#of his character song and the unit song... in the unit song he's the only one who doesn't make a demand | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fairyysoup · 1 year ago

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i can see you

♫︎ i can see you - taylor swift ♫︎

pairing(s): steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: The secret history of your long and arduous relationship with Steve Harrington.

aka: the 5 times you pined over each other, and the time you actually did something about it

words: 17.6k (we're NOT gonna talk about it lol)

cw: explicit, smut, piv sex, flirting, making out, heavy petting, slight exhibitionism, oral (f receiving), fingering, marking, biting, steve harrington has a big dick, themes of infidelity/cheating (sort of), skipping out on dates, bad dates, steve steal-your-girl harrington, almost-kisses, jealous!steve, jealous!reader, possessive behavior, smoking, alcohol consumption, allusions to marriage but it's never actually mentioned, canon compliant, reader and steve are the same age, 5+1 things, songfic, angst, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, pining, mutual crush, slow burn one shot, mild twist ending, begins in season two (1984) and ends in the 90s, high school, scoops ahoy era, family video era, waiter!steve, steve harrington (the eras tour), vignette, one instance of billy hargrove slander, original characters created for plot, inspired by i can see you by taylor swift, other taylor song inspo throughout bc i'm insane like miss swift

a/n: hi and welcome to ✨rose's mental breakdown✨ yes this song will be my number one on spotify wrapped bc i listened to it on a loop for five days straight while writing this. idk. anyways this is So Much and i'm tired of looking at it so if there are any mistakes i apologize. anyways whoever can point out the most taylor song references aside from the obvious titular one gets a doubloon

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

You brush past me in the hallway, and you don’t think I can see you, do you? I’ve been watchin’ you for ages, and I spend my time trying not to feel it…

Hawkins High, September 1984

He’s so pretty sometimes that it’s disgusting.

That’s really the only thing you think when you watch Steve Harrington sneak up on his girlfriend, Nancy Wheeler, and swoop her off the ground in front of her locker. From across the hall, your locker hangs open, your body turned halfway toward them so that you can pretend that you’re not staring.

You stare a lot.

It’s not exactly the hair, you think- everyone shits a brick about his hair, for some reason that you don’t understand. Yeah, it’s nice… but you like everything else about him, too. You like how sweet he looks when he laughs. You like the way that he holds himself and the way that he looks when he puts his hands on his hips and stands around like he’s directing the traffic around him. You like how much of a prince charming he is, really. It would surprise you if he doesn’t win prom king at the end of the year. They already call him King Steve, it’s not too far of a stretch.

You close your locker just as Steve kisses Nancy, in front of god and everybody in the C Corridor hallway. Steve’s arms wrap around Nancy’s petite frame and he dips her, like they’re in some sort of George Peck and Audrey Hepburn movie. Not that the place is much of a cinematic setting, though. Down the hall, the science rooms are doing their dissection units, so the whole place smells like formaldehyde and disinfectant, and you sort of feel like curling up into one of those dissection pans and dying, yourself.

That should be me, your brain screams. Me!!

It’s always been like this. You’ve had a crush on Steve since freshman year- the fact that he’s dating Nancy, who’s a year younger than him, doesn’t escape your jealous mind. You’ve been in classes with him for four years, you’ve admired him quietly, you’ve hoped and prayed that he somehow noticed you noticing him.

You don’t think he knows you exist. Four years- and now you’re both seniors, about to graduate, and he still doesn’t notice you. You should really stop caring, or stop trying, or stop… pining. Or something.

You hike your bag up onto your shoulder and juggle your books in your arms. The bell rings, and quite suddenly the entire hallway erupts into pandemonium (predictable, sure, considering everyone loiters around instead of actually getting to class on time). Kids fly around you in all directions to get to their next classroom. Nancy Wheeler ducks away from Steve Harrington, avoiding yet another kiss.

God, you wish you could kiss him.

Someone slams into your shoulder from behind, muscling past you to get to science lab 5, rat central. Your binder slips out of the stack of books in your arms and clatters loudly to the ground, just as someone walks past and kicks it across the floor.

“Fuck,” you spit, chasing after it. The back of your neck feels hot. For the first time in four years, you hope to god that Steve Harrington doesn’t notice you.

You duck around people’s legs, trying to grab at your binder, while not trying to drop any more of the books in your arms. Loose papers are starting to fall out of the binder as it skitters across the floor, and this is becoming more and more of a comedy of errors by the minute.

Your fingers just brush the corner of it before someone kicks it again.

“Do you mind?” you snap as they walk away, not even looking in your direction. Crouched close to the floor, you don’t matter. Maybe you could count that as a blessing, considering you don’t want to be perceived right now.

You finally just throw away all dignity and crawl across the tile floor- disgusting and dirty and covered in sandy grit, as though it hasn’t been cleaned all year- to get to your binder.

And you come face to face with a pair of white Nike’s. Ones that you know way too well, because you’ve stared at them every time they’ve passed you in the hallway.

Nonononono- You clench your jaw and then look up, way up, to find Steve Harrington towering over you.

He looks like he was about to just step around you, but then he notices you gazing up at him from all fours, and his hazel eyes lock on yours. You blink at each other for a second before he flushes, a pink blush breaking out on his cheeks and crawling up his neck, and he looks away quickly, but crouches down to grab your binder before your hand can land on it.

“Sorry,” Steve says quietly, gathering up the couple papers that had started to slide out of the folders inside. You sit back on your heels, your blood rushing in your ears, mortified. His big hands gently poke the papers back into the folder as they should be before he hands it to you. “Looks like you’re gonna be late to class.”

You scoff. “Look who’s talking.”

Steve’s eyes find yours again, and he’s finally so close to you that you can admire the little bit of green in them. You’ve never been close enough to notice before.

He cracks a lopsided smile, one that he uses to charm people, you know- you’ve seen him use it on teachers and cute girls alike. “I’m always late to the party. But I get there, eventually.”

“I hope so.” He cocks his head at you. He doesn’t know the real meaning to your words- or, at least, you don’t think he does.

I hope you don’t stay oblivious forever, Steve Harrington. I hope you get there, eventually.

You take your binder from him, but you pull your eyes away from his a bit later than you properly should. “Thanks, Steve.”

You get up and take off toward your next class, walking quickly so that you don’t come off like you’re lingering too long. But, halfway down the hall, you look over your shoulder at him.

Steve hasn’t moved, still crouched down close to the floor, with his head bent like he’s deep in thought. With his back to you, you can still see the pink flush on the back of his neck, peeking out above his collared shirt.

‘Cause I can see you, waiting down the hall from me, and I can see you up against the wall with me. What would you do? Baby, if you only knew that I can see you…

Hawkins High, April 1985

Prom season sucks. Always has, and always will.

Maybe it was your fault for hoping that Logan Sawyer, popular prick extraordinaire, was serious about wanting to take you to prom. He seemed serious enough, stopping by your locker during passing period and leaning over you as he asked you, his mega-watt smile making you blush. You’d counted yourself lucky- you didn’t think anyone was going to ask you, and people aren’t allowed to go to prom stag.

It took Logan two weeks to find a prettier girl to go with, though. You don’t know why it hurts so much. Maybe it’s because you wanted to believe that you were someone’s first choice, but it never quite seems to turn out that way.

You wipe your tears in the mirror, scowling at your puffy, bloodshot eyes. The bathroom next to the girls’ locker room in the sports wing is completely deserted at this time- the boys’ gym class is in session now, and you’re cutting into your lunch time, but you really don’t want to have to go and cry at a lunch table, in front of a bunch of your bitchy peers, who will inevitably make fun of you for it.

Sniffling, but slightly more composed, you head out of the bathroom. The sports wing is ridiculously bigger than any other wing of the school (typical of American public schools, to prioritize sports over every other department). The wing boasts weight training rooms, dance rooms, three separate gymnasiums, and a door directly to the football field, with the locker rooms on the farthest end to allow for easy access to the field. Connecting all of these rooms is the longest corridor in the building, which seems to run for half a fucking mile.

You’ll have to walk that half mile, because in order to get to the cafeteria, you’re gonna have to traverse the entire building. You might not get to eat much today, but it was a sacrifice you were willing to make. Maybe Mrs. Marshall will be kind enough to let you snack on a granola bar in your next class period.

Halfway down the long hallway, you feel the angry sting of tears behind your eyes again, and your face screws up in frustration. You stop, turning halfway back toward the girls’ bathroom, wondering if you should just go back in and allow yourself to cry some more.

Suck it up, you think to yourself, smacking at your tear stained cheeks. He’s not the guy you really want to ask you to prom, anyways.

You press your fingertips into your eyes to relieve the sting of tears, taking a deep breath. Being in high school is driving you crazy. At this point in the year, the teachers have given up teaching, the students have given up learning, and you’re basically just biding your time in a glorified babysitting service until you can inevitably grab your diploma and get out of here. You can’t wait for that time to arrive.

A door opens further down the hallway, in the direction of the cafeteria. You wipe your nose once and keep moving in the direction you were going, not wanting to draw attention to yourself, standing in the middle of the hallway having a breakdown.

Moving forwards, you keep your eyes on the ground. Once you hear the door that had been opened slam shut again, you figure that whoever it was has moved on down the hallway, and you lift your eyes again.

They have not, in fact, moved on. And you suddenly have the urge to turn and fucking run back into the girls’ bathroom, because Steve Harrington is bent over at the drinking fountain, directly outside the boys’ weight room.

What the fuck, what the fuck. You suck on your teeth, trying not to falter in your stride. Maybe he hasn’t seen you, and you can just pass him up. It’s fine, he hasn’t seen you crying.

Your mind backtracks to the beginning of the year, you fumbling your binder all the way across the hallway and ending up right in front of him, crawling toward him. Looking up at him and probably, most definitely, making him really uncomfortable.

You have English class together, where you sit at the desk closest to the door. He comes in late almost every day, so he passes by you every time. Some days he looks at your desk. On good days, he meets your eye. But he hasn’t spoken to you since that day in September, and you really shouldn’t hold out hope that he will.

You definitely don’t want him to notice you when you’ve been crying, your face is a mess, your hair is limp and you look bedraggled. You just want to fade into the background of your next class with whatever snack you can get from the cafeteria snuck into your bag, so you can stress eat it without any guff from a teacher (like you aren’t 18 and capable of deciding when you are and aren’t allowed to eat).

You keep your eyes down. If you don’t look at him, he doesn’t exist.

Except, Steve Harrington always exists, in the back of your mind, and in your periphery. He is impossible not to notice, as per usual. He really just draws the eye like a magnet. Try as you might, your eyes keep flicking up to take stock of him.

He’s wearing a uniform gray P.E. shirt and gym shorts that don’t leave a lot to the imagination, and you fixate on his thighs more than you should. He has sweat dripping down his neck, wetting his hair on the sides of his face and the seam of his shirt. It shouldn’t be attractive. He shouldn’t be attractive. With his face a mess. And his hair limp, and looking bedraggled. Truly, you make a priceless pair, being the only two people in the hallway.

We’re perfect for each other, a voice says in your head. And you manage, for the first time in an hour, to crack a smile down at your shoes.

He finishes getting his drink at the fountain, and you figure that he’ll just go back into the weight room and not see you. But, of course, luck is not on your side.

Steve Harrington looks at you. And you look away, quickly, acting like you hadn’t been staring at him. And in your periphery, again, you see him stretch his arms over his head, and then turn and lean against the cinderblock wall beside the door to the weight room, with his hands on his knees as though he’s catching his breath.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

He does it so casually, and with the way he’s sweating and his face is flushed, you’re sure that he probably does just want to take a break before going in and lifting more weights. But something in the back of your mind says that the maneuver was too purposeful, immediately after he laid eyes on you.

It could just be wishful thinking on your part. You heard through the grapevine that Steve and Nancy Wheeler broke up in a nasty way just before winter break, and it doesn’t seem like he’s been interested in anyone since. He hasn’t dated anyone, hasn’t flirted with any girls or showed up at any parties. Nancy must have really broken his heart.

You know too well what that feels like, right now.

Nearing where he leans against the wall, you keep your head down and you plan on just passing by without any acknowledgement from him, same as it ever was. If he’s still carrying a torch for Nancy, you’re sure that he doesn’t want anything to do with you. You’ve nearly convinced yourself of it.

But then you hear your name called quietly, and it nearly makes you jump. You look over at him, thinking you’re just hearing things, but you look directly into a pair of hazel eyes again, and you feel yourself rocketing back in time to September.

You didn’t even think he knew your name.

You slow to a stop. It would be rude not to stop, right? “Uh… hi, Steve. You good?”

Steve Harrington looks you up and down, while he leans against the wall and breathes a bit heavily, like he’s out of breath. He peers at you through long eyelashes, looking impossibly inviting despite everything; the setting, your appearances, the way that you feel like dissolving into a puddle right in front of him. “Yeah, great. You?”

He’s scrutinizing your face now. You shrug, since he’s already seen you, and there’s no way to pretend you weren’t crying thirty seconds ago. “I’m fine. Just being dramatic, don’t worry about me.”

“When people say not to worry about them, it usually means that you should,” Steve muses. He looks coy, like he’s speaking from experience.

You sigh, stepping forward to get your own drink from the drinking fountain. “Logan Sawyer called off our date for prom.”

“Oh.” Steve pauses for a few seconds, watching as you bend down and take your drink, more silent than he usually is. “I mean… that really sucks. I’m sorry. But… Logan Sawyer?”

“Yeah.” You wipe your mouth, and then wet the ends of your fingers and use the cool water to rub at your stinging eyes again. When you’re done, you lean up against the wall beside him, letting your back settle into the cinderblock.

“The guy’s a fucking douche.”

“Tell me about it.”

“No, I mean it, I think it’s a good thing you’re not going to prom with him. He’s really shitty to girls.” You look up at Steve, who’s watching you with his arms crossed, with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen him wear. “I mean, the only guy worse than Logan is probably… I dunno…”

“Billy Hargrove?”

Steve laughs. Actually laughs. You’ve wanted to make him laugh like that for four years. His cheeks turn crimson and he grins down at his shoes, snickering like there’s way more to the joke he’s laughing at than you even know about. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s gotta be the worst.”

You chuckle, albeit with a sadder tone than he has. “Well, I’m not going to prom with either of them. So, I can count my blessings. I guess.”

Steve frowns, and he looks like he’s going to say something else, but you’re already turning away, not wanting to continue the depressing conversation about your lack of dates. Especially not from the one guy who you desperately want to go on a date with.

You get a few steps away before he takes a step after you, saying, “Wait. You, uh-”

You stop, and look back at him. He looks dumbfounded, his arm outstretched like he was going to try to grab you if you didn’t listen to him. When you frown, he steps back against the wall, bringing his hand up to run through his hair.

Oh . That’s a nervous tick. You know it, because you’ve watched him do it more than once in English, in front of the class during a presentation.

Steve looks down at his shoes, his brow scrunched in thought. He looks like he’s really trying to find the right words to say. In your head, a hopeful part of you imagines what those words could be. ‘Will you go to prom with me?’

Finally, he looks up at you resolutely. “You’ll find someone to take you to prom. I’m sure of it.” He nods a little, like he’s reassuring himself that he said the right thing.

You can’t help the smile that springs onto your face. It’s incredulous, of course, but he can’t know that. Keep trying, baby. You’ll get there, eventually.

“Thanks, Steve.” It’s the second time you thank him in the course of the year.

But what would you do if I went to touch you now? What would you do if they never found us out? What would you do if we never made a sound?

Prom Night, May 1985

The dress you’re wearing is sleek and a lot simpler than some of the more popular styles on the dance floor, but you like it more than you care to admit. You’d just grabbed it off the rack at Macy’s, and beyond that you didn’t want to go all-out for prom. It turns out that your lab partner, Gavin Connelly, needed a date, too. So, you’re here with him, because you knew that if you missed prom, you would probably regret it.

Except, well.

Gavin, stoned out of his fucking mind, is sitting at one of the tables, nursing a cup of punch, looking like he’s two seconds from falling asleep. You’ve taken to making the rounds and saying hi to anyone you can call a ‘friend,’ because you’re tired of just loitering next to him. Something tells you he didn’t want to even be here.

The speakers are playing ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart,’ and couples are swaying on the dance floor in a Bonnie Tyler-induced haze. At a loss for people to bother, you wander back over to your date to find his head plastered to the white table cloth.

You glance to the guy sitting next to him, a kid with glasses who you don’t recognize but who seems to know your date, because he’s just patting Gavin’s back. “Is he okay?”

“Oh, no, he’s dying.” The kid shoots you a sarcastic smile.

You nod, pressing your tongue hard to the roof of your mouth. “Well, if he wakes up, tell him I’m getting some air.”

Fuck this. Fuck prom. Fuck high school boys.

Your heels, which are killing your feet already, click loudly on the tile hallway floor as you exit the gym. The table where you can check your bag and coat are located at the other end of the hall, where everyone is supposed to enter through the door to the football field.

You can hear voices from the far end of the hall, and Bonnie Tyler’s voice fading out the further you get from the gym. You might never be able to hear that song again without thinking of your ruined slow dance opportunity.

As you pass by, someone coughs off to the left and you turn your head to see Steve Harrington, black tie and all, loitering in the shadows. You stop a few feet from him and squint into the dark.

You can’t believe it. He always seems to show up at the worst times. “What are you doing, skulking around?”

“I’m not sulking.”

You snort, stepping into the shadows with him. “No, skulk- like, sneaking around?”

“Well, I didn’t mean to sneak-” he looks over his shoulder at the gym entrance. “I’m just getting some air.”

“Funny,” you murmur. “I was just about to do the same thing.”

He eyes you, a lot like he did a few weeks ago in this same hallway, further up toward the other end of it. He takes in your hair, styled painstakingly to ‘perfection,’ or as close as you could approximate it, and your off-the-rack department store dress. You suddenly feel like you aren’t as pretty as you thought you were at the beginning of the night.

But then he meets your eye, and all those insecurities fade into the back of your mind. He’s smiling at you, and that can only be a good thing.

“So, uh…” Steve leans back against the wall, his hands in his pockets, “You found someone to take you?”

You press your lips into a tight line. You don’t really want to think about your date right now, but- “Gavin Connelly.”

“Who?”

You laugh, kicking the heel of your shoe against the ground with a soft clack. “Yeah. God, I wish I didn’t know him right now.”

“Why, what’d he do?” Steve sounds perturbed. You look up to find him scowling already.

“Oh, he just ate a pot brownie before he picked me up and passed out at one of the tables.” You finish with a tired giggle, shrugging at Steve as he peers at you with an annoyed expression. “Who did you bring?”

“Kelly Palmer.”

You know Kelly. She doesn’t say much, but she’s gotten a scholarship to a big art school. “Do you like her?”

“Yeah, she’s nice,” he says mildly. Unconvincingly.

You can understand the subtext. She’s not Nancy. When you look at his face, he seems tortured in the low light coming from down the hall.

“Guess I’m oh-for-two,” Steve adds after a pause. “Last year’s prom, Nance and I didn’t have such a good time, either.”

You nod. It seems like there’s more he wants to say, but he doesn’t. “I’m sorry,” you offer. You don’t know the ins-and-outs of Steve and Nancy’s relationship, aside from watching them suck face in the hallway five paces from you for a year and a half. “Prom sucks. High school sucks. These can’t be the best years of our lives, trust me.”

“Yeah, I hope not.”

“I just can’t wait to get out of here, you know,” you grumble, allowing your sour mood to come out a little more than normal. It seems like Steve is just really good at getting you to let your guard down. “I’m planning to go to Chicago for college. This is all just… you know, it’s just the starting point. What about you, any big plans?”

“Dunno. I didn’t get accepted to any schools, so I’ll just be getting a job here in town until something better comes along.” Steve shifts, his heel hitting the wall behind him. He looks disappointed when he says, “I think I made too many mistakes.”

You frown, chewing on your lip. “What do you mean?”

He gives you a heavy look, like he’s gearing up to say something important, something game changing- and then his gaze softens.

“You’ve got an eyelash.” He gestures to his own eye, like it’ll make you understand exactly where the loose one is on your face.

“Oh.” You falter, lifting your manicured hands and wiping at your undereyes. “Did I get it?”

“No, uh- here, I can-” Steve tentatively reaches forward, and you step toward him to let him touch your face.

Steve Harrington is touching your face.

His fingertip brushes your cheekbone, so featherlight you would barely feel it if you weren’t hyper aware of everything that he said or did. His touch glides across your cheek and toward your temple, and then he seems to keep it there, his hand hovering just over your skin.

Reflexively, your hand comes up to rest on his shoulder. You’re inches from Steve’s face, your eyes falling to his lips.

You could kiss him. You could live your fantasy, right now.

Steve’s gaze lingers on your face for a moment, and then he says, “You’re so beautiful.”

Your heart lurches in your chest. He doesn’t say that you look beautiful. He doesn’t say it conditionally, like it’s just for tonight. You are beautiful. Even when you’re crawling on all fours after your binder. Even when you’re crying, and your hair is limp, and you look bedraggled.

“Steve…” you whisper, inching closer to him.

“STEVE??!”

You jump away from him like he’s burned you, and peek around the hall corner to see Kelly Palmer standing outside the gym looking up and down the hall, searching for him. She looks lost, and sad, like he must have ditched.

She looks an awful lot like you just did, coming out of that gym.

You feel Steve’s hand where it had fallen to your wrist, dragging your attention gently back to him. You take his hand and squeeze it once, giving him a tight smile.

“You brought her here for a good time,” you say with your bravest smile. “Just don’t pass out at one of the tables on her, okay?”

Don’t be a douche. Don’t be like Logan Sawyer.

Steve swallows, and gives you a short nod. You think he finally got there.

You give a soft pat to the lapel of his suit jacket. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

He touches your arm one final time before he slips around the corner, just as Kelly turns to go back into the gym. You watch him walk away, and you think to yourself, That’s the last time I chase after Steve Harrington.

Wherever there is, it’s not with you.

Steve loops his arms around Kelly’s waist and lifts her, earning a thrilled squeal as the silver taffeta of her dress glints blue in the light from the gym. You wait until they’ve disappeared back into it before you turn and high-tail it toward the coat check table.

And we kept everything professional, but something’s changed, it’s something I like. They keep watchful eyes on us, so it’s best if we move fast and keep quiet…

Starcourt Mall, June 1985

“Come on, it’s ridiculously hot outside,” your best friend, Shelly, groans as she pulls you along by the wrist. “I can’t believe they only have one ice cream place here.”

“I’m sure they have slushies at the-”

“Ice. Cream.” You know better than to argue with her.

Scoops Ahoy has a novelty nautical theme that makes you want to both laugh and break down in tears when you see it. The PA is playing a cutesy rendition of Drunken Sailor on accordion, and you think that if you keep looking at the striped wallpaper behind the counter, you might get literally seasick. In the mall. In landlocked Indiana.

Or… is it landlocked if it fronts Lake Michigan? It doesn’t matter. You’ll be in Chicago in two days, anyways.

You let Shelly drag you along until you look towards the front counter, and you see something that nearly makes you trip and face plant into Shelly’s fresh perm.

Even Shelly pauses. “Is that who I think it is?”

It’s something about the stupid little sailor’s cap and shorts, and that he’s so, so pretty in it, you think. It’s also something about how you have the perfect vantage point to watch him try and fail to flirt with the girl that approaches the counter to order. You’re enamored with him. There’s no other way to describe it.

You have half a mind to run away, after what you promised yourself on prom night over a month ago. You’d done good, you didn’t search for him in the halls, you ignored him in your last couple of class periods with him. You’d even been in the bathroom when his name was called at graduation.

But, here he is. Steve Harrington, absolutely obliterating his chances of getting a date with the girl ordering a sundae ahead of you.

Honestly, you don’t know what you’re waiting for. Maybe an invitation? A sign from god that today’s the day that you’ll make a move? Or maybe this is just a test of will.

You stop resisting Shelly’s attempts to drag you along, and straighten your spine. You can do this. Four years’ worth of pining won’t make a difference in whether or not you order a strawberry ice cream cone.

He’s even prettier up close, his rosy cheeks framed by sunkissed, wavy hair. When he sees you he stalls, going a bit wide-eyed and then seeming to realize he’s supposed to do his job. He leans heavily against the counter. “Ahoy, ladies! Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I’ll be your captain, Steve Harrington.”

“Uh-huh.” You stare at each other for a long moment. “How much do they pay you to recite that script?”

“Absolutely nothing, I do this for pure enjoyment.” You’re almost sure that he doesn’t. He pauses, a hand poised on his hip. “Too much?”

“I’d dial it back just a smidge. Maybe keep the ahoy and the captain thing and toss the rest.”

“Noted.” He nods slowly, his eyes fixed on you. “I thought you were going to Chicago?”

“I leave the day after tomorrow,” you shrug. “Still time for me to burn the place down, you know.”

“Well, I’m glad you stopped by,” Steve chuckles. “I could show you where the gas line is, then we’d all be in trouble.”

“Oookay.” Shelly gives you a curious side-eye, and then turns back to Steve. “Well, I’ll have a U.S.S. Butterscotch with a chocolate dipped waffle bowl, if you don’t mind.”

Steve tears his eyes away from you long enough to grin at Shelly. “Coming right up. And for you?”

You freeze, glancing up at the menu. It’s written in an infuriatingly cutesy code-language that you have to decipher. “Um. I’m still deciding.”

“All right, then. Just let me know, when you’re ready.”

Steve slips away to make Shelly her sundae, a heaping pile of ice cream and butterscotch syrup that looks like the fast track to a heart attack. You alternate between trying to comprehend the menu and being distracted by Steve in that stupid sailor’s uniform.

The script on the menu may as well be written in a foreign language. Blackbeard’s Delight. Treasure Island Turtle. U.S.S. Sherbet. The sizes are even harder to understand. Fathom. League. Nautical Mile. You don’t have the capacity to decipher it- your eyes are seeing the words, but your mind is traveling back to prom night, and feeling Steve’s finger on your cheek as you gear up to kiss him.

“Are you ready?”

“Mhm…” It takes you a second to zone back into the present moment, where Steve is standing in front of you, on the other side of the counter, waiting to take your order. He waits, with a patient smile on his face, while you blink dumbly at him.

What did you say? What did he say?

“I�� um.” You’re sure you look completely out of it. Your eyes flick nervously up at the menu, that you still can’t fucking read. Shelly’s already gone to sit down with her sundae, the traitor.

“It’s kind of hard to understand, isn’t it?” Steve says quietly after a moment, dropping the phony customer service charade. “I hate it. I think we should just be able to say what our favorite ice cream flavor is and be done with it.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, still squinting up at the menu. Blackbeard’s Delight: blackberry swirl with blueberry syrup and a gold doubloon. “The fuck is a doubloon?”

Steve snorts, and reaches under the counter before bringing back a handful of gold foil-covered chocolate coins, which he dumps into your outstretched hand. “You want more? We get them wholesale.”

“I’m good,” you giggle, juggling the chocolate coins before they go cascading to the floor. “I think… I don’t… I don’t understand a thing on that menu.”

“What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?” He leans forward to ask you, like it's a secret. Just between the two of you. His head bent a little to peer at you closely, so close that you can count the freckles on his skin.

You glance over your shoulder. Shelly is seated by the far wall, under a painting of a kraken, giving you an indignant look. When she notices you looking, she mouths an emphatic, ‘LET’S GO!’

“Don’t tell anyone,” you whisper, and Steve affects his gravest expression as he nods. “Strawberry.”

“A classic,” he grins. “Fan of sprinkles?”

“I can dig a few sprinkles.”

“Perfect. I think we have something up your alley.” He grabs a scooper out of the bin and twirls it once, just to show off. “Sex on the Beach.”

“What?” You don’t remember seeing anything about that on the menu.

He glances up to smirk at you before shrugging. “It’s strawberry ice cream with peach syrup. You’ll see.”

You keep an eye on his hands behind the glass partition, watching them put two scoops of strawberry into a medium sized carton. Completely unable to rein in your thoughts before they get away from you, you’re thinking about how good they would feel under your shirt. You follow a treasure map of freckles trailing up his arms, disappearing under the blue sailor’s shirt he wears. You want to kiss every single one of them.

You finally reply, “I guess I have to put my faith in your professional ice cream slinging abilities.”

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Steve mutters sardonically as he squirts peach syrup across the two scoops of ice cream, giving it a golden sheen. “I’m the king of cream.”

You purse your lips as it takes Steve a second to realize what he just said. When he does, he snaps his head up to meet your eye in horror.

He opens his mouth to take it back, but you shake your head, holding back laughter. “Don’t ruin it.”

“I think it’s pretty much ruined already.” He turns crimson, blushing down at the half-made sundae as he rapidly shakes yellow sprinkles onto it. “I was doing so good, too.”

“Who says you aren’t still?” You give him a cute smile when he looks up through his lashes at you, still arranging toppings on the sundae. You’re not sure what happened between prom and now to change him so much, but it’s almost as if he’s… goofy. He’s less concerned with appearances, he’s more laid back and willing to make fun of himself.

You like it a lot.

You watch him plop two maraschinos onto one ice cream mound, and wedge a candied orange slice into the other, inverted, to look like a setting sun. As he passes it over the counter to you, he says, “Here you go, one Sex on the Beach. On the house.”

“What? No, I couldn’t-”

“I mean it. For overlooking my stupidity,” Steve insists. He gives you a meaningful look when he adds, “A million times over.”

“I’m not overlooking anything when it comes to you, Steve,” you tell him fondly, and drop one of the doubloons into the tip jar. It’s gaudy, gleaming artificially gold in the middle of the crumpled up dollar bills. “Hang onto that. You might be able to cash it in for a kiss someday.”

Steve blinks rapidly, leaning across the counter as you walk away. “After you come back from Chicago, right?”

You look over your shoulder, and you wink at him.

When you finally stop in front of Shelly, and you use your plastic spoon to dig into the adorable sundae that Steve crafted for you, you remember that you’d gone up to the counter with every intention of ignoring Steve and acting like you didn’t even know him.

You winked at Steve Harrington. You said you’d kiss him. You think back to the girl who was so afraid of Steve even noticing her, almost a year ago, and wonder where she went.

You look down at Shelly. She’d graduated a year before you, so she wasn’t there to witness every blunderous interaction you’d had with Steve in school. You never told her how in love you were with him.

Now, she looks up at you coyly. “So. Steve Harrington, huh?”

“Shut up,” you grunt, looking up and out at the food court outside of the Scoops Ahoy storefront. “As if you know everything.”

“Are you gonna try to make something out of that…” she gestures vaguely with her spoon toward the counter, “before school starts?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you say honestly, still poking at your sundae. “Anyways, I leave too soon for anything to really happen. What- I screw him tomorrow and then fuck off forever? It’s just wishful thinking, probably.” You finally take a bite of the ice cream, just to punctuate your sentence.

“Hm. Probably. How is that?” Shelly nods at the ice cream in your hand. “Looks pretty.”

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” You’re being honest. Something about the peach syrup with the strawberry base literally evokes the flavor of a sunset. “They should give him a raise.”

Humming, Shelly stands and takes her half-eaten sundae. She nudges you in the direction of the door. “C’mon. We’ve gotta eat these before the next showing of The Breakfast Club.”

Steve watches you and your friend leave, with the wistful gaze of someone who just watched their greatest opportunity walk away from them. He never knew that it was possible to hate an entire geographic location, but he really wishes Chicago would get blown off the map in the next 24 hours.

The wooden partition doors slam open, and Robin’s head appears in the window to the kitchen. “The cream king? Do you want me to actually hurl?”

“I said, ‘the king of cream,’” he groans, digging his knuckles into his eye sockets. “Kill me, Robin. Load me into the freezer. Bury me at the fairground.”

“You think you’re valuable enough to displace that much ice cream?” Robin rolls her eyes, and with another loud thwack, her white board appears in the space behind her. “We don’t make anything called Sex on the Beach. This is a family establishment.”

“I made it up.”

Robin coos, “Aww. Be still my heart. You love her to the point of invention.”

Steve whirls around. “Love? Who said anything about love?”

“I did.” Robin uncaps her dry-erase marker and draws a tally mark under the side that reads, you rule.

“Uh, Robin,” Steve snaps, pointing at the board condescendingly. “I think you put that on the wrong side. I fucked it up.”

“Dingus. Please. As much as it makes me gag- and you know I gain immense pleasure from counting how often you screw up- I could practically hear her heart eyes.” She sets the white board down, begrudgingly. “I think you found the only girl alive who’ll find all this-” she waves her hand at him, “endearing. Who was she? Some ex of yours?”

“If only,” Steve sighs, shaking his head. When he turns back to the counter, his eyes land on the single chocolate coin glinting in the tip jar.

He scoops it up with two fingers and pockets it.

You won’t believe half the things I see inside my head. Wait ‘til you see half the things that haven’t happened yet…

Family Video, March 1986

The air conditioning nearly blasts you backwards into the parking lot. You don’t know why they need it blasting so hard at 7pm, in the middle of March. It’s not like it’s the height of summer- your spring break takes place earlier than the local school’s, but it just means that you get to beat the crowds when you come home to visit your family.

Of course, they love to send you to run errands. You end up picking up the groceries, and the housewares, and, on this occasion, the choices for family movie night.

This Family Video’s selection isn’t necessarily as extensive as the ones in Chicago, but it’s good enough. You enter the store, and it dumps you directly in front of a cardboard cutout of Phoebe Cates about to flash you. Family friendly entertainment, and all.

The TV in the corner is running the final scene of The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly- Ennio Morricone’s score plays dramatically into the empty store. There’s no one behind the counter currently, so you pull the list of videos your extended family members had all requested. The Breakfast Club. Camelot. The Birds. Pretty general selections for your family, but it seems like you’ll have to hunt them up on your own.

You’re wandering down the romance aisle, since The Breakfast Club was nowhere on the new releases or comedy shelves, when someone finally emerges from the back room. You see a flash of a head moving toward the front counter from over the top of a rack, and you take it as your chance to ask for help.

“Excuse me? Do you guys have any copies of The Breakfast Club, or-”

You stop short, choking on your words. Steve Harrington turns around to look at you, carrying a stack of VHS tapes perched under his chin, and holding a folded up piece of paper between his teeth.

You stare each other down for a second, before Steve gracefully spits the paper over his shoulder and onto the counter. “Hey, um… long time, no see?”

“I’d say.” You tilt your head. Funny how quickly your eyes will hone in on his lips, like searching for a target every time. “We always seem to run into each other like this. What happened to the ice cream gig?”

“Starcourt burned down,” Steve says, plopping the stack of VHS tapes down on the counter beside the paper he spit out. “Right around the Fourth of July, last summer.”

“So, right after I last saw you?”

Steve smirks to himself before he turns back to you. “Yeah. Like, a week or so after. Did you manage to burn the place down, after all?”

“I wish.”

You pause, taking the time to size him up. It’s amazing what the better part of a year will do to someone, inside and out. With a striped shirt and green vest, he looks much more relaxed and casual than he had at Scoops Ahoy. His hair’s a little longer, his eyes a little darker as they rake over you, in return.

You’re a little bit desperate to see what’s going on in his head, if it’s anything like what’s happening in yours.

You wish you could say that you tried to seek him out when you got back to town- a year ago, maybe you would have. But you’d pretty much given up on the idea of him, moving up to dating college boys who don’t string you along, who don’t wait until the last minute to finally try their hand at flirting with you. If he ever passed through your mind, it was with the attached hope that he’d found greener pastures than Hawkins, Indiana. Foolishly, you hoped that as long as you told yourself that he’d moved on, it would be true. And then maybe what could have been wouldn’t matter anymore.

You’d stepped back into Hawkins after half a year of college, the graveyard of all hope in your happily ever after, and you hadn’t even thought of Steve Harrington. Except, seeing him now, everything comes flooding back. All the days spent pining over him. All the close brushes you’d had with finally getting the ending you wanted.

You have to be honest. “You look good, Steve. You always do.”

Steve chuckles, tilting his chin down as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his light wash jeans. “Better without the sailor costume, right?”

“Aww, I liked the sailor costume.” You step closer so you can whisper, “I thought it was sexy.”

Steve peers down his nose at you, drawing himself up to tower above you at his full height. He tries to look unaffected, but you can see his ears glowing pink beneath wisps of golden highlights. “Watch it. You’re gonna give me an ego.”

“We don’t want that, do we?” You unfold the list of movies you’re here to collect, holding it up to him between two fingers. “Got any of these movies?”

Steve reads the short list, and nods to himself. “I know we have Camelot, but I’m not sure about The Breakfast Club. Let me check in the back?”

“I’ll be here.”

“All right- don’t get up to any trouble, though. I’ve got my eye on you.” He points at you coolly, feigning an authoritative expression. He tries to hide his smile, but the creases around his eyes give him away.

“I hope you do.” You try to appear casual as you breeze past him, but you have to fiddle with your jacket collar to hide their shaking. Still, you feel the sweep of his gaze on you like rays of sun on your skin. It frightens you how easily you can fall back into the old back-and-forth routine you established in high school- how he gets you to say things you never meant to voice, but that live in your head effortlessly.

Steve watches you disappear down the drama aisle before he takes in a huge breath of air and bolts toward the back room. Any and all coolness he was performing disappears like so much smoke. Slamming open the door, he nearly shouts, “Do you have a doubloon?!”

