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qwimchii · 1 year

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𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 (pt. 1) — 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

playlist pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4 pt. 5 pt. 6 pt. 7 pt. 8 (10/24)

𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘤 — 17.7𝘬 (crying TT)

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 & 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢, 𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵!𝘢𝘶, 141𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘨!𝘢𝘶, 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 (10𝘺𝘳𝘴), 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘴, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘥𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯

note: the year is circa 1908 and 10 years after the spanish-american war (1898). reader has long hair bc i felt like that was historically accurate... hope that's ok <3

header gunslinger ghost render by @ave661

you had heard the whispers on the horizon.

the whole town buzzed with a sort of energy—a swirling mass of dusty brown and gurgling in your stomach.

anxiety. you saw it on passerby faces through Daddy’s saloon, the bouncing knee of your mama under the table while you said grace at dinner. she never bounced her knee. it was a strict habit she trained you out of from a young age. claimed that it wasn’t proper for a young, unmarried lady like yourself.

that morning, when you stood over the wash bin in front of the dusty mirror, you wiped at your face with an old washcloth and smoothed the lines of your face like your mama taught you.

Ghost was coming to town.

no matter how you brushed your hair, the dust climbing through the desert coated it in a thin, particulate grime. Mama tightened your corset as you shoved your toes into leather heeled boots.

“remember yourself, girl,” she spoke lowly. “remember your manners. behave for once and don’t embarrass your daddy.”

you only rolled your eyes at her hissed warnings. you had met with Daddy’s business partners over several dinners where you put on your best show to pour them a glass of Daddy’s fancy bourbon all the way from kentucky.

these were the rules: you don’t speak to them unless spoken to, and you let them touch you however they please.

you shuddered, stomach curling at the thought of the last dinner. Mr. Turner’s wrinkled hand had slid up your thigh and you twisted away in reflex, accidentally knocking a bottle of bourbon onto the floor that shattered and soaked the hem of his wife’s fancy dress.

she had screamed at you and your daddy’s face had gone red, sending you a look of warning. Mama barely spared you a glance as she pulled you down to the floor to clean it up, pinching the skin of your arm in frustration.

you couldn’t tell if it felt worse to have Mr. Turner’s hand squeezing at your thigh or to be at your knees in front of him.

the strings of your corset pulled tight and you bit back a gasp as Mama tied it deftly with the practiced curl of her rough hands. you put on your best blouse and tucked it into a navy skirt that flowed into a blue, watery circle round your ankles. looking into the mirror, you thought your mama looked so much more poised and ready than you.

with a shaky exhale, you turned to her and she slapped at your face. you winced at the sting it left on your cheek.

“you’ll be fine.”

you felt far from it, trailing after her as the orange sun bled through the grimey windows, a blanket of dust settling on them in the windy evening. you had scrubbed them only yesterday.

settling yourself behind the expanse of Daddy’s bar, you smoothed over the dark wood. the saloon was eerily empty and quiet, a silent omen of Ghost’s arrival approaching. he had sent word only a few days ago. he had urgent business with Daddy and he was coming. now.

as you shuffled through Daddy’s whiskey collection, rearranging and wiping bottles down, you remembered the legends that alcoholics brought in every other week. another story on Ghost—the masked iron harbinger of death and justice. he wasn’t a sheriff, a good and honorable christian, or a vigilante. he was a bounty hunter, a cold-hearted gunslinger with a nasty sore spot for bourbon, money, and women. someone who disappeared without a trace, shooting out runaway criminals, bringing back carcasses for an extra dime.

he wasn’t even human.

a ghost. or so you heard.

you combed through the alcoholic contents, anxiously placing them and replacing them. your mama would be calling you to dinner any second and lead you to the table, Daddy at the head and Ghost at the other, right next to your spot where his hand would be on your thigh, eyes burning into the curve of your cheek.

swallowing, you leaned against the bar top. you wanted to run away. you didn’t know how much longer you could go—how many more business partners Daddy would work with to expand his saloon chain. how much longer until he would be selling his daughter’s honor for a bigger investment…

the familiar click and chime of the saloon doors swinging open came from behind. you crossed your arms and didn’t turn to see who it was. you knew Mama would’ve had your head for being so rude.

“saloon’s closed,” you called out, “Daddy’s got business with—”

“Ghost.”

you stiffened and uncrossed your arms to peer over your shoulder.

there, at the entrance of the saloon, stood a broad and tall figure, hips thick and laden with a gun holster. he hooked his fingers on his belt, embroidered silver buckle glimmering in the red hours of the evenings. his backlit silhouette stark against the sunset made it hard to make out anything else, but you were sure when you saw the shine of his red mask and the wide berth of his black Stetson, a silver skull and crossbones clasped to its brim.

Daddy’s got business with Ghost.

you were frozen. the casual way his thick gloved hand settled on his revolver sent tremors through you.

“you’re supposed to be at dinner with Daddy,” you said, throat tight, and he trudged forward, boots heavy on the wood floorboards. he walked with a heady weight, and as he neared, you could make out the darkness of his eyes piercing through his skull mask.

“wanted bourbon.”

you stared at him for a long moment. he sat at a barstool, all his weight and broadness settled over the bartop. whatever trance you were in broke when he tipped his head at you in question—or impatience, you couldn’t discern. probably the latter.

you fumbled for a kentucky bourbon. you had done this a million times over at the saloon, but the crackle of the air and his gaze following your every move had your hands wobbling. the shaky clink of the bourbon bottle against the glass grappled with the silence of the room. suddenly, you felt hyper aware of the looseness of your blouse when you bent to pour his bourbon. you didn’t dare look up into his gaze.

“you scared of me?” his accent was foreign and grating and sent shivers down your spine. you should’ve been hollering for your mama at this point, but you felt rooted to the spot.

shakily, you exhaled. “no.”

when you pulled back, you watched in amazement as he pulled up the bottom of his black mask, revealing a canvas of pale skin, dark stubble, and a strong jawline that pulled into a tight frown on his lips. a litter of scars shone silver in the light when he tipped back to drain the glass of bourbon.

when he placed the empty glass back on the table, he reached into the inner pocket of his black trench coat and pulled out a cigarette. you flinched when his heavy gaze ran over you.

“light me up, lovely?”

you nodded dumbly, reaching for the lighter under the countertop and held it out to him. he looked up at you, unmoving, and you blinked in confusion before his gloved hand gripped your wrist with a tightness.

he moved your hand with his own, thumbing over the sparkwheel till the flame jumped to life and leaned his mouth forward to tip his cigarette into the flame.

your whole body felt light and fiery—like you were floating a bit off the ground, shoulders drawn with a tightness. a sharp exhale left you when he finally released you, the skin of your wrist tingling in the memory of his leather grip.

smoke clouded your eyes in a haze and you blinked rapidly, quickly wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. he huffed, corners of his lips twitching, a dark gleam in his eye. his rested his hand against the countertop, smoke trailing up in the room and you watched his lips part like he was about to say something—

Mama strode into the room, freezing at the entrance of the back door behind the counter. you had never seen her so tense, her eyes moving from you, to the hulking man smoking a cigarette.

“welcome, sir,” she greeted and he only nodded, pulling his mask back down as he snuffed out his cigarette in an ashtray.

it was like you remembered yourself in that moment, that the man across from you was Ghost, the bounty hunter, the murderer, and the devil. you shuffled away into her side when Ghost stood. her arm was tight when it circled your waist, and you mustered all your strength not to shake. Mama’s gaze was on him but Ghost was only staring at you.

you stared at the floor instead.

“this way, sir,” she said, gate polite and posture poised as she led you and Ghost to the dining room through the back of the saloon’s supply and storage to the other side of the building where he was supposed to enter.

his footsteps were heavy behind you and the hair on your neck prickled. you scurried forward but it was like you could feel his warm breath down your back.

when you found Daddy, it was almost a crushing relief to see the sweeping calm on his half-lidded face at the dinner table. he was so charming, you were sure he could use his business skills to weasel out of this. like he had a million times before.

Mama’s steaming food was laid out over the table—buttered chicken, thick mashed potatoes, greasy green beans with bacon bits. you tried to move to sit on the opposite side of the table, far away from Ghost, but your daddy’s eyes pinned you with a warning and you grimaced, sitting carefully next to him. Ghost’s gaze burned your face.

“Ghost,” Daddy greeted, “pleasure to see you again.”

he only grunted, mask pulled tight over his features. you couldn’t see anything but the dark swirl of his eyes. he didn’t even take off his hat at the table.

you glanced at your mother’s face by Daddy but her eyes were intent, focused on Ghost. she didn’t seem to care at all. you shifted in your seat. you knew Ghost was a very special guest, but not even special guests were above Mama’s rules.

“what brings you to our small town?”

Mama nudged you under the table with her foot, and you kept yourself from rolling your eyes, standing to serve Ghost food. you carefully dished it on his plate neatly, just like Mama taught you, but he didn’t even spare the food a glance.

“i was at your saloon in jackson county.” you froze briefly. jackson county is a long way from the west. he must’ve traveled day and night to reach your small town embedded in tumbleweeds and dust.

his head tipped thoughtfully so you couldn’t see his eyes anymore under the width of his hat. “it’s a nice place. good kentucky bourbon.”

Daddy smiled but his eyes narrowed. you were about to dump a spoonful of mashed potatoes on Ghost’s plate but he gripped your wrist lightly.

“i’m alright,” he said low, and your spine prickled. there was a warning in it, so you sat back in your seat, leaning to the furthest edge away from him. you dreaded the moment his gloved palm would glide up your thigh.

“why are you here, Ghost?” Daddy asked again, his hand reaching down below the table. you imagined it resting on the holster, revolver lodged against his hip.

Ghost leaned forward.

“first, you tell me why I saw Turner’s boys loitering around jackson county.”

Daddy went pale in a way you’ve never seen before and Mama shifted uncomfortably. her knee was bouncing again.

“nearly got my head shot off. had to comb my way through texas to lose ‘em.” Ghost’s eyes narrowed in the dimness of the dining room.

“you know how i feel about the Turner boys, Henry.”

you shivered at his low tone. what the hell was going on?

there was a calculated thickness in Daddy’s voice. it blanketed all the desperation in his clenched jaw. “i needed investors, Ghost. Turner was the highest bidder.”

“do you need a reminder of who built your business from scratch in the first place?”

your brows raised. Daddy did business with Ghost?

“no i remember. i also remember how you high-tailed it out of here when the Turner boys showed up five years ago.”

you jumped in your seat when Daddy stood and placed his revolver on the dinner table. Mama gasped and murmured something like disapproval that Daddy ignored. it gleamed in the low light and your jaw clamped.

“i’m not afraid of you, Ghost. Turner’s protecting me now.”

Ghost’s silence was deadly, his hulking form too relaxed, but you could see his hand twitch where it lay on his holster. was this going to lead to a shootout?

you tried to convey your silent question in the way that you peered into the curve of his mask but his eyes were dead set on Daddy.

“Turner is protecting you now?”

“yes.”

Ghost stared up at your daddy for a long time before his gaze traveled to you. you reached deep inside you to muster the courage and stare unflinchingly back.

“i want my money back, Henry.” it was a low deadly whisper, his eyes never leaving you. Daddy balked.

“you know i can’t do that.”

“but you can. and i want my money back or i can take something much more precious.”

his gloved hand came up to stroke at your cheek and you bit back a hiss, biting down on your lower lip. Mama stood now, clutching at Daddy’s arm.

“you won’t, you devil!” she cried and Ghost gripped firmly at your jaw, razor eyes digging into you. a tight hand around his wrist, you tried to pry him off but he was too strong. he wouldn’t budge. a traitorous tear spilled from the corner of your eye. Ghost brushed it away with his thumb.

“you have no honor,” your Daddy whispered and Ghost went lax. you pushed his hand away and pressed yourself to the back of your chair in a ball.

a new boiling anger built in you. you were being used again as another part in Daddy’s business transactions.

“you sell your daughter to investors for a buck. do you really want to talk about honor?” he chewed out the words and you shuddered, holding your breath to keep down the sobs that threatened to push up into your lungs.

“i protected you. this was my territory. i had men in your town and i made sure no bandits came near your saloons and i made sure none left alive. then, you went to work with Turner instead.” Ghost stood at the table, revolver in hand. he cocked the gun and Mama shrieked.

“this is a fair trade. give me my investment back or i’ll take her instead.” the barrel of his revolver slowly swung from Daddy to you. in his black suit in bloody mask, Ghost truly did look like the devil. you wanted to shake, to cry and scream and sob, but only a venomous anger spread through you.

what did Ghost know about fairness?

“if i go it’s on my terms,” you hissed under your breath and Ghost’s eyes swiveled to you. Mama began to shout in protest but he pointed the revolver dead above her browline and your Daddy hissed, picking up his own revolver and cocking it.

“what’re your terms, lovely?” he asked in a low tone.

“you leave my Mama and Daddy alone.” with a harsh swallow, you wiped at the tears on your cheeks. “i can ride a horse. i can shoot well ‘cause Daddy taught me. i know how to pour a glass and tend a bar. i can read and write. i know good manners and i can talk smart when i need it.

Ghost’s eyes were half-lidded as he looked down on you, sitting as straight as you possibly could at the dinner table. your Daddy’s revolver was trained on Ghost now.

“i won’t get in the way. take me instead of the money.”

Ghost blinked. “what’re my terms?”

you hesitated, voice cracked wide open. “you…you’ll own me.”

his eyes narrowed. “body and soul?”

you nodded slowly, feeling your anger deflate as your mama began to sob.

“body and soul.” you screwed your eyes shut, head dipping forward. the devil.

“Henry?”

your Daddy looked weakly at Ghost, his shoulders falling. he looked meek and small and not even half the smart man you thought he was. his revolver clattered to the dinner table in defeat and you didn’t spare him a glance when you stood from the dinner table to trudge up the stairs and pack your things, the food sprawled across the dinner table cold and forgotten.

you didn’t have time to think about what you needed or what to say goodbye to. the stuffed bear your daddy got you for your tenth birthday lay discarded among your bedsheets. old letters from the girls in town were strewn off your desk as you dug for stationary. you stopped midway when you realized there was no way Ghost would let you write your parents on the move through the west.

was this your new life? confined to bounty hunting and running from foes? living as a ghost?

you shivered, shoving blouses and skirts and a canteen on your nightstand into a knapsack. you pulled out the drawer of your dresser and dug under more clothes to find a revolver and pack of ammo. Mama would beat you if she ever knew it was there and that’s why you always kept it hidden.

you loaded up the cylinder, pushing the bullets into each chamber and ramming the cylinder back in place.

“gearing up to kill me?”

you froze and looked over your shoulder to find Ghost crowding your doorway. for someone of his stature, he moved too quietly. usually, you would be embarrassed at the mess dispersed across the floor, your undergarments at a pile by his dusty boots.

but you just narrowed your eyes, ignoring him as you carded through your room, collecting random essentials. matches, money, your sharpest letter opener, and in a last second grab, your journal.

he watched all your movements with an eerie silence.

“i’m not planning on keeping you forever.” he stepped forward till he was just a short arm length from your back. his voice was cold.

“your daddy’ll try and kill me first, then he’ll cough up the money eventually. it’s a temporary trade off.”

“i’m not one of your business transactions,” you snapped, and he blinked at you.

“‘course not.”

his words weren’t convincing. you tried to squeeze past him but his outstretched arm blocked your path. you almost snapped at him again but shrunk back when his steady eyes pinned you down. he crowded you back until you blindly hit the dresser.

your neck craned up. he was so much bigger than you.

the swell of his chest with each breath almost brushed against you, and you squirmed under his intense gaze.

“you offered yourself up to me,” he said, calculated. “why?”

you swallowed down the anxious gurgling in your stomach. “you wouldn’t believe me.”

“tell me anyway.”

“i hate it here.”

he cocked his head at you. “the rich girl wants to become a bounty hunter?”

you frowned, raising the revolver and digging it into his stomach. “don’t think that i could?”

he gave you a long look before tipping his hat and stepping back. “didn’t say that, lovely.”

you whispered it under your breath. “devil.”

the grip on his holster tightened. “maybe. but i know how to be a gentleman.”

he picked up the knapsack on your bed, despite your grumble of protest, and slung it over his shoulder.

“don’t worry. i’ll take real good care of you, princess.”

you could only imagine a smug smirk hidden by the shroud of his mask as he walked out your bedroom.

it was surreal watching the tears stream down Mama’s face as she cupped your face in her hands. facing them now, you searched your daddy’s eyes for an ounce of anger or fight.

just give him the money, you wanted to scream at your daddy, but he stared straight through you and the hands that clutched at your face.

Ghost watched from a distance, arms curled over his chest, leaning against a fence post that his black stallion was tied to, leisurely grazing at the dry tufts of grass. your horse, Sugar, stamped in the dirt nearby, kicking up dust. Ghost’s dark gaze pierced you even at a distance.

Daddy could never out gun Ghost even if he tried.

you startled when Mama pulled you into a tight hug. she hissed low and angry, “you wait till he falls asleep and you kill him, you hear me?” she pinched at the skin of your arm. “you put three bullets in that devil’s heart and you run back to us.”

she brushed hair away from your face, sweeping away the dust on the crown of your head. “okay?”

you nodded, swallowing, throat bone dry.

“you’ll be fine.”

those were her final words when your daddy led you to your horse and let you clamber up into your saddle. Ghost looked at you expectantly from over his shoulder as your daddy patted your knee.

“i’m sorry, sweetheart.”

no you’re not.

you looked into his charming face, a twisted look on his lips. his eyes were tired.

“goodbye, Daddy.”

you took one look over the small town and the dust that blew through it. Ghost turned his horse into the dying light of the day and you dug the heel of your boot into the flank of your mare, tightening the reins, and took off after Ghost. soon, your mama and daddy become a dot in the horizon, and you almost suppressed a smile.

you weren’t sure how long you rode. it felt like hours, dust kicking up in a big cloud after the pair of you into the dark night. you only stopped every hour or so to let the horses rest up, drink, feed and you were off again. you should’ve been tired but you were so high with exhilaration, lungs burning with exertion from the long ride, that you almost didn’t catch Ghost’s call to rest drifting over the wind rushing in your ears.

your chest was put through the wringer, panting as you slid off your horse.

“good girl, Sugar.” you slapped at her dapple gray shoulder. she snorted, tossing her mane anxiously.

as you traveled further into…wherever you were, the cacti and low brush built up into bushes and weedy looking trees. into a forest.

Ghost lit the lantern strung up on his saddle bags and gave you a sharp, wordless look before leading his horse by the reins further into the woods. you followed him, head on a swivel at the unfamiliar surroundings.

you were used to the big, brown, orange flat canvas of your small town. the green grass underfoot was unusual and the trees cast long, distorting shadows. you startled, stopping short when you heard an foreign call from the woods. Sugar huffed nervously, big nostrils twitching as she stamped her hoof.

“it’s a coyote,” Ghost grumbled, not stopping for your shenanigans. you scurried after him, hyper aware of the encompassing darkness around you and what may be lurking beyond it.

soon, a big structure obstructing the woods came into view and Ghost lifted his lantern to reveal a small wooden cabin. by the side, he tied up his black stallion on a fence post next to a hay feeder and water bin. when he stared at you, unmoving, you quickly followed suit and fumbled to unsaddle Sugar, carrying your knapsack inside and following after his heavy footsteps.

you’re like a lost puppy, a voice grumbled in annoyance. he’s always ten steps in front of you.

you shook away the thought and stepped into the cabin, watching Ghost as he lit the oil lamps littered around the room. there was a miniscule kitchen pressed in the corner, a desk by your side, and a bed on the other. the bed was small. very small.

you cleared your throat. “where are we?”

Ghost didn’t pause to acknowledge you, shucking his trench coat and rolling up the sleeves of his black suit, exposing the skin of his forearms. for a long moment, as he rummaged through a bag, you thought he would ignore you. but your silent stare was relentless.

“border of southern california.”

your brows rose. you weren’t sure how far that was from home, or how you could possibly find your way back.

“and this cabin…?”

he paused to give you a brief look. “you ask a lot of questions.” his voice was pinched with annoyance.

“you don’t talk enough,” you shot back, tensing up. if you were going to be dragged around by this man for months, you thought you at least deserved to know where you were. or what the hell was going on.

he grumbled under his breath. “s’my safe house. we’re stayin’ for the night.”

the night. you nodded, feeling meek, remembering what Mama said. smoothing a hand over your chest, you shifted between feet in the doorway.

you can do this.

Ghost had his back turned to you, pouring his canteen of water into a pot and pouring a bag of something else in it that came out in a pebbled rush. for the devil himself, at least he knew how to cook.

“you gonna sit?”

feeling embarrassed, you moved to sit on the bed, the old mattress sagging under your weight. you kept smooth a hand over your blouse, carding a hand through your hair, till you got tired of it and wove them into messy braids and undid them again.

Ghost huffed, moving from the kitchen to the desk, putting his hat down. you stared.

“relax. no need to be so worked up.”

you nodded. “right.”

his eyes bore holes into you, and you took that as your que, swallowing as you began to unbutton the clasp at the top of your blouse. you paused when Ghost’s breath tapered, turning sharply away.

his accent thickened. “what are you doing?”

“i-i thought—”

“you thought wrong.” his words were cutting.

maybe you should’ve felt relief but you only squirmed in confusion. “body and soul?” you mumbled weakly, and he slowly turned back to you.

you fumbled with your hands awkwardly.

“i don’t bed rich, prissy girls,” he grinded out and you almost balked in defense, but you thought better of it from the way his grip tightened on his holster.

but you couldn’t hold your tongue long enough—

“who do you bed then? whores?” your brow arched against your will as you tilted your head. his eyes narrowed beneath the mask.

“careful, princess.” he grabbed something from a cabinet in the kitchen. “i’m the one who’s keeping you alive.”

a gloved hand held out a plate of some dried fruit and biscuits. a piece of jerky as well. you held your stomach.

you hadn’t touched a morsel of your mama’s food over that tense dinner, which seemed like years ago, and you were too nervous for Ghost’s arrival to eat lunch either. swallowing, you reached a hand out and Ghost pulled the plate back from your grasp.

you almost hissed at him.

“i thought you said you knew manners?”

biting your lip, you sat up straighter and politely crossed an ankle over the other, smoothing your hands over your lap.

“may i please have some food, sir?”

his voice sounded uncharacteristically smug. “you’re a good listener.”

you snatched the plate from him, his words thrumming low in your stomach. kicking off your boots and neatly lining them up by the nightstand, you politely curled your legs to the side and smoothed down your skirt to eat. Mama never let you eat on the bed, but you had snuck up meals some late nights. you almost felt giddy—as if you were breaking the rules when you were eight years old again.

Ghost watched you eat in silence before getting his own plate. the same thrill from that evening soared in your stomach when he tugged up his black mask to reveal his strong jawline and pinkish mouth. you noticed a silvery scar on his upper lip.

“did your father make you do that stuff?” you paused mid-bite of your biscuit, slowly chewing.

you swallowed. “what stuff?”

the twist of his lips seemed like exasperation. “going to bed with strangers.”

you flinched, and it was like an icy cold reminder that Ghost was a stranger—just as much as your daddy’s business partners.

“no.”

Ghost cocked his head. “that so?”

you nodded. “Daddy just had touchy customers.”

you quickly rephrased, putting down the plate on your lap. “but i can if you need me to. for your customers, you know.”

you knew you would need to be of use to Ghost in the coming months, if tonight didn’t go according to plan. the thought spurred on your heart, a looming dread clambering up your spine.

Ghost mouth twisted. “i don’t need you in that way.”

you blinked, frowning. “how do you need me then?”

“just….” he was frowning deeply now. “just do what you’re doing now.”

“what’s that?”

“bein’ polite.” he shrugged, putting down his empty plate. you felt disappointed when he tugged back down the mask. “bein’ a good girl.”

the funny thing is, being polite and a good girl was probably one of the things you were worst at in Mama’s eyes, but looking at Ghost, and the way he brandished his gun over the dinner table like a toy… your manners weren’t too bad at all.

you wondered when was the last time he stepped in a church.

finishing the last bits of dinner, Ghost excused himself to disappear into the woods, and you took the moment of privacy to quickly change into a nightgown, conscious of the way it exposed your collarbones and chest.

you also took the moment to plan out the night, searching into your knapsack to find the familiar handle of your revolver. you tested the weight of it in your hand, before putting it back into the sack. if Ghost was a gentleman, as he attested, he would let you sleep on the bed. that means he would, most likely, sleep on the floor. and if he didn’t… you would just have to convince him that he needed to.

you closed your eyes to imagine leaning over your bed at night, the slow swell of his chest as you aimed the revolver right at his heart and pulled the trigger. three times.

you shivered violently, a chill passing over you.

“cold?”

you stiffened when Ghost stepped back into the cabin, pulling the door shut behind him. you nodded, but the movement felt restrained, fists balled as you crossed them over your chest.

“mhmm.”

he jerked his head to the bed.

“take the bed. i’ll be sleepin’ outside.”

you balked, fist clenching and unclenching.

“but…what about Mr. Turner’s men?”

he turned still, hand twitching at his holster.

“they won’t find us for days. don’t worry about them.”

“but…” Ghost moved to grab his saddlebag.

“i’m scared,” you whispered, and he paused, peering at you through the mask. you gave him a meek look. it’s wasn’t a complete lie. you’ve been half-scared since he walked into Daddy’s saloon unannounced.

he sighed, long and hard. “alright, princess.” he pulled out a balled up blanket from his saddlebag and laid it on the floor, and you went lax with relief, lifting the covers of the bed to slide into them.

you stiffened again when you realized the sheets smelled of him—sweet bourbon, cigarettes, and an earthy musk like mud and woods. cheek nestled into the pillow, you watched him unbutton his vest, pull off his holster, and undo his bolo tie, placing them on the desk neatly.

you half-expected him to take off his mask, too, but he made no move towards it as turned off the oil lamps in the room. a bit disappointed, you turned to the wall once the room was shrouded with darkness.

quiet shuffling ensued, until there was a complete silence and his even breaths in the dark. it would’ve been easy to let sleep overtake you if the spike of your heavy heart wasn’t thrumming in your throat and a biting fear wasn’t corded in the back of your brain.

it took a conscious reminder to remember the large lump of man on the floor was a murderer. a cold-blooded one, too. he was a rich bounty hunter and hunting was his sport. he was a killer. he wasn’t here to feed you or take care of you. he was as sinful as they came.

you slowly shifted in the bed, reaching down into the knapsack on the floor by the bed. you groped until you felt a familiar cold, embroidered handle.

you wait till he falls asleep and you kill him, you hear me?

your mama’s voice rang in your ears as you sat up on the edge of the bed. Ghost was flat on the ground, a blanket drawn up to his waist, arms crossed over his chest. your breath hitched in the dark.

you put three bullets in that devil’s heart and you run back to us.

you stopped short at that, poisonous questions blooming in your head. it was dangerous, hesitating in the dark like this, looming over one of the most dangerous men in the west who had just, essentially, stolen you, with a loaded gun in your hand.

but your head was running away from you—how would you get home from here? did you have the supplies needed? you didn’t have the tracking skills Ghost evidently showed on your ride to the cabin, nor expertise in medical emergencies. did you even want to go home?

you stared at the side of Ghost’s mask, its red a cool blue gleam in the dark.

you could live the life of a gunslinger like Ghost—a merciless bounty hunter who murdered for money. you could imagine it, even now. shootouts with outlaws and playing friends with sheriffs to get big payouts. but… it would be under the pretense of being Ghost’s property.

you shuddered at the thought. as long as you were by Ghost’s side, you would be his captive. a precious pawn in a trade off—a hostage to use against your daddy and Turner. just another business transaction and you to take advantage of.

a small click in the dark seized you from your thoughts. Ghost’s black eyes peered up at you. cursing in surprise, your clammy hands dropped the revolver, and it clattered to the floor. you fumbled around for it and hugged it to your stomach, heart beating out of your throat.

he rested the revolver in his hand leisurely against his chest. too leisurely.

a bead of sweat slid down your temple when you realized he just cocked his gun. you didn’t remember him taking it out of his holster when he placed it on the desk.

always ten steps ahead of you.

