high pitched moan ripping from your throat as Namjoon yanked your head back to rest against your shoulder. Holding the base of your pointyail in his hands”Look at you, so fuckin full you can’t even move...it’s big isint it baby? I bet you could come just like this...just from daddy’s cock pulsing inside this tight little pussy!”

Little did you know he put the call on speaker and mute, allowing him to lick his way into your mouth, bringing one had down to guide your hips. Taking the hint, you started, grinding back against him, swallowing each moan that slipped past both of your lips. The kiss was deep and sloppy, as he sucked your tongue against his own. “I’m gonna take this call of mute…” Trailing his lips down the side of your neck, blunt teeth breaking skin until you almost screamed. Lapping his tongue around the area to  ease the sting before leaving a trail of open mouth kisses in its wake. Making his way back up to your lips “And your gonna fuck yourself on my cock until you cum” The whinest moan imagieble slipped past your lips at that, as you found yourself chasing after his tounge. Needed to taste him again, licking at the seams until he let you in. 

“What are you waiting for? Ride it like it’s your baby...ride me like you want it…show daddy how much you want it..”   Rolled against your tongue in nothing but a slur of moans only making you lightheaded, as he panted out against your tongue,

“Fine, but you don’t get to hang up until I make daddy come too..we both know how good you are at being quiet when it comes to me….” As if the smirk in your voice wasn’t enough you had the nerve to do it against his lips too...

“Is that what you want? Is that what get’s babys pussy nice and wet? Hmm making me come, making me a moaning fucking mess when I come inside you?” 

Before you could evan speak whoever was on the phone spoke up a little, clearly it was time for Namjoon to respond to whatever he was saying. Right as he went to open his mouth you rolled your hips back, slowly and deep, making sure to hit that spot you both needed.

Eyes slowly fluttering to the back of his head not even attemping to mute himself “Oh fuckkk….” 

IDK FAM….I’m a simple woman.. I saw this gif and I said “Oh...okay then…”  

ALSO SHOULD I FINISH THIS???

Lol not my best by any means it was quick I did his in like 20 minutes, butttttttttt I was randomly inspired.

if you liked it “Like” it and lemme know...I think this is my first smut involving ONLY Namjoon….

LOVE YOU AS ALWAYS!

ROCKI 

[michael-langdon-appreciation]

part 11 of the foursome please queen? ❤️

Your wish is my command. 

Hold onto tight and keep your arms and legs inside the ride at all times please. 

Part 11

——————————————————————————————-

JIM

He knows he’s being a helicopter dad, but Jim can’t help himself. Nothing matter more in the world to him than the health of his little baby. It is paramount as he lifts his head up from Y/N’s laptop for the third night in a row. Her hand strokes his back gently, a cup of coffee wafts in front of his face as Jim blinks and rubs the sleep out of his eyes.

Y/N’s expression is forlorn, ‘You can’t keep doing this to yourself.’ She cautions, her voice light as if speaking to a nervous cat. ‘You’re burning yourself out.’

The research has become one big fog of mumbo jumbo for Jim anyway. He takes the mug of coffee and blows on it, ‘Anything I can do, anything I can try to help-’

‘You aren’t helping anyone by not taking care of yourself.’ 

Jim swallows a big gulp of coffee. It’s strong and a little too hot still as it travels down his throat, ‘You’re right.’ He mutters, putting the mug down. ‘I just-’

‘You just can’t help yourself.’ She finishes off, making Jim smile. 

‘Bingo.’ 

Y/N pulls up a seat beside him, sharing the desk space with him. She closes the laptop lid and ruffles Jim’s hair, ‘You’re going to be an incredible father.’ 

Bitterness burns Jim, the rage he still carries with him every single day. The outrage and spark for justice, that his baby is fighting for its life every day, every minute, every hour. His hand falls onto Y/N’s stomach, the bump noticeably prominent since Jim has been living at the apartment. ‘It’s only been two weeks,’ Jim mumbles. ‘But already they are getting so big.’ 

‘They are playing hell on my back.’ Y/N smiles, ‘Every time I wake up I feel completely wrecked.’ 

‘A good wrecked?’ Jim asked, ‘Like you used to say after we’d gone a few rounds?’ 

His hand squeezes her thigh as Y/N’s laugh fills the office, ‘You could say that I suppose. But a bath would usually fix me right up.’

‘Then that’s what you need.’ Jim decides, finding the energy to drag himself and Y/N to the bathroom. ‘A good long hot bath. Some aftercare, just like the old times.’ 

Jim starts running the tub, putting the plug in and dumping in some bath oils. Y/N watches him, her tongue poking out of her mouth, it’s adorable to Jim, mostly because Y/N never realises she does it. It’s a habit she displays whoever being spoiled. Usually Duncan was the most privy to it, but Jim’s vision seems to brighten as he drops a couple suds on her nose. ’Are you going to pamper me, Jim Mason?’ She asks, her voice coy. Y/N teases the bottom of her pyjama shirt, running her fingers along it to expose a hint of flesh. 

Jim’s eyes are glued to it, ‘Yes.’ 

‘Will you do whatever I want this morning?’ The top slips higher, revealing the bump and just under Y/N’s breasts. It reminds Jim of his favourite swimsuit at once, the one that teases him all day with the under-bust visible for everyone’s eyes. Jim swallows, forcing down the rush of blood that is running to his cock. 

This morning is about Y/N, not him. 

Y/N’s eyebrows rise, waiting for his answer and Jim supplies it on instinct. ‘Yes.’ 

She could have asked him to jump off Mount Everest and Jim would still say yes. 

Jim tugs off his own shirt, along with his trousers. ‘I’m getting in.’ He decides, ‘I think we are long overdue for some alone time away from Duncan and Jerome.’ 

Y/N climbs into the tub, waiting for Jim to take his place. ‘Such much male ego about the place, it’s nice to have some time just us.’ 

Jim leans back against the bath, his muscles singing at the hot water. Bubbles flutter around him as Y/N relaxes back against his chest, jasmine and honeysuckle trickle through the air as she presses a kiss to his chest. Jim’s eyes fall shut, his girl’s weight resting against him. His fingers dip into her hair, stroking gently. 

Paradise. 

How Jim took the simple things for granted. 

‘I’m glad you stayed.’ She murmurs, ‘You’re growing Jim. You put aside your temper and…possessiveness for the good of us and our baby.’ She peeps up at him, ‘That’s still so weird to me. Our baby.’ 

The chloroform rag dances in Jim’s mind and he squashes it immediately.

No.

He’s past that. 

Y/N right, never again will he resort to such levels. 

‘I was reading about this hospital in Philadelphia who specialises with difficult births.’ Jim reveals, ‘They have an incredible success rate. Most of the births happen in water and stuff so it’s natural and helps. You know, gravity and stuff.’ Y/N nods, her mind not really with him. Her eyes have that far-away look as Jim peers closer at her, ‘What is it?’