Robin startles, swinging around in her seat, looking away from her computer screen. “A what? Why are you yelling?”

“A doubloon, a f-fucking-” Steve looks quickly over his shoulder, out the door, and starts hunching over as he whispers, “a chocolate coin. Like one of those ones we had at Scoops, remember?”

“Why do you want a chocolate coin?” Robin squints at him. “Stop crouching like that, you look like Nosferatu.”

Steve hisses through his teeth, and he’s got a frantic edge to his expression that Robin doesn’t like. “Okay- remember that girl, the one who showed up at Scoops that time, and you gave me my one and only ‘You Rule’ tally?”

“No.”

“Great. Well, she’s here, and she told me if I gave her one of those chocolate coins she’d kiss me.” Steve shoves his hands through his hair, mussing up the already disheveled style. “Please, Rob, I can’t let her get away again. I’ve done it, like, a thousand times already.”

“Okay, Romeo,” Robin humors him, turning around in her seat. “So you’re saying this babe, who I very much don’t remember because you always struck out while we worked at Scoops, told you that if you bribed her with chocolate she’d kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t think she was maybe joking?”

Steve opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water. Truthfully, he hadn’t. He’d overlooked the idea that, after everything that had happened between you, you might just be joking about kissing him.

“You know you could use your actual charm to get a girl to kiss you?” Robin dips her chin, shaking her head like it’s obvious.

Steve frowns. As if he hasn’t already tried that. “Do you have any chocolate coins or not?”

Robin sighs exasperatedly. “I don’t think I’ve seen one of those things since we worked at Scoops. Sorry, bud. You’re out of luck.”

“FUCK!” Steve’s hand smacks the door as he heads out of the back room, making Robin scowl after him. She shakes her head as she turns back to her work.

Back out on the sales floor, the credits to The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly have finished, and white noise fills the empty space. Steve turns in a circle by the checkout counter, searching for you among the aisles.

Where did you disappear to, this time? A part of him dreads the answer. He was the one who fucked everything up- he shouldn’t have chickened out when he had the chance. He should have asked you to that fucking prom, but he was too scared to commit after what happened with Nancy.

If this is his last chance, he needs to make it count.

He coughs into the dead air, and says, “Looks like we’re all out of The Breakfast Club.” There’s a disconcerting amount of silence that leaves him cold, almost certain that you’ve left already, for the last time.

Then, you appear from behind the red curtain to the adult videos section.

Oh.

“Everything okay?” you ask sweetly as you approach, holding a couple tapes that you must have picked up while you shopped around. “I heard some yelling back there.”

“Oh, yeah. Just, uh… shelving issues.” Steve backs his way behind the counter. He repeats, “Sorry, I couldn’t find the movie for you.”

“I heard. I’m not worried about it.” You plop the tapes that you did find on the counter. “It was nice of you to look for me. Thanks, Steve.”

“Always.” Steve starts scanning your tapes; it looks like you managed to find the other films on your list, along with one for yourself. From the adult section.

You watch in amusement as you can see the cogs visibly turning in Steve’s head, while he stares at the front of the porn video you picked. Spring Break Sex Party II. Not that you’d ever seen the first one, but the cover of this one was suggestive enough- a bunch of drunk people naked on a beach, lying in a great big pile. Looks like fun, in your opinion.

You always love seeing Steve blush. The prettiest shade of pink colors his cheeks before he glances up at you. “Should I ask…?”

“It’s the closest thing to getting a Sex on the Beach, here.”

Steve chokes, and he scrambles for a response to that. “I- I was gonna ask for an I.D.”

“You know we’re the same age,” you deadpan.

“Y-yeah. I, uh- I know… I know that.” He hangs his head and pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes tightly shut.

You wonder if this is what you looked like to him, that time in the hallway when he loitered by the fountain to talk to you. “Breathe, Steve.”

A blast of laughter leaves his mouth before he can swallow it. If only you knew how hard it actually is, to act like he’s not just fucking melting right in front of you. When he hangs on every word you say, and every other thought he has is about how badly he wants to tell Robin to get lost and take you in the back room. You don’t know how much he’s fixating on your curves and how they’d feel against him, how much he wants to taste every inch of your body. He’s practically vibrating in place with all his pent up frustration, and you’re here buying porn, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Steve clears his throat, shakes his head. Christ. “Okay, well. You know that this is a sale item, it’s not for rent. You can return it within 10 days as long as the packaging hasn’t been opened.”

“I know.”

“Okay.” He’s still nodding as he puts it into the bag with the rest of your rentals.

“Are you always this affected by people buying from the adult section?” you ask mildly.

“Nah, usually I don’t care,” he replies without thinking.

“Good to know that you care about my taste in pornography,” you tell him with the most shit eating grin on your face, taking the bag from him. “I’m flattered.”

He makes a clumsy noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. He’s right back to working at Scoops Ahoy, fumbling every attempt at flirting, losing his cool at the sight of a pretty girl. It’s… humbling.

He’s sure Robin would say that he can always use more humility.

“It was good to see you again, Steve.” And just like that, you’re sand slipping through the cracks in his fingers.

Desperately, he tries to block the flow, closing his fingers around you in an attempt to keep you in his grasp. “Do you- uh-” He lurches forward, white-knuckling the counter like his life depends on it. You turn back towards him, an eyebrow raised at his sudden outburst.

You’re back in the school hallway, senior year. Crying over Logan Sawyer. Harrington is up against the wall by the drinking fountain. You want him to just say the words and ask you to prom.

“I mean… if you have the time, while you’re in town… do you want to go for a cup of coffee? With me?”

“Oh, Steve.” You sigh, and it’s the most heartbreaking noise he’s ever heard in his life. Soft sand, falling through his fingers, disappearing back the way you came. He already dreads your answer before it comes. “I wish… you know, if I had come in here and met you about a week ago, I would have said yes in a heartbeat. But I have to catch the train back to Chicago tomorrow. My break’s almost up.” You offer him a reassuring smile. “I’m just glad that you didn’t completely miss me, at least.”

“Right, of course.” Steve smiles back at you, feeling more like an idiot the longer this drags on. He’s like Sisyphus rolling that rock up the fucking hill. “I… I’m glad I got to see you, too. Maybe next time.”

Oh, it hurts. It hurts way more than you thought it would, to have to turn Steve down- after all the years pining for him through high school, after the time you turned him away when he would have kissed you. You think about kissing him, now. He would let you do it- he’s asking you out, and he looks so sad that you’re saying no.

You could. But wouldn’t it make saying goodbye this time even harder than it already is?

“Yeah. Maybe next time,” you tell him. You don’t want this to hurt more than it does. You truly hope there’s a next time, another year down the line when you run into him over winter break. Maybe you’ll find him at the Radio Shack.

Steve watches you leave, once again. Fumbling his chance, again. When the door swings shut behind you, Steve bends at the waist and drops his head against the countertop.

Typical Harrington. Late to the party, miss the girl.

“Well. That was… really painful to listen to.” Robin emerges from behind one of the shelves, crossing her arms. Gently, she adds, “On the bright side, I don’t think the chocolate coin would have mattered.”

Steve picks his head up, and he thwacks his forehead back down onto the counter.

And again.

And I can see you being my addiction, you can see me as a secret mission. Hide away, and I will start behaving myself…

Sur La Table Restaurant, Chicago, April 1991

You shake your umbrella out as you step into the warm foyer of, quite possibly, the most upscale restaurant you’ve ever set foot in. The carpet is deep, blood red, the walls a dark chestnut wood. The white covered tables are each spotlit within the otherwise dark dining room, and the atmosphere is flavored by soft piano and the quiet din of hushed voices.

You had been hesitant to accept Theo’s invitation to dinner- he seemed too stuck up for your taste, but when Shelly introduced you to him, you had to admit that the name of the restaurant piqued your interest. Sur La Table. Chicago’s premiere Michelin Star restaurant.

As you hand your umbrella over to the coat check clerk, you’re greeted by a smiling hostess. “What’s the name for the reservation?”

“Um… Theo Bowman. I believe he’s already here?”

“Yes, ma’am. Right this way.”

Theo stands as you’re shown to the table. Tall, with dark hair and a wide smile, he reminds you of someone you knew once, but you just can’t seem to place it. Then, when he towers over you to shake your hand, standing far closer than necessary, you’re able to pick it out from the recesses of your mind.

Logan Sawyer.

“You look nice,” Theo says pleasantly, and you chalk up your initial comparison to nerves, on your part. You don’t often let friends set you up on dates, so you’re a little bit out of your element as it is.

As you go to sit down, you admit, “I was so glad when you picked this place, I’ve always wanted to eat here, since I moved to Chicago.”

“It’s not the nicest place I’ve been,” Theo shrugs, taking the seat across from you.

Your smile falters, for a second. “Oh, no?” The water has already been brought to the table, you guess while he was waiting for you. You take a long drink.

“Nah, I’ve been to Le Bernardin, in New York. That’s fine dining.” Theo waves his hand at the upscale dining room. “This is… okay.”

“I see.” You lift your menu, hoping that he’ll do the same.

“Yeah, New York is so much nicer than Chicago, in my opinion,” Theo continues, fiddling with his napkin as he talks. “There’s a lot more to do. Have you ever been?”

You hope this is just his nerves talking. “No.”

Theo keeps talking as you stare at the menu in front of you, at a loss. It’s an a la carte menu, clearly, but extensive and all in french. Salade de poires pochées. Coquilles Saint-Jacques Gratineés. Filet au poivre vert. You’re scrutinizing the fine print of what all the dishes include when your waiter steps up to the table. You know when it happens, because Theo finally stops blathering about New York.

You break your eyes away from the menu to glance at the server’s waistline, at eye level with you. He wears a crisply pressed suit and tie, his hands clasped in front of his belt.

“Good evening sir, ma’am,” the server says in a hushed tone, to keep the volume of the dining room down. “Welcome to Sur La Table. I’m Steven, I’ll be serving you this evening. Before we begin, are there any questions about the menu?”

You peer up into the darkness to try to see Steven’s face. He’s standing just outside of the spotlight over the table, only able to be dimly lit from the indirect light reflecting from the tablecloth. Once your eyes adjust, they lock onto a pair of familiar hazel ones.

Oh my fucking god.

It’s got to be fate, or kismet, or some force of nature that keeps bringing you together like this. Steve Harrington’s face hasn’t changed in five years. Maybe he looks just slightly older, a little more filled out in his suit and tie. His hair is a bit shorter at the back but still that same shade of golden brown, neatly groomed and tidy for the formal atmosphere- but you can see it being tousled on his off days, still flopping across his eyes in waves. And those are the same lips you dreamt about kissing, the same eyes you admired in the school hallway, the same nose that you always wanted to grind o-

“No, I think we’re ready to order,” Theo announces, louder than necessary. You throw your gaze at him, your eyebrows raising despite your best efforts to remain calm.

Is he really going to order for you? Just like that?

“Well, I was going to ask-” you begin, wanting to get a little more specification on how the filet is made, when Theo cuts you off.

“It’s okay, I speak French,” he insists. Not that it makes a difference to what your question was.

You press your lips together in irritation and glance at Steve, who looks back at you stoically. You wonder if he recognizes you like you do him- it’s been long enough, and you’re sure that you look a bit different than you did the last time you saw him. And then you notice the creases around his eyes.

He’s playing it off well enough, sure. But Steve is doing that same look that he did there in the Family Video five years ago, trying to pretend that he’s not affected by you, swallowing back his smile. He sends you a knowing look that says, What a fucking douchebag, am I right?

Suddenly, this date just got way more entertaining. You give Steve a minute roll of your eyes, only enough for him to notice. Tell me about it.

“We’ll start with the Bordeaux,” Theo is already reciting to Steve as you settle back in your seat. Steve pulls a little notepad out of his jacket pocket and begins writing. “For an appetizer, the coquilles. Then for the main, I’ll have the canard montmorency, and she’ll have the mignons de veau.”

You watch Steve’s hand pause as he’s writing, and he looks to you. He raises his eyebrow, saying everything he needs to with the one gesture. Is that what you really want? “The veal?”

“No,” you say, digging your thumbnail into your palm, where it rests on your lap. “Actually, I wanted to ask about the filet. What brandy is the sauce made with?”

Steve smiles, leaning a little bit closer to you. “We use Courvoisier.”

“Great. I’ll have that, please.”

Steve nods encouragingly at you. As he jots down the order, he says, “Wonderful. I’ll get this to the kitchen for you, but before I can bring you the wine, I’ll just need to see the lady’s I.D.”

“Are you serious?” Theo snaps.

“It’s all right,” you murmur, hiding your face as you dip your head to fish your I.D. out of your clutch. “He’s just doing his job. Right, Steven?”

Steve meets your eye as he takes the card from your hand. “You can never be too careful.” You watch him smirk as he looks over your I.D., his eyes lingering on your name for a second before he hands it back to you. If there was any doubt in his mind that you are who he thought, it’s gone now. “Interesting. We’re the same age.”

You laugh. Probably a little louder than is respectable, but you can’t help it. Leave it to Steve Harrington to remind you of the time you bought porn from him, while you’re on a date.

You watch Steve write something else on his notepad, and rip the page out before folding it up. He tucks his notepad into his pocket as he says, “I’ll get this started for you. I hope you enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you, Steven,” you offer just as he starts to walk away.

Steve shoots you a sideways glance. “Always.”

Your heartbeat pounds in your chest as you turn back to your date. Theo looks disgruntled, but he just lifts his water to his lips.

“So,” you begin, “what do you do?”

“Marketing manager,” Theo says, with a click of his tongue. “For Bowman Wine & Spirits.”

“Oh,” you nod. “No relation, I suppose?”

“My father owns the company.”

“Right.” God, help me.

Across the dining room, Steve watches you over his shoulder. His jaw sets as he sees you, the girl of his literal dreams, sitting across from some idiot who doesn’t even know that you don’t order for your date without asking her what she wants first, you fucking weasel.

That’s all right. You seem to have the situation under control, for now. Steve watches you calmly sip your water, staring at your date but not listening to a thing he’s saying.

Steve sighs. He’s never been much of a schemer, but he’ll just make sure that you won’t leave with this guy if you don’t want to.

His fingers brush the note in his pocket, and he pinches it just as he passes the front of house manager, Taryn. Without breaking stride, he slips the note into her hand, heading toward the back hallway and down to the wine cellar.

As Steve passes by, Taryn unfolds the note he slips her, and raises one eyebrow at the request he’s written.

I can see you in your suit and your necktie, pass me a note saying, “Meet me tonight.” Then we kissed and you know I won’t ever tell…

Overall, you enjoy Sur La Table immensely. The restaurant itself, anyways. The wine is wonderful. The atmosphere is great. The food is exquisite.

You’re about to jump the waiter’s bones.

Theo got his second wind sometime after the scallops arrived, and you think he hasn’t paused for breath since. You’ve been calmly eating your food, while Theo tells you literally everything about himself. It’s the best case scenario you can see happening on this date. You enjoy the food, mumble a non-committal acknowledgement now and then, and Theo entertains himself with his own voice the rest of the time.

You’re gonna kill Shelly for setting you up with him, but that’s tomorrow’s problem.

Right now, you’re focused on finishing your glass of wine while he talks about camping, of all things.

“So we got up into the Rockies,” he’s telling you, gesturing with his hands like it’ll make you more engaged. “We ended up freezing our keisters off. No joke, I have frostbite scars.”

“That’s, um… that sounds like fun.”

“No, are you listening? I mean, it was terrible. We couldn’t move for, like, two days. And when the snow stopped we were so tired and cold, we almost died.”

You knock back the rest of your wine with one gulp, and say with a sticky voice, “Wow. A near death experience must have been really scary, I’m sorry.”

Theo frowns. “No- I mean… It wasn’t… it wasn’t near death-”

“You just said-”

“It was more like a serious inconvenience, you know. But we pulled through. I wasn’t scared. A little snow isn’t gonna kill me,” he laughs incredulously. “It was just-”

Theo stops as Steve approaches the table. You catch him giving the back of Theo’s head the most murderous look imaginable before slowing to a stop and plastering an easy customer service smile in its place. “How did you find everything this evening?”

“It was fine.”

“The food was wonderful,” you tell Steve reassuringly. Your date, on the other hand…

“Yeeeah, could we get the check, please?” Theo asks, finally looking up at Steve.

You watch Steve’s brow twitch, such a small movement you could have imagined it. “Certainly. But first-” from behind his back, he reveals two white gift boxes and places them on the table in front of you and your date, respectively. “We like to give each of our customers a signature chocolate truffle, as a token of our appreciation.”

Everything in you aches. “Oh, that’s nice. Thank you so much.” You look down at the box in adoration, thinking for a second that it might be the only time in your life that Steve Harrington gives you something similar to a ring box.

“I’ll be sure to have our hostess come through with the check,” Steve adds delicately, making a gracious exit. His finger just slightly brushes your arm as he passes by- a dangerous move, but one that nearly electrifies your entire body at the single touch. You shiver as he says, “Have a lovely night.”

You watch Steve walk away from you, and your heart sinks into your stomach. You want to chase after him. The 18 year old you, who almost kissed him on prom night, is trying to claw its way out of your skin and bolt after him.

When Steve disappears from view, you have nowhere to look but at your date. Theo opens the white box in front of him and pops a neapolitan colored truffle into his mouth. “Well, that was underwhelming.”

You don’t want to watch him chewing anymore, like a cow gnawing on grass. You sigh, running a frustrated hand across your forehead, and flip open the box in front of you. The top of it rears up like a clam shell, and you freeze, your fingertips suddenly sticking to the sweat beading on your brow.

You don’t have a neapolitan truffle- you have a single golden chocolate coin. You stare at it in shock for a second before you even notice the note pasted to the lid of the box.

Meet me outside- the door past the bathrooms.

“Aren’t you gonna eat yours?” Theo asks suddenly, as the hostess approaches holding the check.

Your eyes snap up just as your heart shoots back up into your chest. “I think I’m gonna save it for later.” You flash him a smile as you close the box swiftly and shove it into your clutch. “Do you mind if I hit the bathroom real quick?”

“No, go ahead. I’ve got it.” Honestly, it’s the kindest thing he’s done for you all night. You might have to thank him some day.

Once you’re out of your seat, you chase after Steve like a shot. Around a block of tables and into a tiled corridor, you walk past the kitchen doorway just as another server comes backing out, carrying a tray of dishes.

There’s a door at the end of the hall, labeled exit. You never actually thought you’d be escaping a bad date through the back door; the notion was too clichéed, you thought that sort of thing only happened in movies. But you find yourself nearly running past the men’s and women’s bathrooms, until your hands slam down on the bar of the back door and thrust it open into the wind.

The rain has picked up, more of a downpour than a light drizzle now. In your haste, you’d left your umbrella and coat with the coat check. Not that it would have been at all discrete if you’d gone to collect it before running towards the bathrooms.

The door clicks shut behind you, and you gaze around in the dark. The alley behind the restaurant is only partially lit by a yellow street lamp, making it even more difficult to find him than it was in the dining room. “Steve?”

You catch movement in the corner of your eye, and turn in the direction of the street lamp. Steve stands up from where he’d been sitting on an overturned crate- apparently the only accommodations the restaurant staff gets during a smoke break. The rain has already soaked into his hair, messing up the tidy style and turning it stringy, falling across his forehead, shining gold in the yellow light. He takes one last puff of the cigarette in his mouth before tossing it into the gutter, and he looks at you.

He sees you. And it’s all you’ve wanted since the day he first walked into your geography class, freshman year of high school. There’s been some kind of a magnetic pull between you two for years. Something keeps bringing you together, it’s just never been the right time. Until now.

Finally, you’re running towards him, and Steve’s arms finally come around you, pulling you against his body. Your hands find the back of his neck just in time for his lips to crash against yours.

You had lost count of the amount of times you watched him kiss other girls in the hallway in high school- not just Nancy, but any and every girl he attached himself to (for a while, it seemed like he couldn’t make up his mind who he was dating at any given moment). All you knew was that it was never you, and you wanted it to be so desperately that it consumed your mind half the time. He looked like a good kisser, and you fantasized about going up to him and testing that theory for yourself.

But you never expected that his lips would slide over yours with an urgency that you could feel through to your very core, probably even more desperate for your kiss than you are for his. Steve’s fingertips press into your body through the thin fabric of your dress, holding you firmly to him like he’s afraid you might disappear on him again if he doesn’t absorb you completely. Your mouth opens with a soft gasp, and Steve’s tongue against yours tastes like tobacco.

It happens so fast that you can’t even think- and you don’t really want to. You’re tired of thinking everything through, finding reasons upon reasons why it’s not a good time, why it’s a bad idea, why it won’t work. He moans into you, grabbing the side of your face as he stumbles with you to the wall, pressing you up against the side of the brick building.

You meet his moan with a whimper of your own as his hand slides down over the curve of your ass, and he hikes up the skirt of your dress to grab at your skin with abandon. There’s a ferocity in Steve’s kiss that you don’t know what to do with, like he’s trying to stake a claim to you right there in the rain, with no one around to see it happen but the moths in the street light overhead. Not that he needs to- he’s already got you. You already chose him.

Steve gives you room to breathe with a soft sigh, his forehead resting against yours. “Been wanting to do that since high school,” he admits, just loud enough for you to hear, before pressing a featherlight kiss just beside your mouth, and again to your cheek.

“Y-you fffucking-?” you gasp when he latches his lips around a sweet spot on your neck and sucks. “I had such a huge crush on you, Steve.”

“I know. I- I should have- I should…” Steve drops his head against your shoulder and groans when your nails rake against his scalp. “Fuck.”

He grinds his hips up against yours, biting your lip as the hard length of his cock presses up against your core. “Gonna fuck me in this alleyway, Harrington?”

“I’m seriously considering it,” he growls into your ear. His lips find yours again with a passion, his hand holding your jaw still. A hot breath escapes him, pouring over your skin and making you shiver. You’re lightheaded, so close to just letting him do it, too, when the back door of the restaurant swings open.

Steve still takes a second to pull away, a little too absorbed in kissing you to really care who sees him do it. If he had his way, he’d have everyone see that you’re his- that you belong with him, and have for a long time. He finally glances over his shoulder to see one of the cooks, Liam, walking off in the direction of the employee parking lot.

“Where did you get the fucking doubloon?” you whisper into his ear, sounding so fucking adorable that Steve can’t help the lovesick look he gives you.

He brushes his nose against yours. “I sent my manager on a treasure hunt.” You giggle, pressing your forehead up against his, and he can’t help but chuckle along with you. “I wanted to give you one at Family Video, that time.”

“I know,” you say, and he pulls back to look at your face. “I heard you yelling at your coworker in the back room.”

Steve snickers and turns red with embarrassment, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his rain-soaked hair, a content smile on your face as you feel him grin against your skin and shake with laughter. “Take me home, Steve.”

You don’t have to ask him twice.

What would you do, baby, if you only knew? That I can see you throw your jacket on the floor, I can see you make me want you even more…

The drive to Steve’s apartment downtown is made with light conversation and the heavy, heavy weight of his hand on your thigh, creeping up further with each mile. But aside from the implication of sex hanging in the air, it’s as easy as breathing, chatting about the night with him. Shitting on Theo.

“Did you notice the way he said coquilles,” Steve murmurs to you at a red light. “I thought he was gagging on something. He was just trying to impress you, you know.”

You grunt. Could’ve tried a little harder. “He didn’t even like them. He said he didn’t like shellfish,” you laugh in return as you lace your fingers through Steve’s. “Why the fuck would you order scallops, then?”

“The price.”

It’s sweet, talking to him all the way to his apartment building, just catching up like old friends. He tells you that he’s going to culinary school now, and he’s been working at the restaurant for a little over a year, just to pay the bills.

“Culinary school? Really?” you say, with a note of awe in your voice.

“Turns out I’m really fucking good at cooking,” Steve chuckles. “Who’d have thought? Maybe someday I’ll stop waiting tables and work back there in the kitchen.”

“I can see it,” you tell him softly. “I can see you being the world’s best chef. Three stars and everything.”

He scoffs, but a pink blush creeps up the back of his neck. “You have too much faith in me.”

“Those are fighting words, Harrington.” You wag your finger at him. “Throwing down the gauntlet?”

“You just want me to cook you something,” Steve tuts.

“Absolutely, I do.” You consider him for a moment, in the passing light of a streetlamp. “Am I that transparent?”

Steve tilts his head to eye you meaningfully, and he smirks. “Always have been, honey.” His thumb rubs a little circle on your thigh that has you squirming in your seat.

The first thing you see of Steve’s apartment is the kitchen, and beyond that the dormant living room, but you don’t get that far before you’re sidetracked. Steve throws his keys onto a drop station by the door, and pins you up against the refrigerator before you can even think to ask where to put your shoes.

Your clothes are still damp, your hair still pasted to your clammy skin. Steve’s lips are attacking yours and his hands are grabbing at everything he can touch, but it’s still not enough. He’s not able to feel all of you at once, and it’s driving him insane with every passing moment.

Steve roughly yanks his suit jacket off, throwing it onto the tile floor beside the kitchen island. “Lay down.”

“What?” you whisper to him as he kisses your neck, guiding you away from the side of the fridge. “Here?”

“Right here,” Steve states, not joking in the slightest. You wobble on your feet as you kick off your heels, but his hands on your hips keep you steady. “Been waiting too long for this- can’t wait anymore.”

“I- wwhuh-?” you gasp as Steve kneels in front of you, and your knees buckle involuntarily as he lays you down across his discarded jacket. Your hands grab his shoulders as you tumble backward, taking him with you.

He face-plants into your stomach with a noisy, “Oof.” Cackling, you run your fingers through his damp hair, as he laughs and shoves his blushing face further against your torso. Steve litters your stomach with kisses, giggling against you with a note of nervous energy. He’s adorable.

You pet your fingers down the side of his face and he leans into the touch. “Can’t even wait long enough to take me to the bedroom?”

“Well, I would have fucked you in the alley,” Steve points out as his fingers breach the hem of your skirt and find your panties. He tugs as he says, “Be thankful I even got you home.”

Your cheeks burn hot. You fidget, trying to press your thighs together to abate the throbbing ache between them. “Careful, baby. You’re starting to sound desperate.”

Steve pauses, his hazel eyes lighting up when they lock on yours. “Call me that again,” he requests, pressing a kiss to your ankle as he pulls your panties off your feet. He tosses them over his shoulder, but you don’t see where they land as he continues peppering kisses down your calf.

You hold his gaze. “Baby?” His eyes flutter, his lips parting as they drag up toward your knee. “You like when I call you that?”

“I like when you call me anything,” Steve admits. “But as long as you call me that, it means I’m yours.”

Your breath stutters in your chest. Steve Harrington is yours. It doesn’t matter if it’s just for tonight- what matters is that you have him now, and he wants you just as badly.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” he murmurs quietly against your skin, his voice crackling with brimming need. He’s flushed, his cheeks pink and his hair drying in tousled waves over his forehead the longer he drags this out.

Nodding your head, you reach down to lace your fingers through his, where they’re bunching your skirt up around your hips. “Yes, Steve.” Always have been.

He turns his head and sucks a spot on your calf, just below your knee, resting your ankle over his shoulder. Still, despite your desperation, you nervously keep your thighs pinched together.

Steve tuts, “C’mon, baby, you’ve gotta spread your legs for me. You wanna let me see that pretty pussy, right?”

Still clammy and cold with rain, the air on your exposed skin makes you shiver almost as much as his sweeping hands do when they gently part your thighs. You let go, let him take control as you still and keep your eyes focused on his face, because looking anywhere else would remind you that this is real, and not a dream.

Steve sighs, “There she is. Y’gonna let me taste you, sweetheart?” He bats his pretty eyes at you in a way that makes your heart stop dead in your chest. He can’t keep his mouth off of you, even for a moment, his lips and slight stubble dragging across your skin as he says, “Been wanting to forever, you won’t even believe-”

“Please, Steve,” you start to beg before he even finishes his sentence. “Please, my god, I- I just- I just want you so much-”

“Sh-sh-sh-shh.” His tongue licks wet and hot against your inner thigh before he whispers, “I’ve got you, baby. M’not going anywhere, I’m staying right here ‘til you cum.”

You’re instantly hot all over, your blood fucking boiling beneath your skin and your wet dinner dress. Steve’s fingers dig into the meat of your thighs as he yanks you toward his face, the fabric of his jacket beneath you audibly zipping along the kitchen floor.

Steve dips his head, and his mouth closes over your cunt right at the same moment that yours falls open with a moan that won’t come out, because you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe. The noise stalls right at the beginning- your lungs stop working and you can’t seem to get them to start again, because Steve’s tongue is everywhere, dripping wet and gentle on skin that’s way too sensitive to handle it right now. Your hips try to jerk away from him in resistance, but he slams his hand down on them, holding you hard and still against the tile floor, his shoulders pushed up against the backs of your thighs to keep them open.

Steve takes a break just long enough to grin evilly up at you, because he’s been waiting for five years to tell you to, “Breathe, sweetheart.”

“Fffffuck,” you manage to spit out finally, your voice cracking on the word like it didn’t even really want to put in the work to make it happen. Your breath comes back into your lungs all at once, rapid firing with a dozen moans for punctuation. Steve’s lips quirk against you, and he rumbles a noise of satisfaction against your pussy that makes you jolt in his hold again. “Steve…”

He pulls off of you with a slow, slow stroke of his tongue over your clit, making you whimper high and tight in your throat. “That’s it, baby,” Steve whispers, his breath fanning across your slick cunt, his left hand leaving your hip so that he can drag his knuckles teasingly through your swollen folds. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Feels so right.”

Two long fingers sink into you with ease, stirring the need in you to have him just simply destroy you. You moan loud, your hand shooting out and wrapping around the leg of a bar stool for the kitchen island beside you.

“Poor thing’s just so sensitive, huh?” Your head arches backwards against the floor, your pussy clenching tight around his fingers as he curves them with practiced accuracy. Steve’s voice is a deep murmur, distant thunder rolling over your nerves, “Relax for me, honey. You’ve waited long enough, just let it happen. Let me give you what you want.”

His lips shine when you look down at him, your hand reaching to run through his hair. Stifling a whine that threatens to come out when he kisses your clit and bends his fingers within you, you stutter out, “J-just want… I- ha-ah! Just want you.”

Steve purrs. “I know.” The crisp white fabric of his shirt scrapes against your thighs, almost rough in comparison to his tongue flat on your pussy. You can hear the wet, salacious sound of his fingers pumping into you, pulling you toward the edge of oblivion. He hisses through his teeth, shaking his head slightly. “God, I’m so fuckin’ lucky.”

“Y-you-?” you manage a laugh, scraping your nails along his scalp lightly. “You’re lucky? You have n-no… fffucking idea-” You cut off with a sob when Steve wraps his lips around your clit, sucking long and hard enough that your leg twitches, your heel dragging up the back of his pristine white blouse. Your breathing picks up just as all your muscles lock down tight. “Jesus Christ-”

“There you go,” Steve praises as your orgasm shakes your body, your hand gripping his hair so hard that he groans softly into your damp skin. He doesn’t stop moving his fingers, lewd wet noises picking up and echoing through the quiet kitchen. “That’s a good girl. Mmm , felt so nice to let go, didn’t it?”

You don’t know if he really wants you to answer that- you’re still twitching, coming down from your high as he pulls his fingers from your spasming cunt and sucks them into his mouth. The pause gives you a gentle reprieve, sinking back onto his suit jacket beneath you. Then, his mouth finds your pussy again, his tongue delving deep into your entrance and laving up to your sensitive clit.

You gasp, throwing your hands down into his hair. “Steve-?!”

He moans in response. “Just needed to taste you some more, honey. Taste so fuckin’ sweet, I can’t get enough.” Steve relents, crawling up your body to hover his face over yours. “Still wanna see the bedroom?”

You nod excitedly, your hands finding his smiling face and stroking the hair away from his eyes. With a gentle kiss of his wet lips to yours, Steve gathers your still-wrecked body into his arms and carries you into his bedroom.

He’s struck by how blissful you are as he sets you down on his bed, so soft and inviting. He encourages your arms up, his hands finding the zipper of your wet dress and finally, finally, pulling it over your head so that he can see you. All your curves and edges on display for him, after all this time imagining what he couldn’t see with the naked eye.

“You’re so beautiful.” Steve repeats what he told you all those years ago at prom- he meant it then, and he means it now. Maybe even more this time, now that he’s not a stupid teenager, now that he finally has his head on his shoulders.

You shiver against him when he unclips your bra- black lace that matches the underwear sitting in his entryway. A possessive part of him rears up, knowing that you’d worn them to a date with some asshole who couldn’t treat you right, even for one hour of the guy’s miserable life. Steve dips his head and kisses your breast, so much softer now than he was before, feeling your heartbeat against his lips.

“Hey.” You gently tug him by his tie, loosening it and his collar. You look into his eyes, and his heart melts. “Where’d you go just now, sailor?”

Steve blushes, his eyes flicking down as you remove his tie and start unbuttoning his blouse. “Just thinking...” he trails off, eyeing you thoughtfully. “Just thinking I could have missed you again if I wasn’t careful.”

“Mmm,” you hum, your hands smoothing up his chest and over his shoulders to get his shirt off of him. It drops to the floor with a whisper. “I don’t think so. I think this was meant to happen, eventually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You scrunch your nose cutely, in a way that makes Steve’s pants tighten even more uncomfortably across his hips. “We’ve run into each other too many fuckin’ times, baby. Karma’s on our side.”

He laughs. “Karma.” He shakes his head as he undoes his belt.

You quirk your brow at him as your hands fiddle with the fly of his suit pants. “Don’t believe me?”

Steve grunts, shifting to lean over you. “I’ll believe anything you say when you’re taking my pants off, honey. I’m easy that way.”

Your nails rake through the hair on his chest- you can’t keep your hands off of him now that they’ve got him. You trace over two blotchy scars, one on either side of his torso that mirror each other. “What happened here?”

He blows a puff of air out of his mouth, rounding his cheeks as he shrugs. “Some… animals decided I looked really tasty, at one point. I know, they aren’t very pretty.”

Steve’s brushing over it like it’s nothing. You search his face, and you decide to do the same. “Actually, I think it’s kind of hot.” You drag your hand up to lay flat over his chest. You whisper conspiratorially, “Plus, I think you look really tasty, too.”

Steve quirks an eyebrow. “Y’gonna bite me about it?”

“Probably.” You wink. “Most likely.”

Your gaze falls indiscreetly to his cock, hard and flushed, glistening with precum and curving up toward his stomach. Girls talk, especially when they’re all trying to one-up each other; you knew that he was big. You’d heard the rumors. You’d seen him wearing those tight fucking jeans all the time, and you didn’t have to have much of an imagination to figure it out.

Still. It’s… a little overwhelming. You reach out a tentative hand, lightly wrapping your fingers around his base. They barely meet. Jesus Christ.

He groans, and kisses you until you can’t speak, resting his weight on top of you until you sink gleefully into the mattress. There’s a smile on your lips that transfers onto his, happiness and ease still flowing between you even as he grinds his hips up against yours.

“Ready?” Steve murmurs softly into your mouth, stealing your breath when you feel his cock slide through your folds, hot and fat.

“Dunno,” you tell him teasingly, but there’s an edge of reason to your words. Your hips squirm and you feel him even worse, slippery with your arousal. You whine. “I think you might kill me with that thing, Harrington.”

“I’ll go slow,” he whispers, hoarse in the back of his throat, his voice already shaking. “I’ll make sure you feel every bit of it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree as you reach to line him up properly. “I’m all yours.”

Steve gives a relieved sigh as he slides into you, his head falling heavily to your shoulder. His cock aches, his torso shaking as he tries to steady himself. “Oh my god.”

“Baby,” you coo, choking on a moan when he bottoms out. He’s so thick- your nails dig into his shoulder blades as you try to remember how to breathe. It’s certainly a big stretch to try to fit him, but you can’t help wanting more just as soon as he comes to a stop. You can feel him trying to hold steady, holding himself back as though it’s the hardest thing in the world for him to do.

Because it is. You can’t see it, the way that his brow is furrowed in concentration, his eyes screwed shut. He didn’t know it would be like this- that he’d be in danger of blowing it just as soon as he started.

Your heel digs into his ass, and he doesn’t know if you do it purposefully, but he almost whimpers.

You take a shuddering breath. “Please- please move, Steve, I can’t take it.”

Oh, you can’t take it? “You know what,” Steve says with a hint of strain in his voice, picking his head up to nuzzle his nose with yours, “I think you like me.”

You snort, and kiss him lightly. “What gave you that impression?”

“Y’so fucking cute.” Steve hums and sloooowly pulls his hips back, dragging his cock through your walls so deliciously that your toes curl. “Could be all those times you stared at me in class-” He watches your face as he pushes forward, until his hips are flush with yours and your head arches backwards against his sheets. “Could be when you nearly let me kiss you at prom-” Out. In. Steve runs his tongue up the length of your throat, and bites at your earlobe. He whispers, “Could be that you came on my tongue ten minutes ago.”

He picks up his pace, just a bit. Just enough to have the bed creaking under you with the rhythm, to have you moaning in tandem with him- needy and high pitched, leaping from your throat into the hot, sex-charged air.

Steve’s lips latch onto your neck, and he sucks hard. He eases up after just a couple seconds, dragging his tongue over the sensitive spot, but you know what he’s just done- he’s marked you, right where you won’t be able to hide it in the morning.