“gearing up to kill me?”

your mouth opened and closed, failing to shape out words. his gaze narrowed.

“m’scared remember?” was all you could choke out, a shiver gripping you intensely. you tried to play it off with a careless shrug, but you knew he couldn’t possibly fall for that.

your skin felt cold but his stare was hot.

“scared of what? the dark? the coyotes outside, Tuner’s boys?” his voice was dangerously soft. “...or me?”

you almost whimpered. “i’m not scared of you.”

the fabric of his mask stretched and the crumple at his eyes let you know he was smiling. it was more threatening than anything.

“let’s say you’re not scared of me…” he rested his revolver on the floor and he shifted onto his side to face you fully. “...and let’s say you didn’t just try to kill me.”

you grimaced under his piercing stare. “put down the gun, lovely.”

you complied and he practically purred. “you still scared?”

shaking your head slowly, your knee betrayed you and began to bounce.

“let’s say you’re not scared of me, and you didn’t try to kill me, but you’re scared of the dark and the coyotes…” you balked when he opened the covers of his makeshift bed to you. “come here.”

you stayed rooted to the spot, knee freezing mid-bounce. his arms were open, mask twinkling in the moonlight, but you knew in his unflinching gaze that he was being very serious.

“come here,” he commanded, and you stood stiffly, shuffling forward to crawl into the blankets. his strong arm hooked around your waist and you muffled a squeak when he pulled you down.

you were pulled into his broad chest, warm and strong at your back and you almost melted if it weren’t for the fact that the man behind you was a cold-blooded murderer and the devil reincarnated.

his gloved hands crept beneath your shoulders around to your throat and pressed to the flying pulse of your neck. he hummed low in your ear, mask brushing the shell of it. the smell of smoke, woody musk, and bourbon filled your nose.

“sure you’re not scared, lovely?”

your jaw clenched. “yes.”

“really?”

his hand crept down from your throat to your collarbone and a loud gasp escaped you when he firmly pressed a palm to the flesh just above your breast. you knew he felt your heart’s fast thrum through the cotton of your nightgown.

“why’s your heart beatin’ so fast then?”

when the silence permitted, he offered you, “nervous?” his voice dropped an octave, low and throaty. “ever lie like this with a man before?”

you were as stiff as a board, a foreign warmth brewing in you that made your skin prickle and crawl, spluttering unintelligible sounds, when suddenly, he released you and you scrambled out of the sheets back onto the bed, pressing yourself to the wall.

he huffed a series of breaths that sounded like quiet laughter. you were just about to kill him. what was so funny about that?

like he heard your thoughts, he turned onto his back and crossed his arms again.

“would be concerned if you didn’t at least try to kill me.” Ghost closed his eyes. “you gonna try and run if i sleep?”

you stared at the side of his face. “no.”

he nodded. “good. there’s a lot more dangerous things in the desert than coyotes, princess.”

like you, you thought weakly, burrowing yourself back into the covers, face heating up when the smell of him against the pillow filled your head again.

your plans had just gone more than horribly wrong. with a heartfelt apology to your mama ringing heavy in your mind, twisting in the sheets, you tried to let sleep take you.

you barely slept that night. tossing and turning in the sheets, you listened for the sinister calls of wildlife just beyond the cabin, and the slow breaths from the floor. though a primal sense inside you let you know that Ghost probably wasn’t sleeping.

but you don’t remember when the sun came up, its first burning embers casting a thin glow in the room. you must’ve fallen asleep at some point because Ghost is gone in the morning, room eerily quiet and empty.

you take the moment to redress in your corset, loose white button up, a buckskin split skirt with fringe, pulling on your boots as you shove everything back into your knapsack. groping around for a familiar embroidered handle, you pause when you realize your revolver has gone amiss.

you sling the knapsack over your shoulder and find Ghost perched down by a fire outside, stoking at its flames. he’s back in his expensive full attire, black suit fresh in the morning light. he only spares you a glance over his shoulder before continuing to stir something in a pot hung up over the fire.

you dropped your knapsack to the ground.

“where’s my revolver?”

he scooped up a spoonful of the stuff into two bowls and grabs something from his bag. he waves your revolver in the air with one hand wordlessly.

“revolver privileges revoked.”

“why?” you knew why, but you wanted to hear it nonetheless.

standing to his full height, he turned and gave you a look under the mask that you could only imagine as disapproval. he didn’t give you an answer.

“eat,” he commanded, handing a bowl to you.

you looked into the bowl to find a watery soup of beans and a dry biscuit half soaked in the liquid. not your finest meal but you were grateful for it.

you eyed Ghost’s broad stature sitting on a log by the fire. he must’ve soaked the beans last night in that pot of water. if you, after last night’s events, weren’t going to try and kill him, or run away, you could at least play nice. for your revolver mostly.

you politely sat next to him on the log, curling your legs to the side and hooking one ankle over the other. taking small bites, you ate with the best manners you could muster without a table in front of you.

you felt Ghost’s gaze burning a question into your cheek, but you ignored it, feigning innocence.

you cleared your throat, nodding. “thank you for the food.”

he scoffed. “it’ll take a lot more to get your revolver back than that.”

you glared at him as he stood to resaddle his horse and tie his saddlebag down. finishing your food in a couple more quick bites, you moved to do the same, but stopped short when Ghost untied the reins of Sugar to bind her to his stallion.

“what’re you doing?”

Ghost gave you a meaningful look but said nothing, heaving himself up onto the stallion. huffing with frustration, you grabbed the bridle of his horse who whinied in surprise.

“what are you doing with my horse?”

Ghost cocked his head at you. “you’re stayin’ here, princess.”

what?

“what?”

“food’s in the pantry. take what you want. don’t wander more than a quarter of a mile from the cabin, you’ll get lost. i’ll be back before sunset.”

he began to turn his stallion away from you, but you held fast on the bridle, jerking its head back towards you. the horse huffed and stomped in retaliation.

“where are you going?”

Ghost just stared at you. “into town.”

you took a sharp breath, racking in your head. “i’ll run away.”

his tone was cold. “on foot? you’re not that stupid.”

“i will. i don’t care. you’ll never get your money if i’m dead of starvation… or…” you shuddered, “coyotes.”

he took you in for a long moment. “these were your terms, lovely.”

you ignored him. “i’m useful. i am. i’m useful for…” you trailed off. “business.”

“i know what you’re useful for.” his eyes narrowed. “you’re most useful right here, in this camp, far away from my business.”

that blow landed right in your gut. “i’ll build a big fire,” you whispered, “and it’ll alert Turner’s men. they’ll find me and bring me back to my daddy.”

he turned away. “do you really want them to find you? when they’ll do lord knows what to a young lady like you?”

every bit of the fight burning in you deflated, snuffed by his sharp words and harrowing logic. you felt small and defeated as you watched Ghost spur his horse on, Sugar trailing after them. a miserable feeling bloomed in your stomach.

is this what your daddy felt like last night at the dinner table?

“i’ll be back before sunset,” he called over his shoulder and took off into the early morning light in a cloud of dust.

time alone went slower than you could possibly imagine. you don’t remember the last time you were alone like this—your mama always hovering over your shoulder, or the girls in town spurring you to embroider and scrapbook with them, or maybe go shopping, even when you’d rather tend to the saloon and make an extra buck when you sang an a pretty song for the alcoholics.

your hands ached to do something, so you laid back in the afternoon sun and whittled at a branch with your letter opener.

once you got tired of that, you began writing aimless entries in your journal with Ghost’s quill and ink on the desk, then, addressing your daddy and mama in a futile letter, vented that Ghost had run off into town for business. what business, you itched to know.

later, you stretched back on the bed in your full attire and boots, which Mama would sorely disapprove of, and blinked away the sun that streamed through the greasy window panes. lids drooping, you found yourself falling into a deep slumber.

you awoke with a start, sweat pooling under your back, blouse sticking to your skin. the sun was settling lazily into the horizon, far into the hours after noon. it was darker than before, a blue tinge across the sky like it was on the verge of storming.

with a lazy sweep of your vision across the cabin, everything untouched, you knew Ghost was still out doing business. of which you, apparently, had no use.

you stretched out over your head and froze when you heard something—a clicking rustle outside the cabin. you strained your hearing, going completely still.

then, you heard distant voices chattering.

dropping to the floor with a silent thud, you peered out the front of the window by the edge of the bed. four men stood by their horses, poking at the pot of beans outside with his boot. you silently cursed when one overturned the watery beans over the dying embers.

a man looked up at the cabin and you immediately ducked, panicking when you heard quick, heavy footsteps nail up the steps to the cabin. you scrambled backwards under the bed and pressed yourself into a ball into the furthest corner of the cabin.

one man stepped inside carefully, and you watched his feet slowly pan across the room in a circle. the warmth drained from your face when you heard the cock of a safety.

who were these people? you racked your brain for answers. Ghost said Turner’s men wouldn’t find you for days. maybe weary travelers looking for a place to stay for the night? good samaritans who could help you escape Ghost?

and never return to your family, a voice in your head added quietly. you silenced it.

he stood by the desk and listened to him rummage over it. you winced—all your letters and writings were still strewn across the desk.

“Charles!” he called. then, abruptly, he neared the bed and reached down for your knapsack on the floor. you clasped a hand to your mouth. he pulled away, your knapsack going with him.

“she was here.”

your blood ran cold. Turner’s men had arrived earlier than Ghost expected.

a second man, Charles, you presumed, stepped into the cabin. more rummaging—probably the first man holding up the letters and your belongings for Charles to see.

“they went to town. says so in the letters.”

Charles huffed and turned on his heel back out the cabin.

“let’s move quick. Turner said the first man to lay hands on the girl gets dibs.”

an icy drip went down your back.

low, raucous laughter and hoots ensued, and you heard more shuffling and the snorts of horses and the stamping of hooves that slowly faded into silence again. only the leaves rustling in the wind and pitched bird calls filled the cabin.

your heart was still beating out of your chest.

Turner said the first man to lay hands on the girl gets dibs.

that shook you to your core. you wanted to run after them, to beg them to bring you back to your parents without harm, maybe bribing them with an extra sum your daddy could give them, but you knew it was futile.

you weren’t ever going back home, and you sure as hell weren’t letting Turner’s men lay their hands on you.

heaving yourself out from under the bed, you looked up at the darkening sky. a gray film was growing over it, blanketing the sun from view. a boom of thunder roiled in the distance.

you needed to move fast, somehow, to warn Ghost about Turner’s men coming for him in town. you cursed yourself for writing those letters in the first place—now, Ghost could be in danger because of you.

not that you cared much. but that devil was the closest thing to protection right now against your parents and Turner. except maybe yourself.

you picked up the knapsack that was thrown haphazardly on the floor and pulled out all your extra clothing and baggage. with only a canteen of water, and the leftover food from the pantry, the letter opener, and a box of matches, you trailed after the hoofprints left by Turner’s men, hurrying as the storm approached quickly overhead.

you were dripping with sweat by the time you reached the edge of town. buckling over to clasp at your knees, you held your chest as you leaned against a tree.

you did it. you tracked those men through low brush and the deep, muddy hoofprints they left behind, some bushes snagged by charging through the forest at an alarming rate.

you did it. you only hoped that Turner’s men hadn’t found Ghost before you did.

the sky was still a murky gray—you had no idea what time it was, no idea if the sun had begun setting yet. you paled at the thought of Ghost riding back to find the cabin empty, your belongings strewn across the place, cabinets empty of supplies. you felt more sick at the thought of finding the devil in a dim alleyway, three bullets in his heart.

pushing forward, you entered the busy throng of the town, its twinkling lights and loud raucous contenting with the brewing storm overhead. men had holsters strung with guns, ammo slung over their torsos like a fancy sash.

some tipped their stetson to you as you walked the cobble streets, wiping the sweat and humidity from your brow. you ignored them to the best of your ability, shuffling along faster when a group of drunks meandered close to you.

sweetheart, they called, and you, in a dizzying panic, pushed into the nearest building, its doors swinging open to a rowdy, rowdy crowd of even more drunks. some smiled at your entrance, but most were too enthralled in their card games, betting, and bourbon to care.

you took the moment to search the snaking crowd for a familiar red mask, but you found nothing. this didn’t feel much like Ghost’s scene anyway.

shoulders sinking, you were about to step back out onto the crowded streets, where a light drizzle was pooling, when a redhead with braids rushed passed you in a tizzy.

she almost dumped a tray full of bourbons onto you. squeaking, she steadied herself against you, and apologized in a thick drawl.

“sorry, sweetheart! didn’t see you there—” she paused, narrowing her eyes at you. immediately, you reeled back.

you really wished you had a revolver slung in your holster in that moment, because you didn’t think to realize that anybody could be one of Turner’s men.

“you…” she cocked her head and you stiffened. “you’re the new hire, aren't ‘cha!”

you blinked in shock, voice cracking. “what?”

“glad you showed up early.” she gave you an approving nod and nudged you with her shoulder. “extra trays of bourbon are in the back. you wouldn’t mind passing them out would you?”

“i-” she was gone in a flash, disappearing into the messy crowd.

you should’ve left at that moment, taking the opportunity to disappear yourself, but instead, you thought this an opportunity to get close and personal with each customer. perhaps Ghost took off his mask for business—you knew you could recognize him by his expensive black suit and the stature he carried. the low timber of his voice, and the dark swirl in his eyes.

shivering, a drift came through and you rubbed at your bare neck. you quickly moved to man the bar. an easiness settled over you at the familiarity of it, grabbing bottles of bourbon and whiskey, pouring them neatly into bar glasses on black trays. you teetered from person to person, tray balanced in your palm as you peered into the face of each man, and even woman, hunkered down at a table to get a glimpse of their profile.

tray after empty tray, you couldn’t find the man you were looking for, no matter how many more entered. soon enough, you bumped into the redhead with braids again and she gave you a cocksure smile.

“sure you’re a new hire?” she laughed loud, cheeks red, slapping at your back. “why don’t you go help across the way at our quieter location? you know where business—” she winked, “—gets done.”

you just nodded aimlessly, too overwhelmed to question it, and she beamed. “don’t worry. it’s more beginner friendly.”

you exited the saloon with the point of her hand to a quainter location on the other side of the street. a thick rain was coming down now. rushing into the parallel saloon, it was half as loud as the other, which your ears thanked, and a thick smoke hazed the room. groups of men donned in fancy suits sat at tables strewn across the room, discussing in low voices with fat cigars between their lips.

your eyes swiveled around the room, craning your neck to peer into the furthest corner of the saloon, but still, no red mask. deflating, you jolted when a barmaid gripped at your shoulder.

“new hire?” she looked disgruntled, eyes narrowing in judgment. you took note of her attire, eerily similar to your own, with a fine cotton blouse and buckskin skirt. now, you understood who the redhead may have confused you for: a fancy barmaid for the gentleman’s club across the way.

she appeared frustrated at your lackluster response. “can you sing?”

you balked at that but said yes nonetheless. your mother had taught you, much to your chagrin.

she nodded. “good. men were asking for a performance. i know it’s your first night, but could you give them a bone to chew on?”

“i guess so,” you spluttered, and she barely batted an eye, already pushing you to the raised platform by the bar. a man already sat with a guitar, peering at you expectantly when you stepped onto the platform.

turning to face the audience, you felt the blood drain from your cheeks. you hadn’t sung in front of an audience this big since your school’s talent show. clearing your throat, you flashed the crowd your prettiest smile, and clasped your hands in front of you politely. the establishment quieted, save for a few low whistles, and you began to sing along for a softer rendition of the fast-paced song to the slow strum of the guitarist.

my love is a rider, wild bronchos he breaks,

though he’s promised to quit it, just for my sake.

he ties up one foot, the saddle puts on,

with a swing and a jump he is mounted and gone.

it was the only song you could remember in the moment—one the girls and you would sing wildly in the evenings after church over loud laughter and iced tea.

my love has a gun, and that gun he can use,

but he’s quit his gun fighting as well as his booze;

and he’s sold him his saddle, his spurs, and his rope,

and there’s no more cow punching, and that’s what I hope.

your eyes searched the crowd and you held back a gasp when you met eyes with a familiar red mask. he stood near the back of the club, bracing his forearm against a wooden beam. swallowing hard, you continued.

my love has a gun that has gone to the bad,

which makes poor old Jimmy feel pretty damn sad;

for the gun it shoots high and the gun it shoots low,

and it wobbles about like a bucking broncho.

his eyes pierced you, and you couldn’t suppress the slithering shiver that crawled down your spine. you wished he was closer—right at the edge of the platform so you could look down into his brown eyes, and maybe, try to discern what he was thinking under that blood red mask.

now all you young maidens, where’er you reside,

beware of the cowboy who swings the raw-hide;

he’ll court you and pet you and leave you and go

in the spring up the trail on his bucking broncho.

the room clapped and hollered when you finished, and you couldn’t suppress the smile that stretched your cheeks as you curtsied clumsily, gaze on Ghost. he tipped his hat to you, and a loud laugh clambered into your throat. it morphed into a blood curdling scream when a revolver fired and Ghost crumpled to the floor.

the club scrambled in a panic with loud wails, the assailant disappearing into the throng as you clawed your way to the man. he was clutching at his stomach, half-fallen against the wooden beam.

“Ghost!”

a strangled noise strained against your throat. falling to your knees beside him, you pulled away his hand from his stomach, and you paled at the sight of the dark red coating his glove, sleeve, suit. it pooled underneath him.

quickly, you grabbed his bloodied arm and pulled it around your shoulder. there was no way you could heft his weight but you were going to try anyway.

“c’mon,” you coaxed impatiently, as he scrambled up the side of the wooden pole, trying to support his weight. a string of curses left his lips.

“you’ve got a pretty voice,” he rasped, and you almost wanted to drop his weight entirely.

“not important,” you groaned, taking slow steps out the saloon with his body strung over yours. with every step, you grimaced with effort, huffing heavily.

there was an even greater panic in the streets than in the club—a heavy, pouring onslaught coming down like a beating drum. across the way, the other saloon was being ripped apart by several men, upturning tables and firing their guns at the ceiling to clear out the place. Turner’s men.

you pulled Ghost in the opposite direction, appreciative of his black attire in the dark night, the debilitating rain, and the ensuing chaos. you tipped his hat further over that tell-tale mask. he grumbled something by your ear.

“what?” you shouted over the mix of shouts and rush of rain, stumbling when a man hurrying past clipped your shoulder.

his voice lifted. “don’t need your help.”

you rolled your eyes, head on a swivel. lodged between two buildings was an alleyway. a throng of Turner’s men overturned more establishments ahead. you made a beeline for the cramped space.

“you’ll die.”

he huffed when you pressed him against the wall, clutching at the blood seeping from his stomach.

“no i won’t.”

you shot him a glare.

“ghosts can’t die,” he said, sounding high and delirious. he slid further down the wall, a pitched laugh escaping him.

now you knew he was really at his last wits. you racked your brain for answers. you didn’t know medical knowledge, you didn’t see an infirmary on the way here, and even if you did, you wouldn’t put it past them to turn you over to Turner’s men in an instant.

you almost screamed in frustration, tearing off the sleeve of your blouse to wrap around his middle. your hands fumbled clumsily, and Ghost must’ve at least come back to half his senses because he pushed your hands away and expertly knotted the thing despite his thick gloves. his head slumped forward into your shoulder, as if the action was so taxing, breath growing shallow against your exposed collarbone.

you slapped at the side of his face.

“do you know anyone who can get help?” you probed, unable to conceal the desperation in your voice, “anyone at all?”

he sounded smug. “people can’t help ghosts.”

you groaned, pushing his head back against the wall. he peered at you lazily, eyes half-lidded.

“if you don’t tell me something, i will rip that mask clean off your face.” that must’ve stirred something in him because his eyes flashed.

“i did not track Turner’s men for miles to find you just for you to die.” you pressed on. “they found the cabin and these stupid journal entries where i wrote that you were in the town. they didn’t know i was there and went after you. i had to warn you so i tracked them and—” he hissed when you pressed your fingers into his wound to make sure he was still conscious. “—this happened.

he huffed. “stupid girl.”

you could only nod pitifully, before squeaking in surprise when Ghost used your shoulders and the wall as leverage to lift himself.

“take me down this alleyway, then turn left.”

you immediately obeyed and half-dragged him in the direction of his rasped instructions, ending up in front of the back door of a leather crafts store. the streets were slowly emptying by the minute and every second outside in the line of gunfire felt a gaping vulnerability on your back, so you didn’t question his command to open the back door unannounced.

you also weren’t surprised to see the long snout of a rifle stuck in your face the second the door swung open. a woman in a checkered blouse and loose breeches squared her shoulders and jabbed the gun forward so it almost hit your chin where rain coalesced in a steam, falling to your boots.

“who in the devil are you?” she spat, low and deadly. she carefully eyed the man slumping against you.

a strangled warble left Ghost’s mouth, and he lifted a hand to toss off his hat. the mask must’ve been a point of recognition for her because she gasped and lurched forward, hefting up the other side of his body.

“what the hell are you doin’ here, Ghost?” she demanded, helping you carry him behind the counter of the store into the back room. she pushed off all the strewn materials at the table in the center of the room with one strong sweep, and you laid back Ghost on the surface, his eyes closed.

muffling a cry, you pressed your fingers to the pulse point in his neck. to your relief, it was throbbing, albeit weakly.

“business,” was all he mumbled in response and the woman shooed you from his side with an impatient wave of her hand.

you stepped back to the edge of the room, feeling your senses clouded with panic. you looked down to the blood covering your hands. out the window, there was more shouting, gunshots, and a building far down the street went up in flames. your breath hitched till suddenly you couldn’t breathe anymore. clawing at your throat, you slid down the wall, fighting the strain in your chest that seemed to close your airway.

you watched the woman cut through his vest and make quick work on the bullet wound, pliers in hand.

“you.”

she might’ve been shouting at you but it barely registered in your mind.

“get your useless behind off the ground and help me for god’s sake!”

you just stared at her and she groaned in frustration. “some girl you have here, Ghost,” she grumbled and the weak grunt that left him brought you back to life.

you stood, steeling yourself, wiping the blood against your front. you felt calm. dangerously calm as you neared Ghost’s side. his eyes were screwed shut and you resisted gagging at the sight of her pliers fishing through his gaping wound for a bullet.

“what do you need?” your voice was weak and quiet. it didn’t even sound like your own. she shot you an impatient look.

“water. from the tap over there. and a needle and thread in that cabinet.”

you moved like you were floating off the ground, light and airy. like you weren’t really there, but you found your hands filling a bowl with water at the kitchen sink and grabbing a case of needles and a spool of black thread from a cabinet overhead.

by her side again, she unclasped the red mask from Ghost’s face and you stared unflinchingly with a hitch of breath. before pulling it from his face, she cocked her head at you.

“look away,” she snarled and you just nodded, stepping back from the table till you couldn’t see Ghost’s profile anymore. couldn’t even see the slow swell of his chest to let you know he was still alive.

you had to escape the room. you walked back out into the main storeroom and grated your hands through your hair, pacing. you picked up the rifle left on the glass casing over a showcase of different leather crafts, cocking it, just in case Turner’s men came barreling through the door.

when you put back down the rifle, you gasped at the sticky, bloody imprint it left on the handle. looking into a mirror by the entrance of the store, you shuddered at your image.

blood crusted your arms, like you had dipped your arms into a vat of it, and red fingerprints littered your throat and tinged your frayed hair. the front of your half-torn blouse was smeared in it too.

your hands shook uncontrollably, so you picked up the rifle’s heaviness again to still you, and sat, leaning against the glass showcase, muzzle aimed at the front door. you sat there for a long time, breath shallow and grating, till the shouts and gunshots outside subsided, and the billiard parlor down the street crumbled under the weight of flames.

you awoke for a second time with a start, the woman’s hand shaking your shoulder lightly. you rolled your shoulders, neck impossibly stiff from your weird sleeping position on the floor. it was no longer dark outside, the lightest tones of pink and blood-soaked orange rising with dawn.

had you really only been napping in Ghost’s cabin half a day prior?

the woman sat beside you, pushing a warm mug into your hand. she didn’t pull her rifle from you, which you were endlessly grateful for, because you just hugged it closer to your chest, its cold metal and cured wood easing your nerves.

“tea.” she nodded to the steaming cup.

“is Ghost okay?” your voice cracked from disuse and she gave you a weak look.

“for now.”

you just nodded, taking a sip of the stuff and wincing when it burned your tongue. chamomile. Mama used to make it too.

the woman cleared her throat, drawing up her blonde hair into a messy bun. “sorry about the shouting. i’m not used to foreign company.”

you shrugged, itching at the dried blood on your neck as you took another sip of tea.

“i’m Kate.” she held out a hand to you. “Kate Laswell.”

you shook her hand slowly, grateful she didn’t cringe away from the blood staining your own. you gave her your name in return and her brow raised.

“Ghost’s girl, huh?”

you felt too tired to be confused. “i guess so.”

“well i just know the boys would love to meet ‘ya.”

you allowed yourself a sliver of confusion. “the boys?”

“‘course,” she said with a smile, “one-four-one.”

you almost dropped the mug in your hand. “one-four-one?” you repeated weakly and she gave you a cheery nod.

you’d heard of them before. you heard too much about them before. she rubbed your shoulder comfortingly.

“they should be here any minute now.”

great. you were soaked with blood, clothes and hair tattered with sweat. as if she read your thoughts, Kate stood and outstretched a hand to you, pointing to the back room.

“i’ve got a tub filled in the back for you. and some extra clothes.”

you took her outstretched hand gratefully, allowing her to pull you up and lead you through the storage space where Ghost lay stretched out, half-naked, and maskless. you noticed her rush to flank your side and obscure the view of his bare, sleeping face from you. deciding not to fight it, the gentle hand on your back led you down a narrow hallway to an even narrower bathroom with a tub about as big as a barrel.

you didn’t mind it after the events of the night, Kate politely closing the door behind you, as you stripped yourself bare and scrubbed the blood away in the tub. slowly, you settled in its lukewarm water in a ball and rocked there, choking back sobs in the privacy of the tight room.

once all your tears were wrung dry, you emerged from the tub, drying yourself and your hair before redressing in your corset, drawers, chemise, and a linen bell sleeve blouse Kate lent you. tucking them into your unruined item—the fringed buckskin split skirt—you pulled your boots on and smoothed the lines of your face in the mirror. like your mama taught you.

when you opened the door of the bathroom, low murmurs and new voices floated down the narrow hall.