She hesitates, and then plunges on, a finger tracing over Jim’s chest. ‘I know you have your concerns.’ She begins, ‘But I believe with every fibre of my being that Michael will never let anything happen to our baby.’ 

‘It’s about precautions.’ Jim fights to keep the edge from his voice, ‘It’s about being in the right place. Michael is…many things but he isn’t infallible.’ 

‘I have faith in him.’ 

‘Yeah.’ The mood has been ruined for Jim, he’s over-heating in the hot water. He wants to be back at the laptop, just as he does every time the Antichrist is mentioned these days. 

‘You won’t keep him away Jim.’ Y/N’s voice too has hardened, ‘No one will be able to keep Michael from the birth of his child.’

‘As long as he stays back unless needed.’ Jim says, ‘And lets me have my moment with my child.’ 

Y/N’s eyes glint, ’Our child.’  

Jim smirks down at her, ‘My apologies, our child. Of course.’ His lips press against her forehead, ‘Our beautiful child.’ 

The moment relaxes, Y/N turning round to rest her back against Jim. His hands skirt over her belly, cupping water to pour over her exposed shoulders. ‘Have you thought about names yet?’ 

Jim thinks, ‘Not really.’ He admits, ‘I’ve been too focused on making sure the pregnancy goes well. That our baby survives.’ 

‘Maybe we could look up names that mean fighter, or survivor?’ 

Jim scrunches up his nose, ‘Nah, I don’t want this moment to define her.’ 

‘Her?’ 

‘Them.’ Jim corrects himself, ‘I feel it’s a girl.’ 

Y/N hums, ‘I’d like a girl and a boy.’ 

Jim grins, ‘Well what you want, baby. You get.’ 

Y/N splashes some water at him, ‘I’m not that entitled.’ She protests, ‘Not my fault Duncan likes to splash his cash.’ 

‘Yeah adding a specially modified twin baby-seat to his jet was real necessary.’ 

Y/N giggles against him, some of the water slopping out of the bath. ‘Oh absolutely.’ She grabs the shampoo bottle and squirts some into her hand, reaching for Jim’s head. ‘Either way, they will be…blank Mason.’ 

‘Blank?’

‘Till we have a name.’ She grins, ‘But the baby will carry your last name.’ 

‘I never expected anything less.’ 

The bathroom door swings open as Jerome walks in, newspaper in hand. Y/N freezes beside Jim, her hands stuck in his hair. Suds drip down Jim’s face as he makes sure Y/N is obscured by bubbles. Jerome recovers first, ‘Can I join?’

‘Get out!’ Jim bellows, tugging Y/N to him.

Jerome smirks, ‘You really should lock the door, that’s what it’s for.’ 

‘Out, Jerome.’ Y/N echoes watching as the Salesman backs out of the bathroom with a snicker. 

‘Well don’t be long.’ He calls, Shepherd is in the en-suite and you know it takes him an hour to do his beauty routine and my bladder won’t hold out that long.’ 

——————————————————————————————-

DUNCAN 

The bathroom door squeaks, the hinges protesting horribly as it is treated to yet around round of pounding. ‘You’d better be taking that long cause today’s the day.’

‘None of your business.’ Duncan calls back through the door. He smoothes a strand of hair into place, his fingers jumping through the array of hair products dumped along the sink. 

‘Come on man I’m dying.’ Jerome whines, ‘Y/N and Jim are having a precious moment in the bath and you’ve beaten your hourly record. I’m sure you’re beautiful, sport. Now let me in!’ 

Duncan sighs, opening the door as Jerome barges inside. ‘You’re welcome.’

Jerome stops his watch as he sits on the toilet, ‘An hour and twenty minutes, congratulations on the new record.’

‘Fuck you.’ Duncan turns back to the mirror as the Salesman starts undoing his belt, ‘Seriously?’

‘You won’t leave.’ The trousers fall down, ‘I’m desperate. This is what you get, buddy.’ 

Duncan rolls his eyes, abandoning the task. ‘Fine, but you’re cleaning up.’

‘Abuse the Nanny, I see how it is.’ 

Duncan slams the door shut and leans against the wall. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t left as he waits for Jerome to finish up, ‘Maybe today is the day.’

The toilet flushes and Jerome emerges, his eyes triumphant. ‘It’s about time. I’ve had to hide the ring twice to stop Jim finding it.’

Duncan’s insides twist. He is hiding this from Jim, isn’t he? 

Jerome leads the way to the kitchen, ‘So how are you doing it? Dinner? Walk by the beach? Take her up in the jet?’ 

Fear grips Duncan for the umpteenth time that day, ’I….don’t know.’

‘You’ve had two weeks.’ 

‘Someone else plans events for me.’ The panic is evident in his voice, but Duncan can’t calm himself down. He twists his fingers together, ‘My Mom or someone. I don’t do this kind of thing for anyone.’ 

‘Well it’s time to toughen up, cookie.’ Jerome starts cracking eggs into a pan. ‘If you don’t do it tonight, I’m telling her.’

‘You’re an asshole, you know that?’

‘Yes.’

Duncan groans, ‘Fine. Tonight I will do it.’ 

The bathroom door opens, Y/N emerging first in just a towel. She smiles at Duncan, before catching Jerome’s eye. ‘Be out in five for breakfast, thank you so much Jerome.’

The Salesman winks back at her, ‘Sure thing. Just no Round Two with Jimmy boy in the bedroom.’ 

Her cheeks flood with colour, her eyes skipping too Duncan. The spark of jealousy is there, but not as strong as before, as if the tip of the knife has been dulled. 

Duncan offers her a small smile, ‘When you’re out, can we talk?’

Y/N frowns, ‘Never good words, Duncan.’

‘I promise it is.’ 

She nods, ‘Sure. I’ll just-’

Jim appears in the doorway. A towel hangs low on his hips, exposing that perfect V sculpted from so much swimming and surfing. He flicks his wet hair out of his eyes, droplets dancing on his chest. ‘Do I smell bacon?’

‘In the oven.’ Jerome supplies, busy slicing peppers. 

Duncan tears his eyes from Jim to help with breakfast. From behind he can hear the shuffle of Jim as he shuffles into the spare bedroom while Y/N makes her way to Duncan’s. 

Jerome eyes him over the omelettes he’s got on the go, ‘You don’t get mad, seeing them like that?’

‘Like old times.’ Duncan says, pouring orange juice into four glasses. ‘You get used to it and cooking for four.’ 

There’s a slight pause, the absence of Michael echoing in the air. 

Duncan presses on, ‘Besides, Y/N sleeps with me every night. It’s only fair Jim gets to spend some time with her on their own.’ 

