#only to find out he’s down bad for someone twenty years his senior

[babsvibes]

Bob’s Burgers Can’t Buy Me Math

[ihfmseatsoch]

ok ok ok so if i may be so bold as to request something, ive been enamored wiht the idea of an older, controlling, borderline abuse boyfriend jimmy, like he and reader live together on earth, and reader goes to college, while jimmy works physical jobs trying to support them both. he's a SHITTY person though, so hes jealous of any man the reader talks to, reads through their phone, makes sinde comments about their weight and appearance, and (im totally not projecting here) eventually pressures them into dropping out, for like his perfect little live in partner/gf fantasy sjdhasd feel free to do whatever with this, but this specific scenario has not left my head for days

WHEEE this was fun to write ^w^ i rushed this a bit but i just didnt want you to have to wait any longer... :p

—

Jimmy Zare x fem!reader

reader uses fem terms (girl, girlfriend)

genre: how do i categorize this.... fic that makes you feel bad or horny depending on how you handle verbal abuse lol

word count: 1.8k

warnings/content: age gap, domestic abuse, manipulation, arguing, fat shaming, several references to the readers body/appearance, jimmy being the biggest asshole oh my god i hate him (i want him so bad it makes me look stupid)

(is it bad that writing about jimmy yelling at me turns me on... WOAHHH who said that .....😰 also dont kill me for the weight shaming part IM A FAT GIRL !!!!!! i like when evil men are mean to me !!!!!! RAAAH)

—

"He's a good guy, he can actually be really sweet!"

That's a sentence you find yourself saying out of complete muscle memory at this point whenever someone questions why your boyfriend–... well, they question an awful lot about your boyfriend.

For example, why he's over twenty years your senior whilst you're still going to class on the weekdays. Why he doesn't allow you to see your friends, wear certain clothes, leave your apartment without him, and why he takes up so much space in your brain, completely distracting you from your own life and goals.

You've missed at least four assignments this semester alone. It's stupid, really. You thought you'd be done with obsessing and crying over boys after you graduated highschool. It's completely immature for a so-called adult like yourself, but then again, you're hardly into adulthood at all.

Jimmy, on the other hand, has a lot more life experience, many of those experiences negative. That might be why you've taken some form of pity on him, going so far as to move into his apartment so you can take care of him when you're not busy. He needs someone to make sure he doesn't fall off the deep end.

The thing is, it's become hard to fit him in your schedule, but whenever you're unable to make time for him after he comes home from work, that familiar scowl on his face indicating it was another shitty day, he throws a fit.

He'll accuse you of everything under the sun; Infidelity being the primary thing.

"You don't love me. There's someone else, isn't there? It's that one kid that asked you to help him 'study' last week, isn't it? No? Give me your fucking phone, then."

This is what you come home to everyday, so it's nothing new. In fact, you're pretty used to it by now. Though today, Jimmy seems particularly pissed.

"Where have you been?" He crosses his arms and leans against the wall, eyeing you up and down like he always does when he's about to grill you on something.

"Sorry..." You mutter, way too tired to deal with one of his moods again. "Traffic." You answer simply, not having enough energy to overexplain yourself like you normally do.

"Uh huh. Traffic." He mimics you in a way that already tells you he's not buying it. Great.

"...It's the truth." You shrink into yourself at the way he's looking at you. Contemptuous as always. You're in for another argument, it seems. A million, desperate pleas run through your mind;

'Please don't give me another lecture about how you're my only financial support, and how grateful I should be. Please don't ask to see my phone. Please don't tell me to drop out.'

But, of course, you can't actually change the outcome of this. You're gonna get yelled at. Belittled. Degraded.

"You're two hours late, and you're gonna tell me you were just stuck in traffic?" He pushes himself off the wall and walks towards you.

"You're never home when you're supposed to be, and when you are home, you're all tired and upset.” He pokes a finger into your shoulder, hard. "What do you think that looks like from my point of view?"

"I'm sorry." You rub your face, exasperated. God, you wish he would shut up sometimes. Sure, he can be amicable, but lately... he's been a raging dick. Yet, you can't help but cling to the memory of his good moments. "I'll try to make it back on time tomorrow."

"Yeah? And how many times have I heard that before?" He sneers, "You're hiding something from me, aren't you?"

The way he accuses you so confidently, so sure of himself... it's insulting. Does he really think that little of you? "College has been kicking my ass, Jim. You know that. I'm not hiding anything from you, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, college this, college that. Always complaining about fuckin' college," He scoffs, his eyes stay narrowed, still glaring. "How about what I'm going through? You think I'm having a great time every day at work, hm?"

"No, I–" You stammer, hating the way he's turning this around to make himself the victim. Oh, woe is him, having to provide for himself and his girlfriend. How tortured he is. "I know, alright? I'm sorry. I just– what else do you expect me to do?"

"Be here. Like you're supposed to be. And I expect you to stop acting like I'm the bad guy for asking you to be a decent girlfriend."

Jimmy's voice raises slightly as he takes a step closer, towering over your sheepish figure. He nudges your shoulder again, even rougher this time.

"I'm busting my ass every day to put food on the table, and you can't even have the decency to show up on time, let alone look happy to see me?"

"I– I am happy to see you! I am, I'm just– you don't get it. I want to be here, but... I'm not even halfway through this semester, and–" You stumble over your words as you attempt, in vain, to defend yourself. It's not like he'll ever feel sympathy for you. It's always about what he wants. What makes him happy.

Jimmy rolls his eyes at your attempt to reason with him. It's as if he doesn't even register a word you say. "But what? What's more important to you, huh? Some stupid classes, or the guy who keeps a fuckin' roof over your head and feeds you? Be grateful, goddamn it." He snaps, grabbing your arms and giving them a forceful shake.

You flinch from being handled like you're not even a human being, much less one with feelings. "Stop, please, I'm– I am grateful, I really am..." You're not lying, either. To be honest, his guilt tripping works wonders on you. Are you really acting unappreciative? He wouldn't be this upset if you were in the right...

He seems unfazed by your frightened demeanor and continues to hold a firm grip on your arms. He looks you up and down, not even having to say anything for you to know he's judging you, as a girlfriend and person in general.

"Oh, you're grateful? Then maybe you should act like it for once." Jimmy gives your arms another firm shake, a harsh reminder of who's in charge here.

"I'm not asking much of you. I just want you to be here, and you can't even do that. Do you think I'm just gonna sit back and accept that bullshit?"

"No..." You shake your head, looking down at the ground in shame. Were you really that awful? You didn't want to be a bad partner, it's the last thing you ever wanted. If you could make eye contact without feeling guilty, you'd see Jimmy's face light up with satisfaction as he finally notices you're not even bothering to put up a fight anymore.

There's a condescending lilt to his tone as he speaks, "No one will ever love you like I do. You know that?"

You nod, knowing there has to be some truth to his claim. He takes care of you, doesn't he? He keeps a roof over your head, gives you money for groceries, and he's not always that unpleasant to be around...

He's a good boyfriend. You're the problem. You always are.

"Exactly."

The grip on your arms eases, moving them to place a hand on each of your shoulders, contrastingly gentle compared to his behavior only moments ago.

"You oughta thank your lucky stars you have a man like me who puts up with all your bullshit. You get that, right? How lucky you are to be with me?"

You know he's right. You were blessed with someone who still loves you, despite your many shortcomings. You're too fat, the acne on your face and body is repulsive, the way you do your makeup is weird... all of this being things Jimmy has told you directly. At least you have an honest boyfriend, isn't that what every girl wants?

He gives your shoulder a pat, like he's treating you like a small, petulant child. "You realize I could have literally any girl I want, right? Pretty, skinny, smart ones, even. But I chose you. Because I care about you."

He pauses, letting that sink in.

"But it would help if you'd actually put the effort in to look decent." He adds as an afterthought.

You've internalized every single snide remark he's thrown your way, reminded of them every single time you look in the mirror. Yet he still loves someone like you. Someone so difficult and embarrassing to be with.

"Jim, I don't... I don't know how I'm even gonna be able to free my schedule at all with school and stuff..." You mumble guiltily. You know he wants you to drop out, he's suggested it more times than you can count.

"That right there, that's why I'm frustrated, goddamn it," He says with an exacerbated sigh. He moves one hand from your shoulder to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "Why don't you get it? Dropping out isn't the end of the world. Just quit and stay home. Done. Easy."

"It's not that easy... I want to get a good job and help out too, you know..."

It's true that you want to pull your weight around your shared home. With your combined income, it'd make everything easier. But... with how shitty college makes you feel, leaving you beaten down and tired by the end of the day...

You find yourself listening to Jimmy on this for once.

He can tell you're seriously contemplating it this time, which makes him feel... more in control. He's got you thinking and believing exactly what he wants you to. Soon, he'll be able to get you to obey him without another word from you.

The thought of having you as his subservient, stay at home girlfriend is more than appealing. It's his goal to mold you into what he wants you to be.

"Yeah, yeah, I get that, I know. But you're stressing yourself half to death, and for what? Some stupid degree? Listen to me, I'm not gonna ask you again. You're just creating problems that don't need to exist. Just quit. You'll have plenty of free time that you can spend with me."

You can't deny how tempting the idea is. Hesitantly, after several moments of pondering the hypotheticals and what-ifs, you speak up,

"...I guess... dropping out wouldn't hurt too much."

He perks up at that, barely being able to contain a delighted grin. You're actually putting him and his wants first, and acknowledging that he's right. You're doing as he says, without any of the usual arguing or excuses. He'll finally have his dream complaisant, docile girlfriend to come home to every night.

It only took a month or two to finally get you to cave. You'll be easier to control from now on. Hell, maybe you'll lose some weight with some free time on your hands, stop wearing that shitty makeup...

"Good girl," He says in a patronizing tone, like he's addressing a child, "That's what wanna hear."

God, you really hope this isn't a bad idea. Jimmy looks pleased for once, so...

This decision can't possibly ruin your future too badly, right?

—

[kkencess]

AKAZA, feenin.

although it might be obvious, there’s one unspoken rule in a relationship. never admit you find another man attractive around your short-tempered husband.

𖤐 info ─── oneshot written by yours truly… i got this idea out of nowhere, and had to write it all before the dialogue disappeared from my head, lol! it was like three in the morning, but i somehow finished this. as an eighteen year old who just turned eighteen, i recommend reading if you’re sixteen, and up! if you aren’t, don’t mention it please!

𖤐 warnings ─── lowercase intended, female! reader, human! akaza, akaza is your fiancé, mild age gap, explicit content, dirty talk, rough sex [punishment sex?], crying, a lil praising, the one time akaza doesn’t respect women, muahaha! just kidding.

most people shamed others for taking on the role of the housewife, but at least for you; it was easy. in a large mansion like the one you lived in, it was only natural others would assume you had it hard. but in all honesty, you didn't. you didn't have any kids at the moment; so that alone was a bonus. cooking was a breeze since you enjoyed it so much, and cleaning wasn't bad since it hardly ever got untidy.

you lay soundlessly in bed, your eyes glued on the phone screen that rested in your hands. a housewife, and a senior in college. of course, all eyes were on you at all times. others often wondered how you scored a faithful husband at the age of twenty one; and honestly, you didn't have a clue yourself.

akaza wasn't in college, like you. he worked for a private organization; and was twenty-seven himself. you didn't have a problem with the miniature age gap; and slightly found it all the more attractive. don’t get you wrong or anything, men these days just weren't up to par. especially those around your age group, or younger. besides, you doubted you'd ever date someone younger than you.

your cheek is engulfed in your palm, black framed glasses falling from your face as you dive your head against the pillow. your glossy lips ruin your pillow, squinted eyes pulled close. you were all caught up on your assignments, surprisingly. you would graduate from college next month, before attending law school.

man.

the distant sound of keys jangling catches your attention, bringing you to raise your head from the pillow. you glance over towards the door, finding it still closed. whatever, your husband must’ve been home. that was great news, considering you were bored; and needed someone to bother. and a coping mechanism to separate your mind away from the stress of law school, and college overall.

you arise from the bed, sighing softly. just before you completely arised; the door opened, revealing a familiar black haired individual. settling down against the edge of the bed, you’re dressed in a cami tee, and shorts. with narrowed brows, you open your mouth to speak, head tilted. “damn, you were out longer than usual.”

akaza sighs, greeting you with a kiss against your forehead. “muzan requested a meeting.”

you roll your eyes at his typical response. “that man is extremely annoying. i’m sure his employees don’t get paid to take part in sudden meetings.”

the other shrugs, setting his suitcase down against the edge of the bed. the buttons of his suit top remained undone, slightly revealing the outline of his toned chest. of course, he worked out very often; but he looked insane. his body looked, and felt unrealistic. especially his muscles. and it was just perfect for you; deeming he often lounged around the house in nothing but sandals, and shorts. your husband looked fucking amazing.

“somewhat hot, but still annoying.” you finish, darting your eyes elsewhere.

akaza’s attention immediately snaps over to meet your own, blue eyes now settled on you. you’re completely silent, scanning the interior of the room with tapered eyes. your ridiculously pretty face is relaxed, though the last words to leave your mouth were completely out of line. you both knew there wasn’t any honesty behind any of what you just voiced, but the boldness of course; is what usually placed the cherry on the top.

“i’m sorry?” the earthy smell of man's cologne seeped from him dearly, infiltrating your nostrils quickly. the scent mashed well with his body wash. he smelled just as great as he looked. lusciously; you lick at your lips, bringing your eyes back over to meet your lover’s own irritation tainted ones.

“what are you saying sorry for?”

the man rolls his eyes, yet doesn’t settle for any more of your bullshit. maybe on a good day he would’ve fallen for it, but after such a long day at work, he figured it wasn’t necessarily worth the sacrifice. muttering something inaudible beneath his breath, he advances forward into another room; the bathroom.

you whine at the lack of attention, pressing your body up from the mattress to step on to the ground. you felt you had at least a bit of the right to be annoying. you hadn’t seen him in a little over twelve hours. those shifts were dangerous; especially to the wife of the man taking them. man, everytime you’d capture a glance at his boss, you’d send him a filthy glare. if there was anyone you truly hated in this world, you’d bet your ass it was fucking muzan, kibutsuji.

“well, that wasn’t fun.”

for what little of the day you had left, you spent your time preparing dinner. akaza hadn’t gotten out of the shower yet; but he always took long; so to you, it wasn’t anything out of character. you figured a breakfast styled dinner wouldn’t hurt. It was a fun choice as well, considering you were craving it these past few days. your husband was never too picky about dinner choices, so he should be fine with the option you settled for.

dinner was silent for the most part. you watched your lover, whilst spooning a mouth full of grits in between your lips.

“are you ignoring me?” you question, breaking the everlasting silence. you’re seated directly across from him, utensils aligned against the transparent glass table. you’re eyeing him shamelessly, cheek pressed against your palm. well, unfortunately for him; the silent treatment only worked in movies.

“it’s about the muzan comment, isn’t it?”

you hoist your legs up to meet akaza’s thigh, letting the anatomy settle hotly against his skin. you’re not completely facing his direction, but your body is angled to meet his. you’re still shoveling pieces of food into your mouth, chowing down on a sausage as you prepare your next bite. you adored how you looked around him, but never when you were eating. it’s not like you ate like a pig or anything, you were just comfortable enough to eat as you would alone.

“i don’t like being ignored, y’know.”

akaza would always answer you. and being who he was (your husband) of course, he knew you well. probably better than you did yourself. so of course, he was wary of the fact that you were a bitch for his attention. sometimes, he’d purposely pretend he couldn’t hear you just to stimulate some sort of reaction out of you. and every single time; it worked. miraculously, but it did.

“i’m aware, [name.]” his tone was stern; low and captivating. you have to press your legs close at the raw sound of it, an array of tingles pulsing through you like a shooting star. your legs dangle off of his own, your chair now pulled a bit closer to his own. the platform of your slippers pressed against the hem of his seating.

“you’re so pretty when you’re upset, babe.” though you were the one who spouted the compliment, your cheeks don’t of course fail to heat up. your tone is quite teasing as well, a playful smile grasping your lips.

“i'm not upset.” he clarifies, eyeing you momentarily. “you’d be a lot more attractive yourself if you stopped making jokes like that about my boss. it��s disrespectful.”

“huh, your boss?” you question, perking a brow. “what’s gonna happen if i don’t?” a smile slowly grasps your lips, eyes darting over to match a gorgeous blue pair.

you weren’t any idiot, of course. you knew he secretly enjoyed it when you talked back; because in a way, it riled him up even more. to fuck you into complete submission, that was. you could simply tell by the way his fingers grasped your ankle tonight would be worth its while.

your back hits the bed’s cushion quite roughly, though the hand grasped around your neck never detached itself from the stated anatomy. you’re pulled into a rough kiss, a soft groan emitted at the rather brutal force; though you were accustomed to it. the male kissed hotly against your lips, savoring every wince emitted, and the shudders performed. you’re pinned down against the cushion, either of your hands pulled against one another; as they’re pinned above your head; near the neatly stacked pillows nearby.

the spaghetti strap tee you wore was hauled up just a bit, revealing your pierced belly. hell, the lounge shorts you wore had ridden up to your mid thigh. a hand of his is free, to lap at the slick coating your thighs; your legs pulling apart to help give him a little more access to what should’ve been his most desirable target.

“you’re always so quiet when we finally go at it.” he started against your lips, where he kissed softly. a finger of his pressed against your clothed clit, earning a slight jolt from you.

you press your eyes shut as his fingers ride against your soaked parts; shutters emitted. he’s quick with his actions; the stated anatomy dipping past your soaked underwear and nearly into you; residing just near your entrance while he teased your clit with his available fingers.

you have to strain a gasp as he loses your lips; mouth now against your neck where he sucked, and bit. nonetheless he’s an expert. you were so fucking soaked and he had only kissed you. nothing else. maybe him being a man of his words played an odd part in it, but for now, you’d give him the benefit of the doubt.

“god, you’re soaking wet, baby. i’m gonna stuff you so fucking well.” cooed the older male, voice as silky as ever. his words alone were enough to increase the amount of pre-cum that currently seeped through your underwear, a shudder animated as you gasped into your palm, when he sunk a finger into you. not just one finger, but two. and his pace started unforgivingly.

he was already plunging his fingers into you with undeniable speed. you could feel the eagerness, your body jolting beneath his own. akaza stared you down mercilessly, lapping at his own lips with the soft pink flesh of his tongue. your fingers grasped desperately at his wrist as his digits pushed through, flush against your walls. you moan out in pleasure, the slight pain pushed quickly aside as you wriggled in his touch. “f—fuck!” you cursed, fingers caressing akaza’s tight muscles. they felt so fucking nice. he worked out often and it showed physically, thankfully.

“gonna come from just my fingers?” he questioned, shoving another one in without restraint. “shit, you are, aren’t you? you aren’t embarrassed?” your face was hot, flustered in mortification, as he confirmed. his words were rather teasing; although his voice remained silky. rather smooth, even. he worked his fingers like a damn god. he knew just what to do to keep you doused in pleasure, while simultaneously making sure it didn’t send you over the edge. it was clear he knew your body better than you did.

“t—to m-much!” you exasperated. it should’ve been criminal. the way your back arched from the bed as he worked his fingers delightfully. he chuckled coldly at your remark, head lowering; before he leveled himself out of your sight, and beneath your trembling thighs. he tore at your lace undergarments with ease, allowing them to fall against the bed’s soft cushion.

“is it?” he seethed, lapping at your pretty, now exposed pussy. your clit glistened with your own produce, spilling against the velvet colored sheets. akaza wasted no time, settling his tongue against the anatomy, circling it just perfectly. his fingers still plunged into you with brute force, his free hand clasped around your thigh harshly, where he gripped to make sure you didn’t escape his grasp.

“my god…” the only thing you could do was take in the pleasure, moaning as your hand pulled down to grasp at his hair. the grip he had on your thigh tightened, earning a wince of pain from you; though the overall pleasure you received from both his fingers, and mouth overthrew whatever pain you previously suffered. you were so fucking close, closer than ever. “akaza— shit. that feels amazing… don’t stop.”

you were positive he would let you cum. at least now. rapid blinks blinded you, your mouth pulled apart as lengthy moans made way. the knot in your stomach had only slightly undone itself; disappointment quickly washed over you when not one, but all of whatever pleasure you had been feeling before completely vanished.

“b-babe?” there wasn’t much time to react; your body quickly being pushed over. you were now laid flat against your stomach, body pressed into the cushion. your face was hot in embarrassment, mind scrambled. you didn’t know what to say. you could hear the male above you chuckle, his hands settled against torso; where his fingers grasped harshly at. you twitch in his caress, the warmth of his breath evident against your neck since he had resided so close to you.

it was quite thick, and heavy— only for what it was, that is. you guess you couldn’t be too mad, since things weren’t looking so bad for you. it was a shame you couldn’t see it, though. it looked pretty. and trust you, you weren’t at all exaggerating. a pretty pink tip, and gorgeous smooth skin following it. it had a perfect arch, one that could easily strike you in all of the right places. you got lightheaded thinking about it, swallowing hard as you await his actions.

“shit, m’gonna fuck you so hard… give you just what you wanted.” he says, either of his palms engulfing your ass. he spread you apart with ease, spatting out a thick wad of saliva against your entrance, that’d be his substitution for lube. you could only whine beneath him, as you mentally prepared yourself for the next few moments.

“you’re lucky i even gave you that much,” he spouts, cock pushing into your entrance. you have to bite into the sheets, limbs weakening as he pushes further, and further into you. with each push came deep breathy grunts, from akaza himself. he only stopped when his hips were locked against your ass, hands sliding down to grasp at your waist. you gasp out in pain, the lack of proper lube making it all the worse for you. not only that, did you even finger prep properly? he should’ve let you come, before.

“shit. you’re so tight, baby. so tight.” he started roughly, plunging in and out of you with an indescribable force. he was reckless, fucking into you with his own neediness. the tears that spiked your vision fell, staining the bed’s sheets. his grunts of pleasure only satisfies you, making you hot all over. he practically tore his way inside of you, yes— but of course, it always felt amazing soon after.

the pleasure gradually builds, moans spilling from your mouth as he delved even deeper into you, striking you in all the right spaces. there’s hardly any pain involved now; only strained moans and whimpers. you crumble beneath him, head hanging against the pillows— hurried, heavy pants occupying your eardrums. akaza couldn’t see your expression, and to be quite honest he was dying to— all he needed was a proper glance at your fucked out face.

so, he settles against the edge of the matress, only detaching himself from you for a second. in the next instant you're resting in his lap, his cock sinking into you without warning. this angle was even better than the last, though the part where he entered always hurt like a bitch. his free hand engulfed your chin, forcing it down so that your gaze matched your own. your eyes were hazy, eyelids hanging low— making it so that you could hardly even see. speckles of stars spiked your vision, vanishing once your eyes finally fell close.

“you’re a mess, sweetheart.” akaza says, tone low and sweet. saliva grazes your lips, hands weakly wrapping around akaza’s shoulders. you couldn’t say a thing— your body wouldn’t allow you to. no, your brain wouldn’t. all you could do was shut up and take whatever he had to offer, like how he knew you would. of course, akaza always got the last laugh. you started things off, but he’d finish them in an unbelievable way.

“shit, you’re making me feel so good. so good, baby.” he protests, a smile engulfing the lips of his pretty face as he takes either of your ankles in his hand, pulling them apart so that they are fully wrapped around his waist, ensuring that you took every inch of him. there wasn’t any running away in this position, and to be quite frank you weren’t upset with the lack of options.

“akaza…” you mutter, with what little strength you had. “m’gonna come…”

the male eyes the hardly evident bulge tracing your stomach, eyes soon tracing further up. he presses a kiss against the exposed skin of your chest, legs trembling as he nears his orgasm. his pace became desperate as he fucked rapidly into you, practically drilling you dry. your head is resting into his shoulder, hanging between the juncture of both his chin, and collarbone. your ass bounces against his cock, the wet sounds audible. dribbling past your lips was drool, that slid down akaza’s back, dipping into the curves of his muscles. you were far too weak to scratch at him, so for now all you could do was take it.

you wanted to speak up, in the least bit do something. it was hard hearing you anyways, when akaza moaned so desperately in your ear, whispering about how good you were; and how well you took him. he pressed a kiss between your chest, blue eyes tracing up your figure. his fingers grasped you roughly, in fact you were sure it would leave some kind of mark.

just another pump was enough to send him over the edge, specks of white shooting into you; not even a drop trickling down your thighs. it doesn’t take long for you to come after him, your mind going completely numb as you clang on desperately to his body. all you could hear were akaza’s strained breaths that seemed to never end. you didn’t know what to say, or do either. nonetheless, you couldn’t stay like this forever.

finally akaza catches himself, catching your chin in between his index finger, and thumb. there’s a slight upturn of his lips, pretty blue eyes eating at you disastrously.

“one more time.”

[leviallaire]

— BASICS

Name: Leviathan Allaire Age / D.O.B.: 32 12.28. 1991 Gender, Pronouns & Sexuality: Cis man, He/Him & Pansexual Hometown: Paris, France Affiliation: Law Enforcement (Corrupt) Job position: Sketch artist/ Fighter at The Arene. Education: Bachelor's degree in graphic arts Relationship status: Single Children: 0 Positive traits: (hardworking, compassionate, adventurous, friendly, passionate) Negative traits: (self-destructive, addictive, competitive, temperamental, fickle)

— BIOGRAPHY

addiction tw, murder tw, drug use tw, drugs mention tw

Leviathan Allaire is the eldest of the Allaire children. Born and (for the most part) raised in Paris, France. His parents moved to the United States when he was a kid still; to Chicago, Illinois to be exact. Up until the summer of his senior year of high school, they would travel to Paris often. These days, his French accent slips through from time to time. He also communicates through sign language, knows some Spanish, and is learning Japanese during his spare time.

He's been living on and off in NYC for six years now. One year was fully on but he disappeared after going on a bit of a drug bender. At the most he's around for maybe six-eight months before he slips back into his habits and disappears again. But like a stray dog to a familiar place, Levi always finds his way back to the streets of NYC.

He's an addict. He struggles between recovering and reverting ten steps. It wasn't like he knew that he'd be so dependent on the pills he takes, or the white powder he snorts, Levi would've never experimented if he had known the path he'd be down. Still, you wouldn't be able to tell because he puts up a good front.

He hasn't been close to his family since he turned twenty-three. He can't say he blames them for not really wanting to keep in touch, Levi knows he hasn't exactly made things easy for them.

He's a sketch artist, part time DJ, and a fighter on the side at The Arene. He fights to buy his equipment and drugs. Even though he's good at fighting, he doesn't really enjoy the sport. And his job as a sketch artist? It's not all it's cracked up to be. Ironically, he's extremely good at his job when he's higher than a kite, and the police department (for the most part) knows this, but they fuel it so long as it gets them what they need.

Levi's other bad habit, or good, depending how you viewed it, is killing for the good of helping people out. If someone is being harassed in a dark alley, mugged, etc. He isn't scared to pull the trigger without a second thought, and he disappears even quicker. He's left a trail of bodies behind and sometimes he does wonder what ends up happening to those bodies. Do they get claimed? Do they go unnoticed? Does anyone even care?

Affection isn't something he's to, so he doesn't understand how to handle it, and he does tense if someone is too nice. The only affection he accepts is that of whoever is patching him up.

— WANTED CONNECTIONS / PLOTS

TO BE UPDATED SOON

[askjeffsterling]

"Cause we all just wanna be a big rock star."

wait, is that JEFF STERLING they kinda look a lot like ROSS LYNCH, don’t they? i heard the TWENTY-ONE year old is known as the PUNK ROCKER around mckinley. it seems like they auditioned to be in THE WARBLERS which is so lame? people at campus have said they’re CREATIVE, but don’t be fooled since they’re also ONE-TRACK MINDED. rumor has it, you can find them at N/A when they aren’t belting show tunes. their entire vibe revolves around GRUNGY UNDERGROUND CLUBS, LEATHER JACKETS AND WORN OUT JEANS, CALLUSES FROM GUITAR STRINGS and YOUR HEART RACING TO THE TEMPO OF A SONG but no one pays attention to that here in ohio.

Auditioning with Hammer by Point North

Jeff didn’t have a bad upbringing. He was the child of two loving parents, who did whatever they could to support him. That wasn’t to say that he made it easy for them though. Jeff was always getting into trouble in school. Whether it be a prank on another student, or the consequential fight that would be a result afterwards. But no matter what, they always went in to bat for him, and always made sure he knew he was loved and supported.

That wasn’t to say that Jeff wasn’t smart, though. Academically, Jeff thrived. He could cram for a test the night before and ace it. But he just wasn’t interested in it. School bored him, and the only thing that could hold his attention was music. Freshman year of high school, Jeff picked up a guitar, and he hasn’t put it down since.

In senior year, Jeff was so sure that music was the path he was supposed to take that he almost chose to for-go college in order to pursue getting signed to a record label. His voice wasn’t bad, but it also wasn’t outstanding- and playing guitar could only get him so far. Being a quitter was something that wasn’t going to happen though, so instead he started a band. He’s fine to share the spotlight, so long as he gets it.

His parents pleaded for him to at least give college a try- they didn’t care about whether he attended an Ivy league or not, just that he went. He agreed with their request to keep them off of his back. So with them paying his tuition, he now attends just enough classes to not flunk out- whilst focussing as much time and energy as he can on his band and getting them noticed.

BASICS OF JEFF;

Name: Jeffery (Jeff) Sterling Pronouns: He/Him Hometown: Lima, Ohio Birthday & Star Sign: April 10th - Aries Relationship Status: Single and mingling Sexuality: Pansexual Occupation: Event promoter Sports/Clubs: N/A Glee Club: Dalton Academy Warblers Major: Art

WANTED CONNECTIONS;

Best Friend: His ride or die. The person who can bring him out of his shell and knows all the little inner info that he doesn't let anyone else see. Ex-Relationship: There was chemistry, there was a connection, talking, casual dates etc. But for some reason one (or both) just couldn't make it work. Could be amicable, or there could be tension. Current Love interest/FWB: Everyone needs someone to lean on when it comes to pent up sexual frustration. Could be as simple as a one night stand to a small fling. Nothing super deep, or the love of his life. Enemy : Pretty self-explanatory. They cannot stand one another. Could be something that's happened in the past, a general differ in character, anything really. Bandmates: The people he's trying to make a living with in this crazy life. Bandmates could be super close, have an understanding that they're both a means to an end, or lowkey despise one another. So much room for many options! *Definitely open to anything else also! If anyone is looking for something to be filled and thinks Jeff could be the man for the job, I'm more than happy to assist!

[morganwrites12672]

can you do an eddiexfemale reader where the reader is in love with him and will do anything for him, and he doesn’t love her back and finds her clingy but keeps her around because he loves the attention, and then one day y/n hears eddie talking bad about her and flirting with chrissy so she gets upset and wants to move on from him, which at first eddie’s relieved that she’s finally out of his life but then he sees her with someone else and realizes that he’s messed up

ofc! But damn girl, the ANGST.

Reqs are open!