“she isn’t supposed to be here, cap’.”

a low husky voice grunted back, “i know that.”

a third man with an even stranger accent than the first two chimed in loudly, “she risked ‘er life for Ghost! Simon said she tracked ‘em for two and a half miles just to warn him about the Turner boys.”

you assumed it was Kate shushing him.

the low, husky voice returned. “it’s not up to us, Soap. she’s Ghost’s now.”

you crept slowly up the hallway, searching for Ghost’s body stretched out on the table, but he wasn’t there. in his place were three men, leaning against the table, deep in conversation with Kate.

you stopped short in the entrance till one of the men, a stout one, thickly corded with muscle, and an unusual looking hairstyle—like the ones you saw in the school books about iroquois from the east—beamed at you.

he shushed a bronze-skinned man at his shoulder, who turned his gaze to you. the third bearded man with thick chops and broad shoulders fell silent, as did Kate, and suddenly, the whole room’s attention was trained on you.

you slowly walked into the room, discomforted by the thick silence. you resisted fumbling at your skirt nervously. the man with a mohawk let out a low whistle and the bearded man swatted at his face while the youngest man stepped forward to politely offer his hand, taking off his hat to press to his chest.

his face was pinched with a stoic look. “i’m Kyle Garrick. pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

your lips parted in surprise when he touched his lips to the back of your extended hand, and you politely curtsied in response, a blush touching your cheeks.

the man with a mohawk stepped in behind him to give you a smug look.

“i’m Soap,” was all he offered. he clapped Kyle on the shoulder. “and this is Gaz. no one calls him Kyle.”

Kyle rolled his eyes in retaliation and released your hand, looking apologetic. you couldn’t help but softly smile as they began to quarrel and the bearded man reached out his hand this time to shake it firmly.

“John Price,” he said with a nod, voice husky. he jerked his head in Soap’s direction. “that’s Johnny Mactavish.”

you murmured a quiet thank you as Kate comfortingly patted your back.

“so this is one-four-one?” you mumbled aloud with raised brows. Soap and Gaz stopped mid-quarrel to peer at you. John shrugged.

“more or less.”

manners be damned, you fidgeted with your skirt. one-four-one was a legendary gunslinger group—on the run from the scarce law of the west, gambling, bounty hunting, and dueling for riches. you had no idea Ghost had friendly ties with them.

“where’s Ghost?”

John smirked at you, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “out.”

nodding, you felt an anxiety roll through you. out could mean anything with Ghost, you learned in your short time with him.

where are you, Ghost? a meek voice in you called out. smoothing a hand over your chest, you steadied yourself as Kate offered you a small plate of breakfast. a piece of cornbread on the side of a bowl of chili that you kept down easily, despite the nervous gurgling of your stomach.

“Turner’s men,” you began softly to Kate, putting down the empty plate, but you still drew in the attention of the other three men, “they’re gone?”

she nodded sullenly, and Soap added, “not without a fight. upturned half the town with them…” his eyes went dark, voice tinged with something violent. “...and left a couple dozen dead bodies.”

John knuckled his shoulder gently. “we’ll get ‘em back, Soap.” he said it like it should be comforting, but there was a deadliness in it that made you shudder.

Soap winked at you. “aye. we’ll kill all those Turner boys if we have to. we already took down half of ‘em yesterday.”

undoubtedly, you knew it was a promise. Kate said quietly, “neighbors said they gunned down a couple of ‘em before they fled town.”

your brows rose. “there were others fighting?”

Kyle shrugged. “it’s the west, ma’am. people’re itchin’ to break the law.”

you thought back to the assailant last night—how he high-tailed it after popping a shot.

“so the man who shot Ghost last night?”

Kyle shrugged again. “probably a drunk lookin’ for trouble. happens all the time in these parts.”

you tried to hide the look of horror curling into your face, something akin to disgust, but Soap, ever-observant, took amusement in it immediately.

“that scare ye, princess?” he leaned against the table, closer to your face, and your frown deepened.

“don’t call me that.” it sounded wrong coming from him.

John grabbed the scruff of his neck and Soap twisted, complaining loudly in his hold. “knock it off, would you? poor girl’s had a rough night.”

you gave John a grateful look. still, you were relieved to know Ghost was only shot by a drunk rather than found and almost killed by one of Turner’s boys. you assumed you got real lucky last night. or maybe unlucky since the drunk’s poor shot happened to pick out Ghost of all people at the club.

“what was Ghost doing in the town last night?” you piqued, and Soap went quiet. the whole room did. sheepish, you watched their gazes slide across the room, avoiding your own.

Soap shot out, “do we tell her?”

Kate hissed in response, scolding him with a tight grip on his ear, and Kyle smacked at the back of his head. you assumed Soap just let a vital piece of information slip from the way John’s mouth twisted.

“tell me what?” you pressed and Kate shooed you out the room, taking your arm in hers.

“help me out with somethin’ else, girlie, and i’ll answer half the questions you ask.”

half the questions, you ruminated with a bitter taste in your mouth. she led you out the door of the leather crafts shop before a word of protest could leave your mouth, and into the bright mid-morning light. shops littered down the street had owners stationed out in front, sweeping up debris, shattered glass, and shoving trash into sacks. Kate tipped her stetson to each one as you passed, and they would nod back in a way that forebode something ominous.

“these are the neighbors,” Kate explained in a low, smart tone. “and this is our town.”

you remembered what Ghost said to your daddy over dinner two nights ago.

i protected you. this was my territory. i had men in your town and i made sure no bandits came near your saloons and i made sure none left alive. then, you went to work with Turner instead.

“and you protect them for a price?” you asked.

she smiled lightly. “a small one.”

your daddy must’ve had an unlucky price to pay if his daughter was the bargaining chip.

“is this the only town you protect?”

Kate laughed at that, patting your hand on her arm gently. “heavens, no. Ghost’s got all kinds of investments from the west to east. he isn’t home much lately because of it.”

your brows raised. “that’s a lot of land to cover.”

“we’ve got a lot of friends from down south to help.”

you cocked your head at her as you turned the corner, making your way past the saloon from last night. the redhead with braids was mopping up the floor of the torn-up saloon, and when you caught her eye, her gaze sliding from you to the woman beside you, she paled.

“friends?”

Kate winked at you. “mexicans. a blessing from the spanish-american war.” when you just blinked at her, she elaborated.

“the boys enlisted in the british regiment to fight the spanish alongside patriots and texan mexicans. i played dress-up as a man to fight in the war.”

your brows raised and she gave you a sly look. “even had a female companion to play the part.”

she continued on. “when the war ended, one-four-one just never left—made friends with lots of boys down in texas. now, they do all sorts of work with us.”

“who?”

“los vaqueros.” the cowboys. you had heard of them too.

you should’ve been scared, connecting the dots, the blood-ties and relationships fused on the battlefield that didn’t break even ten years after the war. these people were dangerous. but in a way, you contemplated, your daddy was too. working with one-four-one, protected by los vaqueros, and bargaining with an enemy, Turner.

and you didn’t even know it.

you wondered if your mama did. thinking of the hardness in her face, and the back-breaking rigidness of her lifestyle, you assumed she carried that weight too.

Kate peered at the edge of your face, catching your eye. “you gonna run away yet?”

you gave her a long look, answering her as truthfully as you could. “no.”

she nodded. “good. because if you do, we may just have to kill you.”

eerily, you were reminded of Ghost two nights ago in the cabin, his arms crossed over his chest and half-asleep despite your attempt to kill him.

good. there’s a lot more dangerous things in the desert than coyotes, princess.

“you sound like Ghost,” you remarked with a grimace, and the long laugh that left Kate was airy and full of menace.

apparently helping out Kate meant running errands, restocking on preserves, fresh foods, and medical supplies. she kindly let you pick out your own stetson hat—a gus style, with three sloping dimples, cream-colored, and a leather brown cord tied round the base in a fashionable bow. your mama would’ve had your head for wearing something so manly, but turning it in your hands, the smooth velvet soft against your palms, your heart swelled at the thought of it being your own.

you would’ve paid for it if you didn’t carelessly lose your knapsack in the chaos last night, tending saloons and singing for drunkards. sighing at the cash register, you deeply lamented its loss and tugged the snug hat onto your head.

one-four-one wasn’t there when you returned to the leather crafts shop. Kate had given you a soft smile, saying they were out on business again. you had a sneaking suspicion that business meant shoot outs over encroached territory and fixing worsening investments.

as you prepared for dinner, it was uncanny to think that you were laying food out over the table where Ghost almost bled out the night before.

sure enough, just before the red crinkles of sunset, one-four-one meandered into the room for dinner, hats left by the hook at the door. you waited expectantly for a tall, broad, black suit and red mask to enter the room, but only deflated with disappointment. Soap shot you a knowing look that you pointedly ignored as the table joined hands to murmur a quick grace before digging in.

you could barely touch the food on your plate. any method you used to get under the boy’s skin about what business meant was quickly parried in clever ways that frustrated you more than your conversations with Kate. it was especially frustrating because you were beginning to think that business may circle around topics about you.

you couldn’t weasel any more information out of them except that John, Gaz, and Soap had rode north to a nearby town they had business in.

you were beginning to hate that word, you thought decidedly, trudging down the narrow hall to a spare bedroom Kate provided to you for the night. one-four-one would descend into the cool basement space with the preserves to their own quarters. you wanted to follow them, to peek down and see what was in there, but Kate was hot on your trail, and you knew they were probably hiding something else about business down there. especially since Kate would be sleeping down there as well.

that left you on the upper floor—which you contemplated with a frown because running away now would be easier than ever. except for the fact that you didn’t have a horse, gun, money, your knapsack, or anything at all in fact. unless you could scrounge around the kitchen a bit.

creeping from your designated room down the hall, you bit back any morsel of regret bleeding into your mouth as you entered the back room. one-four-one had shown you kindness, but technically, they had also kidnapped you and were forcing you to stay in their home. albeit, on your terms, according to Ghost. but you didn’t value the word of a kidnapper very much. even if, in the moment of your capture, you had wanted to leave home and never return again.

oh—and you were being used as a hostage in a business transaction.

that thought spurred you forward blindly, and you rummaged around the kitchen as quietly as you possibly could, pocketing matches, a box of ammo, and a small bunch of rope beneath the kitchen sink. sliding the knife drawer open, you inspected each one carefully, watching the blade glint in the moonlight, before picking up a small one you hoped would go missing without notice.

“stealing my things again?”

you jumped out of your skin with a shriek, and mindlessly turned to the source of sound, brandishing your knife at the intruding form shrouded in shadow. he caught your wrist easily, stepping forward to press you back against the kitchen counter and your heart dropped to your stomach.

dark eyes and a red mask. his hat was off and the black fabric beneath his mask was pulled up enough so you could see his jaw, the soft pink of his mouth and the silvery scar on his upper lip.

“Ghost?” you whispered out, dropping the knife. it clattered to the floor and he tilted his head almost curiously.

for a long moment you just stared in silence, his knee firm between your thighs and broad stature lingering over you, gloved hand tight on your wrist. you searched his eyes, reaching up a hand to brush at his jaw, but he immediately stepped out of your proximity.

“brought you something.” he nodded outside and you looked out the kitchen window to see your dappled gray mare, Sugar, tied to the fence post at the front of the leather crafts store by his black stallion. breath hitching, you pressed your hand to the glass.

“thank you,” you whispered, looking back at him. wordlessly, he turned from you to peel off his black trench coat.

when you noticed him wince, you immediately moved forward to help him out of his coat, laying it out over the table. mumbling a word of gratitude, he sat gingerly in a seat and leaned down to undo his boots. watching him struggle from the tenderness of his wound, you sighed, pushing his hands away to neatly kneel in front of him and smooth over your skirt. then, you carefully helped him pull them off.

“don’t need your help,” he grumbled from above, and you suppressed a smirk. you almost missed his grumpy remarks.

“that so?”

putting down his second boot by his feet, you looked up at him, heart jumping to your throat from the half-lidded look behind his mask. the gloved hand that rested on his thigh by your cheek twitched. you remembered its appearance yesterday—soaked in blood. his blood.

closing your eyes, you nuzzled your cheek into the hand, his palm cupping your face gently before moving down to stroke at your braid. he let out a low throaty sound when you looked up at him from where you kneeled, cheek pressed against his thigh, the fine worsted wool of his dress pants velvet on your skin.

“do you know what you do to a man?” he asked, voice soft. you only hummed back in sing-song question, eyes half-lidded, content where you leaned against the strength of his thigh.

“i searched half the plain for your horse. she got lost in the fray when i got shot.” his hand moved from your braid to your throat, stroking in time with the lulling pulse of your heart, leather cool on your hot skin.

“found her back at the cabin, sniffing around for you. the place was totally upturned, and all the food in my cabinets was gone.” he snickered lightly. “you thief.”

you smiled at that, gripping his wrist weakly.

“i like it when you talk,” you admitted, mesmerized by the slow way his soft lips shaped deep, grating words in that thick foreign accent.

you watched the bob of his bare throat swallow with a hunger pooling in your stomach.

“you should be afraid of me,” he whispered, gently pressing his thumb to your lower lip, “you were afraid of me.”

you couldn’t remember a time when you were afraid of Ghost—only a nervous anticipation crawling across your skin at his proximity. maybe you were never afraid in the first place. maybe you told yourself that you were afraid of him, out of your own unease, when the fear was something that you actually craved.

“i am afraid,” you said. his grip on your chin tightened. “but not of you.”

“who then?” he demanded, voice silky.

“Turner. his men.” an invulnerable shiver went through you. “they said the first man to lay hands on me gets dibs.”

you felt his thigh stiffen beneath you. “i won't let them touch you.”

you swallowed thickly, peering up at him. a dark, sinister voice inside you purred out.

i want you to touch me.

he cocked his head at you, asking a silent question.

i want only you to touch me.

he voiced it. “what do you want?” his hand moved to stroke at your cheek, your brow, your hair.

you never had the luxury of pondering the question. your path was always laid out before you by your mama and daddy. there was no choice. only lingering, bitter feelings of resentment as you fought yourself to believe that tending Daddy’s saloon and entertaining businessmen was the life you wanted.

“i dont know.”

“tell me.”

your face heated with shame. “i want you.”

Ghost went very still. you couldn’t even hear his breaths in the darkness. “you’re sure?”

you nodded against his thigh. “mhmm. want you.”

“i’m the devil,” he murmured, sounding sullen, but you just shook your head.

“you’re Simon,” you corrected, and he flinched beneath you.

letting out a low curse, you didn’t even fight it when he scooped you up in his arms, and pressed you back against the kitchen counters, mask pressed to your hair, warm body against yours. your hand trailed up to press gently at the bullet wound buried beneath his black vest and button up. his hissed at the pressure but didn’t stop you as you moved to unbutton his vest.

“i want to see,” you explained softly, unfastening the thing completely. he tossed the vest onto the table, his holster following it, as you began unbuttoning his dress shirt, splaying out a hand over his warm chest.

he was littered with scars—big and small, and you desperately tried to memorize the placement of each one as you revealed more of his pale skin, inch by inch, till his shirt hung loose at his waist. your eyes swept over the naked expanse of his toned torso and the white bandage soaked through with blood that clutched at the right side of his stomach.

slowly, you unwrapped it till the old dressings fell from his skin and a long line of puckered pink skin punctured through with a dark thread was revealed. you steadied your breath, brushing a hand over it. Ghost shifted overhead, leaning his weight onto the counter behind you.

“does it hurt?”

you couldn’t see his face, but his voice was wrung through in your ear. “no.”

the corner of your mouth twitched. “didn’t take you for a liar, Ghost.”

he just grunted in response. you smoothed your hands over the warmth of his torso.

“let me take care of you?” you offered, and his breath went shallow. you didn’t even know how to take care of someone. you had no idea what you were doing. but you offered anyway.

you could feel him smile into your hair, nose pressed to your ear. “always so polite, princess.”

you felt him tug your hair loose of its braid, and you took in a sharp breath as it fell in waves around your shoulders. he pulled off his gloves quickly, taking a handful of it, pressing the softness of your hair to his cheek. you shuddered.

“you won’t do a thing tonight, lovely,” he commanded lowly, and you nodded, hands clutching at his chest as he circled his strong arms around you. forehead pressed to yours, you looked up through his mask to find his rich brown eyes on you. his warm breath hit your lips.

he tilted his head in a gesture down the hall. “want you on that bed now.”

you complied immediately, taking him in your hand, going down the hall with one of his hands burning straight through the fabric at where he tightly gripped at your hip. crowding you into the room, and the door sealed tight behind you, he turned you by your hips, and gently pulled back your hair to expose your neck to him. you gasped when the soft wetness of his mouth kissed over it gently, his arm curling around you to pull you flush together.

a steady heat pooled in your stomach, and you squirmed in his hold.

“Ghost…” you begged, not even knowing what you were begging for. he hummed against your skin, undoing the clasp of your holster, then your skirt. you felt embarrassed by your clunky attire, kicking off your boots, hiding your face into his bare chest as he slid the article off your legs.

“don’t hide,” he warned in a light tone, expertly taking apart the back of your blouse to leave you only in your undergarments. the look behind his mask was dark and domineering, leaving you shaking in his hold. he smoothed a bare hand over your shoulder and arm, lifting the inside of your wrist to press a kiss there, before he was kissing up your arm in a hot trail.

when he reached your jaw, a foreign and breathy noise left your throat. his eyes snapped back up to yours, pausing his ministrations as you blushed deeply. you didn’t know what those sounds meant—only that they left you feeling utterly sinful for being so exposed to an older man, unmarried, and so innocent.

you swallowed when Ghost’s hands went to the back of your corset, undoing its clasps blindly as he pressed more kisses to your neck, your cheek, and the corner of your lips. you squeaked, screwing your eyes shut and found yourself disappointed when he paused again.

panting, your brows pinched in confusion. Ghost was leaning a bit back now, looking down at you with an imperceptible expression.

“what? why’d you stop?” you whispered, scared to break the moment, but he unabashedly cut through the quiet of the room. “How much do you know about going to bed with someone?”

you squeaked again, stupidly looking around the room as if your mama may have been hiding in the wardrobe. the look on Ghost’s face twisted into pure amusement, much to your chagrin, and you cursed yourself for the complete absence of confidence in you—like it had all run dry with your cheek pressed to his thigh under the dinner table.

“i know…” you fumbled for a word, “...a lot. so much.”

Ghost huffed, taking one of your hands pressed to your chest and sliding it down, past his belt, to the front of his pants. you yelped when he closed your hand around something hard, something throbbing.

“you know what this is then?”

you nodded dumbly.

“really?” you had no idea.

you nodded again, and he laughed lowly, cupping a hand around the back of your neck to kiss your cheek softly, his cool mask brushing your skin.

he unclasped the top of your corset, and you jolted when pulled it slowly from your torso. the cold air of the room bit at your skin and you wrapped your arms over your chest. grumbling in disapproval, he let the thing clatter to the floor and untangled your arms from your chest, pushing you back onto the bed.

“don’t worry, lovely,” he slew sloppy, wet kisses over your breast and stomach, lightly nipping at the chub there, and a loud sound flew from your mouth from the ministration, your back arching in response. “i can teach you everything.”

a large palm slid over your stomach, keeping you pinned there with a dark look, black eyes pitched in a silver from the moonlight. “would you like that, lovely?”

you nodded wildly, clutching at his hand splayed over your tummy.

“please, Simon,” you called softly, and a guttural sound left the back of his throat as he hooked a thumb beneath the waist of your lacey drawers and pulled them down, letting them pool around your knees for a moment as he leaned down over you to placing a comforting kiss to your shoulder.

then, you were bare, splayed out in the moonlight beneath his muscled stature. you squirmed in his hold, pressing your thighs together around his arm, but he pried them apart easily, baring your most sensitive parts to him. your whole body flushed when his eyes honed in on the throbbing between your legs, humming deeply. you yelped as he greedily tugged you to the edge of the bed, gingerly settling on his knees on the floor in front of you.

“your wound—” you cried out in surprise, but you were cut short when he buried his nose between your legs and breathed in deeply.

“Simon,” you called, voice breathy and panting, like you’d just run a far distance, and your hips jolting up against your will. there was a strange deep coiling in your stomach—a growing ache you felt like you needed to relieve with a crazy thirst.

he wrapped two strong arms round your thighs to pin your squirming hips down, nosing around the soft folds and plushness of your inner thighs.

“patience,” he said, voice soft, and you keened, unsure what to do with your hands clenching and fumbling around the sheets. catching your wrists, he pinned them down to the bed along with your thighs.

you felt the strange primal need to beg—to plead for his forgiveness, your whole body alight from the way he held your body in a bind, baring yourself to him.

“please,” you whimpered, unsatisfied with the way he continued to kiss and bite at your thighs, licking over them and periodically sucking the skin into his mouth. you canted your hips up, moaning when you found a delicious bout of friction against his turned jaw.

with a grunt of disapproval, he pinned you roughly back down to the bed.

“greedy are we, pretty thing?”

biting your lip, you didn’t feel an ounce of shame as you nodded. you needed that friction again. you didn’t know why, but you felt like you needed to grind against something desperately, just to relieve that sore aching inside you.

humming, Ghost lowered his mouth between your legs, eyes on yours as he gently blew cold air over the throbbing heat of you. you whined at that, hips trying to buck up, but he was just too strong.

“hurts,” you admitted in a whimper, and his eyes darkened.

“what hurts?”

you squirmed, whimpering helplessly, face flushing. “there.”

“where?” he asked, his lips twisted in a smug way.

you threw your head back, chest pushing up into the air with a frustrated whine.

“here?” he offered, his tongue coming out to lap over the throbbing thing between your legs. at that you gasped with a jolt, chasing his tongue. “this pretty little cunt aching?”

“yes,” you gasped, his tongue coming down to caress your core again and again, till it was lapping at it, almost playing with it.

the feeling was intense, nothing like you’d ever felt before. it bloomed like a fire in your throat, quenching the intense ache in your stomach, but every time he pulled away, the ache only grew stronger and stronger, like you needed to chase the pleasure with even more pleasure.

it was torture. you didn’t know whether to push him away or pull him closer.

the sight of him between your legs was so sinful, so wrong for a man to be lapping at you in such a forbidden place. but that intense feeling hung over everything in a foggy haze, blanketing any sense of foreboding shame that rang in the back of your brain.

there was only Ghost now—pinning your wrists and thighs to the bed, tongue rubbing strong circles into your fleshy pink skin.

when he pulled back, you almost cried out in frustration but he pinned you with a dark look of warning, releasing your wrists to bring a thumb to your cunt. he rubbed at in fast circles and a breathy moan escaped you, arching against the sheets.

he cooed. “so sensitive. you never touch yourself before, pretty thing?”

you choked out a reply. “no—it’s,” you gasped when his tongue came down to lap at your entrance, drawing teasing patterns over it, hooking inside then drawing out.

“sinful.” you finished with a drawl and he pushed his tongue inside, fucking you out of your wits with the wet muscle.

he hummed inside you, the tremors traveling all the way up to the place where he was rubbing with his thumb. you clutched at his hand, willing it to move faster, and he complied immediately. your body lost a fiber of control with every passing second.

“you look like you’re enjoying it, though,” he spoke against you with a smug look. you barely heard him, a foreign sensation building in you so fast, the words of warning died in your throat.

“you like getting fucked out with my tongue? my thumb on your clit?”

“you like being my good little whore, pretty thing?”

“say my name, princess.”

his low, gruff words went straight to the blooming heat in your stomach, traveling straight to your cunt, and exploding out to your swollen clit as you chanted his name.

Simon, Simon, Simon.

every throbbing wave gripped you with an intensity, clenching around his tongue in delicious rolls of pleasure that had you squirming in the sheets, unable to keep still as he pulled you through a slew of ecstasy.

Simon.

colors exploded behind your eyelids, jaw slack, you slowly laxed into the bed, melting as the sweet noises in your throat eventually subsided.

there was a lulling stillness in the room as your senses slowly came back to you, and you realized Ghost was speaking in a throaty, cracked murmur to you, voice raw and overused.

“good girl,” he praised, and you looked up at him, leaning into his palm as he affectionately rubbed at your cheek, clambering over you to press a kiss to your ear, the tip of your nose.

his warm breath against your lips had you jolting to life, slapping a hand over his mouth with a gasp. he jolted against you and you scrambled up straighter, seized by what you had just done.

you, naked and bare on the bed, and he, shirt unbuttoned and jaw splashed with your slick. a question burned in the dark eyes behind his mask but you just made haste to cover your body with the sheets, scurrying out of his hold.

he called your name out, voice dark and pinched. he reached for you, but you held up a hand.

“don’t,” you warned, gripped with such a burning shame that tears filled your eyes. you quickly wiped at them relentlessly, but more reappeared in their stead, and you drew the covers around your shoulders, unable to contain the shaking that wracked your body.

burying your face in your hands, thoughts convulsed wildly in your head. what have you done? what would your mama think? your daddy?

you whimpered. what would the lord think?

you shook so hard you barely noticed the black button up sleeve that Ghost wrapped around your shoulders, taking the sleeves to loosely tie them around your neck. he settled a fair distance from you, eyes full and glinting.

“alright, pretty girl?” he asked gingerly when your sobbing subsided.

you sniffled, voice strained and throaty. “no.”

you gave him a miserable look. “we’re not married.”

he tilted his head, mouth opening and closing. his hand clenched at the sheets then relaxed again.

“i don’t wanna be a whore,” you cried, feeling dumb as you wiped at the tears coming down your cheeks in an onslaught.

Ghost’s eyes narrowed. “is this because i called you a—”

“no!” you shouted immediately, then lowered your voice with a quick apology.

he slid to your side, flush against you and warm through the sheets. he pressed his mask to your hair.

“no one’ll think you’re a whore,” he mumbled, playing with your hair in his fingers, “you’re mine already.”

there was a deadpanned simplicity in his voice that made it easy to believe.

he took your tear-stained face in his hands. “besides, you’re too polite, princess. even in all that cowboy get-up.”

staring into his masked face, you nodded, chewing what he was feeding you slowly. he angled your face gently. when his lips made a slow descent to yours, you squeaked with a jolt and tried to scurry out of his hold, but he held fast, grunting with effort.

“what now?” he asked, exasperation flitting through his eyes, clenching at his jaw.

“i don’t kiss before a date—s’not proper!” you shot back with twice as much ire, and his eyes went wide before a huff of laughter escaped him.

“that so?”

you rolled your eyes. “yes.”

he hummed low, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “so proper, princess.”

you suppressed a laugh, trying to conceal your giggle with a frustrated huff, but Ghost didn’t fall for it as he drew you into arms, easily man-handling you into his desired position beneath the sheets before he slid into them behind you, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

you were pulled into a soft wall of warmth and bowing strength, curling around you in a sleepy hold. you couldn’t fight it even if you tried. he shifted against you, and you gasped when you felt something hard digging into the fleshy curve of your backside.

shooting a curious look over your shoulder, Ghost only offered you a lazy blink.

“don’t you worry your pretty little head about it,” he mumbled, drawing you in closer.

“but—”

“i don’t talk about those kinds of things before a date,” he said under his breath, and you could only laugh, relishing the way his lips curled into a smile against your hair.

an easy silence filtered into the room and you reached back behind you to grip at his shoulder, his neck, his skin. you took a deep breath. he was real. he was alive.

he slid his arms around your sides as a bind over your stomach, and you clutched weakly at the muscle of his arms smothering you.

“i thought you were going to die,” you ruminated softly, feeling a natural force pulling down on your eyelids.

“ghosts don’t die,” he reminded you, his lips against your neck.

“devils don’t either,” you said, and he grunted in disapproval.

“you think i’m the devil, lovely?” his fingers stroked at your cheek. you leaned into his touch thoughtfully.