‘Seems like things are back to normal than for the three of you.’

‘It will never be normal without Michael.’ Duncan blinks, having spoken before he realises it. He brings the glasses onto the dining table and rests his hands on it. 

Jerome brings over the plates, ‘Well you said it. Not me.’ 

The weight of his words drags Duncan down. 

He misses Michael. 

It’s not that surprising. Not really. Michael has been there since Day One, a couple days after Duncan was released from prison. Together they scraped Duncan’s life back together, Michael giving Duncan a senior position with Kineros before the Media Mogul had enough to win back his empire. But Duncan cannot overlook what Michael has done. Every time he sees Y/N, sees that bump and how Jim isn’t functioning properly out of fear and desperation. He cannot forgive him for putting the two people he loves through hell. 

Maybe that is what Michael will always do.

He is the Antichrist. 

Jim emerges first. His denim jacket is strung over one arm as he takes a seat at the table, ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’ 

‘More like thinking about one.’ 

Jim’s eyes flick down to his lap, ‘I miss him too.’

‘We all do.’ 

When Jim’s eyes flicker up again there’s something defiant in them. ‘It doesn’t change anything.’ He spits, ‘I won’t kill him when I see him, I won’t do anything stupid but I’m not having him near my kid.’

‘That’s your decision to make.’ Duncan nods, he knows it isn’t his place to fight Jim on what the beach boy thinks is best for his child. Duncan takes the seat opposite Jim and waits till Jerome is out of earshot before speaking. ’Does that mean…the plan is off?’

‘I…don’t know.’ Jim’s fingers run over his plate, ‘I kinda made a promise to myself not to do underhand shit again. Trying to be a better person.’

The ring flitters through Duncan’s mind.

He has to tell Jim.

If he doesn’t, he’s just as bad as Michael. 

Isn’t he? 

‘You two seemed to have a nice bath.’ 

Jim smiles, ‘It was nice, if not punctuated with Michael.’

‘He’s everywhere.’

‘Always.’ 

‘I’m going to ask Y/N to marry me.’ The words rush out of Duncan before he can stop himself. ‘I have a ring, I’ve had it for about two and a bit weeks now. Made my mind up before you came back.’ Jim’s eyes burn into him. He doesn’t say a word as Duncan rushes through his words, ‘You have a baby coming.’ He says, ‘Michael has a baby too. ‘I….’ Duncan gulps, ‘I have nothing. There’s nothing that ties me to her. To all of you, not in the same way. Nothing that meaningful or official. You’ll always be together because not only do you both adore each other, but you have a child to care for. I….I need something like that too. And the only way I can think to do that is to marry her-’

‘Okay.’

The air is punched out of Duncan’s lungs. ‘What?’

Jim’s eyes are soft. The softest Duncan has seen them in a very long time. His hand reaches out across the table and rests over Duncan’s. ‘I can’t imagine how hard it is for you. Seeing Y/N pregnant. You knew before anyone else and you’ve done nothing but respect her and me. You’re a good guy, Duncan.’ Jim presses his lips together, his eyes becoming glassy. ‘I know you’ll give her the life she deserves. I hope I can continue to be part of it, God I need it so bad. But you should marry her. You deserve each other, so…you have my blessing. If that’s what you want.’

Tear tracks drop down Duncan’s cheeks, he sniffles hard unable to keep himself in check. Jim stands and crosses round the table, Duncan stands too as Jim pulls him in for a hug. Duncan holds his Beach Boy as tight as he can, taking in the scent of jasmine lingering on his skin. ‘Thank you.’ 

‘Don’t cry.’ Jim orders, ‘Ask her, today. You put a ring on that finger and make it the most special proposal a girl has ever had.’

‘She still has to say yes.’ 

Jim smiles, ‘Do you think she’ll say no?’

‘Maybe!’

Jim chuckles, ‘She shares a bed with you, Duncan. You have nothing to worry about.’ 

They pull away as Jerome sets down breakfast. The Salesman is astute enough to make himself invisible, but Duncan catches his smile of approval. 

Bastard must have been listening in.

‘This doesn’t mean you aren’t in her life.’ Duncan is quick to say it as he takes his seat again, ‘It’s just like before, before this whole mess. When we’d go to dinner all of us and get up to…things under the table and have fun and love each other. That’s all I want.’

‘Just with babies added in the mix.’ Jim supplies, making Duncan smile.

‘I guess it was gonna happen someday.’

Jim glances at Duncan’s bedroom door, ‘As for the plan…I think we keep it on the back burner and see if we need it. She’s only like…three months right now. Anything could happen.’

Duncan downs his orange juice, wishing he could slip a little vodka in. ‘If that’s what you think is best, I’ll respect your decision.’ 

Y/N emerges, her hair up in a towel as she takes her place at the head of the table. ‘Sorry! I was trying to get the hairdryer to work but the fuse has blown. It’s just growling at me and might explode so….’

Jerome is the last to take his seat. Together the four begin eating, Duncan shoving his omelette down as fast as he can to try and settle his stomach. 

Jim is okay with it.

Jim said yes.

Now he has to do it. Now Y/N has to say yes too. 

Her eyes slide to Duncan, Y/N putting down her knife and fork, ‘So Duncan. What did you want to talk to me about?’ 

——————————————————————————————-

MICHAEL 

He knows the risk she is taking by seeing him. Michael has the evening set out with the most perfect precision. A finger straightens the wayward fork, just a centimetre off-kilter. Before it threw off the perfection of the night, but now, now Michael is sure that nothing can ruin the evening. He waits sitting in one of the chairs, his jacket pressed and freshly dry-cleaned. The velvet, so luxurious against his skin comforts him. The only friend he’s had for a month, the only touch he’s received. 

Tonight that all changes.

Tonight he will remind her why she loves him. 

Why it is he who she risks everything to see. 

The knock comes and Michael opens it with a wave of his hand. No one can see him at the door, he cannot trust Shepherd not to have had her followed. 

Y/N steps into the apartment, her eyes roving round the dark interiors. Everything is black marble and stonework, the high arched windows each a work of art. Michael rises to greet her, taking her coat in his hand. She hands it to him without giving anything away. Without the coat there, her baby bump is evident. Peeking through and smiling at him through her red dress. The dress Michael gave her, his beast purrs with satisfaction. 

It proves she cares. 

‘I am so glad you came.’ 

‘It isn’t right to deny you the chance to see your child.’ She says, ‘To have a part in the pregnancy.’ Michael’s arm beckons her to the dinner table, the single candle flickers and illuminates the two plates set out. The silverware glimmers as Y/N ventures closer, ‘This is very elaborate.’ 