You want him to do it all over your body.

Your jaw goes slack and you’re losing all integrity. He’s even better than you imagined- sleepless nights wanting, hoping endlessly that you’d find yourself here, under him, couldn’t have prepared you for how perfect it feels. His hand finds yours and laces your fingers together, pinning it to the mattress beside your head, squeezing with every slow and purposeful thrust of his hips.

Steve’s cock finds your g-spot like it’s nothing, like he’s known your body for ages. He barely even has to try before you’re whimpering, raking your nails up his back and leaving long red trails behind.

Your teeth latch onto his shoulder and you bite, probably harder than you should, but you just can’t refuse the urge to mark him the way that he’s left his mark on you. He moans, a deep and boyish sound in your ear, as you drag your tongue along his shoulder, soothing the bite, tasting his sweat. The salt and the sweetness of his skin, mixed with the heady smell of sex in the room, have you losing yourself in him.

“Biter.” You hear him chuckle dangerously, rumbling along your skin while his nose skirts your jawline.

“You’re so good, Stevie-” you whine, hot pleasure rearing up in you like a tidal wave. “Oh, you feel so fucking good, I love- love how you feel inside me.”

Steve groans loudly into your shoulder, his teeth grazing your collarbone. You think he has a mind to bite you back- maybe he’d do it harder. You can see Steve drawing blood, when the mood suits him.

But his hand squeezes yours, his other sweeping broadly up your thigh and hitching your leg up further over his hip. “Yeah?” His voice is rough, bordering on a growl, “What’d’ya say we stay like this forever, huh? Just like this?”

His pelvis grinds up against yours, his pubes crushing against your clit making you gasp. Everything’s wet- your skin, his skin, the sheets. Sweaty bodies sticking and sliding against each other, your hips meeting his in the middle.

“Like this?” you gasp, your head reeling. His forehead presses against yours, and it’s just about the only thing bringing you back into focus. Steve doesn’t falter, keeping the same pace and rhythm while he watches you try to form a coherent reply. “Mm- I- I, hhuh-”

“C’mon, babygirl,” he breathes against your damp skin, “you can do better than that. You love my cock so much, you wanna keep it warm all the time? Wanna stay in bed with me forever, is that it?”

You nod fervently, your hands grabbing at his neck, his hair, his shoulder- anywhere you can touch. “Yes, yes. God, Steve, I- you’re gonna make me cum, shit-”

“I know it,” Steve murmurs, tugging your lip between his teeth and making you whine again. Your cunt pulses around him, and he hisses, his hand slipping on your thigh. “Love seein’ you all drunk on my cock- shit, you’re so gorgeous like this.” He pauses to kiss you, making you lightheaded, making you tug at his hair. “Y’look so pretty under me, baby. Pussy feels so good, I wanna stay here, too. I can see us doin’ this for the rest of our lives, huh? How’s that sound?”

How does it sound? You and Steve Harrington, together forever? Intertwined, knotted up with no way to lose each other, no disappearing and then reappearing years down the line?

“S’that a challenge?” you whimper shakily at him. “Throwing down the gauntlet?”

“I don’t think I could let you go, now,” Steve tells you firmly, his hand leaving your thigh so that he can grab your jaw possessively, his tongue darting out to trace gently across your bottom lip. “I’m never gonna let you go, baby.”

You wrap your legs around his waist. “I don’t want you to.”

“I hope so,” he whispers, his breath mingling with yours.

Steve kisses you long and slow when you cum. You swallow his moans when he does.

What would you? Baby, if you only knew that I can see you, oh, I can see you…

You almost think it’s a dream. When you rouse in the morning, you feel like you imagined it. But you’re surrounded by the scent of Steve, of musky cologne and sweat and sex, and maybe just a little bit of hair gel stuck to his pillows.

You flop over and stare at the ceiling. You’re alone in a king size bed, fitted with gray sheets and a few too many pillows. The other side of the bed is still warm, but your paramour is nowhere to be found. His bedroom is fairly stark, with a few little things arranged on the dresser top and clothes thrown around the floor. It doesn’t feel like a room he spends much time in, aside from sleeping and dressing in the morning.

You immediately think about what this all means for you. Whether he really meant what he said in the heat of the moment, if he really wants this to be a long-term thing or if it was just pillow talk. It doesn’t take you long to determine which one you want it to be.

There’s commotion on the other side of the closed door. You lean over the side of the bed, searching for something to put on before you just waltz out there naked. Ultimately, you pull on his blouse from last night.

You emerge from the bedroom squinting against the light in the room. The blinds in the living room are open, casting bright sunlight across the room and into the kitchen. You find Steve in front of the stove.

“Hey, there she is!” he announces happily. “Just in time for breakfast.”

Steve looks so comfortable in the kitchen, moving around quickly and efficiently, whereas you tend to blunder about. When you wander over to the island, you notice he’s already picked up his suit jacket, and laid it across the bar stool next to the one you choose.

Your underwear is nowhere to be seen.

You grin at his back, plopping down onto the bar stool. The metal is cold against your bare ass, nearly making you squeal and jump back up. “Is it a Sex on the Beach?”

He laughs gleefully. “Nah, if only. How was that, by the way?”

“The ice cream, or the porn?”

He turns to grin at you over his shoulder. “Both.”

He’s wearing glasses. Round wire frames that complement his face perfectly, making him look distinguished in his gray sweats and black t-shirt. Just like that, you’re spiraling. Suddenly, you’re picturing yourself being here, with him cooking breakfast in his glasses and PJ’s every morning, on and on into the future. Doing domestic shit, grocery shopping, dancing around in the kitchen at 3 am, kissing in the rain- well, you’ve already done that one.

But you can see it. That future, with him by your side, it’s right there. You just don’t know if it’s the one that he wants. You don’t really know how deep this runs for him.

Funny what just an accessory can do to your train of thought.

“Um.” You swallow. What was the question? “The ice cream was great. Still the best sundae I’ve ever had, by the way. The porn was bullshit, I didn’t get through twenty minutes. I just wanted to make you blush.”

“Brat.” He spins around, and plates an omelet right in front of you. You watch his face, tracing the easy smile he wears. “I hope you like it- but if you don’t, you better not say anything. I don’t think I could handle the pain of your rejection.” He looks up at you, hazel eyes shining gold in the sunlight. “You’re staring.”

“I-” you blink at him. You don’t fucking say. You open your mouth to ask- you want to ask what this is, what he feels, did he mean it. Do you want to do this again? Is this serious for you? Because it is for me, if you want it. You just don’t get that far.

“You’ve been staring since we were fourteen,” he chuckles, sliding you a fork.

That startles you. “Well,” you click your tongue. “I didn’t realize you were looking so closely.”

“Oh,” Steve shrugs, turning to place the pan in the sink. “Just since freshman year. When you read Juliet’s monologue in English class. Remember?”

You tilt your head. Vaguely. It was just a class project, where each person had to choose a Shakespearean monologue to recite in front of the class. You thought he only even became aware of you senior year.

Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee, Take all myself.

“Are you telling me,” you say, palms flat on the counter as you peer at him incredulously, “you’ve liked me just as long as I’ve liked you?”

“Told you I’d get there, eventually.”

Your brain refuses to compute. You stare at his back, his tousled hair, and want to yank him toward you and squeeze him like one of those fucking squeaky toys that you get at the pet store. The ones the eyes pop out of.

Steve turns to you with a smirk, leaning across the counter to mirror you. He reaches forward to trace the mark he made on your neck, still tender, while mocking your pout back at you. His eyes crease at the corners, like they always do when he’s trying to be coy.

“Eat your breakfast, baby. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

(I see you, I see you, baby.)

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #roses*

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myladysapphire · 6 months ago

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The Dragon and the Wolf

Prologue

You had been betrothed to Cregan stark at the start of the war. He was the noble and honourable stark that he was he supported your mother claim without restraint. So much so your mother saw it fit to betroth the two of you. So when disaster strikes and you and your younger brother are the only two survivors, you a shipped of north in your grief, leaving only Cregan to heal your wounds.

word count: 2,115

CW: angst, death and more death. not proofread!

Cregan Strak x Veleryon(strong)!reader

Masterlist | series masterlist | next part

disclamer: i do not own any of claim any of the A song of ice and fire characters, all rights belong to GRR MARTIN, all characters are his except for my Original characters

a/n prolouge, more of an info dump about dance of dragons and readers relationship with cregan during the war.

As snow blazed outside the castle your mind took you back to the days before your life was consumed with grief, the days when you have just arrived in Winterfell, sent by your mother to win over Cregan stark to support her cause.

You had been surprised your mother had sent you here and not the Vale, as she had done with your twin Jacearys. But you soon saw why.

It had been easy to convince Stark to join you’re the blacks, as they were now referred too, he was the noble and honourable lord stark, he kept his father’s oath with no complaints, and he allowed you to stay in Winterfell for as long as she wished. And you did stay, you liked the north, it gave you such a warm feeling, a feeling you had always felt you missed in the red keep and Dragonstone. You loved the north, you loved the snow, as did your dragon, Silverwing. You spent your whole life either in hot son or rainy storms, and yet, despite Cregan saying you were so warm it was if you your self was a dragon, you had always preferred the cold. And now when you felt the drops of snow fall onto your face you wished for the snow to never stop.

You remember Cregan showing you around Winterfell for the first time, taking you to the gods woods, he himself, as most in the north were, prayed to the old gods, and you who never once felt a calling to the gods, you felt it the second you entered the woods, the way the winds sang to you as you entered, the hot springs warming you instantly, and the gods tree. Despite having one in kings landing this sight was spectacular, it was so…peculiar and yet beautiful. With faces carved so naturally the faces seemed to move with he wordless song the wind sang you, and from the look on Cregan’s face he knew the exact feeling you were experiencing.

He was so welcoming to you, sending you smiles at every glance, looking for you in every room. You spent nearly every second together, whether it was talking politics and the facts of the alliance or hunting or walking the grounds. You seemed to do it together.

But you knew it was to good to be true, the second you heard Silverwing calling out, sensing another dragons presence, you knew only bad news would follow.

“Sister” you heard Jacearys greet as he dismounted Vermax, “Lord Stark” he bowed his head.

“Brother” you greeted back, “what brings you to the north?”

His face dropped, eyes filling with sadness. “I’m so sorry, I should have come sooner”

“what-“you didn’t understand what he was saying, but you knew it was bad, and it seemed so did the gods as the wind was growing hasher, wind aggressively hitting your face.

“Luke-“ Jace croaked, and your face started to drop “Aemond he…Luke’s dead”

You dropped, eyes filling with tears. You couldn’t believe it.

Aemond. He had once been your Aemond, your dearest companion, your betrothed. But then word had reached about his new betrothal to Floris Baratheon. Your marriage was supposed to unit the realm, prevent the war that would now be inevitable. You had felt some sadness over the news of his new betrothal, but in truth you hadn’t been close to him in years, you loved the idea of marrying him, but now…now the thought made you sick.

Jace had explained fully what had happened, the raging storm, the chase and the fall.

Killed riding a dragon, like a Targaryen, and buried at sea like a Veleryon, had it not been so tragic, it would be almost poetic.

Grief filled you, body and soul, and you hated that you didn’t know, for two weeks you lived in bliss, practically courting a man. As your brother, your sweet Luke lied dead and alone.

Your mother had searched the sea for those two weeks for the body, for hope that he lived, before biding Jace to retrieve you. You all needed each other, more than ever, consumed with grief and the rage. The grieving came first like all deaths, with the funeral taking place, though with no body you and Jace had burnt his clothes, saying teary prays, before having Lukes favourite food and sharing his favourite memories.

And then rage. You all wanted revenge, and Daemon had taken it upon himself to do just that, and before you knew it war raged.

You and Jace had returned to Winterfell, and though both deep in your grief, you found comfort once more in the snowy planes of Winterfell, and most of all the people within them.

It was funny, you and Cregan had fit so well together and then Jace came along and suddenly you felt replaced.

All the time you had once spent with Cregan, sword fighting, politicking, hunting and walking, was now done with Jace.

You supposed it was natural, he the future king and Cregan the warden of the north. But it was more than that, they were brothers. But you were his future wife, your mother having sent a raven to lord stark upon your return proposing the marriage, he had accepted instantly and you, you had accepted. Cregan was everything you wanted, a friend, handsome, ruggish and tall. But now you felt like you were begin ignored.

You weren’t jealous, it was what always happened.

You were shy and calm, Jace was loud and chaotic. They were opposites and he easily took the spotlight, not that she wanted it. They were twins, with him being born first, with black hair and brown eyes, and you with silver hair and Arryn blue eyes. You were the image of their mother and he, the image of their father, not that they would ever admit it. It was like he was the moon, and you were the sun. You were always there and nothing special, but people always took notice of the moon, every aspect of it was studied and praised, but the sun was only ever important when eclipsed by the moon. You were always by Jace’s side, and despite being a princess of the realm, he was a prince, the future king, who wouldn’t take notice of him first.

So, you stood on the sidelines, sometimes following the pair as they talked and talked, but most of her time was spent with Sara.

You and her too had a lot in common, having both understood what it was to be a bastard, to be left out. Though you didn’t admit it right out, she knew what you meant, from the way you understood her as she ranted and from how you related through your own experiences. Though they were different you were still outcasted and felt as if you lacked the natural respect others were given.

Though she had earnt that respect. she was respected throughout Winterfell, being the unofficial lady of Winterfell after the death of his wife, Arra Norrey, who died birthing their son, who was quick to follow his mother. The people of the north respected her but with you, the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen you always felt as if you owed something, something that you had to make up for. And instead of seeing the respect you did command you only saw the respect your brother was given

That respect for Jace only grew as the first battles were fought. As Jace grew into his position as heir and Cregan became a key advisor in the war.

It was a weird and terrorfying time, with you and Cregan betrothed but knew it would either end in death or a quick marriage. Neither of you knew how to act,, the days of your endless conversations changing to shy smiles and even shyer words.

And then he left, leading his own battle in your mother’s name.

Then Jacearys died alongside Viserys, them both joining Luke in their burial at sea.

And moons later her mother took Kings Landing. Her younger brother Joffrey now heir, but not even a moon into her mothers new reign as an uprising began, the dragon pit raided, dragons killed, and her brother tortured a killed.

you were beside herself in grief, guilt coursing through you as you had left, you had gone, leading your mother’s forces to lead your second battle of Tumbleton, and though you had won, and caused the death of your uncle Daeron and a large number of the green forces, you returned to even more chaos.

you were surrounded by death, and slowly became more and more alone.

As Aegon retook Kings Landing, his men holding you and your only surviving sibling Aegon as her mother was burnt alive before them.

Then the death if both Aemond and Daemon above the gods eye.

You were all alone, separated from your brother, Cregan thousands of miles away. And she locked in a keep waiting for Aegon to decide whether to kill you or marry you.

you prayed for the former, wishing to join them, your sweet brothers.

Jace, your sweet twin, you had always thought they would leave the world together, they came in it together it only seemed right. you had felt so empty, as if you were missing the other half of yourself. you regretted that so many of your memories of him were clouded in envy, and regretted not cherishing every moment you could with him.

Luke, sweet Luke, so kind and nervous and though not innocent, he deserved so much better. you missed him so much, and hated how he was taken so young, so horrifyingly.

And Joffrey, he was just a babe, wanting to be as brave and strong as his sister and brothers, killed by the mob, alongside their mother’s dear dragon who was doing everything to protect him.

And Viserys, a part of you hoped he lived and would one day return to her, but you didn’t want to hope, you didn’t have it in you anymore.

you had nothing, not really, you barely had it in you, the anger, the need for revenge.

But when Aegon announced his plans to marry you, the rage came, the angry. He had taken everything from you and now he was taking away your freedom.

It was easy to find those who wished to plot against him, your grandsire Corlys begin the first to approach you. Mad over the death of his beloved wife Rhaenys, he had long awaited this moment.

He and a few over men gave you a wine laced with poison, and small doss of poison to drink yourself to build immunity. It was a long prosses, taking three months before you acted. It was easy to enter his chambers, he too lonely and racked with guilt, he seemed pleased at your company, and even happier at the wine you brought him.

You had drank the laced wine and then some, both drinking your sorrows away and making your way down to the iron throne, you had laughed as he sat upon it, your mothers rightful seat, and laughed even more when he started chocking, he couldn’t breath, he was dying. You should of felt glad but as you watched him take his final breath, all you felt was grief. Another family member dead, and another step closer to being alone.

Cregan took kings landing the next day, he found you weeping in the throne room at the sight of Aegon. He had swept you in his arms, holding him to you as you cried, screaming it was your fault, confessing your sins, but he didn’t see it as your fault, m your kill. He saw it as Corlys and Larys Strongs, executing them and all those who betrayed Aegon and manipulated you.

He crowned Aegon king, married him to Aegon’s only surviving child, Jaehrea, uniting the two branches and ending the blasted war.

And he took you home, to Winterfell.

You were so consumed in your grief you hadn’t even noticed, the carriage traveling the whole thousand leagues had passed so quickly.

You didn’t even remember saying goodbye, promising to write, and promising to love them.

You didn’t remember crying as you watched them, two children making oaths they didn’t understand, lead by men they did not know.

You finally came back to reality as you reached Winterfell, Silverwing roar alerting you of your arrival. She one of the last dragons left, too consumed in grief at the death of her mate Vermithor.

“princess” you heard Cregan say softly as he opened the carriage door, “were home”

next part

Taglist

@aleemendoza2425-blog@apollonshootafar@zillahvathek@flrboyd @targaryenmoony @theanxietyqueen17@leavesmealobe @dark-night-sky-99 @deeeeexx

to be added to taglist

#cregan stark x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #cregan stark #cregan fanfiction #cregan x reader #cregan x you #cregan stark smut #cregan x original female character #cregan x veleryon reader #cregan x strong reader #cregan stark x oc #cregan stark x you #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark x y/n #thedragonandthewolf

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peachdues · 1 year ago

Text

Tell Me to Stop: Part 2 (NSFW Kyojuro Rengoku x F!Ice Pillar)

A/N: oh man, it’s here. This took a lot out of me, so I hope that you all like it.

Part One can be found here: post-Mugen AU where Kyojuro lives; events take place post-Entertainment District.

Multiple POVs (Y/N, Shinobu, and Kyojuro). There are several flashbacks, which are in all italics and separated from the main text.

Massive TW: trauma/PTSD, anger, nightmares, descriptions of corpses, violence and violence between characters (shoving, grabbing/shaking). One character triggers another and it’s dubious whether it’s intentional or not.

CW: 16.7k words; explicit sexual content. Unprotected sex/oral (F!receiving), creampies, cursing, light scar worship, intimacy, angst.

For the song that inspired this, listen here.

Without further ado!

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

(Y/N’s POV)

Y/N began her rehabilitation training within one week of awakening from her coma.

For those seven days of rest, Y/N had fielded all sorts of visitors — the Master, escorted by his two daughters; the Love Pillar, who had wasted no time throwing her arms around Y/N’s shoulders and sobbing in relief; and three of the Mansion’s youngest girls, all of whom crawled up on her bed and cried while hugging her.

Uzui had sent her a note by crow telling her he would be by to see her as soon as his wives finished making her favorite treat — red bean mochi — and said they could compare battle wounds in celebration of their feat.

Y/N had neither seen nor heard as much of a whisper from the Flame Pillar.

The Ice Pillar resolved to distract herself from the glaring absence of the man who embodied fire, though every day that passed without word from him only seemed to make that absence more pronounced.

Y/N had thrown herself into her rehabilitation training, as supervised by Shinobu. Because she was a Hashira, her recovery was vastly different from that of lower-ranked slayers, and she worked with the Insect Pillar directly, rather than with the haughty Aoi and other younger Mansion girls.

That particular morning, the Love Pillar had joined them in an effort to recuperate Y/N’s loss of flexibility as the result of the nearly two months she’d spent sedentary. Y/N cherished the one-on-one time she had with the other two women Hashira; the three of them had formed a tight bond with one another since ascending as Pillars, united amidst the predominance of male demon slayers.

“Good! Now just bend this way-“ Mitsuri Kanroji kept a steady hand at the small of Y/N’s back as Y/N arched over backward, teeth grinding as her stiff spine resisted her movement.

“Almost there! Just touch your other hand to the floor and hold it!” The Love Hashira said encouragingly.

Y/N stretched her left arm over her head as hard as she could. Her fingers had just graced the wooden grain of the training room floor when her body seized, and her legs gave out from under her.

“Oh!” Mitsuri caught Y/N effortlessly before she could crumple to the floor, gently helping her to sit while blushing at the stream of colorful curses that poured from the Ice Pillar’s mouth.

“This damn wound,” Y/N moaned, her hand pressing against the angry red mark that curved from below her belly button to her right hip. “You would think it would have healed by now.”

Shinobu frowned as she crouched next to the Ice Pillar, fingers lightly prodding at the scar left behind by Upper Moon Six. “It has healed; if it hadn’t, it wouldn’t have scarred already.” Shinobu pursed her lips. “Though, I suppose it could just be a residual effect of the Upper Rank’s blood demon art – after all, it was no ordinary blade that he pierced you with, was it?”

Y/N shook her head, though she tried to suppress the memory of the demon’s cursed flesh blade ramming through her back and into her stomach. “The blade was his conduit for his blood demon art – but I think it was made from him.”

“How often does it hurt, Y/N?” Mitsuri asked, rubbing soothing circles on her friend’s upper back. Mitsuri was one of the few people Y/N knew who preferred to give physical comfort, and Y/N was grateful for it.

Y/N furrowed her brows in thought. “In a way, there’s always just this dull ache I feel, though it becomes sharper whenever I move a particular way.” Y/N pulled at the band of her uniform bottoms in discomfort. “And, it doesn’t help that these damn pants chafe and rub against it. I’ve even foregone the belt, and it still feels like they’re cutting into me.”

Mitsuri hummed in thought. “Have you considered one of the uniform skirts? They sit a little higher on the waist, so they’re less likely to aggravate it.”

Y/N scowled. “I would rather be stabbed by Upper Six again than request a skirt from that pervert tailor,” she said severely, “Sorry,” she added when she saw the Love Pillar flush with embarrassment.

“Lecherous Corps tailors aside, you may have a good point, Mitsuri.” Shinobu said, eyeing Y/N’s uniform pants in thought. “Y/N, do you mind if I brainstorm some designs for you? I can’t promise whatever I come up with will be suitable for public appearances or assignments, but I might be able to come up with something that will at least keep you comfortable while you heal and build back your strength.”

Y/N smiled as she stretched her legs out, bringing herself into a pose meant to flex her hips. “I’d be grateful for anything you could do, Shinobu.”

The Insect Pillar nodded. “Mitsuri, you know how to sew quite well, do you not? I’m afraid my proficiency with the needle is limited to sewing up wounds.”

The pinkette glowed with enthusiasm. “Yes! I have an entire room dedicated to sewing at my Estate – if you bring by your designs, I’m sure I could put something together!”

Shinobu smiled. “Then it’s settled. I’ll see what I can come up with tonight, and I’ll bring it by in the morning.”

Y/N’s heart swelled at the dedication her two friends showed towards her comfort and recovery. “Thank you both, from the bottom of my heart.”

Shinobu’s smile turned wicked. “Don’t thank us yet, Y/N. You have agility training next.”

Y/N groaned and pulled on her uniform top, buttoning it over her bindings. As a Hashira, agility training meant that she was to meet the Wind Pillar outside of Kocho’s estate where she would endure two hours of having to dodge his relentless attacks. Y/N got along just fine with Shinazugawa – he’d even welcomed her back, and gruffly complimented her work in the Entertainment District – but that did not mean he eased up in his ruthless training.

By the time the Wind Pillar had dismissed her with a satisfied nod, Y/N had all but limped back to her room, wondering whether she could even summon the strength to bathe after such an arduous day. She almost decided against it, but when her newest scar began to pulse and throb once more, she knew nothing else would soothe it better than the hot water in Kocho’s private hot spring.

Y/N greeted the bowing Kakushi who guarded the entrance to the northernmost wing of the Butterfly Mansion’s hospital as she passed by, and she hoped that Aoi had remembered to restock her room with fresh towels so she could go straight to her bath from her room.

She drew short at the sight of a familiar figure which stood outside of Kocho’s office, leaning against the wall of the small hallway.

“Rengoku!” Y/N was startled, taking a step back in surprise at the sight of the Flame Pillar.

“Y/L/N.” The man who reminded her of the sun nodded in greeting, but his familiar, sunny disposition was noticeably absent, his face impassive and his voice detached.

“I am happy to see you in good health.” Rengoku spoke with unnatural formality; he’d never used that cold, detached manner of speaking to her, not once since she’d caught him staring at her right before the commencement of Final Selection all those years ago.

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

“Ice Pillar Y/L/N!” His sunny voice boomed, and Y/N groaned. She’d just gotten her migraine to calm down.

“Rengoku,” she nodded politely, as her comrade came to stand beside her, all smiles and warmth.

“It’s been a while, Y/L/N! I was beginning to forget what you look like when you roll your eyes at me.” He laughed, and Y/N scowled.

“Perhaps I’ll pay to have my photograph taken, Rengoku. That way, you can carry it with you wherever you go.”

Rengoku turned to her, an eyebrow raised in surprise at her willingness to engage with his banter so quickly. “If that’s the case, Y/N, I’d prefer to have one of you smiling. It would do well to keep me warm on those cold nights away from home.”

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

“I heard you were called away on another mission— some train?” Y/N asked him as they strolled through the Master’s garden following their meeting.

“Yes, we’ve unfortunately lost a number of slayers. Perhaps it’s an upper rank!” The Flame Pillar responded jovially, but he stopped in front of Y/N when he saw her frown.

“What is it?” His voice was gentle, and Y/N shook her head, focusing her eyes on the blooming wisteria saplings that had been planted.

A warm finger curled under her chin and tilted her face up until her eyes clashed with pools of golden ore. “My dear Ice Pillar, are you worried for me?” He was smirking, and his thumb lightly caressed the underside of her jaw.

Y/N gingerly took his hand and removed it from her face, though she did not let it go right away. “You are the Flame Hashira, Rengoku. If anyone is capable of defeating an Upper Rank, it most certainly is you.”

Rengoku smiled broadly at her, his hand nearly grazing her own. “For someone whose prowess lies in ice breathing, Y/L/N, you sure know how to start fires.”

Under any other circumstance, she would have changed the subject, or not said anything at all. But Y/N couldn’t help her sudden desire to flirt back, just to see if she could knock him off his feet as he so often tried to do to her.

“Yours is the only one I’m interested in stoking, Rengoku.” She said sweetly.

She’d laughed at the Flame Pillar’s beet-red face for the rest of the day.

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

“And I, you.” Y/N responded, her eyes still wide with surprise as she came to a stop before him, maintaining a cautious distance between them.

A pregnant pause followed, and Y/N made to speak once more, but she was cut off by another deep throb from the wound on her lower abdomen, her hand unconsciously flying to press against it as she swallowed the gasp that threatened to leave her.

“You’re in pain.” It wasn’t a question.

Y/N shrugged in a feeble attempt at nonchalance. “I suppose it’s to be expected for a while yet. At least until I recover.”

Rengoku said nothing, and the silence felt suffocating.

“Would you-“ Y/N hesitated, and inwardly she’d never felt more embarrassed, or more uncertain than she did then as she stood before the uncharacteristically stoic Flame Pillar. “Would you like to sit down?”

Rengoku’s face remained impassive, and he turned away from her, dismissively.

“I cannot. I came only to retrieve a salve from Kocho.” His voice was just as cold, just as unfamiliar as the rest of him had been.

“Rengoku, is everything all right?” She stretched out a hand to touch his shoulder but was alarmed at how quickly he flinched away from her as if her touch could burn him.

“Everything is fine, Y/L/N. I need to be on my way.” Rengoku’s voice was flat, monotone, and wholly foreign to her.

“I’m sorry for not thanking you sooner — for everything you did to help me that night.” Y/N blurted, and to her relief, Rengoku froze mid-step, though he did not turn towards her. “I owe you my life.”

She did not miss the way Rengoku’s fists clenched at his side. “You owe me nothing. I would have done the same for any other comrade.” He replied, voice tight. “I must get going now. Farewell, Y/L/N.

She was so stunned that she’d not bidden him farewell back. Rather, she’d stood helplessly in her doorway, even long after the edge of his haori had disappeared around the corner of the Butterfly Mansion’s hall.

He had not looked at her once.

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

(Kyojuro’s POV)

Kyojuro’s fists remained clenched the entire journey back to his estate.

He felt disgusted with himself. He felt like a coward.

It had nearly knocked him to his knees to see Y/L/N up and standing and talking because for so long, he had feared he would never again see the way she crinkled her nose when she laughed, or how she tucked that one loose strand of hair behind her ear whenever she was concentrating — the one that never stayed put in her braid.

But he had not been able to meet her eyes; couldn’t bear to bring himself to try, because he had been terrified of what he would see.

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

Every night for the last two months, he has dreamed of her.

They were not pretty dreams, not like those he had before when he’d wrap her in his arms and kiss her until she laughed, the two of them living in a monster-free world and at peace.

Now, he dreamt of vacant eyes-tinged blue, unseeing and unblinking and frozen, just like the rest of her. He dreams of iced skin and blood and poison pouring from her mouth and her nose until she chokes, her chest rising once with a final rattle before it falls still.

He dreams of Upper Three, smiling deviously as he aims his fist to deal his final blow, and Kyojuro wrenches his blade down, desperate to finally win.

Only, his blade decapitates Y/N, not the Upper Rank demon and he is helpless to watch her head bounce pathetically to the ground. His hands are covered in her blood, and instead of disintegrating, her body falls uselessly to the side. Human.

As quickly as he kills her, the dream changes. He is in a lively street, filled to the brim with street vendors and women and men offering their services. It is night but the lights of the shops and gambling dens and pleasure houses are so bright that it looks like daytime.

He recognizes her by the back of her haori, and his feet move towards her, relieved to see her amidst the hustle and bustle of the city. He reaches out to touch her shoulder, her name whispering on his lips. But she turns before he can make contact, and though she looks healthy, her eyes — her eyes are white and unseeing.

I don’t understand, she pleads with him, it doesn’t make sense.

Kyojuro looks around in alarm and they are no longer standing amongst eager entertainment seekers, but among flame and wreckage, the once-ornately decorated stalls now smashed to splinters as fire slowly consumes the skeletal remains of the entertainment district.

He turns back to her right as a blade pierces through her gut, lifting her from the ground before letting her drop.

His hands shake as he reaches for her, desperate to check her wounds, but when she looks up at him, he stumbles back.

She is all wrong. Her skin is mottled and rotting from her face, and her hair is gray and matted. In place of her eyes are black holes, empty and cold.

Why can’t I come with you? Why can’t I go home, Kyojuro?

Please take me home.

Every night for the last two months, he awoke screaming.

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

Y/L/N was alive; he knew that. He knew that if he looked at her, he would not see a corpse; but terrifying visuals aside, Kyojuro had not been able to look at her because he knew what his nightmares were telling him.

He’d been responsible for her near death.

If the Kakushi had returned with a box rather than a Pillar, it would have been his fault.

The thought that Y/L/N — his Y/L/N -- had almost obtained her own headstone in the Master’s graveyard had rocked him to his very core, for that had almost become a reality. She had actually died – for the briefest moment – in his arms; and it had been his fault.

Why can't I go home, Kyojuro?

And though Y/N had awoken from her slumber, her corpse still haunted Kyojuro’s dreams.

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

(Y/N’s POV)

Y/N was sprawled on her infirmary floor, preparing her limbs for another day of rigorous recuperation training at the hands of her fellow Hashira.

She stood to stretch her arms and lower back, wincing slightly at the pull of her scar. “Don’t you start,” she warned her body, willing total concentration breathing to dull the persistent ache that threatened to derail her entire day.

Y/N sensed movement near her doorway and knew, without looking, who watched her as she warmed up her aching muscles.

“Uzui retired. It’s time for you to do the same.”

Y/N who had been in mid-stretch, righted herself and blinked at the Flame Pillar. “Pardon?” Both the news of Uzui’s retirement and Rengoku’s words were a shock to her.

“Retire, Y/LN.” Rengoku repeated in that detached manner of his that she hardly recognized. “You helped take down an Upper Rank. You’ve done enough. Let someone else shoulder the burden, now.”

“I see no reason to retire, Rengoku.” Y/N retorted, voice hardening. “And unless and until the Master requests it or I perish, I see no reason to do so.”

Rengoku exhaled harshly through his nose. “You were injured — seriously so.”

“As were you, and yet you seem to have no intention of slowing down.” Y/N said, coolly.

Rengoku’s attention stayed fixed on the garden outside her window. “And I was only unconscious for three weeks. You were out for nearly two months, Y/L/N. That is unheard of and frankly, unacceptable for a Hashira.”

“What is your problem?” Y/N was growing more irritated the longer this inane conversation dragged on, and it wasn’t helping that Rengoku still refused to so much as look her direction, let alone meet her eyes. “Is this about what happened after you brought me here? Kocho told me everything — I’m not mad.”

Rengoku’s shoulders tensed. “It was necessary. Again, I would have done it for any one of my comrades.”

Y/N felt like she’d been slapped.

“You keep saying that, yet you won’t look at me— why?” Her confusion and hurt were beginning to melt into anger. “If I am just another comrade, then you should be able to meet my eyes.”

Rengoku said nothing.

“What Uzui did for me— that was what comrades do,” Y/N continued, her voice growing stronger as her blood grew hotter. “But you? You and I both know you were under no obligation to bring me back from the brink of death the way you did.”

“I’m not sure what you want me to say, Y/L/N,” Rengoku answered after a long moment.

Y/N took a step towards him. “I want to know why.”

“It was necessary.”

Y/N felt like throttling him.

How long had they danced around each other? How many times had they caught themselves staring at the other for a breath longer than normal, had allowed an otherwise friendly touch during a spar linger?

How could he have held her, half nude for hours, putting himself on the brink of death all for the sake of keeping her alive — and then tell her she was the same as any other comrade?

“What are we doing Rengoku -- is this to be our destiny?” Y/N demanded, exasperatedly, her voice hard. “We continue to pretend like we don’t care about one another until one of us dies?”

Rengoku remained silent, back still turned away from her.

“We’ve each had a near-death experience in a matter of months,” Y/N continued, throat working hard to keep her voice steady despite the telling burn of angry tears in her eyes. “By all accounts, one if not both of us should be dead.”

“And yet, somehow, you expect me to act as though the fact you carried me back here— that you put yourself on death’s door to keep my heart beating — doesn’t mean anything?”

It didn’t make sense. It didn’t make sense for him to fight so hard for her, to make her believe that someone valued her life that much, only to cast her aside.

She hadn’t wanted to wake up, initially; she’d felt relief for the hair’s breadth she’d thought she’d finally met her end. He was the one who dragged her back, and now he wouldn’t even look at her.

It didn’t make sense.

Y/N’s fists shook beside her, and she felt the venomous words fly from her mouth before she could stop them.

“You should’ve let me die.”

No sooner had she let the poison drip from her mouth had she felt herself flying backward, back slamming against the nearest wall of her temporary room.

“Never,” Rengoku snarled at her, his arm pressing firmly against her shoulders to hold her in place against the wood. “Never say those words to me again.”

Y/N’s chest was heaving, and she trembled beneath him, her fury threatening to explode out of her.

“There is no place on this earth where you could be in peril and I would not find you,” he said quietly, his eyes a simmering, fiery orange. “Where I wouldn’t find a way to bring you back home.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Y/N said softly, breath still coming hard from her nose but no longer from her anger.

“Doesn’t it?” Rengoku was close, dangerously close.

Y/N wanted nothing more than to lean in, to close the distance that barely existed between Rengoku’s face and hers and finally be done with all the nonsense. But he had spent so much time avoiding her gaze until that moment, and Y/N felt more lost than ever, set adrift by the look of heat and longing that was mixed with the burning rage in his eyes.

Something tugged incessantly at her gut and it would not allow her to move from her place against her recovery room’s wall.

Instead, her arms came up to rest against Rengoku’s chest before gently, but firmly, pushing him away.

“No, it doesn’t.” She repeated. “And I am tired, Rengoku.”

The Flame Pillar allowed himself to be pushed away, but he looked at her with a small, cruel smile.

“Then you’re right; it doesn’t mean anything at all.”

She flinched against the ugly slap of his words. Y/N had expected him to hit back, but she hadn’t anticipated his venom to sting as much as it did.

She felt all of the fight within her gutter out, leaving her with nothing but a heavy weight in her chest that she wished she couldn’t feel.

“Y/L/N, I-“ the Flame Pillar almost sounded remorseful.

“Thank you, for your clarification, Lord Rengoku,” she said numbly, formally, parroting his earlier tone with her. “And thank you for your assistance that night. Please, next time — don’t trouble yourself.”

Rengoku hesitated for a moment, his hand twitching as though he wanted to reach for her. He swallowed hard, and turned away, shutting the door to Y/N’s infirmary.

The moment the door at clicked shut, Y/N exhaled harshly, stumbling back against her bed as she hugged her arms around herself, and she tried to keep herself from falling apart.