“maybe,” you answered in a truthful nod. “i don’t mind it though. i can make you good.”

his laugh was mirthless. “doubt you can, princess.”

you swallowed hard and closed your eyes. “you won’t ransom me back to my daddy, will you?”

you took his silence as a warning, an uneasy toil rolling through you. shifting in his arms, you turned to face him, the fabric of his mask pulled back down over his jaw, heavy gaze bearing down on you, half-lidded and sleepy. he just pulled you flush against his chest so you couldn’t see his masked face anymore, only the sounds of his deep, steady breaths in your ear that dragged you into a restless sleep.

p.s.: to any history buffs out there, i know that technically there was no actual british regiment in the spanish-american war but let's pretend that there was for the sake of plot holessss

...also imagining Gaz talk in a thick southern drawl was so funny to me he's so adorable

anyways hoped you enjoyed this long, self-indulgent chapter! more coming soon :]

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underoossss · 1 year

Text

Head over Heels - S.H

masterlist

pairing: steve harrington x grumpy!f!reader

summary: Steve falls for Robin’s grumpy friend, and he falls hard.

warnings: family problems mention, trust issues, angst, hurt/comfort, no spoilers, (there’s fluff I promise!!!)

grumpy x sunshine trope

an: I know this is the first Steve fic I’ve posted IN FOREVER and I’m sorry! my writer’s block, personal problems, work and health, have all contributed to how long it took me to finish this. But I promise to make it worth your while, this is the same length as babe baby beautiful and I hope it makes you happy. I dedicate this to all my grumpy beloveds out there, who, like me. don’t relate 100% to the sunshine tropes bc sometimes life just freaking sucks. I poured my heart out with this one so, I hope this comforts you and that you like it! Please let me know. 💘

——-

The September breeze pushes Steve’s hair back as he makes his way to the Hawkin’s start-of-autumn fair, a new thing the town is trying out to make the citizens feel more upbeat after all the incidents they’ve experienced. His friends trail after him, Mike and Lucas arguing over something he doesn’t understand, Max listening to Dusting complain about some prank the soccer team played on the Hellfire Club and Robin walking by his side. Everyone shouts food orders over their shoulder, running towards the picnic tables in search for an empty one, and leaving Steve and Robin alone.

His friend is rambling by his side, and Steve nods along to what she’s telling him. She has a new friend this year, met her at homeroom when she was introduced as a new student. A senior like Robin, she got along with her just fine. I talk a lot and she doesn’t, it’s a good fit, I think she really needed a friend that day, Robin says, and now she’s friends with all of us. Steve hums in understanding, switching schools in senior year sounds awful, and he wonders why you chose to do that. He wouldn’t, unless it was for something serious.

“Anyway here she comes!” Robin says excitedly, waving you over. “I can’t believe she actually came, she’s not comfortable with strangers and she doesn’t know you. I thought she’d sit this one out.”

Steve follows Robin’s line of sight and spots you walking towards them in the distance. Baby blue sweater, light washed jeans and black high-top converse, make you stand out from the orange foliage around you. Your face is serious as you get closer, only breaking into a small smile when you wave at Robin and accept her hug. When you step back your face morphs back to neutrality, a slight furrow to your brow as you hide your hands in your back pockets.

Robin says your name and motions towards Steve. “This is Steve, the friend I told you about.” She explains, “He’s our chauffeur, monster-fighter and designated babysitter.”

Steve furrows his brows and looks sideways at Robin before he looks at you and grins. “Hi, nice to meet you.” He offers his hand and you give it one quick shake before pulling back and looking away. Steve wasn’t expecting that reaction, but he guesses what Robin said is true, you don’t like strangers.

“We’re going to get Apple fritters! They have massive ones here and they serve them with big scoops of ice cream.” Robin tells you, glancing down the line as it moves. There are only three people left to order, so the three of you step into line. “Let me check if they’re still doing the ice cream on top.”

With that, Steve is left to wait next to you until Robin is back. You shift from one leg to another, almost nervously and Steve glances at you. Your eyes meet his and then look away, not scared or nervous, just looking away like you can’t be bothered to make conversation with him. Is he intimidating? Steve asks himself or are you just a massive buzzkill that can’t even comment on the weather.

Steve tries again, scratching his cheek. “So, uh, you’re in senior year like Robin?”

You nod, looking down at your feet before looking at him. “Yeah, we have a lot of classes together. I know the guys over there as well.” Your hand lifts to point at Eddie, who’s just arrived at the table, and the kids talking around him.

Huh, so you do speak, Steve notes, but only when prompted. “Cool.” He nods, looking at your face and noticing the way you look away immediately. “So why did you move to Hawkins all of a sudden? I mean senior year, that’s gotta be rough.”

You press your lips together, looking uncomfortable by the question. Steve has the faint idea that he asked the wrong thing. “I should go say hi to everyone.” You say after an awkward cough. “If there’s ice cream can you tell Robin I’m good with cookie dough?”

Steve wordlessly takes the 5 bucks you hand him and sees you rush away from him. In the distance he can see everyone’s faces light up when they spot you, beckoning you over with excited waves, and your reluctant barely there smile as you greet them and sit down. Steve doesn’t get it; he is half mortified and half confused when Robin comes back. How is it that everyone is your friend when you’re so closed off and Steve doesn’t want to say it but… grumpy.

“Are you sure your friend wants to be here?” Steve asks Robin, looking over at you again. You’re sitting with your elbows leaning on the table, listening to everyone talk around you, neutral expression on your face. Bored, even.

“Of course, she does.” Robin is quick to say. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, she doesn’t look too thrilled to be talking to you.” Steve shrugs.

“You clearly don’t know her.” Robin shakes her head. “What did you do?”

“I only asked her about her move to Hawkins.” Steve holds his hands up defensively, then adds. “She said she likes cookie dough ice cream.”

They pause their conversation to order the fritters and pay, then continue talking while they wait.

“Okay, you shouldn’t have asked that. First of all.” Robin rolls her eyes, “Second of all, she’s friends with all of us.”

Steve huffs in disbelief. “Oh so she likes you? That’s her I like you face.”

“She adores us, you… not really but that’s cause she doesn’t know you.” Robin nods with certainty, then worries her bottom lip. “The move question is just tricky for her.”

Steve moves to say something when their order is called, and she go back to the booth to take the trays laid out in front of them. There are eight apple fritters with ice cream they have to juggle back to the table but manage to fit in their hands and arms.

“Look Steve.” Robin says seriously, lowering her voice after a sigh.” She slows her pace, so they take longer to get back to the table. “She has been through a rough time; I won’t tell you what because it took her a long time to trust me enough to open up.”

“Okay…” Steve nods, going over her words and feeling a soft pang of guilt. He wouldn’t have judged you so harshly if he knew you were struggling with something. He wouldn’t have asked you about you changing towns. “You could’ve told me that before I messed up earlier. Before I was bitchy too.”

“You’re always bitchy.” Robin huffs, then hums when she looks at you sitting in the distance. “She’s wonderful Steve, in her own way, so don’t judge her by the way she presents herself. When she trusts you, you’ll see what I‘m talking about.” She gives him a pointed look.

Robin’s words echo in his head as they reach the picnic table and hand over the food to their friends. Steve places yours in front of you with a nod to which you say thank you. Now that he knows a little more about you, Steve guesses you were both left with a bad first impression. They aren’t his forte, and it’s not his fault you weren’t the same person with him as you are with Robin. You don’t know each other, of course it was going to be awkward. Steve sees what Robin means as everyone chats and eats; he sees it in the way your eyes soften, and lips smile slightly when Max begins to tell you something. He sees it in the way you lean closer to the redhead and whisper something that has her laughing soon after; you smile as well before turning your attention back to the group. Dustin and Eddie are planning some sort of revenge on the jocks from the soccer team who messed up something in their Hellfire Room.

Steve tries to focus on what they’re saying but he’s too busy looking at you, trying to figure you out. What happened? What’s the thing that you told Robin that made you keep the gentleness you showed to Max tucked away? You feel him looking at you and meet his eyes, it’s a distrustful glance from the way you narrow your eyes at him. Okay, Steve probably stared at you too long. He looks away and hears you sigh before you do too, tuning back into the conversation between the Hellfire club sitting at the other end of the picnic table.

“That’s a horrible plan.” You say plainly, making Max snort and Eddie pause the conversation. The metalhead rolls his eyes –no annoyance, no malice in sight. Steve supposes Eddie knows you like Robin does.

“Why is that, buttercup?” Eddie asks.

“They’ll know it was you, and they’ll beat you up, Munson.” You tell him seriously with an eye roll of your own –Steve doesn’t need to know you to catch the concern in your tone. “Put some laxatives in their protein powders instead.”

Steve lets out a bark of laughter that startles the table; that would be a good prank if he’s being honest. Everyone turns to look at him, including you and Steve clears his throat. “It’s a good idea.” He mumbles rubbing his chin, then meets your eyes briefly to find something like amusement in them.

“No, no, no.” Dustin shakes his head. “It is an objectively good plan, there’s no way they’ll know it’s us.”

“Yeah, we’ll wait for them to leave and then sneak into the locker room.” Eddie adds. “We’ll seal their lockers shut, they can’t change into their gear the next day and their coach yells their ears off.”

“The perfect plan.” Dustin says proudly and looks around the take to see who agrees.

“You sure they won’t be able to trace the prank back to you? See it as immediate revenge for what they did?” Max asks nodding towards you, “She’s right.”

“We’re absolutely sure.” Eddie confirms with a nod, clapping his hands in front of him.

“Can I read the eulogy at your funeral then?” You ask Eddie and Dustin with fake enthusiasm. “I call dibs.”

Steve chuckles and next to him, Robin fakes discontent as she rolls her eyes. “Damn, I wanted to do it.”

You send a smile her way before you clear your throat. “Eddie and Dustin died as they lived.” Your words are solemn as you speak. “With bad plans and too much confidence that they’ll work.”

“They always work.” Eddie says, chuckling at your words with everyone else. You simply raise one eyebrow at him, which Steve must admit is hot, and Eddie shakes his head. “I guess they sort of work.”

“So, laxatives?” Dustin asks Eddie after a minute, a defeated hunch to his shoulders.

“Laxatives.” Eddie and the rest of Hellfire repeats before the table bursts into laughter– including Steve.

His eyes don’t leave you though. You’re not laughing like everyone else but there’s a small smile on your face. It is reserved but softens your face in the loveliest way. It shows him you are enjoying their company despite the otherwise inexpressive look on your face. Steve begins to wonder then… if he wins your trust, the one you have with Robin and Max, will you smile at him the same way you do with them? Bright and beautiful enough to blind him? He guesses it would be worth a shot, getting to know you more, because if he’s being honest, he’s intrigued.

--------

The next time Steve sees you it’s at a party. It’s mid-October and the cold weather turns it up a notch with the cold bite to the air. He wouldn’t have gone to the party in the first place, if he’s being honest, but Robin forced him to go. Everyone will be there she’d said but Steve didn’t know who everyone would be. Only when he arrived at Kevin Rotner’s house did he begin to recognize some familiar faces. Nancy, Johnathan, and Eddie arrive at the same time he does and the five of them walk up the driveway and the small path leading to the front porch. There’s loud chatter inside and a boombox playing to the loudest volume in the dinning room. There are people sitting in the staircase laughing at a joke and more loud conversation coming from the backyard. He navigates the house with his friends until Robin spots you in the kitchen, and Steve doesn’t know why he’s so nervous when he sees you. You greet Robin with a hug and shrug when she tells you something, he can hear. Your face is pretty and serious as you look over Robin’s shoulder, spotting everyone else coming to say hi. Steve sees you take a deep breath before you greet everyone — almost as if you’re preparing yourself for small talk and hugs. He greets you last, more open and approachable than last time, and he’s surprised when you wave. “Hi, Steve.”

Something inside Steve jumps, but he thinks it’s only his own surprise. He’s about to say something, when Robin and Nancy take your hand and drag you away with the promise of some new gossip, they have to tell you.

Steve talks to a few people here and there; mostly the ones he’s kept in touch with after high school. Other than that, he doesn’t know anyone else; he doesn’t know if it’s cause he’s grown up but he’s not really having fun. There are people jumping into the pool despite the weather while those who mind the cold have gathered inside the house. Steve’s mostly avoiding the crowds, where the air is too hot despite winter being near, while keeping an eye out for his friends. Nancy and Jonathan are talking to some people he doesn’t know in the kitchen, Robin is trying not to combust while she talks to her crush —her lab partner in biology— and Eddie is walking around the entire party with his lunchbox.

When Steve sees you again, you are people watching in the living room, eyes trained on a few people in the middle of the room. He moves to stand next to you, and you shift your gaze towards him but say nothing; Steve thinks it means it’s okay if you stand here. Your foot taps to the music –Tears for Fears’ Head Over Heels –and your head moves almost imperceptibly to the music. The two of you are quiet for a while, and it’s not awkward like Steve expected it to be, not after the way he messed up at the fair. He’s pleasantly surprised, and relaxes a bit more next to you, slouching slightly against the wall. One of your arms is crossed over your chest while your other elbow rests on it, a red cup in your hand. The music continues to play and your eyes are still trained on the people talking in the living room, they’re some old Hawkins High students Steve kind of recognizes. There’s Angela and Karen, Bradley and Peter and some other people he doesn’t know the names of. Steve leans his weigh on his right leg, which brings him closer to you.

You don’t move away, simply pass him your red cup. Steve moves to shake his head no and say he’s driving, but you speak up before he does. “It’s only soda.” You say and nod at the cup that Steve takes the cup from you shortly after.

“What’re you watching?” Steve asks.

“The only interesting thing that’s going to happen in this party I think.” You look at him finally and lean closer, Steve isn’t sure you’re aware of it. “I think there’s going to be a fight.”

Your eyes hold amusement in them, like you’re excited for what’s about to happen. The tiniest movement of your mouth has Steve glancing down, you’re grinning, barely; he thinks it’s cute.

Steve’s eyebrows raise, interest spiked, and is about to say something when you turn your head again. Bradley is saying something to Angela, his voice loud and slurred but incomprehensible over the music, and not a second later an equally intoxicated Peter swings a punch at him. Another girl, who Steve doesn’t know, confronts Angela they start arguing with Karen joining the fight. Bradley and Peter fall to the ground, wrestling each other while others try to break the fight.

“Wait isn’t she?” Steve’s mind catches up the everything that happened puts two and two together. He’s pretty Angela is dating Bradley, not Peter.

“Yup.” You say with a shrug, tilting your head. “It was all a matter of time before it happened.” It’s all you say, then chuckle. Steve does too, he can’t help himself at the sound of your own laughter, until the two of you are giggling at the fight in front of you.

The music changes then, to something more upbeat, and Steve’s mind can only think about asking you to dance. Would you say yes? Probably not. Before he can ask you though, you step away from the wall. More people have gathered in the living room to watch the fight, and you decide to make your way to the front door. Do crowds bother you? Steve wonders.

“Wait.” Steve goes after you and closes the door behind him. “Where are you going?”

“Home.” Your back is turned to him. The cream-coloured sweater you wear over your lilac skirt and your black boots look lovely on you, and so does your hair. Steve doesn’t know why but he thinks it frames your face perfectly. There’s also a hint of remaining lip-gloss on your lips that shines with the streetlamp’s light… and Steve, well Steve thinks You’re so pretty.

“It’s cold, don’t tell me you’re going to walk.” Steve speaks again, shaking away his previous thoughts.

You shrug, “I usually do, it’s not too far.”

Steve doesn’t know where you live but he knows Rotner lives far away from almost everyone in Hawkins. Your house is probably far away. “I’ll drive you.” Steve offers, but you sigh and look away.

“Go back to the party Steve, you can drive Robin home.” You say simply. “I’ll see you around.”

“No, she can go with Nancy.” He follows you until he’s walking next to you. “It’s not safe for you to walk home, come on.”

You sigh again and look up at the sky, annoyed. If you’re annoyed, then he’s too, because you’re making a dumb decision for the sake of being stubborn. And you probably don’t know that he’s stubborn too, so you might have to argue all night about whether this decision is right or not. Why is it so hard for you to accept a ride home? You offered him soda and were talking to him just now; it was nice. More than nice.

“I won't stop asking.” Steve says, crossing his arms and stepping in front of you.

Your eyes meet his in an intense half-glare, and Steve can’t help but think how nice your eyeliner looks on you. It does something to him he hasn’t felt in a while. He feels like he can’t breathe while heat creeps up the back of his neck —it’s October, he shouldn’t feel hot at all. A moment later you roll your eyes, though backing down first, and giving Steve some time to breathe as you turn around.

“Alright.”

Steve can’t help smiling in triumph, knowing he just won, and follows you as you walk towards his car further down the road. Amusement paints his eyes as he looks at you; your lips are pursed, and a huff escapes you.

“You’re pouting” Steve says, looking at your lips and the annoyed look on your face. It makes him smile. You’re pouting.

“I’m not” You look sideways at him.

“Oh, you are.”

“Shut up, Harrington.” You say and he laughs, opening the passenger’s door for you.

-------

From then on Steve does his best to increase his charm and be a gentleman. He offers you his help as well as rides home whenever he can, especially when you’re alone. The last thing he wants is for you to think that he’s only being nice when your common friends are around. Steve sees you more often now, not as much as he’d like, he must admit, but enough to know more about you. What you’re okay with sharing, more like.

As he suspected from the party, you don’t like crowds (they make you nervous), and when Steve asked why you’d changed the topic. You work at the Deli on Main Street, have a younger brother named Chris, and you love coffee. He always sees you drinking one in the morning when he gives both you and Robin a ride to school, and whenever he stops by at the deli for lunch during your shift. Most important of all, Steve is starting to see what Robin meant when she said not to judge a book based on its cover. Because, despite your grumpy exterior, there’s a whole personality hidden underneath.

Steve can tell. There are hints and pieces; from the way you dress, to the music you like, and comic books you read and often exchange with Max. When he takes the time to look, he sees the gentleness with which you do things, and the care with which you treat your friends. He also sees your distrust for what it is: fear. You’re afraid, to let new people in, to get hurt, and Steve doesn’t know why.

He wishes there was something he could do to fix it, to make you see the glass half full instead of half empty, or to change your sporadic pessimism. But then he figures, he would be changing you, and that’s not something he wants. If he’s being honest, your friend group (Steve isn’t sure if he’s your friend, officially at least) needed someone with an objective outlook on life to set their heads straight. And if he’s honest with himself, he likes all the things that make you you. He likes your confidence when you don’t care what people think about you. He likes it when you fight with Robin over who chooses the music, despite it being his car. And he's pretty much obsessed with your face; the hard set of your jaw when you get impatient, the brow you silently arch that makes him feel things he shouldn’t, and the silent way you listen to conversation, only speaking up when you think it’s necessary. Steve is more than a bit obsessed.

He had been wrong that first day. He didn’t know you and wrongly assumed you weren’t happy to be there with them, when you actually were. He reflects upon it now that he knows your facial expressions; your eyebrows had been relaxed, and your eyes didn’t have a hard edge to them. You had been at ease, only closing yourself off when Steve tried to dig into your move to Hawkins. He really started off with the wrong foot, but it all takes a turn on a Friday night.

You visit FV for a tape mid-afternoon, surprising Steve at work. The weather is more than chilly outside, and Steve notices right away how you have no jacket on, only a dark red sweater. He’d been doing some paperwork behind the counter when the bell over the door for his attention. It rewarded him with the sight of you walking in, looking around before your eyes settle on him.

“Hey, Steve.” You say voice light as you approach him and lean your elbows on the counter. “Do you have karate kid available? My brother is begging us to watch it again tomorrow.”

Steve doesn’t know why but he struggles to speak for a moment —it probably has to do with the fact that you look very pretty, and two, this interaction is so different from your first one he shortcircuits. After a long pause you raise a questioning eyebrow, “You okay?”

Steve clears his throat. “Yeah. Um, we have it, let me go get it.”

“Thank you.” You nod as he dashes away from the counter.

“Did you walk here?” Steve asks once he’s cleared his head and reaches the action movie aisle. He sees you shrug over the stands.

“I usually do, I don’t mind it.” You explain simply.

“You’re not wearing a jacket though.” Steve grabs Karate Kid and goes back to the counter. Why are you always out in the cold without a jacket? It’s a miracle you haven’t fallen sick, he thinks.

“I left school in a rush, I was gonna be late for work.” You shrug again, eyes visibly lighting up when you spot the movie. “Thank God. Chris would have been insufferable if someone beat me to it.”

Steve crouches down behind the counter and retrieves his own jacket —a grey bomber— before placing it on the counter in front of you. “Here.”

“Steve,” You tell him seriously, rolling your eyes. “I’m not taking your jacket.”

“Why not? You’re the one walking out in the cold, I only have to walk towards my car.” He dismisses your refusal with a wave of his hand.

“Hey!” Robin says, calling your name as she emerges from the back room. “Perfect timing, I was going to call you.”

“Here to rent karate kid.” You tell her, a small smile on your face.

“And choosing hypothermia over my jacket.” Steve chimes in, sliding his jacket pointedly towards you.

“It’s not that cold Steve.” You roll your eyes at him again, “But I know you’ll annoy me until I say yes.”

Steve gives you a triumphant smile and you shake your head, Steve would even say it’s shyly, before you take the jacket and shrug it on. “The movie? Please.”

Robin speaks up while Steve rings you up. “We’re gonna hang out at Nancy’s tonight. The kids will be there too, you should come.”

Steve risks a glance at you, in his jacket; a huge mistake. He seriously underestimated his reaction to seeing you in his clothes, because it is downright adorable and something he was unprepared for. The sleeves go past your hands and the whole thing is oversized on you, his shoulders being broader than yours and his torso longer. Steve bites back a smile —he hopes you never give it back to him; this is a sight he’d love to see more often. He turns back to the computer to hide his grin from you and silently hopes you’ll say yes.

“Will there be other people?” You ask Robin, and Steve is quick to shake his head no and reassure you. Too quick.

“Just the usual gang.” Steve tells you, clearing his throat to hide his eagerness. “No one else.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Robin insists with a smile, then moves her gaze towards Steve, who tries to ignore the way she raises a knowing eyebrow at him. He’s gonna have an earful once you leave, he can bet on it.

“Okay, I’ll be there.” You nod, then exchange some cash for the movie Steve hands to you. “Thank you, Steve.”

Steve leans his forearms on the counter, trying to give you his most charming smile to see if he’ll get one of those you give Robin in return. “We’ll pick you up after work.” Steve says and you look into his eyes for a long second before nodding.

“Sure.” You shrug, eyes shifting away from his. “I’ll see you guys later.”

------

At Nancy’s, chaos ensues. The kids argue over what board-game to play while Eddie and Robin argue over what record to play next. Steve is listening to Nancy and Jonathan talk about a volunteering drive she’s organizing and from where he stands, he can see you leaning against the wall next to Robin. Your face is neutral as you listen to the record that’s currently playing, tuning out Eddie’s argument for the most part until you speak up.

“Or you can let me choose?” You ask calmly, glancing at them briefly before going back to looking down at your feet.

“No!” Both Eddie and Robin say at the same time, and Steve notices the corner of your mouth twitch upwards.

“You chose this one, buttercup.” Eddie says with a sigh. “You’re only gonna choose one to annoy us.”

This earns Eddie an eye roll. “How exactly do you know that?” You ask. “It could’ve been a great pick, now you’ll never know Munson.”

Steve tries to tune back into Nancy’s explanation when Max pushes the board game she wanted to play away with a huff. It clatters to the ground as she stands from her place in front of the coffee table. You spot her and call her name only a moment later.

“Hey Max, I got the new Wonder Woman!” You say after a moment when the read-head stops glaring daggers at the boys.

Her eyes light up, a dramatic change from the look in her eyes moments ago. “Really? Can I see it?”

“‘Course, I brought it for you.” You roll your eyes, this time full of fondness, and nod towards the kitchen. “It’s in my bag.”

Steve can’t follow your conversation because the doorbell rings, signalling the pizza Nancy ordered arrived. The weather feels much colder than earlier as he opens the door and steps outside, he pays for the pizza, tips the delivery guy and goes back inside. Arms full of pizza boxes, he walks back to the dining table, shooting a pointed look at Dustin and Mike. “Zip it or you don’t get a single slice.”

The high schoolers move more discarded boardgames away from the table in a heartbeat, scrambling to undo their mess and opening the pizza boxes in a hurry. Steve spots you still standing in the kitchen talking to Max as everyone helps themselves to pizza and decides to let you both know the food is ready.

“So, you skate too?” Max is asking you excitedly, leaning her hip against the kitchen counter.

You chuckle — it hits Steve in the chest and Steve doesn’t know what to do with that. “I do,” You grin, “I mean I used to when I lived in Indianapolis, but I haven’t since I moved here.”

“We can go to the skate-park tomorrow.” Max proposes raising her eyebrows, “If you want.”

You nod, “Sure. I’ll look for my skateboard tonight, let’s hope I still remember how to use it.”

“Pizza’s here.” Steve says, interrupting and smiling at you both. When your eyes meet his, your lips move to smile but in a matter of seconds you stop yourself.

It makes Steve furrow his brows and walk over to you as Max leaves to grab a slice. “You okay?” Steve asks, and your eyes meet his again briefly before they dart away as you sidestep him.

You make your way to the front door in a rush, this time though you do grab your jacket—his jacket— on the way. Just like he did the night of the party, Steve follows you, worried and confused at your reaction. Robin glances at him from the dining table, an unspoken question in her eyes but Steve can only shrug. He is certain he didn’t do anything wrong just now, but somehow, he messed up because you just fled from him.

“Stop.” Steve says after calling your name. “What happened?”

“Nothing, I just need some air. You should go back inside Steve.” Your back is to him, shoulders tense and close to your ears defensively.

“No,” He shakes his head. His lips go down into a frown briefly as he looks at your back. He voices the question he always asks himself when you shut him down. “Did I do something?”

“No.” You say when you turn, eyebrows meeting in the middle as you glare at him but Steve sees the way you struggle to hold it in place. After a second it falls, and your face just crumples to exhausted look. “I want to be alone.” You whisper.

“You think a glare and a pout are intimidating enough to drive me away?” Steve shakes his head.

“I don’t pout.” You say, lips pursed and jaw tense. Pouting.

“You do and it’s not working.”

You change tactics then, raising an eyebrow and staring him down like the night at the party but Steve shakes his head. “That’s not working either.”

“Why are you insisting so much on this!” You finally ask, raising your voice and crossing your arms in front of you. Your jaw clenches as you look away and Steve sees your eyes squeeze shut.

He runs a hand down his face and breathes out. “Whether you like it or not there are people who want to get to know you.”

“What, like you?” Your eyes cut a suspicious look Steve’s way and he can see your walls come back up right in front of him. A tear falls down your cheek and you’re quick to wipe it away, harshly. “Why?”

Steve throws his hands up in the air, exasperated but not raising his voice, “To be your friend! Just like Robin and Eddie are your friends.” His shoulders move up and down, trying to cover up how much he likes you and looks forward to your company. “Why are you so distrustful, is it something I did?”

“It’s not about you, Steve.” Your eyebrows meet in the middle again, and you look away from him, directing your gaze to the snow-covered lawn. “If… If it bothers you so much, why do you even want to be my friend? Because you’re wrong Steve. No one else does, and I’m more than fine with that.”

Steve shakes his head, knowing you’re lying to him and trying to convince yourself. His voice softens. “Because despite it, I like you, I think you’re… cool.”

“Cool?” The way you raise your eyebrows makes Steve chuckle.

Funny, caring, fucking beautiful, Steve wants to say but he just nods his head at your question.

“Yeah, and you’re interesting, and I… want to be your friend.” Steve’s hands settle on his hips as he shifts his weigh to one leg, looking down to the ground. Glancing at you briefly, he drops his voice to whisper your name. “Don’t leave. I’m not lying… that’s what worries you right?”