‘You know that’s how I do things.’ He turns her round, capturing her lips with his before she can protest. Michael engulfs her, his arms holding her gently to him as he takes her breath away. He’s determined to give her his entire everything in one kiss. To show. To prove to her. When they slip apart, Y/N’s eyes are wide. She has that same look in her eyes she did that first night, when Michael stole their first kiss, sucked on those succulent lips and bruised them as he pounded into her. 

‘That may not be such a good idea.’ She whispers in the gap between their lips. 

‘Why, because of this?’ Michael lifts the ring, nestled on Y/N’s finger. ‘You must know I’d find out about it.’

‘It wasn’t a secret.’ Y/N pulls her hand, complete with the engagement ring out of Michael’s grip. 

‘I’m happy for you.’ 

‘Don’t lie. She scolds, crossing to the dining table. 

Michael’s jaw clenches, ‘Do I wish it was me, of course. But I understand Duncan’s desire to make you his. I know it all too well.’ 

‘You’ve made your claim pretty clear.’ 

Michael takes his seat opposite her, ‘Yes, I did.’ He uncorks the wine and pours a decent measure into her glass, Y/N holds it aloft in a practised manner for him. She makes sure to sample the wine with her engagement ring on show. ‘Let me guess, Harry Winston?’

‘You know my motto.’ Y/N smiles, ‘If it isn’t Harry…’

‘Don’t marry.’ Michael finishes, ‘You used to love singing that whenever we were in Barneys.’ 

‘Jim said I was spoiled.’ She says, ‘I think maybe he’s right.’ 

‘You are completely spoiled.’ Michael smirks, ‘But we can’t resist treating you. You’re so precious to us. I’d do anything for you.’

She nods, Y/N’s eyes flickering back round the apartment. She takes a long drink from her wine glass, ‘They’d be mad if they knew I was here.’

‘I’m sure they would.’ 

‘They don’t trust you.’ She offers, ‘But they do miss you. I heard them talking about you.’ 

‘I miss them too.’ Michael makes sure he is looking directly into her eyes, ‘They may think all I wanted was to put my child in you, but I want all of them.’

‘Seems like we all want the same thing.’ 

A silence falls as Michael rises to take dinner out of the oven. It’s takeout, he can’t cook for shit but he knows Y/N will appreciate it. He puts the steak with Bourderlaise sauce before her complete with new potatoes and asparagus. ‘I don’t think that’s exactly true.’ 

She doesn’t take a bite. Michael knows that Y/N knows him well enough to catch the subtly in his words. ‘Why am I here, Michael?’

Michael sighs, putting his own plate down. ’Straight to it then.’ He laces his fingers together, ‘I would give my life for you and our child. Do not think I don’t know my actions have caused me to be ostracised. Perhaps I was right to do so, perhaps I went too far. What I do know is the plan that Jim and your fiancee are planning. Something I will not let happen.’ 

She stares at him. ‘I am sick and tired of your drama, Langdon.’ 

‘Oh believe me, I would rather my own Grandmother rise from the dead before this happened.’ Michael’s tone has a bite, ‘You will hear me out.’ 

Y/N sits there, waiting for him to continue. She waves her hand, gracing him to do so. ‘When you check in for your next appointment, Duncan has the measures in place to abort my child-’

‘Our child.’ 

‘Our child.’ Michael nods, ‘It’s been in place for rather a while now, but ever since the Doctor’s last reports indicated the runt’s trouble with getting enough nutrition they’ve become desperate.’ Michael leans forwards, ‘When you next go in, they will drug you and remove our baby. They will kill it, the monster, to ensure Jim’s lives.’ 

He watches as the horror slowly expands all over Y/N’s face. ‘You’re a liar.’ 

Michael’s hand slams on the table, ‘I have NEVER lied to you.’ 

She’s stuck to her seat, completely frozen in place. ‘I…won’t let them.’ 

‘They won’t give you that choice.’ The Antichrist explains, ‘It’s already been decided for you. They’re going to force your hand.’ 

‘I can’t believe you.’ 

‘Because you thought they had changed.’ Michael nods, ‘I had hope for Shepherd. I thought he would be shining example for the rest of us. But sadly, it isn’t the case.’

‘I won’t marry him. I’ll fight it. I’ll go and challenge them about it right now.’ She stands, heading for the door. ‘Why would you go through all this just to tell me!’ She demands, ‘You have a dinner in place with fucking candles only to tell me one of my babies is going to be ripped from me.’ 

She tries the door, but it doesn’t move. Y/N doesn’t face him, ‘Unlock it. Now.’ 

‘I’m afraid that isn’t going to happen.’ Michael drifts closer to her. His hands ghost along her shoulders, ‘You see, my sweet Y/N I cannot take any chances when it comes to my child. You are potentially carrying the next Antichrist in your stomach, our child.’ His hands snake around her middle, resting over her bump. ‘I will make sure both your babies are born alive, happy, healthy.’ He coos into her ear, pressing a kiss to her temple. ‘But you won’t be leaving this apartment again until after they are born.’ 

——————————————————————————————-

TAGGING: @michael-langdon-owns-my-soul @langdonsinferno @pastel-cloudz @misslanabananaa @lovelykhaleesiii @lostin-fern​ @lvngdvns@ccodyfernn @asstichrist@yourkingcodyfern @langdonsdemon @satcnas @russianspacegeckosexparty @rosy-pugs @luxuryglitterhoe @langdonsoceaneyes @sodanova @petersfern-fics @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sassylangdon @confettucini @sammythankyou @wroteclassicaly @Sloppy-Wrist @Langdonalien @alexcornerblog @sevenwondr @queencocoakimmie @sojournmichael @langdonsdemon@satcnaskinlovecody @kylosbabe @americanhorrorstudies @xxpixiefromdixiexx @elenareginaauditore@dadddysprincessss@gremlinkween @readsalot73 @astir-bread @i-will-die-for-jim-mason@ms-mead @mega-combusken@hanhanxx@kahhlo@thelangdoncooperative @langdonsrapture@ritualmichael @cryptid-coalition @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @infernal-langdon @jim-mason2 @duncandimension @dark-jim @jimmlangdon  @xtheinevitableprophecyx @moontheweirdpan @moonlit-void-to-the-far-unknown @bbyduncan @divinelangdon @theladynymph@xlangdons-evilbabygirlx​ @dark-duncan​ @divinelangdon @codyswhore-blog @blakewaterxx 

[copper-wasp]

Even a Devil May Drabble - Dante x Reader (Part 4/?)

Title: Spring Cleaning

Rating: T

Words: 1,764

Tagging: @blindedstarlight​ @tehrevving​ @xalmasyx​ @ofburisms​

“Oh, fuck me gently with a chainsaw,” you whined, dropping the socket wrench on the floor.

“That’s an interesting kink,” you heard Dante say from across the room.