It shouldn’t have hurt this bad. They were both in the Demon Slayer Corps; they saved strangers all the time without it ever meaning anything other than good will and a desire to exterminate all demons.

So why did his insistence that she was no different hurt so badly?

Because she wasn’t a stranger.

Because, while she’d always known she wasn’t his, she’d still thought she’d been something.

As Y/N curled against her blanket, an unsettling numbness began to spread from her heart, quieting even the dull ache from the scar across her belly, Y/N realized that she’d meant nothing to the Flame Pillar all along.

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(Kyojuro’s POV)

He hated himself.

He utterly and truly despised himself.

He’d been hurt by her insistence that she did not know his feelings even though he was the one who’d opened the door, yet somehow, it still felt like a rejection.

So he’d hit back, only for her to visibly recoil at the sharp blow of his words.

He would not forgive himself, for as long as he lived, for the way the light in her eyes had winked out.

He did not know what bothered him more: the fact that she’d assumed that he regretted keeping her alive, or that she’d said “next time” he needn’t bother. As though she were counting on there being a next time.

He knew he should turn around; knew that he should barge back into her hospital room, drop to his knees, and beg her to forgive his cruelty.

He knew that he should explain to her why he found it so difficult to admit his feelings for her — that he had watched his father turn into a shell of a man and abandon his children in the wake of their mother’s death, leaving them to raise themselves. That he had vowed, as he’d watched his father drink his days away, that he would never be like him, would never abandon those who relied on him most.

He’d promised that he would never be a coward, even if, in all honesty, the idea that he, Kyojuro, could ever love someone that fiercely only to have them ripped from his grasp terrified him to no end.

As he forced his legs to carry him to back to his estate, Kyojuro wondered if perhaps, in his desperation not to turn into his father, he’d become the old man after all.

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

(Shinobu’s POV)

Shinobu felt the Flame Pillar’s presence in her office before she saw him, though she was in no rush to give him his salve, especially not after what she’d overheard him spit at her friend.

“If you do not mind, I would like to send my crow to collect this from here on,” Rengoku said tightly, and Shinobu could sense his failing attempt to keep his fury in check.

“Very well then,” the Insect Pillar responded just as tersely, turning away from the papers and books on her desk to pull out the small tin containing the salve the Flame Pillar used to soothe the ache of the scar he now bore across his pectoral and shoulder. Rather than handing it to him, she tossed it through the air, the Flame Hashira catching it swiftly in his hand.

Rengoku nodded his thanks and turned to leave.

“I didn’t realize it was against Corps’ rules to care about our comrades,” Shinobu said icily, if not to signal to him that there had been spectators to his ugly outburst.

He couldn’t resist taking her bait. “Maybe it should be. It would be easier that way — for everyone.”

“Is that so?” Kocho sneered, no hint of familiarity or kindness in her features; nothing but that poisonous, deadly smile. “Well, if that was the case, then you would’ve preferred Uzui to leave Y/L/N for dead among the rubble in Yoshiwara, correct?

“You would rather us be searching to fill the newest Hashira vacancy, with her corpse barely cold in the ground-“

“Do not say another word, Kocho.” Rengoku warned, quietly.

But for Shinobu, anger was her vice, and so his warning only spurred her on.

“Tell me, Rengoku, if the new Pillar had been a woman, would you have held her the way you held Y/N?”

Shinobu’s smile was chilling as she relished the way the Flame Pillar began to tremble. “Or perhaps, would you finally confess to her, having learned your lesson from the missed opportunity with Y/N? Would you live out your days with her, while Y/N rotted below the earth, having never known someone loved her?”

“ENOUGH.” Rengoku roared, and for a moment, Shinobu thought the Flame Pillar might put his clenched fist through her wall. The silence that followed was tense and long as Rengoku struggled to calm his breathing.

“What do you want from me, Kocho?” Rengoku finally snapped, wheeling around to glower at the Insect Pillar, eyes half-crazed in his frustration.

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

(Two months earlier)

Dawn was still far off, but the hall of her estate was a mess.

Shinobu knew that at any moment, another group of Kakushi would be coming through the hole Rengoku had left in her wall bearing the unconscious body of the Sound Pillar, and if they did so, they’d be stumbling upon the chaotic scene that had unfolded before.

Rengoku was still on the floor, legs on either side of Y/N, who was slumped against his chest and fully exposed from the waist up.

With some satisfaction, Shinobu noted that the dark purple bruising around Y/N’s chest was clearing, a sure sign that she had chosen the correct antidote for the Flame Hashira to slam into her heart.

But her hypothermia persisted.

Rengoku, on the other hand, was beginning to breathe rather loudly, no doubt as he continued to maintain his high fever for the sake of the unmoving woman braced between his thighs.

“Rengoku,” Shinobu crouched down next to the Flame Pillar, her hand coming to a rest on his shoulder, which burned beneath her palm. “Rengoku, we need to move.”

The man lifted his head up to meet her eyes, his own glassy and unfocused. Shinobu clamped down on the swear building on her tongue — he had fever fog.

Rengoku grunted at her before his head slumped back down, chin nearly touching his chest.

Shinobu tried again. “Rengoku, we are in the open hallway of the Butterfly Mansion. Others will be arriving soon. Y/N is completed exposed.”

That seemed to get his attention. Rengoku’s head lifted, his eyes narrowed slits, but nonetheless open. He grunted in some sort of acknowledgement and began to shift Y/N in his lap.

He turned the unconscious Ice Pillar so that her back rested against one arm that curled around her bare waist. His free arm slid to grip beneath her knees, shifting her into a bridal-style position to carry her.

Two of the Butterfly Mansion’s staff moved to help him stand, but Rengoku shrugged them off, surprising Shinobu as he managed to rise steadily to his feet, Y/N secured against his chest.

He looked at Shinobu expectantly and she began ushering him towards a secluded wing of the Manor, towards her private hall. Across from her personal office was a special infirmary room, walled off from the rest of the recovery ward.

Shinobu withdrew a ring of keys from her pocket and unlocked the heavy, wooden door.

“You two can stay in here until her body temperature returns to normal,” She said, as Rengoku made his way towards the recovery bed.

Shinobu watched as Rengoku, still wearing his zori and uniform pants, ever so gently lowered himself and Y/N down on the bed, repeating his earlier positioning of her between his thighs. He propped up one leg slightly to keep the Ice Pillar from slumping over, her back pressed to his bare chest. Rengoku leaned against the headboard so that Y/N’s head could rest against his clavicle, though it slumped instead towards her left shoulder.

Shinobu made to grab a blanket to throw over the two topless Hashira but stopped short as Rengoku made to move again.

He seemed to realize that Y/N, while also still in her torn uniform pants and zori, was still bare from the waist up, her body positioned towards the door. He frowned, his hand coming up to graze the side of her arm. He flinched slightly, no doubt at the persistent chill that lingered on her skin, and he moved both of his large hands down over the back of hers as they lay limply on either side of her thighs, intertwining their fingers.

Awestruck, Shinobu watched as Rengoku brought Y/N’s arms up to cross them over her chest, locking them in place by covering her arms with his own, as though wrapping her in a sweet embrace. Shinobu knew that he’d done so to avoid touching her bare breasts himself, or at least to do so as minimally as possible, while still providing her cover. And, due to the breadth of Rengoku’s muscled forearms, Y/N’s sensitive area was almost entirely obscured from view.

Rengoku had barely been clinging to consciousness himself, and once she was sufficiently hidden in his arms, his head dropped forward until his forehead came to a rest on Y/N’s shoulder, opposite of where she’d rolled her head.

To the unassuming eye, it would have appeared as though the pair of Hashira were simply engaged in an intimate moment, rather than one desperately trying to anchor the other to life.

Shinobu moved to place the blanket over the Pillars’ laps, before quietly exiting the private room.

“Seal this wing off entirely,” she murmured to Aoi, who had been waiting dutifully outside. “No one comes down here without my explicit permission.”

Aoi bowed to her before she ushered the other Kakushi out. Faintly, Shinobu heard the arriving shouts of the group bearing the Sound Pillar. She took a single deep breath, steeling herself once more, before moving to check on her incoming patient.

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

Shinobu raised her chin, looking down her nose at him in disgust. “I’m waiting for the man who would have set the world ablaze to save Y/N to reappear.”

She cocked her head, narrowing her eyes at him. “I’m waiting for the man who used his own body as her lifeline, and who tried to smash open the infirmary door when he was delirious with fever because he thought that she had died while he was asleep.”

The Insect Pillar’s masked smile finally slipped from her face and her true rage towards the Flame Pillar shone through. “It is cruel to make her feel as though she’s done something wrong,” Shinobu’s arms folded across her chest. “And it is cruel to you both for you to pretend as though she does not mean anything to you. Haven’t you both been through enough? Are you not exhausted as well?”

A tortured look passed over Rengoku’s face. “It is better this way, Kocho. I do not want to be the cause of her pain, and I cannot survive going through what happened to her again.

“For all your talk about either of you dying, I’ve yet to hear you mention the equal alternative,” Shinobu sighed, gathering her papers and books. “The one where we win and you both live. What do you suppose happens then?”

Rengoku said nothing and so, Shinobu continued. “Suppose we emerge victorious – would you truly prefer for you and Y/N to go your separate ways – to never see one another again, or never acknowledge the bond the two of you share?”

“There is no guarantee that either of us survives, Kocho,” Rengoku said quietly, his eyes falling to his feet.

Shinobu smiled but it was no longer cruel or bitter; it was wistful. “And there is no guarantee that either of you die. That’s the fickle nature of humanity, is it not? The very reason we fight?”

The Insect Pillar gathered her papers and stacked them neatly on her shelf. “For the possibilities of it all.”

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

The sun was high in the sky by the time Shinobu had a moment to check on the two unconscious pillars in the back room.

Uzui had required quite a bit of attention in order to stop the poison from becoming deadly, though the fact that her combination of the wisteria antidote with the amphetamine had been so effective on Y/N meant that Shinobu was able to administer the same to the Sound Pillar in half the time.

She was exhausted; the strain of the night’s events weighed heavily on her, but she had to check on Y/N’s temperature — if the Ice Pillar still had not recovered, she feared that hope was lost.

She pushed the door to the private infirmary room open and saw the two Hashira, still in the same position she’d left them in. Rengoku was deeply asleep, no doubt from the exhaustion wrought by his high fever.

Enclosed within his arms, Y/N remained unconscious but pink.

Shinobu felt the relief course through her, but she did not allow herself to relax until she reached out a hand to lightly pinch the Ice Pillar’s cheek.

It bloomed red beneath her fingers, and it was warm to the touch.

He’d done it. The Flame Pillar had staved off her hypothermia. Their only obstacle now lay in getting her to reawaken.

Shinobu laid her hand across Rengoku’s forehead, frowning at the scorching heat of his brow; his fever had worsened more than she’d anticipated, and he would need intervention soon. She turned to nod at the Kakushi who waited by the door to the recovery room, and the three of them moved to separate the Flame and Ice Pillars.

“Put him in one of the other single-recovery rooms. Tell Aoi to administer the fever medication I keep in my cabinet – it should dispel his fever within a few hours.” Shinobu ordered, as the Kakushi, with great effort, lifted the Flame Pillar from his position behind Y/N. Shinobu gently eased her friend down against the bed and pulled a blanket over her exposed torso. “I will also need a fresh hospital gown for Lady Y/L/N.”

The Kakushi nodded their assent and got to work, heaving the unconscious Flame Pillar towards the door when he awoke. At first, his eyes were dazed, and confused as they darted around him, but as he took in his surroundings, he began to struggle against the grip of the Kakushi.

“Please, Lord Rengoku, your fever is dangerously high! Allow us to help!” One of them cried, though his efforts to tug the Pillar away were futile. Shinobu supposed the only reason he had not yet succeeded in completely throwing them off was the fact that his fever had severely weakened him.

“Rengoku,” Shinobu said sternly, coming around from her position by Y/N to meet his eyes, though he only thrashed harder against the Kakushi as he began to mutter incoherently under his breath. “Rengoku, that’s enough. You’re safe. You’re in the Butterfly Mansion, and you have a high fever. Please, let the Kakushi do their job.”

But the Insect Pillar’s words fell on deaf ears as Rengoku began to hyperventilate, his muscles straining as he tried desperately to break free from the Kakushi’s hold. Shinobu was at a loss; her comrade did not merely look frantic – he looked terrified, desperate, and utterly beyond reproach or reason. His heart rate had spiked considerably, and his breath was jerky and uneven, as though he could not fully understand where he was or that he was amongst friends.

As she strained to make out what the Flame Pillar repeated, over and over, under his breath, Shinobu realized that his eyes were not unfocused at all; they were locked on the unconscious Ice Pillar in the bed behind her.

“I can still save her!” he roared.

It all made sense then.

Shinobu realized that he thought they were moving him not because he’d successfully thwarted her hypothermia, but because he had failed — and that she was now dead.

“Rengoku,” Shinobu said sharply, trying to force the irate and delirious Flame Pillar to meet her eyes. “Rengoku, Y/N is alive. Her body temperature has returned to normal. She is safe.”

But the Flame Pillar seemed not to hear her, as he only struggled harder against the Kakushi desperately trying to usher him out of Y/N’s room.

Rengoku was becoming more violent, even as the Kakushi finally managed to shove him through the doorway of Y/N’s room. Just before they’d managed to slam the door shut, Shinobu caught Aoi’s eye and nodded, the younger girl quickly disappeared into the Pillar’s office.

Shinobu watched in stunned silence as the Flame Pillar broke free from the Kakushi and began hurtling his body against the door, Y/N’s name falling from his lips in an anguished chant.

Rengoku was so delirious in his fevered panic that he did not notice Aoi slip behind him and plunge a syringe into his neck, depositing a thick stream of the clear liquid that Shinobu knew would have a near-instantaneous effect on his consciousness.

The Insect Pillar felt a strange sense of pity and remorse as she watched her friend slump to the floor outside of the infirmary room, a final cry out for the Ice Pillar falling from his lips before the sedative lulled him back to sleep.

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(Kyojuro’s POV – three days later)

He didn’t know why he’d returned to the Butterfly Mansion.

Kyojuro tried to convince himself that it was because he didn’t want to wait for his crow to return with Kocho’s salve, but he knew it was a pathetic excuse. He’d sworn to himself that he would leave Y/L/N alone after their last argument. He’d vowed that the door between them had been closed for good, and they would only ever be colleagues. Nothing more.

But he couldn’t stay away. Perhaps it was because he’d spent the last few days stewing over their last argument, and somewhere, amidst his endless supply of self-hatred, he’d also grown angry with the Ice Pillar.

Angry, because she had put herself in harm’s way when he’d specifically told her not to.

Angry because she’d nearly died, and she’d threatened to take the last vestiges of his sanity with her to the afterlife.

Angry that she insisted on remaining in the Demon Slayer Corps despite having given more than enough of herself to their cause; angry that she didn’t understand why he couldn’t yet do the same.

Angry because she didn’t seem to understand his feelings at all.

Perhaps in another life, they could have had each other. Had they both been born into a world without demons, then maybe they would have still found each other and maybe, just maybe, he would have been able to love her the way she deserved.

But for Kyojuro, their relationship would always be defined by a series of maybes, and nothing more.

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

It would have been a lie for Kyojuro to say he’d not been struck dumb by her.

She was stretched out on the steps of Kocho’s engawa, legs dangling off the edge of the porch as she leaned back on her elbows, eyes closed dreamily as she kept her face tilted up towards the cooling night air.

Long, lean, bare legs, he realized, an uncomfortable heat creeping up his collar. He couldn’t help running his eyes up their length, fixating hard on the supple curves of her thighs.

Why were her legs bare?

She looked…so unguarded this way. Her haori was draped around her shoulders, one of its sleeves hanging loosely to the side and exposing her bare shoulder – how exposed was she, the idiot – and her hair was completely unbound, falling in a silken river to her waist.

It was a stark contrast to the braided crown she wore at the base of her neck. It hit him that, not counting the night she’d nearly died, he had not otherwise seen her with her hair down.

He liked it. A lot.

“I finally rid myself of one migraine only for another to appear,” Y/N’s lofty voice snapped him out of his reverence, as the Ice Pillar opened her eyes to glare at him.

“If you’ve come for Shinobu, she is not here. She’s on an errand and will not be back until early morning.” Y/N turned her attention away from him and back towards the garden, her voice stony.

At that moment, there were a million things Kyojuro could have said to the Ice Pillar.

How are you?

I missed the way you glare at me.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Any of those options would have been far better than what came tumbling out of his mouth.

“I hadn’t realized you were indecent. My apologies.”

Y/N’s head snapped back to him, her eyes chips of ice. “Indecent?” She rose from her seat on the engawa and faced him fully, and Rengoku nearly groaned.

Indecent, indeed.

Y/N was showing more skin than Kanroji did on a regular day. As she stood, Rengoku saw that she was hardly wearing any clothing at all, save for the haori draped loosely around her frame.

The Ice Pillar wore no top but the bindings around her chest, leaving a sizeable swath of her midriff exposed to the summer air. Whatever she wore as bottoms could hardly be labeled as “pants,” given that their hem ended just short of the middle of her thigh, leaving the vast majority of her legs exposed to anyone who would happen to walk by.

The Flame Pillar felt as though he were overheating, and he tugged uselessly at the collar of his uniform shirt. As he looked over the scowling Ice Pillar, Rengoku found himself unable to remember why he had come to the Mansion at all.

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(Y/N’s POV)

(Earlier that day)

“Ta-da!” Mitsuri sang as she pulled the small bundle from behind her, a grin wide on her face. “A gift from Shinobu and myself!”

Y/N peered down quizzically at the small, folded bunch of cloth in the Love Pillar’s hands. “What is it?”

“A new take on the Corps’ uniform,” Shinobu replied crisply, sitting down on the tatami floor of her office. “I designed it myself, and Mitsuri sewed it.”

“But what is it?” Y/N pressed.

Mitsuri joined Shinobu on the floor. “Your new training pants. Altered, so that you have more flexibility and less irritation against your wound.”

Y/N held up the tiny scrap of fabric between her index finger and thumb. “Are you telling me these are pants?”

Mitsuri and Shinobu nodded, smiling.

Y/N looked incredulously at the two women. “But where are the pants?”

Mitsuri laughed. “Think of it as a cross between the uniform skirt and pants, but more modified.”

Shinobu nodded. “I used the same material that our uniform is made out of but designed it in a way to be more flexible – it will mold to your body rather than require you to use a belt to keep it up.” Y/N unfurled the cloth and gaped down at it. “They likely aren’t suitable for public, but around here and during your training, they should be perfectly adequate.”

“Perfectly adequate?” Y/N repeated, turning the garment over in her hands. “Shinobu, these are underclothes! Not pants!” The Ice Pillar could not stop herself from giggling. “My legs will be entirely exposed!”

“Try them on!” Mitsuri urged. “Shinobu and I estimated they would hit around mid-thigh, so you’ll still have some coverage.” Mitsuri looked down at her own skirt in consideration. “Slightly more so than I do.”

Y/N groaned but removed her uniform pants and slid into her friends’ gift. She was surprised at how comfortable they felt; they had a similar feel to the chest bindings most of the women in the Corps wore, in terms of fit. The black bottoms had no true waistband, but fit snuggly at the dip of her waist, before hugging her hips and thighs until the hem cut right above the middle of her thigh.

“How do they feel?” Shinobu asked as Y/N inspected the new garment.

Y/N turned from side to side, testing their flexibility. “Good. They don’t seem to rub against the scar at all.” Y/N smiled devilishly at her friends. “Even if they do leave little to the imagination.”

MItsuri giggled. “I hadn’t noticed Y/N, but you have – oh, what did Uzui call it?” She scrunched her eyebrows in thought. “Oh! An ‘easy and deliverable type of butt!’” The three girls laughed, carefree as Y/N wiggled her hips suggestively in front of her friends, her heart warm at the care and consideration they had put into their gift.

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

Y/N mused that Mitsuri’s assessment of how she looked in the undershorts had been correct as Rengoku’s eyes raked over her as she stood tall before him, an unmistakable glint of hunger glowing in his amber pools.

Until they snagged on the thick, curved gash that extended from the band of her bottoms to just over her belly button.

In an instant, simmering fire of the Flame Pillar’s gaze had been snuffed out, something harder and colder taking over as he glared at where Upper Moon Six had buried his poisoned sickle within her.

Under any other circumstance, Y/N might have felt self-conscious at the mixture of frigid contempt that pulled on Rengoku’s face as he ran his eyes over her scar, but at that moment, it only made her blood boil.

“You should return to your room. You shouldn’t be out here exposed like this.” Rengoku said after a moment, his eyes moving away from her to stare over her shoulder, resolutely avoiding her gaze.

Y/N wondered briefly if it were possible to make someone combust with the fire of their stare. She was so tired and so angry at the way in which he demanded she stay at arm’s length yet felt utterly entitled to boss her around.

She decided then that she would not comply. Instead, Y/N took one step and then another, and again until she pushed past him, marching intently up the path she knew led away from the Butterfly Estate and to a secluded, grassy, hilled clifftop.

“Stop — Y/L/N” Rengoku growled, lunging after her, but Y/N, despite her injured state, was still faster than he, and she twisted out of his grasp before he could grab her and haul her back to the Mansion.

She probably looked insane, and maybe she was -- barely dressed, hair unbound, and striding towards that grassy hill up the winding path from Shinobu’s estate like she had any idea what she was doing.

The Flame Pillar followed.

—————————————————————--------

Apart from her close friendship with the Insect Pillar, there was another reason Y/N spent so much time in and around the Butterfly Mansion — its view.

Though she supposed this secret area she’d discovered couldn’t really be counted as part of Shinobu’s Estate — it was, after all, up a rather steep and twisting climb from the western-most point of her friend’s manor, and one could scarcely see the lights of the house once they ascended the small cliff.

Her thighs ached after nearly two months of disuse as she stormed up the steep incline, narrowly avoiding the sharp, twisting branches of the ancient trees that had concaved over the beaten path, forming a tunnel of gnarled wood that forced her to duck her head to navigate.

Y/N’s chest tightened as she neared the end of the path, the steady beat of the Flame Pillar’s footsteps trailing closely behind her.

When she finally emerged from the thicket of branches, she felt as though she could breathe again.

The path had given way to a cliff-top clearing. Soft, emerald grass covered the earthen floor, peppered with various wildflowers in vibrant hues of periwinkle, white, and pink. Towards the center was a thick, ancient oak tree, with a trunk as wide as a small hut, Its leaves ruffled lazily in the slight summer breeze. Fat hotaru floated idly above the grass while the crickets hummed.

The clearing extended to a point before dropping into a rocky cliff. Had it been a night of a new moon, Y/N would never risk coming out here for fear of stumbling too close to the cliff’s edge. But that night, the moon was full and its silver light was so bright that Y/N could see all the way to the opposite of the clearing, down to the summer irises swaying in the warm night air.

It was a pity that instead of feeling the warm serenity she normally had when she came out to her little hideaway, she felt nothing but boiling anger and a growing headache.

“You need to go back inside,” Rengoku said from behind her. Y/N ground her teeth, turning sharply on her heel to face him.

“Why do you care — I thought you only did that when I’m unconscious.” She bit back, and it felt good to see him be the one who flinched for once. “Or maybe it’s when you think I’m dying?”

She laughed, derisively. “You’ll have to forgive me, I’ve long since forgotten the rules of your game. You change them so often, you see.”

“Go back to the Butterfly Mansion, Y/L/N. You shouldn’t be out here. Not in your current state.” He said, voice as hard and unforgiving as stone.

“I’ve told you already that you are not in a position to order me around!” Y/N snapped, her words and her eyes chips of ice as she glared at him.

He was so infuriating — he had told her, in so many ways, that she meant nothing to him, and yet here he was, glowering at her as though her very existence incensed him.

“You’ve been nothing but unkind to me since I awoke, and you’ve given me no explanation!” She took a step towards him.

“Stop,” the Flame Pillar bit out, barely concealing the way he trembled with rage. “Do not take another step. Turn around and go back inside.”

If Y/N had looked pissed before, she looked downright furious now.

“Why did you come to see me while I was unconscious?” Y/N demanded, shaking. “You came every day, yet the second I wake up, you stop?”

His refusal to answer her, to even look at her, only made her seethe.

“You’re a coward, Rengoku.”

Rengoku’s teeth gnashed together, his fists balling tightly by his sides as he drew upon every ounce last shred of sanity, of restraint, left within him.

“Go. In. Side.” He ground out dangerously, his voice dropping into a growl on the last syllable.

But the Ice Pillar took another step towards him, her eyes blazing with a fire that could outburn his own.

“No.”

Rengoku’s jaw flexed. “Y/L/N-“

“I said no, Rengoku.” She was now within arm’s reach of the rigid Flame Pillar.

His eyes met hers, cold and hard, but she did not balk. She went in for the kill. “You have no say over my choices when my life is meaningless to you.”

Y/N watched the blow land, and land hard.

“Meaningless?” Rengoku looked at her and there was a new fire in his gaze, a hot, angry fire that threatened to burn the grassy overlook around them to cinders. “You believe I think your life is meaningless?”

This time, it was Rengoku who advanced towards her, bringing her within an arm’s length, and forcing her to tilt her head up to hold his raging stare.

“Do you have any idea — any at all — what it was like to see you, half dead in Uzui’s arms?” Rengoku’s voice dark, and harsh as he narrowed his eyes at her. “Or what it was like to have to carry you to Kocho, not knowing whether your heart would give out before I could get you there?”

Y/N refused to cower beneath the intensity of his gaze, her chin lifting defiantly. “Do I know what it was like?” She hissed; hackles raised.

“Thank you Rengoku, truly — thank you.” Y/N laughed, but it was devoid of any humor. “I am so glad that you’ve finally given me something to work with — so those are your rules, are they?” She was toe to toe with the Flame Hashira, glowering down at her.

“Well since we’re keeping score, Rengoku, do you know what it was like to see you broken and bleeding out on Kocho’s table after the incident on the train?”

“That’s not the same thing,” Rengoku shot back bitterly.

“How the fuck is it not-?”

“Because it wasn’t your mission to take!” Rengoku finally broke, his voice rising to a shout. He could not stop himself as his hands shot out and gripped Y/N’s shoulders, shaking her lightly in his torment.

“You have no idea how it felt to know that you had died — no matter how briefly — because you went on a mission in my place!”

“To know that — that you could still die because I had been too weak on that fucking train. Your death would have been my fault, Y/N!”

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

(Kyojuro’s POV)

And there it was: the truth that he had tried so hard to suppress, laid flat out in the open.

Everything that had happened to Y/N, the whole entire mess — had been entirely his fault.

His fault because he had been too weak to finish off Upper Moon Three, too weak to do anything but let the demon’s punch a hole through his chest like it was nothing.

Y/L/N and Uzui had saved themselves in the end; they’d completed their mission, defeating not just one, but two upper ranks. They hadn’t succumbed to their injuries until after they’d fulfilled their duties.

But him? He’d only been saved by the grace of the sun and the tireless efforts of the Kakushi.

He’d nearly lost his life and he had nothing to show for it. Rather than do anything to further the Corp’s ultimate goals, he’d only set them back, and nearly cost them something priceless in return — their Ice Pillar.

The woman he loved.

He had no right to love her, of course — not when his reprehensible weakness had forced her to be offered up to two upper moon demons on a silver platter.

She’d been there, the morning he awoke from his three-week-long coma. She’d been right by his bedside, a sob choking from her throat as she’d called for Kocho to come quick!

At first, he’d been confused, because he hadn’t understood why she was crying. He’d tried to reach for her, to wipe the tears spilling down her cheeks when the pain had slammed into him, causing him to seize, arm suspended in mid-air.

Never before had he not been in control of his body; it had sent him into a panic.

“No, Kyojuro, please don’t move!” Y/N had cried, calling him, for the first time, by his given name. a warm hand wrapping around the one he’d stretched out towards her, lowering it gently down to the bed. “Your injuries are too grave!”

He didn’t remember much after that, only what Kocho had filled him in on later — namely, that he’d begun to panic, his breathing flaring out of control as he’d tried to fight off Y/L/N, a Kakushi, and the Insect Pillar.

His recovery had been long and slow. His wounds from the Upper Three demon had resulted in significant muscle damage that had required weeks of intensive care and training in order to build it back up again.

Those long days spent at the Butterfly Mansion had given him time to stew; to rage against himself. He’d been frustrated, so unbelievably frustrated over his inability to swing his own sword for more than five minutes that he almost considered giving in and retiring.

And then Uzui arrived, and he’d mentioned an upcoming mission to the Entertainment District, that they had discussed prior to Kyojuro leaving for the damned train, and the Sound Pillar revealed that his intel suggested the possible presence of an Upper Rank.

Kyojuro had promised to accompany him, and then he’d woken up in Kocho’s hospital, and that mission had been taken off the table and given to her.

The panic he had felt had been indescribable; he had narrowly survived an encounter with an Upper Rank, but then he was forced to watch the woman he loved walk straight into the wolf's den, and he had been incapable of convincing her to stay behind.

While she had been gone, he had railed against and prayed to and cursed at the gods, begging them to bring her home, to let her come back to him alive and whole.

Instead, they’d sent her back as a near-corpse and had laughed at his pitiful attempts to save her.

And then, she had straddled that narrow divide between life and death for nearly two months, and he had been as helpless as a cat chasing a string — his desire forever in sight yet somehow always just beyond his reach.

After his brush with death, he’d made a commitment to himself not to think of his battle with the Upper Three demon, to not waste his skill and energy on the past, but rather focus his fury on ensuring that when they did meet again, he would emerge victorious. He’d certainly not given any thought to the demon’s slime-tongued words.

He’d been disgusted when the demon had propositioned turning him into its like — and outright offended that those creatures could ever compare to the beautiful transience of humanity.

But then he’d cradled Y/N, broken and dying in his arms, and for the first time, Kyojuro had understood the appeal of the Upper Three’s offer.

Because he would rather have lived in a world in which Y/N had been turned into his enemy than in one in which she did not exist at all.

The very thought had shaken him to his core; because it meant he was not fully dedicated to their cause. He had no right to call himself a Hashira; nor did he have any right to claim to love Y/L/N. Not when he’d so easily damn her out of his own selfishness. So he had run.

A coward, after all.

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

(Y/N’s POV)

Y/N was panting, her fury rippling off her in near-tangible waves.

“So, this whole thing,” she seethed, her voice shaking. “Your whole fucking attitude — has been because you’ve had your head so far up your ass, that you thought my injuries were your fault?”

It was unbelievable. It was ridiculous. And yet it was so Rengoku that it made her ears ring, made her see red as she tried to keep herself from imploding.

Rengoku said nothing, but she could see the way his eyes shuttered closed, his walls flying back up as he remained intent on keeping her out. He turned and began walking back towards the path back to the Estates.

“I was right — you ARE a coward!” She shrieked after him.

He froze. She stood there, heaving, daring him to turn around, to face her.

“Do not call me a coward again,” he said quietly, his back still to her, but his shoulders tensed, his fists balling once more at his sides.

Y/N smiled ruefully. “Then exactly what would you call what you’re doing now?.” Her lip curled into a sneer. “Run away, Rengoku. It’s what you do best.”

A flash of orange and white clouded her vision as Rengoku turned on his heel and closed the distance between them before she could draw another breath.

Y/N did not have time to react before his hands gripped either side of her jaw as he slammed his mouth down against hers, furious and heated.

It was not gentle; it was an angry clash of lips and teeth, but it also stoked a fire so hot in Y/N’s belly that she did not care, and she fully gave herself over to the bruising press of his lips against hers. She gladly opened up to him so that his tongue could slide into her mouth as one of his hands snaked behind her head to press her harder to him, demanding that she let him take and take until he was sated.

As quickly as it had begun, it was over. They broke apart with a gasp, leaping back from one another as though burned. Their chests heaved as they stared at one another.

There was a line drawn in the sand between them. If either of them crossed it, there would be no going back.

He was a coward, but she wasn’t. And she’d grown tired of this tedious dance of theirs.

Yet it surprised her all the same that he reached for her at the same time she moved for him, the two of them colliding like magnets as their mouths clashed together once more.

Rengoku kissed her like he was drowning, and she was his lifeline.

Y/N threw her arms around his neck and tugged him down closer to her, determined to take from him as much as he wanted to take from her.

The pair of them stumbled back against the ancient oak tree that sat back from the grassy cliff, Y/N caged against its bark by the Flame Pillar.

His hands gripped fistfuls of her haori as though he couldn’t decide whether to pull her closer or tug her away. His lips devoured each breathy moan he pulled from her as one hand tangled in her hair and pulled, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

She ran her hands through the fiery strands of his hair, gripping and tugging it as he explored her mouth was his demanding tongue. Y/N, emboldened by the way his fingers dug into her haori, let her hands roam from his hair and to his neck, and then to the rocky planes of his broad chest before settling on his hips as she tugged him flush against her.

His control was slipping, and fast. “Y/L/N, I can’t- I won’t be able to hold back.” Rengoku moaned into her mouth, his hands scrunching the fabric of her haori, his fingers desperately seeking to hold her closer to him. “Tell me to stop, Y/L/N.”

Y/N’s hands only buried deeper into his hair, tugging him harder against her as she slid her tongue into his waiting mouth.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered against his mouth between breaks for oxygen. “Never stop, Rengoku.”

Y/N pulled back from him, just enough to unlatch his hands from where they were buried in the back of her haori, and moved them inside its folds, right on her bare waist.

The burning weight of his hands felt exquisite.

Rengoku shuddered as he felt the smooth, soft dips of Y/N’s waist, his fingers digging into her flesh as he sought to touch more of her, his hands running across every inch that was not covered by her bindings or those glorious undershorts.

Lips still moving furiously against hers, Rengoku bent slightly to run his hands down the silken expanse of her thighs, gripping under her knees before hoisting her up to carry her away from the tree and lay her down in the velvety grass below.

Y/N felt as though she were on fire. The ache between her legs was almost maddening, and she was desperate to have the Flame Pillar sheathe himself inside her, to make her forget even her own name.

If she could not have his love, she could at least have this.

Her hands dragged down Rengoku’s front, coming to a rest at his belt before she began fumbling with the clasp. Y/N had just managed to undo it when Rengoku’s hands — large, warm, and much stronger than her own, wrapped around her wrists, stilling her.

“Not yet, you impatient woman,” he smirked against her mouth. He moved one wrist to join the other in his left hand before bringing her arms up over her head, pinning her to the ground.

Y/N whimpered and rolled her hips against his, impatient and demanding, wanting desperately to feel some relief as her core clenched wildly around nothing.

Rengoku chuckled darkly, the rich timbre of his voice causing her blood to nearly boil with her want, as he made his way down her body with his lips.

He first came to her chest bindings, growling in impatience as he nipped at one breast over the tightly wound fabric.

His fingers brushed against her sternum as he ripped her bindings straight down the middle, Y/N shuddering as the warm summer night’s air caressed her sensitive skin, her nipples pebbling at the change in temperature.

She waited for him to lavish her soft mounds, but the Flame Pillar paused, eyes narrowed on the valley between her breasts, right on the pale, lilac mark where he’d plunged Shinobu’s antidote into her heart.

Y/N felt a lump form in her throat. He’d reacted poorly to the ribboned scar on her lower belly already, and now her once chance to finally have Rengoku in the way she’d so desperately longed to have him was about to be ruined.

But instead of pulling away from her in disgust, he leaned forward and pressed his lips softly against it the healed wound.

“I hadn’t realized I wounded you,” he murmured softly, reverently as he kissed it again. Y/N watched in bewilderment as he pressed his ear against her chest, letting his head rest there for a moment.

Listening to her heart hammer against her sternum.

“The sweetest music,” he whispered, pulling away to look at her not with lust but with unbounded tenderness.

Don’t look at me like that, she silently begged, don’t give me hope.

But as quickly as the moment had come, it passed and the esurient flame in Rengoku’s eyes flickered back to life. His lips continued down her abdomen, hot and needy until he reached the source of her near-fatal injury.

His mouth paused at the scar left by Upper Moon Six, the one he’d so callously glared at not even an hour before. This time, he ran his tongue along it, from the top to its base near her hipbone, pressing a fierce kiss against its end before continuing his descent.

“I will either have to thank my old Tsugoku the next time I see her,” Rengoku whispered darkly as he pulled at the soft waistband of Y/N’s undershorts with his teeth. “Or I shall have to burn her sewing room to cinders.” Rengoku’s fingers slid beneath the short hem of her bottoms, pulling them down inch by inch to expose her sensitive flesh.

Rengoku groaned when he saw Y/N was not wearing anything else beneath her scandalous bottoms. “Definitely burning.” His hands, so large and warm ran up the outer curve of her thighs, marveling at the silky smoothness of her skin. “Because you are far too tempting when wearing them.”

The Flame Pillar looked wild as he leaned forward, pressing his lips against the lower indent between Y/N’s hipbones as he kissed his way down to where she ached the most.

He ducked around the center of her desire in favor of sucking softly on her inner thigh. Y/N’s chest heaved as her hands flailed next to her, desperately seeking purchase, until the Flame Hashira caught them in his hands, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles on her palms as their fingers interlaced.

“Rengoku - just fuck me already,” Y/N groaned as the Flame Pillar’s face settled between her thighs, his hot breath against her bare cunt causing her legs to attempt to clench shut.