Steve assumes that’s where your distrust comes from; you told him it wasn’t something he did, then it must be that you’re scared to trust him. He’s known there are many feelings behind your hard exterior, one of them being fear. Steve doesn’t want you to fear him, and he wonders who broke your trust in the past. Silence settles between the two of you; you seem to be going over his words and Steve is giving you the time to do so. He’d wait an hour if necessary and reassure you a thousand times if it would mean you believe him. Steve panics when he sees you swallow hard and shift your eyes at the sky, the last thing he wanted to do was make you cry.

But you don’t cry. Instead, you take a deep breath and look into his eyes. There’s a vulnerability there that awakens an urge in Steve to hug you. “You promise?” Your voice is a whisper, but he hears you clear as day. You’ve never spoken so softly before, and Steve wishes it could have happened under other circumstances.

Steve looks into your eyes and nods with sincerity, hoping you can see he’s being completely honest with you. “Yes.”

“I do like you, Steve. You just scare me.” You look down at the ground for a moment and nod to yourself as Steve’s eyebrows shoot hop in surprise. A moment later, your eyes drift back to Steve and there are emotions dancing around in them he’s never seen before. “I’m sorry.”

Steve nods and something inside him tightens when you offer a small smile. It’s like something shifts between the two of you despite neither of you moving. In a matter of seconds, everything feels easy, natural, like the brief moment your shared at the party in October. Steve realizes it’s because you’ve let your guard down; you stand differently in front of him, more comfortable, less apprehensive. You scare me. “You wanna tell me why?”

You press your lips together and shake your head. “Another time, maybe?”

Steve tries to hold back a smile, but he can’t, it takes over his entire face. When he sees you shiver, he offers his hand. “Let’s go back inside, or I can drive you home if you want to leave.”

“I can stay a bit longer.” You say when you grab his hand –an electric shock goes up his arm. “I really want some pizza. But if they play Monopoly I’m definitely leaving.”

Steve’s laughter follows you as he leads the two of you back to the house.

The coffee cup Steve places in front of you at work the next Monday lands with a soft thud on the counter. It’s black coffee with some milk and sugar; the way Steve’s learned you take it every day. The sound and his presence make you look up at him over the top of your book, a doubtful eyebrow raised and a serious look on your face. Fuck your pretty, Steve thinks. Your eyes shift from the coffee to his face a couple of times before you close your book.

“What’s this?” You ask, leaning back on your seat and tilting your head.

Steve leans his elbows on the counter in front of you and tilts his head right back. “Considering you drink around 5 of these a day, one would think you’ll know what it is.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re mistaken. I actually drink 10.” You deadpan, looking at him with fake disappointment. “I thought you knew me, now that we’re friends and all.”

Steve laughs, looks down and shakes his head. When he looks at you again, there’s a half smile on your face. “Come on.” He says. “Let’s go grab some food.”

“I literally work at a deli, Steve.” You tell Steve seriously, motioning to your surroundings. “We’re surrounded by food.”

Steve copies what you just said with a roll of his eyes and smiles again. “I mean something else, babe. Come on.”

With a sigh you stand up from your seat and round the counter, leaving your apron behind. “You’re lucky I get a break in a couple of minutes.” You tell Steve before yelling over your shoulder. “Hank I’ll be back!”

Steve’s eyes light up and he considers his visit a triumph. He’s becoming surer and surer his feelings for you go beyond friendship and fondness and lean more towards: I want to hold your hand all the time, and cuddle you while we watch movies then forget about the movie and get lost on you. He wants to put his arm around your shoulder freely, have you lean your weigh against him and steal a kiss, probably more than one. No. It won’t ever happen so Steve shouldn’t even be thinking about it. He opens the passenger’s door to his car for you and smiles when you get in, your coffee in your hand.

It becomes a routine of sorts, either you visit him at Family Video bringing sandwiches for him and Robin or he picks you up, a coffee waiting for you in his car and drives you wherever feels right that day to eat your lunch. You talk about your day, or whatever gossip you heard that day. One day you even confessed to be scared about graduation.

“Everyone is so excited to finish school, and here I am so terrified about the future I haven’t opened any of my college application letters.” You muttered, picking at a loose thread on your sweater.

“Why are you scared?” Steve asked you and you swallow hard.

You turned your body on your seat, facing him as you shrugged. “I feel lost, I don’t know what I should major in. I also don’t know where I’d like to go, and I can't even research these colleges without panic settling on my chest.” Your eyebrows furrowed and your jaw got tense and Steve knew that meant you felt angry and this time it was at yourself.

Steve took your hand without a second thought, but you let him. “You know, you don’t have to figure it all out right now.”

“It feels like it.” You whispered looking at him, frustration and embarrassment shining in your eyes. “Everyone else has it figured out.”

Steve shook his head; you shouldn’t feel embarrassed with him. “If there’s something I’ve learned about you, is that you don’t care about what other people are doing. What do you want?”

“I ask myself that question every day.” You mirrored his head shake and looked away. “Let’s talk about something else. Please?”

Steve was happy to change the subject, anything to cheer you up. By the time you go back to the Deli to continue your shift, he realized it was the first personal thing you’ve told him. Ever. It made him happier than he cared to admit.

-----

Two months after your talk in Nancy’s driveway, you invite Robin, Nancy, Eddie, Jonathan and Steve to your house. It’s the first time you’ve let anyone other than Robin into your home, this time for movie night. Your father and brother went back to Indianapolis to pick up other stuff from your old house, you said, it’s perfect timing. Steve and Robin arrive together, and shortly afterwards Eddie’s knocking on the door.

Your house is cozy and simply decorated with a forest green comfy looking couch, a dark brown coffee table and a TV in the living room and all the basic stuff in both the dining room and kitchen. There’s a record playing somewhere, and Steve can’t help the smile that comes to his face when he sees the way you’re mouthing the words as you move back and for the between the kitchen and living room bringing snacks, drinks and pizza for everyone. You’re wearing a cream-coloured sweater he recognizes from the party back in October and something funny happens in his stomach when he realizes just how far your friendship’s evolved since then.

“Babe come on take a break, we can help.” Steve stops you from going back to the kitchen with a hand on your shoulder and a fond look on his face.

You open your mouth to say something when Eddie and Robin appear on either side of you, presenting the movies they –surprisingly– were in charge to pick. “The best horror movies.” They say in unison.

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise as you take the three VHS tapes from them. “Oh. Um, great! Thank you.” Your reaction hides behind the grin you shoot both, who nod and disappear to the kitchen.

“You’re pouting.” Steve says stepping closer to you again in the living room; your eyes that were fixed on the VHS tapes drift upwards to meet his own. Steve smiles.

“I’m not pouting.” You tell him with a roll of your eyes, lips settling back into a pout as you scan the titles of the movies once more. “These are just scary.”

“You’re still pouting.” Steve whispers, like it’s a secret. His eyes drift down to your lips, a mistake that has him swallowing hard, before the doorbell rings, signalling Johnathan and Nancy arrived. He’s quick to turn and go let them in. It’s a perfectly timed distraction. He shouldn’t think about kissing you, because despite no matter how badly he wants to, you’d never let it happen, or feel the same way he does to let it happen. “Just saying!”

Once the first movie plays, Eddie and Robin settle on one end of the couch, while Nancy and Johnathan sit on the floor in front of them. Steve shoots Robin a I know what you’re doing look before sitting next to her and feeling the couch dip under your weigh when you settle on the empty seat next to him. A sweet floral scent he now recognizes as your shampoo or your perfume reaches him and Steve actively decides to focus on the movie, not the way he wants to pull you over his lap and breathe you in. Eddie and Robin laugh every now and then and the four of you turn to look at them, there’s nothing funny about the movie. You begin covering your face with the bucket of popcorn as the movie progresses, your face grimacing as the suspenseful music picks up.

Steve leans closer to you, his voice a whisper as he speaks. “It’s just special effects don’t worry about it.” You turn to look at him, worried puppy dog eyes gazing into him and dammit you make it so hard to keep his distance. “Trust me.” Steve winks, lightening the mood only to jump and scream when he turns to the movie once more and a jump scare comes on.

It seems like the perfect medicine for your fear. For you forget about it and lean your head back laughing, a full-on belly laugh, that’s so contagious and beautiful Steve laughs with you. Nancy and Robin share a knowing look he doesn’t notice before they shush the two of you, shoving at his elbow and your knee. You cover your mouth with your hand and your shoulders shake as you lean your head on Steve’s shoulder, turning your body towards his; Steve’s never been so happy to be scared in his life.

Everyone leaves after 3 movies. Robin gets a ride with Eddie, and Nancy leaves with Jonathan as well. Steve though, stays behind insisting on helping you clean up, but it’s a weak excuse to check on you before he leaves. He noticed you getting nervous, fidgeting with your hands anxiously when everyone started to leave. The films were long done, so Steve knows something else is worrying you and it doesn’t sit well in his heart to leave you like this. Which is why he is currently picking up trash in the living room while you do the same in the kitchen.

You’re finishing placing the dirty dishes in the sink when Steve enters the room. He noticed right away the way your shoulders hunch and you take a deep breath. “Steve…”

“You okay?” Steve closes the trash bag and moves to the sink. His eyes roam your face as he looks sideways at you and washes his hands.

“I um… I wanted to apologize to you.” You tell him quietly, passing him a kitchen towel before moving away from the sink. “For how closed-off I was when you met me.”

After drying his hands quickly, Steve turns and leans on the edge of the sink. “It’s okay, it’s not easy to trust new people right away.” He reassures you –it’s something he understands now; he understands you.

You sit on the counter opposite to him and stare at the floor for a bit, polka dot sock clad feet dangling in the air. “It’s more than that. I’m just scared of getting close to people since…”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Steve shakes his head, keeping his eyes on your face.

“I trust you, Steve.”

Those four words make Steve’s chest flutter –relief, happiness, nerves– but he pushes the feeling to the back of his mind and patiently waits for you to continue. Your lips are pursed as you stare at the floor, gathering your thoughts.

“My mom…” You swallow, getting chocked up with those to words but soldiering on. With a shake of your head, you look up to the ceiling and will your tears away. “My mom left my dad, brother and I last April. She’d been cheating on dad for years… and that’s not even the worst part.”

You wipe your eyes quickly, lips pulled downwards into a deep frown when you pause again –an upside-down U Steve wishes he could smooth out with his thumb. But he stays where he stands and lets you continue.

“The other man was married too” Your eyes find Steve’s and where there’s usually a spark –like that night at the party– there’s only sadness directed at the memory. “He’s the father of a popular kid at my old high school, so you can guess what happened when everyone found out.”

Steve’s mouths opens again and this time a soft no escapes him.

You press your lips together and nod, “So not only did the news wreck our home… they made life at school unbearable for my brother and I. People who I thought were my friends just threw me away as if I was trash for something I didn’t do. Something I had no fault in.”

“Is that why you moved here?” Steve asks softly, walking closer to you. The answer to the question he asked many months ago, right in front of him and it doesn’t make him feel any satisfaction. No, it hurts him to know this. Moving away from everything you’ve known and starting over again during senior year sounds brutal.

“Yes.” You whisper and close your eyes briefly; more tears fall down your cheeks and Steve’s heart aches. Teary eyes move away from his and fix themselves on the kitchen window instead, your lips are pressed so hard against each other they’re losing colour. “She packed her bags right after school the day we found out. We saw her leave with that man, no other explanation, not even a goodbye or a note. Everyone except my dad and my brother decided to leave me that day.”

A sob escapes you then, finally breaking free and shaking your whole body; another one replaces it once it stops. Your hands move from the counter to your face, covering it as cries continue to escape you in succession. Steve wastes no time and walks to stand in front of you; he hates seeing you in so much pain. God, it must have hurt so much, just being left behind like that. His hands move to your hips and gently urge you to hop off the counter before he wraps you up in his arms. His shoulders shake with the force of your sobs as you cling to him.

“Stevie.” Your hands are bunched up in the back of his polo, holding onto him like a lifeline.

Steve can’t even relish the sound of your calling him Stevie so softly. He swallows hard as he witnesses the pain, you have felt inside of you for so long. “I’m so sorry.” He whispers.

“She left us, Steve. She just disappeared and left us grieving her despite her being alive.” You say between your tears, they soak the right side of his shirt, but Steve couldn’t care less, his arms just tighten around your waist. “She’d been pushing us away for years, treating us like garbage and now I can see it’s because we weren’t good enough for her anymore. She didn’t love any of us anymore. We… we didn’t make her happy.”

Your voice sounds hoarse from crying, and your hands tighten behind Steve’s back. When you bury your face in his chest, Steve hunches his shoulders and forms a cocoon to protect you from the past. His protective nature takes over as he holds you flush against him; his hand moves up and down your back firmly –you need to know he’s there, that he’s got you. Steve puts his cheek over your head and whispers his next words. “I’ve got you; you can cry as much as you need to, I’m not going anywhere.”

It takes a few minutes, but your sobs soon transform into soft sniffles even as you press yourself closer to him. Steve doesn’t want to upset you anymore, but he’s itching to comfort you and let you know what he wishes someone had told him years ago. “I know my own shit experience with my parents isn’t the same as what you went through.” He starts, taking a small step back so he can look at you.

His fingers take a gentle hold of your face until puffy and teary eyes meet his; Steve wipes away some stray tears. “But what your mom did to you doesn’t say anything about you alright? You’re more than good enough for anyone. If she didn’t see that, then she made the worst mistake of her life.”

You close your eyes at his words and look away, but Steve shakes his head and urges you to face him again with a whisper of your name. “You don’t have to prove your worth to anyone because your mother left. All of us see it, and we’re so lucky to have you here.”

Steve’s thumb catches more tears as your lips begins to tremble again. “I’m so fucking lucky that you trust me, and I understand why you didn’t at first, okay? I understand you.”

Your hands on his waist tighten again as your forehead drops to his right shoulder. “I didn’t used to be like this… I’m sorry that this is the me that you met.”

Steve shakes his head, sure that you feel it when he does, and pulls you flush to his chest again. Is this how you’ve felt since last summer? He wonders. Like this version of yourself is wrong or unlikable.

Sure, you’re not a smiley person, but that makes your rare smiles even more special –and they drive Steve crazy. You see the glass half-empty most times to protect yourself if things do indeed go to shit, but you also recognize genuine goodness. You don’t hesitate to encourage or celebrate everyone else’s happiness; he’s seen it firsthand, with the kids, with Robin and even himself. Steve doesn’t think he could ever get tired of your dark humour or that pretty pout that settles on your lips when you get annoyed, not to mention that making you laugh is his favorite thing in the world. Steve understands your anxiety and panic at your college decision, you don’t want another change; you don’t want to choose something you don’t like and face another disappointment again. Most of all, Steve finally understands your hesitance and the root of your gruff exterior, and he wouldn’t change a thing about it. He’s stupid in love with you; your grumpy and soft looks; your frowns and your smiles; your heart; and that tender way you’re holding onto him right now.

Steve places a kiss to the side of your head to keep himself from saying all of this out loud –it’s not the right time, not yet. Instead, he whispers above your ear, “I wouldn’t change a single thing about you.”

For a moment, stillness surrounds the two of you in the kitchen and there’s no other sound but your quiet sniffles against Steve’s shirt again. Steve doesn’t mind, he’s happy to hold you for as long as you need, which ends up being five more minutes. You take a step back and look at him with those pretty eyes of yours; they’re teary and red-rimmed but lovely all the same.

“Thank you, Steve.” You whisper, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips until your gaze drops to his shirt and embarrassment shines in your eyes. “Sorry I cried all over you.”

“I don’t mind.” Steve shrugs and looks at you softly, hands still on your waist. “I think I know what we should do.”

You look at him curiously. “About what?”

“To cheer you up.”

The head shake you give him is immediate, just as he imagined. “I don’t–”

“You deserve a happy life.” Steve states as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world and sends a wink your way hoping to amuse you. “And I think, ice cream is a good way to start. I should know, I worked at an ice cream shop remember.”

He leaves your side and walks over to the freezer to grab the ice cream he saw earlier that night when he got up mid-movie to get more ice. It’s cookie dough ice cream, which he knows to be your favourite –he’s known since that first night he met you. Knowing he’s completely serious now, your eyes stare into his eyes for a moment before you turn and grab two spoons from a kitchen drawer.

“I guess we’re having ice cream then. Considering you’re an expert.” You say with an eye roll Steve can only describe as fond when you approach him again. A moment later, you sit on the counter and Steve follows suit, sitting next to you. “Spoon?”

“Thank you.” Steve says and takes it from you after opening the ice cream tub. He offers the tub to you first, letting you scoop some ice cream with your spoon which you pop in your mouth. Your arms brush from how close you’re sitting, and Steve has to lean forward to look at you, but he doesn’t mind. He’s happy with the proximity.

A sigh escapes you and you close your eyes as you savour the ice cream. Steve feels heat creep up the back of his neck at the sound, but he shakes the feeling off; you’re only eating ice cream, to make you feel better. “You were right Harrington, this is like medicine.”

“Told you, I’m an expert.” Steve chuckles and eats his own spoonful, the creamy ice cream melting in his tongue before he laughs as you search for the cookie dough in the tub. “This is going to be just plain vanilla ice cream if you keep doing that.”

“Finders keepers.” You tell him with a shrug as you bring the cookie dough to your mouth. “It’s arguably the best part of this ice cream.”

“You’re supposed to eat the ice cream with it!” Steve argues, holding the tub away from your reach. “I want cookie dough too you know.”

You roll your eyes at him, but there’s a soft look on your face as you look at him and nod. The two of you go back to eating ice cream in silence until Steve speaks up again. There are so many things he wants to know about you still –he thinks he’ll always want to know more. “What’s something you miss from living in Indianapolis?”

You pause mid-scoop and concentrate for a few moments going over his question. A moment later a tiny smile makes its way to your lips. “There used to be a wonderful campsite my dad used to take my brother and I; we’d camp for three days and do all sort of activities.”

Steve smiles. “Like what?”

“Dad and Chris love fishing, so we’d do that. There was also hiking, swimming, s’mores. Oh! We’d all tell each other stories sitting next to the fire. They were all completely made up of course, and I think the more ridiculous they were, the more fun we had.”

Your eyes wander around the kitchen, like you’re back in the forest with your family and not next to Steve anymore. Light dances in your eyes and Steve can almost picture the three of you laughing around the fire as the catch of the day roasts on a grill nearby. He knows better than to ask about your mother, he’s got a pretty good idea what the answer would be. Besides, you’ve cried enough already, so much that Steve’s own heart feels bruised from seeing you in pain.

“You haven’t camped here in Hawkins?” Steve asks after a minute, voice quiet to avoid disturbing your memory.

You shake your head and sigh, the mirage in front of you disappearing as your eyes drift back to Steve’s. “Dad’s not the same person he was during those camping trips… he hasn’t scouted a good place for us to go. I don’t think he even wants to go camping anymore.”

Steve puts the ice cream tub on the counter and takes your hand instead. “Maybe we could go camping someday, invite everyone, have fun…”

Your head moves to rest on his shoulder, the dizzying smell of your shampoo and perfume reaching Steve’s nose at the proximity. He leans his cheek on top of your head and feels the faint nod you give him. “Maybe.”

A comfortable silence settles between the two of you, your hand still in Steve’s grasp. Until he gives it a squeeze that makes you jump, as if you forgot you were holding hands in the first place. Steve chuckles. “What?”

Your head leaves his shoulder in an instant and for a second Steve is sure you’re going to hide behind your walls again, like you did so many months ago. His fear though, is replaced with concern when you hop off the counter and check the time with a frown.

“Babe come on, what’s going on?” He hops off the counter and stands in front of you. His eyes search yours until finally your gaze meets his, your embarrassment clear in them.

“I just hate being home alone at night. It makes me anxious.” Your hands fidget in front of you, as if you’re waiting for Steve to laugh at you. Oh, so that’s why you were nervous earlier. “I can’t sleep. At all.”

He looks down at his watch and sees that it’s midnight already. “I don’t mind staying over.” Bringing his eyes back to yours, he speaks up again. “Would that make you feel better?”

You close your eyes and let out a shaky exhale before you nod. “A lot better.” When your eyes open again, they’re full of gratefulness and surprise, as if Steve wouldn’t do anything for you.

A smile grows on Steve’s face, and he takes your hand before you can thank him, threading your fingers together as he speaks. “Come on, you’re probably tired.”

Steve, however, is everything but tired. His heart is racing at the thought of spending the night here with you. You’ve never spent so much time together in a day, he’s never seen your bedroom, and there’s something about this impromptu sleepover that makes heat creep up the back of his neck. No. He’s here to give you emotional support; you were so anxious earlier and there’s nothing he wants more than to see you happy and comfortable. If staying here, despite it sending his feelings into a frenzy, is the key for you to rest then so be it. He can stay for one night.

You don’t let go of his hand as you lead him upstairs, passing various pictures of you and your family that hang from the wall opposite the handrail. There are three bedrooms upstairs and yours is the last one down the hall, its view towards the backyard. You open the door a moment later and let go of his hand as you step inside. Now that he’s here, Steve remembers neither of you made sure the doors were locked downstairs. He should do that.

“I’m going to take a shower.” You tell him as you walk towards your dresser.

Steve nods and swallows hard, using the excuse of your safety to be downstairs while that happens. “We forgot to lock everything downstairs. I’ll go do that.”

“Oh, right.” You press your palm to your forehead; Steve can see you reprimand yourself. “Thank you, Steve.”

“No problem.” Steve is quick to shake his head as he takes a step back from the room. “I’ll be right back.”

Once Steve is back downstairs, he makes sure to check the windows and lock the front door. He fiddles with the light switches for a while before he finds the right ones and turns the lights off. The whole process takes him less than five minutes, and the shower is still running when he’s back in your room. With a deep breath he finally looks around, gazing through a metaphorical window into your world, which he surprisingly already knew a lot of. The pastel walls make him smile, and he walks along the furthermost wall where various posters have been hung –all bands and singers Robin and you have played in his car. There’s a small vanity by the closet next to the bathroom, full of tiny bottles and a couple of lip-gloss tubes. Steve also spots a purple bottle of perfume on top, and a grin makes its way to his face –that’s the one that drives him crazy, he’s sure of it. He’s about to move closer and look at the pictures you’ve pasted in the vanity’s mirror, but he’s startled to a stop when you speak.

“I left a shirt for you to sleep in, if you want it.” You say and Steve turns around.

His heart summersaults when he sees you, fresh dewy face, hair out of your face, an oversized grey t-shirt with a pink Queen logo on the front and pink cotton sleeping pants. The overhead light of the bathroom makes a small rectangle in the carpeted floor, and some steam from your shower still circles around behind you. It takes all Steve’s self-control to stay where he is and not walk up to you and pull you into his arms; no tears between you this time, just Steve holding you the way he wishes he could all the time. He looks at the t-shirt you left on your bed to distract himself and laughs when he notices the colour.

“How’d you guess I love pink?” Steve asks you, glancing your way as he walks towards the bed and holds up the t-shirt. It’s very oversized like yours, and it has a black and fuchsia print of Blondie’s lead singer on it.

“Dunno, just thought it would suit you.” you chuckle, and Steve sees you hold back a smile as you point towards the bathroom. “There’s a spare toothbrush on the sink.”

Steve nods and hurries to the bathroom, lest you notice him blushing. He finds the toothbrush instantly and proceeds to brush his teeth, and though he doesn’t know why, Steve feels extremely happy to know both of you use the same toothpaste. He glances around and looks at all the details that are entirely yours around the room. There are some facial creams on a shelf next to the mirror, a vanilla scented hand soap on the sink, and a look towards the shower shows him two purple and pink shampoo and conditioner bottles –the ones that make your hair smell like flowers. Steve rinses his mouth, then takes off his sweater and jeans before he puts on the pink t-shirt you gave him and, like a freak, smells it to find that somehow your scent still lingers in the soft cotton.

If he was panicking before, he’s panicking even more now. He’s obsessed with you, he realizes, stupidly head over the heels and all of this is making it worse; lying on a bed next to you will make it so much worse. He’s got to pull himself together. He’s doing this because of fear of being home alone, that’s all. He can sleep alongside you for a night without making a fool of himself –or worse, accidentally confess his feelings. So, pushing all bed related thoughts to the back of his mind, he walks out of the bathroom to find you already under your duvet in bed.

Not letting himself think too much about it, Steve turns off the lamp on your nightstand and slips under the duvet too. He keeps his body still, tense more accurately, as he lies next to you. That is until you turn to face him, and he immediately does too, like a magnet naturally attracted to you.

“Do you ever fear that you’ll wake up one day and everyone you know will be gone?” you whisper in the dark; your voice is almost silent, but Steve hears you loud and clear with how close he is to you. The minty smell of your toothpaste mingles with his own breath. Is this how things are going to be between you now, deep conversations and secrets you only trust to each other? He really hopes so.

Steve shakes his head, trying to make out your face in the dark as his heart constricts in his chest. “No,” he says just as quietly, “But sometimes I’m afraid that something terrible will happen and I won’t be able to help.”

Steve closes his eyes and exhales through his nose as he voices one of his fears for the first time. He’s sure that everything that happened in the Upside Down that they managed to fix was thanks to the brains in his friend group. Steve is all physical strength, which has proved useful in the past, but against monsters or whatever the hell could come next, he’s not sure it will be enough. The thought of being useless like that and everyone suffering because of it terrifies him. Even more now that you’re a part of said friend group. He’s sure of one thing though, he’d protect you and all his friends no matter what.

Your hand slowly moves to his shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “Knowing you, Steve, I’m a thousand percent sure you’d find a way to help. Your stubbornness can be a good thing.”

A breathy chuckle leaves him as your words punch the air out of him. He’s silent for a moment, scrambling for something reassuring to say back. Words aren’t his forte, not unless he’s flirting. He’d rather pull you close to him and comfort you that way, the way he did in the kitchen. “You know… if we were to disappear for whatever reason, you can bet I’d fight my way to you. You won’t be alone.”

Steve sees you nod your head in the dark, his only sign that you haven’t fallen asleep yet. Your hand goes back to your side, in front of his before you stifle a yawn. Assuming your eyes are tired from all their crying, Steve moves his hand to cup your cheek gently.

“Go to sleep, you need to rest.” He whispers; he wants to give you more comfort, pull you close and rub your back until you fall asleep. He doesn’t because he can’t, that would make things weird.

“Thank you for staying with me.” You whisper back.

Remaining silent to avoid saying something that’d give away just how deep his feelings for you run, or the fact that the opportunity to be lying here next to you is something he should be thankful for, he only rubs his thumb softly on your cheek once more before letting go. With another yawn you turn around, your back facing Steve as you whisper goodnight.

Steve doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but he knows he sleeps more peacefully than he has in a while. Not that he doesn’t sleep well often, but most days his dreamless sleep is a result of the exhaustion of the day and not peacefulness. Last night though, there were no nightmares, no tossing and turning, just a distant dream of a campfire in the woods, fireflies, and a silhouette standing peacefully by the water. At some point, early in the morning, he finds himself waking to the light sneaking into the room from a small gap in the tulle curtains. His eyes that were too sleepy to open, blink awake at the awareness that you’re in his arms. Lovely floral scent and cozy softness pressed to him.

It seems that during the night, you’d shifted to your side and burrowed yourself on his chest, an arm around his waist and leg thrown over his hip. His left arm is around you, settled between your shoulder blades, holding you to him. He lifts it and checks his watch, barely 6am but Steve knows he should go. The last thing he wants is your father getting back home and finding him in your bed. Steve doesn’t know him and that’s not the first impression he’s looking for. Besides, there’s a pressing problem in his briefs, that has appeared from being tangled up with you, that he needs to hide in his jeans before you notice. Shifting his hips way from you he looks down at your sleeping face, brushing hair away from your face before he whispers your name.

“Hmm,” You frown, eyes still closed. “What?”