You groaned at him, standing up from behind the currently dead jukebox. You leaned on the top of it, letting your chin rest on your crossed arms.  

"What have you done to this?" you asked, gently patting the top of the machine.

"Kicked it a few times, stabbed it a few times... it usually starts working again when I do one of those things," he explained, walking over to you. You gave him an annoyed look, and he responded with a wide grin.

“What’s so funny?” You asked, tracing your finger over the edge of the machine.

“You’re so cute when you’re mad,” he replied, tapping his finger on your nose before turning on his heel to stride out of the office, leaving you alone with the busted jukebox.

“Hey, wait!” you called out, stepping out from behind the machine. “You got any electrical tape in this place?”

“Probably in the basement!” he said just as the heavy door slammed shut behind him.

“Great, the basement. What horrors will I find down there?” you mused to yourself, pulling off the rough work gloves you had on and dropping them on top of the toolbox.

You walked over and pulled the basement door open, a loud squeal from the hinges announcing your arrival. You made a mental note to get some WD-40 the next time you went to the store as you felt around the wall for a light switch. A telltale ‘click’ and a soft yellow light turned on at the bottom of the stairs.

You gingerly took the steps one at a time until you arrived at the bottom, your mouth hanging open.

“Dear god, what is all this crap?” you asked yourself, looking around the space. There were rickety tables stacked with boxes, tools and hardware littering the floor, and one of the walls was pockmarked with very obvious bullet holes, crumbled chunks of concrete on the floor in front of it. Immediately all thoughts of fixing the jukebox left your mind, as your intense need to organize this messy room came to the forefront of your mind.

Looking around, you saw a roll of garbage bags perched precariously on top of a stack of magazines on a stool, and you grabbed them, pulling one off and waving your arms around to expand the plastic. You quickly started scooping up all the garbage - empty beer and soda cans, paper towels stained with gun oil, newspapers from years prior, broken bolts, anything that clearly looked like garbage. Two full bags later and you could walk freely around the room, but there was still a lot to be done. You did find the electrical tape, and put it on the bottom stair to take back up with you.

You walked over to one of the work benches, pulled away an olive green tarp covering most of it, and were met with a pair of... swords? You gingerly picked the turquoise one up by the hilt. It was heavy, but well balanced, and you turned it over in your hands.

“Look Agni, a guest!” the sword said, and you promptly squealed and dropped it on the floor, landing with a loud clang.

“Oh, it seems you have dropped Rudra. Would you be so kind as to pick him up? I believe he landed on his face,” the other sword said.

“Pick... him... up?” you said, looking between the orange and turquoise swords, hoping that this wasn’t some intense auditory hallucination.

“Yes, please. If you don’t mind,” the orange sword, Agni, said. You bent down to retrieve the other sword from the ground, propping it back on the table face up.

“Thank you, nice guest,” the one called Rudra said and you smiled nervously, quietly saying ‘you’re welcome.’

“So, uh,” you began, pushing some rags off of a stool and pulling it up to the table, “what’s your, um... deal?”

“Our deal? Apologies, I do not understand what you mean,” Agni said.

“How are you two talking to me right now? Aren’t you... swords?”

“Well, yes, but we are demons, too,” explained Rudra.

“So you’re demon swords?” you mumbled, mostly to yourself, but two voices rang out in agreement.

You rested your elbows on the table, setting your chin in your palms. “I’ve gotta hear the story of how two demons ended up in a demon hunter’s basement,” you said, excitement glimmering in your eyes.

The demon swords regaled you with their tale of fighting Dante in the Temen-ni-gru, and how they asked him to take them with him upon his victory; also how they were now regretting that decision, considering they’ve been stuck in a basement for years. You’d never thought you’d be so entertained by talking to a pair of demons, but there you were, thirty minutes later, trying to explain to them what Instagram was.

“Hey,” Dante said quietly behind you and you nearly jumped out of your skin, the stool tilting precariously backwards. Dante caught the edge, making sure you didn’t fall over, rebalancing the stool on the ground.

Agni and Rudra groaned in unison at Dante’s presence and you let out a little giggle. “Great, he’s back,” Agni lamented.

“Going to cover us up again?” asked Rudra.

“If you two chuckleheads don’t shut up, probably,” Dante replied, clearing some more space off of the table next to the demon swords, and hopping on it, dangling his legs over the side.

“Oh, come on, these two are charming,” you said, hopping off the stool.

“Shh!” Dante said, “Don’t encourage them, they’ll insist I take them back upstairs.”

“Nice lady will take us upstairs, right?” Agni asked, nearly begging.

“Sorry guys, you’ll have to take that up with the Boss-man,” you said, grinning at the Devil Hunter.

“And I think they already know the answer,” Dante said with a chuckle, hopping down off the table. “Hey, [Y/N], come upstairs, I wanna show you something.”

“Sure, Dante,” you replied, wiping your brow with your forearm. “Well, gentlemen, it’s been nice chatting with you, I’ll be back down later.” Waving at the two sentient swords, you followed Dante back upstairs.

Closing the basement door behind you, you turned to see the silver-haired man standing in front of the jukebox. He proceeded to smack the top with a closed fist, and, to your absolute surprise, the lights turned on and music began playing.

“Holy shit! You fixed it! I’m impressed,” you said, crossing your arms and walking over to him.

“Just finished up what you started,” he said, giving you a sweet smile. “Since you abandoned your task to go flirt with a couple of demons.”

“Flirt? Me? Never,” you said, grinning, locking eyes with him.

“Never, huh? How about the look you’re giving me right now?” he challenged, and you looked at him quizzically.

“You don’t count, Dante. And, by the way, you’re the biggest flirt there is,” you replied, pinching his cheek.

He grabbed your wrist when you tried to turn away, intent on getting back to reorganizing the basement, and made a little noise when you felt him pull you into an embrace, his arm sneaking around your waist to keep you where he wanted.

“I may be a flirt, but... I think you like it,” he said in a low, husky voice, searching your face with those gorgeous blues.

Of course you liked it. You liked every outrageous word he said to you, every little touch he’d give you, each seductive smirk as you walked past him, his eyes tracing down your body.

You swallowed hard at the sound of his voice, heated words still ringing in your ears. Dante was... difficult to resist normally, but exponentially more when he was so close to you. When his lips were just inches away. When all you needed to do was move your head just the smallest amount, close the distance and kiss him, like you’d wanted to for months.

You started to move, raised your hand to place it on his stubbly cheek, but paused, unsure and a little scared. Dante gently grabbed your hand, placing it on the side of his neck, before mirroring his own hand on you.

“Dante...” you whispered, drawn like a magnet to his lips. You kissed him gently at first, testing the waters, gaining but the smallest possible taste of him. He was addictive, nicotine and caffeine, and he flooded your system with dopamine. You wanted more, and god help anyone who tried to tell you no.