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

You loved him. You really do. Eddie Munson had been your long time crush. He never liked you back though.

You two still hung out, he claimed he wasn't ready for labels, or saying the 'L' word yet. He said he would get there, but after all of the school (and town) treating him like an outcast, a freak, he needed time.

That wasn't the truth, not even close.

Eddie just kept you around for the attention. The girls at school didn't like him, so he used you. Deep down he did feel bad about it.

Not bad enough to stop. He needed the affection. The way you would run soothing circles on his forearm, the way you would always be touching him. Always be loving him.

Eddie was so affection starved he was willing to use a poor girl to do it. He swears he doesn't have feelings for you, he likes Chrissy. He would never tell you any of this.

You and Eddie were sitting in the back of his van, the cafeteria got to be to much and he needed a break from the constant insults. He couldn't handle it.

You run circles on his forearm as he lights a joint. He smiles at your soft touch. You had asked him to go back to his van with you. Most people would assume he was getting lucky, that wasn't the truth, far from it.

You had noticed the way the love of your life had started to get more anxious. He looked fine. His eyes told a whole nother story.

So, you had let Hawkins high think what they wanted. As long as Eddie would be okay. And he was.

He takes a long drag from the joint before offering it to you, you decline. Smoking was something you did when you were younger. Not for you anymore.

As a high schooler, you would have done it. But now, a first year teacher, you knew better. That was what made your crush wrong. A teacher shouldn't date a student.

But what if that student is legally able to buy a pack of cigarettes? Eddie was twenty. You two had been friends since middle school. You had had a crush on him, since middle school.

Since the day of the sixth grade talent show. He played guitar and sang for his band, Corroded Coffin. He was much cuter now, having grown out his buzzcut.

"You okay now?" You ask as Eddie exhales another puff of his joint. He gives you a small smile and stubs out the joint.

He let's out a deep breath, exhaling all the smoke, Yeah, thanks Y/N," he says as he opens the back door of his van for you.

You smile at him and get out.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

You smile as you walk around the corner. Eddie would be at the table. You stop behind a tree as you hear his voice. that wasn't all, a female voice to.

"Are you sure you don't like her?" The voice asks. You think she is a cheerleader, maybe.

"That crazy chick?" Eddie asks with a laugh and the girl laughs with him. Your throat goes dry as you listen to them flirt and Eddie talk shit about you.

"I swear, I never liked her to begin with. But you, I think I might need you," Eddie says and you storm off with disgust.

He doesn't like you. He never fucking did. You kick some dirt once you get far enough for them to nor hear.

Chrissy Cunningham! That's who that was. You place her voice to the time you had helped her study for an exam. That bitch. Chrissy was sweet, but this wasn't her fault. She didn't know. She could only believe the lies Eddie was telling her.

You were going to do something last you would have thought was beyond insane. You were going to ask out a guy. But, who?

You think back to the guys who had asked you out senior year.

Jason Carver. No way in burning hell.

Tommy Hanagan. You would rather go kiss Eddie then go out with him. He was in the same grade as you, tracking hom down would be difficult.

Steve Harrington. He was a little bit of an asshole at first. You did notice he had changed a lot. You still had his number, why not?

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Eddies jaw drops. He sees you kissing Steve Harrington when he walks in your classroom to find him.

He has regrets. Why wou- he cuts himself off mid thought. You must know. You must of been looking for him and seen him flirt with Chrissy.

He fucked up. Bad. He realized he liked you. Just a little. He liked you just enough to not want you to date Steve 'the asshole' Harrington.

It didn't get any better. Every time Eddie would go to your classroom, he would see Steve leaving or steve coming in while the class was leaving. Bringing you flowers every Monday. He must know you hate Mondays .

Eddie realizes he needs to tell you he likes you. He doesn't just need to, he has to. But he cant, he realizes he should of loved you the way you loved him.

He walks in your classroom Monday, after lunch. He sees Steve exiting your classroom. Of course. When he walks in he notices the yellow lily's on your desk. Steve must have known your favorite flower to.

He really did mess up. He thinks back to how happy Steve looked when he was leaving. Steve probably loved how clingy you were. Always having to touch him.

How could he have let the best thing that ever happened to him walk away?

He couldn't blame you. He couldn't even try to win you back. It wasn't fair to you. He has his chance and he blew it.

[uncouth-the-fifth]

imagine damian and the reader at the wayne gala. he gets jealous when he sees her flirting with someone else. he ends up pulling her into a bathroom and fucking her in front of a mirror while saying that other person can’t treat her like he does

and that’s how the reader finds out damian has feelings for her. all this time he acted like he hates her because he’s in denial

Title: More Than They Ever Said

Paring: Robin!Damian (18+) / Canary!Reader

Tags/Warnings: semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, bathroom sex, slight underage drinking (reader is like 20 lol), mentions of golf.

Word Count: 7150

Notes: sooooo.... this def evolved beyond a drabble lol. the way gala sex kills me every time 😭 I was a little mushy w Dami here bc I miss his sweet side. This also sounded a lot like goldenspecs12's request from Wattpad, so I hope you don't mind that I meshed the two together 😚 I leaned toward Damian liking the reader more than being in denial, but that’s the only thing I sacrificed between the two requests. This one is my fluffiest and most romantic yet 💖

"can I request Damian w a Queen reader, like she's Oliver and Dinah's child? say the reader is a hero but not very active, like she comes in when her parents can't. so when she and Damian meet, they hit it off. The main request is that they sneak away at a gala held by Oliver and the reader and Damian have sex."

Ask to be added to my taglist for future posts!

The party was more fun than you thought it would be.

Benefits were usually chalk-full of old, wealthy people that thought they made good conversationalists. The board members of Queen Industries were tired of Oliver trying to escape their claws, so you’d been recruited in his place. While your dad got to play minigolf in the penthouse’s massive party floor, you were confined to the lounge, playing up what an intelligent, capable business partner you’d be when you were CEO. Fellow businessmen gruffed about their plans with you while their wives cooed and drank, pinching your cheeks.

You thought that you’d hate it, but the attention and the praise was nice. It made you feel like you were helping your dad and your family’s company, which was constantly criticized and judged for it’s choice in CEO. Everyone called your father a lazy silver-spooned idiot, but he was one of the only men in Star City who actually cared. By the time you had Q.I’s biggest donors laughing out of their seats, Dinah’s hands slipped over your shoulders and you were kissed on the side of the face. Thank you, she mouthed, and your position as family support-beam was covered.

Since most of the benefit-goers were at least forty years your senior, you gravitated to your dad. From the penthouse’s upper balcony, you could see his friends circling around the tiny green mats they were using as a makeshift golf course. Usually, Ollie made sure his public persona’s aim was as garbage as his taste in drink was. But tonight, he played as Green Arrow, who never missed. Not once. Especially when it came to Bruce Wayne, who’s golf game was abysmal at best.

But like Oliver, Bruce was a new man tonight. It looked like he was ready to break out the batarangs any minute now. The two men were barely civil about the viciousness of their competition, and if the view of the game from the balcony was interesting, then from below it must’ve been the greatest show of fragile masculinity ever displayed. You had to make fun of them.

The only opening in the circle of men, who all had their hands on their chins as Bruce lined up his next shot, was by the floor-to-ceiling windows to one side of the game. Just one man stood there, hands in his pockets. You slid next to him, unbothered, and squinted at the game.

Everyone in the crowd was dead silent. Bruce was lining up his golf ball so it would roll into a mug a couple of feet away, so you helpfully provided, “A little to the left, Mr. Wayne.”

Your words overlapped with someone else’s. Where you had said Mr. Wayne, they had said Father. Then the man next to you was his son, but...

You would have never guessed it would be him.

Reasonably, you knew that Robin was Damian Wayne. Oliver could be a little loose-lipped at times, and by his judgment you’d been a teenager just a year ago - what could a twenty year old do to Batman’s secret identity? Not much.

Until you saw Robin without his mask.

Damian was achingly beautiful. He was your age, but he stood and talked like he was much older. There was an angle to his shoulder that made him seem astute and sexy. His eyes fixed on you when you spoke at the same time, and they were a surprising mossy color that jumped out against his tan skin, like plants flourishing out of rich soil. There was just enough blue in them to make him seem haunting. Any moment, you felt like he was going to corner you and whisper your future throatily in your ear.

Looking into them, those piercing eyes, for longer than a second made you want to blurt, “You’re much prettier without your mask.”

But that would expose his secret to every golf-loving idiot in earshot, so Oliver had been wrong. A twenty-year-old like you could do fatal damage to Batman’s secret identity, but for Damian, the short-tempered, snappish leader of the Teen Titans, you would risk anything.

Damian stared, and you stared. He squinted, wet his lips, then turned back to the game. This was your only acknowledgment that he recognised you. His voice was deeper, smoother, than you remember it. “Queen.”

You shifted in your shoes, almost laughing in shock. “...Wayne.”

The game grew boring and Damian didn’t say anything else, so you said nothing too, sneaking glances at him. The last time you’d spoken to Robin had been in costume, when he’d thanked you for assisting with a mission. He’d really been thanking you for standing up for him. You didn’t team up often with the Titans, but when you did, you found that they were unusually snappy and mean with their leader. Not necessary on purpose, but you could tell that Damian couldn’t take as many bites as he pretended to. Standing up for him had been a simple thing. The good thing to do. Now, with that look in his eyes, it almost felt like he still thought about it.

He must have, because the kiss you shared at the end of that mission had glowed with heat. To be fair, you both may have believed you were going to die (before the team pulled through and saved you), so it could’ve been a heat-of-the-moment thing. But this was Robin - if he didn't want to kiss you, he wouldn't. And yet he did.

You’d kissed. And the energy of that kiss lingered between you now, drawing you closer together, putting tiny smiles on your faces. He was cute. Cuter without that mask on.

You stood in the stupid golf silence, feeling foolish. Flirting with boys was much easier in fishnets. It didn’t help how fine Damian’s profile was. He had soft, feathery lashes that occasionally touched down on beauty marked cheeks. His lips were even fuller from the side, forever drawn in a curious line. And those eyes, when they caught yours and danced away again, were much too nice to hide behind a mask. You couldn’t get that thought out of your mind.

When Bruce finally made his move, you leaned in to whisper something to each other at the same time, accidentally knocking shoulders.

“I - apologies,” Damian flushed.

“Oh, um, my bad,” you rubbed awkwardly at the spot where you’d collided. “...You were going to say something?”

Damian’s eyes flicked to your fathers, then to you, unimpressed. He lowered his voice so only you could hear. “They’re awfully hypocritical, don’t you think? Father snaps at me everytime I use my skills in public, and yet he’s putting with perfect aim like it’s not the very same.”

Chuckling, you rolled your eyes and scooted closer, ducking your voice into the bubble between your bodies. “My dad’s the same way. Don’t aim in the house, he says, unless it’s him trying to beat Bruce Wayne.”

Your company’s shoulders turned sideways, leaning into you. His breath ghosted the hair on your neck, standing it on end, and again that silky voice sent tingles down your spine. Damian must change his voice as Robin, because he never spoke like this then. So huskily, so low.

He shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

You watched him. He watched you. You ran your tongue over your teeth, and Damian subtly adjusted his slacks from his pockets.

At the same time, you asked each other, “Would you like to get a drink?”

_

Your hiding place was a loveseat in the lounge, between more businessmen and their ditzy heirs. The bartender was your family’s, so he smiled and turned down your request for a drink, courtesy of your dad’s strictness. Luckily, he didn’t recognise Damian. You watched him order it at the bar, his rings catching the light, the muscle in his arms peeking out from under his blazer.

“I think he suspected I wasn’t of age, so he only gave me one.” He took the place next to you, propping his ankle on one knee and lounging out like a panther. Damian offered the cocktail to you, once he’d decided the coast was clear. It was a cute gesture. “Is that acceptable?”

You fished a five dollar bill out of your purse. “Only if you take this for paying. Don’t think I didn’t see you try and sneakily get that past me.”

Damian scrutinized the bill, then you, somehow managing to be a smartass without opening his mouth. Instead of thinking about how nice it would feel to kiss the slight crease between his brows, you traded hands with him so the bill was in his and the drink was in yours. The gentle brush of you palm to his knuckles put way too many butterflies in your belly.

You talked about everything and anything. About home, family life, your cities. The best of it was when Damian dipped his head so only you could hear him, keeping your secrets close and your bodies closer. This was the only way he talked about Robin, so you circled back to any vigilante subject you could think of just so Damian would keep purring into your ear like that. Better yet, he was smart. Talking to him was engaging, and within minutes he'd entranced you, so you sat there talking for more than an hour. Around you, the party rotated and went on.

At one point, you took a drink of the cocktail and passed it to him to share. Damian placed his lips right where yours had been, licking up the cocktail salt and gulping it down slow, adam’s apple bobbing, like it wasn’t the taste of the vodka he was savoring.

Eventually, your bliss was broken. Damian was called over to his father, again, to discuss business, and he left you with your remaining cocktail and the memory of that mission. You couldn’t find a reason to move from your seat. When you’d realized that you and Robin had been led into a trap on that mission, it’d been too late, and your efforts to escape became more and more futile. All you could do was pray the Titans got to you on time. Robin had offered you his glove as the walls closed in, and you’d watched up-close as he assumed you were both about to die. The fear in his eyes was strange - like it was familiar to him. At the same time, you cupped his neck and he held your upper back, and you’d kissed fervently, sweetly.

Damian had put his forehead to yours, and promised even as the trap shrunk around you, “You were excellent. More excellent than they ever said.”

In the big picture, it was a strange last remark to make, and afterwards you’d been too happy about surviving to think about it. But in the moment, you understood. You were understood. Somehow, Damian had reached into your soul and gouged out the words you’d been dying to hear, from your parents, from anyone, and uttered them to you with burning conviction. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe he meant it. Damian found you excellent. Someone, somewhere, didn’t think you were a failure.

Odd, how you’d never seen the face of the man you thought you’d die with (until now), and yet he saw you so easily. You watched him follow his father into the party crowd now, wondering. The Titans had saved you before you could ask what he’d meant. More importantly, before you could tell him the same. He was excellent.

_

Once you’d finished off your drink, you left it at the bar and grinned evilly at your family bartender. He rolled his eyes and slyly delivered you another, which, on your superhero schedule, would not have you drunk yet. Another heir to some big company was seated at your right, ignored by his father enough to look for some small talk with you.

He was one of the cute, nerdy types that were usually in awe of you. Girls, available girls, were typically rare at these kinds of parties, so he took you not having a boyfriend as permission to flirt with you. Unfortunately for him, your seat gave a perfect angle on Damian across the party floor. He was impressing the wives of Wayne business partners, who flocked around him like they’d flocked around you, pinching his cheeks. You could almost read their lips enough to guess what they were saying. What a handsome young man you are! Oh, Bruce must be so proud.

“...and then my father flipped over his kayak! Would you believe it? Two thousand dollars, thrown right in our family’s lake.” Your company snickered, howling at his own story.

You circled the rim of your glass, watching how Damian tried to teach some of the women phrases in Arabic. Unknown to them, they were some pretty funny swear words. It threw you into a bout of giggles, and the man next to you kept talking, spurred on by the noise.

The flock of hens around Damian receded, and his shoulders slouched in relief. That was cute, too. It wasn’t often that people understood how draining these parties were, but for people like you and Damian, it was a racetrack of endless, boring circles. Everything was a formality. Few things were genuine. Damian turned, and you caught his eye to let him know you were going to meet him. He nodded toward a side hall, his mouth a curious line again. If you looked at it long enough, it felt like a smile when he mouthed, escape?

Your company was still talking. He stopped when you grabbed his tie and planted a pity-kiss on his cheek, waving to him as you bounced away. “Sorry, kid. Not my type.”

_

You planned to bring Damian to the secluded balcony on the second floor to unwind, but instead, you were taken by the wrist and maneuvered into an empty powder room. It was colder than the steaming party air and smelled like champagne, with couches to sit on and mirrors to powder at. For a bathroom, the lights were warm and low. The noise of the party went quiet the instant the door was shut, like you and Damian had entered your own little world. No more circles. No more back and forth.

“Here,” Damian said, noting the mirrors. He tilted his head as he asked, like he was nervous, “Is this acceptable?”

“It is the ladies powder room, but I’ll give you a pass, since you’re cute.” You joked. Damian didn’t make a move to relax on one of the couches yet, hanging in front of you like there was more he wanted to say. There was more you wanted to say, too, but no good words came to mind.

But the silence wasn’t awkward. Again, Damian stared, and you stared. The glass he brought with him was set down. He put one fist on the counter beside the door, and like honey had been poured on your nerves, you realized how easy it would be for him to push you up against it. Kiss you senseless. Heat drooled off of him this close, and you wondered if he’d still lean in to whisper to you even if you were alone.

The lack of words drew to a point where something had to be said, anything, but his eyes felt so good on your skin and it was interesting to see him nervous. Something strange told you that Damian liked the silence, too.

You wet your lips with your tongue. Damian cleared his throat, and took a sip from his glass. “Was I interrupting something?”

“Between me and that guy?” You smiled gently, like you were reassuring him, and laughed to yourself. “Oh, man, you should’ve seen it, Damian. Poor kid really thought I was flirting with him. He’d totally convinced himself, it was hilarious.”

His profile was tense in the mirror, which you stole glances at to watch how the amber light played on his handsome skin. When Damian swallowed his drink, his throat rolled in the sexiest way, and immediately your mind fed you with visions of suckling, kissing, tonguing his neck.

“Why’d you ask?” Your eyes sparkled. Damian drew a step closer, and you used the opportunity to swipe a drop of alcohol from the corner of his lip with your thumb. “You jealous?”

It was the touch or the suggestion that made Damian pause. He didn’t stutter, but lagged over what to say, eyes vast and wanting as they raked over your face. “I don’t get jealous,” he clarified, “but… I do intend to be the only man to kiss you tonight.”

Damian’s hand took your chin. Your belly exploded with instant arousal, hitting you like a bullet of liquid lust. “You’re the only man who’s kissed me like that,” you whispered, taking his tie in hand. “I hope that’s always true.”

His voice had gone throaty. “May I kiss you again?”

Again, he reminded you.The two of you had kissed before, and it had been spectacular, terrifying, and excellent.

“Please,” you said, and Damian rushed to your aid.

Not a moment more was wasted. Curling his tie into your fist, you drew him in, slow and deep and wonderfully. Damian’s cologne hit you before his lips did, and both made your core throb for friction. Two broad hands slammed your hips into the door. His fingertips smoothed up the fabric of your dress, pressing you back and squeezing you in until you could feel his belt buckle against your belly. Damian was a sweet, magnetic kisser, chasing your lips like he was on a crusade to save them. Each time they met, he swam deeper. The point of his nose bumped against your cheek. You hummed your laugh against his lips, and Damian groaned as he pulled away, readjusting, twisting, testing the limits of the kiss. And you followed him at every step or more, revelling in his taste.

You didn’t want him to think you wanted the kiss to end, so you drew the hands braced under his blazer around his neck. Soon, that didn’t feel close enough, so you cupped each side of his face and pecked Damian until you were breathless. He brought you in until your arms were flat to his chest, the kiss almost vertical in its intensity.

He groaned when you parted, gasping and blinking just inches from your face. Your mouths were still connected by a thick string of drool, which hung until it split and clung to Damian’s chin and fell, marking a wet strip down into his collar. You panted, watching it go.

Damian left your waist to hold your wrists, keeping your hands around his face. He settled warmly into your touch, basking in it, and the pure enjoyment on his face made you smile. You wondered if anyone else had cared for him like this. If Damian had ever felt someone hold his face and treasure it. The thought gave you a strange urge, so you followed it.

You brought Damian’s brow level with your mouth and sweetly kissed his forehead. Then his nose bridge, then his temples. His face was so quickly warm that you giggled. In the most unsubtle way possible, Damian drew back his hips so you couldn’t feel the heat there, and closed his eyes, begging you to continue.

“I want you,” you whispered against his jaw.

Damian shivered. “You have me.”

You shifted one hand to his shoulder, giving yourself more room to nuzzle and kiss his neck. The line of drool was still there, so you cupped his skin and tilted his jaw up, and in one stroke, licked all the way to his earlobe. Damian’s moan poured from his mouth like a growing flood. You even felt his thighs press together between you, and pleasure tingled in your throat when he choked at the glide of your tongue.

He released your wrists, reached beside you, and locked the door with an audible click.

Then, Damian devoured you. Both hands hooked around your back, arching your chest into his, and finally, bringing his bulge between your hips. You clung to him for dear life, helpless as his teeth pressed into your neck like a vampire. Damian fed like one, too, suckling the skin there like he was starved. Your panties were so wet that you were desperate to get out of them, grinding your core against his.

Damian retreated, gasping. He licked the spit off of his lips and glared into your eyes. Bluntly, he said, “I want to eat you out.”

Once more, you kissed him, delirious with excitement. Your lungs burned for air, but your core burned harder for him. “Take off that suit and you can do whatever you want to me.”

His eyes gleamed. “I plan to.”

Quickly, you shoved your hands into his sleeves and pushed them off his shoulders, giving you a crisp glimpse at his carved shoulders. Damian's fingers blurred from button to button, but he saved the last for you on purpose. You worked in tandem and with little thought. If he could, Damian would steal a kiss, and you would bite his lip and chase him into more. When that last button was popped, his white button-down parted for a gorgeous plane of hard-earned muscle. His abs, ribs and pecs were pockmarked with scars, shrapnel marks and in some places, bullet holes. You stopped.

At your staring, Damian pressed his lips together.

“It's.. not appealing, I know,” he monotoned.

“No,” you disagreed, palming his stomach, “it’s impressive. All these do is show how strong you are, how long you've survived. You're so… built...” you didn't hide your thorough examination of him, “...I mean, we have to be to do what we do, but still… It suits you. It's sexy.”

You worried you'd ruined the moment with your babbling, but he glimmered under your praise. Damian brightened in the way only Damian could, smirking devilishly and towering over you like a supervillain.

“Sexy?” He pressed his naked chest into yours, whispering hotly in your ear. You could feel his silk tie pinned between you. “Does that mean I'm your type?”

You rolled your eyes. “Eavesdropper.”

“Temptress,” Damian replied, just as easily.

To claim your title, you found Damian's belt and pulled on it until the clasp gave. It made a satisfying whipping noise as you ripped it off of him, shouldered into his space to grab his waist in one hand, and cupped his throbbing boxers in the other. Damian's sigh came hoarsely and wanton from his mouth.

“Fuck me,” you demanded, grinning with delight.

Instead of wasting time on a response, Damian fell to his knees, a faithful worshipper. He did the gentlemanly thing and helped you kick off your heels. The tile was icy on your bare feet, but it only mattered until Damian ran his hands up your thighs. Sliding his fingers underneath the fabric, he bunched it up your middle, peering up at you smugly through his lashes. You could feel the debauchery of it - Damian, on his knees, tie hanging still from his neck, pinning you to the door. You, your legs spread and wanting.

Damian sucked in a breath. Your panties had an obvious wet patch, put there by him. He thumbed it carefully, watching your brows tense and your eyes close, basking in your initial whine. All of it enchanted him. You were soaking because of him, trembling because of him, marked because of him. There was not one place he would rather be than here.

Damian collected your sweetness and sampled the taste on his thumb, trapping it behind his smug smile. He ran his tongue over his teeth, spreading the flavor around his mouth, savoring it. As Damian rolled your underwear down your legs, his cock twitched in his open fly. You were beautiful. Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

“Put your leg over my shoulder,” Damian ordered, smirking, “I want to taste you.”

Warmth exploded in your cheeks. “G-go ahead.”

Gradually, you situated your leg across his back, pussy tensing at the touch of the cooler air. This didn't matter for long. Damian's warm lips nuzzled and kissed the thigh closest to him, painting messy reflective circles on your skin with his kiss. Even that made your legs tense wildly, so Damian shoving his wet, blazing tongue into the folds of you cunt pumped moan after moan from your mouth.

“Damian!” You yelped.

Oh, he definitely liked that. Damian pinched your ass and used his mouth so passionately that his head shook back and forth. He darted right for your clit, sucking it until his cheeks were hollow and humming smugly between your legs with every squeal. Parting your folds with one hand, Damian kissed your core just as dirtily as he'd kissed you. The dangerous glint in his eye never faded. He plunges his tongue inside you in earnest, slurping obscenely, purposefully. There's no need for Damian to shoot you cute looks or put on a show - his skill was the performance, because that skill was unbeatable. Your pussy was already tender, fucked nerveless by Damian's filthy mouth. He vibrated your cunt with a deep groan before he drew away, face dripping with slick like a pornstar’s.

“You're suitably wet,” he said, matter-of-factly, “would you like me to use my fingers?”

All the strength you had went into a weak, pleading nod.

Damian was polite enough to grant you your bearings first, letting you grip his hair and squeeze the counter before he resumes. You give him the sweetest, most precious whine when Damian licks you open again. He wisely starts with one finger and builds from there, earning you with pumps and curls of his digits. Damian's talents quickly become a currency, one that you exchange with mewls and pants of praise.

“So good,” you whine, “oh, fuck - fuck, just like that…”

Damian smirks between your legs, jamming his fingers faster into your sore pussy. Lust sizzles low in your gut, ramped up again and again by his thrusting. It’s so powerful that you roll and buck off the door, your hips in his face. You want him - want him more than you want anything.

“You're ravaging,” Damian hums between licks. His eyes are closed, but that only gives the way he touches you more meaning.

It’s so surprising from his mouth that your hold on his hair slips, setting Damian free. He pants, catching his breath, and it’s easily the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life. The effort has slouched him from his knees to his calves, further spreading his legs and opening up the fly of his pants. A solid bulge has formed and spilled out there, straining to escape his briefs like an arm in a sling that’s too small, way too small, for someone of his size. Three of Damian’s fingers are still twisting inside of you.

Slowly, Damian tipped back his head and hung down, arranging himself beneath your cunt. “So beautiful.” His free hand splayed where your leg met your hip. “May I touch you?”

“I-I get it’s the gentleman thing to do, to - to keep asking, but fuck, Damian,” you cursed, “you can do whatever you want to me.”

Damian’s intense jade eyes were so dilated that you could barely make out the color. He dragged his cheek against your thigh, fingers still circling inside you, and grinned like a shark. It was probably a bad idea to give the heir to the Demon’s Head that much power over you.

His other hand squeezed your skin, slow to passionate, from your belly to your breasts beneath your dress. It’s clear by the way Damian looks at you that he loves what he sees. The texture of his veiny, calloused hands feels good on your waist and ass, dragging you closer to him. He chuckles when your back arches, when your nails press into his hands, his back muscles, throwing himself into his task. Damian’s nose prods your folds as he licks you clean, tongue dipping and sliding against your sore clit. It’s like he’s done this for you before, in this exact way. Though he utilizes his tongue the most, his lips too are brutal, matched perfectly to fit your pussy lips.

But that tongue - how Damian’s jaw isn’t tired, you don’t know. He parts your folds and latches onto your clit, flicking his tongue at superspeed until drool and cum bubbles from your sensitive core. Your back winds tighter at every vibrating lick, paralyzing the muscles in your legs with glorious pleasure. It’s so exquisite you start to melt to the floor like warm clay, only to be bolstered back up by Damian, both hands viciously squeezing your ass. He keeps going not for you, but himself, sucking down every last drop of your juices.

Shattered, you twist hopelessly into his mouth, chasing the strained feeling like it’s the last you’ll ever glimpse. “Fuck, fuck - D-Damian, ah…”

“Did it feel good when I made you cum?” He teases, “It certainly tastes good. All those filthy little noises you make for me…” Damian shakes his head at himself, like it’s too fantastic to indulge again. He leaves your clit with a satisfied kiss. “Beautiful.”

Once more, the words are surprising to hear from him. You always considered Damian the prude type, but here he is, on his knees for you, mouth and chin glittering with your juices while he teases you in low, sexy tones. At your surprised look, Damian has the gall to blush.

With his ring finger in his mouth, he ponders, “If a man has never said that to you before...” pop, “consider me surprised.”

“Never while finger-fucking me, at least,” you admited, legs still trembelling. “It was sweet. You… you meant that?”

It was hard to imagine Damian Wayne finding anything beautiful. Even you, who was pretty enamored with him, figured he would judge by quality or skill, not beauty. The words tasted new on his tongue.

Slowly, Damian stood and stretched, his shoulders tight after staying in the strange position for so long. Lifting his arms coincidentally let his waistband sit lower on his hips, flashing his green boxers your way while showing off the huge, carved muscles of his arms. Truly, Damian’s subtlety was unmatched. You didn’t mind his miniature bragging fest - not when he had so much to brag about. Eating you out had put an excited shimmer in his skin, so the gold-toned lights of the room reflected sexily off his sweat, already accenting his kissable tan.

“I did,” he told you, moving on to his sucking middle finger. His other hand played on your thigh, stroking it. “I’ve always been… drawn to you. Every mission we’ve had together. I have a profound feeling that we are very similar.”

You laughed. Not at what he said, but the timing of it. “Would you believe me if I said I felt the same way?”

Damian made a face like his heart was doing jumping jacks. “A few hours ago? No. But now…” he barricaded you against the door, first with his hands and then his hips, closed in so tightly that you had to look past your nose to meet his eyes. “Your crush is adorably obvious. I’m annoyed that I didn’t see it before.”

Your rounded your hands against Damian’s shoulders, then his tie. It twisted nicely around your fingers, silky and cold in comparison to your flushed skin. You were tempted to fix your dress, but nothing, not even the world ending, could make you leave this room.

“My crush is obvious? Damian, all you’ve done for the last two hours is sneak me drinks and imply how much easier it is to be around me.” You grinned, “What’d you say earlier? There you are, Queen. Finally, someone intelligent enough to speak to me.”

Damian shrugged. “It’s true. Your knowledge of bioluminescent ocean life is fascinating.”

“I can’t believe you said that after giving me head for ten minutes.”

“It’s actually been closer to twelve,” Damian smirked.

Playfully, you pinched Damian’s cheek, then pulled him by the tie into a starved, energetic kiss. He must’ve been praying for your permission to continue, because the plan he’d been forming is quickly put into action. You’re hugged, arms scooped under your back as you kiss him. Damian surrenders his mouth to a bit of revenge tonguing while undoing your dress. No amount of kissing will pull him from his task, but your hand is a special case - it smooths down the front of his boxers and Damian melts.

“Y/N,” he groans.

Damian petulantly resists the temptation to close his eyes, but your touch is soft and sweet, demanding him to yield. Your lips suckle on his neck and Damian’s knees buckle. If getting his mouth between your legs didn’t turn him on, then this will finish him for sure.

“I missed you. Kissing you.” You purr into his throat. “One could never be enough for me.”

Is this what it’s like to be wanted? Damian asked himself. The only possible answer thrilled him, and he found himself pouring even more passion into the kiss, into you, wanting to share that rush of affection. You respond to his every touch with vigor. Damian’s heart stalls each time your thumb strokes his face, each time the other strokes him through his slacks.