“You’re a cuddler,” Steve says as he smiles; it’s something that should surprise him, but it doesn’t. Not at all.

“I’m not.” You mumble and, contradicting yourself, press closer to him.

“Yes, you are.” He chuckles, shifting his hips backwards again. “I have to go.”

You frown but move away from him, turning and facing away. “Why?”

Steve slips from bed and puts his jeans back on, adjust himself, before pulling his sweater over his head and on top of the pink t-shirt. Call him a lovestruck fool, but he’s not giving it back. “I don’t know when your dad’s gonna be back, I don’t want him to find a boy he doesn’t know in your bed.”

You chuckle, then yawn as you shift and sit up in bed. Steve stares at you longer than he should. His eyes take in your messy hair and your still puffy eyes from all your crying the night before. He smiles widely.

“I have drool on my face, don’t I?” You sigh, moving the back of your hand to the corner of your mouth.

Steve laughs and shakes his head. “No, you don’t; you look pretty that’s all.”

His words reward him with an eyeroll and a headshake before you stand up. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

You remain silent as the two of you walk side by side all the way down to the front door. Steve takes his car keys, and you move to open the door, but pause after a moment. Steve’s eyes look into yours as he wonders if there’s something wrong but when your eyes shift up to him, a small smile settles on your lips. Next thing Steve knows, your arms go around him in a hug.

He can’t help but sigh at the feeling and leaning his cheek on top of your head. “You okay?”

You nod and look up at him. “Thank you, Steve.” You say, stepping on the tip of your toes and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Don’t thank me.” Steve smiles, letting his arms fall to his sides as his heart skips several beats. “Wanna get a coffee later?”

Is he bribing you with caffeine just to see you again? Of course, he is. Steve is charming, and he has a lot of work to do if he wants to make a move soon.

“Only if I get to pay.” You raise an eyebrow but smile nonetheless, that rare big smile he loves.

Steve huffs and opens the door. “Sure, babe.” He says though he knows you don’t believe him.

He walks to his car when you nod –heart pounding– and smiles as he drives away. Your figure on the rear-view mirror watches him leave until he turns at the end of the driveway. Steve leans his elbow on the door, his hand settling over his mouth as he thinks about the events of last night and this morning. Hope fills his chest, and Steve feels like this is the beginning of something really good for both of you.

---

There’s a small shift in your dynamic after that late night conversation in your kitchen. It’s like almost as if it brought you both closer: like a barrier breaking between you and Steve. Steve knows he should take it slow, that he should better conceal his feelings to avoid scaring you off. But another part of Steve wants to throw caution to the wind because there’s been a change in you too. I trust you, Steve, you’d said, and it shows. In the way you sit closer to him, how you give away more pieces of your past and yourself when you talk. There’s less apprehension and more curiosity from both of you and Steve can’t help but fall and fall and fall. He only hopes it doesn’t end up with him crashing down painfully.

The two of you make a new habit of visiting a small the café on the weekends; you sitting sideways on the couch and Steve talking nonsense to make you laugh. It starts the day after the sleepover, and the two of you use it as time to catch up on the events of the week. It delights him; every Saturday, he wants nothing more than to lean close and kiss your smile, the one he never thought he’d be at the receiving end of. You have bad days too, days in which Steve knows you’ve been crying, days where all you want to do is sit in silence with him. Steve doesn’t mind, at all, in fact he loves all your mood equally and now that he knows the backstory of what you went through, he offers you the quiet reassurance of his presence next to you, so you know you’re not alone.

Weeks pass like this, until winter leaves and spring comes. Overnight, the breeze has no bite to it anymore, the flowers bloom again and you begin to wear the prettiest floral dresses that give Steve a whole new reason to be obsessed with you.

“You two are adorable; when are you going to tell her, dingus?”

Steve and Robin had stopped by the Deli to get something to eat during their lunch break while you were on your lunch break too. The three of you had spent the 30 minutes talking between bites of your own sandwiches until the moment Steve had to drive away and you had to go back to your shift. He hears Robins words but his eyes follow your retreating figure until you’re out of sight –his mind is begging him to find you and steal a kiss just so he doesn’t go crazy. Robin snaps her fingers in front of his face and laughs when Steve startles. He rolls his eyes and gets in the car while Robin asks him the same question again.

Steve rolls his eyes again, “Tell her what?”

“That you’re obsessed with her dummy!” Robin hits his arm, Steve sends her an annoyed look, “You love her come on, you have to tell her.”

“No, I can’t.” He’s been thinking about it more often now. Keeping it to himself has been almost impossible lately and he knows he should do it before he breaks.

“Yes, you can, and you have to.” Robin asserts, setting her converse on the dashboard. “She clearly feels the same way.”

“She doesn’t.” Steve’s answer is instant as he focuses on the road and getting back to FV, his fingers gripping the steering wheel so hard they turn white. It’s a half-lie, and they both know it.

“She does and you know it.” Out of the corner of his eye he sees Robin shake her head. “The way she looks at you Steve… it’s unbearable to watch, coming from her.”

Steve knows it, he’s seen that change. He’s felt the pitter patter of his heart, the way his hands shake when you look at him like that, like he’s all you want. But Steve is a coward in denial, he doesn’t want to assume wrong and send you running away from him. But if Robin’s seen it… “You really think so?” He says as he parks his car and Robin nods enthusiastically.

“Duh!”

He nods to himself, “Okay... I can tell her tonight. We are hanging out at my place anyway.”

“I’ll make myself scarce, just say the word and I’ll disappear.” When Steve nods Robin cheers, opening the passenger door and stepping outside. “Don’t mess it up, Steve.”

“I’ll try.” Steve grips the steering wheel, trying to calm himself down.

Steve doesn’t get a chance to though, for that afternoon with greying clouds in the sky you show up at Family Video as soon as your shift at the Deli ends. Steve is about to go to the back and finish some inventory he has procrastinated all week when he sees you pacing in front of his car, arms crossed over your chest. His heart soars, then fills with dread –somethings wrong. He knows it right away which is why he rounds the counter and rushes outside in a heartbeat.

“Babe, what’re you doing here?” Steve says as soon as he opens the door. “It’s gonna rain come on, let’s go inside.”

But you shake your head and look at him with a look he can’t name. It’s a sad look, and it makes Steve panic; he panics even more when he sees your eyes are teary and red-rimmed. “Did something happen? At work or at home?”

“I love you.” You say, at the same time thunder cracks in the distance. Your trembling lips press together when Steve’s move to smile, and your headshake makes Steve pause. “But I don’t think we should see each other again.”

“What?” Steve’s question is a whisper, almost lost to another booming thunder. “Why would you say that? Did I do something?”

“No, Steve.” You sigh, voice shaky, looking everywhere but his eyes. Steve knows this tell though; you don’t want to be caught in a lie. “We just don’t fit–”

“No.” He says simply, shaking his head as he interrupts you. This is that night in the Wheeler’s driveway all over again, you trying to shut everyone out. His hands still shake slightly though, at your confession, your words afterwards, at the idea of losing you.

“Steve it won’t work.” You tell him, it cracks halfway with feeling, and you swallow hard before repeating yourself. “It would never work.”

“Yes it will, it’s us.” Steve tells you, shaking his head. He remembers how far you’ve come, how close the two of you have gotten. He should’ve have known it would scare you, after what happened with your family. “Of course it will! It has worked for months.”

“It won’t! It won’t work regardless of our feelings. Because I’m me! And you’re you –you’ll get sick of me and then leave. And it’ll hurt more than anything I’ve ever experienced.” You tell him, shaking your head and looking at him with reddening eyes. Both your arms are crossed over your chest, as if you’re physically protecting your heart from feeling what if feels for him. I love you, you said. Around you, the sky begins to open, bathing both of you with big droplets of water. “I told you before, you scare me because I’ve never felt this way before.”

Steve tries to take a step closer, but you take a step back; it makes him groan in frustration. “You can’t make that decision for me! How can you think I’d just leave you?”

“Because the person who I thought never would, LEFT.” You yell, eyes brimming with tears that roll down your cheeks. They mix with the raindrops that fall on both of you and Steve’s heart aches.

“Then she didn’t love you enough, not the way you deserve.” Steve places his hands on his hips, looking at the wet concrete underneath his shoes. His eyebrows meet in the middle as he swallows hard. He can’t put into words how angry it makes him that someone hurt you so much, that you’re scared of being happy again. “I thought you trusted me.”

“I do.” You tell him, hands falling to your sides. Your voice is so quiet that the rain falling around you almost drowns it out. “You know I do.”

“Then let me love you!” You’re stunned into silence by Steve’s words, confessed loudly in an outburst as he brings his hands to his hair. He meets your eyes and feels his own tear up; he really doesn’t want to lose you. “Let me prove to you that I love you like crazy, baby. Because I do, you have no idea how much.”

Your eyes squeeze shut and Steve knows you can see all of his feelings reflected on his face. “I don’t want to be heartbroken again Steve! Can’t you see you’re sunshine, and I–”

“Don’t say that.” He whispers and steps closer to you, holding both of your hands. The way you cling to them sparks a fire in his heart, keeps his hope alive. “I told you I wouldn’t change a thing about you, that I’d fight my way to you.”

You try to let go of him, but Steve only pulls you closer even as you look away from him, lip trembling. “You know my issues, especially after what happened last year.”

“I do know them, and I’m telling you now that I don’t plan on ever letting you go. This isn’t just a fling, and you know it.” His hands go to your face, holding it gently and looking into your eyes. Those beautiful eyes he’s seen tear up, the ones that crinkle in the corners when you laugh and turn steely when you’re mad. He wants to look at them forever.

You close them, bracing yourself, as the sky continues to fall all around you. Big drops of water hitting your skin and soaking your clothes every second that passes. “Even if I have bad days, or get exasperated with you, or I’m a grump?”

Steve smiles and shakes his head. If only you knew. “I love it when you’re a grump, I want to kiss your pout so badly every time.”

“I don’t pout,” You roll your eyes, but Steve can see you’re trying to hide your fear. He’s learned every little detail about you to memory, this is you trying to build a wall. Well then, Steve knows how to break them down.

“I promise,” Steve says, like he did that November night you fought outside in the cold. His nose brushes against yours as tenderly as he can, rainwater sliding down between your faces –his breath catches on his throat. “I love everything about you, everything baby, trust me. It’s you and me, that won’t change.”

You nod, trust shining in your eyes as a teary smile makes its way to your face when you let it free. It knocks the air out of Steve’s lungs. “Stevie, I love you.”

He leans his forehead against yours, happy beyond words and because he’s not good with them he says, “I really want to kiss you.”

“Then kiss me,” You urge him.

Steve leans down, holding your face in his hands and lingering close as he braces himself for this; this moment he’s wished for so many times. He smiles, and thinks finally, before leaning in and kissing you. A noise dies in the back of his throat, his chest feels full of helium and his mind reels at the everything he’s feeling. It’s even better than he dreamed it would be. Your lips soft against his, your hands in his hair, the sigh that escapes you when one of his arms wraps around your waist and presses you flush against him. His skin is buzzing, his fingertips are tingling. So he kisses you until you’re both dizzy, brushing his tongue against yours, matching your intensity head-on. Everything is intoxicating, the sweet scent of your perfume, the softness under his hands, the way your face feels like it’s on fire as his hand remains cupping your cheek. Steve is so in love he could faint, so he breathes you in as he kisses your cheek, your jaw, your neck and just below your ear until the two of you pull back. Soaked in rain, without a care in the world.

“Does this mean you’re my boyfriend?” You ask him softly, stepping impossibly closer to him.

Steve smiles proudly, heart soaring. “Yes it does, I’m yours.”

“I want to kiss you again.” You confess after a minute, blinking away that raindrops that have gathered in your eyelashes and smiling at him. “But I’m cold.”

Steve laughs when you frown and pulls you closer to him. “Yeah, we should probably get out of the rain.”

----

thank you for reading! reblogs are really appreciated and so is any feedback 💖

(I also wrote this tiny insight to grumpy reader’s feelings here )

#steve harrington fic #steve harrington x f!reader #steve harrington x you #steve x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst

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bunnys-kisses · 2 months

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hello! i stumbled upon your blog and i must admit i LOVE the bakery theme. can i get a berry trifle and coffee with oscar piastri please? thank you so much!!!

bakery menu

want to submit your own order! check the original post for all the information & prompts! as for this prompt, i am loving that people are into the whole rivals idea. i love writing rivals for f1, it's like the soap opera aspect of f1. it's very funny.

berry trifle ('wrong, try again') + coffee (rivals) served to you by oscar piastri (formula one!)

cw: smut/pwp, (failed) rivals au, driver!reader, driver!oscar, a dash of breeding kink, unprotected sex, references to masturbation, cowgirl position,

okay, oscar didn't hate you. despite what the press had been alluding to after hungary, oscar didn't hate you. in fact, he had respect for you, you were breaking barriers for women in the field.

but by god, did you light a fire in him.

when he first met you, you were in the semi-baggy driver's clothes. the fabric didn't give you much shape. so oscar just thought you were the cute new driver.

that was until you attended an event for ferrari with leclerc, the dress-code did not include the driver's suit. that was when oscar got a good look at your figure. there was a strength to your form that could clearly be seen by the lack of full sleeves on the dress you wore.

oscar didn't know he was attending the gun show!

but that only made his carnal craving for you grow deeper.

"she's turning a lot of heads." charles remarked before he took a sip of his drink, "i told her that if she really worked on it, she could get some hefty sponsors."

"or a date." lando remarked as the three men watched you talk your way through the room. eventually lando said, "i'd smash." before he downed his drink and got up to get another one.

charles looked to oscar and asked, "what are your thoughts on her, piastri?" he was genuinely curious, oscar was quiet about you.

oscar sighed and made a face, "i want to crush her on the track." he turned to the other man and shrugged, "i don't care if she's a woman, i'm here to win."

you beat him in belgium. you also beat norris, leclerc, and verstappen. you held that trophy over your head while the national anthem of your home country played. oscar swore that he saw tears in your eyes.

there was a buzz about you over the course of the summer break. oscar took it as an opportunity to invite you to england. all driver's ran in the same circles and oscar was just extending an offer for you to get out of monaco for a week!

"i promise, it does get sunny... sometimes." he said to you over the phone. he didn't admit but when he heard you beautiful voice on the other end of the line, his hand was already around his cock.

he was in anticipation for your visit and was more than happy to pick you up from the airport. you threw yourself at him and laughed.

"you were right, it is hot!" you were wearing a light sweatshirt, "i honestly thought you were fuckin' with me. you must be cold, mister australia!"

he scratched the back of his neck, and his eyes went wide when you hastily took off the sweatshirt, exposing more of your body to him. he didn't know that ferrari made such tight tank tops.

oscar's plans to really cement you as a rival failed upon impact. he thought this trip was going to be really getting to the core of you and cementing himself as you rival. but, instead you were helping him make breakfast because you 'felt bad' that he was doing 'everything'.

it was two eggs in a pain and couple of sausages.

you lingered around him, he noticed by the second day you smelt like his body wash when you got close enough to him. you were all bright smiles, soft gazes and tight little tops.

oscar ended every night with his cock in his hand, idly masturbating until his legs cramped up. the sick little kink he often let his mind wander about was the breeding kink.

his dream was two seasons with you at mclaren (sorry, lando). you in the bright orange across the paddock. then halfway through the second season, you start feeling unwell. you'd be too stubborn to take a pregnancy test, but with the amount of tests drivers have to take, it wouldn't be long before you were confronted by the fact that oscar got you pregnant! then you start a bright new future as mrs. piastri, and lando can come back (yay, lando!).

that was why his plan to make you his rival failed, because his need to get his cock wet overrode everything else.

it took a week before you two started sleeping together. you could only drink, laugh and play so many video games before you led him back to his bedroom like a siren.

it was met with giggles and bad jokes. hands touching skin and finally the clothes were shed.

oscar liked you on top, as did you. you liked having the control of your movements as your pussy was a vice around his leaky cock. you were on birth control (duh), but the other driver didn't need to know.

he honestly thought he was taking you raw.

"tell me who's going to win it all this year?" you asked as you rolled your hips. his cock was snug in you, you had to admit, the other driver was packing some heat between his legs.

and he wasn't afraid to use it.

oscar rubbed his thumb against your hip and said, "yeah, number eighty-eight for mclaren." he smiled cockily.

"wrong, try again." you said as you laughed and tapped him on the nose, which made him groan. you bent over himself as you rocked your hips and kissed at his face. he looked visibly relaxed.

"oh c'mon!" he laughed as he tried to set the pace himself. but you placed your hands on his chest and anchored yourself. you were not letting him take control.

you leaned in to kiss him again. the air conditioning in the room prevented it from getting too hot. but, oscar could see the slight sheen of sweat on your naked body in the afternoon light.

"you don't think i'll beat you?"

you shook your head and continued to move up and down on his cock. you pushed the hair out of your face, "oh, don't be silly, piastri." you playfully slapped his toned chest, "we all know i'm going to beat you." then flashed your press smile.

words like that made him want to breed you even more. but, he kept those thoughts to himself. he didn't want to risk losing such a sweet pussy in his close proximity.

it'd be hard to win championship when you were carrying the other driver's baby!

you rested up against his chest and rolled your hips. you had taken his cock to the root and it nudged against you with each thrust of your hips. you could feel his balls up against your pussy.

"shit, fuck. you feel so good."

"i bet you say that to all the girls you bring back to this place." you laughed as you really worked at riding him. you panted heavily as you moved against him.

he ran his fingers through your hair, "nah, nah. no girl's as pretty as you." oscar's plan slipped through his fingers, he wanted you more as a wife then a rival.

"well, aren't you sweet, oscar."

the two of you continued to fuck in the afternoon light. the pleasure pumped through your body as you rode him. you knew you weren't going to last long, that was one thing you could admit about oscar.

he was a good fuck.

the bed squeaked a little bit under the both of you. oscar's orgasm hit him hard and he finished inside of you in a huff. his nails dug into your hips as you continued to ride him till you found your completion.

he looked in a bit of a daze as you continued to hump against him. you felt the sweat on your back and oscar's strong chest under your nails, your short nails scratching against the skin.

"shit, oscar." you groaned as you reached your climax.

you were both out of breath. you didn't know what to do after you stopped your movements besides just giving him a firm pat on the chest. you panted, "good. good."

he laughed, "excellent. now c'mere."

you soon laid out on his chest and linked your fingers with his. your legs tangled together as you laid there trying to catch your breath. it was almost intimate.

you kissed at the other's collarbones, "so what do you say, piastri? another round and then we can get some dinner?"

that evening you called charles up, you were seated on the balcony of the flat with your legs kicked out on the small table.

"leclerc residence, charles speaking." he yawned on the other end.

you replied, "it's barely eight o'clock. you're getting too old." with a hint of laughter in your voice. in all fairness you were a little tired too.

"glad to see you're alive in england. how's oscar?"

"good, good. our little mission is a success." you beamed on the other end, "oscar will be as docile as your little leo."

charles chuckled on the other end, "if he is, he's going to need more training. i don't get why you didn't start with lando? he was into you too."

"yeah, but oscar's accent got me first." you sighed, "i mean, eventually the two will tear each other apart." you shrugged.

"or tear you apart." charles remarked.

"i'm not too worried there, leclerc. you men are quite funny sometimes. i'll tell you everything when i get back."

your teammate replied, "whatever, just don't come crawling back to me when they both catch on and you've got cum coming out of your ears."

formula one was a man's world, but if you could keep a man like oscar piastri on his knees for you. then maybe you had a chance of winning the championship.

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joyshinemachinerycompany · 2 years

Video

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dragon fruit washing grading line|dragon fruit processing line|vegetable fruit washing sorting machine

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#dragon fruit washing grading line #dragon fruit processing line #vegetable fruit washing sorting machine #dragon fruit washing machine #dragon fruit sorting machine #orange washing machine #orange sorting machine

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jareaul0ver · 5 months

Text

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowgirl

Summary: A night out with the girls leads to an even better night at home with your girlfriend.

wc: 1.3k warnings: SMUTTY, touchy!nika, dom!nika, reader riding nika's abs, breast touching, slight fingering (?? i wouldnt even call it that, but i cant think of a better word), nika speaking in croatian because its hot as fuck pairings: nika muhl x fem!reader

UConn had just beaten Southern California, and they wanted to celebrate. They were moving onto the final four and they couldn't be more ecstatic. They wanted -- needed -- to celebrate.

Paige had told everyone about a bar that isn't too far from campus, and the team decided to go. You weren't on the team but as Nika's girlfriend you obviously were invited. All the girls loved you, and you loved them.

You sat on the couch of your dorm, waiting for Nika to finish getting ready. The theme of the bar that night was wild west. You were surprised when Nika said she had the perfect outfit, you never expected her to own anything country.

She finally left the bathroom and looked at you with a smile. "You ready?"

You looked up at her and raised your eyebrows. She looked good. She had a white cropped button up on, a pair of light wash jeans, a pair of cowboy boots, and a tan cowboy hat. A sliver of her stomach was showing, revealing her toned abs and belly button piercing.

You stood up and walked over to her, placing your hands on her waist. "God, you look.." You just laughed and shook your head. She blushed a little and took your face in her hands.

"You don't look that bad yourself." You were wearing an orange cropped tank top, a very short pair of jean shorts, and a pair of sneakers. You didn't own anything country.

She pulled your face close to hers and pressed a soft kiss on your lips. She pulled back and let go of you. "We don't want to be late."

A low groan was heard from behind her as she turned around to leave. She looked back and shot you a small glare. "Sorry." You mumbled before the two of you left.

The entire night, you couldn't keep your hands off each other. If Nika needed another drink, you went with her. If someone called you over to talk to you, she went with you. The sexual tension was thick, you were practically walking through a cloud of smoke when you were next to each other.

A guy dressed in full cowboy attire went onto the small stage and spoke into the microphone. "Alright, y'all, we're bringin' out the bull!" The entire bar cheered as another guy rolled out a mechanical bull.

Paige came in between you and Nika and put her arms around your guys' shoulders. "If one of you can stay on it for 45 seconds, I'll give ya twenty bucks."

Nika immediately shook her head no, but you shot Paige a daring glance. "Bet." You said, the alcohol you ingested had given you the confidence.

You waited in line for your turn on the bull. Once you finally got up there, you straddled the machine. It started slow at first, but quickly picked up speed.

At one point you glanced over at Nika, and the look she was giving you sent chills down your spine. You knew you were in for it later.

To everyone's surprise except nika's you lasted more than a minute on the thing. Once you finally fell off, Paige came over to you with a 20 dollar bill in her hand, reluctantly placing it in yours. You pocketed it and gave her a smirk.

You went to turn around, but felt a pair of hands on your waist. Nika leaned into your ear and whispered. "You're gonna pretend to be sick and dizzy after that, and we're going back to the dorm." The tone in her voice was easy to determine, and your body shuddered.

"Okay," you said breathlessly. You did as she said, both of you playing off your departure as your sickness.

The two of you walked into your dorm, and you shut the door behind you. Nika wasted no time in pressing her front against your ass, pinning your front against the door. You gasped and your eyes fluttered shut when you felt her placing hot kisses on your neck.

Her hands came around to your front, one slinking up the bottom of your shirt to massage one of your tits, the other moving to unbutton and unzip your shorts. "Nika." You breathed hastily.

"Hm?" She hummed against your neck, her breath making goosebumps rise.

"Where's-" She slipped her hand down past your underwear and ran a finger through your already soaked cunt. You groaned, leaning your forehead against the door. "Where's this coming from?" You made out between breaths.

"You looked so good riding that bull, baby. I can't help myself." She husked. She gathered up some of your slick and rubbed small circles against your sensitive clit.

A low whine escaped your lips at her touch. She pulled her hands away from you, but before you could protest, she was already carrying you over to your bed. She set you down and laid down on her back next to you.

She pulled you onto your lap and hooked her fingers in two of the belt loops on your shorts. "Off." She tapped your hip and you quickly obliged, slipping the shorts off and tossing them onto the floor.

She brought her hands up and lifted your top over your head, discarding it somewhere. This left you in only a pair of white, lacy panties.

Your chest heaved as you stared at her, watching her deep brown eyes flickering from every part of your body. She bit her lip and put her hands on your hips, pulling you up to rest on her stomach.

"So wet for me, I can feel it through your panties." She was right. You were soaked. It was almost funny how quickly she could turn you on. There wasn't much time to process her words, however, as she used the grip on your hips to start grinding you back and forth.

She took the hat off her head and placed it on top of yours, in true "save a horse, ride a cowboy" fashion.

"Fuck-" You groaned. You felt her toned abs underneath you. You started moving your hips on your own accord, creating a rhythm that felt perfect against your core.

You ground yourself against her, the same way you had to while riding the bull. "Been thinking about this since the second you got on that machine." She said lowly, keeping one hand on your waist, and bringing another up to knead the skin of your breast.

You threw your head back, and the hat slipped off. "Yeah?" You somehow managed through your pants. You rolled your hips further, and hit a spot just right. Her belly button ring had brushed against your clit. Her name spilled out of your lips in an ungodly sense.

Nika caught onto what you were doing, and dropped her hand back down to your waist, speeding up your motions. Your juices soaked your panties and covered her stomach. She didn't care how messy you were, she was loving this.

"That feel good?" She licked her lips as she watched you. You nodded your head frantically, but couldn't manage any words. "Speak, baby."

"Fuck.. yes, Nika-" she thrusted her body upwards, making your back arch. "Shit- I'm close, baby." You whimpered.

She helped you speed up your pace. She felt your movements become more sporadic as you neared your orgasm. Sweat coated your body and you felt the knot tighten in your stomach. Nika could tell you were about to cum. "Cum for me, ljubavi."

Her speaking in her native tongue was enough for you to finally break. A string of curses, followed by her name left your mouth. Nika slowed the movement of your hips, letting you ride out your high, but trying not to overstimulate you.

You climbed off her lap and laid down next to her. She quickly got undressed, went to the bathroom and cleaned herself off, and laid back down, turning on her side to face you. You were laying on your back, your chest heaving. She gently cleaned you, trying to be careful around your sensitive area.

"Holy shit." You breathed out.

"Holy shit." She chuckled, wrapping her arm over your stomach and pulling you into her. You turned onto your side, tucking your head against her neck.

#nika muhl #nika muhl x reader #nika muhl smut #nika muhl x reader smut #uconn #uconn wbb #wnba #i love this woman with everything in me someone save me #wlw #lgbtq

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certifiedlovergirlsstuff · 2 months

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mixed-matched socks | s.r. x pregnant!fem reader

“look out! laundry downpour, ahhh!” you indoor screamed as you slowly dumped the freshly dried clothing over a lying annabeth. her high pitched screeching bursted your eardrums, but were quickly muffled by a shirt and jacket. her little fingers and toes wiggling like worms in her clothing dirt.

“how’s it feel?” spencer asked as he plucked her baby face free of cotton. her smile, that spencer insisted was yours, pushes her cheeks into her eyes causing them to disappear. “like a group cuddle,” she practically sighed in content.

grabbing a random top, one of annabeth’s cartoon kittens tees, you got to work separating the fabrics. “miss bethie, could you look for anyone of your clothes and place them here. this is your pile responsibility.”

“okie dokie,” and she crawled through spencer’s button ups and some of your summer dresses, holding each new piece of clothing in the air, declaring victory before dropping it to her pile. you and spencer worked through and over her to make your own piles, spencer would iron his clothes and you would steam yours.

“all…done!” she gave a bounce to the bed causing her to wobble and both of you quickly shooting your arms out to prevent any accidents. “careful baby,” spencer gently chided. “let’s cross cross apple sauce,” lightly tapping her calf. she plopped her little body down, her pile tipping to the side.