“Well now, that won’t do,” Rengoku tutted, his hands withdrawing from hers as he wound his arms underneath both of her thighs, spreading them as wide as he could to expose her core to his heady gaze.

Rengoku leaned forward and lightly traced up her damp slit with the tip of his tongue. His amber irises which had been locked on hers, rolled back into his head as he groaned at her taste.

“I’m going to take my time with you. I’ve been dreaming of this for a long time, Y/N.” He warned, hands tightening around her thighs as he pressed a light kiss against her slit, teasing her.

In the back of her mind, Y/N registered that he’d used her first name. But the graze of his lips against her most sensitive flesh had her crying out his name, high-pitched and breathy, and she watched helplessly as the sound made Rengoku’s eyes turn black.

In an instant, he was upon her, and he was ravenous.

His mouth latched to her center as though she was an oasis in the middle of a blazing desert, and he was a man dying of thirst.

The way Rengoku’s teeth grazed her sensitive nub made her abdomen clench, and she fought against his ironclad grip on her thighs as they spasmed, desperate to clench around his head.

Y/N moaned, head thrown back into the soft summer grass as she felt herself grow wetter and wetter beneath the Flame Pillar, her hands desperately tugging and pinching at her breasts in an effort to feel more pleasure.

Y/N felt as though she was hurtling towards a cliff that she could not stop herself from tumbling over as Rengoku increased the intensity of his ministrations against her needy cunt.

“You taste,” he ground out through harsh drags of his tongue up her drenched folds, “like fucking paradise.”

His mouth latched around her clit, giving it a sharp suck that had Y/N seeing stars. She barely had time to recover, to acknowledge that she was at her tipping point when Rengoku thrust his tongue into her core and began to fuck her.

Y/N came apart the moment she felt his tongue enter her, a rush of her juices spilling over his relentless maw, but he held her hips down and continued his feast. His teeth grazed her clit over and over while his tongue pumped steadily in and out of her, and Y/N was close to sobbing at the overstimulation.

The Flame Pillar kept his eyes locked on hers the entire time, the amber orbs glowing almost ominously in the indigo night.

“I- fuck.” Y/N breathed, grinding unrestrainedly against the blonde’s greedy mouth. “Rengoku!”

The Ice Pillar tried to sit up, tried to grab her comrade’s hair to tell him that she couldn’t take it anymore, that she needed him, but Rengoku was faster. Unfurling a steely arm from where it had been locked around her thigh to hold her open to him, he reached up her torso, his large hand splaying across her upper abdomen to restrain her.

“Sit down,” he growled between thrusts of his tongue into her aching cunt, nipping harshly at her inner thigh. “I am not finished.”

Y/N whimpered beneath the weight of his hand holding her down against the earth and the nearly painful ecstasy that Rengoku bestowed upon her between her legs.

Whether it was in praise for her obedience or a further act of torture, Rengoku then pressed his face flush against her core and rocked it harshly from side to side, his nose and the burgeoning stubble along his jaw scraping against her overstimulated and sensitive flesh.

Y/N slapped her hand against her mouth to stifle the howl that tore from her throat. Rengoku repeated the movement; it felt wonderful. It felt obscene. It made Y/N’s thighs contract around his head as her stomach dipped inward and a gush of her juices spilled out of her, more powerful than before, dampening the collar of the Flame Pillar’s haori.

For a breath, Y/N thought she would die of embarrassment until she felt Rengoku’s mouth vibrate against her from his groan of satisfaction. His tongue thrust once, twice more into her aching core before he withdrew completely, satisfaction tugging at the corners of his smirking lips.

But Rengoku looked nowhere near sated as he gazed down hungrily at her, wantonly spread out against the grass, the shredded pieces of her training attire strewn about, save for her haori.

“I will give you one last chance to end this now,” Rengoku whispered, kneeling above her but no longer touching her. “Tell me to stop, and I will. I will walk away, and no one will know.”

Though her body already ached from the intensity of Rengoku’s mouth upon her, she could not fathom stopping here, not when she’d barely begun to taste him herself. The thought of rolling aside to pull on the tattered remains of her clothing, to return to her estate and awake tomorrow as though he had not melted every icy reservation she’d held with his touch, was enough to make her want to cry.

Though her limbs felt boneless, she summoned all her strength to reach toward the Flame Hashira, to beckon him to return to her.

“I want you, Rengoku,” Y/N said, her voice a breathy whisper as tears clung to her eyelashes. “Please.”

Rengoku’s pupils exploded, his eyes darkening as he covered her nude body with his own. Y/N nearly sobbed in relief as his lips roughly caught hers, one hand coming up to cradle her face while the other snaked beneath her head, tilting it to the side so he could deepen his claim over her mouth.

Y/N’s hands rose, shakily, to pull at the buttons of his uniform top, desperate to feel his skin burn against hers.

“On one condition,” Rengoku said, moving his lips from hers to press against her ear, Y/N shivering. “You must call me by my name,”

“Rengoku?” Y/N questioned her mind too fogged by her own desire.

He nipped lightly under her jaw before pulling his face back from hers, smirking slightly at the way she whined when avoided her attempt to kiss him again.

“My true name.”

With clarity, Y/N realized what he desired. But he had teased her far too much already, and she yearned to return the favor.

So she looked up at him through her eyelashes, teeth sinking into her lower lip in such a way that made the Flame Hashira’s eyes darken.

“Please, please, Kyojuro,” she whispered, lancing a hand up his bicep. “Take me.”

The growl that clawed its way out of the heaving chest of the Flame Pillar made Y//N’s thighs clamp together. Rengoku — Kyojuro — pounced on her, and Y/N summoned all her residual strength to rip his uniform shirt open.

Kyojuro moaned into her neck as his shirt gave way and Y/N’s hands came to rest against his bare skin, her nails raking down his taut pectorals to the rigid planes of his chiseled abdomen.

Her lips began descending the path carved by her nails when she drew short at the dark, thick starburst-shaped scar that covered his shoulder and left pectoral. Kyojuro’s breath seized as she pressed her lips ever so softly against it, turning so she could look up at him from beneath her lashes.

Kyojuro was panting as she nuzzled against his scar, kissing it once more before gently gliding her hand over his heart and resting it there, letting herself savor the strong, sturdy beat from within his chest.

Just as he did before, she resumed her trail down his body, her lips coming to the edge of his pants when his hands wound themselves in her hair, every nerve in his body alight as she licked her way up the small happy trail that stopped just below his belly button.

As much as he wanted to feel her mouth around him, Kyojuro had been driven to the brink of insanity by Y/N’s touch, and his resolve was quickly dwindling.

“Y/N — my flame — I can’t wait,” Kyojuro said by way of apology, as he covered her hands with his own to still them on his belt. He slipped his hands down to grip her wrists, bringing them together in one hand and moving her arms up over her head, pinning them against the grasp. With his free hand, Kyojuro loosened his belt and his pants, and shimmied them down, kicking them off behind him. Y/N’s eyes widened at the sight of his proud length as it bounced against his belly button.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She was no stranger to the male body, but this – she’d never had anyone compare to Kyojuro’s size or girth.

Kyojuro noticed her hesitation. “Is this – have you ever --?” Kyojuro breathed, hovering above her. It did not matter to him whether she had or had not, but he wanted to ensure that he did not hurt her.

Y/N shook her head. “No, it’s not my first time – but you are the first one to be so…well endowed.” Y/N flushed as Kyojuro laughed softly above her, and she felt his lips graze hers.

He pulled back slightly, reaching to grip the base of his aching cock tapping it against her soaked cunt in a warning and in permission.

Y/N seized beneath him at the spark of hot pleasure that was sent crackling up her spine as he rubbed his velvety head against the most sensitive part of her core. “Kyojuro,” she hissed through clenched teeth, rolling her hips impatiently towards him.

The mushroomed tip of his cock pushed into her entrance and Y/N felt herself go cross-eyed. It was heaven; pure, unadulterated, blissful heaven.

He was insistent on easing his thick length into her, but the throbbing between Y/N’s legs had grown nearly unbearable. He still wasn’t close enough, not nearly as much as she needed him to be.

Boldly, Y/N locked her ankles against Kyojuro’s backside, and with all her might, hauled him into her in a single stroke.

“Fuck!” he yelled, unable to restrain his volume as Y/N forced him to become fully seated within her. Her core was impossibly tight and so fucking warm and wet that it had been a true exercise of self-restraint not to spill himself inside her right then.

Y/N nearly screamed in pleasured relief at the way her body burned and stretched around Kyojuro’s considerable length, his base pressed flush against her sensitive clit as she began to grind furiously against him, desperate to relieve the friction that made her ache.

Kyojuro was still panting from the way Y/N had slammed him into her, nearly trembling with restraint as he willed himself not to finish before they’d truly begun.

Once certain that he would not climax like some green boy, he laughed quietly under his breath. The dark sound caused Y/N’s eyes to fly open, and her stomach flipped at the wicked glint in his eyes as he stared at her like a hunter stalking its prey.

Kyojuro leaned forward and took one of her breasts, harshly into his mouth, grazing his teeth over her nipple hard enough to make Y/N cry out in slight pain before he lapped at it soothingly with his tongue.

“You want me to fuck you, is that it?” He murmured between his ministrations, leaving fresh marks all over aching mounds.

Y/N could hardly make a sound as Kyojuro withdrew almost completely from her heat before slamming into her once, the Ice Pillar nearly choking on the breath that flew from her chest with his force.

Desperately — pathetically — Y/N nodded, whimpering.

“If that’s how you want it,” Kyojuro growled against her breast, giving her nipple one harsh nip with his teeth before pulling himself off her.

He sat on his knees, back straight as he began to pound relentlessly into her, his hands gripping her backside and holding her flush against his strong thighs. Y/N’s head remained thrown back against the earth, her fingers tearing at the soft grass beneath her.

Rengoku’s movements were just like those he wielded in battle — powerful; all-consuming; relentless; and unforgiving.

Y/N had never considered herself to be a particularly vocal person when engaged in carnal activities, but the way that Rengoku’s cock hammered into her spasming core over and over had reduced her to a moaning and whimpering mess. The only intelligible thing that fell from her lips was his name — Kyojuro.

“You look so fucking beautiful like this,” Kyojuro grunted out between forceful snaps of his hips against hers, the night air alive with the lewd squelching of Y/N’s dripping cunt as he pistoned into her.

Y/N looked to see the Flame Pillar’s eyes locked on her breasts as they bounced with the force of his thrusts. Between the moans and whimpers he pulled from her with every punishing thrust of his hips against hers, she lightly dragged her fingers from their place in the grass to her hipbone, and then up to trace teasingly around her peaked breast.

Kyojuro’s eyes followed every move, his thrusts hardening as she pinched her nipple and let out a breathy little scream, her walls pulsing around his aching length.

“Fuck,” Kyojuro grit, feeling himself twitch within her as he watched Y/N play with herself, spurring him to go faster, deeper within her.

He moved his hand under one of her knees and lifted her leg over his shoulder, allowing him to plunge deeper into her silken heat, and he teasingly drew his fingers up and down her outer thigh.

At that moment, as Kyojuro was poised against the silhouette of the moon, his amber eyes glowing as he watched where he appeared and disappeared inside her, the realization hit Y/N like a storm, and it knocked her entirely off her axis.

She was in love with Kyojuro.

Who else could make her feel so sacred and yet so angry? Who else had been capable of slipping past every wall she’d built within herself, capable of getting her to let her guard down before consuming her so furiously she had not realized she’d ever been in danger?

He was fire, she was ice. One of them had to give to the other. She’d just always thought it would be him giving into her.

Yet there, beneath the moonlight, her climax rising above her like a tidal wave, Y/N realized that she was powerless against the waves that rose to pull her under, to never again let her up for air.

Distantly, Y/N felt the Flame Pillar’s callused thumb find her clit and her climax slammed into her, and she succumbed to the endless sea called Kyojuro.

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

As Y/N broke apart around him, Kyojuro swore he’d never seen anything as beautiful in his entire life.

She shattered over him with the prettiest scream he’d ever heard, and he could barely make out the drawn-out syllables of his name as her hips jerked up against his while her inner walls threatened to squeeze the life from him.

Y/N finally collapsed back against the ground, her body limp from the exhaustion of her pleasure. Kyojuro then moved in chase of his own release, his hips pressed solidly against hers as he rutted his cock deep within her.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his hands tightening around Y/N’s waist. The familiar electricity of impending release tingled at the base of Kyojuro’s spine, and his stomach began to clench as he began his ascent to his climax. “Y/N — I am going to finish soon,” his head was thrown back, and his groans were loud enough to alert anyone nearby of exactly what was transpiring between the two Hashira. “Please — tell me where--”

“Inside,” Y/N gasped, her legs tightening around Kyojuro’s hips in a feeble attempt to keep him within her, to ensure that he wouldn’t yet leave her. “Please, Kyojuro, stay.”

Kyojuro was a rational man, and he knew of one major reason not to allow his seed to spill inside Y/N’s heavenly body. But all those rationalities flew out the window at the sound of her wanton and needy whimpers and the way her heat fluttered around him and Kyojuro did not think he could pull out of her if he wanted to.

Kyojuro’s thrusts became more and more frenzied and bruising, with the Flame Hashira hardly dragging his twitching length out of her as he neared his own climax.

“Hold onto me,” he panted, falling forward so that his chest was pressed flush against Y/N’s, one arm going to wrap around her waist while the other snaked over to where her arm lay in the grass, gripping her wrist to pin it up over her head as his fingers interlocked tightly with hers.

Y/N hiked her legs higher up his waist, crossing them at her shins so that he was buried deep within her. Her free arm looped under the one he had braced above her head to wrap around his back, her fingers digging into the rippling muscle and scarred skin that littered his shoulders.

“Make me yours, Kyojuro,” she whispered against his neck, squeezing his hips with her thighs.

Y/N felt his entire body tense at her words and Kyojuro’s moans turned into shouts as he gave one final, deep thrust within her before he exploded. His hand tightened fiercely around hers with the force of his climax,

The pleasure that surged up his spine had been white hot as he pushed himself as deeply as he could possibly go within Y/N’s vice-like core. Kyojuro was not a novice to pleasure, but he had never finished as hard or as much as he did buried within her.

Kyojuro canted his hips, prolonging his release as he continued to empty himself into her, coming down from his earth-shattering high. Y/N mewled against his throat, her lips brushing against his sensitive pulse point as her legs spasmed. once more around his hips.

He finally stilled within her, arms shaking as he braced himself above her, to keep from crushing the exhausted woman beneath him.

He lowered his head down to her level. “Are you all right, my flame?” He panted, pressing a kiss between her brows before he rested his forehead heavily against hers.

She looked up at him from under her eyelashes and nodded shakily.

He no longer could keep himself from collapsing against Y/N, but as he fell forward, he gripped her and rolled, pulling her to his chest with his leaking cock still nestled deeply between her legs.

“I don’t want to push you away,” Kyojuro murmured softly after a moment, his chest finally easing as his breathing slowed.

Y/N made a show of looking down to where they were still joined, the Flame Pillar’s pearly seed slowly leaking out of her and onto the grass below them. “I think I’m about as close to you as physically possible, Rengoku.”

Kyojuro rolled his eyes and ground his hips slightly into her, causing Y/N to squeak against him.

“Quiet, woman, I’m trying to apologize to you.” He trailed his fingers up and down her spine as she nestled back against his chest, chin perched on his pectoral as she waited for him to continue.

“I was just so angry. After the incident on the train, when I woke up in Kocho’s hospital — I was furious. With myself.” Amber eyes met hers and softened to pools of melted honey. “It was never you I was angry with.”

Y/N held his gaze evenly, her voice firm. “But you took it out on me all the same.” It wasn’t an angry accusation — it was the truth; ugly and sharp. But it was real, and so was the tentative, knowing hope in her eyes.

“Yes,” Kyojuro breathed. “Yes, I did. And I am so sorry for it, Y/N.” His hand reached up to gently cup the side of her face, thumb smoothing over the soft expanse of her cheek. “May I ask for your forgiveness?”

Y/N leaned her head into his warm palm, and smiled, softly.

“You may ask, Kyojuro.”

He brushed his thumb along her lower lip. “Can you forgive me, Y/N?”

Y/N threw a leg out over his other hip, straddling him beneath her, though moving so fluidly that they remained connected at their base.

She rolled her hips against his, and he felt himself begin to harden within her once more. Kyojuro moaned softly, head falling back against the earth as he brought his hands up to steady her, fingers digging gently into her hips as she repeated the movement, again and again, until he’d fully stiffened within her.

“Yes Kyojuro,” she sighed, hands coming to brace themselves against his abdomen as she began to ride him. “I forgive you.”

Kyojuro groaned, his head thrown back as he began to gently grind up into her, goosebumps erupting over his flesh as she lightly raked her nails over his pectorals and the hard ridges of his abdomen.

He wanted so very badly to lose himself within his pleasure, to allow Y/N to consume him whole and never let him go again, but his atonement was not complete.

Because Y/N had given him every opportunity to confess to her before, and he had been careless with them; she would not open that door herself again.

So he would.

“And may I give you my heart, Y/N?” He asked, his hands gliding sensually up from her hips to brace themselves on either side of her sensitive waist, squeezing her firmly.

Her pace had stuttered slightly once his words registered, eyes widening as she looked down at him, and Kyojuro hated that he was the reason the shadow of doubt lingered in her eyes.

“Is it truly mine?” She breathed, resuming the intoxicating rise and fall and push and grind of her hips, breasts beginning to bounce as she picked up her pace.

Kyojuro’s mouth watered, but he restrained himself, holding her gaze. “It was only ever yours, Y/N.”

Y/N cried out then, her hips beginning to drop and roll into his with urgency. By the way her damp heat began to pulse and constrict around him, Kyojuro knew that she was barreling towards her release once more.

One hand left its searing position at her waist to drift down to where they were connected, his rough thumb toying with the sensitive nub that had her heavenly cunt squeezing him for dear life.

“My beautiful flame,” he moaned, “how lucky I am to have such a darling god be the keeper of my heart.”

Kyojuro rolled into her from below again, the hand still braced on her waist guiding himself to push deeper into her, as his thumb began to press harder into the apex of her thighs.

“Sweet tempest, please,” Kyojuro panted, the relentless squeeze of Y/N’s walls around his aching length beginning to drive him to the point of madness. “Please, may I have your love?”

Y/N’s moans were piercing as she half-sobbed above him, head thrown back into the night sky, the hoary glow of the moon making her look like a celestial deity given human form as she writhed above him.

“Yes!” Y/N cried, “Yes Kyojuro, you have always had my love!”

The moment the words fell from her lips, Kyojuro jolted upright, coming into a sitting position as Y/N’s legs instantly wrapped around him. He wound one arm around her waist to bounce her in his lap, the other moving to circle his fingers around her nub.

Kyojuro nuzzled her nose with his own, his lips mere centimeters from hers as he pressed his forehead against her and held her eyes. “Then come for me, Y/N,” he murmured, his breath tickling her lips as he nuzzled her again. “Come for me, my love.”

Y/N seized around him like a vice, her head falling back as she unleashed a euphoric cry.

The force of her climax had caused her to arch backward in Kyojuro’s lap, thrusting her breasts up and forward, and Kyojuro bent to suck one into his greedy mouth, his own release imminent. The warm sticky rush of her pleasure combined with the way her velvety, molten walls constricted around him had Kyojuro seeing stars as his seed shot into her, hot and fast, his strangled groan muffled only by the soft plush of Y/N’s breast as he filled her to her brim for the second time that night.

For a long moment, neither Pillar said anything as they came down from their mutual highs, Y/N’s head pressed against Kyojuro’s shoulder while the Flame Pillar kept his arms firmly around her waist, his fingers trailing up and down her spine.

“Y/N, are you all right?” He murmured into her ear, still buried deep within her heat.

Y/N nodded sleepily against his skin, savoring how full and complete she felt perched in his lap.

“I love you, Kyojuro.” She said so softly that the Flame Pillar thought his heart might break. Kyojuro pulled away slightly to bring his fingers beneath her chin where she lay against his shoulder. Gently, he tilted her face towards his and captured her lips with his own.

“My darling flame,” He murmured against her lips as they broke apart, his eyes sweeping over her face, committing every detail of her beauty to memory. “Thank you.”

Y/N gave him a lazy smile. “I cannot be your flame, Kyojuro,” she teased, “Not when I am made of ice.”

Kyojuro flipped her back beneath him and danced his lips teasingly across the bridge of her nose. “Don’t you know, my beautiful foil, that ice can burn just as well as flame?” He pressed a feather-light kiss against her lips. “And I have been consumed by your silvery fire since I first laid eyes on you at Final Selection.”

Y/N looked up at him in wonder, her hand coming to rest against his face as she adoringly caressed his cheek.

“I love you, Y/N. I am so sorry it took me until now to say it.”

-------------------------------------------------—

Epilogue

Y/N made back it into her room, sight unseen, just as dawn had crept over the horizon.

Feet bare, she padded softly over to her waiting bed, shrugging out of Kyojuro’s uniform shirt and falling into her blankets, not caring at the growing discomfort she felt as the Flame Pillar’s seed dried in her undershorts.

She just wanted to sleep.

Y/N and Kyojuro had come together twice more before the pair realized that morning was imminent, and they needed to return to their respective dwellings before anyone noticed they were gone.

Y/N had lamented that Kyojuro had shredded her chest bindings beyond salvation and had worried she’d be forced to sneak back into the Butterfly Mansion with nothing but her haori to cover her bare chest when Kyojuro slid his uniform shirt over her shoulders.

“No one will think twice if they see me bare,” he’d said by way of explanation, gaze dropping momentarily to appreciate the marks he had left dotted across her breasts before rising back to her face. “I would like to keep you hidden, however.”

Kyojuro then fastened each button one by one, beginning from the bottom as he kissed his way up Y/N’s torso until his lips found the sensitive spot beneath her jaw, which he’d nipped.

It had taken everything in her not to throw him down and have him for the fifth time.

Kyojuro had walked with her as far as the edge of the path back to Shinobu’s before parting her with a sweet kiss and a promise to return to her later in the morning. He had also mentioned, somewhat mischievously, that he would be inquiring into when Y/N could expect to be discharged from the Butterfly Mansion and return to her own Estate.

Her empty, person-free estate.

Y/N collapsed into her bed, ready to sleep for a precious few hours before her training would begin anew.

“So, do you mind sharing where you’ve been all night?” A dangerously sweet voice chirped from over by the door.

Y/N shot up out of her bed, stomach falling out of her ass, as she faced the smiling, enraged Insect Pillar seated primly atop her wooden stool opposite of her.

“I was quite worried, you know,” Shinobu tutted, the honey of her smile poisoned by the violence in her eyes.

Y/N had never been one to be at a loss for words, a quick comment, or a snappy retort always on hand when the situation called for it.

But to her horror, her mind had gone dreadfully blank, and her tongue was swollen stupid in her mouth.

Shinobu smiled like she knew, eyes slowly looking her over, and Y/N was left with the uncomfortable feeling that her friend could see every way she’d allowed Kyojuro to utterly defile her.

“Will you be in need of a contraceptive?” Shinobu asked lightly, and Y/N felt like she would drop dead right then and there.

“…Yes, please.” She managed to squeak, and the Insect Pillar turned to leave.

“I will bring it with your breakfast.” Her hand closed around the doorknob but stilled.

“And Y/N?”

The Ice Pillar whimpered as her friend turned to look back at her, all smiles and throbbing forehead veins.

“If you ever keep the younger girls awake from the sounds of your activities with the Flame Pillar again, I will poison you both.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

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stevie-petey · 10 months ago

Text

episode two: trick or treat, freak

“Why do you only ever care about me when I’m some kicked fucking puppy?” Steve’s words are vicious, and you flinch at his tone. “You know that’s not true,” “It’s not?” He scoffs at you. “Then explain what happened this summer.” “I…” You can’t. Steve sees your reluctance to say anything and lets out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, whatever. Some real fucking friend you were.”

Summary: you and nancy have a bonding session in the library (kinda hot tbh), billy gives jonathan and steve a common cause to unite on: Protect Y/N, you're a chauffeur to a very sad steve harrington, and dustin uses will's trauma to his advantage.

Rating: general, slight cursing

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, slight sexual harassment (billy corners reader and is gross), cursing, alcohol

Words: 7.9k

Before you swing in: hello ! new chapter, we've arrived at halloween !! i finally get to have a fun authors note comment: i crashed my car lol. i'm fine tho and i hope yall enjoy and like what ive done and changed a bit with this episode. i had fun coming up with costume ideas for the reader, i think the character fits her well :) and before i go: i start school next week, so updates will def be coming a bit slower after this. anyways, happy reading !

The Henderson house is pure chaos morning of Halloween.

Dustin is running around the house, screaming about how his costume has to be absolutely perfect and that if you don’t hurry up with the jack-o-lantern pancakes then he’s going to just leave without eating breakfast. Meanwhile your mother is running after him, straightening his suit and tidying his hair.

“The pancakes are almost done, my god.” You flip the last pancake, but in your rush the jack-o-lantern’s smile turns into more of a grimace, but hey, food is food. You quickly set Dustin’s plate down on the table and practically shove him into the seat.

“Eat.”

“But my proton blaster–”

“Is on the steps, I’ll grab it. Eat, I want pictures with you.” You kiss the top of your brother’s head and then run over to grab his costume’s prop.

“I’m thirteen now, I don’t need my sister doting on me–” Dustin complains, but then his eyes land on the mini Reese’s Pieces you’ve decorated his pancakes with and quickly changes his tone. “Oh! Candies! Yummy!”

You laugh at him and bring his backpack over. The Ghostbusters matching costume idea that boys have planned for today makes you want to just sweep them all into your arms and kiss their tiny little faces. They may be getting older with crushes and angsty feelings, but they’re still the same nerdy little boys you met when you were twelve.

Dustin wolfs down his pancakes and your mom prepares her camera. You woke up earlier than usual this morning specifically so that you could make Dustin’s annual Halloween pancakes and then take pictures of him with his costume on. As soon as he’s done eating, you and your mom whisk him towards the fireplace for pictures.

“Oh, I want to see those pearls!” Your mother squeals as she takes a million pictures of Dustin. When he smiles, she loses her mind. “Yeah! Lovely, I love it!”

You’re just as ecstatic as your mom. “Who you gonna call Dustin?”

“Ghostbusters!” He sings along, holding up his proton blaster with an even wider smile on his face.

It’s a happy morning.

Dustin puts on a show as he poses for your mom, and you even join in for some. Sure, you aren’t in costume, but who knows how many more mornings like these you have left? Dustin is getting older, all the boys are, so you plan on cherishing these mornings for as long as possible.

You and Dustin are giggling as you now stand back to back, him holding his blaster and you holding up finger guns, and your mom is taking multiple final pictures when Jonathan arrives. He knocks on the door before letting himself in. When he sees you and Dustin posing, he starts loudly belting the Ghostbusters song.

“God, bee. At least let my coffee kick in before you subject me to your horrible singing.” You playfully groan, grabbing your own backpack and pancakes to eat on the road.

Jonathan ignores your teasing and ruffles Dustin’s hair. “Nice costume, bud.”

Dustin, seemingly still holding a grudge against the guy after your conversation from last night, slaps his hand away and glares at him. “Don’t mess up the hair.”

Your brother proceeds to stare Jonathan down, gives him an “I’m watching you” gesture, and then walks out the front door without any further words. You, Jonathan, and your mom all stand in the living room in varying states of emotions. You’re trying not to laugh at your brother’s antics, your mom is happily looking at the photos she took, and Jonathan is standing there in complete confusion.

“What was that about?” He asks you, slightly hurt by Dustin’s rebuff.

“Shhh,” you hand him a plate of pancakes and then walk towards the front door. “Let’s get to school, bee.”

–

At school, the mullet guy from yesterday finds you at your locker as soon as Jonathan has walked away. The two of you had been running behind schedule, so you’d told Jonathan to head to first period so at least he’d be on time while you tried to find your history textbook.

As you’re digging through your locker, the mullet guy stalks up behind you.

“I never got your name,” he says with a breathy voice, standing way too close behind you.

You straighten your back, but don’t turn around. You know that if you do, the guy will only get a kick out of having your face close to his. “You never asked.”

“So there’s some sass to you underneath all that sweetness.” His breath hits the back of your neck and you shiver, but in a way that makes you feel dirty and unclean.

“What do you want?” You ask the guy, your fingers wrapping around the textbook that you’ve finally found. If needed, you’re sure it’ll make a handy weapon. It’s only you and the guy in the hallway. Everyone else has holed up in class and you’re now regretting sending Jonathan away. You feel trapped, vulnerable, and you hate it.

Mullet man chuckles deeply, his voice reverberating against your back. “Nothing yet. Just thought I’d introduce myself to such a pretty face.”

You don’t say anything, your fingers only tighten around your textbook. If he gets any closer, you’ll swing.

Though you can’t see him, you can feel his eyes flicker to your textbook and he lets out another cruel laugh. “Loosen up, sweetheart, I won’t hurt ya.” You don’t move, and he seems to get another kick out of this. “My name is Billy. Remember that for me, alright?”

Finally Billy steps away from you and you slowly release all the tension that’s built up within you. You still don’t turn around, he hasn’t left yet, but your hands are shaking a bit and you feel unsteady.

“Would you do me a favor, Billy?” Your voice is steady, there’s no trace of the fear within you.

“I’m listening,” Billy is practically purring and you want to gag at how much his cockiness oozes around you.

You turn, now finally facing him, and slam your textbook against Billy’s chest. “Learn some fucking personal space.”

Billy’s only reaction is a smile, which only makes you more uncomfortable, but you refuse to show him this. Instead, you square your shoulders and walk towards your first class. You’ve dealt with assholes in the past; you’ve known Steve Harrington since you were twelve. But Billy is different.

You’re not sure if you want to find out just how different he is from Steve.

–

Another small highlight of your school year so far has been your study sessions in the library with Nancy resuming. The two of you had drifted apart this summer, you just rarely ever saw the girl in between your hectic work schedule and her dates with Steve, but from the first day of junior she’s helped you with your math equations and you’ve helped her with her english essays.

It’s a good trade off and you’ve enjoyed spending time with the girl. Unlike last year, Jonathan doesn’t join anymore. He can’t be too close with her now that she’s back with Steve. So, it’s just you and her for an hour every day during study hall. It’s nice, if you’re being honest.

Today though there’s something off with Nancy.

She’s been tapping her pencil on the table for the last few minutes. Right before you can politely ask her to stop, the tip of the pencil snaps in half. She sighs. “Shit,”

“There’s a sharpener over by the window,” you point towards the general direction. “Sharpen your pencil before these equations officially end my life.”

Nancy laughs, excusing herself and walks over to the sharpener.

You focus back on your homework, the equations swimming around in your brain. It’s not that you’re necessarily bad at math, but you’re no whiz at it either. You get lost in the practice problems, erasing and re-erasing frequently, and you don’t realize just how long Nancy has been gone until she returns. She sits down, and you’re about to make a horrible joke about how stupid it is to find x, when you notice how shaken Nancy looks.

“Woah, hey.” You set your pencil down and turn your attention to Nancy. “Are you okay? You look upset.”

Nancy looks towards one of the library’s private study rooms and you see Steve’s retreating figure. You gather that something’s happened between them, but it confuses you because they’ve been nothing but lovey dovey ever since they got back together. What could possibly cause strife between them?

“C’mon, you can talk to me. I’m known for my fantastic advice.” You probe again, and this time Nancy lets out a soft chuckle.

“It’s… complicated.”

“Take all the time you need. I’ve been stuck on question five for like, twenty minutes now. Any distractions are welcomed.”

Now Nancy lets out a genuine laugh and you find yourself laughing as well. The storminess behind her eyes from earlier has lessened, she looks more relaxed now. Once she’s done laughing, she takes a deep breath and starts from the beginning. “Steve and I have been having dinner with Barb’s parents.”

When Barb’s name leaves Nancy’s lips, you feel your stomach twist with guilt. Had you known this would be about Barb, you wouldn’t have pestered Nancy so much into speaking. You know how much she misses her best friend still, no one blames her.

“Well that sounds nice,” you try to comfort. “I’m sure they appreciate your company.”

Nancy bites her lip and looks away from you. “They wouldn’t if they knew Steve and I killed Barb.”

Shock washes over you. “Can I ask for some context?”

“Steve and I… When I forced Barb to come to his stupid party with me, we–we left her alone that night. By the pool…” Nancy’s voice cracks, and you grab her hand to encourage her to keep going. “We went upstairs to have sex, and Barb–she didn’t want me to leave her alone but I–I did and–”

You remember the photos Jonathan took last year, specifically the one where Barb had been sitting all by herself along the pool’s edge. Behind her had been a shadowy figure, a monster you soon would learn was from an alternate dimension with an intent to kill.

“You think Barb died because you left her alone to go have sex with Steve.” You finish for Nancy, her tears rendering her unable to say more.

She nods, looking away again as more tears stream down her face. You feel horrible for her, knowing first hand just how cruelly guilt can eat away at someone. Jonathan doesn’t know this, but you still think you’re the reason Will disappeared last year. You were the one who left him alone that night. If you had been there, if you had dropped him off at the Byers’ doorstep, you’re sure that he would’ve never ended up facing the horrors that he did.

As for Nancy, you understand everything she’s feeling and more. It isn’t fair how one simple choice, one moment of selfishness, can lead to such tragedy and pain.

Cautiously, you ask Nancy a question. “Does Steve know about the guilt you feel?”

“He knows, but he doesn’t understand.” Nancy’s voice laces with grief and bitterness. “He found me by the pencil sharpener. There was this girl, she looked so much like Barb and I just… I zoned out. I was stuck there, thinking about her, when he found me.”

“Did he notice you were upset?”

“Of course he noticed. He’s Steve, I could shed a single tear and he’d be all over me like I’m some baby.” Nancy scoffs, which makes you frown. You’re not sure what’s so wrong with that, having someone so attuned to your emotions because they love you that deeply.

You push aside your thoughts, however. “What happened, then?”

“We went into a study room and I snapped.” Nancy’s close to tears again. “I just… I want to tell Barb’s parents what really happened. They’re selling their house, Y/N. They’re selling their own home to afford this private detective who promised them he’d find out what happened to her. What–what kind of person would I be if I let my best friend’s parents go bankrupt for being worried about their only child?”

“Nancy…”

“And Steve, he just… He told me it was a bad idea, that–that our families could get hurt and all that bullshit, but what am I supposed to do? I’m trying to figure something out, to fix this, and Steve just wants to go to some stupid party and pretend everything is okay?” Nancy is almost shouting now, and you nervously look around to make sure you're not disturbing anyone. It’s still a library, after all.

Nancy takes a few seconds to collect herself, to steady her breathing and control her anger. You let her take all the time she needs, and when she seems calm enough, you speak. “I understand where you’re coming from and why you’re upset. What happened to Barb is despicable, but… Well, I also agree with Steve.”

“Y/N–”

“No, okay. Listen for a second,” you pause, trying to figure out exactly how to say what you’re thinking. “I think Steve means well, he doesn’t have a malicious bone in that silly body. The Halloween party can be a good thing for you if you let it, a way to destress. You have to move on, you have to allow yourself to move on.”

Nancy tries to argue some more but you continue. “I understand your guilt better than anyone else, I was the one who lost Will that night. But we all signed those contracts, Nancy. If we told anyone what really happened to Barb… It wouldn’t be fair to everyone who gets hurt, all our family members, because we broke a legal oath. You understand that, right?”

“I understand, but it’s not fucking fair.” Nancy’s eyes have a determination in them that startles you. You’ve always known that she was fierce, but seeing the edge in her eyes almost scares you. She’s angry, more than you’ve ever seen her before.

You sigh. “I know, I wish I could do more, but…”

Nancy nods, understanding that there’s not much else you guys can do. You hate to let her down like this, you know she needs to hear something else, to feel supported, but you don’t know what else to tell her.

Steve’s right in his own way, and so is Nancy.

“Can you at least come to the party tonight?” Nancy softly pleads. “It’s just, I’ll feel more comfortable with you there, like I’m less crazy… I mean, that is if you even want to come and–”

“Of course I’ll come, Nance.” You don’t even hesitate to promise her this, nor do you realize that you’ve just called her “Nance”. It slipped from your tongue naturally, as if solidifying your friendship with the girl. You hate parties and loud crowds, but if Nancy needs you there by her side, to hold her hand and remind her of how brave she is, then you’ll happily do so.

Nancy sinks into her seat, relieved. “Thank you, I owe you one.”

“I’ll hold you to that, you know.”

Nancy throws a piece of paper at you and you dodge it, throwing your pencil at her in retaliation. The two of you break out into a fit of giggles until the librarian eventually snaps at you guys and reminds you to be quiet.

You reluctantly get back to work, and as you’re writing down more complex equations, you notice that there’s still a far off look in Nancy’s eyes. You know that she’s still thinking about Barb, the guilt eating away at her, and you know that the topic is far from settled.

–

Halloween is in full swing the second Jonathan drops you off at home from school. There’s already kids milling around up and down your block in an assortment of costumes, all squealing with joy as they collect their candy.

“Meet you in two hours?” You ask Jonathan as you unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Yeah, but remember that I’m not wearing a costume.”

“C’mon, bee! It’s Halloween, where’s your holiday spirit?”