“Me either,” he rasped, and helped you out of your dress. His tone was shy, but his words held too much depth to be meaningless. I want a wealth of them. I always want to kiss you, was what he wanted to say, but Damian was too embarrassed to raise the words. This moment was too special to ruin with his hopeless romanticism. He kissed you again and again, and to his amazement, you kissed him right back.

“Fuck me,” you begged him between breaths. “Right here. I don’t care if we’re caught.”

I don’t care if we’re seen together. I want to be seen with you, I’m not ashamed of you.

Damian cupped your face and almost knocked you both over with the strength of his kiss. Nose-to-nose, eyes closed, he commanded, “Bend over the fucking counter.”

In a blink, Damian turned and there you were, open and waiting for him. The sink was hip-level, so the bend was nothing but perfect - Damian could fuck you from behind and watch your lust-blown reflection without issue. Your perfect pussy drooled leftover cum down your legs, making your sex shine in the light.

In the mirror, you watched Damian’s eyes darken in delight. His pupils followed the line of your ass to your back, appreciating it like an artist would, like he intended to paint you later and needed to memorize the greatest shapes of your figure. The marble was icy against your hard nipples, which Damian had exposed when he’d impatiently shoved down your bra. Now, he cupped one of your breasts as he bent over you, kissing and suckling his way down your back.

“Perfect,” Damian hissed.

Shyly pressing your butt back against him, you buried your face in your arms and bit your lip, waiting for him to open you up. Damian’s shadow came to hover over you, and in the mirror his eyes were vicious, pools of circling sharks. “Are you ready?”

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Take your time.”

Though you weren’t being sarcastic, Damian took it that way and pinched one cheek of your ass. “With you? I will.” Then, with the same smoothness, Damian asked, “Condom?”

“Pill,” you replied, and Damian nodded his approval.

His pants rustled as they fell down his legs. Where you couldn’t see, Damian committed the sight to memory - his cock in hand, your pussy spread open, all for him. You squeaked when his hot tip touched your cooling clit, and squeaked again when it glided down your pussy and tested your opening. He knew he’d found the way when you winced.

In an unsurprising moment of compassion (for those who truly knew him), Damian kissed the top of your head and offered you his hand. “Would you like to hold it while I…?”

You took his hand and squeezed it to your chest, squeezing him closer in the process, too. “Thank you. Go slow, for this part…”

Damian complied. His sweat-sticky chest hovered warmly over your back. Even if Damian was big, you were wetter than you’d ever been in your entire life - any pain would quickly slide into pleasure. He braced himself with a deep inhale, and a hot, sharp sensation told you that he’d entered you. Where you choked in a needy gasp, Damian poured out his version of a whimper. You both held it. Then, breath by breath, you were struck with the realization that you’d been dying to feel this for weeks, for months, and only now was that heat being satisfied. Damian’s tongue and fingers had come close, but this is what would cure that aching emptiness - his big, girthy cock.

The deathgrip you had on Damian’s hand loosened. “You look perfect,” he murmured into your hair, instantly making your core flutter. “Oh,” he chuckled filthily, “you like that? Funny, how badly that idiot at the bar wanted to be in my place right now…but it’s me who gets to pound into—”

“Damian,” you warned.

He smiled smugly against your neck. “Nothing.”

Dutifully, Damian withdrew his hips, taking all of the heat with him. When he rolled back in, a hot, tingling sensation roared over all of your senses, and you let the moan at the top of that tsunami loose. It was clear that he couldn’t fuck you like he wanted to with one hand fished down at your side, so he glued both to the base of your back and started to thrust in earnest.

“So full...” You mewled, and Damian became a human pile-driver.

Your head seemed to roll off your shoulders with every crazed, rhythmic slam, so you grabbed the faucet and held on for dear life. Every slap was so loud, so powerful, that you prayed this one random bathroom in the penthouse was soundproofed. Anyone walking past would know you were getting railed out of your mind. You tried to compensate by moaning and squeaking quietly, but with force came volume. It didn’t matter how silent you were, Damian’s hips, your ass, the squelch of him inside you - each noise filled the bathroom, echoing off the tile.

The only way you could think to describe him was filling. First, there was the hot, cinching tension of his hands fused to your waist. Then there was his cock, which begged to be squeezed more and more with every pass. You responded to each throb with a mighty clench, which bent Damian over you like an animal, gasping for breath. His balls were painted with your slick. The closer you came to orgasm together, the closer Damian came to you. His hands migrated to higher on your sides, then up by your shoulders, then around you, where Damian kissed your back and rubbed your belly while he made love to you. He talked more than he moaned. Your ear was filled with sweet nothings, with vicious promises of what he would do with a whole night alone with you.

Damian’s reflection was wild with lust. He met your eyes as he fucked you, whispering how beautiful you are, how good you take his dick. His deep green eyes were so dark you couldn’t make out the brown in them anymore. The long muscles on his arms drew taut with each thrust, making his biceps bulge and pin your hips to the sink. Soon enough, a bruise would form from the pressure. One of many treasures from tonight - you would be thinking about Damian in his crisp suit for months to come, and the mess he’d become with you now even longer. Your pleasure built and built and built, like a nail struck further into the ground with a hammer. A very, very big hammer.

“M’ cumming,” Damian husked, slowing his plowing to a sloppy glide. Even his endurance was spent, and you were glad he’d spent it all on you. “Where d’ you…?”

You braced your hands on the counter, then on one of Damian’s. Together, you smoothed his digits down your stomach and between your soft, abused folds. “Inside me, please, please please—” you begged him, “fuck, a-as deep as you can go.”

As a test of your flexibility, Damian turned in and kissed you. Just as he parted your lips with his tongue, he parted your folds with his fingertips, overriding your clit as his cock throbbed inside you to the hilt. He took the invitation as a command. Damian pressed in until you could feel his abs mold to your ass, then stuttered his hips in quick, agonized dips to get himself there. With his fingers and his cock putting stars in your eyes, you finished first.

The white marble counter fizzed in your vision, until all you could see was that powerful, endless white, humming in your mind’s eye. Still, Damian wasn’t finished yet. You bumped your temple against his chin and hummed, “Cum for me, baby… fuck, a-ah!”

Your pussy’s throb raced and raced until it spilled over, pulling Damian right under the current. One clench and he was done for, so the velvety, periodic squeeze of your cunt emptied his store. You hung there, spasming in unison, until that overwhelming heat spurted in a ring around Damian’s cock and flooded out of you. Only then did his fingers stop on your clit, and you settled warmly in each other's arms and tried to remember your names and who you were.

Damian pulled out, then snuggled back in. He would’ve been nervous any other time, but he’d just put his dick inside you, so a little instinctive cuddling could be forgiven. On shaky legs, you turned around and sunk into him. You could tell by how he was eyeing the sink that he was desperate to get clean again, so with one kiss (on the cheek), you set Damian loose.

In companionable silence, Damian cleaned up and you collected the clothes abandoned on the floor. Staring at the corner where you’d just had the best sex of your life put an embarassingly pleasant warmth in your chest. Interesting, how one terrifying moment could become something as special as this. Fascinating, how you’d felt like you’d known him all your life.

“You know… I think you’re excellent, too.” You told him, finishing off the knot for his tie.

Damian dipped his head to hide his smile, but something so bright was impossible to hide.

[razorblade180]

Solidarity

After a long journey through the desert, Aether stops by the Akademia for a change of scenery. While he’s there, he notices Faruzan face down at her desk in an empty lecture hall. Naturally, he walks in, takes a seat, then puts his head face down with a subtle thud that makes her look up.

Faruzan:…You dare mock me?

Aether:No. I saw you look worn out, I’m the same. Might as well be worn out in the same room. Figured you wouldn’t mind.

Faruzan:…*lays head down* Cheeky one aren’t you? I guess your logic checks out.

Aether:Can’t find students?

Faruzan:I have several actually. My current state of affairs is non-academic related.

Aether:Is it that special time?

Faruzan:You just a lady that?

Aether:When your twin is the opposite gender, there’s no question or insult you won’t do. Honestly…how does work of you trapped for 100 years?

Faruzan:It is not my time of the month.

Aether:*snickers* My bad. Just poking fun I guess. Seriously, what’s wrong? Learned your favorite food doesn’t exist anymore?

Faruzan:I would actually be crying. Don’t wish that on me. I confessed to Tighnari.

Aether:…*slowly raises head* He’s dating someone.

Faruzan:I know this nowZ

Aether:And likes boys.

Faruzan:I know that now. *groans*

Aether:That sucks. I’m sure he won’t tell people about it.

Faruzan:That’s not the point. A hundred years alone and I blunder this poorly. Rust doesn’t begin to describe the state I’m in.

Aether:(Suddenly I’m glad I was unconscious for centuries.) Don’t worry. You’ll get back out there. Sumeru is big.

Faruzan:But everyone else is so…not normal, or arrogant!

Aether:That’s…painfully accurate. I’d say find a desert citizen but ya never know what they’re about.

Faruzan:…What brings you here, all gloomy as your teacher?

Aether:I just got done helping a friend making a memorial, as well as burying my emotions in the sand where they’ll stay.

Faruzan:Your emotions? You fancied someone? *raises head*

Aether:More like a crush I guess.

Faruzan:Rejection?

Aether:No I never said anything. I learned she’s gay.

Faruzan:Fuc- HOW ARE WE THIS DUMB!?

Aether:We were blindsided but it’s fine.

Faruzan:Wait, I thought you were in a relationship?

Aether took a brief yet complex minute to explain his relationships.

Faruzan:You hooligan! No, hoodlum!

Aether:Madame Faruzan I know you’re old fashion but this is a new level.

Faruzan:Don’t misunderstand me. Complex relationships is nothing new. I just didn’t realize my student was more well behaved and mild mannered. Not one with such a dubious mind.

Aether:Blep 😛

Faruzan:Hmph!

Aether:Not my fault. The main person I look for is my sis, and the only person who constantly has info keeps running away into portals. So in between all that I shall live and experience this world; see what happens.

Faruzan:Sounds tiring, not planting roots.

Aether:In a way I like to think I make friends and home everywhere I go. That way I’m never far from a place to collect myself.

Faruzan:Hmmm I don’t dislike that attitude. Positivity breeds initiative after all, and a curiosity to explore.

Aether:So your student isn’t dubious?

Faruzan:Let’s not get carried away. I’ll have to judge that for myself.

Aether:So….dinner?

Faruzan:What?

Aether:It’s getting late and all we’re doing is being bummed about having silly, harmless crushes. Might as well eat while we’re at it. You said your favorite meal is still around, right?

Faruzan:…*squints* You truly are cheeky, attempting such a rebound. On your senior no less.

Aether:I just wanna eat and thought to invite you since we’re already hanging out. Besides if this hypothetically does mean something or ends someway, I would be your rebound. I’ve done nothing but dig holes in the sand and solved puzzles today. You actually asked out someone.

Faruzan:…..

Aether:….*smiles*

Faruzan:….I have to finish filling out a student transfer application. It’ll take me twenty minutes and then I’m leaving for the night to wash the day away. If by some chance I see you outside the Bazaar entrance at ten on the dot, then I suppose we could continue this little chat.

Aether:Okay, Madame Faruzan.

She stands up, collecting her papers and walks away until she’s at the door. The prideful researcher turns around to look at Aether.

Faruzan:If by some chance I do see you tonight at dinner, you may drop the “Madame” *leaves immediately*

Aether:….Just when I thought my day was over.

???:(It did take an unexpected turn.)

Aether:What the- Nahida!?

Nahida:(Yep! It’s me! I wanted to say hi earlier but you looked busy and this was interesting to see play out.)

Aether:How much exactly were you here for?

Nahida:(I looked up what a polycule was.)

Aether:…*puts head down* I’m so sorry I’ve given you that knowledge.

Nahida:It’s alright. I talk to Scara a lot. He certainly says words. Lots…and lots of words.

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Badass! Merlin Part 2

We’re going back to the beginning...

TW: Blood, almost-basically-torture? (But not on any of the good guys)

Part 1   Part 3(final part)

Arthur wakes with a headache.

His first thought is to curse Merlin out for letting him drink so much wine the previous night. His second thought is to curse Merlin out for letting him sleep in, because he can definitely feel the sunlight on his eyelids. His third thought... is to curse Merlin out for letting him fall asleep in a chair?

He groans as he opens his eyes, blearily looking around the room as his sight comes into focus. He hears a few vague murmurs of relief, but can’t make out the actual words or place the voices. He slowly blinks the sleep from his eyes, registering the slight nausea rolling in his stomach as he attempts to shift. He freezes when he realises he can’t move far, eyes flying open properly and looking down only to see his wrists bound tightly to the chair he sits in. He lets out a harsh breath as he pulls, but his brain starts actually noticing the voices yelling at him before he does himself any proper damage:

“...Sire!! Sire! Arthur!”

His head jolts up, but he quickly shuts his eyes and groans again, sagging in his chair as the pounding in his head grows significantly worse. He takes a few deep breaths as he forces his mind to tune into the conversation happening around him:

“What did you do to him?”

Leon. That sounds like Leon.

“Nothing too bad, he’ll recover soon enough, though your concern is touching, really.”

A bastard. That, sounds like a bastard.

The King takes a deep breath, willing himself to ignore the now thankfully dimming pain in his head as he opens his eyes and looks up. He casts a quick, tactical eye over the room, discovering himself to be sat at the Round Table, his most trusted advisors and knights spread out evenly around him. The table is normally sat at by upwards of twenty-five people, so there’s a spare chair or two in between each person. Arthur makes a mental note of who is present: Gaius, Gwen, Morgana, his knights... his gaze pauses momentarily on the youngest of the group, taking in the paleness of Mordred’s skin and the deep breaths that he seems to struggle to draw, before he moves on. 

(and because everyone loves a visual aid)

His angry, though calm eyes find their presumed captor, a man ten years or so his senior, dressed in robes that are badly made, but badly made with exquisite fabrics. He’s well groomed, smug, but tired looking, and Arthur has to stop himself from raising an eyebrow at the lack of armour or weaponry. A sorcerer then, going by the fact that he was on his own, and had somehow managed to capture the best fighters Arthur had ever had the pleasure of knowing. Including Morgana and Gwen, and even Gaius, who Arthur always got the distinct impression could get scrappy if needed. 

There is someone missing, but Arthur does his best not to draw attention to his worry, exchanging a short look with Leon next to him: “Merlin?” in the King’s eyes, Leon’s response: “I’ve no clue. Hopefully he’ll figure it out and get help.” is in the twitch of his mouth and slight, miniscule shrug of his shoulder. Arthur blinks before turning his attention once more to the captor:

“What do you want with us?”

Their captor raises a condescending eyebrow and smirks:

“I worried that I’d overdone it. You’ve been asleep for quite some time.”

Arthur frowns slightly, glancing to a window and taking stock of the sun’s position in the sky; an hour after noon, give or take a quarter candle mark. He doesn’t remember anything past Merlin puttering around in his chambers the previous night:

“You didn’t answer my question.”

The man’s smirk somehow grows and he begins to slowly pace around the table, stroking his hand on the back of each chair as he goes, stopping behind Mordred and landing a heavy hand on the younger man’s shoulder. He jerks in place, as though the touch wasn’t a surprise, as though it hurt. He hisses slightly through his teeth, and Arthur’s jaw clenches as he glares at the sorcerer. The King can also see Morgana, sat to Mordred’s left, begin to look increasingly worried as she glances down to something Arthur can’t see in the knight’s lap:

“No, I suppose I didn’t. What I want from you, from all of you, is for you to simply... watch.-”

With that, he waves his hand in a flourish, mutters a few words, and points to a shimmering light hovering above the centre if the table, slowly growing larger:

“-It’s time for you all to understand some previously hidden, dark truths.-”

The image sharpens out and Arthur’s frown deepens significantly when it focuses on a horse, one of Arthur’s favoured war horses, being ridden out of the city gates by a very familiar figure:

“-He doesn’t know he’s being watched, not yet. I wonder what it is he’ll reveal.”

He glances to Mordred significantly, but the meaning is lost on Arthur, who is focusing only on Merlin’s frankly expert riding. Since when has he...? Arthur’s confusion grows as the moment Merlin is hidden from the city by the forest, he stands in the stirrups, hovering slightly above the saddle as he urges the horse to speed up into a powerful gallop. Everyone looks surprised at that, all having been unaware of Merlin’s skill on the back of a horse, but he controls her well, guiding her down narrow paths and over fallen logs without a quiver in his apparently strong legs or a drop of sweat on his brow. The trust between the servant and the creature is rather incredible, and Arthur makes a mental note to, if this was in fact all real, to gift Merlin his own horse when this is over.

After a few minutes of quiet astoundment, Arthur allows his gaze to once more sweep the room, and he sees everyone focused on the sorcerous window at the centre of the table. He figures it must be visible from all angles, though if he concentrates and squints, he can see through to the other side. He focuses on the sorcerer once more:

“What have you done to him? Where’s he going?”

The sorcerer sports a faux look of surprise as he waves his hand, and the window moves a metre or so upwards, so that everyone can once again see each other naturally:

“Done to him? Why nothing, of course. Though I may or may not have led him to believe that his precious King had been captured in the night and taken away some godforsaken fort to be tortured and likely killed. He’s, unsurprisingly, rather protective over you.”

He says it with a smirk, but Gwaine is the one to answer him; Arthur can see the mix of genuine curiosity, and fiery anger on his face, plain as day:

“Then why is he alone?”

Everyone looks to the sorcerer, waiting on his answer, even Mordred, who seems to be having more and more trouble staying awake:

“Well, as far as the rest of the castle is concerned, The King and his closest and most trusted advisors have been in a very important meeting since dawn, and are not to be disturbed under any circumstances. Of course Merlin was not told this, and likely wouldn’t have believed it even if he was told, and so is on his way to rescue his... damsel.”

Arthur needs nothing more than the lack of even a smirk from Gwaine at the sorcerer’s referral to The King as a damsel, to know that the knight is truly worried about Merlin. Gaius and Lancelot glance to each other, worried, before Lance’s gaze lands back on Mordred, situated between him and Morgana. Arthur does notice this, and does pay it attention this time, especially when Lancelot’s eyes widen and he looks to Morgana in unconcealed worry. Arthur is not the only one to notice and the sorcerer raises an eyebrow, gesturing at them with a very punch-able air of smug authority:

“The... servant’s journey will take him an hour at least, if you’ve something to say Sir Lancelot, I suggest now be the time.”

Arthur glances up at the window again, as does everyone else, just to see Merlin still riding through the woods, a vicious frown marring his features that Arthur is quite sure he’s never seen before. He makes the quick decision that Mordred’s apparent ill health takes precedence right now, and interrupts any question Sir Lancelot may have asked:

“What’s wrong with him??”

The sorcerer smirks once again, and Arthur notices Morgana out of the corner of his eye gearing up to verbally flay the man, likely to death, and he shoots her a look before focusing back on their captor. He waves a hand once again, and Mordred’s chair rises into the air briefly. Arthur frowns at the metal cuffs on the knight’s wrists, glancing down at the plain old rope he’s tied in before looking to Leon on his left, and Percival on his right, both also in rope. Mordred drops to the floor harshly, and he quietly groans, growing even paler as the man produces a key from his pocket. He holds it between gloved fingers momentarily before tossing it onto the table; it skids a few feet before coming to a stop right in the centre of the stone:

“Cold iron. It does horrors to people like us and I’m normally not a fan of using it, not even on my enemies, but I couldn’t have him doing anything sneaky now, could I?”

Arthur frowns, though mostly at Lancelot, Morgana, and Gaius’ sharp breaths than at the man’s words. He glances to Mordred, frowning in confusion as the younger man looks up to him blearily before dropping his head to his chest again, almost as if in shame. The King clenches his jaw briefly, gulping at the implication, before compartmentalising and deciding that that is an issue to deal with later:

“It’s killing him, take them off, tie him up like the rest of us, he won’t try anything, I swear it.”

Arthur allows himself to marvel briefly at his own unwavering trust in his knight, in both that he meant no harm, M-word or not, and that he would keep to Arthur’s promise. Unfortunately, the sorcerer doesn’t have the same faith, and he lets out a low, demeaning chuckle:

“Hmm. I think not. He’s still got a day or so left in him, and by then I think you’ll have bigger issues.”

He ignores the rest of the glares and angry questions sent his way, and lowers the window watching Merlin once again. Everyone soon focuses back in on the servant, and though the novelty of his being able to ride well wears off fairly promptly, their concentration never waivers as he makes his way through the forest, seeming to know exactly where he is going.

~

Merlin rides for another hour or so, slowing down to an easy canter semi-regularly to allow his horse a breather; he really does know what he’s doing, Arthur can give him that. Every time The King begins to worry that Merlin is pushing her too far, he gives her a rest, speeding up only when the horse is comfortably able to. 

Everyone’s gaze, shaded slightly by mistrust nearer the beginning (though that fades quickly, and is soon replaced with worry), dances over to Mordred every once in a while, but though he seems sickly and tired, he doesn’t get worse, at least not yet. Which is a relief.

When Merlin’s frown deepens and he slows right down to a walk, the sorcerer claps his hands, breaking the silence for the first time in an hour:

“It looks like things are about to get interesting, so pay attention!”

Arthur scowls briefly at him, becoming more and more desperate to punch the smirk off his face as time goes on. He quickly looks back to the window to see Merlin dismounting, leading the horse off the path where he ties her to a tree. The frown doesn’t drop from the servant’s face as he runs his hands around the inside of his jacket. He glances away through the trees as he pulls something from a pocket, shaking it out as he looks down before slipping it onto his hand. 

At further inspection, they, including the sorcerer, who looks just as interested as the others, can all see that “it” is a series of articulated, half circle metal plates that cover the bottom half of his fingers. Ridged metal plates also overlap on his knuckles, and a larger plate covers the back of his hand; the whole thing looks to be held together with miniscule links and thin leather straps around his fingers and palm. Arthur frowns in confusion, but it’s Elyan who reacts first, wide-eyed:

“He said those were for a friend!”

Everyone looks to him in surprise, but the sorcerer just raises an expectant eyebrow as Elyan looks slowly around the circle before focusing on Arthur:

“He commissioned those from me a few months ago, told me they were for a friend in the lower whose safety he was worried for. I thought it was an odd weapon but didn’t question it, helped him design them, made them, and wouldn’t let him pay. He never brought them up again so I forgot about it.”

Percival shrugs his shoulders with a look of odd respect:

“I guess they weren’t for a friend.”

Leon responds just as Merlin walks away from the horse, sneaking through the underbrush as he flexes his weaponised hand:

“Obviously, but why lie? We get attacked on the road enough for Merlin to justifiably want a weapon. Why not just tell you they were for him?”

Gwen pipes up, and everyone ignores the look of glee on the sorcerer’s face. Everyone bar Morgana, who swaps between glaring at him in fury and looking to Mordred, evidently concerned:

“Well he’s always been a bit secretive. Maybe he was... embarrassed?”

Elyan frowns and shakes his head:

“No way, it’s a brilliant idea and I told him as much, I’d never made anything like it before. Why would he be embarrassed to have what is an objectively impressive piece of kit?”

They all look confused, but Gwaine interrupts the next round of discussion with a loud:

“Hush, look. What the hell is he doing?”

He nods at the image of Merlin, crouching down just this side of the treeline with his eyes closed in concentration and his brows furrowed. Gaius takes in an audible gasp, and Arthur glances to him briefly, confused to see the Physician’s wide-eyed stare and generally twitchy demeanour. If he’d bothered to look, Arthur would’ve noticed Lancelot, Morgana, and Mordred (to a certain extent) in the same boat, but he quickly focuses back on Merlin with Percival’s whispered:

“What the fuck is he doing, he’s going to get himself killed!”

Everyone stares with bated breath as Merlin stands, carefully extricating himself from the surrounding foliage with a seemingly practiced ease and walking out into a clearing. An almost crumbled fort rises in front of him, but he turns left, approaching softly, but not slowly, the back of a heavily armed and armoured bandit. Arthur begins to hold his breath, but it’s Gwen, shaking her head with terrified eyes who quietly speaks, as if to herself:

“No, no, Merlin don’t be stu-”

She cuts herself off with a loud yelp when Merlin, quick as lightening, wraps one of his arms around the criminal’s throat and twists. The sorcerer lets out a victorious yell and claps his hands, grinning wildly as Merlin carefully lowers the bandit’s body to the floor, glancing behind him to make sure no one somehow noticed the silent kill:

“I wasn’t expecting that, but it’s certainly still entertaining!”

Arthur lets out his held breath, slumping back in his seat as he, and everyone else, stares with wide eyes. It’s Merlin’s mildly annoyed, but wholly unbothered expression that everyone focuses on, and Gwaine’s quiet “Fucking hell... since when has he...?” is the only utterance heard, though his voice quickly trails off as Merlin begins easily dragging the corpse to a gap in the bushes.

The King isn’t with it enough to even pretend he isn’t shocked, but just about manages to ignore the sorcerer’s gleeful staring. Merlin just killed that man, without hesitation, without even trying. There’s no time to dwell on it however, Merlin quickly finishes his task. He doesn’t look exactly pleased, more resigned, but he makes his way to the foot of the fort’s wall, skirting around the edge for a minute or so before he comes to a tunnel entrance.

He slips inside, sticking close to the wall, after one last quick look around, and the knights keep staring on in confusion at the thoughtful, though almost bored looking expression on his face. Leon, sporting a soft, cautious frown, is the first to be able to form a coherent sentence:

“How often do you reckon he does stuff like this?”

Arthur breaks himself out of his stupor, planning on fixing Gaius with a challenging expression and asking how often Merlin actually goes to the tavern, but he’s interrupted by the mutterings of the group’s source of confusion:

“I'm too underpaid for this shit.”

Arthur recoils slightly in shock, not at the sentiment expressed (though he does make yet another mental note—he’s making a lot of those today—this time to give Merlin a raise. He absent-mindedly wonders how much assassins and bodyguards get paid nowadays.), more at the-

“I’ve known him about six years, been through hell with him, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard him curse before”

... Gwaine’s point exactly.

There are a few hums of agreement, though they quickly die down when Merlin reaches the top of the stairs, approaching a door with an air of familiarity that dissipates when it refuses to budge. He huffs, but quickly moves back, the deep scowl not leaving his face as he rams the door without hesitation. The whole situation seems to be a mild annoyance, rather than a true worry, and that baffles the group, who’ve all seen Merlin outwardly panic at a late flower delivery before. Apparently, a kidnapped and potentially tortured King is less serious than insufficient May Day decorations.

After some fiddling, he manages to open the door and carefully climbs through what appears to be a storage room with ease, swiping a finger through a thick layer of dust—hidden away behind some stacked furniture, presumably so no one would see it—with a thoughtful hum and an even deeper frown. He makes it to the other side, listening at the closed door for barely a minute before stepping quietly out into the corridor. He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a short but well-made dagger and holding it in a confident, unbothered grip.

Everyone recoils slightly; a metal gauntlet is one thing, but a blade?? He holds it low, prepared but not overly worried as he makes his way down the corridor. Once again he sticks close to the wall, his steps silent in a way he never bothers to try when walking about in the castle (or on hunts, Arthur bitterly thinks). He passes a wide corridor on the right, barely giving it a glance as he keeps going straight, and that catches Gwen’s curiosity:

“How does he know where he’s going? He’s not checking any of the side doors.”

Everyone shrugs their shoulders, bar Mordred, who’s breathing has become a tad more ragged. Lancelot, Morgana, and Arthur spare him concerned glances, but quickly focus back on the scene in front of them when Merlin presses himself to the wall behind a door. He appears to listen, and the gang thinks they might just about be able to make out voices; their suspicions are confirmed when their little window seems to move partially through the door, and they see three men walking in the opposite direction. It turns back to Merlin just in time to see him take a deep breath and slowly reach for the doorknob.

A loud screech from the door’s ancient hinges echoes down the corridor, and where the knights, Gaius, Gwen, and Morgana all start and widen their eyes in worry, Merlin just huffs out an annoyed sigh before throwing the door open and sprinting down the corridor. The servant ducks just in time for a crossbow bolt to miss his head, but no one has time to even gasp before he drops to the floor, the speed of his sprint giving him the momentum to slide along the floor between one of the bandit’s legs. The move had obviously caught them all off-guard, and the bandit swings his sword far too high; Merlin is already back on his feet before he can correct himself, turning around and landing a fatal blow with his dagger directly into the man’s spine.

Perhaps the move shouldn’t shock the gang as much as it does; Merlin is a fully-fledged physician at this point, he knows exactly where a fatal blow should land, but the ease and speed with which he does it speaks to a certain level of practice. Before they have time to even process the first kill, Merlin pulls the dagger from the neck and swings it around, jamming it in between the knuckles of an oncoming fist. It sinks deep and the bandit lets out a blood-curling shriek in time with Gwen’s yelp, Lancelot’s hiss of empathetic pain, and Percival’s low groan of slightly squeamish horror. The others just stare in slight disgust (and a lot of shock) as Merlin swings his other fist up, using his metal knuckles for the first time and taking the bandit out with a single blow. The gang thinks the bandit should probably be grateful for that.

They all widen their eyes as they spot the third attacker before Merlin does, grabbing a crossbow bolt from his pouch and swinging back. They each yell their own warnings despite knowing Merlin wouldn’t hear them, but relax slightly when they see the realisation in his eyes just before he twists to the side and steps back. The bolt still cuts deep, but it’s better than if it had been jammed into his back, and Merlin quickly shakes the injury off, if he even notices it, and yanks the bandit around to cave the front of his skull in against the wall.

He crumples to the floor, blood spurting from his nose and mouth as the corridor once more sinks into a frigid silence. The others just stare, ice cold and shocked, unsure how to react. At Merlin’s deep sigh of annoyance and bout of glaring at the bodies, Arthur risks a glance down, quickly realising that... none of them are moving, not even to breathe.

Morgana is the first to break the silence as the servant steps over the bloody men, huffing again at the cut on his arm but otherwise ignoring it as he carries on down the corridor:

“He just... killed those men.”

Leon nods, not able to rip his eyes from the scene in front of him, even though it quite boring-ly consists of Merlin walking own a hall (with a scowl that could curdle milk, a dripping shoulder and a dripping knife and a dripping metal glove) :

“I always knew he had some sort of hidden... ruthlessness, but this... I didn’t think it was this.”

Gwen nods, momentarily forgetting the violence as she hums in agreement:

“Hmm. I know what you mean, the things he does sometimes... the things I’ve heard him say to people when he thinks no one else is there... I didn’t think he’d be able to make good on his threats.”

Everyone looks to Gwen at that, not even attempting to hide their shock. The sorcerer seems to blend into the shadows a little, stepping away from the table and settling a curious eye on the serving girl as Elyan spits out:

“What threats?!”