You pressed yourself against him, draping your arms over his shoulders, feeling his hands slide down your back, parting to grip onto your hips.

He pulled your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down until you moaned, eagerly welcoming his tongue into your mouth, where it danced with yours, warm and skilled.

He pulled away after another blissful moment, leaving you nearly panting, your eyes still closed, basking in the warmth of his kisses.

“I should, uh, get back to organizing your mess...” you said, finally opening your eyes to meet his. His lips were parted, slightly more pink than usual from your heated kisses, and you just wanted to run your tongue over them.

“Why go down there when you could come upstairs to a nice, warm bed?” he asked, pushing your hair away so he could kiss down your neck. “You might even find an incredibly attractive half demon waiting for you.”

You laughed softly, pushing his hair behind his ears and giving him a soft kiss. “You have no shame, Dante,” you said and he smiled at you.

“Maybe not, but I’ve got a hell of a lot of self control right now, otherwise I’d have slung you over my shoulder already and we’d be halfway up the stairs,” he replied, giving your ass a healthy squeeze.

You thought for a moment, cocking your head. “I... wouldn’t be opposed to that, actually....” you said, dragging a hand down his chest. “But on one condition.”

“And that is?”

“You let our friends come upstairs,” you stated, narrowing your eyes at him in challenge. He tilted his head back with a groan, but still had his hands on you, and you knew you’d won.

“Fine, but I’m duct taping their mouths closed.”

You smiled at him in victory, but it was quickly wiped off your face as Dante did indeed sling you over his shoulder, practically sprinting to his bedroom.

Thank you for reading!

(Cheers if you know where the first line came from...)

Find me on:

AO3: copper_wasp

Twitter: copper_wasp_

[sockablock]

After finishing a job, the Mighty Nein stumble across a strange pouch of cards locked in a little box. Without thinking too much about it, Molly draws one, and suddenly the gang has to deal with the aftermath.

_________________________

Chapter 1: Many Things

“Wait, wait, wait a second.” Fjord held his arm out and looked back at Nott. “Maybe we should send you ahead to scout around. I don’t like the look of this.”

The group considered the chamber before them, narrowly-built of blue-grey stone, lit by torches that flickered purple light under the tall, arched ceiling. Towering columns outlined a path to the only other thing in the room: a small stone pedestal, sixty feet away, with a strange little object resting on top. Moonlight filtered down in a faint halo of light.

“Really?” Beau asked. “You think the creepy empty back-room of a demented beholder is dangerous?”

Molly rose to the opportunity. “I’m glad to see you’re trying to keep up with the rest of us, dear.”

“It’s called sarcasm, you idiot, ever heard of it?”

“How could I not have, stuck with you all the time—”

At the exact moment Caleb sighed and said, “Knock it off, schatz,” Yasha squeezed Beau’s shoulder and shook her head. Jester giggled as Beau and Molly shot each other one last glare, for old times’ sake, and settled down.

Nott took a swig from her flask. “Wait here,” she said. “I’ll let you all know when the coast is clear.”

“Take Frumpkin too,” said Caleb, fond and worried. “Just in case.”

They watched her scuttle into the chamber, orange tabby at her heels. Molly slipped his fingers into Caleb’s and gave a quick squeeze for reassurance as the wizard’s eyes clouded over with a pearly glow and he sent his sight and hearing into his familiar.

Nott tapped her toe against the stone slabs on the floor. Then she circled around the columns, inspecting each one, before carefully making her way to the pedestal. About ten feet in front of it, she paused, and nudged a disgruntled-looking Frumpkin into the ring of moonlight. Nothing happened. She dropped on all fours and listened to the ground. She crept up to the altar and inspected the base. She licked the sides. She ran a finger along the top, and glared suspiciously at the object resting on it.

“No traps!” She called back to the group. Her voice echoed.

Beau blinked. “What, not at all?”

Nott, tiny in the distance, shrugged. “Nope.”

“Well, that’s certainly unexpected,” Molly remarked.

“And absolutely suspicious as hell,” mused Fjord.

“Maybe the beholder did not think anybody would make it this far?” Jester suggested. “Or maybe it was friendly and we should not have killed it, oh, no!”

Yasha frowned. “Jester, it electrocuted you and then sprayed acid on you.”

“That is true, that is a good point.”

“Let’s move in,” said Fjord, “but go very carefully. I trust Nott, but it’s possible she missed something.”

“She might have been too light to trigger one of the traps,” added Caleb, whose senses had returned. “Someone tough should lead us in.”

“I’m tough,” said Molly. “It’s one of my best traits.”

The group looked at him. Then they turned towards Yasha, who nodded and took the lead. Caleb patted Molly’s hand reassuringly, but there was a cheeky curve at the edges of his usually-stoic expression. Molly gave a grin in return.

They slowly crept into the chamber, the only sound coming from their cautious footsteps bouncing back from the tall, arched ceiling.

“I keep expecting something awful to happen,” muttered Beau. “Like a dragon to come crashing in or the room to explode or another beholder to bust in or magma to come out of the walls or something.”

“Maybe a unicorn will show up!” Jester said. “Or maybe a bunch of tiny ones, that would be so good.”

“It is odd that nothing is happening,” said Yasha. “Caleb, can you pull out another Detect Magic for us?”

“I am tapped after that last fight,” Caleb sighed. “It would take me ten minutes to cast as a ritual, if you would like.”

“Let’s see what we’re dealing with first,” suggested Fjord. “It might be better for you to have cantrips at the ready, just in case something does show up.”

They gathered around the altar, Nott gestured up at the box, a good foot above her head. “It’s not trapped or anything. I checked it out really well, and there really is nothing.”

Molly strode forward. “I’m going to pick it up,” he declared. “Are we all alright with that plan?”

Caleb bit his lip. “Be careful, ja?”

Fjord nodded. “Just…do it slowly. I’m still not entirely sure it’s safe.”

“It’s safe to move it,” Nott muttered, “I’m just not sure if anything would happen if you tried to open it.”

Molly lifted it up carefully. The group held their breath. But there was no ominous shifting of stones or cranking of gears, no strange otherworldly groans or flashes of magic, no change in the moonlight or the gently floating dust throughout the chamber.

“I’m still alive,” said Molly.

“Hooray,” shrugged Beau, and the tiefling glowered at her.

“Try shaking it now!” said Jester. “Is there something in it?”

Molly gingerly shook it. Something rattled within.

“Now open it!” Jester said excitedly. “Open it, what’s inside?”

Before someone less impulsive could intervene, Molly yanked on the lid. It did not open. “It’s locked,” he declared.