Jonathan groans. “Nag at me all you want, I’m not dressing up. I will, however, offer to be your arm candy.”

“That’s the spirit!” You kiss Jonathan’s cheek and run out of the car and straight into your house. You have two hours to wrap up goodie bags for the neighborhood kids and then get dressed in your costume. It’ll be a tight schedule, but luckily you’re off of work tonight.

It takes you about an hour to assort all your gift bags, separating the boys’ bags from the local kids’ bags, and before you know it you’ve successfully hand packaged goodie bags for an entire army. Once you’re done, you run to your room and throw on your costume. The dress slips over your head and settles gently over you.

You stand in front of your mirror and smile.

It’s perfect.

You’re going as Princess Buttercup tonight for Halloween. You read the Princess Bride around the end of summer and quickly fell in love with Buttercup. You’re not sure if you fell in love with the character because you read the book right after pushing Steve away, or because you saw yourself in Buttercup, but you came to adore her.

Buttercup may have been a bit ditzy, but she loved with everything within her, and with such a passion, that you couldn’t help but admire her. It was her love for others that ultimately drove the story further, and you think there’s something beautiful about that.

The red dress fits perfectly around you and you grab the gold chain that will serve as your belt. Once you’ve secured it around yourself, you place Buttercup’s golden circlet around your head. The costume had been pricier than you would’ve preferred, but as you stand in front of the mirror, you truly do feel like a princess.

Your bee necklace, a wonderful gift from Jonathan, catches light from your window and you smile, bringing your fingers up to the pendant. It’s the only jewelry you need.

“Y/N! Are you almost done? Will radioed that they’d be here soon.” Dustin pounds on your door.

You fling the door open. “I’m done, I just need to put on some makeup.”

Your brother makes a face as he walks into your room and plops himself down onto the beanbag. “You own makeup?”

“Yes, dear brother. I’d wear it more often if I had the time, but between herding you around and my school assignments, I can’t.” You dig through your makeup bag, opting for just mascara and a shimmery pearl eyeshadow. You’ll put on your lipstick in the car to save some time.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with Jonathan, does it?”

You roll your eyes at Dustin. “No, believe it or not I can choose to do things without the influence of others.”

“Hmm, alright. Hurry up though, Mike had this awesome plan to hit up every house with the big candy bars and–”

“Dustin!” You throw a pillow at the boy, shutting him up. “Shush so I can focus.”

He grumbles but remains silent, now watching as you put your makeup on. It’s been a while since you’ve last worn any, so you’re slower than usual. Just as you’re finishing up your mascara, a car honks outside.

Dustin runs out the room and you quickly grab your lipstick and follow after him. You’re wearing your mother’s mary janes again and they pinch your feet as you run, but whatever. You feel pretty tonight, you’re somebody else for now, a princess free from any burdens and stress.

Jonathan is standing outside his car, waiting for you, and when you see him you practically fling yourself in his arms. “You dressed as Westley!”

He spins you around a bit, his plastic sword hitting against his leg. “You wanted me to wear a costume, right?”

You nod, inspecting his costume with glee. He looks amazing, dressed in Westley’s iconic all black attire, his sword by his side, and a mask tied loosely around his neck. To anyone else, Jonathan would look like a regular guy with an affinity for black, but to you, he was dressed as your knight in shining armor.

He’s the Westley to your Princess Buttercup.

Jonathan kisses your knuckles. “Well then, as you wish.”

His words are smooth velvet against your skin, they warm you as the late October air encases you. As you wish, words that became their own I love you within the book. A promise, similar to the one Jonathan made you last year in the passenger seat of his car, pinkies intertwined.

Something stirs within you, seeing Jonathan’s proud smirk on his face because he’s once again managed to surprise you, and the feeling is sickly sweet like syrup. It runs through you slowly, covering every inch of you, and you bask in it.

For now, he’s still yours.

“Can we go now? You guys are gross.” Dustin calls from the car, annoyed.

You and Jonathan spring apart in embarrassment. He laughs, rubs the back of his neck, and tells you, “You look beautiful, Y/N.”

“Why thank you,” you curtsy. “You look rather dashing yourself, good sir.”

“I wasn’t kidding. You look… you’re beautiful.” The sincerity in Jonathan’s voice cuts through you, it cuts through everything between you, and you can only smile.

“Thanks, bee.” You try to keep your voice playful, light and airy as always. “Now, open my door like the brave hero you’re dressed as.”

Jonathan opens your door with a bow, causing you to laugh. You’re sitting in the backseat with Dustin, Will is in the passenger seat, and once you’ve buckled up, Will spins around in his seat to talk to you as Jonathan starts the car.

“Do you think it’s lame that you and Jonathan trick-or-treat with us?

You blink. “What did I miss?”

“I think it’s kinda lame,” Dustin voices next to you, but he lets out a pained squeak after you’ve elbowed his ribs.

Jonathan turns onto the main road and scoffs at the boys. “You think we’re lame?”

“No, but…” Will sinks into his seat, and you watch as he begins to fiddle with the strap of his bag. He’s nervous. “It’s not like Nancy’s coming to watch over Mike, you know?”

Jonathan’s silent, and you catch his eye in the rear view mirror. You know what he’s thinking: Will has been having even more problems in school, he’s sick of being babied, and yet here you guys are, babying him.

You sigh. “Look, Will. We like trick-or-treating with you guys, we don’t go are your babysitters. We go because it’s fun and I get to enjoy free candy as a sixteen year old.”

Will looks out the window and doesn’t acknowledge what you’ve said. You sigh again, knowing that nothing will appease him. He’s only allowed you to see a small portion of how much he’s struggled this year, but you can see his foundations crumbling.

How is he expected to adapt if you and everyone around him refuse to let him do so?

You catch Jonathan’s eye again in the rear view mirror and he seems to be thinking the same thing.

Mike and Lucas run out the Wheeler’s house as soon as you guys park in the driveway. Dustin immediately bolts out the door to greet them, obviously uncomfortable with all the tension, leaving you and Jonathan with Will.

Jonathan looks at you one last time and you nod your head in encouragement. He has to do this, he has to let Will grow on his own.

“Hey, listen.” Jonathan says, stopping Will from leaving. “If I let you go on your own, you promise to stay in the neighborhood?”

Will’s face lights up. “Yeah! Yeah, totally.”

“And be back at Mike’s by 9:00.”

“9:30?”

You reach over and pat Will’s back. “Now you’re pushin’ it, buddy.”

“What Y/N said. Be back by 9:00.” Jonathan instructs, but there’s a fond smile on his face. “Deal?”

“Deal!”

The brothers shake on it and you watch them with a smile. Jonathan hands Will one of Bob’s cameras and makes a poor Dracula joke and you love these boys so much. You wave goodbye to Will as he quickly gets out of the car and runs over to his friends. There’s a new skip in his step, he’s happier than you’ve seen him in a while.

“Alright,” you crawl over the passenger seat and plop yourself in rather ungracefully. “I’d say that went well.”

“We made the right choice, right?”

“I hope so.”

Jonathan sighs and watches the kids, who have now started hitting each other with their candy bags. You flip down the windscreen and use the small mirror in it to apply your lipstick. When Jonathan sees what you’re doing, he does a double take.

“Wait, are you putting on lipstick?”

“Mhm,” you knit your brows together, focused. “We’re going to a party.”

“We are?”

“Nancy begged me to come, and we just left the boys to go trick-or-treating on their own, so what else are we supposed to do tonight?”

“Nancy begged you to come–”

You finish your lipstick and flick Jonathan’s nose to shut him up. “Stop asking so many questions and just start the car, doofus.”

–

The Halloween party is in full swing by the time you and Jonathan arrive. There’s a bunch of drunk teens in an array of costumes, ranging from classic heroes to dumb movie references, and the music is so loud you could hear it while you were still five blocks away.

Jonathan parks the car and looks around wearily. “Are we really doing this?”

“Unfortunately I hate disappointing people, so yeah. We are.”

“One day your people pleasing needs will get you in trouble.”

“I will stab you with your plastic sword.”

“So sweet to me,” Jonathan quips, which you roll your eyes at.

As you’re walking to the front door, you hear a crowd chanting Billy’s name. You freeze, knowing it could only be that awful mullet guy from earlier, and quickly shove Jonathan inside the house.

“Who’s Billy?” He asks, confused.

You shake your head. “Don’t worry about it, let’s try to find Nancy–”

“Nice costume.” A girl dressed in goth attire interrupts you, her eyes only on Jonathan.

Oh great. Another girl interested in Jonathan.

Jonathan looks between you and the girl. “Huh?”

“Nice costume. Going as a goth with a sword?”

“Actually,” you step in front of Jonathan now, forcing the girl to acknowledge your presence. “We’re matching. He’s Westley, I’m Princess Buttercup. Do you like it?”

The goth girl rolls her eyes. “Yeah, totally.” She steps past you and faces Jonathan again. “I’m Samantha.”

Jonathan is again looking between you and the girl, this time with even more fear and confusion on his face, and you almost want to laugh at him in pity. He’s never had a girl so blatantly hit on him, it’s almost hilarious if you ignore the fact that you’re in love with him.

You leave Jonathan to handle the situation himself, scanning the room for Nancy. When you finally spot her, your heart sinks. She’s dancing with Steve, who looks fucking criminally good in his costume. You’re not sure who he’s dressed as, but he puts his Raybans in his mouth and smirks at Nancy and suddenly you understand why so many girls whisper in the halls about his lips.

Nancy looks even better, her white blouse accentuating her beauty even more. She’s dancing with her arms around Steve and now you suddenly really want a drink. Seems like they’ve made up, then.

Right as you’re about to pull Jonathan away from that Samantha girl and call it quits for the night, defeated and pride wounded, you see Steve and Nancy begin to argue over by the punchbowl.

Shit.

You head towards them, shoving past hoards of people who seem to refuse to move. Nancy sees you approaching and only seems to become more upset. Her movement is unsteady, her eyes droopy and glossed over, and even before you walk up to her you know she’s heavily drunk. She’s in a tug of war with Steve and a cup. It’s clear he’s trying to cut off her alcohol intake.

“Hey, Nancy is everything okay–” Your words are cut off as punch splashes all over her white blouse.

Everyone around the couple gasps, and you wince at all the attention. Everyone stares between you, Steve, and Nancy. You quickly find some napkins and begin blotting at her blouse, trying to get as much of the punch out of it, but she drunkenly bats you away.

“Don’t need help,” she slurs, but you shush her.

“I got it, why don’t we go get some water?”

Steve steps in front of you now, aware of the fact that everyone is still staring, and says his first words to you in months. “She’s my girlfriend, I’ll take care of her. Just… just go, Y/N.”

He dismisses you with a wave and you feel hurt wash over you. He hadn’t even spared you a single glance, he just treated you like some annoying fly in his way. You watch, defeated, as Steve guides Nancy to a room and you’re left alone at a party you hadn’t even wanted to go to in the first place.

How fun.

You crumble up one of the napkins in your hand and will away your anger. You don’t deserve to feel angry at Steve’s actions, you’re the one who was so dismissive of him in the first place. He’s just following along, doing what you’ve forced him to do.

As you’re lost in thought, Billy corners you in the kitchen.

“We meet again, sweetheart.” His breath reeks of alcohol and you cringe, the smell burning your nose.

“Didn’t I tell you to learn some goddamn personal space?”

Billy laughs dryly, stepping forward every time you take a step back. Too late, you realize what he’s doing. Before you can stop it, he has your back pressed against a nearby wall. “Now where’s the fun in that?”

You look around, but everyone who had been in the kitchen earlier seems to have left or are far too drunk to realize what’s happening. Billy is peering over you and every part of you wants to run away, to cower. You’ve never been able to handle aggressive men well, no matter how much of a front you put on around Lonnie, you always trembled when he was near.

Billy is no different, and he sees your unease. “Aw, is the princess nervous?”

“I’m surprised Max taught you what a princess looks like.”

At the mention of Max’s name, Billy’s cocky grin slips. Confusion masks his face now, making him appear more human than obnoxiously handsome. “So you know my little sister?”

You try to shove past him, but Billy plants his feet down and places both arms against the wall, trapping you. He’s surrounded you, he wants a reaction out of you. Taking a deep breath, you force yourself to steady your heartbeat and appear indifferent.

“I have my ways,” you shrug, but your heartbeat still pounds rapidly.

Billy raises an eyebrow. “Pretty and intelligent. Why, look at you. I’m impressed, and yet I still don’t know your name.”

You try again to move, but Billy leans his head down and brings his lips to your ear to whisper, “I’ll beg for it, if you want me to.”

“Get off–” He’s too close. He’s too fucking close and his lips against your ear makes you want to throw up, you don’t like this and you feel so fucking pathetic being cornered by such an egotistical asshole.

“Tell me your name, and I’ll go.” There’s a smile in Billy’s voice, you can hear it without even having to look, and it enrages you. You fucking hate men like him.

“Just get the fuck off of me–” You’ve closed your eyes now as you shove harshly against his chest.

Suddenly there’s a thud, a loud “oomph”, and a collective gasp from onlookers at the party. Your hands meet the air, there’s now no one there to push against. Slowly, open your eyes. There, standing in front of you, is Steve holding a very angry Jonathan back while Billy is on the ground.

Jonathan yanks his arm free from Steve and stands over Billy, who is laying on the ground with yet another unnerving smile on his face. Your friend shakes his fist out, which you now see is red, Billy’s face showcases a matching mark. “She told you to get off of her.”

A silence falls over the crowd.

Billy slowly stands up, wipes himself off, and then takes a bow. “Not bad, loner boy.”

Jonathan tries to step closer to him, but Steve grabs his shirt and shakes his head. “He’s not worth it, man.”

“And what do you know about worth, Harrington?” Billy chuckles, now practically in Steve’s face. “Where’s that little girlfriend of yours? You should go ask her what she thinks you’re worth.”

Steve’s face hardens, but you can see dried tears in his eyes. Seeing him about to crumble, you step between the boys. “Enough.”

They look at you, but you ignore them and then wave to the crowd of people still watching. “Show’s over! Go back to drinking away your sorry fucking lives.”

Jonathan pulls you close to him. “Bug, are you okay? Did he hurt you? We need to go home, I’ll bake you brownies and we can just–”

Jonathan’s concerned rambling is enough to make you smile, albeit faintly. “I’m fine, bee.”

Billy observes the interaction, he notices how Steve’s eyes flicker between your interlocked hands with Jonathan and the way your hair frames your pretty face. He sees it all, and he understands exactly what’s happening here.

“Oh, Harrington.” Billy can’t wait to see what happens next. “You’re fucked.”

Steve watches as Billy leaves, confused by his words but too tired to think much of them. He’s had the worst fucking night of his life. His girlfriend just told him she doesn’t love him, then he came outside to see Billy pressing himself against you like some fucking creep. He hadn’t even gotten to help you, Jonathan had beaten him to it. All Steve could do was hold the guy back afterwards.

Now Jonathan is holding your hands and whispering comforting words to you and you’re dressed in Steve’s favorite color, your lips an even prettier red, you’re wearing a goddamn tiara on your head like the princess you truly are, and Steve’s had just about enough of tonight.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Y/N.” Steve tells you tiredly. He then turns to Jonathan. “Uh, Nance and I sorta… Can you just, give her a ride home? She doesn’t…”

Steve’s words catch in his throat and you grab his hand before you can stop yourself. “He’ll take her, won’t you, Jonathan?”

Jonathan stumbles over his words. “Sure, uh. Yeah, I can do that… What about you, though?”

You think about your conversation with Nancy earlier, how she seemed so upset with Steve, and how not even ten minutes ago they’d been fighting over by the punchbowl. There’s a hurt between them, one you think may be too big to patch up with just one conversation, but Jonathan doesn’t know all of this.

“I’ll drive Steve home.”

Both boys stare at you like you’re insane, and honestly? You can’t blame them.

You haven’t spoken to Steve in months, and Jonathan knows this better than anyone.

“Y/N,” Steve lowers his voice. “I haven’t had anything to drink, there’s no need–”

“Too bad. I’m taking you home. Jonathan, go find Nancy and make sure she gets back okay.”

Jonathan and Steve try to argue, but you yank Steve’s hand and make him come with you. It’s long past time the two of you had a talk, anyways.

–

When you exit the house, the weight of everything that’s just happened catches up to you. Your skin still feels raw, Billy’s presence lingering on you. Steve’s hand is warm in yours, but he isn’t holding on the way you secretly hoped he would. Jonathan’s confused and concerned eyes remain in the back of your mind, the image of him standing alone in the party makes you feel guilty.

But you have to do this. You’re tired of being a coward.

Steve is silent as he guides you to his car. He’s parked pretty far, which you hadn’t been expecting. “What, do you not get a special parking spot as King Steve?”

He ignores your attempt at a joke and instead drops your hand.

Okay. You deserved that.

When you get to his car, Steve throws you the keys and silently gets into the passenger seat. You inhale, willing this to end well, and get in the driver’s seat. You start the car and the engine warms your fingertips.

You start to drive.

Steve is looking out the window, and you’ve never seen him appear so small. He’s closed into himself, his shoulders are hunched and his carefree smile from earlier is gone.

“Not to make this awkward, but I kinda don’t know where you live.” You break the silence.

“Make a left up here.”

“Do you want to talk about what happened tonight–”

“Why do you only ever care about me when I’m some kicked fucking puppy?”

Steve’s words are vicious, and you flinch at his tone. “You know that’s not true,”

“It’s not?” He scoffs at you. “Then explain what happened this summer.”

“I…” You can’t.

Steve sees your reluctance to say anything and lets out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, whatever. Some real fucking friend you were.”

You take a shaky breath. You knew this would be hard, but it still hurts more than you thought it would’ve. While you can’t tell Steve everything, you can offer him a half truth. It’s all you can afford, and it isn’t nearly half of what he deserves, but it’s all you can do. “I got scared.”

Your confession causes Steve to turn to you. “Scared?”

“Yeah, scared.”

“Gee, Y/N. That really explains a ton.”

You’re losing him again, so you offer him more. “I’m sorry, Steve. I really am. It’s just… I got scared, I’ve never been good at letting people in. I know it doesn’t excuse my actions, and you didn’t deserve any of it, but you just… You scared me.”

Steve is silent again, only mumbling a quiet, “Turn right after this light.”

“Look,” you push down your fear, you need him to hear you. “You came crashing into my life in such a violent way, and it became the best goddamn thing that happened to me. There you were, spending every day at my job just to talk to me. You asked me questions about myself and noticed things no one else had before and I just… I couldn’t do it.”

You look over at Steve and soften your voice, putting every ounce of your guilt and sincerity into your words. “I missed you.”

“Missed?” There’s something in Steve’s voice that you can’t quite decipher, it’s almost too delicate to examine.

“Miss. I miss you,” you correct, and it takes everything within you not to confess more. To tell him you miss how his eyes turn a warm toffee in the late afternoon light, that you miss his obsession with his mom’s banana bread and that you have a recipe at home that you never got to make for him. You almost tell him that even though you pulled yourself away, you can’t seem to separate him from you. He’s everywhere.

But what you can’t tell Steve, what would break you if he ever found out, is that you’ve come to love how he’s everywhere.

Steve is silent, and you swallow down your tears. It wasn’t enough, but at least you tried.

As you turn into his driveway, Steve finally speaks. “All my life, all I’ve ever wanted was for people to like me.”

“Steve…”

“And every time I think someone finally likes me, I’m wrong. They leave me. I mean, you left me without a fucking word, Nancy lied about loving me, and my bullshit friends at school have replaced me with Billy.”

Nancy lied about loving him?

Steve looks down at his hands, his eyelashes are wet with fresh tears. “I don’t know what I keep doing wrong.”

You throw yourself across the car’s console and wrap yourself around the boy. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Steve places one arm around you, then slowly he places his other, and for the first time in months you’re finally back in his arms. He’s surrounded in you again, and he never, ever wants to let you go.

“You won’t leave me again?”

Steve asks this so softly, as if too scared to bring the words into the light and risk them scaring you away. You tighten your arms around him and bury your nose into his neck, his cologne making your brain dizzy. “Never.

And it’s enough for now.

The pieces settle between you and Steve. Something clicks into place and you know that he feels it, too. He tightens his own arms around you, draws small circles against your back, and you stay like that for what feels like hours.

Eventually the two of you break apart and head into his house. He offers you something warm to drink, but you decline. It’s late, you should be heading home soon. You ask Steve where his phone is and then call Jonathan, telling him to come get you from Steve’s.

Jonathan doesn’t ask any questions, his own voice sounding off on the phone. You know that tomorrow you’ll have to explain to him what happened with Steve, and he’ll have to explain what’s happened with Nancy. But tonight, you both settle on ignoring the topic for now.

Steve waits with you downstairs for Jonathan.

“If we’re going to be friends again, then I demand my nickname.”

You look up at the boy and laugh. “What if I told you I still haven’t figured it out yet?”

“Can you at least give me a hint?” Steve bats his eyelashes at you and you shove him away with another laugh.

“Hm,” you think for a moment, reveling in the simplicity between you two again. “It’s lovely. That’s all I can say.”

Steve makes a face. “Lovely? That’s all I get?”

“Mhm.” You poke his face. “For now, please just trust that I’ll stay.”

Steve looks away for a moment, and you admire his lovely side profile, before he finally seems to settle on his thoughts. “Fine, but I expect some type of baked good every day from here on out.”

“Deal.” You raise your pinky and offer it to Steve, who smiles and shakes his head, but wraps his own pinky around yours.

Steve’s eyes are still red, from exhaustion and heartbreak, and yours are probably no better. You know there’s so much the two of you have to face tomorrow morning, to talk about and deal with. Nancy, Jonathan, Billy. But for now, Steve’s pinky is around yours and you couldn’t ask for a better end to your night.

It’s a start.

It’s all you could’ve asked for.

Jonathan arrives later and waits in the car, seeming to sense that you want some privacy as you say goodbye to Steve.

“That’s my ride.” You nudge him. “Oh, don’t think I forgot about the Nancy thing. We’ll talk about that tomorrow.”

“What–”

“We’re friends again and I nag all my friends about their emotions. You were spared last year, but this year? Buckle up, buddy.”

Steve lets out a tired laugh. “Do I have to sign another contract?”

“Nah, you just have to trust me.”

“I do.” He says, no ounce of hesitation.

You squeeze his hand. “Then that’s all I need. Goodnight, Steve. Get some rest.”

Steve nods and watches as you walk towards Jonathan’s car. He stays outside for a while, long after the car has faded in the distance. The cold air makes him shiver, but after everything that’s happened tonight, he welcomes it. His mind is spinning, he’s not sure if he feels more heartbreak or relief, but he decides he doesn’t care.

For now, he’s content.

Now that he has you in his life again, no matter what happens between him and Nancy, he knows he’ll get through it with you holding his hand.

–

The drive home is quiet. Both you and Jonathan seem to be lost in your own thoughts. When you get to your house, you simply tell your friend, “Tomorrow. We’ll talk about it all tomorrow,”

Jonathan nods, his eyes as tired as yours. “Tomorrow.”

You walk inside your house and notice all the lights off. You’re home later than you originally planned, your mom must be asleep already. You kick off your shoes and sigh tiredly. Tonight has exhausted you.

However, you feel bad about skipping out on the boys, so you walk towards Dustin’s room and quietly knock on the door to apologize. After a few knocks, Dustin cracks his door open. “Yes?”

“Hey, just wanted to ask how tonight…” You notice Dustin’s stance, how he seems to almost be trying to block your view of something. “Is everything alright?”

Your brother quickly repositions himself. “Fine! Nothin’ to see here!”

He’s definitely acting suspicious.

“Open the door, show me what’s inside.”

You go to shove your way in, but Dustin scrambles and ends up shouting, “Will had another episode tonight!

“What?” You freeze.

Dustin lets out a breath of relief. He knew using Will’s episode would be a good distraction from what he has in his room. “Will, he had another episode. He’s fine, though… Just thought you should know.”

“Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?”

“Actually,” Dustin lets out a yawn. “I’m kinda tired. Ya know, trick-or-treating is hard work. Can we just call it a night and talk about it tomorrow?”

“I mean, I guess?” Your list of things you need to talk about tomorrow keeps growing.

“Sweet! Goodnight, Y/N!” And with that, Dustin slams his door in your face. He presses his back pressed against his door as he steadies his heartbeat. That was close, too close. After a couple seconds, he walks over to his turtle’s tank and greets Dart again. “Sorry buddy, had to get Y/N away. She’d freak if she found out about you.”

Dart lets out a small screech in response.

“Wonder how long I can keep this from her.”

Meanwhile, you stand in the hall for a moment, completely bewildered as to what’s just happened. It feels like you missed a few important details. There’s something happening, but you have no idea what.

You go to your room and make a plan. Tomorrow, you’ll order a code blue with Dustin and demand information. For now, all you can do is get ready for bed and hope that whatever he’s hiding, it isn’t as monumental as El had been.

Tonight, you go to bed thinking of Nancy and Steve, worried about them both.

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lilacs-stars · 3 months ago

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a night to remember

this is part 2, recommended you read part 1 first! (to avoid confusion) pairing: james hook x fem!reader (requested) (note: reader is glinda the good witch's daughter) SUMMARY: one day, you find a mysterious note in your locker from a certain pirate. who knows where it'll end up taking you—and your interesting relationship with him. GENRE: very wholesome despite the intro (I swear), fluff, some teasing and banter, reader being oblivious, mutual pining, just relationship cuteness overall CW: not much, mentions getting tipsy (not from alcohol), one little dirty joke if you squint hard enough WC: 7.5k

A/N: the title was inspired by the song of the same name by beabadoobee and laufey (I recommend listening to it while reading, as it sets the mood nicely!) james hook is literally so gentleman coded you can’t convince me otherwise. also I randomly thought of male characters using "m'lady" and now I'm obsessed...this was made to be pure, feet-kicking and giggling inducing fluff, so enjoy! thanks again to the anon who requested this, hope you like it! please leave feedback and suggestions, hearing your thoughts makes me so happy! :))

You stare down at the drink in your hand, the realization of what it is slowly dawning upon you.

Mouth agape in pure disbelief, you glance up at the man sitting in front of you. The devilish glint in his eyes, rivaled only by the shine of his metal hook, sends chills down your spine—making it terribly clear why he brought you.

Oh god, you think. How in the world did I get here?

You make your way through the bustling halls of Merlin Academy, trying your best to not get jostled by the ruckus of the crowd.

Honestly, who puts people’s classes on the sixth floor and their lockers on the first? you mentally grumble, finally reaching the dreaded staircase that you climb up and down dozens of times each day.

After descending the five flights of stairs, you’re completely out of breath by the time you reach your locker. You tap the lock with your pointer finger three times, a magical device inside reading your fingerprint. It clicks open, and your locker door swings out towards you.

Reaching to place your books inside and take out some new ones for the rest of the day's classes, you’re shocked by something that slips out as soon as the door opens. A white piece of paper sways back and forth as it falls to the floor, right next to your feet.

You bend down to pick it up. Upon closer inspection, you learn that it’s not a piece of paper; it’s a small packet, stapled in the corner. At the top, in neat, printed letters, are the words “ENCHANTMENT OF MAGICAL OBJECTS: UNIT 3 WRITTEN TEST.”

Below it, a line is provided for the student's name. Scribbled down in a fancy, yet somehow still messy and barely legible font, is the name “James Hook.”

He left me his test? you question. You don’t even bother wondering how he broke into your locker; after that little incident where he stole your ring, you have resigned yourself to not being surprised at his so-called “bad boy” antics. He is a villain, after all.

This test was one that your class had been preparing for quite some time. It mainly centered the theory of enchantments, with the most difficult one being the Aiming Spell. Thankfully, you had taught Hook most of the material during your study session last week, specifically focusing on helping him improve his Aiming Spell (although maybe he got a little too good, considering how he pulled off that ring trick).

Your confusion regarding the test placed in your locker lasts only a second longer, until you notice that in the top right corner, a big, circled "87%" is written in bright red pen.

The number stays for a brief moment, before the red ink rearranges itself on the page, morphing into a “B+”.

Wait…that’s really good. For him, at least, you think. Is this really all because of your one tutoring session? You have always thought that you’re pretty good at teaching other people, but you never considered yourself a miracle worker. He must think it is because of me, I guess. Otherwise, he wouldn't have left this in here.

Even though you know you’re probably not supposed to, your curiosity gets the better of you, and you flip back the front cover to check what he got wrong.

As soon as you lift the top page, another piece of paper falls out of the test. This time, it’s smaller, a faint beige color tinting the sheet.

You reach down once again to pick it up as you notice that this one is actually an envelope. Glancing at the back, which appears to be empty, you flip it over to the front side. It bears a wax seal embossed with an emblem of two crossed pirate swords.

Carefully peeling back the top of the envelope so as to not rip the delicate paper, you pull out the note inside. There isn’t much writing on the plain paper, but it’s in the same handwriting as before. Very intrigued at this unusual occurrence of events, you read the few lines of text keenly.

“Friday, 6 pm. The Rogers Place.

Make sure to wear your fanciest dress.

Meet me there. I’ll be waiting.”

...What? You’re too stunned to even think. What is this? There’s no way he’s actually asking you out…on a date.

This has to be a joke, right? A study session was one thing, but this, this, meetup, is something entirely different. He even asked to meet you outside of school. You've heard before of the restaurant he mentioned, although you've never actually gone there yourself. Based on what you've gathered, it's a popular, rather formal place run by Eudora Rogers and her young daughter, Tiana, in memory of her beloved husband.

So why in the name of the heavens would James Hook ask you, someone who has no dating experience whatsoever, of all people, to go with him to dinner? “Wear your fanciest dress”? What is this guy thinking?

In utter disbelief, you flip over the note, checking the back to make sure you haven’t missed something. To your surprise, there is some writing scrawled on the back, which reads: “Your payment for helping me pass my test.”

Right…so…he’s asking you out on a—no, it’s not a date, you remind yourself, yet again. He’s simply doing a nice act to return the favor. This was probably the only thing that came to his mind. Silencing the little voice in your head that whispers, “Why would the first thing that came to his mind be asking you out to dinner?”, you stuff the envelope and note in your bookbag, holding on to the test to give back to him sometime.

As you walk down the hallway, rushing to get to your next class, you don’t see the figure lurking behind the corner at the other end of the corridor.

He smirks, knowing he has you right where he wants you.

This one? No, it’s too casual.

How about this one? No, it’s not fancy enough.

This? Too sparkly.

That? Not sparkly enough.

You sigh, flopping onto your bed amidst a pile of dresses. It’s a few hours after school let out, on the day you’ve been anticipating all week long. And, not surprisingly, you can’t decide what in the world to wear. After all, it’s not like you’ve been out on lots of not-dates to know what a typical outfit would be like.

You stare up at the ceiling, sighing again for what must be the hundredth time this night. At times like this, you seriously wish you had a roommate. You've always had your dorm all to yourself, and sure, it is really nice most of the time. You can relax and unwind in solitude, with no one distracting you or pestering you with trivial matters while you study. However, there are the rare few occasions where you long to have someone close, to help you out or give you advice.

After holding up quite a few more dresses in the mirror, you finally decide on the one with the fewest number of cons, from the mental list you made for each dress. Slipping it on—albeit with much difficulty, since who designed dresses to be so frilly to the point where you can't even find where to put your head?—you stare at your reflection, completely enamored by the person you see staring back at you. You’re not really used to wearing fancy things like this, which is probably the reason why you barely recognize yourself.

Twirling around, head over your shoulder as you keep your gaze locked on the mirror, you realize why people have always told you that you have a striking resemblance to your mother. Your outfit consists of a ballgown-style dress, which really is the only type you have in your closet. Even though it’s a bit uncomfortable, the fitted bodice making it rather hard to take a full breath and the off-the-shoulder neckline compelling you to constantly tug it up to prevent it from slipping, it still is absolutely gorgeous. The short sleeves complement the torso, and the full skirt, all puffed up with layers of tulle, swishes elegantly as you move around. The bodice is densely embellished with small rhinestones, mostly at the top, with the gems growing sparser farther down the dress. A few crystals are set into the skirt just below the waistline, creating a scattered, shimmering effect reminiscent of the stars in a night sky.

Even though you aren’t a fan of fancy dresses, you must admit, you absolutely adore this one.

Finishing off the look with some jewelry and accessories, you take one last look at yourself in the mirror. You've never been one to be arrogant, but it's still hard not to think that even though this is certainly not a date, maybe, just maybe, Hook might be a little more interested in you after tonight.

“Um…hi?” you say, timid voice rising into a question from your uncertainty.

After getting dressed, you made your way to the restaurant. Fighting the deep-rooted urge to get there early as possible, you took the long route, not wanting to be the first to arrive. I’ll make him wait for me this time, you decided with an evil little smirk, thinking back to the day of your study session and the long minutes you had agonizingly spent wondering if he was going to show up.

Now, you stand in front of the reception desk, peering up at a waiter ordering papers. Fiddling with the lace gloves covering your hands, you add, “I don’t know if my name is ion the reservation or anything…”

Honestly, you’re not quite sure what to do at this point. All Hook had instructed you was to show up at the restaurant at this time. Part of you had expected him to be waiting by the door, but now that you see he isn't, your nervousness rises.

“Are you Y/N?” the server questions, glancing down at something on the small podium-like stand.

“Uh, yes, I am,” you reply.

“A young man has made a reservation for the two of you. He’s already waiting for you out on the patio. If you’ll follow me,” the waiter informs you, grabbing a menu from his stack and leading you through the bustling restaurant.

You follow him, feeling incredibly bashful as you swerve around tables and people alike. You finally reach a large set of doors in one of the seating areas, which the waiter opens for you.

Stepping through the threshold, you sense the cool rush of the evening air welcome you out. The sky has already begun to dim, a few faint stars gleaming against the dark backdrop. Spread out in front of you is an array of tables, most of them small enough for only two people. The low lighting, coming solely from flickering candles and glowing lanterns strung throughout the area, paired with the singular rose set in a vase at the center each table and a faint, slow jazz song playing somewhere in the background, makes for the most romantic of settings you could have possibly imagined.

Your breath is completely taken away as the server leads you through the arrangements of seats. It’s sparsely crowded, with only a few couples seated here and there, each enjoying an amorous dinner.

The server stops at a circular, two-seated table close to the edge, overlooking a magnificent view of the city down below. A few feet in front ahead and sitting with his back towards you, the only object of your thoughts for these past few hours turns his head in your direction, probably upon hearing the clacking of your high-heeled shoes.

Although you’ve tried your best to convince yourself that this, in fact, is not a date, you simply can’t deny the way his entire expression light up at the mere sight of you. Hook stands up, unabashedly eyeing you up and down slowly, taking all of you in.

A small smile tugs at his lips as he takes your hand in his, once again bowing down to place a kiss on your ring—it appears that this has become a routine, which you can't exactly say you mind.

You don't miss how he pauses for just a moment, noticing the way your ring is still on your ring finger, unchanged from the place he left it. Holding your breath, your heart beats faster as you worry about what he thinks of it. To your relief, he doesn’t say anything, instead kissing the gemstone and straightening back up again, but not before ever so softly—yet still with obvious intentionality—brushing his lips against your finger, deliberately tracing your skin with an agonizingly slow pace as his warm breath sets your every nerve on fire.

“M’lady,” he breathes, standing to meet your gaze. His casual nonchalance is a stark difference from the way you struggle to regain your composure, hating how even the smallest of actions from him can elicit such a reaction from you.

As you study him, you notice that he had a significant wardrobe change too; instead of his usual pirate attire, he dons a dark maroon frock coat, embroidered with intricate swirls and designs. He definitely made an attempt at looking a bit more classy, with his hair neater than usual and the collar of his shirt tidily done. You could even swear that his hook looked more polished than usual, and that he carried the faint, odd trace of expensive cologne.

The server leaves the menu on your table and walks away with a polite nod of his head. Hook steps over to the chair opposite the one he had been sitting in, pulling it out for you in a manner that is far too gentlemanly for what you're used to seeing from him, gesturing at you to sit down with a wave of his shiny metal hook.

Overwhelmingly flattered, you walk over, smoothing your skirt beneath you as you take your seat. Hook pushes your chair in, before going back to the other side of the table to take his own seat.

Not sure what else to do, you pick up your menu and glance over it. “Decide what you’re going to order yet?” Hook asks you.

“No, you?”

“They already took my order, but I told them to wait on preparing my food until you had ordered as well.”

They already took his order? How long has he been here? you wonder. You glance at your wristwatch, seeing that it’s only a few minutes past six o’clock. Deciding to shrug it off, you go back to looking at your menu, despite not being able to fight the voice in your head that whispers about how you should've gotten here earlier, that he had probably been waiting for you, all alone, for quite some time.

“It’s so hard to decide,” you say with a halfhearted laugh, trying to fill up the heavy silence. You peruse the menu more carefully this time, marveling at how many different dishes are listed. Finally, after reading through the entire thing a few more times, you settle on the one that sounds the best.

After only a few moments, the server comes back around and takes your order. “A fine choice, ma’am,” he comments as you tell him your choice of entrée. You notice that all of the waiters here wear fancy black suits and come with a pristine white cloth draped over their arm. Huh, how fancy, you think to yourself. I never knew this place was so formal.

“So, Hook,” you begin, “Why did you bring me here?”