Gwen is taken aback at his tone, and sets an admonishing gaze on her younger brother:

“Not to me of course. He... there was a...-”

She glances at Leon, and then Arthur, and the apology is in her eyes, though not her words:

“-A few months ago there was a knight who... took a fancy to me. It was sweet at first, but then he got... demanding, and overbearing. I could barely go an hour without him trying to convince me I owed him a hello kiss or a goodbye hug or a dinner date. I was planning on seeing the Steward, to see if I could get assigned more... out of the way chores, at least for a little while, I can’t be with Lady Morgana at all hours of the day.-”

Morgana nods, an annoyed frown on her face. She’d clearly known about the knight:

“-Well, I was on my way to speak to him and I walked passed the armoury. The knight was young, barely out of his squire-hood, so even after training Merlin was bigger than him, much taller too. He had him against the wall, I didn’t hear every word because I didn’t want to get to close, didn’t want Merlin to know I’d seen, but... well... the poor boy looked terrified. And... Merlin had a dagger to his gut.-”

An audible gasp goes around the room from all bar Morgana, who nods to herself, pleased, and is evidently making a mental reminder to give Merlin some sort of thank you gift:

“-It took me aback, but I... left them to it. Since then, said knight has practically bolted every time I entered the same space as him. I always just thought it was an act, I thought Merlin was... you know, putting it on a bit to scare him into leaving me alone, but apparently...-”

She trails off as everyone looks to their laps, deep in thought, but as she goes to nod in Merlin’s general direction, she gasps and exclaims:

“-Look!!”

Everyone’s gaze whips back up to the window, seeming to remember all of a sudden that it is showing real time. Currently, he’s crouched behind a door, his eyes closed and his ears pressed to the wood. The sorcerer steps in to be part of the group once more, another wild grin on his face as he conspiratorially whispers:

“I wonder what he’ll... hear.”

He gives Mordred another pointed look at that, and the young knight lifts his pale, sweaty face enough to glare at him, muttering a slurred something that sounds suspiciously like “fuck you”. Arthur doesn’t question it at this point, but he does become increasingly worried for his knight’s health, both independently, and because of Morgana, Lancelot, and Gaius’ worried looks. (Arthur has long since, somehow quietly, accepted that the three of them had known about whatever M-word related thing was going on with Mordred.)

Merlin stands to the side of the door and the gang watch as he sighs and peaks through the window, ever so quickly. It’s barely a second, and when he pulls back, gone is the scowl, replaced with a steely look of resigned determination. He takes a few deep breaths, cracking his neck to the side and shaking out his hands as he takes one last lungful before ripping the door open.

The gang’s viewing window whizzes past his head and everything blurs for a moment before it rights itself. When it turns around and focuses again, two men are already dead, bloody gashes across their necks, and a third is sprawled on the floor with a humiliated flush across his cheeks. Another falls next to him just a moment later, though this one is definitely dead, blood pouring from his nose and leaking from his eyes and ears. Merlin sinks the dagger directly into another attacker’s heart before adjusting his grip and ripping it out, turning around and flinging it into the eye of the no longer sprawled man in one fluid motion. He... well, he sprawls again, but Merlin turns around to face the rest of the bandits before he’s even hit the ground.

Everyone stares on with open mouths, unable to tear their eyes away from the bloody scene. A glance to Gaius and Lancelot’s faces tells Arthur that Merlin’s... skills, truly are a well kept secret. The King speaks softly as the men circle Merlin, and he wonders if he should find it odd, how unworried he now is:

“Five men. Five men in five seconds, and he doesn’t even look bothered.”

They quickly count seven more attackers, but their realisation that Merlin is no longer armed sends them into yet another panicked spiral. At least four of those five men had been caught completely off guard by Merlin’s varying attacks, but now the servant stands unarmed against an angry and prepared mob. Arthur risks another glance at Mordred, who seems barely able to hold his head up, Morgana, who switches between looking worried for Mordred and viciously supportive of Merlin, Lancelot, who is in much the same boat as Morgana minus the vicious part with a lot more panic, and Gaius, who seems an odd mix of resigned, shocked, and fearful. Arthur notices once more that he doesn’t seem worried for Merlin’s safety.

When he looks back a second later, Merlin has a small smirk on his face, his stance loose and relaxed as he slowly pulls his hand from under his jacket, bringing another dagger from the back of his belt. The only one who has time to react before Merlin pounces is the sorcerer, who slowly nods with a sort of shocked respect, a small, impressed smile playing on his face.

The servant goes for the biggest man first, an unexpected move, though that’s probably the point. He’s fast, faster that they’ve ever seen him move before, and he dodges a clumsy, rushed axe-swing, bringing the dagger up under the attacker’s arm to puncture a whole deep in his chest, a rib or two below his heart. He falls quickly with a wheezed groan and Merlin quickly kicks the axe away from his clenching hands; his head perks up and he raises his arm again, but he’s too late. He spins around only to have his wrist be snapped back again by a strong punch; the dagger goes flying and he hisses harshly through his teeth. Everyone flinches—there’s no way that didn’t break—but Merlin doesn’t seem to pay it any attention, ignoring the rapidly growing purple bruise on his wrist in favour of whipping his other hand up, sidestepping another punch as he lands his fist once, twice, into the bandit’s throat. The edges of the metal slice the man’s skin slightly but it’s the crushed throat that is the real problem, and he quickly collapses under the weight of a sudden lack of oxygen.

Despite his continuing show of competence, Morgana still whispers a furious warning when she notices the bandit approaching Merlin’s back. He kicks out behind him instead of turning, successfully altering the path of a swung sword as his foot finds it’s target: the man’s knee. It cracks back with a sickening snap and an even more sickening yowl, but the man gets a lucky swing in, cutting the back of Merlin’s leg before the servant growls in annoyance and spins around. His metal fist smashes against his temple and he crumples, Merlin snagging the sword from his hand before he can fall all the way.

He adjusts his grip on the sword, his grimace at the pain in his wrist barely noticeable as he quickly dispatches two more men with the sword before dropping it. The penultimate man’s arm is broken with professional swiftness, and he’s pushed back before Merlin lands three well placed punches into the last man’s weak spots. Merlin takes his weapon and turns it against him before finally stopping, and taking a deep breath.

He doesn’t pay any attention to his surroundings quite yet, not even the unnerving silence of so many bodies not breathing distracts him from his goal.

The blood-spattered servant turns to the cowering, broken man as he backs himself against the wall, limp arm dragging uselessly on the floor. Merlin’s pace is purposeful, single-minded, and after a quick glance around the circle, the pale King becomes aware that he is likely not the only one with a nauseous dread rolling around in his stomach. They watch Merlin casually lift a hand, wiping blood from his cheek with a sleeve and looking at it briefly with a grimace before he comes to stand in front of the whimpering bandit. The scowl doesn’t leave the servant’s face as he pulls yet another dagger from the inside of his jacket and crouches down, moving his left foot forward to be pressed over the wrist of the broken arm.

The bandit whimpers and attempts to pull away, but only once before he bears his teeth in pain and groans at the jostling of his arm. He stills ever further, freezing completely when Merlin lifts the dagger and presses it to the stubbled skin of his throat, the back of his head pressed into the stone wall behind him. His eyes, wide and blood shot and desperately fearful, fix on Merlin’s annoyed face:

“Who- who the fuck are you??”

Arthur shuffles in his chair uncomfortably, but finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from he scene playing out in front of him. Everyone else is the same, bar Gaius, who seems... surprised of course, though more mournful than anything else, Mordred, who’s wheezing breaths are the only thing cracking through the otherwise silent hall, and the sorcerer, who has his ravenous smile fixed once more on Arthur.

Merlin’s tight, fake smile seems... real, all of a sudden; up until this point, Arthur had been at least semi-convinced that none of this was actually happening, that it was all some sick hallucination. But that smile, that stretch of Merlin’s lips in such a perverse, tired way... it matches the bags below his eyes, it matches his sunken-in cheeks and pale skin and resigned eyes. It matches much more than the goofy smiles he always seems to be wearing.

Arthur zones out for the rest of the conversation, his eyes still fixed on Merlin’s tense, bloody form, but his mind twisting and turning, wondering when Merlin had gotten so tired, when Merlin had learnt how to throw a punch, how to land a blade, how to snap a neck. Wondering why Merlin had learnt such things. 

Once upon a time—and it feels like it must’ve been years ago now, despite the fact that it was an issue not even several hours ago—Arthur had been jealous of the fact that Lancelot and Merlin were so close, but the horror and heartbreak in equal measure on the knight’s face tells Arthur that perhaps the two of them don’t know each other quite as well as the King had first thought. Or as well as Lancelot had first thought, by the looks of things.

He focuses back in when Gwen gives another loud yelp and Elyan, unfazeable Elyan, gasps. His mouth drops open and his eyes go wide as he sees Merlin stand up, completely ignoring the body now slumping to the floor, as he wipes the blade off on the inside of his jacket and pops it back into its pocket. 

Merlin had... he doesn’t think about it. He doesn’t want to think about it. The man was unarmed, likely asking for mercy, telling Merlin whatever he wanted to know, and Merlin had... No. He’s not thinking about it.

Arthur’s heart cracks a little when he sees the look on Merlin’s face. The servant moves to stand in the middle of the room, wearing an expression that speaks of grief and regret, but mostly just... resignation. Arthur wonders once more, like Leon had earlier, just how often Merlin does stuff like this. How often he has to. The tired man lets out a deep breath before clearing his face of all emotion and methodically picking through the bodies, collecting his daggers and wiping the blood off on their victim’s clothing, briefly checking for anything of interest in their pockets. When he finds nothing, he wanders cautiously over to the empty dungeons, and finding only one unlocked, enters, slowly.

When nothing happens, he picks up the lone piece of parchment on the floor, though the gang’s little viewing window focuses on Merlin’s confused frown, as opposed to whatever is on the sheet in his hands. He only has time to peruse it briefly before the sorcerer steps rather deliberately back into Arthur’s line of sight:

“Lets see how much he can figure out, hmm?”

He clicks his fingers, eyes flashing sluggishly gold barely a moment before Merlin’s head whips up, immediately making direct eye contact with The King. Arthur lets out a breath, but when Lancelot mutters Merlin’s name, the sorcerer snaps his fingers again, summoning a small, glowing blue light:

“Don’t you worry, this is what he’s seeing.”

They all glance at the light, seeming to deflate with both annoyance and relief at that fact that Merlin still doesn’t know they can see him. None of them analyse that relief too much as Merlin turns in a circle, eyes fixed on them, or... on the light. His face quickly morphs from surprise to simple curiosity, and Arthur wonders when Merlin had stopped being so scared of magic. The servant always seems so... skittish, nervous, frightful, whenever it gets bought up, and now he just looks... inquisitive. There’s no fear. He suddenly nods, the curiosity melting off of his face as small, deprecating smile makes a brief appearance:

“Ah. So you, whoever you are, have been watching me?-”

They see Merlin nod and they figure that the sorcerer must be making the light move somehow:

“-The whole time?-”

The light nods again, and Arthur risks a glimpse at the sorcerer, who is looking more and more tired as he waves his hand in time with the nods. The King takes note of the growing paleness of his face and offers a silent prayer to any God that might be listening that the sorcerer over works himself and passes out:

“-You have Arthur, and a few select members of his council, back in the Round Table Room?-”

The light nods yet again, and Arthur once more moves his focus from Merlin, this time to the other people sat around the table. Gwen looks to be in shock, and Arthur purses his lips slightly in worry at her wide eyes and shivering shoulders before moving his gaze to the physician. Gaius seems surprised still, but much more in his element now, analysing the magical window, and Merlin’s reactions and movements with a scholarly mask. Next, his gaze moves to Morgana, Morgana who is ignoring Merlin entirely, instead glaring at the sorcerer with a viciousness Arthur had only ever, very briefly, seen directed at Uther before; he knows the two of them had had their differences, but he momentarily wonders how she could hate the former King just as much as the man in front of them. Just a second later, her entire face softens and her shoulders lose their tension as she glances to Mordred; she bites her lip, a habit Arthur knows she  subconsciously performs only when she is incredibly nervous. Arthur follows her gaze, gulping in worry when he sees Mordred’s worsened state. 

M-word... magic, he forces himself to think, magic be damned. Mordred is dying, and Merlin, whatever he’s doing, needs to hurry the hell up.

He frowns for a few more moments before glancing around to the rest of the circle, making eye contact with each of his knights in turn and managing to convey without a word that now is the time to start thinking seriously about escaping.

The next time he looks towards Merlin’s window, he sees the servant stalking quickly back down the corridor he’d come through, tucking the paper into his pocket as he mutters the tail end of a dark promise:

“...I’ve got a hell of a lot more where that came from.”

~

Merlin reaches his horse quickly, running into no more trouble at all. He unties her with quick, practiced hands before grabbing a handful of things from the small travel bag she was wearing and mounting the saddle, the annoyed frown back on his face. He gently nudges her into a slow walk, not even picking up the reins and trusting her to know the way back; instead, he unwinds a set of bandages before wrapping his broken wrist, grimacing. 

Arthur marvels at his tolerance, taking note of he fact that the servant hadn’t even taken anything for the pain before he’d begun winding extremely tight strips of fabric around the broken limb. He lets out a few grunts of pain, though they seem to be more of annoyance at the inconvenience that at the actual pain of a broken bone. Next, he quickly wipes down the gash on his upper arm made from the arrow, haphazardly covering it with a thin layer of bandages and then the ripped sleeves of his tunic and jacket. If it weren’t for... well, everything, Arthur would be amused by the disapproving tut that Gaius gives under his breath.

Once he’s finished treating himself, or putting off proper treatment, Merlin does encourage the horse to speed up a little, but only a little. The frown doesn’t leave his face, but once everyone around the table comes to the same conclusion—that it would take him at least two hours to make the return journey—they look away from the window and look to each other instead.

The room sinks into an inky silence as the sun slowly lowers from the sky; maybe half an hour passes before anyone says anything, and it’s Gwaine, because of course it is. He looks a little sad, but Arthur understands that. He himself had never been particularly close with the man, no matter how much The King was secretly fond of the childish knight, but he knows that Gwaine considers Merlin his closest friend. Arthur would wager that he’s not the only one who can see through the cheerful façade, but he’s also not the only one to think to not mention it:

“Well... that was really... something.”

Percival lets out an almost humourless breath of laughter as he nods, but it’s Gwen, no longer as shaky and with a thoughtful frown on her face, who speaks next, her eyes on the table and her words coming slowly, as though she’s still considering them:

“Is it... bad? That I feel safer?-”

She looks up and lets out a deep breath, glancing at everyone in turn as she opens and closes her mouth a few times before continuing:

“-What I mean is... is that before I thought it was... sweet, and it made me feel just a little bit happier, when I knew Merlin was looking out for me, even though I knew that ultimately he couldn’t actually do anything to... protect me. But now...”

Her voice trails off, and whilst Elyan looks a little put off, Leon nods in understanding:

“We’re knights. We can do our best to protect you, but we’re not always here and we might not always understand, but Merlin... Merlin has much more opportunity to be there for you, to know what you need. To protect you.”

The group nods along, though the sorcerer is looking a little irate; likely he’s angry that this great revelation isn’t causing some sort of argument or sparking declarations of betrayal. He quickly smirks when he remembers that he has one more trick up his sleeve, though before he can step forward and gloat about some great secret, Arthur opens his mouth again, speaking softly:

“Something tells me he’s been protecting all of us. For a while. In... in more ways than one.”

He throws a glance Mordred’s way, but doesn’t let it linger too long, and no one, sorcerer included thankfully, catches it. Their captor stays back, watching them bicker in a manner that he feels is far too friendly for another hour or so as he concocts some sort of plan to force the servant to reveal his secret. Watch him continue to serve the Pendragon tyrant when he orders his execution.

It’s Lancelot, who has remained mysteriously quiet and extra fidgety throughout the entire day, that clears his throat and nods to the transparent window, where Merlin can be seen holding his jacket closed over his chest as he hands the horse’s reins over to a teenaged stable boy, a tired, but sweet smile on his face. The stablehand is obviously a little confused at the appearance of The King’s manservant from outside the city at such an odd hour—just as darkness descends—but he’s not curious enough, or perhaps brave enough, depending on whether he’d spied the dried blood on Merlin’s hands before he’d tucked them into his sleeves, to ask. Merlin quickly turns to the castle steps, taking them two at a time and somehow managing to make his harried, rushed steps seem casual and easy.

His face remains harsh and angry, though that disappears entirely every time he passes someone in the corridors. The castle is mostly empty: knights and off-the-clock guards have gone their separate ways from the citadel, servants are either seeing to their masters and mistresses or eating their own evening meals in the lower dining chambers, and the courtiers are... doing whatever it is they do when they’re not loitering around trying to catch the eye and ear of The King. Merlin still smiles cheerfully at every guard he does pass, receiving a returning grin from most of them, and a respectful nod at the least from the others.  Thankfully, the only servant he passes is George, who stops him with a soft hand on his shoulder and a raised eyebrow at the bloody rip on the sleeve of his jacket from the arrow wound. Merlin rolls his eyes at the unhidden concern, but his voice comes out softly:

“I’m fine, tripped is all, you know what I’m like.”

George hums, unconvinced but accepting, nodding in understanding and murmuring, almost to himself:

“Tripped, of course.-”

He lets Merlin go and the injured servant shoots him a tired smile, one that seems infinitely more real than the ones he’d sent to the guards, before nodding goodnight and continuing his journey. He halts and looks behind him however when George softly calls his name:

“-Merlin, if you require any... assistance, don’t hesitate to ask. Whether on your more... unorthodox chores, or simply so you can catch up on some sleep, you’ll call for me, won’t you?”

Everyone, bar Gwen of course, is abruptly reminded of the observational skills required to be an effective servant, and they wonder how many of the commoners who serve their drinks and turn down their beds and stoke their fires have seen blood on the manservant's hands. Merlin lets loose another tired smile and gives the other servant a short nod, though the others get the impression it’s more a nod of acknowledgement than acceptance.

Without waiting another second, George turns away and continues on his way, leaving Merlin to fall back into his harsh pace towards the Round Table Room, face back to being annoyed. It’s a jarring switch from one to the other, and though both seemed real, this tense, ready-for-a-fight demeanour is far more unsettling. Especially on their Merlin.

They stare in suspense when he finally stops outside of the door as he flexes the broken wrist with a grimace, his other, still metal-wrapped hand running quickly over is torso like it had all those hours ago, checking and re-checking for his weapons. The sorcerer smirks and steps forward as Merlin shuts his eyes tightly, taking deeper and deeper breaths, interrupting the gang’s baffled staring with quick, but quiet words

“He won’t be able to see, hear, or touch you. I wonder what he’ll-”

His question is interrupted as the window dissipates into nothing but smoke and the door bursts inwards, bouncing off the wall as Merlin practically falls into the room, a wild look on his flushed face:

“Arthur?!”

His eyes rapidly dart around the room, and as quickly as the panic had appeared, it’s gone again; in it’s place is the tense, calm, angry persona of before. Or, Arthur thinks, the truth under the persona. The servant shuts the door calmly before turning back to the sorcerer, and the look on his face, an expression that promises swift repercussions if told something it doesn’t want to hear, sends chills down everyone’s spine:

“Where are they?”

Considering how tired and lethargic the sorcerer seems, and what they had all just seen Merlin do, Arthur thinks the older man should be far more fearful than he is. Perhaps he is. Perhaps he’s just as good of an actor as Merlin is. The servant makes slow progress towards the table, casually unfolding the sheet of paper as the sorcerer responds, and everyone else strains their heads to be able to see the interaction properly:

“They’re hidden. I’ll tell you where, if you do something for me, Merlin. And if you don’t, I might tell your precious King your precious secret.”

Merlin breaks out his scarily good impression of Gaius in an act of... confidence, Arthur supposes. The King wonders if he’s the only one who sees the way his hand clenches slightly around the parchment:

“And what secret would that be?”

Arthur’s gaze is temporarily dragged back to the sickly knight opposite him as he shuffle sin his seat, pulling slightly towards Merlin as his head drops to his chest and he mutters:

“No... Em... no.”

His voice is so quiet Arthur barely hears it, but Morgana shoots him a look as she softly tells Mordred to calm down before looking tensely at the sorcerer as he waves his hands about vaguely:

“You really think I didn’t know?”

Gaius and Lancelot take in quiet gasps and Morgana mumbles a curse as Mordred struggles a little more, but Arthur pushes the M-word to the back of his mind as he re-concentrates on Merlin’s now blank face. Along with the M-word, he pushes away the guilt and fear (for Merlin’s safety, nothing else).

Merlin, after he unfreezes, nods slightly and continues on his journey towards the table, coming to stand between Lancelot and Gaius where he drops the paper onto the table. His steps are soft, quiet, and Arthur is once again reminded of how loudly the servant normally moves around the castle, how he can always hear his distinctive gait trailing behind him. He runs his hands along the back of an empty chair first, and then along the back of Lancelot’s chair as the knight struggles. He can feel Merlin’s fingertips brushing against his hair, but no matter how much the knight strains against his bonds and pushes his head back, Merlin doesn’t seem to notice.

His hand quickly jumps to the next chair, this one empty, and Lancelot harrumphs in annoyance as he twists in his seat to be able to see what’s going on next to him. They all stare in suspense as Merlin creeps closer and closer to the sorcerer, half curious about what he would do, and half panicking that the sorcerer was just waiting for him to get within reach.

Just before Merlin’s floating hand reaches the back of Mordred’s chair, his entire demeanour changes, like a spark suddenly lit up in his soul. His non-metal-covered hand quickly forms a fist as Merlin steps forward, swinging up harshly and catching the sorcerer on the cheek. He’s sprawled on the floor and groaning before anyone can even react to Merlin’s sudden anger. Or suddenly unhidden anger:

“I don’t like being lied to,-”

His voice is chilling, a quiet growl that doesn’t fit their Merlin at all, but fits this Merlin like a well tailored glove. The sorcerer scrambles back with half of his face cradled in his hand, the uncovered half split into a furious snarl. He quickly stands, but takes a step back when Merlin doesn’t stop his quick approach, not having time to even raise his hand in defence before Merlin is swiftly kicking him in the stomach:

“-I don’t like being manipulated,-”

The sorcerer goes flying with an abrupt yelp, sliding across the stone floors and barely lifting himself to dry heave from the blooming agony in his abdomen before Merlin is back again, dragging him to his feet by his collar. No one can tear their eyes away as their friend slams their captor into the wall. Arthur once again marvels at Merlin’s obvious skill; the punch, the kick, even the assault against the stone wall, had all been placed carefully and competently to avoid any severe damage:

“-and I sure as shit don’t like being threatened.-”

His voice is even lower, even quieter, but it echoes in the large chamber, and Elyan and Gwen are straining to be able to look behind them. The metal punch comes quickly, but it’s Merlin’s next words that shock everyone even more:

“-So. I’m going to ask one more time before I start breaking things. Where. Is. The King?”

The threat is... serious, and they all dread to think what Merlin would do if the sorcerer refuses:

“You’re... just a... servant. Who the... the fuck do you think-”

Fuck.

Merlin’s huff interrupts his insulting question, and he turns back towards the table, quickly shoving one of the empty chairs out of the way so he has room to move. The sorcerer is pinned face down on the table, his trembling legs just about brushing against Gwen’s skirts as Merlin pulls his arm back and pulls.

Gwen, Percival, and Gwaine—even from the other side of the table—all let out quiet yelps and look away on instinct, but their reactions, and everyone else’s gasps, are immediately drowned out by the sorcerer’s screaming. Merlin seems entirely unperturbed by the man’s pain, but does grimace and flinch his head away at the noise, as if the only thing that was bothering him was the shrill sound, and it was no more annoying than a fly buzzing around his head.

Elyan’s eyes are fixed on the clearly disformed bones beneath the sorcerer’s clothes:

“I can see it... sticking out. Fucking hell I think I’m going to-”

The knight turns away quickly, tightly clenching his teeth together as he gags; Morgana and Leon stare with a disgusted frowns, but everyone else has wide eyes and open mouths in their shock. Merlin waits until the screaming lowers to pathetic sounding whimpers before he speaks again, his face lowered to the side of the man’s bruised face and his voice floating through the room in that same chilling tone as before:

“I just dislocated your shoulder. That means that the only thing holding your arm to your body is muscle, tendons, flesh, skin, that kind of stuff. Soft stuff. Soft stuff that will start ripping if I pull.-”

Elyan’s clamped jaw somehow gets even tighter and Gwen lets out a high pitched squeal as the whimpers morph into an echoing screech. Arthur can do nothing but stare, grimacing briefly at the sound and a phantom pain in his own shoulder as Merlin glares at the back of the sorcerer’s head with a resigned venom:

“-Which is, as I think you’ve already figured out, more painful than the original dislocation. So. One more time. Where is The King?”

The screeching doesn’t really stop, and Gwaine mutters, though barely anyone hears him over the nameless enemy’s bawling:

“Not to be faint of heart but I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.”

Gaius, ever the physician, glances to the knight next to him, and is unsurprised by the sweaty brow and haggard pallor; he prepares himself to potentially have to deal with a concussion in case the knight faints and smacks his head off of the table. He has a feeling it’s less to do with the screeching and popping bones and blood, and more to do with the fact that Merlin is the cause of it all.

The noise only dies down when Merlin rolls his eyes and loosens his grip slightly. Apparently the servant knows what he’s doing, because even with the weight on his back lessened, the sorcerer makes no moves to try and escape, just presses his red face into the cold stone and whimpers:

“Hi-hidden, in... in the castle... please, I.... with magic. Please?!”

Gwen hums quietly to herself as she forces her gaze to stay on the throne as opposed to the man on the table next to her. The angle of Merlin’s head, the way he’s leaning over the sorcerer, if she concentrates... she can feel her fellow servant’s breath on her wrist, in the space between the end of her sleeve and the binding ropes. Mordred has passed out at this point, either that or he’s too exhausted to be able to even hold his head up, but everyone else’s gaze is focused on Merlin’s confused face. There is no regret, no remorse, just confusion, as if he’d misplaced his scarf and nothing more:

“In the castle? Why would you...? A problem for another time.-”

He pause sonly for a moment as he thinks, but the questioning expression on his face quickly morphs to a cruel sort of coldness as he looks back down to the quaking man:

“-You’re clearly not very strong, otherwise you would’ve fought back by now, which means you aren’t nearly powerful enough to be able to tether any sort of spell to an outside energy source... which means the spell is tied to you and your life source instead... which means...-”

Even Arthur pales at that, both at yet another implication that Merlin is somehow heavily knowledgeable on magic, and at the fact that... he knows what’s coming. He’s seen it before. Arthur isn’t sure he can watch, and when he sees Percival and Lancelot look away out of the corner of his eye, he knows they feel the same. The sorcerer begs, his voice is scratchy and rasping and desperate, but it doesn’t deter Merlin, just pulls a quiet apology from his lips as he forces his arms around his throat. The sight of a man fighting for his life, especially against Merlin, was something only Arthur and Morgana can bear to look at as, one by one, everyone turns away. To see someone struggle so furiously against an inevitable death, even if they deserve it, is not something to take lightly.

A crack echoes around the room, and everything goes briefly silent before a soft thump shortly follows.

They all turn back to see Merlin stood over the crumpled body of their captor, his hands on his hips and a forlorn look on his face. After a moment or two of quiet, a moment or two of waiting for Merlin to see them sat there staring, the servant sighs and bends over, hoisting the corpse onto his shoulder easily; Gwen gasps and leans back in her chair to stop a limp hand from smacking her in the shoulder as Merlin turns around. He walks purposefully to a dusty storage cupboard to the side of the room, struggling momentarily with something the gang can’t see before he gets the door open, allowing the sorcerer to slide off of his shoulder and fall to the floor before he locks the door again. 

He suddenly loses all of the tension in his body, leaning his forehead against the cool wood:

“Gods above, look what this bloody Kingdom has turned me into.-”

At the brokenness in his voice, Arthur’s mind is ripped from wondering what exactly Merlin had planned for the body; this man in front of them is not the same scarily professional killer from the last few hours, and is certainly not the cheerful man they’re used to. 

He feels guilty, and he’s not quite sure why just yet. When Merlin finally turns, leaning his whole weight on the door with tears in his eyes and a quiver in his bottom lip, The King thinks he might understand:

“-sixteen more people for destiny. I used to be a damn farmer.-”

Yes, he thinks. He understands.

Merlin clears his throat, blinks the tears from his eyes, wipes a hand over his face, and stands straight, clicking his knuckles briefly before nodding to himself and walking purposefully once more to the door. Lancelot frowns in confusion, his voice:

“Why can’t he see us yet? He should be able to-”

Merlin’s muttering interrupts him, and Arthur’s guilt comes back tenfold:

“-Time to find the prat and be yelled at for taking too long, I suppose.”

The King lets out a deep breath and slumps in his seat. How many times had this happened? How many times had Merlin gotten injured, put himself in unimaginable danger, forced his own morals and peace to take second place to Arthur’s safety? And how many of those times had Arthur yelled at him unknowingly?

As he opens the door, a shimmer of gold mist flows up from around them. It’s like a cover has been lifted form their eyes as they realise that everything else had seemed... muted, dull, until suddenly, it wasn’t anymore. Merlin’s got one foot in the corridor, but Arthur knows, he knows Merlin will hear it when he says his name:

“Merlin?”

The servant freezes where he stands, but Arthur can pinpoint he exact moment the truth comes crashing through his mind, simply from the twitch in his hand and the drop in his shoulders. He steps backwards into the room, quietly shutting the door before slowly swivelling on the spot. Arthur recoils at the mask Merlin had immediately put up; before he’d even turned around he had his face plastered in his normal look of naïve bewilderment. Only now can Arthur see the darkness in his eyes:

“I... don’t suppose you lot were tied up in a cellar somewhere and only appeared in this room... say... less than twenty seconds ago?”

Arthur shakes his head mutely, and is vaguely aware of the others doing the same, but the only thing he’s paying attention to is the way Merlin sighs, resigned and tired, as he leans back against the door with a hand over his face, attempting to rub away what The King is sure is a rather nasty headache.

A hidden ruthlessness indeed.

~

The End of Part 2!!

At LONG last!!! I’m so sorry it took this long lads, and I also apologise for any mistakes/typos, it’s so late and I’m so tired😅

this is finished, let know know what you think lads!!! I love y’all!!!!! :D

[burgundybmw]

Munson's Mixtape

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Cunningham!Reader

Word Count: 9,198

Warnings: Contains 18+ content (actual descriptive smut is at the end marked in between the *** so you can skip it, the beginning mentions sex and lingerie though), BDSM elements, use of handcuffs, Weed mention, tiny bit of angst (don't worry, happy ending), bullying, use of the word whore (in a bad way), use of the word whore (in a fun way), mild degradation,

Summary: Chrissy has been acting weird, and like a good big sister Y/N drives to Hawkins from Notre Dame to check in on her. Only to find out she has plans to meet up with Eddie Munson. Things take a turn for the worse and now Y/N gets wrapped in to the horrors of Hawkins. Hey, at least she has the company of the guitarist she was sweet on back in high school for comfort.

Author’s Note: Prom was a little self indulgent not gonna lie. Hope you guys enjoy!