Once the party’s hearts stopped racing, Fjord held up a hand. “Hang on, hang on. Would you mind if Caleb and I took a look, before we tried anything else like that? Just in case there’s some kind or arcane protection or somethin’ like that.”

“I think that is a good idea,” said Caleb.

The box was passed over to them. Now, up-close, they could see that the wood was a fine teak, with thin gold flowers etched on its surface. The hinges were also gold, though somewhat dull from time. There were tiny, odd symbols carved around the edges, but they weren’t arcane in nature, they were—

“Open for wonders that lie within,” read Caleb as he turned the box in his hand.

“But beware the risks that choosing bears,” said Yasha from over his shoulder.

“I have no idea what you two just said,” said Fjord.

“It’s in Celestial,” said Yasha, and repeated the engraving. “Apparently it holds something super amazing, and possibly dangerous.”

Nott tugged on Caleb’s coat. “Can I see it?” she asked.

He handed the box down to her and looked back to the group. “This might be something we could bring back to Pumat’s to ask about,” he suggested.

Molly considered this. “Pumat would probably know what it is, but if it’s super powerful or super dangerous, he might try to take it away from us and bring it to the Assembly or something. He does work for them.”

“That’s a valid point,” said Fjord. “We could hang onto it until Caleb is ready with another identify spell, and just figure it out in the tavern. The box itself isn’t magic, I think it would be ok to take back with us.”

Beau nodded. “I would like to get out of here, sooner the better. I don’t trust—”

There was a faint click. Nott pushed the lid open, and slipped her Thieves’ Tools back into her bag. “There’s just a little pouch in here,” she said with mild disappointment.

Jester pushed her way over and crouched next to Nott. “Oohhh, oh, let me see!” she shouted.

Caleb sat down. Beau unclenched her grip on her staff. Yasha pinched the bridge of her nose. Fjord allowed himself to exhale again. “I give up,” he said. “It seems fine, you three take over.”

Molly knelt down on Nott’s other side. It held only a small drawstring bag. He plucked it out, gingerly at first, and when nothing happened he held it up and wiggled it for the others to see.

“Open it!” Jester cheered. “Open it, what’s inside?”

Molly opened it. Amid the foggy haze of panic in Caleb’s brain, a thought pushed through. Why did you pick the impulsive idiot to fall in love with?

Because he’s sweet and caring and usually quite logical, came the response. And great in bed.

Molly peered into the pouch, then looked back at the others. “It’s cards,” he said. 

Yasha frowned. “Cards? Like…your kind of cards?”

“Yes. There’s probably about…” he weighed the pouch in his hands, “…maybe thirteen or so?”

Beau sighed. “Usually I would doubt you, but you’re probably exactly right.”

Molly beamed. “Thank you, dear.”

“What do the cards look like?” Jester asked. “Are they tarot cards? Can you use them to tell my fortune?”

“There aren’t enough in here for these to be tarot,” Molly said. “Hang on, let me get a better look.”

And he opened the brim, and reached into the pouch, fished around for a moment, and pulled one out.

“What is it?” Jester asked. “Am I going to be rich and famous?”

Molly stared at the image. “Er…I’m not sure. It’s not any sort of card I’ve ever seen before.”

Caleb tamped down the second round of incredulous shock racing through his system and craned his neck over to see Molly’s hands. “What does it have on it?”

Molly turned the card over. It depicted a dark figure bent over and clutching its head. Five swords speared it through the center, hilts in its back and blades poking out from the front. Behind it, a red shape sporting horns and wings watched on with only one eye.

“Rogue,” read Beau.

“I’m a rogue,” said Nott. “Maybe it tells us what the people in our party are. Molly, pull another one—”

“Nein,” said Caleb, a bit more forcefully than he intended. “Please, Molly, put that back, we don’t even know if they’re magic yet.”

Fjord nodded. “I agree with Caleb,” he said, “Who knows what kind of danger that is. It looks terrible, and we don’t know if it’s a warning, or if you’ve been cursed, or…oh, gods, Molly how do you feel?”

Mollymauk considered this. “I feel pretty fine? Maybe a bit hungry.”

“He’s been cursed with hunger,” Nott said solemnly. “I understand.”

“I don’t really think that’s—” Caleb was cut off, as suddenly, the card in Molly’s hand vanished in a faint puff of smoke. He blinked with surprise, and opened his palm. There was nothing there.

“Oh…shit,” said Jester, “Something super magical just happened.”

Yasha gave Molly a stern look. “That was incredibly stupid,” she said quietly.

Molly did not like the weight of her disappointment. “Sorry,” he said.

“How do you feel now, Molly?” asked Caleb slowly.

“Still fine,” which was true. “And still hungry,” which was also true.

“We should keep an eye on him,” Beau said. “Just in case something crazy happens.”

Caleb moved closer to Molly. “I will watch him,” he said. “And when we get back, I will try and see if there are any lingering magical affects, ok? Then we can figure out more about these cards.”

Yasha stepped forwards as well. “I’ll help,” she said. “If there is something wrong with him, I think we should have some muscle also.”

“Good idea,” said Fjord. “Now, I don’t think there’s anything else in here, so let’s get a move on back aboveground. Does that sound good to y’all?”

There was a chorus of agreement. Molly handed the deck over to Jester, who dropped it into the haversack. Then, the Mighty Nein made their way out of the cavern, Fjord and Yasha at the lead, Nott and Jester just behind, and at the very back, Molly being flanked by his oldest friend, the love of his life, and a scraggly orange tabby, all wearing expressions of trepidation and growing concern. Their footsteps echoed against the stone. The moonlight settled softly around them. Soon, the chamber grew quiet and still once more.

_________________________

“He’s completely fine,” said Caleb to his own surprise. “And I mean completely. There’s no spell, no curse, no nothing.”

“And Greater Restoration didn’t do anything either,” shrugged Jester. “He’s probably alright.”

The party were seated around a table in the Song and Supper Inn after cashing out with the Gentleman for clearing one of the subterranean passageways and returning aboveground. In the time it took Caleb to work through a ritual for Identify and for Jester to pour her last healing spells into Molly, Nott had already polished off three plates of sausages, and Fjord, Beau, and Yasha had seemed to accept that there really was nothing wrong with Mollymauk.

“We should still go see Pumat tomorrow,” Caleb said. “Just in case.”

Fjord nodded. “Plus, we have some coin to spend now, and we could swing by just to browse a bit.”

Molly put on an air of feigned hurt. “Am I just a side-errand to you, Fjord?” he asked with his hand over his heart.

Fjord met Molly’s gaze with a raised eyebrow. “After that crazy, un-thought-out thing you did earlier? Yes, Molly.”

“Fair enough,” said Molly, and took a swig of his flagon. Under the table, his free hand was now holding Caleb’s.