“let’s do some folding. do you know how we fold?” spencer asked annabeth while you started to work on steaming your clothes. “i only see, not do.” her palms patted her knees.

“that’s okay, its real easy.” spencer grabbed one of his sleep shirts for a demonstration. “just hold it up like this, then push the sides in like this then fold. all done.”

you looked over to see annabeth holding a pastel blue top up, her fingers pinching the shoulders as she stared it down. spencer’s larger hands atop hers to guide her through the simple formation, he helped with a few more then she did one all on her own.

“easy peasy, lemon squeezy.” she hummed to herself.

“wanna fold daddy’s socks? he likes when you mix-match them.” wanting her to do another task to keep her occupied and get the chores done quickly.

she looked to spencer, matching brown eyes gleaming into each other, “can i?” asking excitedly. spencer kissed the top of her head, “of course, sweetie. makes my work day brighter.”

annabeth is used to doing the socks, the action simple for her tiny chubby hands. it was her first task once she started to join both of you on this glorious adult chore, always a soft hum under her breath.

it made you look back from before she was around, you doing this alone in your family home with music blaring in headphones, to then sharing a space with spencer and being a bit cautious of crossing a certain line with your knowledge of his germophobia. then one day a shirt got mixed with his wash then a loose sock with yours, then you both were just sitting in the living room watching reruns of doctor who with spencer mindlessly spewed out facts. when you got pregnant spencer would do the lifting of the baskets and you would lay back in your bed going at a slow pace with spencer beside you as he took folded pieces and put them away so you didn’t have to get up a million times.

now it’s the three of you working together with a three month bump barely showing under your lifted tee. something so simple and mundane when you were a teenager that was a tiring chore now shifted into family bonding time, seeing your husband and daughter talk quietly as she held up a pair of dark blue and neon orange socks giggling as she balled them together.

laundry day has become one of your favorite chore days.

a/n: inspired by @beansarecooler for an idea they left on a post.

#erin writes spencer #spencer reid early seasons #spencer reid x pregnant!reader #spencer reid season1 #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #season 1 spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #dad!spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

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teenwolf-incorrectquotes · 10 months

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Derek: He's it for me. Stiles is it. But I can't pursue him, I just can't. He deserves better than me. Isaac: So what are you going to do? Derek: Imagine bumping into him on the street in five years, with a husband? And Stiles tells me he's a sculptor, and they live in New England now? Isaac: We'd have to kill that guy. Derek: Yeah, and we'd get caught, I'd get the electric chair. Isaac: And I go to prison as your accomplice. And I'd have to wear that really heavy denim, or that bright orange, and that would really wash me out, you know, I'm pale enough already. And I'd go to the cafeteria line, with the guy who slops those mashed potatoes onto your plate. Go to the bathroom, in front of hundreds of people. Isaac: Derek, you gotta talk to Stiles!

#derek hale #stiles stilinski #sterek #isaac lahey #teen wolf #teen wolf incorrect quotes #incorrect teen wolf quotes #source: seinfeld

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wroteclassicaly · 1 year

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For The Record

(Steve Harrington x Female Reader)

Summary: You have a surprise for your best-friend Steve.

Word count: 1,647

Warnings: Language, NSFW, creampie, vaginal sex, slight choking, slight breeding kink if you squint, and fluff.

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Female Reader

A/N: Just a filthy little thing that I’ve been nurturing for a few days. No point to it, just showing Stevie some love! Haven’t written anything this lengthy in a while, but I hope y’all enjoy? ;P 💕❤️🥰♥️

Steve. Steve-fucking-Harrington. The heart of your group with a head of hair (that you’d washed, brushed, picked monster guts out of, and pulled, one too many times), a comforting smile that reminded you of Summer’s fading sunsets that give way to fall colors. All copper, rust, orange, mossy caramels swirling together, deep browns that look like cinnamon (smells like the gum he chews, or the breath spray he carries in his back pocket), sometimes even red in how his cheeks tinge on cold days, the way he makes your body warm. To his protective - fighter mode, like a crafted out of the finest marble guardian-angelic-god.

You’d worship at his temple. All day. Every single day.

His mouth has been in as many places as his hands. He knows every scar, just as much as he’s aware of spots, in which kissing you will cause goosebumps to electrify, sparking themselves known across your skin, or where his fingers will cause that high pitched whine to come from between your lips. You can’t really fathom that it’s been happening, especially for how long. There’s been no talk of labels, what anything means, it’s just been two friends crossing a line and fucking one another on it. You don’t know what you would’ve done, had it not been for Steve-the-hair-Harrington, King Steve, your extra heartbeat, your best-friend, your everything.

And that’s what led you to your current predicament, your planned leap of faith. Wrapped in a maroon colored mini gift bag, you had placed the packet. Steve arrived not long after, movies and pizza balanced in his massive hands, keys dangling from the middle finger of his left hand, a cheesy grin pressing into that beautiful mouth. “Hey, honey,” he had said. “Really missed you today, you know that?”

You’d taken in his appearance of dark Levi’s and a black belt, his signature Nike’s, and a low dipped white v-neck that he’d thrown a plain blue button over, leaving it open, his gold chain visible, nestled in that patch of chest hair. Salivating more at him than the food, it took you a second to help him inside.

You ate in avid chatter, watched one of the lamest, but most comforting horror films Steve could find on the shelves (that no one rented but he knew you’d appreciate), whilst being tucked beneath his bicep, warmed at his side. That’s when you’d retrieved the gift off your coffee table, his palm rubbing circles across your spine, kneading tension until you returned to your position. You handed him the bag and his bushy brows had pinched together, an adorable confusion clear. “For me? What did I do?”

“Just open it, Harrington. Before my nerves make me take it back.”

He cradled the parcel protectively, a pout forming as his watch strapped wrist dips inside. “No way, no how. Nope, not now.”

“Steve…” you laughed lightly, suddenly swallowing as he pulled the packet out, trying to make sense of the name.

“Contraceptive? I don’t… Isn’t this birth control?” He shook the packet before planting it in his massive palm.

You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, choking you like a vice, preventing you from answering in a full sentence.

“Yeah.”

“So, it’s yours? Why did you wrap it up and give it to me?”

“There’s a few missing already, Steve. I just wanted to get used to them before… Before I told you.”

“Told me, what?” He still looked puzzled, seeking out where you’d opened the package and taken a few tablets.

“That I just wanna use these from now on. Nothing else. If you, if that’s okay with you...?” You had felt the sharp claws of the butterflies, threatening to demolish your remaining courage. But this was Steve, you needed to remember that.

It took him a few moments, but then his pupils expanded within the enriching mossy flecks of his irises, at a rapid pace. His tongue licked at the five o’clock shadow above his upper lip. His voice, you’ll never forget how it sounded. Honey-hot and hoarse, raspy with bitten want, raw fucking desire. You’d clenched your thighs together, tongue eager to lick him… every-fucking-where — the burn of it felt on the muscle’s tip.

“Isn’t that something you do with a boyfriend, though? Not casual sex with a good friend, one of your best-friends?”

And you nod, vision swimming with shapes. Had you messed up? Fuck it. “It is.” Is what you’d responded with, taking the packet from him and tossing it with the bag back onto the table. The movie was rolling credits in the background and you were watching Steve’s dotted jugular as he swallowed, showcasing those tendons, all the way up to that stubble bitten jawline, dotted with freckles and moles.

“And who is your boyfriend, honey?” He had to hear you say it. If it’s what he thought it was, or you’d simply break his heart and move on to this guy. Could he really believe in a good thing again?

You leapt off that faithful precipice, years and feelings following, eyes locking, gaze unrelenting. “I was hoping it would be you.”

He was obviously choked up, orbs alight with mirth and excitement, among other things. “Funny that you mention that, because I’ve been hoping for the exact same thing.”And he’d fallen into your arms, seizing you with a kiss, noses nudging, tongues eager and messy. Clothes couldn’t come off fast enough.

The king sized condom lays unopened on your plush blush rug. Having fallen out of Steve’s wallet, that had also tumbled from his jean pocket in haste. Everything was out of control in the best possible way. You could’ve sworn you died a few minutes prior and came back as immortal — able to see through particles that floated on the air, hear cars, horns, music from houses all across town, smell the leaves that clung to the trees, damp with rain water and Autumn air. Your eyes roll back, perspiration damp behind the backs of your knees, where he’s got his current pinching grip, the fat of your thighs pressed into your tits, squishing them.

You realize in the moment, that you truly loathe condoms. Because this? Feeling that wet pre-cum smear down his shaft and around your opening as he pushed himself into you without a barrier for the first time, it was an indescribable experience. Each ridge, every vein, so hot, soft, and fucking, soaking wet. You aren’t sure where he ends and you begin. It hurts like hell, aches in the deepest parts of you, a place you know that he could easily put a child if you slipped up on your only remaining protection.

That thought makes you tighten around him, cream spilling out and further slicking back the curls gathered at his base. He drops your thighs, sweat-slick pelvis smashing into yours, stimulating your swollen clit. His chest hair scrapes against your pebbled nipples, making you arch your back and your toes curl, legs locking around his lower waist. He whines, palm coming up to grasp at your breast, calloused thumb strumming around your areola. “God, honey, your fucking nipples were made for my mouth to suck on.”

And he’s descending, his lips closing over one, tongue flicking and stimulating. You cry out, hand fisting into his honey streaked, chestnut locks. His shoulders work and bend, the dips and freckles and moles visible, glittering with the salt of sweat, his gold chain swaying out from his hairy chest and back again when he stops, nose bumping yours, hot breath on your mouth. “This pussy was made for my cock.”

And holy hell, his vocalizing focus doesn’t cease. “Who took your virginity, honey?” You both know it wasn’t him. But you are well aware what he’s getting at, and as he gives a harsh snap, those full and fat balls smacking your slick ass, you lose further coherency. “That’s right,” he’s speaking again. “They don’t matter, but I do.”

You weren’t aware that you could make the noises that you are. Only able to speak once Steve’s tugging himself and pulling out, stringing from your cunt to his shaft, a squelch echoing. You both groan, emptiness already jumpstarted. You plead for him. “Please, Stevie, need you! Put it back in —“

“Say it, say you’re just a hole for me to fill. That you’re only mine, baby.”

“I… Fuck! Stevie, all my holes are only yours, I’m only yours!”

He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, before his jaw drops open and he whimpers. His hand leaves your breast and slides across your sternum, your collarbone, and settles at your neck. You nod to encourage, and those defined digits wrap around your throat.

“Tell me you love these big hands, sweetheart. Because they’re for you. They belong to you!”

“Want them all over me, Steve. All the time. Can’t get enough of you.”

He’s holding firm to his cock, stroking and teasing. You lick your lips as you stare at it, drooling. Reaching down, you tap his wrist (his arm, all muscles and tendons, thick and available to trace with your tongue), as he presses the thick red head into your clit, smearing the combination of you two all around. You mewl in appreciation, legs stretching so far apart that your muscles protest. He’s speaking next, panting out, “Like that? Hey, look at me. He grabs your chin, thumb tugging down your bottom lip. “Like. That?”

Your lip releases with a plop.

“Yes, yes! Don’t stop, Steve, never wanna not feel you again, baby boy!”

“That’s a good girl, that’s my girl.” He circles your sore opening and slips back inside with a loud, wet ease. You bite back the burning pain, welcoming the damp tears of pleasure along your lashes.

Your manicured nails cling to his back, his chest gliding along yours, heartbeat to hammering heartbeat. It’s frantic whispers and begging cries. And when he’s close to coming, you find his cheek with one hand, holding. “For the record, you’ve never been casual to me, Steve Harrington.”

// Eat me paragraph //

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written-in-flowers · 4 months

Text

His Mistress: Demon!Jongho x Fem!Reader

Pairing: demon!Jongho x Fem!reader

Genre: smut, some angst/fluff

Word Count: 11k

Summary: YN takes to her new status as "Lady" very well. Yet, even as she edges closer to her former self, YN cannot help feeling the loneliness of the big keep. Only her servant, Jongho, could reassure her that even if she's in Hell, she isn't alone.

Tags: sub!jongho, switch!reader, mistress/servant synamic, 69-positions, bondage, restraints, monster fucking, demon fucking, light bdsm, rough oral, oral sex, edging, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, thigh fucking, pet names, nipple play, dirty talk, tiny bit of squirting, exhibitionism(?), reader's first time as a femdom, emotional hurt/comfort, reader gets angsty at one point, childhood guilt, childhood trauma, mentions of abuse,

Previously on Pretty Lady > Next

***

“You remind me of a bear sometimes.”

On the ledge of your bathroom window, you watched Jongho prepare your morning bath. He wore his usual butler uniform with its tailored lines and shiny buttons. You couldn’t help seeing it while you looked at him. His square shoulders, his round cheeks and height gave him the presence of one. The fact he smelled like pinewood in fresh air strengthened the image.

“A bear?” he scoffed in a laugh. “What makes you say that?”

“Your size,” you thought out loud. “Your body and what’s in your pants.”

Even with his back turned to you, you knew he’d blushed. No matter how many times he’d seen you nude, been close enough and alone long enough, Jongho kept his distance. The moment in the bathroom was as far as he’d gone with you. Not that it bothered you. It felt nice knowing not everyone in the house desired you that way.

“Bears are meant to be scary,” he said, testing the water with his hand before deciding the temperature suitable. He looked over at you, brown hair hanging in his eyes, “Are you saying I’m scary?”

“To the wrong people, I’m sure you are.”

You walked to the tub, removing your thin chemise in the meantime, and stepped into the bubbly bathwater. Jongho appeared more than shocked when he woke up to the state of you and your bed. The peonies and vines you’d grown last night covered most of the bed; the moss parts acted like a blanket that trapped your body heat inside. The fact you'd gone to bed muddy bothered everyone but you. The dirt on your body felt more like a second skin than grime. You thought about staying that way until Jongho insisted you clean up.

Everything that happened yesterday came back in a blurry haze, staying in emotions and sensations than mental pictures. You thought you might have dreamed it all. You expected to wake up to Hongjoong’s kisses on your skin again, about to spend the day with San next. Your experience in the greenhouse felt akin to a religious experience. In the dirt and plants, an epiphany came. You aren't a slave. You are a goddess. A goddess of the trees. You'd dreaded waking up that morning in case it didn't really happen. However, you only woke to a stunned Jongho.

“I meant it in a kind way,” you inhaled the steaming scents coming from the water, “It’s comforting.” The water felt better than before. With it located near the windows, the sunlight energized you.

“How so?” Jongho took a gentle bath poof, and began washing you. He’d used the orange blossom oil this time. You soaked your lungs in the aroma, letting it wash over you along with the cloth.

“Sometimes…” you paused, unsure whether to be honest. “Sometimes, I feel alone here.”

“Alone? Psh, hardly, YN. You’re always around us and The Masters.”

“But even then, it can be lonely at times,” you said. “People around here usually talk to me just to end up sleeping with me. I’m not complaining, because it’s great, but…”

“It sucks when that’s all that happens?”

“Yeah,” you admitted in a groan. Lifting your other arm from the water, Jongho ran the wet cloth over your skin. “I wish they knew I was more than my body. They all talk as if we’re deeply in love, but they hardly know anything about me. They only know the bad things I’ve done, not anything else. If it wasn’t sexually related, they didn’t ask about it. Seonghwa might dig a bit deeper but that’s because he’s used to peeling back people’s layers.”

“Well,” Jongho let you sit up to wash your back, “That can change now. You’re not a slave anymore. You’re a Lady of Eden, and that’s not an empty title.”

“It’s not?”

“Psh, not at all. Lilith is a pretty important figure in Inferno,” he went from back to front, “She’s King Lucifer's only daughter, so naturally she is a princess. You’re one of her granddaughters, so you get the title of ‘Lady’.”

“Wow,” you soaked in the information, a giggle in your throat, “I��m a lady.”

“A beautiful one at that,” he said.

“Aw, Jongho,” you cooed, pinching his cheek.

He laughed softly. “You don’t have to go to breakfast, if you don’t want to. You can do whatever you want without their permission. You could even go outside the keep if you wished. You aren’t a slave anymore, Mistress. You’re a lady, and you will be treated like one.”

You rested your arm on the edge, head on top of it, and you grinned at him. “That means I can do whatever I want, right?”

“Absolutely. You don’t even have to go through with the schedules they’ve given you.”

“What a relief that’d be!” you blurted out to his laughter. “San has me do ‘housewife’ duties but not actually do them at the same time? It makes no sense. Cook also hates it when I go into the kitchen, but I have to on San’s days.”

“Don’t take that too personally,” he said. “Cook doesn’t like having anyone in the kitchen. He doesn’t even like the other cooks being there.”

“Hongjoong and Seonghwa don’t make it easy either,” you continued. “Seonghwa always wants to talk about things that happened in the past. His schedule feels like school, and Yeosang can be the worst.” Even with the last lesson going better than anticipated, you hated it nevertheless. “I can’t play music I like. I can’t read books I like. It only has to be the boring, classical stuff that nobody understands or cares about. Hongjoong just wants to fuck all the time. Literally, everything with him is sexual to one degree or another. I don’t normally complain about it, since it’s mind blowing, but it’d be nice if…if we just sat and talked. It'd be nice to know them and for them to really know me. It's stupid that it takes me being their equal to earn that, but it's a start.”

“It certainly is. The Masters have always respected you, Mistress. They only had good intentions with you.”

“I'm sure that was true but it never felt that way. Jongho,” you addressed him, “I spent my entire life living under someone else. I had to go by their rules and their standards. I only got power after I took it from them. For once, I felt important. I felt good. The only rules I lived by were my own. Then I came here, and became that nobody again. I ended up in this pretty cage to dance and bend over whenever they wanted. It's…”

“Restraining? Suffocating? Exhausting?”

“Yes,” you sighed, sinking back into the water. “I was somebody, Jongho.”

“I’ve heard,” he said, rubbing the loofa over your feet and toes. “A big hotshot businesswoman who conned people out of their money.”

“I wanted to be something more. I didn’t want to grow up to be my mother: getting pregnant right after college, working and slaving away to scrape by and putting up with an abusive husband.” It turns out, you’d been completely wrong about that. “I wanted more from life. I saw she was a little nobody, and decided I’d be the opposite. I became friends with the popular kids at school; I dated the hottest boys, wore trendy clothes, and everyone knew me. When I graduated, I became a mail worker at a big corporate place. I managed to get a desk job after I paid a friend to falsify documents and degrees for me to use in resumes.”

“Then, you went on to become a stock broker.”

“In the worst way,” you said. Your previous life came back to you in the warm water and Jongho’s gentle touches. “I once got a girl fired so I could take her manager position. I made it look like she’d been stealing important documents from the big boss’s desk. He was paranoid that the competition was ‘stealing secrets’ from us. All I did was make it seem like she worked for them, and he fired her on the spot. I got the promotion, and earned more money.”

“What happened to her?”

“Have no idea,” you shrugged. A pang of guilt hit you thinking about it. “I assume she got a job elsewhere. It wasn’t like she couldn’t get one.”

“It was still a dirty move to pull.”

“But I pulled it.”

“So, the big boss just believed you? He didn’t investigate himself?”

“Yup,” you shut your eyes, enjoying his caresses on your body. “He said I was the only person he could trust.”

“Huh, that’s interesting.”

“Why?”

“You’d think somebody who is paranoid of everyone wouldn't blindly trust an office assistant.”

“I spent a lot of time around him. It's easy to manipulate people when you know what moves them. His happened to be his big ego and attention.”

Henry should have known better, in your opinion. Eventually, you ended up leaving the company after his wife found out about you both. It surprisingly worked in your favor since a friend of Henry’s took you on as his office manager. You don't feel good about it now, but at that moment it brought you on top of the world. The men who sought to control and own you became your puppets. They danced to your tune, all with the hope of gaining your love and affection. Some genuinely wanted a relationship, but you never went for them. You wanted to live without attachment back then, but as you thought to yourself, perhaps that wasn't so true anymore.

You'd lived an shallow, empty life.

Jongho sunk his hand down to your thighs, which made you jump at first contact. He didn’t do it with the sexual caresses of your masters or Yeosang. Jongho remained precise and professional.

“You don’t like it?” you asked him, seeing his flustered cheeks.

“Like what?”

“Touching me there.”

“Oh, that…Um, I mean…Of course…”

“It’s okay if you don’t,” you said. “I know I’m not everyone’s cup of tea.”

“No, no, you are,” he stammered. “You are my cup of tea, for sure.”

You giggled. “That’s hard to believe when everyone’s gotten a sip but you.”

“I had my sip,” he said. “I sipped it right here.”

“You only watched.”

“So did Yunho.”

“Yes, but he’s hardly around me. You’ve had plenty of opportunities and haven’t given in.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No, just curious.”

“I suppose because I can control myself when the others can’t,” he shrugged. “You were the Master’s pet, not mine.”

You leaned against the edge of the tub, bringing yourself within inches of him. “But I’m not anymore,” you said, moving closer to him. “I’m sure I can take up as many pleasure slaves as I wish. Would you if I put a collar on you?”

He laughed shyly, “Is that even a question? Naturally.”

“At least you can control yourself,” you noted. “If any of the others were here, they’d bury their faces in my pussy.”

“I understand I have a job to do,” he said. “Things like that can be saved for another time.”

“You mean when there’s no schedule or hurry to get somewhere?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “If I want to do anything with you, I’d wait until there’s plenty of time. I don’t want to rush through it.”

You grinned, rolling on your side to face him. “You want to enjoy me the right way.”

“Yes. You deserve that.”

“I do?”

“You’re always being fucked in a hurry,” he said. “The other servants do it in between schedules or when the masters are already going at you. I like to go at my own pace.”

“How sweet,” you said. “It’s nice to know for future reference.”

He finished cleaning you up, and you stood from the water. Despite what he’d said, you saw the way Jongho’s eyes lingered on your naked body. You never got over their lust for you. You’d lived in the keep for three months, and you still caught them looking at you. You swore they watched you through the mysterious peepholes around the place. It boosted your mood whenever you managed to arouse one of them, even if momentarily. With your new status, you knew you could manipulate that. The charms you’d worked on weaker men seemed to work on full-blooded demons as well.

You couldn’t wait to see how well it works.

Leaving the bathroom, Jongho took you to the dressing room. Wooyoung already picked out the ‘San’ outfit of the day: a light green dress with its cinched waistline, frilly full skirt, and closely snug bodice. The pretty, elegant housewife that San adored. It disgusted you. Turning to Wooyoung, you put your hands on your hips and said:

“Yeah, I’m not wearing that.”

“What?” Wooyoung looked at you in disbelief. He turned to Jongho, “She’s kidding, right?”

“I’m the one talking, and no, I’m not kidding. I’m not June Cleaver. I’m not wearing this.”

“Master San-”

“-Can wear it if he likes it so much. I want something newer, something more modern, and doesn’t constrict me.” Visions of a former, fully-human YN sprung back to you in a series of fond memories: Going to dance clubs with friends on weekends; taking drives around town listening to music and smoking cigarettes. “I want to wear high-waisted pants and shorts again; ripped knees, lacy shirts and leg warmers. I want bright, funky colors and makeup styles. I want my teased hair or in tight curls or whatever I’m into at the moment. I want the elegance of Princess Di and the sexiness of Madonna. I want to be cute and feminine like Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles.” You thought about it with longing, “I want to be me again.”

Wooyoung nodded, hand on his chin as he considered your request. “An 80’s babe, huh? I can make that work. I’ll need time though.”

“That’s fine,” you said. “I’m sick of being dressed up like a Barbie doll. I’m more than that.”

“Then what are you wearing today? Nothing?”

You looked around the dressing room. For once, you browsed the different outfits yourself. Seonghwa’s styles bordered between lolita dolls to elegant rich girls. Hongjoong like the hot goth girl with fishnets and lace. San, as you knew, liked full skirts and heels. No. None of that. You found a button down in Seonghwa’s section, white with a red polka dot design. With scissors from the nail kit, you cut it across, creating a loose crop top. You discovered a pair of distressed acid wash shorts in Hongjoong’s part, which you paired with a white belt with a crescent-moon buckle. Simple white sneakers remained hidden behind San’s shoe collection, which you tied on yourself.

“Accessorize,” you said next, grabbing oversized hoop earrings, multiple bangles and necklaces.

Excitement shoots through your nerves as you put yourself together. It reminded you of nights out with friends or trips to the mall.

“Oh my god, I remember doing stuff like this at the mall!” you sighed fondly, slipping on several bangles. “I’d go there every weekend with my friends and we’d shop around, try stuff on, get food at the food court, hang out and gossip. It was the best,” you beamed.

“Like a true 80’s teen.”

You turned around, and Wooyoung wore a bright, wide smile. Shaking his head, he had clasped hands over his mouth as he took you in. He let out a cheer, clapping as you twirled in front of him.

“Get in the chair, girl,” Wooyoung said, excited beyond belief. “Get in the chair. I know exactly what to do. Jongho, get my hair kit.”

You’d never seen the stylist so ecstatic before.

“I have been dying to experiment!” he confirmed, working gel through your hair. “I love a good lolita style or a punk rock look, but gosh it got so dull. Where’s the pizzazz? The flare? The fire? Everything looked so dated! If I had to make one more frilly dress, I was going to puke.”

By the time Wooyoung finished, you felt refreshed. Staring at yourself in the long mirror, you didn't feel like a slave anymore. You might as well be at Saks, trying on new clothes for your wardrobe after being at the salon. You twirled again, trying to see it from all angles before deciding you loved it.

“It's gorgeous!” you beamed, fixing your hair around your face. The old you. The one who didn't wear a collar or work in a brothel. Happiness swelled in your chest, burning your eyes with tears. “I love it so much! It's absolutely wicked!” you turned to Wooyoung, jumping and hugging him tightly. “You're the best!”

“Thank you, I know.”

“I need more,” you told him, still in his arms. “I need so much more. How soon can you have it done?”

“Next week,” Wooyoung said. “Any icon you want in particular?”

“Surprise me.”

“Done.”

He kissed both your cheeks, snapped his fingers for his assistants to pack up everything. Wooyoung made a box with his fingers, eyeing you through it like a photographer does to their subject.

“It's totally inspired,” Wooyoung said happily. “I'm going to make you an absolute icon. Everyone will be talking about it. Everyone, everyone, everyone!”

“That's exactly what I want.”

“Good. Come by my shop tomorrow. We can go over designs together.”

“Perfect!”

You saw the clothes people wore in the city. It spanned between medieval and contemporary, but mostly remained drab and dark. You didn't mind a bit of black from time to time, though not every day. Fluffing up your hair again, you left the dressing room and walked to breakfast. You knew you'd be late, and that Cook will grumble when you change your menu, but you didn’t care. A light, airy feeling came over you, making you feel positively giddy.

“Today is the start of something great, Jongho,” you smiled going down the stairs. “I can feel it!”

“Absolutely, Mistress. I'm glad to see it.”

When you walked into San's dining room, the butterflies in your stomach fluttered more. Sitting at his usual spot at the table, coffee and breakfast in front of him as he read a newspaper.

“Morning!” you said, strutting into the dining room with hopes that he'd notice you. The daisies in the centerpiece did. You didn’t know how, since they didn’t move, but they did.

“Morning, Darling,” he said, sipping his coffee and continuing to read. “You took quite a while. I thought I was going to have to go to your dressing room myself. Wooyoung being indecisive again?”

“Not really,” you stood in front of him, “He and I were collaborating on something new.”

“Oh? Like what?” When he finally put the paper down, his face dropped. San sat there taking you in for a minute or so before he spoke. “This is certainly a change.”