Track Twenty Two

One thing Y/N missed about high school were the dances; buying a fancy dress, doing her hair, putting on extravagant jewelry she normally wouldn't wear. It was one of the highlights of her four years there. She thought the next time she'd be able to do something like that would be at someone's wedding, or even her own. Now, she was able to go to prom once again, and she wasn't about to let the opportunity go to waste.

She spent the week before June 7th hunting for the perfect ensemble for her to wear. Everything from the dress, shoes, and what she planned to wear underneath. Eddie was finally back on his feet. After weeks of healing and busting his ass in class, it was safe to say this would be his final year of high school. Y/N wanted this prom to be perfect, after everything they had been through they deserved the break.

Maya immediately jumped on the opportunity to meet Eddie when Y/N told her about him. Her roommate instantly got along with him the first time they met, they spent hours talking about DnD and movies they liked. Y/N knew introducing him to Maya first was the best way to go, they were both similar so she knew Eddie would be comfortable with her. She was excited to hear about them going to the prom together and Eddie was relieved that she didn't comment on how he was a third time senior. It was the perfect start to meeting Y/N's friends, and she hoped the rest would go as well.

Elton was the next person Eddie met, and that introduction didn't go exactly how Y/N had planned. Eddie was standing in front of his van smoking a cigarette, patiently waiting for her to come down and join him for his weekend visit. Elton was walking to his dorm when he saw him in the parking lot. He noticed the black bandana in his back pocket and was instantly intrigued. Elton spoke to Eddie for a bit, not exactly flirting, but tried to get the lay of the land before Y/N came down to great them. She introduced Eddie as her boyfriend and she swore Elton's eyes nearly popped out of his skull. He pulled her to the side, just out of ear shot from Eddie, and politely asked if she knew her boyfriend was flagging. Y/N had no idea what any of that meant, so Elton went into heavy detail of the practice. She knew he was looking out for her, but she could barely contain her giggles when she realized Elton was trying to tell her he thought her boyfriend was gay.

Eddie had overheard bits and pieces of the conversation and decided to take it upon himself to clear up the confusion. He said it was multipurpose, that yes the bandana meant what Elton thought it did, but it was also popular amongst the metal scene. Y/N teased him a bit for advertising that when he had a girlfriend, she didn't mean anything by it, but Eddie immediately pulled it out and spewed apology after apology. He said Y/N was the love of his life, that he didn't want anyone else but her, that it was a force of habit after years of doing it. She just silently took the bandana out of his hand and put it back in his pocket, even copped a feel for a moment, before telling him it didn't bother her. After Eddie had left that day, Elton stopped by her dorm and begged her to spill the all the details of their relationship. He was curious to know if she had the full experience that came with the black bandana, and when she honestly answered no, all he had to say was:

"You're really missin' out sweetpea, it's Earth shattering"

That conversation stayed with Y/N the weeks leading up to prom. Eddie was always so sweet to her, but deep down she knew she wanted to see the other side of him. She wanted to know the Eddie who had multiple pairs of handcuffs on his wall. That's why only two days before prom, she dragged her friends to visit an adult store a few miles outside campus. Y/N had never set foot in a place like it, lingerie and toys scattered throughout the shop. It was a bit overwhelming at first, but the staff proved to be very helpful. Y/N walked outside the doors, a large black bag in hand, with her gaggle of friends giggling over her plan of action. She just hoped she wouldn't embarrass herself with all of the effort she made, it would really put a damper on prom night.

The day of the prom Y/N, Robin, and Nancy all decided to get ready at the Cunningham house. There was no risk of interruption from nosy siblings and parents, so it seemed like the ideal place. The boys were getting ready at Steve's, planning on meeting up with them when they were all done. Nancy was thrilled Jonathan was back from California for the prom, and Robin decided to take Steve as her platonic date. It was all going well until Y/N realized she couldn't figure out what to do with the lingerie she bought, it looked a lot less complicated on the mannequin. She had spent the better part of half an hour fighting with it before she gave up and decided to ask for assistance.

"Robin? Nancy? I'm gonna need a little help over here" Y/N put her robe back on, hair and makeup already done, when both girls entered the bathroom.

Nancy was dressed in a voluminous purple tea length dress, something straight out of a John Hughes movie. While Robin was wearing sequin gunmetal jumpsuit that she stole from the back of her mom's closet. Y/N was clutching the undergarment, could barely make eye contact with them when they walked in.

"What's that?" Robin asked, pointing to the black fabric in her hand.

"The thing I need help with... I uh, bought some lingerie and can't figure out how it all works..." Y/N stammered out. Nancy reached out to grab the negligee and held up the mess of lace and ties.

"I think it would be best if we laid it on the floor piece by piece and see how it all fits together" Nancy got started on the puzzle of fabric, carefully untangling it all.

"Big plans for prom night huh?" Robin chuckled, her cheeks red from second hand embarrassment.

"You could say that" Both girls waited as Nancy laid out all the parts. The dress she had planned to wear revealed most of her back, so the only coverage she had for her breasts were black pasties with small tassels. There was a black garter belt that held up the mesh stockings. The trickiest part was the underwear itself, a mess of sheer lace and string.

"I think I understand what you were confused about, the underwear has a hole in it"

"Ugh that sucks, probably can't return it" Robin hummed, pointedly avoiding looking at the undergarments on the floor.

"That's not what I meant, they're designed that way for, um, easy access I think" Nancy stammered, dusting off her dress as she rose from the floor. Y/N looked at all the pieces, finally sure how to put them all on.

"Thank you Nance, I uh, can take it from here" Both girls nodded and left the bathroom to give her some privacy. Y/N started with the pasties first, the black tassels dangling from her nipples. Next came the underwear, carefully stepping in the designated holes for her legs. The garter belt and stockings were easy enough to figure out. The smooth satin felt nice on her skin, a far cry from the cotton or spandex she normally put on. The final leg garter garnished with a small metal heart completed the whole ensemble. Once she was done, Y/N looked at her reflection in the mirror, shocked to see her appearance.

She looked like one of the girls she saw once in Matthew's Playboy, sultry and alluring. Not once in her life had Y/N felt this seductive, a woman who knew what she desired. She relished in the feeling, excitement and want overflowing inside of her. As exhilarated as she was for the prom itself, she was looking forward to prom night a bit more. She couldn't wait to see the look on Eddie's face when he saw what was underneath her dress, and hoped he'd be willing to use the rest of the treasures she had in her little black bag.

Eddie pulled up to the Cunningham house a near nervous wreck. Jonathan and Steve sat in the back seats, splitting the joint he rolled earlier, completely oblivious to his inner turmoil. Steve had bullied him into wearing the monkey suit, the thin black tie felt more like a noose than anything. He didn't know why he was so nervous, something about the prom had him on edge. There were always expectations about the prom, doing the most to make it a night to remember. Eddie knew how excited Y/N was, and he didn't want to disappoint her, especially with everything going on lately.

"Are we just gonna sit here all night or are we going inside Munson?" Steve asked, snuffing out the joint in the cupholder ashtray.

"Yea, just uh, give me a minute man" Eddie didn't see Steve shoot Jonathan a look to give the two of them some privacy, all he heard was the opening and closing of the van's door before Steve crawled over to the passenger seat.

"Okay, what's up with you? And before you deny it, I already know something's wrong. So just spit it out"

Eddie took a moment to gather his wits, think over what he wanted to say. There were a lot of different thoughts racing together in his mind, most of which involved why he was hesitant to leave the comfort of his van. He sighed to himself, sinking into the well warn seat, then proceeded to spill his metaphorical guts out to Steve.

"Listen man, I have't said any of this to Y/N but... ever since spring break everyone has been treating me like more of a freak than usual. Not all of them are convinced of my innocence and I just want this night to go well. I don't want her to see any of that shit"

He was used to the comments people said behind his back, the rude stares as he walked the halls, all of that was normal. He didn't care about that. The day Eddie entered Hawkins High after his stint in the hospital, he was met with a vandalized locker and plenty of vicious notes passed his way. He got cornered in the bathroom by some guys on the basketball team a few of times; he always left with bruises on his skin. Eddie never fought back, didn't want to risk getting kicked out of school after working so hard to graduate. He kept it hidden from everyone in Hellfire, the only person that knew was Gareth and that was only because he walked into the men's room at the wrong time. He swore to keep Eddie's secret, much to his disapproval. The whole thing was kept under wraps, he didn't want Y/N to worry about him. She was busy with college, cheerleading, and taking care of him while he was healing. The last thing he wanted to do was burden her with more shit.

"Why didn't you say anything man?" Steve asked quietly. After Vecna's defeat, Steve and Eddie grew closer as friends. Steve thought it was nice to have friends his own age, and they had more in common than he originally thought. Shit parents, big brother figures to Dustin, dealing with inter-dimensional monsters once a year. Steve loved hanging out with Robin, she was still his best friend, but it was nice to hang out with another guy.

"What was I supposed to say? I'm getting bullied by a bunch of snot nosed teenagers? My ego can only take so much dude"

"Well, you'll have all of us there tonight. We'll make sure nothing goes wrong for your big night. Just have fun with Y/N, try not to worry about anything else" Steve put a reassuring hand on Eddie's shoulder, patting it twice before leaving the van. "Take your time man, meet you inside"

Eddie watched as Steve walked to the front door of the Cunningham house, the corsage of white rose and baby's breath felt heavy on his lap. Steve was right, he shouldn't worry about what if's. He should just enjoy the night with his girl, think about the rest later.

With a deep breath, Eddie finally left the front seat of his van. Each step to the Cunningham house felt like a mile, but he made the trek anyway. He was about to knock on the front door when it suddenly opened up, Y/N's smiling face the first thing he saw.

"What took you so long Eds?"

He felt as if all the air instantly evacuated his lungs. Y/N was wearing a full maroon velvet dress that hugged her frame, long sleeves with that came to a point on each shoulder. She had a pearl necklace worn against her neck, the ends draping to where Eddie couldn't see. Most of her skin was covered, but he noticed a slight bump in the fabric on her chest. His imagination ran wild.

"Shit sweetheart, giving Princess Di a run for her money" Eddie watched her duck her head, a shy smile gracing her painted lips. He was in awe of her, all of his previous paranoia washed clean. Tonight would certainly be a night to remember, the night Y/N Cunningham nearly made his heart stop a second time.

"Always the charmer Eddie. Now come on, Jonathan's taking pictures" He watched her turn around to reveal a deep v on the back of her dress, the rest of the pearl necklace wrapped in a knot down her spine. There was a bow resting right underneath the curve of her ass, like a missile target made for Eddie's eyes. As she walked, he noticed a small line of black lace creep up from underneath the velvet fabric. He had half a mind to abandon the prom all together and drag Y/N upstairs, just to see what secrets laid underneath. It would only be a few hours, Eddie reminded himself, good things happen to boys who wait.

The prom theme this year was Walking Through The Underworld, something Y/N, Eddie, Robin, Steve, Nancy, and Jonathan thought was in poor taste. There were streaks of fabric shooting up industrial fans to look like flames, red glitter sound boards plastered on the walls. The art department crafted styrofoam rocks to look like they were covered in lava, and there were red pitchforks scattered throughout the gymnasium. It looked closer to Hell than the greek mythos.

"And they call me the Devil worshipper, Satanic Panic my ass" Eddie mumbled under his breath. Y/N couldn't help but agree, it was all a bit tone deaf.

"Whatever, let's ignore them and have a good time. I'm gonna get something to drink and head to the dance floor" Nancy remarked as she walked towards the table marked Pomegranate Punch, the only thing on theme, Jonathan quickly shuffling behind her.

"Yea, what Nancy said" Robin began, "Steve, let's go take some pictures. But I wanna be the one behind you instead of the other way around, it'll be hilarious" Steve nodded and followed Robin's lead, but turned around to say one last thing to Eddie.

"Find me if you run into trouble, we'll be back soon!"

Y/N didn't know what Steve meant by that, it was the prom, not the Upside Down. She looked up to ask Eddie what he thought, but paused when she saw his eyes rapidly searching the room. He looked nervous, uptight, nothing like the laid back man she knew.

"Hey," Y/N whispered gently as she wrapped her arm around his, "you okay baby?"

Eddie was trying to hold it together, but he had a sinking suspicion that something bad was about to happen. For weeks he'd been getting notes in his locker saying he belonged in Hell and this whole thing seemed too on the nose. He knew he had to calm himself down, didn't want Y/N to worry about him. Eddie repeated the words Steve said earlier in his head, that he should just have fun with Y/N tonight. He turned his head to look at the girl on his arm, her eyes glistening under the red tinted lights of the gym. She looked sublime, completely out of his league. It was comforting knowing she was there. If he could handle getting attacked by demon bats, he knew he could survive a hellish prom.

"All good sweetheart, just taking it all in" Y/N looked like she accepted his answer, and gently navigated their way to the dance floor. The DJ was playing 'Highway to Hell', mobs of students dancing around them. At least the music is decent, Eddie thought to himself.

The first couple hours of the prom went off without any issue, and Eddie thought he might have overreacted with his fears. Nobody came up to them, or said anything either. Everybody pretty much avoided him and Y/N as they drank shitty punch, took pictures, and danced together, which is exactly how he wanted it. Y/N was having a blast, twirling around in her red velvet dress, and Eddie allowed himself to put his guard down. Steve, Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan found them quickly after they initially separated, Jeff and Gareth showed up eventually too. It was all turning out to be an excellent night.

The music varied between songs that fit the themed and top 40 pop songs. Crazy For You by Madonna was currently playing, Y/N had her arms wrapped around Eddie's neck as they slow danced. Some of her mascara had flaked to her cheek as the night went on and he didn't hesitate to brush it off, feeling the soft touch of her skin. She gently pulled Eddie down to rest her forehead against his, longing to be closer to him. Despite the fire and brimstone around them, he felt at peace.

"I'm really glad you asked me to the prom Eddie, I'm having a great time" Y/N whispered against his lips.

"Same here sweetheart, there's no one else I'd rather be here with"

"I'm excited for after prom too, I have a surprise for you" Eddie instantly perked up at that. Her chest was pressed tightly against his and he could feel something other than skin move against him. He didn't want to assume anything, but he had some ideas of what could be under all of that velvet. He was itching to find out.

"Oh yea? What do you have in store for me this evening my lady?" Y/N giggled to herself, like she was keeping some dark dirty secret.

"I'll give you a hint," Y/N began, voice dripping with bewitching hunger, "I went to this store by Notre Dame called Erotic Pleasures, had myself a bit of a shopping spree"

Eddie felt his blood rush down south, mouth watering at Y/N's choice words. He knew what kind of things a place called Erotic Pleasures sold, he frequently ventured to stores like that himself. He tried to imagine Y/N walking in there, surrounded by leather, latex, and lace, perusing the shelves filled with depraved paraphernalia. The thought never occurred to him that she would be interested in things of that nature, let alone that she would take the initiative herself

They've had sex with each other, the concept still mind blowing to him even after all these weeks since they started, but he never ventured beyond the realm of what was considered normal. Eddie didn't want to freak her out, would be mortified if he made her uncomfortable. That didn't stop him from thinking about it, alone, at night, with just his imagination and right hand to keep him company. He would imagine her cuffed to the bed, mascara stains running down her eyes from how good she felt. She would have love bites painted across her neck, chest, stomach, and thighs, any place he was allowed to mark her, claim her. He'd picture her in a hundred and one different positions, screaming, crying, begging for more. Eddie fantasized using the suspicious neck massager he found when he helped pack her stuff as the spring semester came to a close. He thought of it all, but kept it hidden under lock and key, until now.

"Y/N, baby, sweetheart, you can't be putting ideas in my head. A man can only take so much" Eddie groaned, seriously contemplating ditching everyone to have his way with her.

"I want you to think about it though. I'm interested in finding out what you come up with in that creative head of yours... You'll come up with something good, won't you Eddie?" her voice was saccharine, so sickly sweet it made his heart pound.

"I'm sure I can come up with something" he had enough ideas to fill out a multi volume encyclopedia, it was determining what to start with that had Eddie's brain running a mile a minute.

"See that you do" Y/N pressed a kiss to his lips, biting his bottom lip as she pulled back. He was to pull her in for more when the sound of microphone reverb halted him in his tracks.

"Hello everyone! Thank you all for coming to Hawkins High Prom circa 1986!" announced Jessica Chambers, student body president, to the crowd. "I hope all of you are having fun circling around the Underworld, but it's time to announce this years Prom Court!"

Cheers and shouts erupted throughout the gym, everyone filled with anticipation on who was going to be in this year's court. Eddie thought the whole practice was asinine, a bunch of air heads grandstanding in their own popularity, but it was the annual curse of every school prom, so he'd have to suck it up before he got to claim his real prize. The crowning of Prom King and Queen was one of the last events of prom, only a few more songs before it was over. He could make it.

"Who do you think is gonna win this year?" Robin snorted through her punch glass.

"I don't know, the ballot process was different this year. The final vote was all write in instead of electing someone from a list. Only Student Council got to see the votes" Nancy replied. Eddie didn't bother with voting, couldn't care less about who won the janky metal crown.

"Gotta love American democracy" Jonathan said, oozing with sarcasm.

"Come on guys, it's the prom court! It's supposed to be fun!" They all shot Steve an unimpressed look, not surprised he would be the one into the charade.

"I still have my tiara from when I won senior year, it's on my bookshelf" Eddie had forgotten that Y/N had earned the title her senior year, and he felt a bit smug taking a former Prom Queen as his date. Although he'd never admit it out loud.

"I think we should head out after they crown Hawkins High royalty. The dog and pony show is a bit conceited for my taste" Y/N elbowed Eddie in the ribs for his comment, but her subtle laughter gave away she wasn't actually annoyed by it.

"Okay everyone! Listen up! We have the names for this years Prom court!" Jessica began, her high pitched squeal bleeding through the microphone. "First we will announce Prom Prince and Princess, and then we will crown the King and Queen!"

Jessica ushered the other members of student council onto the stage, each with a crown or tiara of varying extravagance in their hands. She opened up the first envelope of two, and began reading the names.

"This years Prom Prince and Princess are... Andy Johnson and Sarah Fisher! Congratulations you two, come on up!"

Eddie audibly groaned at the news, of course Andy got a title. It wasn't like he should be rotting in a jail cell for assaulting Y/N and Erica or anything. Y/N and both Sinclair siblings agreed not to pursue any legal action against the basketball players, afraid that the police would get more involved in what actually happened over spring break. It rubbed Eddie the wrong way, knowing those assholes got away with hurting people he cared about. He wanted to say screw the rest of prom more than ever, and get on with screwing the girl on his arm instead.

"Now, what you've all been waiting for, this year's Prom King and Queen!" The cheers were getting louder, it made Eddie nearly sick to his stomach.

"Normally, I would announce the title the same way we've done every year, but this year is a little bit different..." Hushed whispers replaced the cheers, everyone curious to what the student body president had planned. "I'd like to hand the microphone to our Vice President Chance, he was the one who came up with the idea!"

The dread Eddie felt earlier came back in full force. Two members of Jason's posse stood on stage with wicked smirks on their faces, clearly pleased with themselves. Although Jason's soul was resting in whatever place it deserved to go, the lasting legacy of his evangelical paranoia held true in Andy and Chance. It wasn't something Eddie looked forward to finding out.

"Thank you Jessica," Chance began, voice pompous and snarky, "I don't have to be the one to tell you that this year was rough for Hawkins. We lost a lot of people we loved to the fire at Starcourt and again during the earthquake in March. We wanted to honor one of the souls we lost and give her the title posthumously, something we all wish she could have enjoyed herself. This years Prom Queen is... Miss. Chrissy Cunningham!"

Eddie whipped his head to look at Y/N, her eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears. In the corner of his eye, he could see a large banner with Chrissy's face on it, forever young and lively with a large smile on her face. He could feel the bile rise in his throat, his palms clammy from nerves. If anybody else had come up with idea Eddie would have acknowledged the bittersweet sentiment, but deep down he knew Chance and Andy were up to something. He went to lead Y/N out of the gym when Chance opened up his big mouth once again.

"Fortunately for us, there is somebody here who can accept the crown in her stead. Prom Queen circa 1984, Y/N Cunningham!"

The crowd was cheering, completely oblivious to how much this was hurting her. Y/N was a smart girl, he was sure she could put two and two together. She went to step towards the stage before Eddie grabbed arm, keeping her still and safely away from the tiger's den.

"You don't have to do this, sweetheart. Whatever bullshit Chance is up to you don't deserve it" Y/N sighed and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, a small attempt to ease the man beside her.

"Whatever plan he has up his sleeve I'll handle it. There's nothing worse he could do than what I went through in March. I promise I'll be fine" Eddie reluctantly let her go. He trusted her judgment, but he desperately wanted to spare her from whatever pain Chance and Andy wished to unleash upon her.

"There she is! Took your time didn't ya?" Chance asserted with false sincerity. Y/N walked up that stage with her head held high, not an ounce of fear on her face. She accepted the crown with grace, but Eddie didn't miss the subtle glance to the ceiling above her. He saw her relax her shoulders, relief flooding through him. Throughout the facade, he couldn't help but fear there was a large bucket of pigs blood waiting to be spilled onto the stage. Chance was just unoriginal enough to plagiarize Stephen King.

"We can't have our Prom Queen without her King can't we? Can I get a drum roll please?" The cinematic drums that played throughout the gym felt more like they were preparing for war rather than applause. Eddie looked towards the rest of his friends, all of them wearing the same grim look on their faces. Steve looked half ready to sprint towards the stage a moment's notice, Nancy not far behind. Robin was scanning around the room, trying to piece together what they had planned. Eddie didn't know Jonathan very well, but he could tell he was just as jumpy as the rest of them. The seconds felt like hours as they waited with bated breath for Chance to announce the winner.

"This year's Prom King is... Eddie Munson!"

Y/N's eyes widened with shock, her blood red lips pulled into a line across her face. Eddie was frozen to the spot, unsure if he heard the announcement correctly. There was no possible way that he-

"Come on up Eddie, your crown awaits you!"

Each step felt like lead as he walked towards the stage. Eddie briefly considered the idea that going against the demobats would be better than embarrassing himself in front of Y/N. He never took his eyes off her as he made his way beside her, both of them fully aware that none of this was honest.

Jessica gently placed the crown on his head, the metal brim pushing down on the bangs he recently trimmed. Y/N wrapped her arm around his, her nails digging into the fabric of his jacket in a vice grip. Eddie ignored the hollering of the student body below him, focusing all of his energy on studying Y/N's face. The worried look was replaced with raw determination, the same look she had when she kissed him for the first time. In that moment, he didn't care what was about to happen next, as long as she kept looking at him like that.

"I now pronounce to you all... The King and Queen of Hell! How lucky we all to have the Devil worshipper himself alongside the whore of Babylon! Congratulations you two, there's no one else here who deserves it most!"

The gym exploded with boorish laughter. Eddie closed his eyes, fighting every instinct in his body to knock Chance's teeth in. It was one thing to put on this act to humiliate him, it was another to drag Y/N down too. He was trapped, stuck between a rock and a hard place. If he let go of his carefully controlled fury, it would get him expelled in a second. If he did nothing, he'd let Chance, Andy, and everyone else who was a part of this sick plot get away with slandering the woman he loved. He was made the fool, the freak, either way. No matter what way he looked at it, he was the loser.

"Eddie, look at me" Y/N whispered, her delicate hand holding his chin. After a few seconds he finally gathered the strength to open his eyes and was met Y/N's piercing gaze. She didn't look upset or embarrassed, not an ounce of outrage on her face. No, instead she looked autocratic, as unshaken as legitimate nobility. He hadn't seen this righteous look since they were both in high school. It was extraordinary.

"Own it"

Two simple words and yet they made everything crystal clear. Eddie had briefly forgotten himself, forgot how he would normally handle situations like this. He was so focused on staying out of trouble, keeping his nose clean to crawl his way to graduation, that he nearly lost a sense of who he was. Eddie used to wear his title of freak with pride, didn't let any of their bullshit get to him, and he wasn't about to start now. He flourished under the spotlight, and if Chance and Andy wanted him to make a scene, he'd give them the whole fuckin' rock show.

"Of course sweetheart, you know me" Eddie replied, a wolfish grin on his face. He leaned over and ripped the mic right out of Chance's grimy hands, giving him a grandiose bow in return.

"Thank you, thank you, one and all, for this monumental epithet you bestowed upon me" Eddie boomed through the microphone, "It is truly an honor to be crowned King of Hell, I shall wear the title with pride. Years from now, my lovely lady and I will look back at this moment fondly. For it was the day that I, Eddie Munson, won Prom King over every other eligible guy at Hawkins High. I have no doubts all of you will remember it too. Every time you open up your yearbooks, basking in the nostalgia of when you peaked at the tender age of 18, you will see my face on a full page spread. I hope you savor it. May it be a pleasant distraction from how miserable most of you will be, full knowing that this right here is the end of your golden years..." Eddie graciously handed the mic back to Chance, before turning around and placing a sloppy kiss to Y/N's face.

"Alright Mr. Munson, I think you proved your point" Principal Coleman said with mild disdain. Eddie pulled himself away from Y/N, proud to see her blood red lips smudged and wet. He wiped the excess of his mouth before turning back to the crowd, a dazzling smile on his face.

"Thanks again everyone, hope you enjoyed the show!"

***

Y/N pounced on Eddie the second they walked through the threshold of the house. She slammed his body against the old wooden door, crushing their lips together in a heated kiss. She was pulling at his hair underneath the cheap metal crown, rubbing herself against him.

"You looked so fucking hot Eddie, I swear to God I wanted to tear your clothes off right there on that stage" Y/N keened as she shrugged the jacket off his shoulders. "I want you so bad I think I'm gonna burst if you don't touch me in the next 5 minutes"

He had never seen Y/N like this before, nearly primal with need. She shoved her tongue into his mouth, moaning and gasping with each touch of their lips. Eddie slowly lifted the skirt of her dress, relishing the heat of her skin against the soft mesh of her stockings. He gripped the underside of her thighs and lifted them up wrap around his waist. He swore he'd never been this hard in his life as he carried Y/N up the stairs to their bedroom, her hips grinding against his aching cock.

Eddie kicked the bedroom door open, the sound of wood smacking against the wall fell on deaf ears as he rushed towards the mattress. They both fell onto the soft Egyptian cotton comforter with wandering hands and needy breaths. Y/N flipped Eddie over to straddle him, her fingers clumsily undoing the knot on his tie.

"I want you to fuck me how you want to Eddie. I know you've been desperate for it since the Doctor gave you the go ahead. I don't want sweet, I don't want nice, I don't want you to make love to me. I want you to go inside that little black bag next to the nightstand, take the leather cuffs I bought, bind my wrists together and fuck me into the mattress. You know me so well by now Eddie, you know what makes me claw my nails down your back. I want you to do that now. I want you to make me cry, make me scream your name so loud it wakes up the neighbors. Please Eddie, I want it so bad it hurts" Y/N went to kiss him again, but he denied her the pleasure. He flipped her onto her stomach, pinned her wrists above her head with his hand as he made his decent down her back, placing sloppy wet kisses on each vertebrae of her spine.

"Holy shit you've got a filthy mouth on you" Eddie groaned, unzipping the back of her dress with his teeth. "I've always wanted to do this, shit, for fuckin' years now. Can't believe you're letting me sweetheart, I promise I'll make it good for you"

Eddie flipped Y/N on her back, slowly pulling the red velvet dress down her skin. His eyes threatened to pop out of his skull when he saw the little black tassels on her nipples. Every inch revealed more of the racy lingerie she wore, and Eddie could feel his cock leaking in his boxers shorts. The black garter belt hugged her waist like it was tailored made for her, the lacy crotchless panties did nothing to hide how wet she was, her skin glistening with slick. What nearly undid him completely was the small black leg garter, a simple garment with a little silver heart. It was the words that were engraved onto the metal that ripped a groan out of his throat, in pretty cursive letters it read Property of Eddie Munson.

"Marry me" Eddie whispered against the lips of her throbbing pussy.

"Ask me again in a year" Y/N replied, shoving his head between her thighs.

Eddie sucked, licked, ate her out like it was the last time he ever would. He swirled his tongue against her clit, moaning as Y/N grinded her hips against his mouth. She was pulling at his hair, needy whines escaping her lips with every flick against her clit. Strands of dark curly hair stuck against his face, crowding his sight as he tried to watch her from his spot between her legs. Eddie reached up to grab the garter from her thigh, the smooth elastic had no resistance against her mesh stockings as he pulled it off. With as much grace as he could muster, careful not to disrupt the rhythm of his tongue, he pulled his hair back in a low bun, tying it off with the black satin band. It took a few loops, but it got the job done. View unobstructed, Eddie plunged two fingers inside, earning a loud wanton moan as he sunk deeper into her pussy.

"Eddie! Oh God, don't stop!" Y/N's back was arched like a bow, ready to snap at any moment. Her orgasm was rapidly approaching, every brush of Eddie's fingers against that bundle of nerves inside her brought her closer to the edge. He kept his rapid pace, brutally fucking her with his fingers. She was squeezing his head between her thighs, pulling him closer to her, desperate to cum.

Eddie molded his lips against her pussy, creating a tight vacuum as he sucked her clit. It was the final touch she needed to push her over the edge, her orgasm rushing over her.

"Yes, yes, yes, oh fuck Eddie, oh fuck, I'm cumming!" Y/N screamed as she held on to his hair for dear life. Waves of pleasure consuming her whole. Eddie didn't stop sucking at her clit until she begged him to stop, with a gentle pop he unleashed the pressure, wiping his mouth off on her mesh wrapped thigh.

"First one's free, next one you have to earn" Eddie commanded as he pressed his lips against hers. She could taste herself on his tongue as he kissed her, molten need filling every inch of her body. It wasn't enough, she wanted more of him.

"Please Eddie, fuck, please!" Y/N didn't know what she was begging for, could barely think as Eddie sucked deep purple marks on her chest. She could feel him chuckle against her skin, before he rose to his forearms, eye level with her once again.

"I will sweetheart, don't worry. A few ground rules first," Eddie began as he placed gentle kisses on her face, "We're gonna need a safe word. Once you say it everything stops okay?"

"But I don't want you to stop" Y/N whined.

"Baby, we haven't even gotten started. You gotta listen to me or I'll stop right now"

Y/N shut her mouth, eyes wide and frantic. That was the last thing she wanted. She'd do whatever he asked, as long as he kept touching her.

"Good girl. Now, how about we use the color system okay? It's easy to remember, you can use it at anytime" Eddie was kissing her neck, gently nibbling on the delicate skin.

"Green means everything is good, we can keep going as is..." A gentle kiss to her collarbone.

"Yellow means pause, I check in with you, or you check in with me, and see if there's anything wrong. It's not a full stop, just a quick break" Eddie sucked another mark on her skin, sensing the wanton moans Y/N that vibrated out her throat.

"Red is full stop. We immediately halt everything we're doing, undo any bondage gear, stop any toys in use, pull out, and move straight to aftercare. Like I said, you can use it at anytime, and so can I" Eddie bit down on her neck just hard enough not to break the skin. Y/N could feel her pussy ache with every word, every touch that he gave her. She nodded her head, desperate to get going.