“I am still quite annoyed with you,” Caleb said. “That is not something you should ever do again. Next time wait for me to check it out first, alright?” He turned towards Nott. “That goes for you as well, spatz.”

Nott looked mollified. “Sorry, Caleb,” she said.

“Sorry,” Molly echoed. “It was just so tempting, and sometimes magic can take a while.”

Caleb sighed. “Yes, I know.”

Jester pounded her palm on the table. “Caleb! Speaking off, can you do more magic on the pouch? I want to know what it is!”

He let go of Molly’s hand and reached out towards Jester. “Hand it over, then. Let’s find out.”

As he began muttering the beginnings of the incantation, the party tucked into their dinner. Or what was left of their dinner, in Nott’s case. After ten minutes, Caleb placed a hand on the pouch, waited a couple moments, and instantly wrenched his hand away. A flagon, thankfully empty, went flying off the table during his retreat.

“What?” Molly asked, putt a hand on his shoulder, “What’s the matter?”

Caleb blinked a few times and took a breath to steady himself. “Verzeihung, I’m sorry, it just surprised me.”

“What did?” Jester asked. “Tell us, Caleb, you never do!”

He almost rolled his eyes, but refrained this time. “I’m not entirely sure what that pouch is,” he said slowly, “but it contains extremely, extremely powerful magics. Like, reality-altering magic. I can’t even get a name or an exact description. It was too much.”

Molly rubbed his thumb in a circle. Caleb leaned into the touch and sighed. “As far as I am aware, you pick a card, it vanishes, and then something happens. I’m just not sure exactly what.”

Fjord’s face paled. Molly could definitely feel his doing the same.

“So you’re saying that there is something that’s going to happen to Molly?” asked Yasha.

Caleb shook his head. “Maybe, but also maybe not. This kind of magic is very unpredictable. And it is possible that whatever happened already did, and we did not notice. Or perhaps it takes time.”

“Molly,” Jester said with a serious expression.

“Yes?”

“Check if your dick got smaller. Maybe that is what happened.”

After Caleb stopped choking and Beau stopped cackling with delight, the mood got more somber again.

“I think it would be a good idea to check with Pumat tomorrow. Well, today, technically, since it’s ass-o-clock at night,” Fjord amended. “Everything is fine now, but like Caleb said, who knows?”

The party agreed. “Keep an eye on him tonight, alright?” Yasha said to Caleb. “Just in case.”

The wizard nodded, and ignored Jester’s suggestively-wiggling eyebrows at that comment. “I’ll set Frumpkin on watch as well,” he added.

Molly patted Caleb on the shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m sure it will be fine. Remember, that box said it had wonderous things inside it.”

Nobody wanted to add that it had also held a warning.

Fjord tried for a smile. It helped. “Come on now, you guys. Let’s just celebrate. We make quite a nice sum tonight, and we should be proud!”

“I’ll drink to making money,” Beau said, and raised her flagon.

“Me too,” said Molly in a rare moment of camaraderie.

“I’ll drink to anything,” said Nott, and lifted her flask into the air.

“Cheers,” said the rest, and the Mighty Nein clinked their drinks together.

_________________________

Caleb turned a page in his book and skimmed through the words. It wasn’t the most interesting dissertation on the various confluences of thaumatological weather patterns, but it did the trick. Molly stood on the other side of the bed, back turned to Caleb, undoing his jewelry and bangles for the night.

After a few beats of silence, Molly shrugged and said, “I don’t think Jester was right. If anything, it’s gotten bigger.”

Caleb spluttered, and pushed his face into the book. “Mollymauk!”

Molly looked up. He was wearing an enormous grin. “Want to check for me?”

Caleb sighed. “Molly, how can you be in such a joking mood?”

Molly shrugged. “What’s done is done,” he said. “I try not to worry about the past. And as you can see, that’s done me pretty well so far.”

“But what if something did happen and—”

Molly sat down on the bed, leaned into Caleb, and pressed a finger to the man’s lips. “Many things happen all the time. I woke up with no memories. You can’t forget any of yours. But that’s over. Look at the here and now. I’m not muddled with any magics, as you so kindly checked for me earlier, so that must mean whatever that card did, it didn’t do it to me. I’m fine. I’m here. And so are you, right now, with me.”

Now Molly leaned in, and the mischievous smile was dancing across his face again. The tips of his horns pressed into the headboard, and his hair just brushed the edges of Caleb’s cheeks. His tail slowly crept along the wizard’s leg. “Just you and me,” whispered Molly. “Why don’t you put your book away, and let’s enjoy this moment together, now?”

_________________________

Caleb placed the book on their bedside table. He fought the grin invading his own serious frown, and lost.

“Alright, Mollymauk Tealeaf,” he whispered back. “What did you have in mind?”

_________________________

Molly whined as he felt Caleb shifting away. “Mmm…where are you going, love?”

Caleb stroked the side of Molly’s cheek. “Just out for a piss, alright? I’ll be back soon.”

Molly grumbled, but unhooked his arm from Caleb’s. “Thank you, schatz. Back very soon.”

_________________________

Molly had been in the warm embrace of sleep for most of it, but soon the nagging feeling in the back of his mind made itself known. Caleb had been gone for a very long time.

He snapped into reality, cold and harsh, and was on his feet in an instant. He grabbed a sword and bolted for the door. The upstairs of the Song and Supper wasn’t that big, and part of him hoped his feet pounding against the wood wouldn’t wake anybody up. A larger part of him couldn’t care less.

He poked his head into the washroom. “Caleb?” he called as loudly as he dared. “Caleb, are you there?”

Empty. So was the corridor, as well as the smaller hallway that branched off into the proprietor’s quarters. Eventually, he arrived at the staircase leading to the balcony. That was fine. Caleb had worryingly frequent night terrors, so perhaps he was just after some fresh air.

At the top of the staircase, Molly pushed the door open and saw Caleb.

His hair and his coat blew softly in the wind as he leaned against the railing. Sunlight was just beginning to poke out from behind the mountains in the distance.

“Caleb!” Molly called, and began to walk closer. “I got worried when you didn’t come back.”

His lover turned around. Hidden mostly by his hair, Caleb’s expression was unreadable. “Mollymauk,” he said.

Molly tensed. Something was very wrong. “Yes, Caleb. Are you alright? You were gone for a while,” he said as casually as he could.

“Yes,” said Caleb, and now his voice was rising. “I cannot believe it took me this long to realize.”

Molly’s hand twitched ever so slightly towards his sword. “To realize what, dear?”

Caleb looked up. Molly could see now, that outlined in the growing burn of the rising dawn, Caleb’s teeth were clenched and his eyes were burning with pure, pure malice.

“How much of a fool I was for letting myself lie with a demon like you,” he said, and three balls of flame shot out of his hands and flung themselves towards Molly’s breaking heart.