“Didn’t you read my note? It’s a thank-you for helping me pass my test. The teacher was very impressed with my score, you know,” he responds indifferently.

You give him a small sigh, paired with a gentle smile—your attempt at hiding the twinge of disappointment dancing in your eyes. “I did, but you didn’t have to treat me to dinner. A simple note would have sufficed.”

Hook looks at you, dark brown eyes wide and holding your gaze with an intensity you’ve never known. “Sufficed? I don’t want to just suffice. I want to give you a memorable night. An unforgettable experience.” “I don’t think I could ever forget a charming pirate with a hook for a hand,” you laugh, teasing him lightly. Instead of laughing along with you, Hook stares at you for another moment, studying you with slightly scrunched brows and an indecipherable expression on his face. You grow uneasy at his burning look, shifting in your seat as you wonder why he’s watching you so intently.

However, the tense awkwardness in the air lasts for only a minute, before Hook breaks into one of his famous smirks as he replies, “Oh, charming, am I? I know you can’t stop thinking about me, love.”

“Th-that’s not what I meant!” you cry, leaning across the table to give him a small push. He breaks into a laugh, his lips curling up into yet another genuine smile as he leans back just out of your reach. His mirthful expression makes you realize that he had been simply joking, causing your face to burn up as your mind replays your rather dramatic reaction. Honestly, you can never really tell whether he’s being serious or just messing with you.

“Settle down, love. Wouldn’t want you ruining that pretty dress of yours,” he responds, twisting to the side again to prevent getting smacked by you.

You two continue making small talk, still partaking in your teasing, only slightly annoying banter. Before you know it, a waiter is walking towards your table with two platters, one in each hand.

The server sets down the plates on your table, the dishes both looking absolutely delectable. Along with the food, he places two matching beverages in front of you two.

You thank him, and he bows again before leaving. Turning back to Hook, you watch with a slight arch of your eyebrows as he raises his drink in the air.

“A toast,” he says. “To continuing our little dates.”

You roll your eyes, not bothering to correct him this time. Lifting your own glass, you add, “And to you continuing to get good grades.” He smiles at this, before lifting the drink to his lips. Perceptive as always, you notice how his eyes follow your hand as you bring the glass to your mouth.

A sudden, fleeting doubt crosses your mind at his suspicious behavior. Glancing down at the drink skeptically, you notice its unique bright red color. You lower +it slightly and sniff it, then bring it down from your face, fixing a glare at Hook. “You think I don’t know what this is?”

“Oh, I know you do. That’s what I was counting on, at least.”

You persist with your glare. You've spent many hours reading up on different potions and elixirs, so you're no stranger to the drink in your hand. It's a popular one known as the Lovers' Lascivious Lure, a beverage with a fruit punch-like taste, plus a little kick. The real reason for its fame, however, is the touch of love potion that gets mixed in. Not enough to truly make someone fall in love with you or intoxicate them, but rather something that is favored by couples looking to get a little tipsy in love on their night out.

You set the glass down on the table, not breaking your gaze away for a second as you continue to glower at the person sitting across you.

“It’s rude to not drink after a toast, darling,” Hook says, raising his eyebrows at you.

“I don’t care, I’m not drinking that,” you reply irritatedly.

“Fine. Your loss, love.”

You watch in complete shock, eyes blown wide and mouth agape as Hook brings his drink up to his lips again, tipping back his head as he gulps the entire thing down in one go.

“I’d drink yours as well, darling, but I’d hate for you to be forced to walk me home, instead of the other way around,” Hook spouts with a bit too much added expression, slightly swaying as the effects of the potion kick in.

You continue to stare at him, concern etched into your features, knowing full well that this drink is designed to be sipped slowly throughout a leisurely dinner, one with much idle conversation and flirtatious looks. Not to be downed all at once. You honestly don’t know what the side effects are to consuming a large amount very quickly, but you pray that the potion is weak enough so as to not cause actual harm—or any other effects—to him.

“So, love,” Hook drawls in a low tone, leaning in. “Anything you feel like telling me?”

“You’re the one who drank the liquid courage, not me,” you point out, fixing him with another look. “Honestly, I’m not sure how much longer you’re going to last like this.”

At your words, Hook’s dazed expression suddenly disappears, instead replaced by a very serious, stern face. “Oh, I assure you, love, I can last very long.”

You blink, a tad confused at why he said that with such a strong conviction. Brushing it off, you look down at your food again, your mouth already watering. “Come on, our food’s going to get cold, and it looks far too delicious to waste.”

Hook agrees, unrolling his utensils instead of shooting back a one-liner, much to your surprise. You’re even more taken aback at the way he drapes the white cloth, which previously held his cutlery, over his legs as he begins to eat, keeping up with his very proper etiquette. He does everything with utterly perfect decorum, from holding his fork and knife in the correct positions to cutting all his food into little pieces. You honestly don't know why this comes as such a shock to you; he has been employing rather polite manners all evening, after all. It appears, you realize, that you’ve always subconsciously believed the stereotypes that pirates are unruly creatures, which therefore must mean they eat messily.

Apparently, this pirate doesn’t.

You both make small talk as you enjoy your food, which is every bit as delicious and succulent as it looked. All the different components are cooked to a perfect degree; not raw or difficult to chew, but not burnt, either. Rich, deep, aromatic spices have always been the staple of this restaurant, and for good reason. You have no clue what flavorings they used, but whatever they are, they taste unlike anything you've ever eaten in your entire life, like an otherworldly meal sent from the heavens. To top it all off, the food also comes with piquant side dishes, followed by desserts that are absolutely decadent and make you melt with every bite you take.

After you both have had your share, Hook motions to the waiter for the check. You had slipped some extra cash into your handbag before coming, not sure what the expectation would be for who paid. As the waiter returns with the small black book in his hand, you turn to Hook.

“I can pay, if you want,” you offer.

Hook quirks his brow as he gives you a look, before reaching into his coat pocket. “Come now, don’t be ridiculous, love. What kind of a man would I be if I didn’t pay for you? Especially considering that I was the one who asked you out.”

You blink hard, barely aware of your small nod towards him, your mind racing as the waiter gives Hook the check. You blankly watch him scribble a signature before handing it back, trying to process what he just said. “...asked you out…” Does that mean he actually considers this as a date? Especially since he offered to pay for you…Heavens, what is going on?

Your eyes trail the waiter as he leaves, just as Hook turns back to you. “All finished?”

“Yeah,” you confirm. “So…what now?” You aren't quite sure whether or not he's planning on walking you home like he mentioned earlier, but you do know that you're not ready to part quite so soon. Averting his gaze, you instead choose to look down at the candle flickering in the middle of your table. It is now very dark outside, to the point where the flame’s meager light shines with a bright luminosity. Entranced by the fire, you stare intently at its dancing movements, attention fully consumed by how the flame appears to be practically alive.

“Now,” Hook says with a glint in his eyes, causing your head to snap back up, “I have something to show you.”

“Something to show me?” you repeat. “Show me what?”

“I guess you’ll have to wait and see once we get there, love.”

“Once we get there? Hook, where are we going?”

He gives a smug, knowing grin. “You’ll see. Just be patient, darling.” He notices the skeptical look you still have, so he adds, “Trusting me last time turned out good, right? So trust me one more time. I promise you’ll like your surprise.”

You consider his words, hating how he had a point. “Fine,” you huff. “Lead the way, I guess.”

You start to push your chair back to get up, but Hook chides, “Ah ah ah, no you don’t,” standing up himself before walking behind you. He grips the back of your chair and pulls it out for you, before offering his good hand to help you stand too.

Once again, you’re rather shocked at his well-mannered behaviors and courteous gestures. As you accept his outstretched arm, you wonder how in the world this is the same person who was, only a few days ago, leaning back in his chair with his feet up, flinging magical disks across the room.

Getting up, you hesitate for a moment, freezing in place now that you’re level with his eyes. You haven’t been this close to him since that pivotal day during your study session, and your breath gets taken away once again by the proximity.

His angular features and sharp jawline catch your attention, causing your legs to stagger as your gaze wanders down to his soft, plush lips, which definitely stand out amidst the rest of his chiseled face. You had never noticed how his eyeliner also traces his bottom lash line, making his eyes pop whenever he widens them, or how part of his hair swoops to the side and slightly covers his forehead. It dawns on you that you’ve always overlooked the two small silver earrings that dangle from his ears, or the chain around his neck with a cross on it, usually hidden by the collar of his shirt.

Not aware of how you’re just standing there paralyzed, you commit to memory the small details about him you’ve never really seen before. Even though the inside of your head is alive and bustling with a plethora of thoughts, outside, you two stand in terribly awkward silence.

Hook clears his throat, snapping you back to reality. “Come along, darling. We wouldn’t want to be interrupted by curfew again.”

Tightening his grip on your hand, which still holds yours, he leads you through the entrance you had used not so long ago while bidding farewell to the waiter. You continue up the hill to the woods behind the restaurant, Hook refusing to give even a single hint as to what big surprise awaits you.

The trail through the trees starts off easy enough, although still rather difficult for you to traverse in your tight dress and voluminous skirt. If I had known I’d be taking a hike, I’d have worn something more suitable, and much more comfortable, you think, but ultimately decide to keep your mouth shut. After all, Hook had been spoiling you all evening. The least you could do was not nag him about every last thing.

The farther you go, the thicker the branches that block your path and scratch at your arms with their sharp claws get, and the denser the underbrush that tries to trap your feet and swallow you whole grows. After a quarter hour of consistent walking, the trail all but disappears, until only a small path carved by the footsteps of a few brave souls remains. You have to hold up the edge of your full-length skirt the whole way to ensure it doesn’t get all dirty and muddy; by the time you’re nearly done, your arms ache just as much, if not more, than your legs.

You and Hook travel mostly in silence, the sounds of your heavy panting and the crunches of leaves and branches underfoot filling up the empty air. You trail behind him, sometimes struggling to keep up, although he does happen to notice this and slows down his pace after the first few minutes.

Occasionally, Hook gives a short, crisp, “Watch out for the rock there, love,” or “The branches here are really low, I’ll hold them up for you.” You always respond with a clipped “Yeah,” or “Okay, thanks,” trying to mask just how out of breath you've gotten from the difficult climb. Early on in the beginning of the hike, you had to let go of his hand, favoring holding up your skirt instead. Still, in areas where the ground is rough or rocky, or the footing becomes difficult or rather steep, Hook always turns around and offers his hand to you and helps pull you up, or reaches out his hook from overhead for you to grab on to.

The noises of the night accompany you the entire time: the soft chirps of crickets, a few croaks from a frog somewhere out of sight, a creature or other scampering through the bushes, a rare call from an owl, and the whispering of the leaves above as a cool breeze passes through them. After a few more minutes of walking through a maze of nature with trees so thick—their only rival being the velvety blackness of the night—the pace of the trek finally slows down. You've long tired of always having to hold one arm ahead to ensure that you don’t get smacked in the face by an unsuspecting branch, so you're overwhelmingly relieved when Hook finally says, “We’re almost there.” “Finally,” you mumble between breaths. “I think my limbs are just about to fall off.” You can’t really tell in the pitch-black darkness, but you could have sworn that Hook gave a small smile at your words.

Once you reach a thick tangle of branches and vines that completely block your path, you both come to a stop. You watch as he pulls them back and to the side, even slicing through some with his hook. He beckons you forward with a courteous, “Ladies first,” a grin dancing on his features.

You walk through the clearing and onto a wide ledge overlooking the entire city. The view knocks the breath out of your lungs, despite your body already screaming at you for more oxygen. All thoughts of your strenuous hike vanish from your head, except for one that reminds you the arduous journey was absolutely and totally worth it.

From all the way up here, you can see the entire land. The shimmering lights of the large cityscape below you steal your heart, while the small village houses and mountains beyond them, creating the faintest of outlines against the horizon, capture your soul. This vantage point allows you to see everything; every bustling street filled with people rushing to get home after a long week, or frolicking around on a night out. Every house, every drawn-back curtain, but a mere speck in the constellation of human activity, a testament to the splendor of life. Twinkling lights sprawled below you paint a shimmering mosaic, reflecting the celestial canvas of stars hanging above you.

You stare in pure awe, almost forgetting about Hook as he approaches you from behind. “Enjoying the view, love?” he whispers softly, his voice closer to you than you expected.

You startle, turning backwards with a sharp inhale. “Oh…yeah, it’s just…breathtaking.” Unable to think of the right words to describe it, you decide to settle for an almost shameful understatement of the view's beauty.

You’re not quite sure if you imagined it, too caught up in your head, but you hear something that almost sounds like a soft, “Just like you.”

“Huh?” you ask, turning back around to face him.

“I said, I told you you’d like it,” Hook repeats, although you still hold your suspicions. “All you had to do was trust me.”

“And how can I be sure you aren’t planning to push me off the edge?” you question, teasing him.

“Well, you can’t,” he replies, walking over to the ledge. “But if I do, I’ll let you drag me down with you. If we go down, then we go down together.”

You giggle, choosing to take his words at face value only and not read into them too much. After all, your heart can only take so much in one night.

Hook crouches down, using his good hand to support him as he sits down in front of you, keeping one foot hugged to his chest as he dangles the other off the side of the cliff.

He glances over his shoulder at you, patting the space besides him. Cautiously, you walk over to the ledge, joining him on the ground.

You both sit there for a moment in silence, looking over the magnificent scene. You can tell that Hook finds comfort in the lack of conversation, but it feels too heavy for you, and so you decide to finally break it with the question that’s been on your mind this whole night.

“Hook?” you ask gently.

“Hmm?”

“Why did you bring me here?”

He turns his head slightly to glance at you. “I thought you’d like the view,” he replies, looking at you with a confused expression.

You take a quick breath, preparing yourself for the difficult words you’re planning to speak next. “No, I mean, why did you really bring me here tonight?” He opens his mouth to respond, but you cut him off, adding, “And don’t lie to me.”

His mouth closes shut again and he hesitates for a moment, contemplating his next sentence carefully, before responding, “I’ve already told you.”

“What, that you wanted to thank me for helping you get a B-plus on your test? Yeah, that excuse won’t work on me anymore.”

“No, not that.” He turns his head back and runs his good hand through his hair, making his neatly combed style look a bit more windswept than before. “I wanted to ask you out on a date.”

“…What?”

“I already told you that it was a date, love. You just chose not to believe me.”

It’s your turn to whip your head to the side this time, now facing directly towards Hook, who’s still looking straight ahead at the scenery.

“I-I didn’t…truly…I thought you were just joking when you said that.”

He glances at you again, a roguish grin forming on his lips. “Oh, darling, I don’t joke about much. Especially not with you.”

Again, you choose not to read too deeply into his words, trying to break your awful habit of overthinking. Instead, you press on, wanting to gain as much information as you can from him. If nothing else, at least a few answers might help put your mind at a little more ease. “Why’d you want to ask me out? I’m not exactly…”

Your voice fades away as your brain catches up with your far-too-fast mouth, realizing that saying “I’m not exactly the most desirable person to date” may not do you any favors.

Hook turns to look at you with an expectant gaze, and you know that you can’t sweep your little slip-up under the carpet that easily. Gods, he’s observant. “…the most popular person at our school,” you finish.

“Hmm, true,” Hook concurs, tilting his head with a tone as if he’s never considered that point before. You were half-expecting him to disagree, more out of courtesy than honesty, so you’re a bit taken aback when he agrees with you.

“But I don’t care about popularity.” Ah, so there’s that socially obligatory politeness. You don't really believe his words at first, yet the way he says it so sincerely, so genuinely, makes you wonder if he truly is being honest.

“So why’d you want to take me out on a date?”

“Because, love, you’re different from what I’m used to,” he replies. “You’re kind, soft, pure. You intrigued me.”

You recoil at his words, a deep, writhing anger rising out of you. “What, you only went out with me because I’m so pure and innocent? So you could corrupt me?” you spit, having heard this little skit far too many times before.

“No, not like that. Not at all.” Hook twists his body to face you more, and although you’re still mad at him, you can’t deny the hurt and pain that swirls in his voice and eyes at your accusations. “You’re…you’re always trying to help others. You always speak softly, always smile. You’re untainted by the evils I've witnessed. You’re like an angel sent down from the heavens. You’re not like me, love."

Hook continues, “And I don’t want to change that. I don’t want to corrupt or hurt you. I want to preserve that. Every time I’m with you, you make me want to keep you safe from the troubles of the world, the cruel things I’ve seen.

"You make me want to be around you. I can't explain how, or why, but your presence alone compels me to change my ways. To be kinder, gentler, softer. For you. It's as if you're contagious, and well, I think you've infected me, love. Whenever I see you, or even think of you, everything feels just a little bit better. The weight on my shoulders feels a bit lighter, and nothing seems as bad as it used to, as it was when I was on my own.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is...you've made me feel things that I haven't felt in a long, long time. Things that I thought my blackened heart couldn't even experience anymore. You make me feel like there's still goodness in the world...like there's still hope. Like I still have hope." You blink slowly, your mind and heart spinning alike as everything around you, as time itself, seems to slow down. You're unable to process all his words, unable to even begin to consider the implications of what this all means. “So, what you’re saying is…you only like me because I’m good?” you ask, touched by his sentiment, yet a little sad at the underlying meaning. Does this mean that if you want to stay with Hook, to maybe even be something in the future, you can't have any darkness to your soul? That you'll have to continue to be as righteous and morally correct as ever?

He gives a small chuckle. “Of course not, darling. I love when I make you snap, when you get angry at me. I love when the fierce part of you comes out. Just like it did now.” He reaches out his good hand to tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, brushing against your cheek as he keeps it there, not pulling back quite yet.

You can see the hesitance swirling in his eyes, the uncertainty in the way his hand lingers by your face. By some sudden stroke of courage, the origins of which are a complete mystery to you—maybe he had the love potion added to your food too?—you shift your whole body towards Hook, keeping your legs tucked together and off to one side.

“Kiss me,” you breathe.

“I'm sorry, love, wh-what?”

It feels strange to take command for once, but it sure is nice. “You heard me. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

His lingering hand cups your cheek as you both lean in, meeting each other in the middle. Hook’s lips are as soft and plump as you imagined, almost like brushing your mouth against the petals of a rose. Placing one of your hands on the ground beside you, you put your weight on it as you move even closer.

You’ve read of intense kisses, filled with passion and fueled by lust. But this isn't like that. It is slow, sweet, intoxicating you with only the purest of adorations. Your lips hover over his as you tilt your head to the side to prolong the embrace, getting swept up in the moment whilst being completely and blissfully unaware of anything and everything besides how his lips feel against yours, how his hook traces your body as he devours you like a starved man given his last meal. How he breathes you in like you're the very air that fills his lungs, like your sheer essence is the only oxygen he needs. You bring your hand up to his shoulder, leaning further into him as he moves his good hand back and tangles it in your hair.

It ends rather quickly, the entire kiss lasting but a moment, yet still filling you with the sweetest pleasure. In that moment, you realize why people spend their whole lives searching for love; it’s one of the most endearing, profound forms of joy that one can feel, and you're certain that you just felt it.

You pull away, noticing how his gaze lingers on your lips, before looking back up at you. He gives you a captivating, yet genuine smile, one that makes your heart to ache at how perfect he is, yet simultaneously yearning for his touch, his lips, him being wrapped up in another embrace with you and never breaking away. The newfound euphoria coursing through your veins and making your mind fuzzy causes you to return his smile with a wide, love-drunk grin of your own, a deep, wholehearted devotion emanating through your gaze as you study his features.

“Can I tell you a secret?” you whisper, staring into his eyes—eyes that reflect your own.

“Always, love.”

“You were my first kiss,” you confess.

Hook brings his hand back up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone. His grin grows, an endless affection swirling in his dark eyes as he replies, “I guess this really is a night to remember.”

You give a small laugh, lowering your forehead to lean it against his shoulder, seeking comfort in his hold. “You did want to give me an unforgettable night, after all.”

“Can I tell you a secret, too?”

You raise your head again to peer up at him with wide eyes, curious as to what he has to admit.

“That day, in class,” he confides, “I was enchanting those disks and sending them across the room so you’d come and talk to me. I saw how you went over to help that other kid who was struggling. So, I figured that if I struggled too, you'd come over and I could get a conversation with you.”

You raise your eyebrows. “So you could cast the spell right?”

“Oh, no, not even close, love. That was all your work. Although I might have put in a bit more effort just to impress you,” he adds with a small smirk.

You move one of your hands closer to him, placing it on top of his and intertwining your fingers together. “Well, I suppose it worked.”

You lean back into him, kissing him blissfully yet again under the watchful smile of the moon glowing high in the sky, the stars glimmering and winking down at your young love. As you embrace, the city below bustles with the joys and despairs of human life unbeknownst to you, each person a thread in the tapestry of the world. Every soul but a speck of stardust in a cosmic dance.

And perhaps that is the greatest folly of human life. All the weight of one’s burdens, all the battles fought, all the hearts and souls that love and cry, together composing of but a fleeting second amidst the vastness of forever. And yet, each person gets lost in the preeminence of their own narrative, joyfully unaware of every grain of sand that disappears into the abyss as we shuffle closer to the edge of this mortal coil. But oftentimes, one’s deepest flaw is their greatest feat, as no imperfection comes without its own merit.

So maybe that very feature is, instead, the greatest feat of humanity. To love like you’ll live forever, and to weep like there’s no tomorrow. Maybe our ignorance gives us strength, the strength to keep going every day, pretending as if we somehow have an authority and power over the galactic strings of thread that weave together the fate of our universe.

The city below you, the world outside of the little bubble the two of you have created, moves on, unknown and unknowing of you both. But in this moment, nothing else matters. Nothing besides the love and affection you and him have grown to share.

end x

<- back to part 1

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a/n: I just had to end this with some philosophical musings haha (hey google, how do you write beginnings and endings?) anyways hope you liked this, I love making fluff like this :D I love seeing everyone's comments and reactions, all feedback is highly appreciated! until next time :))

do not plagiarize, translate, remake, or copy my works, including my writing and images, in any way.

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hunn1e-bunn1e · 4 months ago

Note

Hello~ Hello~

I saw your Nu: Carnival - Bliss masterlist and I couldn't help but want to send you a request for it. May I have Eiden find another clan member (male reader), an ancient gem dragon alive long before Huey was? He doesn't like humans and prefers to stay up in his mountain cave and when he talks about Huey he calls him ""that foolish bastard"". I don't think the male reader would be a tsundere, but a lonely person with a lot of pain and loneliness from the past; so, a much more mature Edmond. This post doesn't have to have smut or be suggestive if you want it to be.

🍁Maple Anon

Eiden (+ Aster, Morvay, Quincy & Kuya) - Cold Gem Dragon Male Reader

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Hey 🍁Maple Anon, I don't know how, but this turned into a lesson in dragon anatomy around the halfway point and is probably not what you wanted, but I added extra bullet points as well as a few more characters to remedy that! The lyrics quoted in this one are from the song “Gold” by Jeff Williams. —Benny🐰

Warnings –> Dragon Dong Anatomy, Eiden, Kuya & Morvay Are Warnings In Themselves, Sexual Situations, [Name] Is Lowkey Prejudiced Against Humanity, Eiden is Horny as Usual, Quincy is Now a Unit of Measurement, Benny forgot how headcanons work

💎•♡•💎•♡•💎•♡•💎•♡•💎•♡•💎•♡•💎•♡•💎

❝𝕯𝖔𝖓'𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖗𝖞 𝖆𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖐; 𝕴 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖚𝖕 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖎𝖓 𝖒𝖞 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙-- 𝕴 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖇𝖚𝖗𝖓 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖚𝖓; 𝕴 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖐𝖊𝖊𝖕 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖘𝖆𝖋𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖒~❞

. . .

First, lets do some exposition!

𖢻 I imagine that [Name] was a part of the original clan members of Huey's; except the dragon wasn't exactly an official member per se. Maybe Huey wanted him to join, but he's literally an ancient dragon, and if said ancient dragon says ‘no’, it's best to just leave it at that. Also, with the mention of [Name] being a gem dragon; it made me think of a scenario where Huey actually got his neon gemstone from [Name]. Maybe Huey wanted to test his strength against a legendary dragon and ended up only being able to knock loose a tiny sliver of the reptile's gem claw.

𖢻 I would think that Huey pulling up to [Name]’s humble mountain cave and trying to run the hands with him would probably add to the dislike of humans too. But, most likely, after the ‘fight', Huey would get tired and rest outside of the cave for a few days, conversing with [Name], and the dragon began to get used to his presence. Huey would probably flaunt his ‘victory’ in the form of making a necklace of the sliver of [Name]’s claw, which would annoy the ancient reptile, but the dragon would teach his newfound companion how to harness the gem's essence. But eventually… Huey's visits to his mountain cave would abruptly stop.

Now, onto the present, when Eiden arrives!

𖢻 Eiden probably met [Name] after everyone else, since the dragon isn't an official clan member. It'd probably be on their way back to Aster's mansion that someone, likely Morvay, would ask the vampire how [Name] had been. To which Eiden would then ask them who that was since he hadn't heard of anyone by that name during the entirety of his stay in Klein. This, the group, consisting of Eiden, Aster, Morvay, Quincy, and Kuya –since the rest declined to go with in favor of heading back to rest after a long journey– took a detour and scaled up the great mountain of Chalcedony (I couldn't think of anything else) to visit the dragon.

𖢻 Eiden's first meeting with [Name] wouldn't be all that positive, with the dragon both disliking humans and having grown some resentment toward Huey. However, with Eiden being himself, he'd probably just catch on that the dragon was lonely and was pushing people away to protect himself, so Eiden convinced the others to allow him to stay in the dragon's care for a little while to soften the reptile's walls.

𖢻 The relationship between both of them from that point on can be described as a confused and exasperated husband with his headstrong and prideful wife who's a bit mean. [Name] taught Eiden to harness and control the essence in the neon gemstone (which is probably just tourmaline, if I'm being honest); the poor guy got a good handful of glares and head smacks whenever he fooled around too much. [Name] probably calls Eiden a fool or ‘young human’ most times, only rarely calling him by his actual name, as he saves that for more intimate situations.

Speaking of intimate situations...

𖢻 Let's get into [Name]’s assets~ The ancient dragon has two very large horns that curved behind his head in almost a horizontal ‘S’ shape. They are made of the same glowing rainbow gemstone as the one hanging from Eiden's neck and make for a very good stabilizer if you reach out and grab them like handles. While they aren't an erogenous zone, if you tug on them, they do hurt a bit and I imagine that [Name] is probably a masochist. Going a bit farther down we have his thick tail and two dicks– yes, that's right, we're following that trope on this one. [Name]'s tail is quite long and incredibly strong as well. It can support several heavy objects and 15 Quincys, even more than that if he's in his true form.

𖢻 Onto the pp! [Name]’s members both rest inside of a somewhat small internal sleeve when they're not at full mast. The inside of the sleeve is incredibly sensitive, with the walls being made of thin and smooth, spongy flesh, with an organ located near the back that secretes a sticky, lubricating slick that makes it easier for both members to slide in and out. The sleeve's entrance– or rather, the exit, is a simple vertical slit situated just a few inches above where a human man's schlong would be. When flaccid, [Name]’s dicks are about 2-3 inches long with a circumference of 1 inch, allowing them to rest in the sleeve without issue. But when aroused they grow to about 9-10 inches long with a circumference of 4.5 inches. They have a thin and tapered tip and various bumps and ridges along the underside and are a nice reddish pink in color.

Anyway–! Let's get back on track!

𖢻 Eiden, of course, finds [Name] super hot, but also incredibly intimidating; considering the dragon tried to kill him when he first noticed the gemstone hanging from the brunette's neck. But, after a week of spending time together in [Name]’s cave, Eiden managed to soften the ancient reptile up. Now, the world hopper sets aside a day every week to visit his favorite handsome dragon; letting the horned man train him to be stronger so that he doesn't have to rely so heavily on everyone else. That's not to say that the two don't spend time together doing other things as well though. Oftentimes, Eiden will pester [Name] about giving him a ride on his back because ‘he's never ridden a dragon before’; the audacity.

𖢻 Though… that request for 'a ride’ usually devolves into a steamy session of the sexy dragon hopping up and down on his favorite human's dick. He won't let poor Eiden cum for hours on end; stopping whenever the man gets close to punish him for his insolence. Rest in peace to Eiden's pp. We'll be holding a candlelight vigil later today in its honor.

𖢻 Aster, bless his greedy heart, always tries to convince [Name] to come to his mansion and stay for a while. The vampire both wants to brag to other nobles that he knows the great tyrant of the mountain and also just wants an old friend to visit his home and stay for a bit so that they can catch up. The two had been ‘apart’ for some time –despite Aster hypnotizing a few people to send [Name] letters every month– and the little vampire had missed him dearly. He also just wanted his favorite mannequin to come back…

𖢻 Morvay and [Name] have a strange relationship. Oftentimes, when the incubus had grown to find his regular meals less filling, he would pay a visit to his favorite dragon for a full-course meal that'd last him a whole week! However, when the insatiable familiar has had his fill, the two just cuddle and talk about how they have been since they saw each other last. Morvay fills the ancient beast in on all the details his empty little head can remember, and [Name] says the same thing as he usually did: ‘It was uneventful’. It's a nice little routine the two have and they prefer it that way.

𖢻 Quincy is surprisingly not despised by [Name] despite his status as a human. The two have only interacted twice in the past; the first being when Huey brought him by the horned man's cave after weeks of begging and the second being when [Name] made the spontaneous decision to leave his cave and take a walk around the forest for a while. Both meetings weren't too bad; the two men really just stared at each other in silence the entire time; not being bothered to talk at all. [Name] finds the tall blonde to be a comforting presence– Topper's cuteness helps as well.

𖢻 Kuya… is himself. He and the old man in the mountain had actually never met before Eiden brought him and the others with him to meet [Name]. However, the sly fox was incredibly intrigued by the dragon and paid several visits to the cave after the initial one. Kuya loves reclining against a boulder and listening as the other recounts memories of a time that the yokai hadn't even been alive for. It was quite relaxing and even more interesting than those illusion cards that the young master had tricked him with.

. . .

❝𝕷𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖒𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝖆 𝖗𝖔𝖘𝖊 𝖔𝖓 𝖆 𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖗'𝖘 𝖉𝖆𝖞; 𝕴 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖇𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖋𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖘 𝖆𝖜𝖆𝖞-- 𝖂𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖙𝖔𝖚𝖈𝖍 𝖔𝖋 𝖒𝖞 𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕴 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖓 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 ��𝖎𝖋𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖌𝖔𝖑𝖉~❞

💎•♡•💎•♡•💎•♡•💎•♡•💎•♡•💎•♡•💎•♡•💎

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Reblogs are appreciated ~ 𔓘

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Masterlist!

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retellingthehobbit · 1 year ago

Text

Retelling The Hobbit Chapter 15: Unattached First chapter / Previous / Next Read full comic on: Webtoon/A03

Other blogs : Instagram/Tumblr Sideblog

Thank you for reading! The next chapter of this comic adaptation of The Hobbit will be titled (drumroll)....The Song of the Lonely Mountain!

Check under the cut for notes on the callbacks to previous chapters of this comic, and to Tolkien stories like the Unfinished Tales! —-

—-

One of my guiding ideas for this comic is that the story is being written/drawn by Bilbo Baggins, an “unreliable narrator,” who has a biased way of recounting events. As the comic goes on, parts of the story get retold through new perspectives (or through the eyes of other characters), and you realize the initial version you read was incomplete.

A lot of you probably noticed that this chapter features a ton of callbacks to the earliest chapters of this comic! We saw child Bilbo and Gandalf's friendship told from Bilbo's POV in Chapter 3.....but in this chapter we see it retold from Gandalf's POV. However, Belladonna Took is our biggest instance of that! Not to overexplain my own writing, but Chapter 1 is an older Bilbo painting an idealized happily-ever-after fairytale picture of Belladonna, while Chapter 15 features a younger Bilbo telling a far less optimistic version of her life. While there's truth to both of them, neither of them is the full truth.

In the Fellowship of the Ring, Bilbo tells Frodo that ‘books need to have good endings,' like endings where everyone "lives happily ever after." If I were to continue this comic to the end of the novel, Bilbo’s habit of “rewriting things to be happier" would become a whole Thing.

Second: Much of this chapter is taken directly from “The Unfinished Tales: The Quest For Erebor.” That story was Tolkien’s attempt to unite the tone of The Hobbit with LOTR, by having Gandalf explain what The Hobbit looked like from *his* perspective. The gay line about Bilbo feeling incapable of settling down into a Traditional Marriage with a Wife And Kids is taken almost directly from the Unfinished Tales. So are all the lines where Gandalf reflects on what Bilbo was like as a child, and the moment where Bilbo reflects that all of his desire for adventure has dwindled to a private dream.

Third: Obviously, the other big influence on this chapter (outside the original novel) was a similar scene in the PJ film. The little bit where Gandalf reveals the lore behind Bullroarer took monologue is the only dialogue I’ve directly lifted from that scene. ;3

Fourth: some of you may have caught that I used a quote describing Frodo’s wanderlust in the Fellowship of the Ring to describe Bilbo. The bit describing "the maps that only show white spaces beyond their borders" is also why I emphasized Bilbo’s canonical nerdiness around maps in earlier chapters (chapter 5 especially, but also in Chapter 6, Chapter 7, and a blink-and-you-miss-it moment in chapter 14.)

Fifth: one of my favorite things in the original book are all the scenes where Gandalf does fun Whimsical things with smoke/smoke rings. In the book he usually makes them change color or race around; in my comic he usually makes them turn into butterflies (he also does this in chapters 3 and 11.) you may have noticed that Butterfly Symbolism is a big thing in this comic. But yeah, in another callback: Gandalf finally had time to blow smoke-rings with Bilbo, which he said he 'had no time for' in Chapter 2!

Thanks again for reading! I tentatively plan for the next chapter to arrive on November 13th.

#the hobbit #lotr #lord of the rings #the hobbit comic #retelling the hobbit #chapter 15 #bilbo baggins #belladonna took #gandalf the grey #YEEEEEEEEEEEET #anyways #thanks again for reading!!!#long post

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kckt88 · 4 months ago

Text

Demon In My Dreams II

Summary:

'Sleep those little slices of death, how I loathe them' - Edgar Allen Poe

Despites his best efforts, Aemond is still tormented by the horrors of a future that will never come to pass.

Warning(s): Language, Haunting, Torment, Dream Invasion, Horror, Referenced Character Deaths, Unce/Niece Incest, Kissing, Smut, Oral Sex, Fingering, P in V, Remorse, Regret, Strangulation, Child Birth.

AEMOND x O.C NIECE

INSPIRED BY THE SONG - 'MOTIONLESS IN WHITE - THE DEMON IN YOUR DREAMS'

Word Count: - 7939

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9

"Otto plans to usurp the Iron Throne and have Aegon crowned as King," Aemond declared, his voice firm but tinged with desperation.

Daemon's eyes narrowed with suspicion. He drew his sword, Dark Sister, and held the tip against Aemond's throat. "Why should we believe that you would betray your grandsire?" he asked, his tone cold and threatening.

Aemond glanced down at the sword and then looked pleadingly at Rhaenyra. "Please, listen to me. My grandsire will claim that crowning Aegon will prevent a war, but it will only serve to start one. The realm will be divided, and many will die-"

He looked over at Lucaera, then back to Rhaenyra, his expression earnest and full of sorrow. "You will lose both of your daughters," he said, gesturing to Rhaenyra's pregnant belly, "-then Jacaerys and Viserys will die in a battle against the Triarchy in the Gullet."

Rhaenyra gasped, her eyes widening in horror as she fell towards Daemon, her hands gripping his tunic.

“M-My babies-” whimpered Rhaenyra.

Daemon's grip on his sword tightened, as he pressed the sharp point further into Aemond’s throat, causing a small rivulet of blood to run down his throat.

“You do realise what will happen to your cunt of a grandsire if your words prove true?” asked Daemon.

“Yes-I do, all I ask is that my mother, siblings and the children be spared, they had no knowledge of such plots” replied Aemond.

"Swear to me that you speak the truth” demanded Rhaenyra.

"I swear on our ancestors that I’m telling you the truth. I know it sounds unbelievable, but if nobody had believed Daenys the Dreamer, then House Targaryen wouldn't have survived the Doom”

Rhaenyra looked towards Daemon who’s eyes searched Aemond's face for any sign of deceit. After a tense moment, he slowly lowered Dark Sister, but his expression remained wary. "If you're lying, I'll kill you myself."

Aemond took a deep breath, his relief palpable but tempered by the gravity of the situation. "I understand. But I am telling the truth. We must act quickly to prevent the bloodshed that my grandsire's plan will cause."

Rhaenyra straightened, her resolve hardening as she wiped away her tears. "What do you propose we do?"

Aemond met her gaze, determination shining in his eye. "I seek your permission to marry Lucaera. It will unite our families, as my father wished."

Daemon raised an eyebrow, his scepticism still evident as he leaned on his sword "-And it has nothing at all to do with Lucaera being the heir to Driftmark?-as a mere second son with nothing of his own to inherit, becoming Consort Lord is quite the bounty"

Aemond shook his head, his voice steady. "No. I don't care about that. I care about her, and I believe our union will bring strength and peace to our family"

Daemon scoffed, his scepticism turning to open derision. "You care about her? Didn't seem like you cared about her when you were making your little toast. Tell me, nephew, what could have happened between then and now-for you to change your opinion so quickly?"