"Come on sweetheart, you know better. Use your words, I love the sound of your voice, don't deny me the pleasure of hearing it"

"Yes Eddie, Jesus fuck. Green good, yellow pause, red stop. I got it, now get a move on!" Y/N demanded, shoving her hips up against his. She loved the breathless moan he let out, she wanted to hear it again.

"So bossy. I'm only gonna let it slide this time baby since it's our first time trying this, next time I won't be so nice"

Eddie pulled himself off of her, ignoring the whine of protest she let out. He reached for the black bag and dumped its contents onto the bedroom floor. There was a pair of black leather handcuffs, a box of condoms, and a small bottle of lube, all things he was familiar with. What did surprise him a bit was black leather collar, a large ring at the very front, the silk blind fold, and a note that said her neck massager was in the drawer of the nightstand. He put the blind fold away, too desperate to see the look in Y/N's eyes as he fucked her, but grabbed the rest of the items and made his way back to the bed.

Y/N was laying down, her wrists above her head against the wooden poles of the bed frame. She was a fucking natural.

"What a picture you are sweetheart, wish I had a camera"

"Ask Jonathan to borrow his next time. I'll let you take pictures of me however you want"

"You really shouldn't give me all this power Y/N, it's gonna go straight to my head" Eddie groaned as he fastened the cuffs around her wrists, making sure they were secure against the bed frame.

"Which head?" Eddie lightly smacked the inside of her thigh, it was a warning.

"Watch that mouth of your sweetheart, it'll get you into trouble if you keep it up"

Y/N desperately wanted to push him, see how far she could go. The touch of leather that bound her wrists made her feel cocky, she knew the effect it had on Eddie, he was practically eating out of the palm of her hand. She held herself back though, filing that thought away the next time they did this, when he wouldn't be so nice.

She watched Eddie open the condom wrapper open with his teeth, then slowly sliding the rubber onto his hard cock. He poured some lube in his hand, gently rubbing it around himself. Soft groans escaped his lips when he made contact, careful not to finish before they even started. Y/N's wand massager was already plugged into the wall, Eddie gently placed it beside her head, a reminder to what will come.

"What's your color Y/N?"

"Green"

"Good" Eddie replied before shoving his cock halfway inside her, gasping with how tightly she squeezed him. He hooked both of his arms around her thighs, keeping her legs spread wide open as he inched his way in. Y/N whimpered when Eddie finally bottomed out, wiggled her hips as much as she could within his iron grip. He just held her there, fully sheathed, waiting. For what, she didn't know, it was testing her patience.

"Eddie move! Hurry up!" she sounded so whiny, needy and desperate for his touch. Her head was thrown back into the pillows, the purple marks Eddie left on full display, he still didn't move.

"Gotta ask nicely Princess, only good girls get rewarded. Gonna be my good girl? Or are you gonna keep acting like a spoiled brat?" Eddie was taunting her. Molten heat spread throughout her body, he never talked like this before in bed. He was always so careful with her, and as much as she loved it, she couldn't deny how this side of Eddie had her reeling.

"I'll be good for you, I promise" Y/N pleaded, eyes wide and glassy. She hoped it was enough, that he would give her what she wanted.

"Yea, we'll see about that" Eddie pulled out, just a couple inches, enough to feel it, before shoving it back in. He kept the pace, hard slow thrusts in and out of her pussy. Y/N could feel her eyes roll to the back of her head, the thick weight inside her was nearly driving her mad. She wanted more, wanted to grab Eddie's ass and force him to quicken the pace, but the cuffs and his grip on her legs kept her still, she was the one forced to take it. The thought of being completely under Eddie's mercy had her head spinning, a shockwave of desire shooting down her spine.

"Eddie, come on! Faster! Faster! Faster!" Y/N begged, gripping his cock as he pounded into her. He smacked the the inside of her thigh, hard, a sharp yelp ripped from her thought.

"Say please," Eddie taunted, "good girls use their manners. If you keep this attitude up and I'll leave you here cuffed to this bed all fucking night, sopping wet without an ounce of relief"

"I'm sorry! Please go faster! Please, please, please, fuck me faster sir!" Y/N didn't know where the title came from, it just slipped out, but the groan Eddie let out told her he didn't mind it at all, quite the opposite.

"Sir? Oh baby, you're in for it now" Eddie set a brutal pace, slamming into her so hard the headboard was shaking. Y/N could hear the sodden, sloppy sounds gush from her pussy every time he thrusted his hard cock inside. Her mind was delirious with want, nonsensical babble slipping out with each thrust.

"Yes, thank you, thank you, Eddie, sir, fuck!" The deep, fast drag of his cock made her body sing, she didn't think it could better than this. Until she heard the buzzing of the massager beside her ear, anticipation vibrating under her skin.

"Color sweetheart?" Eddie rasped, dragging the massager slowly down the center of her body.

"Green! So green!" When Eddie pressed it down on her clit it felt like an electric shock down her core. She was screaming now, tears dripping down her eyes, her back arched so far she'd thought she'd snap in half.

"Shit, you're pussy's divine. Could spend all fucking day inside you, would you like that sweetheart? Keep you locked and bound in here and fuck you whenever I want?" Eddie purred, turning the vibrator up a level. She couldn't answer him, could hardly make a coherent thought, only thing that left her mouth were loud pathetic squeals. Eddie smacked her thigh again, the skin hot under his touch.

"Speak when spoken to" It was a command, not one to be trifled with.

"Yessir!" Y/N slurred, head hung back against the goose feather pillows, "Anytime, all the time, fuck yes" Eddie let out a sardonic chuckle at her needy whines,

"Of course you would. Always so fucking desperate to have my cock inside you, bought this slutty little lingerie set knowing it would drive me fucking crazy. You wanted this, wanted me to fuck you like a whore. I fuckin love it, such a perfect little cock slut, just for me, my pretty little whore" Eddie's words were so dirty, nothing like she ever heard before, they were making her delirious. Every degrading term that fell from his tongue had her climbing closer and closer to the edge.

"I- I'm close" Y/N keened, her whole body shaking, pining for release.

"Gonna cum? So soon? We barely started and you're already there, huh? Fucking pathetic" Eddie wouldn't say it out loud, but he himself almost finished twice since they began. Once, when she came on his tongue screaming his name, and the second time when she called him sir. The only pathetic person in that room was him, barely holding himself back from busting into that rubber and collapsing on top of her. He was mostly relieved she was close, but the way she gripped him every time he taunted her made his head spin, it kept him going.

"Please sir, let me cum, please, I wanna cum so bad" He was pounding into her harder, faster, deeper, until she was a bumbling mess. Salty wet tears were flowing down her face, the vibrations on her clit grew stronger, shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her throbbing pussy.

"Cum for me baby, be my good little slut and cum" Eddie growled, his eyes wide and wild.

Y/N screamed as her orgasm overcame her, pulling against the leather cuffs in a vice grip. She could feel the sheets below her grow wetter with her release. The obscene squelching sounds her pussy made as Eddie fucked her through it rang in her ears. It was fiery, intense, dragged on and on as he pounded into her. Eddie was close behind, his thrusts growing sloppy. He threw the vibrator off the side of the bed, focused on reaching his own end. Forehead pressed tightly against hers, the legs that were once spread wide wrapped tightly against his waist. He loves touching her like this, barely an inch of space between them, hearts pounding together in the same erratic rhythm.

“Cum for me Eddie, cum inside my tight little pussy. Lemme see it baby, lemme see you cum. You’re fucking gorgeous when you cum inside me”

The shock of it hits him like a freight train, can barely see Y/N’s face through the tunnel vision as his orgasm rips through him. Eddie can barely shut up most of the time, it’s worse when he cums.

“So good, so fucking good. Wanna drown in it, fuck, fuck, fuck, Love you so much, love your pussy, your tits, your ass, fuckin’ perfect, fuckin’ made for me, fuck” Eddie babbles as he fills the rubber inside of her, breathless wanton moans following its wake.

He crashed on top of her when his orgasm finally diminshed, his face pressed tightly against her chest. The tassels on her nipples tickled his nose, but he was too fucked out to care. Eddie didn’t know how long he laid like that, tired and sweaty with his softening cock still inside of her. He can feel Y/N wiggle her hips underneath him, nearly brought his sensitive semi back to life.

“Eddie?” Y/N asked in a delicate whisper.

“Yea baby?” The words are muffled against her chest. He’s too hopped up on oxytocin to care about raising his head, content with laying on the soft skin of her tits for the rest of forever.

“Can you uncuff me now? My shoulders are getting a bit sore”

Eddie felt like a jackass. Normally he’s not so out of it after sex, his first priority is making sure she's taken care off after everything is all said and done. With a quick apology, Eddie pulls out and undoes the buckles on the cuffs. He ties the used condom off in a knot and tossed it in the waste bin next to the bed. Y/N was rubbing the reddened skin of her wrists, a satisfied smile on her face.

"So I take it you liked your surprise?" Y/N giggles, carefully removing the nipple pasties and the rest of her soiled lingerie. Eddie is laying flat on his back, catching his breath he surely thought stopped for a moment.

"Pretty sure I went blind for a second there, holy shit sweetheart" He's never cummed that hard in his life. Y/N throws the lingerie off to the side, her warm naked body pressed against Eddie's side.

***

She can hear his racing heart as she laid her head on his chest. It's a reminder that he's alive, that he's okay, that they made it out, together.

"I'm sorry prom didn't end the way it was supposed to, I swear if I see Andy or Chance's face again I'm gonna beat their ass with Steve's bat" She was mortified that they would pull something like that, using her sister's memory to hurt the man she loves, hurt her. At the time she didn't want to show them how much it upset her, didn't want them to give them the satisfaction.

"I'd pay to watch that, but make sure to do it with no witnesses. Don't think county jail allows conjugal visits" Y/N lightly smacked Eddie's chest, laughing at his ridiculousness. He turned his head to look down at the woman in his arms, pure adoration in his eyes.

"In all seriousness, I just hate that they used you and Chrissy to try and make a fool out of me. I don't give a shit what they do or say to me, but that crossed a line" As much as he hated that Y/N was up there on that stage, taking the brunt of ridicule with him, he didn't know if he would have handled it as well alone. He loved that she stood by his side, had been by his side when the going went tough. Y/N was fierce, loyal to a fault, and he loved her for it.

"You've only got a couple weeks to go before graduation. It'll be done and they can go off living their sad miserable lives and we can just focus on us" Y/N rolled her body on top of his, not an inch of space between them. Eddie placed gentle kisses on her face, loved hearing the content sigh she let out as he did.

"You gonna be there sweetheart? Cheering me on when I cross that stage?" Eddie asked, his eyes light and glasssy.

"Wouldn't miss it for the end of the world"

[libraryofloveletters]

Just A Phase

Evan Buckley x Reader 

Warnings: fem!reader, typical high school nonsense, kinda rude behaviour at first meet, mentions of weed/alcohol and the consumption of, typical cocky jock behaviour, few swear words, being tipsy/drunk

Category: fluff and a little angst 

Word Count: 5.4k

Author’s Note: I just started writing and this is where I ended up so yeah also I feel like I haven’t written in a million years, forgive me if this is shitty // I referred to Buck as Evan for the first little bit because he and the reader had been introduced yet. // thank you to my darling @floralbuckleys for their help!

----

Senior Year Of High School. 

 Evan Buckley, certified jock and bad boy. 

He was the type of guy that only had a soft spot for you, but you didn’t know that yet. Truthfully he wasn’t a mean guy - people just perceived him that way because he was on the football team and popular. He had somewhat of a troublesome reputation.

People knew where he went, trouble followed. 

You, on the other hand, came from a somewhat above average family. Your mom’s a nurse and dad’s a lawyer. They always had big hopes and dreams for you, for you to go off to Harvard in the fall and follow in your father’s footsteps but you didn’t want that. 

You dreamt of being a writer - you couldn't bring yourself to tell your parents that. Since you were young, they had instilled “you’re going to go to Harvard” in you. 

You couldn’t back out now. 

See, high school worked a certain way. You kept to your circles and didn’t mingle with those that didn’t fit into your circle. You and Evan didn’t run in the same circle - he was a troublesome jock and you were a smart preppy girl. 

Being the preppy kid meant volunteering where you could to bulk up your college application hence why you were at school on a Friday afternoon, waiting for the kids to show up. You were part of some tutor program that your chemistry teacher put you into. 

It was mostly just kids that needed some clarification on their work and the occasional jock that needed to pass a course to stay on the team.

You weren't surprised when a group of noisy jocks stumbled in the study hall, reeking of sweat from practice.  

You were surprised to see Evan, he hadn't been in there before. 

“Settle down boys” Mrs. Jacobs told them before sending each guy off to a tutor, leaving Evan standing beside her. “You can head over to y/n” she pointed at you, you gave him a small smile when you glanced up. He looked unpleasant, like he didn’t want to be there. 

He made his way over nonetheless. “Good afternoon” you say quietly, unsure if he heard you. He grumbles a hello as he sits down. 

The first few minutes, it was quiet. He sat there flipping through his textbook and scribbling down answers into the notebook in front of him. 

“Is there anything I can help you-” “I'm not stupid.” 

You glance at him, eyes catching his blue ones looking back at you. “I never said you were.” 

“I'm only here because I didn’t turn in my mid term project and now stupid Mr. Jefferson thinks I don't understand this shit” he explains himself. 

You hum, glancing down at the notebook in front of him, pulling it towards you. Reading over the sheet, all the answers were right. A hum of satisfaction slips pass your lips as you slide the notebook back over to him. 

“Not just another dumb jock then.” your eyes study his face after the statement. His lips curl into a small smile, a hum as he turns his attention back to his paper. 

“So prep life must be dull - no parties, all study.” 

“Who says prep kids don't party ?” 

He chuckles, “maybe the lack of prep kids at the parties.” “I’ll have you know, I party plenty, Evan.” 

Once again, he chuckles. “The phrasing of that statement shows that you clearly don’t- but call me Buck, all the guys do.” he slides the notebook over to you. 

“Check this over, I'll be back” you watched as he stepped out of the study hall and disappeared into the hallway. 

A few minutes pass by, you’re tired and in need of a nap but you blink away the tiredness to read his work. There’s a voice behind you and then you feel something heavy on your chair. Leaning back to figure out what it was, the back of your head hit something hard. You shift in your seat and look up to see your head has hit Buck’s torso. 

“How's the work, peach ?” his voice is low, the drop in octave from before causes butterflies in your stomach. 

Your brows furrow at the nickname, he noticed your confusion and glances down at your top and your eyes follow his only to see that your peach colour bra was sticking out from the top of your shirt. 

You had stretched back into your seat when he stepped out and you hadn't noticed the shift in your clothing.

Pulling the top of your shirt back up, he smiles and returns to his seat. You clear your throat, head down and eyes on the work in front of you as you could feel the blush on your face. 

“Um, the work is fine.” 

“Do you have plans tonight ?” 

“No, why?” 

“Come with me to Johnson’s party, you can show me how prep kids party” he smiles, his words are teasing you- taunting you even. “I would, but my parents are out of town so I don’t have the car and I have to watch the house.” 

“The house won’t disappear if you’re gone for a few hours and I'll pick you up then. What’s your address ?” 

“Buck, I really shouldn't” 

“Y/n, come on. Pull the stick out your ass for one night and enjoy senior year. You can go back to Harvard prep tomorrow.” 

His word choice doesn't shock you, it’s quite on brand for him. He’s looking at you, waiting for your answer and you can't help but give in.

Taking the pen from him, you scribble your address and number on his notebook. “See you at 7?” picking your bag up before slinging it over your shoulder. 

“7? Peach, the party doesn’t start ‘till 9. I’ll pick you up at 10:30.” 

“Oh um- okay.” you hum, confused but you agree anyways. 

--- 

10:45 and you were sitting on your couch, glancing at your phone and back to the window. 

You had been stood up once before but to be stood up by a jock, and a popular one ? Will be the death of any social life you had. 

Finally there’s a knock on your door and you get up a little faster than you would have liked but you make your way over. Pulling it open, you met with Buck. 

“Ready ?” 

“Sure, let me grab my phone” you leave the door open, stepping back to the couch. Buck had disappeared from the doorway when you returned, you locked up and followed what looked like headlights to the driveway. 

Buck sat on his bike, he scoots forwards a bit before patting the space behind him. 

“No.” you mumble. 

“What ?” 

“I’m not getting on that thing.” 

“That thing ? I'm offended. Come on, you’ll be fine.” 

“Evan, no.” 

Buck gets up, making his way over to you. His hands grab yours, looking at you now. “Y/n, I promise you that you’ll be fine. Can we go now ?” 

“I’ll kill you if something happens to you” you grumbled as you reluctantly made your way over to the bike. Buck gets on first, you mirror his actions. Your hands were to your side, Buck reached back and wrapped them around his waist. 

“You good back there ?” 

“As good as I could be.”

-- 

The house, who you assumed belonged to Johnson’s parents, (you had no idea who Johnson was because you barely ever went to the football games) reeked of alcohol and weed. 

Your face didn’t hide your displeasure as well as you thought it had. Buck chuckled as he slung his arm over your shoulder. 

“So is this what you do ?” you shout over the loud music, Buck was saying hello to someone he knew and wasn't paying attention to what you had asked him. 

You manage to wiggle your way out of his grip and find your way to the kitchen. It’s a few minutes later that Buck finds you sipping on a beer. 

“You drink ?” he gives you a questionable look with a smile on his face. 

“You brought me to a party so I'll do what people do at a party” you hum, leaning back against the counter. He finds his way to you, leaning back against the counter too. 

“Enjoying the party ?” 

“Not really, you kinda left me to talk to some guy for twenty minutes” 

“That guy happens to be our star quarterback.” 

“I care why?” you glance up at him. Buck’s face is pure amusement, you aren't sure if you’re the cause of that or something else but the way he's looking at you- you can feel the butterflies again. 

“Buck!” a group of guys shout as they make their way into the kitchen. They all say hello to him, some are drinking, some are shoving chips into their mouths. 

You stay quiet while Buck talks to them and judging by their varsity jackets, it was safe to assume that they were on the team with Buck. 

“Who’s your friend ?” a brunette guy asks him, stepping towards you. 

“I’m y/n, you are?” you ask before Buck could. 

“Mike, call me Johnson.” 

“Oh, so this is your place ? Cute house” you give him a smile, he laughs. 

“How do you know Buck?” Johnson asks, he was nosy for a drunk guy. 

“Just bumped into each other, we have class together” you lie, not sure if Buck wanted them to know how you really met, Buck gives you a small smile. 

“You’re pretty, how about a dance ?” his hand grabs yours. 

“Thanks but no thanks” you give a polite smile before pulling your hand away. 

Johnson takes a step forward, his hand reaching out and grabbing your hip. “C’mon, dance with me” you could smell the alcohol on him- he reeked. You push his hand off, “I said no thank you” you tell him once more, being ever so polite. 

“Y/n, c’mon, one dance baby” he takes another step, he’s now face to face with you. Before you could say anything, Buck is in front of you, between you and Johnson. 

“Dude, she said no. Leave her alone.” 

Buck’s sudden need to protect you was much appreciated. Usually if a guy did that, especially a jock, you’d be weird out because they never pay attention to you- but Buck, you had this indescribable feeling, pride, satisfaction, maybe even relief ? 

“She’s not even your girl, why are you protecting her?” 

“Doesn’t matter, she said no so get out of her fucking face.” Buck’s hand was against his chest, pushing him away as his other hand reached back for yours. It would be cheesy to say that your hand fit in his like it was made to be there but it was true. 

Buck’s hand was still in yours as he pulled you out the back door. Your back was up against the wall as he stood in front of you. 

“Are you okay ?” you could hear the concern in his voice - different from his usual tone. 

At a loss for words, his eyes study your face. Johnson was a douche and he knew that, he mentally cursed himself for even bringing you here. 

“Y/n.. talk to me” he takes a step towards you. 

“Buck,” your hand presses against his chest, “I'm fine. It’s not the first time a drunk guy has hit on me” 

A breath of relief slipped past his lips, “do you want to leave?” his face softens when he asks. “No, I'm alright.” 

“Stay here, I'll be back” his hand comes down and squeezes your waist gently before he steps back into the house. 

--

It was a while before Buck returned. He had disappeared into the house for half an hour and when he returned, you were by the pool with a pingpong ball in hand. 

“Suck it!” your loud laugh filled his ears, you took a sip from the red cup in your hand and you watched as the guy across from you drank the beer in the cup that the ball landed in. 

“Looks like you’re having fun” Buck smiles, now beside you. 

“Hey!” you reeked of beer at this point. “I’m having fun” your words come out in a slurred mumble. 

“Mhm okay, I think it’s time to head home” Buck takes the cup from you and sets it down. 

“What ?” Your hand reaches for the cup again, a pout evident on your face.

Buck’s hands finds your waist, hoisting you up and over his shoulder. A louder than expected gasp left your mouth, you felt the cold breeze against your legs as he walked towards the front of the yard. 

He put you down in the backseat of a car but you knew you came with his bike so you were confused, just as you go to ask, he scoots you over and gets in the back with you. Buck’s arm is over your shoulder, you’re so tired that you just lean into him. 

-- 

You had noticed you fell asleep and when you woke, you were on the porch swing at your house with Buck’s hand in your pocket. 

“Whatcha looking for?” he glances up at you when he hears your voice. 

“Keys.” 

“Other pocket” 

He manages to find the keys and get the door open. Getting you in the house was another story. “Y/n, come on” he pulls your hands in an attempt to get you up but you weren’t budging. 

What happened to you being a prep kid and not drinking ? He didn’t even think it was possible to get drunk that fast. 

“No, tired” you mumbles, making yourself comfortable on the porch swing. “Do you want your parents to come home and find you here? I’m cool with leaving you here if that’s the case” Buck teased, he had no idea when your parents were coming home. 

The mention of your parents finding you outside, drunk, horrified you. You got up so quick, you nearly toppled over. Buck helped you inside and onto the couch. He disappeared for a moment and then returned with a glass of water. 

“Small sips” he settles beside you, watching as you take a sip. You hum, resting your head on his shoulder as his arm comes over your shoulder. 

“Buck?” 

“Yeah?” 

He felt your head shift, now looking up at him, eyes full of sleep. You were studying his face, from the birthmark above his eye to his pink lips.

“I really like you, you know” your words filled with sleep as your eyes drooped, you blinked a few times, forcing yourself to stay awake.

Buck chuckles, “that’ll pass peach, I’m just a phase.” He hummed quietly, fingers running through your hair as you drift to sleep. 

--

The Monday after the party, you saw Buck in the hallway after waking up to an empty house on the couch, head pounding even in the deafening silence and and you can’t quite remember how you got home. 

Buck had been radio silence since then but you weren't sure why. He was walking in from the front doors and you were by your locker. You turn to speak to him but he barely glances at you before continuing his conversation with Johnson. 

From that day, you never spoke to Buck again. Last you saw him was graduation day and last you had heard was that he was in college and you were headed off to Harvard. 

----

Present.

You had become a big shot lawyer, everything your parents wanted. Moved out to LA to start your own firm and everything was going well until this morning. 

You had barely walked into the office when the fire alarm went off. The sudden alarm caused an onset of commotion in the office, the woman next to you bumped into you, spilling your hot cup of coffee onto you. 

She mumbled a sorry as she passed but you could feel the heat coming from where the liquid had spilt. Nonetheless, you made your way out, the sound of the sirens from fire trucks blaring. 

Not that you didn’t enjoy seeing the handsome firefighters (or so your co-workers seem to say) but you had a ton of paperwork to do for an upcoming case you had and you barely started. 

You stood by the curb, watching as the firefighters made their way over to the crowd and into the building to clear it. 

“Ma'am ?” A firefighter made his way over to you, there was a helmet in his hand as he passed a hand through his hair. You glance up from your phone, to see what he wanted. 

“May I take a look?” his eyes shifted to your chest where there is currently a coffee stain on your white shirt. “Oh, thank you but no. I’m fine” 

“Are you sure? Because that’ll leave a pretty nasty mark if you don't get it cleaned. If you aren’t comfortable, we have a female medic” he offered, hoping you’d consider. 

“You’re a medic ?” you asked, looking him up and down. He nods, taking a step back. He begins walking back to the ambulance and you follow him. “Do you want me to get her?” 

“No, you’re a professional, it’s cool” you give him a small smile before moving your shirt so he could check. 

The firefighter’s hand was now right under your collarbone, dabbing at your skin with some gauze. His fingers were cold, you weren’t sure if it was actually his fingers or the gloves that were cold but either way you looked at him. 

“What’s your name ?” 

“Diaz, Eddie Diaz” he tells you, flashing you a smile before going back to his job. 

You hum, staying still as Eddie rubs something on your skin. 

That’s when you saw him. 

The same blue eyes, the same blonde hair, the same gorgeous smile that always played in your mind. Not a day went by that you didn’t think of him. You had always wondered what he ended up doing, he was smart and destined for great things, there was more for him than a small life in a place where no one ever really did anything. 

Every guy you had dated, you compared to him. It was always something- they didn’t look like him, they didn’t act like him, they didn’t treat you the way he did, they wouldn't stand up for you like he did. 

He lived rent free in your mind. 

“Ma'am?” Eddie’s voice broke your gaze. “Y/n,” you corrected him, “ma’am is for old women” your eyes going back to Buck. Eddie noticed your lack of attention and followed your gaze. 

“Do you know Buck?” 

“He still lets people call him that ?” you chuckle to yourself, feeling Eddie’s eyes burning a hole into you. 

Before you could answer, his radio buzzed before a voice came through, “building’s clear. Start directing people back in.” Eddie looks over at you, you’re already getting out of the ambulance. 

“Keep that clean and dry” were his last words to you after you left. 

--- 

It wasn’t until you were back in the building that you realized your phone was in the ambulance. 

You were majorly screwed. 

Remembering the medic’s name which was the only thing you remember mids the confusion and seeing Buck after 10+ years. You asked around the office if anyone knew what station responded to the call. You had contacts that worked for the city but the lack of phone made it hard for you to call and find out. 

Finally giving in, you google the medic’s name. There were a few articles that had photos but none of them said anything that helped. There was a video from Taylor Kelly at channel 8 news, some sort of video about the fire station. 

Station 118- that was 10 minutes down the road and you pass it everyday on the way to work. The thoughts began filling your head, had Buck been there all along? 

12 years- 12 long, empty years that you acted like he didn’t exist and that you didn’t want to know what happened between you two but he was right down the road. 

You didn’t even know if you wanted to talk to him. You had finally come to peace with it even though a part of you will always long for what could have been. Feelings aside, you set out to the station to get your phone. 

Upon arriving, there were a few guys by the trucks. You asked for Eddie, assuming that he might have an idea of where your phone ended up or if they even found it. 

“Up the stairs and he should be somewhere up there” the guy pointed, you thanked him before heading towards the stairs. When you got upstairs, it was empty. 

You weren't sure if you should go back down or wait so you sort of awkwardly stood there, glancing around the room. The station was nicer than you had imagined it to be, not that you really had an idea of what to expect. 

Your back was to the kitchen when someone tapped your shoulder. “Can I help you?” his voice called out as you turned. 

Buck. 

You let out a breath, your eyes studying his perfect face for a moment. Do you say something or just pretend like you didn’t know him?

“Yeah, I'm uh- I'm looking for Eddie. I think I left my phone in the ambulance.” 

“Do I know you from somewhere ?” 

“I work at the building down the road, 14th street. You guys were there earlier, hence the phone in the ambulance” you tell him, hoping he drops the topic. 

“Y/n! Hey! What are you doing here?” You see Eddie call from behind Buck. 

Thank god. 

“I left my phone in the ambulance. I figured you’d know what happened to it” you’ve stepped past Buck and towards Eddie now. “I haven’t seen it, but maybe it’s still in there. Come with me, we can check for it” 

Eddie was making his way down the stairs and you were behind him when Buck called your name. 

Not y/n. 

Peach. 

You paused, taking a deep breath in before turning to face him. “I thought I remembered you from somewhere” he smiled, him and his stupid smile. 

“I’m in a rush, Evan. Plus, I'm not in the mood to reminisce.” 

The smile dropped from his face, the guilt crept up on you. The feeling of your stomach twisting, sighing before making your way down to Eddie who was by the ambulance, your phone in hand. 

“There’s more to the story than I thought,” Eddie hands the phone over, you give him a hum and thank him. “Let me walk you out.” he follows you out to your car. 

“You know, whatever he did- he’s changed. He’s a good guy.” Eddie says, his voice sincere. 

“I know, I just- I don't know” 

“What did he do? If I can ask” 

“We were- I don't know what we were. We hung out in high school, just once but he was different from the other guys. He genuinely cared. We went to a party together and he brought me home after. I remember falling asleep with him in the house and the next morning he was gone. Total radio silence that whole weekend and when I saw him at school the following week, he acted like he didn’t know me - it was like that for the rest of senior year. We never spoke after that.” 

Here you were pouring your heart out to a firefighter who you had only met an hour ago who also had seen your bare chest (in a professional way, of course)  on a Tuesday morning in the parking lot. 

“Wow- I can see why you wouldn’t want to talk to him.”

“Yeah, thank you for the phone though. I gotta get back to work” 

“Wait, let me get your number” 

You pause, looking at him with furrowed brows. He seemed confused then he realized how that sounded. “Oh god- no not like that, sorry. I meant maybe we could grab a drink sometimes, as friends and maybe you could tell me more about high school Buck ?” 

“Um- yes to the number and drinks but I don’t know about Buck” you hand the phone back over to him, telling him that you’d text him. 

--- 

It was a while before you heard from Eddie, he said he was off on Saturday if you were up for drinks and weren't busy. The whole team was going out but he invited you along to join them. 

After some back and forth “I couldn't intrude” and “you won’t be, come join us” you finally gave in. 

Now it’s 9pm and you, Eddie and Buck are sitting at a booth. Coincidentally, everyone else was busy. Chimney and Hen who you hadn’t met yet, were with their significant others and kids. So that left the 3 of you together. 

You wanted to walk back out when you saw it was only the two of them but Eddie had seen you and called you over. His phone buzzed just as Buck came back with drinks. 

“Everything okay?” Buck asked his friend, Eddie, still typing away on his phone. “Huh? Yeah, it’s Carla. Chris is running a fever” you could hear the concern in his voice. 

“Chris is your son?” 

“Yeah- I'm sorry I got to go. I’ll make it up to you. Drinks on me another night” Eddie gave your shoulder a squeeze as he stood. 

“No yeah, of course. Go, it’s fine” you smiled. 

“Let me know if you need anything” Buck shifts towards Eddie, the two of them seem to have some sort of routine or way of how things work between them.  

And now there were two. 

Buck sipped on his beer, you sat across from him, your nails tapping against the bottle in front of you. He was the first one to speak.

“So, how have you been?”

“Good. You?”

“Good too. I don’t know if you remember my sister but she had a baby recently so I've been hanging out with her after work”

“Oh, that’s nice. Maddie right?”

“Yeah, she had a little girl. She’s the cutest little girl ever.” Buck pulls his phone out, showing you a photo of him holding a baby in a blanket with a brunette beside him. The woman beside him, Maddie you assumed, was smiling at Buck, fixing the blanket while he looked at the camera, the joy evident on his face.

“She’s adorable and your sister looks the same, she hasn’t aged a day” you hum, passing the phone over to him.

Back to awkward silence.

“What happened to us?” Buck’s question catches you off guard.

“What happened to us? You happened.”

“What? I thought we were friends.” Your eyes met, his full of confusion and yours with displeasure.

“Friends don’t disappear in the middle of the night with no explanation and ignore them for the rest of senior year.” You get up, grab your phone and make your way to the door. Buck’s calling out to you but you don’t want to stop and talk to him.

The night was cold, the wind hit your bare shoulders and you shivered for a moment before walking. Buck was still calling out your name, he had followed you out the bar.

“Y/n! Stop! Y/n, c’mon. Please!” His hand wrapped around your wrist, holding you in place. You pull your hand back.

“No! You don’t get to do that. Act like everything is fine when you disappeared with no explanation. I know we weren’t best friends but I thought we were at least friends. That fucking hurt, Evan.”

“Fine,” he sighs, looking at you. “You want the truth ?” Your brows raised, waiting for him to continue.

“You told me you liked me. You were a good kid, going to Harvard, which you obviously did” gesturing at you, he continued. “I didn’t know what I wanted and I didn’t want you to feel like you needed to be by my side until I figured it out. I knew you would resent me for that and I couldn’t do that to you, I couldn’t do it to myself.”

“That’s selfish. It’s about you ? That’s why you left with no explanation ? You couldn’t do it to yourself ? Man the fuck up Buck, life isn’t about you.” 

“You think I don’t know that ?! You think I didn’t think about you all the time? That I didn’t miss you?” 

“Don’t start with that shit. You knew where I would be. You said it yourself, I was “a good kid, going to Harvard” so if you really missed me, you could have found me.” 

“Y/n, be real. We were just out of high school, what means did I have to go searching for you? I had my own shit to deal with.” 

“Just stop, I don’t even want to know.” 

“No, you stop” 

“No you.” 

“Y/n” his voice was stern, the annoyance clearly there. 

“Evan.” your tone matched his.

That stupid smug smile of his was on his face, that was enough to make you roll your eyes. “’Kay, I'm over your shit.” turning away from him, you go to walk away but his hand grabs yours. 

Still fit like it was made to be there. 

Before you could register what was happening, Buck’s lips were on yours. Maybe time stopped when Buck’s lips met yours but your heart didn’t- it felt like it was beating a million times seconds and the butterflies in your stomach were restless. 

It wasn't clear to either of you at the moment that it had started pouring rain but it didn’t matter. There was this raw emotion in the way his hands felt on your waist or how his chest was pressed to yours. 

Buck would be lying if he said he didn’t open his eyes slightly, sneaking a guilty peek at you just to make sure you weren’t a fiction of his imagination. Every breath he took smelt of lavender and honey, the same scent that had lingered on his mind since the day he met you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer to him, if that was even possible. 

Maybe this was meant to be, fate bringing back what was meant for him to him or maybe this really was all a fabrication of his imagination but he wanted to live in his moment forever. 

It wasn't until thunder rumbled that he pulled away. The rain had soaked your clothes and hair, your makeup had smudged and half of your lipstick was on Buck. 

The same stupid smug smile on his face.

“God,” rolling your eyes at him. “You’re so annoying.” wiping your lips with the back on your hand, hoping that you got all the lipstick off. 

“Yeah, I'm the annoying one” Buck’s face twisted, giving you a playful shove as you stepped towards him. Your thumb comes up to wipe the lipstick off him. Buck’s arm lifts, now over your shoulder. 

The two of you looked at each other as you made your way down the street. 

“Just a phase huh ?” you hum, glancing at Buck. 

The blonde let out a chuckle, “maybe not.” 

--- 

taglist: @advicefromnixxxx @spencersendgame​ @keenmarvellover @beth-winchester21 @fernandaweasley2 @yikesyikesyikes95 @hotchsdarling @duhbar1975 @wowitsel @mrspeacem1nusone​ @jillys-feral-fandoms @iris-oaklee-carter-911oc @hailsstormthings @averyhotchner @captainxholmes @venusrosepetal @babybuckleys @looney-literature @caitsymichelle13@artemishunter18​ @may-grants​ @floralbuckleys​ @mrs-dr-reid​

[vanillanaps]

First & Last | Steve Rogers

Prompt - “You’re the first boy I ever kissed, and I want you to be the last.”

A/N - My entree for my baby’s @bemine-bucky writing challenge <33 I love you smmm, I hope you like ittt 🥺

Category - Brother’s Bestfriend!Steve x Reader, takes place in the A&F universe, fluff

Warnings - Reader being bit dramatic but also sensible I guess djdkdk, worries about the future, angst if you squint, Steve’s last line in Endgame

Word Count - 681

Main Masterlist || Always & Forever Masterlist

♡♡♡♡

Nothing but silence filled the room as you and Steve laid in bed, tucked into each other's hold. His fingers softly drag up and down the skin of your thigh. A comfortable, yet tense silence between the two of you. Tomorrow would be Steve’s college graduation and then a few days after that, he and the boys would be up and moving to brooklyn. You had been dreading this from the moment Steve told you about his plans a few months ago. Of course, you were happy for him, but that didn’t stop you from feeling like you were being left behind once again.

“Steve?” You called softly, receiving a soft hum in response from him, letting you know that he was listening, “What’s gonna happen to us?”

He sighed, knowing that this conversation was eventually gonna happen, “Nothing’s gonna happen to us, I'm only gonna be twenty-five minutes away, forty with traffic.”

It was your turn to sigh as you pulled away from his embrace and sat up, “You know that’s not what I meant.” You started, turning to face him with a serious, yet sad look, “In a few months it’ll be my senior year in college and you’ll be busy with your new internship that you’ve got set up—We won’t have time for each other, even if you will only be twenty-five minutes away. It’ll be a year before I come to brooklyn—if I even go.”

“You’re overthinking this.” He tried reassuring you as he sat up, his head dipping as his eyes tried to find yours, “You know I’ll always make time for you, no matter the circumstances. I always have and I always will.”

“It’s not the distance,Steve. I’m just—scared.” You admitted, finally meeting his gaze, “What if we grow apart? What if one day you decide you don’t want me anymore? That there’s someone better out there? Who knows, maybe you’ll meet someone at your internship and fall in love with her instead. You’ll realize she’s the better option because she’s where you wanna be while I'm stuck deciding if I want to stay in New York, go back home or move to California. It would be so much easier for you to be with someone who already has their life together.”

“Baby, stop, stop. None, and I mean none of that is gonna happen.” Steve scoffed out of shock. He knew that you were sad about him leaving, but he didn’t know that this was truly how you felt, “You are the only girl i’ll ever want, no matter where we are. I’m not just gonna let these last three years, which have happened to be the best years of my life, go to waste. I’ll take a train, a cab, hell I'll even walk here everyday if that’s what it takes to make you believe that I’m not going anywhere. We aren’t going anywhere.” He spoke to you sincerely, “Here, home, or California, I don’t care. I will follow you to the end of the world because that's how much I love you.”

Your heart fluttered at his speech, eyes watering and lip trembling. You had begun to feel bad for even doubting his love, your relationship. But you couldn't help it, you were in love. Steve was it for you and it scared the living shit out of you, “I love you.” You nearly cried, “You’re the first boy I ever kissed, and I want you to be the last, so please—don't leave me.”

Steve gathered you in his arms, holding you tightly against his chest, “I’ll never leave you, I promise.” And he held you, his hand cradling the back of your head as he whispered more promises and sweet nothings into your ear that brought you to solace.

“You know,” He spoke up after a moment of silence, catching your attention, “Bucky was technically the first boy you ever kissed.”

You groaned, shaking your head as you chuckled, “You’re never gonna let that one go, are you?”

He laughed along with you, “No, I don’t think I will.”

♡♡♡♡

taglist: @soldatspet @crownstealer @bemine-bucky @spicynudlesoup @hungryyeyes @monarcascension @sergeant-winterwidow @lokithealligator @kaaabiii @bucksdolll @phatyak @honeysugarcoves @alwaysclassyeagle @sgt-seabass

[jiminrings]

OKAY LISTEN idk if someone or you already planned sth like this but how about y/n finally decides to confess/tell jk but someone else claims to be her before she could do it so * cue to the angst bc y/n sees the whole thing/she hears from her friends * and ofc koo eventually finds out bc that b*tch doesn't even have the fucking lunchboxes 😑

cold senior!y/n x stem major!koo masterlist :D

stem koo's the three-peat king for having the best research papers, but he's the worst when it comes to believing the right person

"i think i'm gonna tell him."

you say it to no one in particular, really, but you hear yoongi rISING from his nap on the couch

it wasn't meant to wake him at all

it was just an epiphany of sorts that popped into your head

physically felt as if your head would just bursT if you didn't say it out loud to affirm your own thoughts lmao

"for real???" he's rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, very evident that he wouldn't wake up to finish his thirteen pending assignments but he 10/10 would wake up to hear your epiphany

yoongi is awake for the action!!!! lmao does professor roux from calculus think that he wakes up at the morning and doing shapes (or whatever they teach at calc) is the fIRST thing in his mind????

"interesting," he nods solemnly when you nod your head, reaching out for a fist bump before he plops to your shoulder, "i suggest dressing like a virgin wearing H&M when you confess. it would hit close to home."

yoongi's the touchy affectionate one between the two of you but you'll forgive him bc he's still sleepy

NOOOOOOO

jungkook doesn't look like a virgin wearing H&M :((((

his clothes aren't from there lol

"pass."

"say that you're a top verified contributor both in quora and brainly."

PLEAAAAAASE SJWHSHWHHWV

"nice idea," you snort as yoongs genuinely thinks that it'd get jungkook to propose on the spot, "but no cigar."

"pretend to love big bang theory."

"you're getting onto something here."

"your hobby is fact-checking rick and morty."

"yoongi wow you are on fIRE today-"

"your guilty pleasure is not wearing protective gear during experiments."

"where is this coming from??"

"OH!!!! i'll pretend to mug him or something and you can attack me!!!"

....

??????

yeah yoongi's train of thought just crashed

you were pretty sure he was going on a science theme there wHY DID IT DERAIL

yoongi looks confused because you look confused, as if he didn't just give you the mindblowing idea,, free of charge

lol but no he really didn't

"i'm not doing any of that shit, yoongs."

"oh yeah???" he squints at you and hollows his cheeks, taunting you entertainingly while he worms his way to your lap to nap again

"what are you planning to do?"

holy sHIT this is nerve-wracking

she feels like she's gonna pass out the whole time that she's been rehearsing this in her head

she's been waiting outside the classroom for twenty minutes now and the bell finally rang and she can't believe it!!!! omg is it game-time now

everyone's filing out of the room and she could just feel that jungkook would come out of the room last-

ALRIGHT FUCK THE BELL RANG

you could do this!!!!

everyone's filing out of the room and you know in your heart that jungkook would stay behind, his routine being to politely chat with the professor before he leaves

you're a lil nervous alright

you're scanning the room and there's only a few people left and your eyes instinctively go to the mini desk next to the door and-

FUCK

DID YOU FORGET TO BRING IT HOME YESTERDAY??????

goddamn it

yesterday was when coach jeong was mad because someone from your team just hAD to bring beer!!! and not even have the common sense to put it on a discreet thermos or sth and you know!!!! to not drink it in public or in front of the coach!!!!

doing laps on the oval field will now make you hurl on command just by thinking about it

you physically did not have the cognizance to go and fetch the lunchbox to wash it,,,, or like even move at all

FUCK IT

how are you gonna swipe the lunchbox now? now when the professor's packing up, jungkook's loitering around the classroom, and there's this girl who's-

wait

who's this girl??

who is she and wHY IS SHE EYEING THE LUNCHBOX

fuck it!!! here goes nothing

she's stepping completely into the room and making sure her block heels generate enough clacking,, hands already moving in practiced moments as she attempts in making it seem like she's rushedly putting the lunchbox bag into her tote — as if it's from there, and she's always done this

jungkook hears noises coming from the back of the room, eyes widening before he comes up the stairs in record time

"no. get your own."

he grips the girl's wrist, about to pry off her hands from his lunchbox

he hears her giggle sweetly, the melody being something he's heard before

"i did. after all, i did get you these."

:O

"hyeji?"

hyeji's a pretty girl!!! a nice girl in jungkook's year that wears fit dresses and cartier bangles :D

she stands out really, sometimes literally because she appears in the school's flyers and advertisements

"hyeji," jungkook breathlessly connects the dots including the fact that she looks caught in the act; holding his lunchbox, her tote bag open, and a peek of another completely different lunchbox in her other hand, "i-it's been you this whole time?"

hyeji blushes, sheepishly tucking her perfectly shiny and neat hair behind her ears, "you caught me then."

kook laughs both in nervousness and giddiness, pushing his glasses up and suddenly conscious that he should've worn contacts, "b-but how? we don't share this class."

:O

hyeji bursts into a giggle, blushed cheeks staining further than the five minutes she tried getting the perfect amount

"r-right! kinda amazing what depths you'd go for a person you like, hm?"

jungkook is about to pass out

HE'S PUT IN A SITUATION

a situation that he likes and is too giddy to find a reply for

he apparently doesn't need a reply, because a chair scrapes harshly against the floor and it brings him down to reality immediately

you cannot fucking believe what you just witnessed

you stand abruptly from the seat you've been frozen in with a great deal of urgency because you cAN'T stand to be in this room any longer

they actually forgot that the two of them aren't alone

that you're still here

little miss hyeji's just as shocked

you feel stupid and even more stupid that you're still holding a stupid notebook you even decorated

it has a doodle in the front and all the remaining pages are of the copies you've replicated on jungkook's sticky notes — the same ones you've been trying to make perfect just for him

"y/n!" he sputters when your backpack accidentally leans too much to your side and hits him on the way out

"move."

you’re feeling everything but fine and god you just hated that you always willed yourself to move oN

you’re beyond mad when you put on your jersey!!!

you’re irrevocably dejected when you put on your cleats!!!!

you feel cheated on when you zip up your duffel and walk all the way to the field!!!

it’s a combination of the type of frustration that makes you want to move plus the type that paralyzes you, the whole thing unlike anything you’ve ever felt before

you’re clearly in your head and frankly, you’re just too good

too good that there's no game at all because the only thing happening is you scoring

there's no passing going on or the sort

everyone is just :O looking at their captain to be in the most furiously determined state that they’ve ever seen you in

you don’t even realize that you’re the oNLY one moving in the whole field

“alright, alright — jesus christ! go to the bench and sort your head out, captain,” coach jeong literally has to JOG over to your spot to jolt you

oh there he is again

jaehyun just had to bench you didn’t he

sometimes it’s lost on you that jaehyun, just like seokjin, used to be your senior

he hated juniors with a burning passion and you’re the ONLY one he’s taken a tolerance for

((you lent him your umbrella and it coincidentially had to be a bad day for him tHEN that made him like you))

you’re having none of it though because this time, you’re the one who has the bad day and the captain title does nothing to appease you

“sure, coach.”

you mumble just as lively and walk to completely the fURTHEST side of the bleachers, being so far out that you could barely see your team

what are you supposed to do? simmer in the thoughts you so badly didn’t want to have in silence??????

"y/n?"

the voice you least expected to hear perks up right next to you

what the hell is jungkook doing here now??

he looks lost, two hands clinging onto his backpack straps before tentatively looking at you again

“did i do anything to upset you?”

so he wants to ask that?

you snort automatically, suddenly wishing that you didn’t walk this far because you can’t make an excuse that jaehyun’s calling for you

"because my bag accidentally hit you on the way out? no, jungkook."

jungkook knits his brows in question, seemingly take offense to what you’ve just said to hom

"we're not exactly associated for me to be mad at you, are we?" you emphasize even further, not caring the least bit that your words have an edge to them

he deadpans, pursing his lips before sarcastically smiling at you

".... so you're upset at me?"

://

jungkook takes your silence for him to delve further, not paying attention to how your eye is begging to twitch at him

"i asked if i did anything to upset you, and you said no. but that doesn't necessarily mean you aren't. you could be upset at me even if i didn't do anything to you."

wow

you sound like a real fucking nerd jungkook

"do you have any idea how condescending you sound right now?"

kook barely has a solid inch on you yet the nagging feeling that he’s belittling you makes you grip your fists tight, posture wavering

"so you do admit that you're upset at me?"

he’s not the most patient person either but something about you and the situation right now just makes him tick a little faster

your eyes narrow at what he’s aiming to get at, your hand on your hip feeling heavy at this point

"what does it matter to you if i'm upset or not? we are not-"

"i am associated to you!!! even to a degree!!! you walked me home!"

jungkook is the one who breaks first and he doesn’t look fazed to have opposed you so loudly, still standing by himself

"i would walk anyone home."

"no you wouldn't-"

"i would walk anyone who was as vulnerable and as anxious as you were, jungkook!!"

it is true

you’d walk anyone home within reason regardless if they were jungkook or not!!!

the guy in question only looks at you straightly, brows not stubborn but still just as unrelaxed

:((

"good to know. then you're not upset at me, and i didn't do anything to upset you."

"sure."

you only say just to spite him, about to turn your back and leave him completely to go back to your practice game

jungkook surprises you again and flips a switch just as quick as your mini argument of sorts escalated

"anyways!! i'm sorry for being a little off when i interviewed you that day. i got a 100 on that assignment, by the way :))"

what?

what’s he still doing here?

he’s talking about his grades and whatnot to you as if literally twenty seconds ago did nOT happen!!

"why are you still-"

"and the one who's been giving me my lunchboxes confessed to me today!! for hyeji to be the girl giving me them, it makes perfect sense."

you shrug away the weirdness that jungkook’s moved on from the argument as fast as this, trying a take two for a peaceful conversation

this time, you’re the one who unknowingly flips a switch at her name — something so foreign and sudden yet something you quickly grew to hate

"i wouldn't be so trusting if i were you."

that seems to hit a nerve on him again, making him scoff in reply

"good thing you aren't me then."

what is ON with him????

"watch it. i'm your senior, kid."

you’re more irritated than the first and second time around that you’ve been agitated this day

"why? are you normally this self-absorbed that you wouldn't trust a girl who's confessed??"

self-absorbed?

you aren’t the most selfless person ever but god do you know for a fact that you’re not vain as jungkook’s insisting you to be

you hate him.

you hate this version of him that isn’t the same jungkook you’ve known to like ever since the start of the semester

"same thing as polygraphs not being a hundred percent reliable. anyone could tell the truth as long as you ask the wrong questions," you detail on further because jungkook loves details, right? might as well give him several

"or did you even ask?"

jungkook scowls as if you’ve insulted his mother and his entire lineage, face contorting into everything but warm

"what does it matter to you? didn't you just tell me that we aren't associated? why are you projecting all your moaning on hyeji?"

WHAT

WHAT????

"you know what? maybe i am associated to you. i think i'd also tell this to everyone i'd walk home — maybe you shouldn't be too trusting, huh? maybe you shouldn't just let anyone walk you home."

the tears this time are more insistent to come out this time but you’d rather dIE than for jungkook to stain your pride like this

"no one should walk me home, besides you? is that what you're trying to say?"

no!!

for fuck's sake you aren't even finished with your point!!

before you could continue, jungkook shakes his head at you — the most disappointing shake of his head that it curses you soft

"what am i even doing? you wouldn't understand."

he closes the distance that’s been alarmingly shorter throughout the whole time, jungkook being the one to break it

"because no one gives you lunchboxes. no one exerts effort in making you cheerful — no one wants to go the extra mile for you, and no one wants to walk you home."

he's insulting you right to your face and that’s when your dam breaks, lips quivering impossibly as you stare him down with a genuinely pained gaze you didn’t know you carried

"you wouldn't know what i feel, because no one likes you."

jungkook gets the last word in.

he leaves you in the same field he's first approached you in nervousness.

today, he leaves it differently.

sweat isn't the only thing on your face but instead it’s the frustrating hot tears you haven’t had in awhile

your fists are balled but there's no power to the anger behind it

you’re almost always alone outside the company of the closest friends you’ve ever had — but this is the only time that you truly felt that you are alone.

today's a good day to give up on jungkook.

[lumosinlove]

Between Fifth and You

(cw in tags)

~

chapter one

“Olives or twist?”

Sirius had to watch the barkeep’s mouth to make out the words beneath the pounding music, which meant Sirius caught the way his eyes skittered across his face almost fearfully. The sheer amount of obsidian in this place probably did nothing to lighten his features. Not to mention, few people knew how to look him in the eye.

“Twist,” he said.

The man nodded and flipped the bottle of gin until it dipped into a shot glass, the glass into the ice. Sirius watched until he was stirring the bitters in and a hand appeared on his shoulder, lips to his neck.

“Burn this,” Saint said, and plucked at Sirius’ shirt sleeve, rubbing the black material between his fingers. Sirius raised an eyebrow as he turned. Saint’s own shirt was unbuttoned half way down his hard chest, light brown skin warm in the flashing club lights. “You’ve worn it too many times.”

“Hello to you, too,” Sirius said. “I like this shirt.”

“I liked it two months ago,” Saint replied. “It’s September now, your highness.”

Sirius scoffed as the bartender slid him his drink.

“You gonna tell everyone the sun did that?” Sirius took a clean sip of gin with one hand and stroked his other through Saint’s gold curls, only suddenly some of the slightly course strands were almost white.

Saint’s grin turned coy. “Isn’t it nice to have a mystery to think about?”

“Oh, yeah, do blonds have more fun?”

“You wouldn’t know.”

The music kicked up a beat that Sirius felt through his spine.

“Why do we always come here?” he leaned a hip against the bar. “We have an entire city.”

“Yeah, fuck the rest of the world, we have one whole city.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

Saint shook his head. “Because that’s what we do. You see that guy over there? I’ve taken him out four times. Couldn’t tell you his name. They couldn’t tell you mine.”

“Everyone knows your name, Saint.”

Saint grinned. “Maybe. But why do we go back to each other? Because we’re creatures of fucking habit.” Saint cocked his head, stole Sirius’ drink. “And what is this city but a bad, bad habit?”

Sirius’ blood cooled and he looked away.

What am I, Sirius? said the familiar voice from his memory. Am I easy? Am I safe? Do you want me, or am I just familiar now?

He closed his eyes against the memory of his reply.

Bad habit indeed.

XOXO

Spotted—a familiar face from the past. What has this train brought in? Thanks to a tip from @magicinthemaking, I bring you this picture of none other than Remus Lupin (and a certain Southern bell we know and love) under Grand Central’s stars. We missed you, Re—how was England? Or was it Europe?

The rumors can never seem to decide, but why the sudden change in plans to take his Junior year abroad? Here we were thinking he wanted nothing more than to stay.

I wonder how another certain star will feel about this sudden homecoming. And just in time for senior year’s Fall semester, too.

XOXO.

Remus adjusted his suitcase, glad he’d mailed so many of his things home. He’d been on U.S. soil for all of three hours, and he already missed Rome. He wanted to walk down the tiny staircase from his billet family’s apartment and get a cappuccino. He wanted to stand on the drain of the Pantheon and soak up the sheer history in the air.

He already wanted a break.

But he also wanted to see Julian. Sometimes it felt like the only thing pulling him back home was seeing his baby brother’s grin in real life rather than across a Facetime call.

“All good?”

Remus looked up at Leo. His blond hair was still bleached a bright blond from the Roman sun. Their program had ended in May, but Remus was glad they had stayed together. He hadn’t been looking for Leo—for someone to kiss for the first time in the rose garden at the top of the Aventine Hill while Leo told him about its past as a cemetery.

It’s footpaths are laid out like a Minorah, see? Leo had pointed out. To remember. 300 different types of roses isn’t enough. But I like to come here.

Remus thought it had been Leo’s love for history, and his respect, too, that had drawn him in. They both came from a world where the biggest thing most people cared about was what they’d wear to the next party, and who was bringing their next drink.

Remus hadn’t been able to believe his luck, as fragile as his heart was still.

“Yeah,” Remus nodded. “All good.”

But he wasn’t sure. They hadn’t been friends here, in the city, or at Hogwarts. It had been Rome. Remus didn’t know what their old lives would do to them. But he took Leo’s hand and watched the way Leo fingered the star he wore around his neck, the way he shot Remus his dimpled smile.

“Come on,” Remus said. “I want you to meet Julian.”

XOXO

Good morning Upper East Siders—Gossip Girl here. All trends point to Fall’s Hogwartsers coming back in Black—in more ways than one. Sirius Black’s got a baby brother on campus now, and after another wild summer for the Hogwarts College elite, count me in with the rest of them on wondering what to expect. Rumor is he’s not much like our favorite star.

“You don’t have to talk to me, you know.”

Sirius kept his eyes on his eggs and toast. “Your missing your tie. Mom said—”

“What do you care?” Regulus replied. “I hear when she used to make you wear one it usually ended up around some other guy’s neck by ten in the morning.”

“If you’re going to believe everything you read on Gossip Girl about me, then maybe I won’t talk to you.”

Regulus smirked. “So, you read it, too.” 

“Boys.”

Both brothers went back to their breakfasts.

“Good morning, mom,” Sirius said.

Walburga Black smiled with her painted lips, resting a hand on Sirius’ shoulder and bending to kiss his cheek.

“Don’t you both look handsome for your first day. Although that leather jacket has seen better days, Sirius. Do what you want for dinner, ask Chef, I don’t care. I’ll be at the House.”

The House. The House of Black, his mother’s million dollar fashion industry.

“Fine,” Regulus nodded, and rose. “I’ll take the first car.”

Sirius rolled his eyes again. “Really?”

Regulus just snatched up his backpack.

Saint, James, and Thomas were waiting for him on one of the courtyard tables when Sirius got out of the Escalade. It certainly felt like a first day of a semester. Saint’s neck dripped in gold necklaces—a story behind each one. Thomas, who had replaced his short braids with a closely shaved head, wore a white t-shirt and ripped up jean shorts, gold nose-ring glinting in the sun. James had evidently been helped out by Lily, as usual, a green, tight-fitting Henley shirt bunched up at his elbows. The two flanked Saint, who basked on top of the stone table, head tilted back to bare his throat in a way that made Sirius think of last night, in the back of the bar. He could see a purplish mark he had left there.

“You’re looking surprisingly chipper,” James said when Sirius reached Hogwarts’ courtyard.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, knowing he didn’t. “I’m not failing any classes yet, James.”

His friends went oddly silent. Sirius looked around at them, spreading his hands in confusion. Saint wouldn’t look at him, expression going oddly stoney. Thomas, finally, offered him his phone, biting his lip. Sirius took it.

His heart leapt to his throat. He didn’t even bother reading the Instagram caption. Remus loomed out at him from the phone screen.

“Leo Knut,” Saint said. “Who would have thought.”

Sirius cleared his throat and turned away from the picture—from Remus and Leo’s clasped hands.

“Why wouldn’t I be chipper?” he said again, and ignored their unconvinced expressions. “I’ve got class.”

Under his desk while he waited for the rest of the class to show, Sirius pulled out his phone and opened Instagram.

XOXO

Remus approached campus slowly. He felt like he didn’t know anyone anymore, even if he knew that wasn’t true. He thought he saw James from afar, but Lily and Kasey didn’t have class today.

Really, Remus didn’t know if he had many friends that weren’t…shared. That didn’t feel too close to home. Manhattan wasn’t that big of an island.

He looked down at his schedule he’d written out on his phone.

The 19th Century Novel - Hogsmeade R#302.

He made his way to the Hogsmeade building and climbed the spiral staircase quickly. It all felt too industrial, too metallic. At least he’d woken up with Leo, who still had the ancient air about him. He didn’t want that bubble to pop.

“Mr. Lupin,” Professor McGonagall beamed when he walked in, and Remus smiled, too at her familiar Scottish drawl. “It’s so very nice to have you back.”

“Hi, Professor. It’s good to be—”

But the words died on Remus’ tongue. He looked out at the small class—just twenty at this high level—and his heart, out of habit it seemed, had leapt at the sight of familiar dark hair.

Uh-oh. Looks like Pyramus and Thisbe are actually wishing for a wall between them this time.

Sirius’ hair was shorter than it had been at the end of sophomore year, the last time Remus had seen him. He wore a touch of a beard, too, just scruff, really, but it framed his silver eyes like darkness to the stars—two stars, which were zeroed in on Remus.

“Back,” Remus tried to recover, mouth dry. He sent McGonagall a shaky smile, and turned to find a seat, trying not to find those stars again.

He resisted the urge to close his eyes in defeat when he realized that there was only one left. He walked towards Sirius looking ahead and with his heart pounding. Leo. Leo making pancakes for him and Julian this morning. Leo making his little brother laugh. But he could smell the worn leather of Sirius’ jacket. He remembered the feel of it around his own shoulders. Are you cold, baby?

“All righty, then,” McGonagall stood from her chair and leaned against the front of her desk, looking down her spectacles at the attendance sheet. “Looks like we’re all here.”

XOXO

“Well?” Saint asked as Sirius took the joint from between his fingers.

“Sat down next to me,” Sirius said. “Didn’t say a fucking word.”

“Did you say a fucking word?” Saint raised his eyebrows.

Sirius blew out smoke. “No.”

“Well, all right, you fucking hypocrite.”

Sirius looked over at him from where they lay side by side, stretched out in the fading sunshine of Central Park. “I’m keeping this now.”

“No, you’re not. Did you pay for that? I don’t think so.”

Sirius scoffed. “Yeah, like this made a dent in the Montague treasuries.”

Saint laughed, tucking a palm behind his head. Sirius let his eyes linger on the strip of skin where his shirt rode up. He’d kissed that last night, too. It was nice with Saint. He’d been friends with him for longer than he could remember. Saint never looked for more. If Sirius snapped at him, he snapped back and then they laughed about it. Saint wandered through the world loving people freely. He kissed them, or he made them dinner, or he took them for long walks along the river. He showed them his favorite jazz club, or gave them the orgasm of their life, or read to them from his favorite books. He was New York in human form, accepting and inviting, living and breathing.

Sirius wished he was so trusting, even if trust seemed a funny word to apply to Saint.

No one ever got too close to either of them, except the other.

“What are you wearing to your mom’s fashion show?” Saint asked with his eyes closed. “It’s the event of the season.”

“Are you joking? The fittings started in July.”

“Mm, I love that,” Saint grinned, stretching. “Want to come help me decide what I’m wearing? We’re at the Plaza right now, you know that. You know my mother. If it’s not broken, break it. We’re renovating again. We can order champagne to the room.”

“Is that code for make out?”

“Partly. But I will be showing you my outfit choices.”

“Deal.”

XOXO

Remus made it back home seeing no one, but one of the butlers had an envelope with his name on it waiting for him.

“Thanks, Moody,” Remus murmured, but thought briefly about handing it right back to him.