Aemond looked at Lucaera, who stepped forward, her face resolute. "He came to my chambers, and we laid together” she declared, her voice steady.

A few seconds of silence followed her confession before Daemon burst into laughter. "Years of ire all forgotten because you got your cock wet?" he taunted.

Rhaenyra elbowed Daemon sharply in the ribs, cutting off his laughter. She turned to Aemond, her expression serious. "Are your intentions towards my daughter true, Aemond? You claim to care about her, but Lucaera is, after all, the one who cut out your eye."

Aemond took a deep breath, meeting Rhaenyra's gaze. "What I saw was enough to make me realize that holding on to my anger would only cause more pain and suffering-my intentions towards Lucy are true-”

Rhaenyra's eyes softened as she looked between her daughter and Aemond. "Lucaera, is this what you want?"

Lucaera stepped forward, her hand finding Aemond's. "Yes. I-I care for him also and I wish to marry him."

“What do think Daemon?” asked Rhaenyra, her hand slowly running over her round stomach.

Daemon studied them both for a long moment, his eyes searching Aemond's face for any hint of deceit.

Finally, he nodded, though his expression remained guarded. "Very well. But know this, Aemond: if you betray her, then there will be no place in this realm that you can hide from me."

Aemond met Daemon's gaze without flinching. "I understand, and I swear that I will never betray Lucaera”.

After many hours of discussion with Rhaenyra and Daemon, Aemond and Lucaera finally made it back to his chambers. He was exhausted, yet sleep eluded him, his mind still racing.

He had just given Daemon the names of all those planning to repudiate the succession, and after informing Rhaenyra that tonight was the night their father would die, she had rushed off to be with him.

Lucaera had offered to go with her, but Aemond had refused to let go of her hand, almost as if he was making sure she was truly there and not some figment of his imagination.

Even now, as the two of them lay in bed, Aemond had coiled himself around her, his hand resting on her stomach. The feel of her warm body next to his was a comfort, a reminder that this was real, that she was here with him.

Lucaera turned her head slightly to look at him, her eyes soft and concerned. "Aemond," she whispered, "You need to rest. You’ve done all you can for now."

Aemond shook his head, his grip tightening around her. "I can't sleep, Lucaera. My mind-it won't stop, I worry that all of this is some cruel jest and once I wake up then I will have lost you”

"You won't," she promised, her voice steady and reassuring. "I'm here with you, and I’m not going anywhere."

For a long time, they lay there in silence, the only sound the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth. Aemond's thoughts were a whirlwind, but the feel of Lucaera in his arms, the steady rise and fall of her breathing, began to ground him.

Eventually, his eyelid grew heavy, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to him. He tightened his hold on Lucaera one last time before sleep finally claimed him,

Aemond stood on the beach, the skies above illuminated by flashes of lightning, Storm's End a dark silhouette in the distance. The wind whipped around him, carrying the salty tang of the sea.

His eye scanned the shoreline until it fell upon a figure lying face down in the sand. Panic surged through him as he instantly knew who it was.

He sprinted towards Lucaera, his heart pounding in his chest. Kneeling down, he rolled her over and screamed in horror.

Her appearance was grotesque—torn skin, missing limbs, maggots crawling through open wounds. The stench of decay hit him like a physical blow, and he retched, vomiting into the sand beside her.

Suddenly, Lucaera's rotten hand shot out, grabbing his wrist with surprising strength.

Aemond tried to pull away, but her grip was unyielding. He screamed again, louder, his voice mingling with the howling wind. As her fingers tightened, he felt the world around him shift and blur.

Aemond lurched awake, his heart racing and sweat pouring down his face. He was back in his chambers at the Red Keep, the familiar surroundings slowly coming into focus.

Lucaera lay next to him, peacefully asleep, her chest rising and falling with each breath. He sat up, holding his head in his hands, but he couldn't stop shaking. The vivid nightmare clung to him, refusing to fade.

He glanced over at Lucaera, reassuring himself that she was whole and unharmed. His breath came in ragged gasps as he tried to steady himself. The feel of her rotten, decaying hand still haunted him, the image of her mangled body seared into his mind.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the horrific vision to leave him, but it lingered, like a dark shadow on the edge of his consciousness.

Unable to bear it any longer, he slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her. He paced the room, running a trembling hand through his hair. The silence of the night offered no comfort, only amplifying the echoes of his nightmare.

The Red Keep was on lockdown, the tension palpable in the air as guards stood at every entrance, preventing anyone from entering or leaving.

Inside the Great Hall, the assembled crowd murmured with curiosity and unease. At the foot of the Iron Throne, Rhaenyra stood solemnly, her expression stern as she gazed out at those in attendance.

Alicent, Aegon, and Helaena stood to one side, their faces drawn with worry. Aemond stood with Lucaera, his grip on her hand firm and reassuring. Jace, Baela, Rhaena, Daemon, and Rhaenys were also present, their expressions a mixture of anticipation and apprehension.

As the whispers began to quiet down, Rhaenyra stepped forward. Her voice was clear and steady as she announced, "It is my duty to inform you of the sad news that last night, King Viserys, passed away"

A shocked gasp rippled through the crowd, the weight of her words sinking in. Rhaenyra allowed a moment for the news to settle before she continued, her tone growing firmer.

"There has been a treasonous plot to repudiate the rightful succession and have Aegon crowned instead of me."

Angry shouts erupted from the crowd, voices rising in indignation.

"Treason!"

"Theft!"

Rhaenyra raised a hand, quieting them. "The main conspirators—Otto Hightower, Tyland Lannister, Jasper Wylde, Maester Orwyle, Ser Criston Cole and Larys Strong—have been confined to the black cells, where they await their punishment."

She turned to Alicent, her expression softening slightly. "I will grant mercy to you and your children. On my honour, no harm shall come to you. I only seek one thing in return."

Aemond took a step forward and nudged Aegon, who shuffled forward reluctantly. He stood in front of Rhaenyra and, after a moment's hesitation, dropped to one knee.

His voice was clear as he declared, "I have no desire to rule and no taste for duty. I recognize that Rhaenyra as the rightful heir to the Iron Throne and the true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

Rhaenyra nodded, and Aegon quickly returned to stand next to Alicent, his relief evident.

Rhaenyra then turned to the assembly, a hint of a smile on her lips. "To unite our family in the wake of such treason, I am happy to announce the betrothal of my brother Aemond to my daughter Lucaera."

Jace’s face darkened at the news of his sister’s betrothal. His displeasure was evident in the tight line of his mouth and the furrow in his brow. Before he could voice his objections, Daemon shot him a warning glare, silencing him with a look that spoke volumes.

Rhaenyra continued, her voice unwavering. "The King's funeral will take place tomorrow. The day after, I will be crowned in the Dragon Pit. Where all the smallfolk can witness my coronation and see our family fully united, as my father wished."

The announcement was met with a murmur of approval from some and apprehension from others. The significance of the event was not lost on anyone; it was a moment to solidify the Targaryen legacy and ensure the realm's stability.

Rhaenyra’s gaze swept across the room, lingering briefly on Aemond and Lucaera, before moving to Jace. She gave him a slight nod, acknowledging his feelings but also affirming her decision.

Aemond stood tall beside Lucaera, his hand still holding hers. Despite the turmoil of the past, he felt a sense of resolve. He glanced at Lucaera, who gave him a reassuring smile.

Rhaenyra concluded, "In this time of mourning and transition, it is crucial that we stand together. Our father's dream of a united Targaryen family will not be in vain. Together, we will honour his legacy and lead the realm into a new era of peace and prosperity."

Aemond stood in the throne room of the Red Keep, his eyes fixed on the gruesome scene before him. His grandsire, Otto Hightower, and the others who had conspired against Rhaenyra were being executed for their treason.

Daemon wielded Dark Sister with cold efficiency, each swing of the blade bringing an end to a traitor's life.

Aemond's gaze drifted upward, jumping slightly as he caught sight of Lucaera standing across from him.

Her face was twisted and grotesque, strips of flesh hanging from her body like ghastly banners. He shook his head, trying to dispel the vision.

"It's just a dream, it's not real," he muttered under his breath.

Suddenly, Lucaera was standing right in front of him. She seized his face in her hands, her grip like iron as she pulled him toward her.

Her breath was cold against his lips as she tried to kiss him. Aemond struggled to pull away, but her strength was overwhelming.

"What's the matter? Don't you think I'm pretty like this?" Lucaera mocked, her voice dripping with malice as she dug her nails into his face.

Aemond quickly lurched backwards, colliding with the wall. He blinked, and the vision was gone. Everyone was staring at him.

The hall was silent except for the thudding of his heart in his ears. Lucaera, whole and unblemished, looked at him with concern. "Are you okay?" she asked softly.

Aemond nodded quickly, though his body was still shaking. He took Lucaera's hand, gripping it tightly as if she might vanish at any moment.

The rest of the executions continued, but Aemond's mind was elsewhere, trapped between the nightmare and reality.

Aemond lay in bed, his face pressed gently against Lucaera's stomach, listening to the soft rise and fall of her breath as she slept. His voice barely a whisper, he murmured, "Are you in there?" and then, more softly, "My son-my boy"

Careful not to wake her, he continued in a hushed tone, "No matter what, you will know you are wanted, and you will know that I love you. I know that I'm not going to be a perfect father, but I will try my best." Aemond placed a tender kiss on Lucaera's stomach, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulled away.

Silently, he slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Lucaera's peaceful slumber. He moved with practiced quiet, pulling on his tunic and breeches. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the windows, casting gentle shadows on the walls.

He couldn't sleep. His mind was too restless, filled with his fears over his nightmares. Needing to clear his head, he decided to head to the library.

The Red Keep was silent at this hour, the halls empty save for the occasional guard on patrol. Aemond made his way to the library, the familiar scent of old parchment and leather-bound books greeting him as he entered.

Aemond wandered through the aisles, his fingers trailing along the spines of books until he found one that caught his eye.

He settled into a chair by the window, the book resting in his lap, but his mind wandered back to Lucaera and their potential child.

He hoped that they would find out soon, that maybe it would shine some light in the darkness that had settled around him.

Aemond opened his eye and groaned, running his hands over his face. He was still in the library, slumped over a desk with a half-read book before him.

He must have fallen asleep. He closed the book, intending to return it to its shelf when he heard a hauntingly familiar voice singing sweetly.

“Drakari pykiros, Tīkummo jemiros, Yn lantyz bartossa, Saelot vāedis” (Fire breather, winged leader, but two heads, to a third sing).

“Perzyro udrȳssi, Ezīmptos laehossi, Hārossa letagon, Aōt vāedan” (With words of flame, with clear eyes, to bind the three, to you I sing).

“Hae mērot gierūli:, Se hāros bartossi, Prūmȳsa sōvīli, Gevī dāerī” (As one we gather, and with three heads, we shall fly as we were destined, beautifully, freely).

Aemond's breath caught in his throat as he moved around the bookcases, drawn to the eerie melody. He rounded a corner and saw a figure sitting in one of the chairs. He moved closer, his heart pounding in his chest, and then he saw Lucaera.

She was sitting serenely, something cradled in her lap. Aemond approached, a sense of dread washing over him. As he drew nearer, he gasped in horror when he saw what she was holding.

It was Jaehaerys, and she was sewing his head back on.

"Finally come to look upon the consequences of your actions, uncle?" Lucaera's voice was cold, cutting through him.

Aemond shook his head, trying to dispel the vision before him.

"Not that you accept responsibility, of course—it's always somebody else's fault."

He tried to leave, but his feet were rooted to the spot. Lucaera slowly stood up, pressing the boy into Aemond’s arms.

He looked down at the body of his nephew and jumped when his eyes suddenly opened.

"Apologize for the bad stitching, but then I've never really been one for sewing," said Lucaera, her tone mocking. "Haven't got the fingers for it," she added, holding up her hands.

Aemond audibly grimaced as he noticed that some of her fingers were missing, torn of at the knuckle.

"I'm sorry, I’m so sorry" Aemond kept repeating, his voice a desperate plea.

But Lucaera didn't listen. As she walked toward him, her limbs began twisting and contorting, her flesh peeling away.

Aemond lurched awake, a strangled cry escaping his lips. He was slumped over a desk in the library, drenched in sweat. He didn't bother putting the book away; he simply turned and fled.

The Sept was a vision of grandeur, filled with lords and ladies adorned in their finest attire, their faces glowing in the light of countless candles.

At the altar, the High Septon stood with a solemn air, ready to conduct the sacred ceremony that would unite two powerful houses.

Aemond, resplendent in his red and black attire, stood tall and proud. His single eye was fixed on Lucaera, who approached him with a grace that took his breath away.

She wore a gown of shimmering white lace, her long hair cascading in dark waves over her shoulders, and her eyes sparkled with a mixture of excitement and love.

The ceremony commenced with the High Septon intoning ancient words, calling upon the Seven to bless their union.

When it came time for Aemond to drape his cloak over Lucaera’s shoulders, signifying her joining his house, she leaned up to whisper in his ear, “I’m with child.”

Aemond’s eye widened in surprise, and then a joyous laugh escaped his lips. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply, causing a few titters of amusement to ripple through the gathered guests.

The High Septon cleared his throat, a slight smile playing at his lips, “We haven’t got to that part yet.”

Blushing slightly, Aemond and Lucaera pulled back, but their hands remained intertwined, their eyes locked on each other.

The ceremony continued with the High Septon binding their joined hands with a ribbon of gold and silver, symbolizing their unity.

“We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife: one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever,” the High Septon proclaimed.

He then declared, “Let it be known that Aemond of House Targaryen and Lucaera of House Velaryon are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.”

In unison, Aemond and Lucaera recited, “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger-” Their voices were steady and filled with conviction.

Aemond continued, “I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”

Lucaera followed, her voice soft yet firm, “I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”

Finally, Aemond declared, “With this kiss, I pledge my love,” and leaned in to seal their vows with a kiss.

As their lips met, a cheer erupted from the gathered crowd, and the Great Sept was filled with the sound of applause and joyous exclamations. The kiss lingered, full of promise and devotion, and when they finally parted, both were beaming.

Hand in hand, they turned to face their family and friends, united in love and purpose, ready to face whatever the future held together.

The throne room of the Red Keep had been transformed into a vision of splendour for the wedding celebration.

Banners of black and red intertwined with the silver and sea blue of House Velaryon, symbolizing the union of the two families.

Queen Rhaenyra, resplendent in her royal attire, presided over the event with a serene smile, determined to show the realm that her family was united at last.

Helaena, radiant and cheerful, sat at a table talking animatedly with Baela and Rhaena. The three young women shared laughter and stories, their camaraderie adding a light-heartedness to the atmosphere.

Aegon, as expected, was well into his cups, his cheeks flushed with wine as he made merry with a few of the other lords. Jace and Daeron, sat together, exchanging jests and laughter, the beginnings of a new bond of friendship.

At the high table, Alicent sat next to Rhaenyra, her demeanour slightly tense but making a genuine effort to engage in conversation.

Rhaenyra, in turn, responded warmly, trying to ease her old friends nerves. Daemon, ever vigilant, sat nearby with his hand casually resting on the hilt of Dark Sister, his eyes constantly scanning the room for any signs of trouble.

At the centre of it all were the newlyweds, Aemond and Lucaera. They sat close together, leaning into one another and whispering words of love, their eyes reflecting a happiness that had long eluded them.

They shared secret smiles and gentle touches, oblivious to the noise and bustle around them.

As the evening wore on, the call for the bedding ceremony was made. Aegon, suddenly more animated, began to make crude suggestions, but one fierce look and a whispered threat of murder from Aemond was enough to silence him.

Lucaera and Aemond exchanged amused glances and managed to slip away amidst the laughter and cheers, leaving the revelry behind.

Inside their chambers, the atmosphere shifted to one of intimacy and tenderness. Lucaera leapt into Aemond’s arms, her kisses raining down on his face as she giggled with joy.

Aemond’s laughter joined hers as they tumbled onto the bed, their limbs entwined in a playful embrace.

“I love you,” Lucaera whispered between kisses, her hands cupping his face.

Aemond smiled, his eye softening as he gazed at her. “And I love you”

Aemond traced his nose gently along Lucaera's stomach, his breath warm against her skin.

"Rytsas issa byka zaldrīzes," he whispered tenderly, his voice filled with love and awe (Hello my little dragon).

Lucaera's fingers wove through Aemond's long silver hair, her touch light and affectionate. A soft smile played on her lips as she watched him, feeling a surge of warmth in her heart. Aemond began to press delicate kisses along her stomach, his lips brushing against her skin with reverence.

“Aemond” whispered Lucaera as he moved lower, his hot breath tickling her skin as he moved his head between her legs.

“Nyke jaelagon ao” whispered Aemond (I want you).

“Gūrogon issa” replied Lucaera her eyes rolling into the back of her head as his tongue swept across her slick wet folds (Take me).

Lucaera bit the back of her hand to keep herself from screaming as Aemond began using his long fingers to tease her entrance.

“Let me hear you”.

“A-Aemond. Oh god. Please” begged Lucaera

Aemond pressed two fingers inside Lucaera, moving them against a spot that made her entire body shake, his tongue moving against her folds, his lips wrapping around her pearl.

“I know your almost there. Let it happen my sweet. Come for me” whispered Aemond.

Lucaera arched her back and let out a scream as her pleasure erupted.

Aemond crawled up Lucaera’s body, placing gentle kisses on her skin as he moved higher and higher.

His hands gently cupping her breasts before he sucked one of the sensitive rosy buds into his mouth, his tongue rolling around the stiffened peak.

“I can’t wait to see these filled with milk-” groaned Aemond as he pressed his face in between her breasts.

“F-For our babe” muttered Lucaera as she felt Aemond’s cock against her.

“Surely you won’t deny me a taste of your mother’s milk issa jorrāelagon” replied Aemond as he reached down to take his hard cock in his hand, running the tip through her wet folds (My love).

“P-Please valzȳrys” begged Lucaera (Husband).

Aemond smiled as he slowly sheathed himself inside her, until his hips came to rest against hers.

“You feel so good-” moaned Aemond as hestarted to thrust slowly, trying to prolong the feel of his wife’s warm wet walls clenching around his cock.

"Faster, Aemond" begged Lucaera.

"Patience, issa dōna" chided Aemond as he ran his nose up Lucaera’ neck (My sweet).

“Yes, Aemond, just like that-" panted Lucaera as he withdrew almost all of the way before slamming back in.

Her hands ran over his arms, over his shoulders, and down his back. Her nimble fingers mapped his back muscles and then went down to his arse her nails digging into his skin.

“Gods, Lucaera" grunted Aemond, speeding up slightly.

"Fuck me, Aemond. Fuck me with that big, cock of yours. You feel so good inside me. I-I want it-I want you”.

Aemond groaned loudly, his pace had increased with every filthy word that dropped from his wife’s luscious lips.

Now he was quickly thrusting in and out, shaking the bed, the wooden headboard banging loudly against the wall.

Aemond lifted Lucaera’ legs onto his shoulders and wrapped his arms around her thighs, squeezing them together as he thrust his cock into her soaking wet cunny.

Lucaera folded her arms above her head as she moved her hips, meeting Aemond thrust for thrust.

“Aemond! I’m going to come. Oh, fuck!” screamed Lucaera.

“That’s it baby-come for me” exclaimed Aemond as he felt her clenching on his cock.

Aemond could feel the tension in his abdomen, but he didn’t want to come. Not yet.

Not even waiting for her orgasm to fully subside, Aemond moved Lucaera’ legs off his shoulders and manoeuvred her onto all fours, she whimpered as his cock slipped out, but he bent forward to press a series of kisses to her glorious arse, his hands kneading the soft flesh.

“P-Please Aemond” whispered Lucaera, her voice slightly muffled as she pressed her face into the mattress.

"Gevie" growled Aemond as he sunk his teeth into the flesh of her arse cheek (Beautiful).

"AEMOND" screeched Lucaera, her finger digging into the sheets.

"Fuck-one day I want to take you here, if you let me" moaned Aemond as he slid a finger over her pucked hole.

"Yessss-I'll let you" wailed Lucaera.

"I want to possess every inch of you" muttered Aemond as he took his cock in hand and sheathed himself inside Lucaera once again, his eye rolling into the back of his head.

"Oohhh A-Aemond. Qȳbor" whimpered Lucaera (Uncle).

“Fuck” groaned Aemond.

“God. Yes” moaned Lucaera.

He began to thrust in and out of her in deep achingly slow thrusts.

Lucaera took one of Aemonds hands that was on her hip and brought it towards her head.

Knowing what she wanted, Aemond placed his hand on the back of her head and pushed her face into the mattress, her back arching. His cock reaching deep inside her as he moved with such ferocity it could rival an animal, his long silver hair unbound and sticking to his sweaty back.

Aemond then grasped both of Lucaera’ arms and held them behind her back as he pounded into her, the sound of his hips slapping against hers echoed around the room.

Her screams of pleasure muffled by the mattress.

“Yes. Lucaera-that’s it-that's it-take it, fucking take it” moaned Aemond.

He took hold of Lucaera’s hair, twisting his fingers into the messy dark curls before he pulled her backwards, her sweaty back colliding with his chest.

Aemond held Lucaera tight too him as he fucked her, his cock reaching deep inside her.

One hand grasped her hip, his blunt fingers digging into her flesh. Whilst his other released her hair and moved to her throat, squeezing gently, as he pounds into her.

“Give it to me please” pleaded Lucaera her head lolling back onto Aemond’s shoulder.

"That's it-that’s my good girl" whispered Aemond.

Lucaera turned her head to face his, her lips connecting with his in a messy, passionate kiss, their tongues sliding against one another.

Aemond could feel the tension building in his abdomen again, as he thrust his cock inside Lucaera.

“I want you to come on my cock again, but not like this-” muttered Aemond as he once again withdrew from her wet heat and propped himself up against the headboard.

“-Aemond” exclaimed Lucaera breathlessly.

“Ride me baby” replied Aemond as he pulled Lucaera on top of him. His hand moving to his cock, rubbing it along her folds before she sunk down and completely engulfed him.

“A-Aemond” muttered Lucaera as she began to roll her hips.

“You feel so good my beautiful wife-so full of me, my seed already taking root-” replied Aemond placing his hands on her hips and moving her up and down.

“Oh-” gasped Lucaera.

“That’s it baby, take it. Take all of me”

Lucaera dug her nails into Aemond’s chest as she moved her hips against his, his cock hitting the sweet spot inside her perfectly.

“A-Aemond” moaned Lucaera as he sat up, moving his hand to her breast again and taking her nipple into his mouth, his teeth gently grazing the rosy bud.

“Let go baby, I can feel you clenching around me” exclaimed Aemond, as he moved to the other breast and lavished it with the same attention as the other.

“AEMOND” screamed Lucaera as she came around his cock.

Her husband threw her back onto the bed his cock never leaving her warmth as he pounded into her, her legs wrapped around his waist, trapping his body against hers as he chased his own end.

“God. Lucaera” groaned Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he finally spilled rope after rope of his seed, collapsing on top of his wife, breathing hard.

Aemond woke with a start sometime in the night. The room was dark and still, but he immediately sensed something was wrong.

He reached out, his hand trembling as it brushed against Lucaera's body. Her skin felt cold, unnaturally so. Panic surged through him as he took hold of her and rolled her over.

A scream of pure horror tore from his throat. Her face was a decayed, grotesque visage, eyes lifeless and skin peeling away. He scrambled off the bed, landing in a heap on the floor, his heart pounding wildly.

When he stood back up, the bed was empty, the linens undisturbed.

Breathing heavily, he looked around the room, his eyes wide with fear. He felt a presence behind him, cold and malevolent.

He turned slowly, dreading what he would see. Lucaera stood there, smiling at him, her rotten face inches from his own.

"Why do you keep tormenting me?" he pleaded, his voice breaking.

She didn't answer. Her smile widened, and her mouth opened, releasing a torrent of maggots that poured over him.

Aemond screamed again, thrashing as the creatures crawled over his skin.

He woke up with a jolt, his body drenched in sweat. Lucaera was instantly at his side, her eyes filled with concern as she held him.

"Aemond, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice gentle but firm.

He babbled incoherently, "She won't leave me alone. She keeps coming. What else must I do?"

"Shh, shh" Lucaera soothed, running her fingers through his hair. "It was just a bad dream"

Aemond clung to her, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his face into her neck. Her warmth and the sound of her steady heartbeat grounded him, slowly easing his panic.

"You're safe," she whispered, holding him tightly. "I'm here with you, always."

Aemond's breathing began to steady as he absorbed her words. He nodded against her neck, taking comfort in her presence, even as the remnants of the nightmare continued to haunt him.

In the months that followed, Lucaera's stomach swelled with their child, a visible sign of their union and the future that lay ahead.

Yet, despite the joy that should have accompanied this time, Aemond found himself increasingly on edge. The lack of sleep gnawed at his sanity, making him delirious.

The grotesque visage of Lucaera haunted him more than ever, appearing in the halls, at mealtimes, and even when he sought solace with Vhagar. There was no escape from the torment.

Desperation drove him to visit Harrenhal, seeking counsel from Alys.

Her cryptic advice that ‘he must endure, that he might see the truth but not yet feel the weight of it’, left him feeling more desolate and confused.

He returned to King's Landing with a heavy heart, unsure of how much longer he could cope. Sleepless nights wore him down, his performance in the training yard deteriorated, and he felt trapped in a relentless cycle of exhaustion.

Confiding in Lucaera was out of the question. She was with child, and he couldn't risk causing her any distress.

In his desperation, he turned to Aegon, seeking distraction in his brother's reckless company. But even that escape led to further turmoil when Aegon lured him to a brothel on the streets of Silk.

The visit was brief, as Aemond had left immediatley, but not brief enough.

As Lucaera found out and, in a fit of rage, she had banished him from their chambers for a week.

Aemond was left in despair, barely holding on until Lucaera agreed to hear him out.

Aegon confirmed his innocence, and he was allowed back into their bed, but the nightmares persisted, each one as terrifying as the last.

Lucaera was nearing the end of her pregnancy, and Aemond's struggle had reached a breaking point.

Confined to their chambers, he refused to see or speak to anyone else. Rhaenyra had suggested giving him dream wine to help him sleep, but Aemond had stubbornly refused.

One morning, as he sat in their chambers, having breakfast with Lucaera, the grotesque image of her suddenly appeared before him. His heart raced, and he flew from his chair, pressing his back against the wall.

"Leave me alone!" he raged, his voice raw with desperation.

Lucaera, rose from her seat, concern etched across her face. "Aemond, what's wrong?"

But Aemond wouldn't listen. He kept begging to be left alone, his mind clouded with terror. When she placed her hand on his shoulder, his panic erupted into violence.

He wrapped his hands around her throat, driven by the maddening hallucination.

"If you won't leave me alone, I'll make you," he roared, his grip tightening.

Lucaera struggled against him, gasping for breath. "Aemond, stop," she wheezed, her eyes wide with fear.

But all he saw was the grotesque visage, her skin falling away in clumps as his fingers dug into what he perceived as rotted flesh. He was determined to rid himself of this torment, even if it was the last thing he ever did.

Then, a small voice broke through the chaos. "Daddy."

Aemond looked up to see Aerion standing next to the bed, clutching a stuffed dragon teddy, his thumb in his mouth.

The sight of his son cut through the madness. The grotesque vision of Lucaera faded, and he realized his hands were wrapped around the throat of the real Lucaera.

"L-Lucy," Aemond sobbed, his eyes wide with horror.

Tears streamed down her red face. "Aemond, please," she wheezed, struggling for air.

He released her immediately, and she moved away, coughing and rubbing her throat.

Aemond collapsed to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. He had almost killed her and their unborn child.

Lucaera, trembling and clutching her throat, watched Aemond writhe on the floor, overcome with guilt and despair. Her own tears mingled with his as she tried to comprehend the horror of what had just happened

Aemond was on his knees, trembling and pleading with Lucaera. "Kill me," he begged, his voice raw and desperate. "I can't take it anymore. I can't cope. I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. Please, Lucaera, kill me."

Lucaera wiped the tears from her face and moved toward him, her heart aching with love and sorrow.

She reached out, but Aemond flinched away, still begging for death. Before she could respond, a sudden twinge in her stomach made her gasp.

Warm, wet liquid ran down her leg. She rucked up the material of her dress, her eyes wide with realization. "The babe is coming," she whispered.

Summoning her strength, she called for one of the guards outside their chambers to alert the maesters and midwives.

Aemond sat in the corner, head buried in his hands, unable to process what was happening. The room became a flurry of activity as people rushed in and out.

His mother and Rhaenyra were there, holding Lucaera's hands as she wailed in agony. Aemond avoided their concerned gazes, his own mind clouded with despair.

Time lost all meaning as he sat there, disassociated from the chaos around him.

Lucaera's screams pierced his soul, but he remained frozen, unable to move. Then, through the haze, the sound of a baby's cry broke through, catching his attention.

"A boy, Princess," announced one of the midwives.

Aemond slowly levered himself off the ground, his legs unsteady as he made his way toward Lucaera.

She was red-faced and sweating, but her expression was one of pure joy as she cuddled their son against her chest.

She looked at Aemond, her eyes filled with love and understanding, and shakily held out the baby to him.

He took his son in his arms, the weight of the newborn feeling right, grounding him.

The baby opened his little amethyst eyes, and Aemond smiled, feeling a deep, unconditional love he had never known before.

Alicent asked what they would call the babe, and Lucaera said it was Aemond's choice.

"Aerion," Aemond said softly, his voice filled with emotion.

Suddenly, he looked up and saw the grotesque image of Lucaera staring at him from across the room.

But she was smiling, and as he watched, her appearance restored to normal. She spoke to him, her voice gentle. "You have finally felt the weight of your truth," she said before disappearing.

Lucaera, noticing the tear slipping down Aemond's cheek, asked softly, "Are you okay?"

Aemond nodded, holding their son close. "Yes," he whispered, his heart filled with a new resolve. "I will be”.

Aemond stood on the balcony of his chambers, looking out over King's Landing. The city's lights twinkled in the night, a stark contrast to the turmoil within his heart.

The cool breeze did little to calm his restless mind. He heard movement behind him and turned to see Lucaera approaching with Aerion in her arms.

"You're not going to jump, are you?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

Aemond shook his head. "No," he replied, his voice steady but filled with sorrow.

"You've only just gone through your labours," he said, frowning. "You shouldn't be out of bed."

Lucaera shook her head. "I'm worried about you, Aemond. You could have killed me and Aerion today-"

"I-I'm sorry. These past few months I-I've been struggling to sleep because of the nightmares"

"You need to tell me when things are bothering you-I'm your wife, you can come to me with anything, but you really scared me today-" said Lucaera.

Aemond looked away, guilt heavy in his chest. "I understand if you inform Daemon," he said quietly, recalling his stepfather's threat. "He did say that if I ever hurt you, then he would deal with me."

Lucaera stepped closer, her expression resolute. "I won't tell anyone what you did. I do not wish for my stepfather to kill you, as we both know he would."

Aemond noticed the pain in her eyes and the way she winced slightly from the discomfort of giving birth.

His concern for her well-being took over, and he gently ushered her inside. He carefully placed Aerion in his cot, making sure the baby was secure before turning back to Lucaera.

"Come, you need to rest," he said softly, helping her climb into bed, making sure she was comfortable before he stripped off his own clothes and climbed in beside her.

Aemond turned to her, his eye heavy with exhaustion, he hesitantly reached for her, and she laid her head against his chest as his arm coiled around her and within moments, the sound of his soft snores filled the room.

Aemond woke up feeling groggy, his head heavy and eyes bleary. He instinctively ran his arm over Lucaera's side of the bed, but she wasn't there.

Panic shot through him as he sat up abruptly, scanning the room. His eyes landed on Aerion's cot, which was also empty. Heart pounding, he jumped out of bed and quickly pulled on his clothes.

He rushed to the door, yanking it open with such force it almost came off its hinges. Standing there, to his immense relief, were Lucaera and Aerion.

Without a moment's hesitation, he pulled them both into his arms, holding them tightly.

"Be careful," Lucaera said gently as Aerion started fussing.

Aemond loosened his grip slightly, taking Aerion into his arms and cradling his son close. He looked at Lucaera, his eyes wide with worry. "Where were you? I woke up and you were gone."

Lucaera gave him a reassuring smile. "I was having dinner with Helaena."

"Dinner?" Aemond echoed, confused.

Lucaera nodded. "You've been asleep for almost two days."

Aemond's eyes widened in shock. "T-Two days?"

"Yes," Lucaera replied softly, her concern evident. "You needed the rest. I'll arrange for you to bathe and have food brought. No doubt you're hungry."

Aemond nodded, too stunned to speak. The realization of how long he had been asleep left him momentarily speechless.

He clung to Aerion, feeling a profound sense of relief and gratitude. The torment of his waking nightmares fading as he held his son close.

As the weeks went by, Aemond found himself finally able to sleep through the entire night. The nightmares and horrific visions that had plagued him for so long seemed to have vanished, leaving him with a peace he hadn’t felt in months.

His only disturbances now came from his son, Aerion, when he was hungry or needed his soiled cloths changed. Rearing children was typically left to the mothers as Daemon so informed him after the safe arrival of his daughter Visenya.

But Aemond wanted to be involved with every aspect of it, much to everyone's surprise.

The once quiet and stoic persona that Aemond had carefully crafted over the years visibly melted away in the presence of his wife and son.

When he wasn't training with the sword, he could often be found walking around the Red Keep with Aerion in his arms, muttering about the histories of Old Valyria and the tomes of philosophy that he often read, he even took Aerion to meet Vhagar, his old girl intrigued by the tiny human that her rider presented to her.

The sight of the once formidable Aemond, a fierce swordsman and a dragon rider, tenderly carrying his infant son and speaking to him in soft tones was a source of wonder for those who saw it.

His bond with Lucaera grew even stronger during this time. They spent countless hours together, and Aemond never wanted to be parted from her for longer than necessary. Their love was palpable, and it was evident to everyone around them.

He would often indulge in the pleasures of laying with his wife, whispering words of love and gratitude as he sheathed himself inside of her.

Every night he would take her, sometimes more than once, even through the day if he found her walking through the halls, he would spirit her away and have her pressed against a stone wall in a hidden alcove or bent over a desk in an empty room.

The change in Aemond since Aerion’s birth was clear for all to see. His fierce and guarded exterior had softened, revealing a devoted husband and a loving father.

The nightmares of the past were replaced by the warmth and joy of his new family. He found solace in the routine of caring for his son and the unwavering love he shared with Lucaera.

Even those who had known him for years were amazed by the transformation. Aemond, the once brooding and enigmatic prince, was now a man whose greatest joy came from his family.

He had found his purpose and his peace, and it was reflected in every aspect of his life. The Red Keep, once filled with shadows and whispers of treachery, now echoed with the sounds of Aerion’s laughter and Aemond’s gentle murmurings.

The realm had changed, and with it, Aemond had found a new beginning.

The sun was high in the sky over Driftmark, its golden light shimmering across the sand and sea. Aemond stood on the beach, his gaze watching Lucaera and their two year old son, happily digging for shells in the sand.

The waves lapped gently at the shore, and the peaceful scene seemed to embody the tranquility that had eluded Aemond for so long.

As he watched, a chill swept through him, and the air seemed to grow colder. The grotesque image of Lucaera appeared before him, her decayed flesh hanging from her bones, the stench of rot filling the air.

But he didn’t move, he stood firm as he noticed that her eyes were filled with a mournful sadness as she observed Aerion playing, a rotting hand hovering over her stomach.

The sight was both horrifying and heart-wrenching.

Aemond’s heart ached as he took a step closer. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry for what I did, for what I took from you.”

"Technically it was the alternate version of you, but I will accept your apology all the same"

"It shouldn't have happened-" replied Aemond.

"No, but it did, you claimed your debt and then you willingly gave your life for your sin-" wheezed Lucaera.

"This is the last time I'll see you isn't it?" asked Aemond.

"Yes-unless of course you wish for me to continue terrorizing you"

"NO-" said Aemond quickly.

"Just as well, you were starting to bore me anyway" replied Lucaera.

"Hmmm"

“You know, I’ve always liked the name Rhaegar,” said Lucaera softly, her voice like a whisper on the wind. "Seems like it would be a good name for a King.”

“I’ll keep that in mind” replied Aemond.

She looked back at him one last time before turning toward the water. “Take care of your family, and don't fuck it up” she said, her tone both gentle and firm.

"I won't-I promise"

Aemond’s eye followed her as she waded into the water, her figure gradually disappearing beneath the waves. He stood frozen for a moment, the weight of what could have been pressing heavily on his shoulders.

“Daddy, come play!” Aerion’s voice cut through his reverie, full of innocent enthusiasm.

Aemond turned to see his son looking up at him with wide, expectant eyes. He cast one more glance out to sea, where the ghostly image of Lucaera had vanished, before walking towards Aerion and Lucaera.

As he approached, Lucaera looked up at him with concern.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice tinged with worry as he knelt down in the sand.

Aemond reached out and placed a hand on her swollen stomach, feeling the reassuring movements of their unborn child.

He smiled at her, his expression full of warmth and determination. “Everything is fine,”

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