He knew this invitation. He knew its black boarders and heavy stock. It came ever year.

It used to be something they had looked forward to.

The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black

invites you

TOUJOURS PUR

“Jesus,” Remus breathed, but took it up to his room, checking the time on the way. Julian would still be at school, his parents at work. This apartment was too big for the four of them, not to mention just Remus alone.

His suitcases still lay open and unpacked on his floor, and he kicked at one without looking up.

“So, did you just forget to mention that you were home?”

Remus spun towards his bed, only to find Lily sprawled across it and fiddling with an emerald on a chain.

“I had to find out from Gossip Girl?” Lily shook her head.

Remus slapped the invitation against his thigh. “Wow, wasn’t like that was a surprise present for you or anything.”

Lily smiled, red hair in a thick french braid. “I see green and I know it’s for me. What can I say?”

Remus huffed out a laugh, and she gave a small squeal and pushed off of the bed to wrap him in a hug.

“I’m so happy you’re home, Re.”

He let himself rest his chin in the crook of her neck for a moment. ‘Thanks, Lils.”

She pulled back, hands on his shoulders. “What, no, me too?”

“I am,” he said tentatively. “But I had fun in Rome.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Southern fun?”

“His name is Leo,” Remus said pointedly, then eyed the pile of garment bags piled high on the other side of his bed. “Are those…”

“Pour moi, et pour toi,” Lily patted his cheek. “We have a fashion show to go to, sweetheart.”

XOXO

What do we think, Courtiers? House of Black’s fashion show is the biggest event of the fall. But what on Earth does doe-eyed Remus Lupin have to do within that dark forest now?

Is he a Bambi, or still the wolf we knew?

You know you love me.

XOXO,

Gossip Girl

[spiltscribbles]

Prompt: Pro Athlete Sirius because that my and Remus' kink

~Notes: OMFG VICTOrIA!!!! I FUCKING SCREECHED!!!! lkadfjlaksdgjoiaejfalskdgjioeugisfkldshg Yes tis my kink as well!!! And then I saw this from Nonny and worlds collided and BOOM! I hope you like this my love<3<3 You incredibly talented sugarplum!!! TBH I want to write a thousand more things in this AU XD

.-

FROM THIS LIST  |  Send Me A Prompt!💜 | A REBLOG MEANS THE GALAXY!!💜

.-

When Remus was young— surrounded by the light breeze of the Welsh coast and the harmony of birds chirping in the distance— he would follow his mother to their small garden behind their cottage  at the cusp of twilight as his father cooked their supper, and he’d watch as she laid flat all sorts of newspapers written in French and Arabic and English, watch as she brought her red pen against the ink and marked the articles with underlines and shorthand he wouldn’t understand for years still.

He asked her once, when he was barely eight years old, why she bothered to keep up with so many different publications, why she read the same story penned by countless perspectives when all the facts stayed the same at the end of the day. And he remembers how she had let out a quick, shrill of a laugh, tossing back her golden head while sucking in a puff from the bubbling hookah she had set up besides her— a habit she acquired from her Algerian, refugee parents, and one that became synonymous to those late nights in Remus’s eyes.

“Facts can be wielded to someone’s personal vendettas, Remus John,” she had crooned in that adoring way of hers whenever she spoke to him— honey eyes that were the same color and shape to Remus’s own flashing alight and their matching smiles going crooked in her stunningly beautiful face. 

“Oh.” Remus had replied, still confused as all get out but was perfectly fine with just holding his small vigil, watching her beneath moonlight and the soft glow of their outdoors lamps, as he listened to the shuffling of papers while she commenced this odd quirk. 

It’s a decade and a half later—  as his editor for the Phoenix, a small, but bustling online editorial that plans on dethroning the likes of Politico and Vox in only a matter of years, scans his latest findings on the corrupt boosters linked to MP Avery from Leeds— when Remus thinks he suddenly understands what his mother, with her keen eyes and pixelated air, had meant by facts in how they can be colored differently simply by the words surrounding them. And he wonders if one day soon, one of his bylines will join her little stack of stories, if she’ll be proud of him even if she says as much even now, when he’s a lost twenty-something stumbling through life in the capitol and barely making it as is, between his actual job and the gig he has at the coffee shop nearest his dingy flat he shares with three other blokes.

“Mmm, this is good, Lupin,” Dorcas declares after what feels like an eon, dropping her long, dark legs from where they were lounging leisurely on her desk and scuffs out her cigarette in a pretty, glass ashtray. “Send it over to Flores to look into deeper, maybe it’ll corroborate the info she’s already gotten from her sources.”

Remus feels himself bristle, hopes that it doesn’t show, that his face stays passive as he contends, “I think I should at least help her write the expose, I’m the one who got this bombshell.”

“That’s not how it works, sweets,” Dorcas toots, tossing back her dark head of curls as she rises, perching on the corner of her desk delicately and looking down, straight into his gaze. “I know it’s frustrating, but you’re fresh blood. barely six months here, but Alice has been with us for years. This is her baby, and we’re just here to nurture it.”

“So I’ll have to wait another ten months, at least,  to get the same treatment?” He argues in an admittedly petulant way, making Dorcas laugh endearingly, and Remus is suddenly,  searingly reminded of his age, and how he’s the youngest staffer that this London based news outlet has on hand. 

“C’mon, love, it won’t be that long for someone as sharp as you, just be patient, and don’t try to pull a Zoe Barnes on us, yeah? You’re far too pretty to clean up on the rails of  the tube.” Dorcas tousles a hand into his dark tawny curls, and Remus holds back the roll to his eyes that he feels willing up inside of him as he stands fully.

“Thanks Cas.”

She smiles beatifically, and throws him a wink. “You’re joining Emmy for the report tomorrow on those United footballers and their fundraiser for the hospital, yeah?”

“Bright and early,” Remus replies, still feels a bit miffed that he was chosen to write up the charity function, considering he doesn’t know a lick about football and doesn’t really get on with anyone who does. But Caradoc— their typical sports reporter— is out sick with the flew, so it’s on him. “I’ll have it on your desk early enough so it’ll be published by tea time.”

“Good man,” Dorcas says in thanks, picking up her crowing cellphone before waving him off.

Remus isn’t all that surprised when he strides out of the office only to find Benjy Fenwick sitting against the opposite wall, knees pressed to his chest and quickly scrambling up when he catches sight of Remus. Sometimes it’s impossible to believe that the bespectacled man in front of him is one of the top editors for the Phoenix, that he’s a regular corespondent for places like the BBC or CNN— that his rebukes against the piss poor inquiries waged during PMQs have become more anticipated than the sessions themselves. Remus tends to forget all of that when he sees him like this, messy haired and wearing a graphic T-shirt with some marvel superhero embossed on the front. “Wotcher Remus.”

“Hiya Remus says, smiling softly and rocking back on his heels. “You wanted to talk to the sergeant then?”

“Huh? Oh, no, no. I didn’t want to talk to Dorcas, I just— Erm, I know you were showing her that stuff you got from that intern, Pettigrew, and i know you were chafed about not getting any opportunity here so—“ He trails off, scratching the back of his head and studying a point over Remus’s shoulder, and it’s all too endearing, and Remus is so beyond thankful he’s made such a good friend here.

“No cigar,” he says in answer to the unspoken question, shrugging noncommittally even if he feels like shit over it.

Benjy nods, face contrite in a way that tells Remus he never thought it would’ve went otherwise. “I’m sorry, that’s bollocks.”

“’S whatever,” Remus shrugs off the apology, begins walking down the hall and straightening his report to hand over to Alice. 

“Ah,, erm. We can get a drink, yeah? In commiseration,” Benjy offers, and Remus stilts only for a beat before continuing the twisting trail to where Alice is set up with the more senior members on staff. And he feels only sorta bad about wanting to refuse. He knows that if he says yes, it’ll mean something different to Benjy than it does him, that he’ll probably take it as Remus finally giving into his pestering and deciding to actually go out with him, even if he’s refuted the other four times he’s asked as much. Remus’s simply just too busy trying to get a footing in this city, and trying to figure out where he’s suppose to go from here, and what he’s suppose to do. And yes, Benjy is cute— a complete Seth Cohen archetype. And he’s sweet and smart and funny enough. But Remus is really not in the mood for doing the whole flowers and wine and candle lit dinners shtick, had gotten enough of that while still with his university boyfriend. And yeah, he’s only just turned 24, but he already feels too old and too jaded for that sort of puppy love— even if Benjy’s got a good decade and some change on him.

Probably sensing his hesitation, Benjy is quick to rectify the offer. “I’ll ask Mary, and Fabian too, and a few others. We can make a night of it, just some drinks on a Friday after work.”

Stalling by the last turn to Alice’s desk, Remus looks at him from over his shoulder, and sort of hates himself for being such a soft hearted fuck sometimes. “Yeah Benj, sounds nice. Just let me know on the group chat, yeah?”

Benjy grins, much more genuine than his awkward quirk of the lips from earlier. “Yeah, good call, I’ll let the others know pronto.”

“Aces,” Remus says, tosses him a obligatory thumbs-up before finding an expectant looking Alice who’s tapping her foot impatiently.

Yeah, today is so bloody shit.

.-

Surprisingly, the round of drinks turns to another and then a third and fourth and Remus is currently nursing his fifth mango margarita on Benjy’s tab, and he actually feels lighter than he has since taking the job at Phoenix, feels bright and bubbling and like absolutely nothing could be wrong as long as he’s got this drink in his grasp and he’s sitting with the handful of reporters and photographers from the office that don’t all have sticks up their asses. It’s fun, it’s good. So obviously it couldn’t have lasted.

Mary is currently cackling about her Uber driver from last night who asked her all sorts of well meaning, but incredibly dense questions about her hijab— a freshly poured glass of coke in one hand, while the other is tangled into her girlfriend Emmy’s. And From his left Remus can hear Fabian ribbing Frank on his crush on Alice, while Benjy scoots intermittently closer as they watch Kingsley and Marlene sparring over something to do with a Kardashian or TikTok trend or whatever the fuck else— The guy has resilience, Remus has to give Benjy that.

“Right, who’s buying next?” Marlene asks, abrasive as ever while scrolling through her phone, ostensively finding something to prove her point against the managing editor.

“Reckon it’s my turn,” Benjy crows, standing up smoothly and glancing down at Remus with a nervous sort of half grin.

“Just a water for me, ta. I need to sober up,” Remus tells him, feels proud that he didn’t even slur slightly. Benjy bobs his head understandingly, and Remus turns to ask Marlene about her latest tinder hookup which always is a good laugh, but then he catches on it. On the sound of the pub’s doors flinging open, followed by a raucous crowd of athletic looking guys probably only a bit older than he is, clambering indoors. 

They’re all so very sixth-form, broad grins and slapping each other’s shoulders with jeers, topped off with loud, bark like laughter that makes it obvious to Remus that these wankers think that they’re some sort of group of gods amongst men, roaming around like everyone should fall to their feet and offer everything they have. It makes Remus roll his eyes so far back that it feels like he might’ve sprained them. They just give off this exhausting aura that reminds him of a past boyfriend in tenth year who was on the footie team and who’s favorite activity was either making Remus feel lucky enough to go out with someone so popular, or dragging him around like some sort of bloody trophy.

To put it nicely, Remus sorta hates them on sight. So when he sees one of the tossers— regrettably the brightest of the lot who’s all pearly teeth, and glittering eyes and incredibly impressive shoulders that tape off to a narrow waste in an objectively infuriating matter— swivels up to the barkeep and jostles Benjy on his way, well Remus doesn’t hesitate to dart forwards to tell him off.

“Oi, watch where you’re going, yeah?”

Benjy and the bloke who looks like he might moonlight as a model for Calvin briefs for when he’s not lounging in a yacht off the Tuscany coast, both turn to him at the same time. Benjy looking abashed, and the aforementioned tosser preening like the cat who’s just caught a canary.

“Sorry, love. Didn’t see you there,” he says in a delightfully deep tenner, giving Remus an appreciative once over, and Remus absolutely despises how the action makes him feel both thrilled and irritated. “Trust and believe, I wouldn’t have looked away if I saw you.”

“Not me, arse.” Remus spits back, refuses to pay any credence to how his cheeks have begun to flush. “You bumped into my mate right there, the one with the tray of loggers.”

The tosser darts his almost molten gray eyes over to Benjy for a sparing second before he laser focusses back onto Remus, the most phony expression of contrition all over his face. “Sorry to your friend,” he says the descriptor like a joke that no one else is in on. “Let me buy you a drink in sorry for the one I made slim here spill.”

Remus is officially unimpressed, hopes that his flat tone gets it across. “You’re an arse.”

“You’re mouthy,” he retorts, looks like it’s something he greatly appreciates— delights over even. 

“Ah, ’s fine Remus, really. I’ll just bring these back and get us a new glass.”

“Listen to slim, Remus, he’s got the right idea.” The tosser hurriedly interjects, strutting close enough to him that he makes it so Remus has to tip his head back just slightly so not to drop his gaze. “I’m Black, Sirius Black, just to get the pleasantries out of the way.” His leer tells Remus that the name should probably evoke some response of aw into Remus, but all it does is make him sound so egregiously pretentious that Remus wants to smack his own bloody head against a dry wall and stay in the hole until this ruddy Sirius bloke leaves him the hell alone.

“Good for you,” he says instead of all of that, and spots Sirius’s friends from behind Sirius chuckling and elbowing one another. Evidently this is a line the tosser uses frequently, and Remus is pleased that he might be one of the first who aren’t at all impressed by the grandiose way he introduced himself.

“Hah, you know I’m use to the pretty ones playing hard to get, but I’m really feeling here that you’re not exactly liking my company, love.”

Remus sucks in a frustrated breath through his nose, shouldering past Sirius and taking the tray of drinks from Benjy before storming back to their table where the others have begun openly gawping at the scene— Marlene outright squawking with Fabian just as Remus takes his seat.

“Don’t,” Remus warns them all as he silently says fuck off to the water and instead gargles down one of the loggers. And if he has to steadfastly not turn around for the rest of the night towards where he can feel Sirius’s gaze burning into his back— well then so be it.

.-

The next morning, Remus has to puke twice into the toilet, and gulps down three aspirins just to stave off his bloody hangover from the night before where he decided that getting properly sloshed would prove as a good technique to not end up making out with Sirius in some dark corner— or regrettably the backseat of his car. And if he does still remember flashes of ranting to him about how insufferable preppy, rich boys actually are while Sirius gazed at him endeared— well Remus just decides to purge it out along with the stomach acid. It’s not like he’ll ever see the douche again.

.-

He meets Arthur— one of the accountants who also helps out by taking photos for more low key news stories— outside the hospital where the conference will be taking place with the Manchester United team. There was a scrimmage that they all played with some of the kids in the cancer ward that occurred at around eight in the ruddy morning, but thankfully Remus didn’t have to show up until an hour later when the team presented their big shiny check, to the big, shiny hospital. 

However, Arthur has been here for hours, so he’s beyond chirpy and looks like he’s downed three cups of espresso as he chatters on about his son Percy starting secondary school, and his eldest, Bill, getting an award for his reading prowess, and all the strange craving his wife has been having throughout her pregnancy with the twins they’re expecting any week now. And Remus loves Arthur, he does— one of the sweetest folks he’s ever met— but God, his head is still thrumming from those misguided tequila shots and he really just wants to get his three quotes, and write up the story so he can find refuge back in his sheets.

While Arthur has moved to talking about his wife, Molly’s, plans to open up a daycare in their refurnished garage, Remus scans his eyes over the familiar face of reporters from other outlets who look just as bored as him, and then to the stage where a woman in a sharply pressed suit is ushering for the group of football stars to join her, so that the conference can finally fucking begin. 

And Remus thinks that their faces are sorta familiar, probably from all the publicity they get on the telly— but then he freezes as he stops at one of them with dark brown skin, and thick rimmed spectacles— and he suddenly can hear him chatting about his redheaded girlfriend and drunkenly declaring that she’ll be the mother of his children some day soon. So he completely expects it when his stomach drops as he moves his glance just a bit to the right, being struck by pearly teeth, and glittering eyes and incredibly impressive shoulders that tape off to a narrow waste, made all the more infuriating by the tight kit he’s got on and the blazing number twelve splayed against his chest.

And fuck.

Remus runs through about a dozen scenarios in which he can make a discrete, or not so discrete exit before he notices him, but in tandem to his spiraling thoughts, the wanker actually looks forwards, and like a creepy metal detector, his quick silver gaze pinpoints onto Remus.

They stare at one another for a beat before his smirk goes wolfish, and he runs a hand through his artfully tousled hair in a way that practically screams, fancy meeting you here. And holy fuck he looks so mouth watteringly attractive with that faint film of sweat running down his neck, and how his smile pulls slightly more to the left, and how he’s looking at Remus like he’s his birthday and Christmas presents all rolled into one.

Remus suddenly hates everything— but most of all hates Sirius, and how bloody fit he is.

“Oh, you’re a fan then?” 

Starting, Remus shifts around slightly so that he’s facing Arthur completely. “Pardon?”

“Sirius Black I mean, you’re a fan?” Arthur asks in that abrasively congenial and intensely scrutinizing way that he treats everything. “I mean he’s a great player, but I know you don’t really watch. So I bet it’s all that charity work he does, yeah?”

“Charity work?” Remus echos, feeling like a floundering fish.

“Truly some amazing stuff.” Arthur pontificates, rubbing a hand against his jaw as he tips his head back. “I mean obviously I’m partial to the fundraising for Reporters Without Borders, but of course the things he does with the more impoverished kids is great. And I know Molly likes his very outspoken posts about being anti war and his annual live streams to earn money for refugees in those war torn nations, like the last one he did for Syria?”

“Oh—“ Remus says, feeling like his head is being overrun by a fountain of new information.

“Yes well, you don’t usually see athletes get into the thick of it with political issues, but I reckon he never really minded. I mean the fact he’s the first football star from United to have come out without any fanfare really proved that. Oh, I think they’re starting, I should probably get some photos before Dorcas gives me a tongue lashing.”

And as quick as the flash of his camera’s lends, Arthur is using his considerable height to get to a more advantageous spot towards the front, and leaves Remus in the dust, as if he hasn’t just obliterated his every assumption of Sirius from after that initial meeting.

And unbidden, the words his mother had told him so many years ago, about facts and how they can color a situation just simply based off the person who’s speaking them— flood to the forefront of his mind.

“Fucking hell,” Remus mutters lowly, gets jostled by Greengrass, a hawkish reporter from a rivaling publication who always has on the most wickedly sharp acrylic nails, and perfectly quaffed curls— as she waves around her certification to speak her inquiry.

“My question is for Potter,” she announces when the woman leading the event, McGonagall, points her way. “And I was wondering how early you boys have to rise for training during the season? And how intense the sessions are that Coach Hooch puts you guys through?”

Potter, the one with the redheaded girlfriend that Remus heard so much about last night between his ranting at Sirius, parts his lips, but it’s not his voice that ends up reverberating through the outdoors space. Instead, it’s Sirius, who’s shouldering him with a goading air, obviously expecting his comment to have only ended up in Potter’s ear and not caught by the mike.

“I wonder if Lupin will let me wake up with’m so he can let me get some real training done before practices, eh?”

And just as soon as his words pitter off, the entire crowd drops to a hush— quiet enough so that they could probably hear it if a pen dropped. 

Sirius’s handsome face— strong jawline, and broad but sharp cheekbones, and a long, narrow nose— goes suddenly ashen, and he flashes over to Remus as if he’s terrified that he’ll bite his face off.

God, what an idiot.

With a long suffering sigh, Remus plucks out the microphone from a slack faced Greengrass’s hand. “We can discuss the regimen afterwards, Black. Just meet me by the front doors and let your mate answer the bloody question.”

Everyone around them falls into laughter that’s caught between uncomfortable chuckles and amazingly amused cackling, but the only person Remus is paying any mind is Sirius, and how he seems to have gone absolutely incandescent, nodding electrically before miming the zip of his lips and gesturing for Potter to carry on.

Jesus help him, Remus has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.

.-

~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist

~Buy Me A Coffee 

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Good Girl, Bad Boy (Pt. 02 of 15)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X Reader

Word count: 2.3 K

Summary: You're the extreme opposite of Billy Hargrove. The good girl, with perfect grades, the child every mother wants to have. And you don't want to have nothing to do with his kind. Ignoring Billy – and his constant, lingering stare – became an habit. But after you're put together for a special school program, you'll have no choice but to get along with him. And soon enough you'll find out that Billy is so much more than just Hawkins' bad boy.

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{Stranger Things Masterlist}

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×

Growing Closer

You find Billy walking away from his locker, ready to go home. He's alone this time, and you heard something about Stacy being mad at him. You wonder what he did to her. Or if he just got tired and is now aiming for someone else.

“Hargrove.” You call when you're closer enough to be heard. Billy turns around immediately, and you both stop in the middle of the hall. “Do you happen to have some time? We need to discuss the calendar.”

“Sure.” He simply says, and it's clear to you he's pissed off already. He was forced into the program, so it's only normal he doesn't want to do that.

“We can hit the library. It remains open for two hours after class.” You can't help but notice some people staring. But that isn't a surprise. You and Billy are as different as day and night, and nobody expects to see you two talking.

“Sure.” He repeats, and a fun expression crosses his face before he steps aside, gesturing for you to walk.

Chuckling, you furrow your eyebrows, starting to make your way to the library.

You know the place by heart since you're here at least three times a week. Waving at the teacher who stays in the reception, you pick a table in the back, so your chattering won't bother anyone. Taking a seat, you watch as Billy settles down across from you.

It's a little weird at first, and a silence falls in between you two. You suddenly realize you've been staring at him, way too focused on his blue eyes. You didn't know Billy's eyes were so beautiful. But you quickly clear your throat, searching on your bag for your notebook.

“I made you this planner.” Pulling the paper sheet off the notebook, colorful by many different marker colors, you slide it over to him. Billy's eyes fall on it immediately, eyebrows raising. “It's just to help you keep up with everything until the end of the year. More stuff will probably be add, but don't worry, I'll let you know.”

“You have everything figured out, don't you?” He finally speaks up, holding the paper in his hands.

“I know you don't want to do this. But this is senior year and you're almost free. Just a little longer and this will be over.” Offering him a small smile, you put a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I won't repeat the year. My grades are enough to get me through.” He sounds a little angry, and you sigh.

You don't know what to say to make him cooperate if he doesn't want to. “Look, you can't get out of the Improvement Program. But you can pick another tutor. So if you want, I have a list of everyone who's still available and maybe if there's someone you already know or happen to be friends with–” As you speak, you start looking in your bag for the small blueish paper. “–you just have to talk to Mrs Martinez and–”

“I want you to be my tutor.” His voice startles you since it's a little too loud and because of the silence, it echoes a bit. “But just because I know you're the smartest person in this school.”

Biting your lip, you nod, not sure how you feel about his compliment. “Thanks... I try.”

“You freaking succeed,” Billy mutters, cupping his hands above the table.

There's heat creeping through your cheeks so you look away, bringing back to mind what else you must talk to him about. “So, the next project is a presentation on History about World War I. Our part is about the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand, the invasion of Bosnia and Herzegovina, and the July crisis. The happenings before the war was set.”

“Great.”

“Shhh.” Someone says, and you look at a small group of people on your left.

“You shut up, asshole.” Billy raises his voice a little, and you look at him with wide eyes.

“Hey. Don't say that.” You warn him, giving the boy an apologetic look. “We're at a library, we're supposed to be quiet.”

“Excuse me.” Mr Williams comes, standing a few feet away. “Some students are complaining about your chattering, so I'll have to ask you to leave, please.”

“Oh...” Blushing a little, you start gathering your stuff. “Sorry, Mr Williams. We'll leave.” Billy is just about to say something when you give him a look.

You're quickly outside again, fixing the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “We...” Moving out of the way of some people heading to the library, you set into his pace, walking side by side. “We'll need some time to work on everything. So we can switch between your place and mine because doing things in the library won't work.” You feel a little shy to propose this, but it's not a big deal. You'll be doing this until the end of the year, so it's quite inevitable. “If that's ok with you, of course.”

“We should hit your place then. My father is home today, so... It just won't work.” There's a change in his voice, and you glance at him.

“My mother is home too. But she won't bother us.” Walking a little faster, you gesture at your car. “Just follow me.”

Billy nods, and you smile, giving him a little wave.

The school is empty, and so are the streets around it, so you have no trouble speeding away. Keeping your eyes on the review mirror, it only takes twenty minutes to get to your house, so you park on your usual spot, stepping out of the car and waiting for Billy to do the same. When he finally joins you on the porch, you move to unlock the door.

Billy couldn't help but feel lucky to be at her place. He never thought he'd come here, under any circumstances. Trying not to let her notice, he allows his eyes to wander a little as she opens the door, taking in the place (Y/N) calls home. It has a weird feeling for him, almost as if the place is sacred, somewhere he wasn't supposed to be.

“My mother is nice. But she may say some embarring stuff so... Be prepared.” Following her inside, Billy notices as her mother looks at them, eyes going a little wide to see him. He wonders if she isn't used to her daughter bringing boys home. Knowing (Y/N), he knows she's not. “Mom, this is Billy Hargrove. I told you about him yesterday, remember? From the Improvement Program.”

She told her mother about him. So yes, she was thinking about him. Maybe just for a couple of seconds, maybe just as someone she knows, who she has told to help. But it doesn't matter. (Y/N) was thinking about him, and for now, it's enough.

“Of course.” She stands up, coming to give her daughter a quick hug and shake Billy's hand. “I'm Amanda. (Y/N)'s mother.”

“It's good to meet you, Mrs–”

“Call me Amanda kid, or else I feel terribly old.” She jokes, kindly smiling. “I believe you'll be hanging around here a lot because of school. But don't worry, I won't get in your way.”

“Thanks, mom. We'll be in the dining room.” (Y/N)'s light touch on his forearm is enough to make him shot her a glance, almost too desperate, something in him wanting to ask her why she did such a thing. Billy curses himself as he follows her to the dining room for feeling so stupid. It's just a freaking touch. On his freaking arm. And she wasn't even giving it much thought.

As Billy settles down on the table, (Y/N) moves the centerpiece to the edge so they'll have more space. “Do you want anything? Water? Or some chips? I happen to have some.”

Her voice sends Billy into some kind of stupor. A guy like him shouldn't feel this way. (Y/N) is just a girl, and he had many. But none of them ever made him feel like this. Like his heart is trying to jump off his chest. After a year, he did think he got over it. But he was wrong. Billy didn't want to be this close to (Y/N), always watching her from a safe distance. But this stupid school had to put them together, so damn close. Look at him now, seated on her dining table, staring at her like a complete idiot.

Just because she offered him water and freaking chips.

“Water is nice.” He mumbles, eyes on her back as she walks away, passing behind his chair. A sweet scent irradiates from her. Like flowers, he doesn't know which one though, like freaking sunshine.

Laughing at his stupidity, Billy looks down at his hands. How can someone smell like sunshine? It's illogical.

“Get it together, she's just a girl,” Billy says to himself, resting his back against the chair and taking his jacket off, laying on the chair next to him. Girls are nothing new to him. He had they all figured out, their ways, how to break them, how to please them, how to bend them to his will.

But not (Y/N).

A nice girl like her is immune to his tricks. And that's good because if she wasn't, it would mean she could also fall on someone's traps. Like Tommy, or Jimmy, or Jackson. The very thought of those assholes with her, touching, caressing, kissing... It disgusts him, and he's quick to push such images away.

“Did you say something?” (Y/N) asks, coming back from the kitchen and handing him a glass with cold water. Once she's close enough, he takes a deep breath, and her sweet scent almost drives him mad.

She's not a girl for you, get it together. “No.” He mumbles, taking long sips before putting the glass down. “So what now?” He sounds a little rude, so he immediately clears his throat after, eyes on (Y/N) as she takes a seat next to him on the round table instead of across from him. Billy finds it odd, but he's thankful for the proximity. This way, he can be surrounded by her candy-like scent, trying to memorize it so he could play it back later. When he's into the nightmare he calls home.

You're just about to start, History books already on the table, since you'll begin with the presentation, notebooks and papers so you can take notes, but then you look at Billy. There's a bruise on the apple of his cheek that you haven't noticed it before.

“Did you get into a fight?” You ask, leaning slightly forward to take a better look.

“What?” There's a moment of confusion on his face before it changes. “Yeah.”

“Did you win?”

“In a way.” It doesn't look like he'll say anything else.

“Well, if someone punches you, make sure to beat them up.” Smiling a little, you take the History book, opening it on chapter 7. “What exactly do you know about–”

“Are you still dating Steve?”

The question takes you by surprise, making you nervously giggle. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Just curious.” He shrugs his shoulders, tilting his head to the side. “Saw you two talking earlier today and he wouldn't be happy to know we'll be around each other a lot.”

“Steve is my friend. We dated last year but only for two months.” Avoiding Billy's eyes, you go through the book, not really paying attention to anything. You can feel his stare, and for some reason, your cheeks start heating up.

“Who broke up with who?”

Chuckling, you turn your body towards him. “Why do you want to know, Billy?” Maybe he's just trying to procrastinate. “Because if you're just trying to delay things I–”

“No, I really want to know.” He leans forward, pulling the book closer to him. “You and Harrington don't fit together, so I was surprised to see you hanging out with him last year.”

“Steve and I got pretty close when he dropped the jerk act. And we were both single so we decided to give it a try.” The only reason you're telling Billy this is because it's not a secret. Some people know and they probably didn't put any effort into keeping it hidden. “But it didn't click. We were dating but it wasn't really romantic, so...” You smile to remember it, and the memory that comes back is definitely a secret. Nancy is the only one who knows, her and Steve, obviously. But you guess it's ok to tell Billy, it's quite funny. And silly. “We... We never really kissed, you know?”

“What?” His voice startles you, and the genuine confusion on his face only makes you laugh. “You're joking.”

“I'm not, and if this gets out, I'll know it was you.” With a finger pointing at his face, you fake a threatening face. “So keep it between us or else.”

Pinching his eyebrows together, Billy seems amused. “Or else what?” His voice gets lower, as he leans closer.

“Or else I'll have no choice but to make out with Steve in front of the whole school.” In a sassy tone, you smile, biting your tongue not to laugh at his expression. Billy is... Impressed? Surprised, maybe. Something tells you he wasn't expecting this answer.

“Ew. Please don't.”

“Then don't tell anyone.” Shrugging your shoulders, you pull your feet up, crossing your legs on the chair. “Now, C'mon. World War I.”

“One more question and we get to it.” As he speaks, you feel him pulling your hand away from the notebook, forcing you to give him attention. “Why in the hell didn't you and Steve–”

“We kissed. I mean, those quick kisses, you know. Like when you say hi or goodbye. Just a peck in the lips. But that was it.”

“That was it?”

“That was it.” Giggling again, you assure him. Why is it so important to him anyway? “Now, can we start?”

You watch as Billy's eyes remain on you, burning, lingering. After a while, his lips break into a smile and he looks down at the book, shaking his head lightly. “Let's start.”

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