“A big one,” you grinned. “Do you like it?”

“Does my opinion matter?” he said, unable to look away from you.

“Of course it does,” you said, sitting down in front of him. Jongho poured your coffee and set out the cream and sugar for you. You began fixing it yourself, “I might not be your slave anymore, but I still care about you. I hope you’d feel the same?”

“Yes, you little fool,” he said with a slight head shake, smiling softly. “I'd never stop caring for you, Darling. I can still call you that, can I?”

“I kinda like it, so yeah,” you beamed, getting a sip of coffee. Jongho served your breakfast, a spinach omelet with nothing else. “Yeah, I'm not eating this. I want pancakes and bacon.”

“But, um, the masters planned healthy meals for you, Mistress,” Jongho said timidly. “I’m not sure if Cook can go outside the plan.”

“Tell him that he can, and he will because I want crispy bacon and a stack of fluffy pancakes.”

Jongho glanced at San, and you knew what he was asking. Even with your new status, you needed permission.

“With some eggs, at least?” San suggested to you.

“Eggs are fine. Could you tell Cook I'd like pancakes, eggs and bacon, please?”

“Right away, Mistress.”

He took your plate back and left in a puff of smoke. San still grinned in amusement over his newspaper.

“Someone's changed overnight,” San noted, surprised by your new attitude. “You took to your new status easier than I thought you might.”

“It isn't much different to my previous life,” you shrugged, fixing your coffee on your own. “I just get called ‘Mistress’ instead of ‘Ma'am’.”

“What about the clothes upstairs?” he asked. “We paid a lot of money for those. I'd hate to see them get wasted.”

“I can still wear some of them,” you said. You took a sip of your coffee, and hummed at the sweetness. “I'll keep the ones I like. I'm tired of rotating the same outfits because you three wanted to dress me up like a doll. Everything in that closet is so old and lame. You wanted me to shine, but I was doing anything but that.”

“If you hated your dresses-”

“-I didn't hate them. They just weren't me.”

“Well, if you wanted something else, you could have asked me. I would've had Wooyoung make you new things.”

“I didn't know I could.”

“I'm not Seonghwa,” he said, going back to his coffee and newspaper. “I don't mind bending my own rules every so often. I told you I wanted you to be happy.”

“I thought you meant the type of happiness you approved of at the time.”

“No. I want you to be whatever type of happy you feel.” He then said, “Even if you prefer sleeping in a greenhouse now.”

“I didn't sleep there.”

“One of the maids said your bed is covered in flowers and moss.”

“That kind of happened on its own? I was thinking about my mother again and she loved peonies. I guess that extended to the vine I had on my arm.”

“That is one thing we hoped you'd at least want to do,” he said. “We don't know the extent of your powers yet. You need to learn how to control them the way other demons do. We can't have doors getting blown off whenever you throw a tantrum.”

“How would I do that?”

“With a mix of people.”

“Like?”

“Yeosang, Yunho, Mingi, Seonghwa, Hongjoong and myself,” he said, “To name a few. In a way, they are still those lessons you hated but now actually things you need. It won't be easy, but we'll be there to help you.” He noticed the wilting daisies, and said, “Let's do something now: truly making those healthy again.”

“They are pretty sad,” you frowned, looking at the flowers in their tiny vase. “The vase is too small for them and nobody’s changed the water.”

“You can make them grow. Give it a shot.”

You reached out to the lowest hanging one. Delicately, you touched one of its smooth petals, seeing where it began withering away. You smiled when gradually, the small bundle began filling with color again. Their stems turned their normal green, and the tiny buds along the stems bloomed right before your eyes.

“There…” you smiled at the flowers, “All better.”

“Plant manipulation,” San concluded. “That much is obvious. With a bit more training, we can find out what other abilities you have hidden inside you.”

“Does Yeosang have to be there?”

He chuckled, “Not all the time.”

Jongho brought your breakfast, and you groaned at the sight of it. “I always used to get pancakes after a night out,” you said, drizzling syrup on them. “Nothing's better than stuffing your face after getting plastered.”

San smiled as he watched you eat your breakfast. He took in your new look and attitude from afar. You're sure he'd hoped you'd keep wearing the dresses, but he knew you wouldn't. You'd broken free of your collar, and you'd never do what you didn't want to again.

“Before you go gallivanting around the city,” he said, finishing his coffee and breakfast, “You'll have to go to the registration office. You have a meeting with Jackson.”

“The department head guy?”

“That's him. He has paperwork you need to read through and sign.”

“Ugh, even in Hell you can't escape red tape.”

“It's an essential part to the system unfortunately,” he agreed.

“Do you have paperwork? I'm not even sure what it is you do there.”

“I work the battleground most days,” he said. “But, there are days where I commentate instead so yeah, there's paperwork sometimes. You know, reading off the list of challengers and fighters, knowing their stats and skills.”

“So, like sports?”

“Yeah. Everyone goes to the arena, so there’s also ticket sales, concessions, and other boring financial stuff too. It's the worst part of it.”

“Can I go sometime?”

“You're free to do as you like.”

“But I still want to ask. I'd be a dick if I showed up without you wanting me to be there.”

“Why would I not want you there? I'd love to have my Darling cheering me on from the stands.”

“I don't know,” you shrugged. “I had a boyfriend who hated it when I showed up to his football practices. He said he felt embarrassed because his teammates would talk about me.”

“Shitty boyfriend then.”

“Very. I dumped him a week later.”

San laughed, and you began discussing previous partners. Talking to him as normal couples do felt refreshing. The barrier between master and slave lifted and you became equals. Whether they liked it or not, they had to address you like a person.

“I am going to miss coming home to you,” he said as you walked with him to the apartment door. “I liked walking in to see you all dolled up and waiting for me. It felt nice.”

“I’ll still be here when you come back,” you told him. “It’s not like I’m going to completely throw out everything.” You wrapped your arms around his midsection, “I’ll always want to have dinner and spend time with you. That part doesn’t change.”

“Like I said, the schedules were Seonghwa’s dumb idea,” San assured. He kissed your forehead, “I didn’t mind you having freedom. Now, it seems I have no choice in it anymore.”

“Not entirely,” you kissed his lips, then said, “Have a good day.”

“I will now that I’ve gotten kisses from you.”

“Ugh, you’re so corny sometimes,” you laughed.

“You love it.”

You both said goodbye again, and you turned to Jongho who stood behind you. “San says I have a meeting with someone named Jackson?”

“You do,” Jongho nodded. “Yunho gave me the news in the kitchen. He’s expecting us soon. Unless, you’d rather not go?”

“It sounds important, so we should probably go,” you said. “I love a little city excursion. Go get Mingi and bring a car around. I’ll go grab a purse.”

“Will do, Mistress.”

He disappeared and you left the apartment. Purse options being quite limited, you chose one and transferred things from the last one. Determined to make the most of your day, you’d go to the boring meeting, then do something fun. You didn’t know what yet, but Jongho might have an idea or two.

****

Demon transportation varied depending on taste. Hongjoong liked the sleek luxury vehicles befitting a rich boy; Seonghwa’s white and gold carriages reminded him of his times in mortal world; San drove old fashion muscle cars and motorcycles. You remembered from times in the city that demons drove all kinds of cars and bikes. Taxis could be cars or horses and buggies. In the backseat of a fancy black car, you watched the multiverse of Inferno move past you. On paved roads, you saw the metropolis demons created for themselves. You learned fashion spanned centuries: you saw men dressed like Roman gladiators and women dressed in the height of Victorian style. One street vendor wore a jester’s costume and sold peppermint sticks and hard candies. A couple strolling the market district wore the Korean hanboks of kings and queens.

“I never realized how diverse this place was,” you said to Jongho. He sat beside you while Mingi drove down the street. Your bodyguard never refused a trip into the city. “People really just kept on living whatever life they lived upstairs.”

“It was a lot easier than adapting to a new society, I suppose,” Jongho shrugged. “Not many demons like admitting it, but when we started going up into the living world, we picked up a lot of human customs. Everything from fashion to music to sports and entertainment. We sort of absorbed it then regurgitated it back out.”

“Mingi mentioned that to me yesterday,” you said, staring out the window. “It’s messed up. Demons like looking down on humans, but they actually take so much from us. They hate us, but won’t admit how much they actually need us.”

“Us?”

“You know what I mean.”

“And not all demons hate humans,” he said. “I quite like them. They’re fun to mess with.”

“In what way?”

With a click of his fingers, the purse on your lap vanished before your eyes. Before you could protest, you saw it in Jongho’s hand. He gave you a mischievous smile, handing you the bag back, “You should’ve seen what I could do in the living world.”

“Huh?”

“Up in the living world, I used to possess people and cause general mischief,” he shrugged, “No big deal.”

“Sounds like a big deal,” you snorted. “What’s it like possessing someone?”

“It varies,” he said. “Some people made it incredibly easy while others put up a fight. You kind of have to linger around for a bit and do stuff. You know, like opening all the drawers in their house, making weird sounds, and the usual tricks. Professionals know to start with the soft stuff before pulling out the big guns.”

“You mean general ghost stuff to make them think it’s a poltergeist or a spirit and not a demon?”

“Precisely. It’s all in the mind games. Get them paranoid. Gaslight them and make them see stuff or question their own sanity little by little. Ooh, and if it’s a couple?! Double the pleasure, double the fun,” he laughed, delight in his soft eyes. “I used to like turning them on one another. The negative energy really opens up the gateway into possession. Then, when you finally got ‘em good and angry, then the fun begins for real.”

“Tell me more,” you insisted.

Jongho then divulged into various possession stories. He told you about the young man he took on a crime spree across South Korea. He mentioned the young couple he terrorized for months before they found a priest unafraid of demons. He delivered every story with the same delight a person does with fond memories. It felt good sitting next to him, listening and talking without sex being involved. You enjoyed a good fuck as much as anyone, but must it be every time?

“Did you ever possess anyone, Mingi?” you asked, resting your head on the partition window.

“Nah, not my thing,” he shook his head. “It feels like wearing someone’s old, dirty clothes. It’s gross to me.”

“Have you done it?”

“A few times. It’s sort of a right-of-passage thing for younger demons,” he answered. “It’s expected.”

“Oooh, can I possess people?” you asked, excited.

“Nope,” Jongho said from behind you. “You’re part-human, Mistress.”

“I have demon blood though.”

“Not enough for you to enter another person’s mind and corrupt their spirit,” he smiled at your excitement. “Besides, you don’t need to possess someone to get them to do what you want. You have your charms and your lips to do that.”

“My kisses just make people horny. That’s not that special.”

“I’m sure if you experimented, Mistress, you’d be able to do more than control a person’s genitals with those lips.”

“You think I can control people?” you asked, sitting back in your seat beside him. “Like, their minds?”

“Maybe. I’ve seen it done. We’d have to test it as we go.”

“And here we are,” Mingi interrupted, stopping the car outside an office building.

You might be back home on the way to work if it weren’t for the eternal smog covering the skies and the constant heat. The range of different demons also changed the scene considerably. On a sign outside, you saw the words “City of Inferno Official Headquarters” with a directory sign beside it. There, you glimpsed departments such as “Crossroad Appeals Office”, “Possession and Infestation”, and “Cambion Counseling and Aid”. Jongho didn’t lie. Demons truly modeled themselves after humans in every aspect of life.

Mingi opened your door for you and you stepped out. Putting on sunglasses from your purse, you gazed around the front area while Jongho discussed a wait time with Mingi. You always imagined Hell being a landscape of fire and brimstone, not a city with buildings and parking spaces. The revelation had been startling at first. When Jongho came back to you, he led you into the building.

“Just let me do the talking,” he told you as you entered. “Master Seonghwa submitted your initial paperwork already, but you do need to sign and confirm some things with Jackson.”

“What paperwork?”

“Nothing major,” he said, pressing an elevator button, “Just basic information to have on hand: family names, occupations, housing, offspring and all that. Since you went unregistered your entire life, you’ll have a few more questions than most people.”

It sounded dull, but you didn’t want the masters getting into trouble. They may have kept you like a pet, but they didn't ongoing mistreat or abuse you. At least, not in a way you didn't consent to. You entered the elevator, and Jongho pressed for the fourth floor. You rode in silence, nerves starting to pinch as the elevator climbed.

“Fourth Floor: Department of Cambion Relations, Cambion Counseling and Aid, and Cambion Registration,” a cool female voice said as the doors opened up onto the floor.

Across the entire floor, you saw dozens of cubicles and desks. Demons worked on computers, typing up reports or answering phone calls. A few passed by you with folders or boxes with more papers inside. The hum of general chatter, printing machines, computers and keyboards reminded you once again of home. You breathed in the crisp air, letting it sink into you. Jongho brought you over to a reception desk near the doorway, where a female succubus sat working on her computer.

“Morning,” Jongho said, “We’re here to see Mr. Wang from Registration?”

“Room thirteen,” she said, without looking away from her screen.

“Thanks.”

Jongho led you alongside the office space, both your footsteps muffled by the carpeted floors. The atmosphere remained alive and buzzing. It brought back memories of the YN you left behind. Finding Room Thirteen, Jongho gave a soft knock before a voice spoke out.

“Come in.”

Jackson Wang appeared suave and chic in his emerald suit and trimmed, parted hair. You understood immediately why he and Seonghwa were friends. He'd finished typing on his keyboard when he saw Jongho in the doorway.

“Jongho, good morning! How are you?”

Jackson stood up to greet your handler. His office looked similar to many you'd seen before: clever unopened books on the shelves, fake plants in pristine pots, cluttered paperwork and leather furniture. All on top of a light blue carpet that muffled all sounds. Jackson and Jongho exchanged pleasantries while you looked around. Degrees and certificates came from universities in the living world; what sort of demon goes to a human college? You supposed college campuses might be full of “sin”. But, it sounded so unlike what demons claim to do.

“And this must be YN,” Jackson turned to you, and you shook hands. “Seonghwa told me all about you. Your story truly is unique. It's incredibly rare for a cambion to go unregistered in this day and age, especially with the new system.”

“I suppose my mother hoped I never ended up here,” you shrugged, eyeing the fake fern in the corner. You hated the fake ones. They had no life and carried that cheap plastic shine. “Seonghwa mentioned paperwork?”

“Yes,” Jackson gestured to the two armchairs, and went around to his desk chair. He began withdrawing a folder from a file drawer, “Nothing too complicated. It's mostly just documents saying you come into our world understanding our laws, and will abide by them at all times. There are a few consensus forms, since that helps us keep track of the cambion population.” He passed you a vanilla folder, “Seonghwa already went ahead and put himself down as your demon host, so the housing document is already filled out.”

“Demon host?”

“The demon you're living with until you find your own place to live or until you live with him permanently,” he said. “They're responsible for making sure you keep yourself in line, and learn our way of life down here. In normal cases, the host is usually the parent if they come back from the living world. But, in your case, it'd be Seonghwa, since he's the heir.”

The first form seems simple enough. It asked for age, date of birth, date of death, height and other useless facts. The second form listed the basic laws of Inferno, and that you understood and respected them. You didn’t see yourself committing any crimes, so you signed it. The third described what the form called “Acknowledgement of Inheritance and Social Status”.

“Inheritance?” you looked up to Jackson. “I inherit stuff?”

“Yes,” Jackson consulted his computer, typing in a few words before turning to you, “You’re a Lady of Eden so naturally that earns you a garden patch in Eden, should you want that. Since your mother is a daughter of Lilith, making you a first-generation granddaughter, you earn the title of Marchioness-”

“-Marchioness?!-”

“-Which affords you special nobility status, obviously,” he said finally.

“For example,” Jongho said, “Master Seonghwa, Hongjoong and San are Prince Asmodeus’s sons, so they’re technically Dukes over regular lords. They don’t like to flaunt their titles so much, but they have them on paper. Any children they should have would be a Marquess or Marchioness. I thought Yeosang would’ve covered the hierarchy system with you.”

“We were getting there.”

The news surprised you. You knew you’d be a person of some importance, but YN, Marchioness of Eden, sounded so official and regal.

“Your title, as it says there, changes if you ever married someone of a higher rank,” said Jackson. “Let’s say you end up marrying Seonghwa. You’d go from Marchioness to Duchess. Most demons don’t marry below their social class, but it does happen and that person goes a step down instead. Psh, it’s embarrassing in my opinion but true love conquers all I suppose.”

“Why didn’t she tell me?”

The question slipped out before you could stop it. With it hanging in the air, heat filled your cheeks at once. The question crossed your mind several times since learning about it. Wanting to protect you from Inferno seemed to be the only logical answer, but protect you from what? You guessed being a royal in Hell had more downsides to upsides. Your mother left her entire demon life behind her. She could have returned at any time, but chose the living world. Thinking back to the masters’ mother, you wondered if she’d originally planned on coming back home but never did. No, not Mama. She wasn't like that. Finishing up the next few documents, mostly “Visitation Confidentiality” and “Eternal Stay”, you handed the folder back to Jackson. He double checked all the forms before smiling up at you.

“Perfect,” he beamed. “I’ll send these to the certification and identification departments so you can get your identification card. It helps us keep track of the population, you see. It’ll take a few days, but with this information in the system, you’re free to visit Eden.”

“Visit Eden?”

“It’s customary for newcomers to visit their homelands, so to speak,” he placed one paper in a fax machine, punching the right number into it. “Lilith loves welcoming her children and grandchildren home. She’ll be delighted by you specifically, since you’re a first-generation grandchild.”

“What’s she like?” The thought of meeting such a high ranking demon made you anxious.

“Pleasant most of the time. Just don’t step on her hydrangeas. The Sisters of Eden will be expecting you, so I’d get it out of the way if I were you.”

“Would my mother be there?” you asked in a small voice, fear injecting itself into your veins. It made you sick. “I…I don’t know what happened to her before I died.”

You never bothered asking. Guilt stuck to your chest thinking of every time you screened her calls or pretended not to be home. You were so mean. If you had any regret, it’d be what you did to her. Would she forgive you? You pushed her away from your mind, and stood up.

“I guess we’re done here then?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” he nodded, standing to shake your hand and Jongho’s, good to see you as always. Let’s get together when you’re not busy waiting on people. Though, to be honest,” he turned to look at you, “I wouldn’t mind waiting on her.”

Too blinded by guilt to really take in the compliment, you just nodded and smiled. You and Jongho left the office, and ended up in the elevator before you knew it. The last conversation you had with her came sliding back into your head.

‘Julie’s having a baby shower. You should come.”

“I hate Julie.”

“I know, but I’d…I’d like to see you, honey cake.”

She loved you so damn much. You resented her weakness, but it turned out you’d been wrong the entire time. That desperate need to fix things poked at you as you got back into the car. Yet, fear kept you planted. What if she did hate you? You’d never consider her capable of hate, but that’d been before the truth came out. You wouldn’t blame her. You’d hate yourself too if the roles were reversed.

“Mistress?” Jongho broke through your train of thought, trying to catch your glazed eyes. “Mistress?”

“Huh? Wha…Oh yeah, what’s…What’s up?”

“Where do you want to go next? The Quarter Cafe is open, and they serve the best beignets in the city.”

“I’m not hungry right now.”

“The Merchant’s District, then? They have fashion boutiques spanning across different centuries of clothing. I know this one dress maker who makes gorgeous 18th century gowns. She worked for Marie Antionette I heard. Master Seonghwa would enjoy it, for sure.”

“I’m…That’s not my thing.”

“Shopping is your ‘thing’ though.”

She wouldn’t hate you. Mama never hated anyone; not even annoying customers at the shop or that bitch Loraine who stole her peach cobbler recipe. But, you’d treated her so terribly. Your father had been alive when you died, which left her alone. Safe, but alone. You like to think she came back home.

“Mistress, we can’t stay here all day.”

“Destination, please,” Mingi said, “That rent-a-cop keeps eyeing me.”

She sought out the comfort of home and her demon family. She’d be surrounded by her flowers and plants in an endless spring. Jackson suggested you go see your grandmother, which will be a different kind of anxiousness, but what if she’s there as well?

“Are there any gardening stores or florists in town?” you finally asked.

“A fair few,” he answered. “Why?”

“Take me to the best one. I want to see Octavius,” you told him, “And the rest. That greenhouse is in need of some serious TLC. Maybe the supply store will have whatever I need.”

“Perfect!”

Mingi drove you to a small hardware store that had a gardening station. The potted “starter plants” all cooed when you walked past them, though you’re sure only you heard them. You decided you’d buy them another time. You had plants who needed you at home. Toiling the earth and regrowing those neglected plants would force her from your mind. It’ll erase the questions and worries floating around in your head. Too much went on today for you to add her to the list. Buying the standard supplies, bags of fertilizers and fresh soil, you went back home determined to keep yourself occupied.

Anything to keep her away.

****

“I just died in your arms tonight. It must’ve been something you said. I just died in your arms tonight…”

They liked the music. You watched the yellow-mouths sway side to side to the song in separate pots as you refreshed their soil. A row of purple and pink hibiscuses sat on a shelf moving to the beat of Cutting Crew’s ‘Died in Your Arms’ above you. The small stereo you’d stolen from Hongjoong’s bedroom sat on a wooden table where Jongho placed snacks for you, but you didn’t have an appetite. Instead, you asked him to bring you a bucket of innards for Octavius’s offspring, who only ate meat.

“You guys are going to feel so good when I finish,” you said, adding a bit more soil to their box, then digging separate holes to transfer them. “Seonghwa should be ashamed of himself honestly. He created all of you, then left you to suffer here alone. You must be starving for attention.”

A low rumble came from nearby. You looked to see the purple and blue plant wiggling its stamen in the air. You smiled.

“I’ll get to you soon enough, Lucius. You just hang on. Everyone’s getting their turn.” As you delicately placed the yellow-mouths back in their planter, you felt something shift behind you. “No, Jongho, I don’t need anything right now. Thank you.”

“It’s my job to stand nearby in case you need me, Mistress,” he said, coming up beside you.

You noticed he’d changed out of his butler uniform into a flannel shirt, boots, and denims. He looked different outside his uniform, which always looked so clean and proper. Here, he might’ve passed for a human were it not for his horns. You noticed he'd rolled his sleeves to his elbows, showing off his lean forearms. He picked up a bucket of loose soil and a spade, walking over to Lucius.

“You really don’t have to do that,” you told him, standing up from the planter and wiping off loose dirt from your knees. “I really don’t mind working here myself. It’s sort of therapeutic for me, especially after what’s been happening.”

“Mistress, you are my sole responsibility around here,” he said. He examined Lucius, taking in his withering curved petals that resembled a seat. “If I left you here alone, and something happened to you, The Masters would have my head.”

��It’s not like I’m their property anymore,” you told him. You saw Jongho starting to dig around Lucius, but you stopped him. “His soil is fine. He’s just thirsty. Samantha, watering can, please.”

One of Ocatvius’s offspring approached with a watering can. You tossed her a strip of raw meat from a bucket, and she slumped away. Once you began pouring around Lucius, the bulb glowed with life and squealed happily. It made you smile. These plants might be sentient creatures made for pleasure and pain, but they had the same needs as any other. Lucius, getting enough water, closed himself up and glowed dimly. He was good for a while.

“Like I said,” you continued, moving over to a shelf of various normal plants. “You don’t need to worry about them. I’m your mistress, and if I say you don’t have to be around, then you don’t have to be.”

You touched their faded, dry leaves and petals, feeling them clinging to life. You assessed the damage to be too much direct sunlight and no water. Pressing your hand to a nearby vine, you coaxed it omto spreading across the wide window, the vines creeping along slowly. You grabbed the watering can and began pouring generous amounts in each pot. Their relief radiated off them as water seeped into their dry soil. You hated thinking how long they'd sat in the sunlight, left to die. You knew you could heal them with a simple touch, but working the plants yourself felt better. You also sensed they liked their sunlight and water given directly.

“And if I want to be?” he asked, grabbing a spray bottle to water the smaller, more delicate plants. “Would you still send me away?”

“Not really, I don’t think so. It's not like anyone around here actually talks to me,” you said. With the first shelf finished, you moved to the next one.

“I talk to you,” he said, mildly offended.

“Obviously I didn't mean you. I meant other people.”

“The others talk to you too. The Masters as well.”

“They talk about me,” you pointed out, “Not to me. They only do when they’re horny.”

“Alright, yes that’s true at times,” he said, uncertain of how to continue now. He watched you begin repotting a dying orchid, and you knew he fished for something to say. “The Masters and the rest of us might enjoy sex with you, but that doesn’t mean it’s all we want. We are incubi after all. It’s in our nature, and it’s in yours too.” You saw him grin out of the corner of your eye, “You’ve gone after them a few times in the past. The lust isn’t entirely one sided.”

“I suppose not.”

“Since when have you cared about an emotional connection, anyways?”

“Never, but…” you held the soil bag in front of you, “But, it’d be nice if there was one.”

“And there is,” he insisted. “Master Hongjoong typically throws people out of his bed when he’s done with them, or leaves before they wake up. With you, he stays and you stay. He curls up and holds you as if he thinks you'll leave him. Master Seonghwa never lets anyone in his private library, but here he is, letting you have your lessons there. Master San, psh…” he scoffed, “You should’ve seen what he did to that one demon in the arena. He decapitated him after he said he was going to take you from him.”

“What? When was this?”

“It happened in the arena, supposedly. Some of the footmen go there on their off day to see the fights,” he said. “Occasionally, they’ll throw in demon challenger to sort of spice things up, you know? And this one big guy said he heard you’d become San’s pleasure slave. This is all just bravado a lot of the time, by the way,” he added quickly, “But what I heard through the grapevine was that he said he’d cut off San’s head then claim you as his prize. Well, according to one of the guys, San ended up chopping off his head instead.”

“He…He killed someone for me?”

“In a way,” he shrugged. “It was the night he came home with that really bad cut on his torso.”

You recalled that night as you stuck the orchid back in a brand new pot. San not being home on time was your first clue something might’ve gone wrong. Not wanting to make a huge deal out of it, you prepared dinner like normal and waited. And waited. And waited. It was nine o’clock by the time he came through the door with Yunho in tow. He’d taken off his shirt and jacket, so you saw the thick bandages wrapped around his lean torso. The spot of black blood broke the confusion right away. You remembered everything suddenly being about San and his injury. The roast you’d “made” no longer mattered. You’d gone with Yunho into the bedroom, where the butler went to work redressing San’s messy bandages. It’d been ghastly. Ripped, thick and deep, you worried Yunho might not be able to stitch it properly, but he managed expertly.

‘Don’t worry, Darling. I’ll be alright by tomorrow.’

Which he was. San’s demon blood helped him recover overnight. The shredded skin appeared to be knitting itself back together little by little, and no longer needed bandages. He never told you about the fight or what happened. He said it wasn’t important because he won. A soft smile went across your face thinking of how he spent that entire week at home with you. There’d been cuddling, kissing, talking, and soft, passionate sex. You felt entirely one with him in that moment.

“Just because it’s never said out loud doesn’t mean it’s not there, Mistress,” said Jongho. His body heat transferred to you as he stood behind you. His touch created goosebumps down your arms and up your neck. Middle knuckle tracing up your spine, he dragged it lazily up and down as he spoke. “I know I’d do anything you asked of me.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “In the short time I’ve known you, I’ve come to realize how special you are. You’re bold, confident, ambitious and clever. You aren't afraid to be yourself,” he said, “And you don't stand down when someone insults you. Yeosang insults everyone, and they take it because of who he is. But, not you. You fought a grandson of Satan, and while you didn't win, you still did it.”

“We ended up fucking then too.”

“It's in your nature, like I said.”

You turned around to face him. Close up, you found Jongho more fascinating. His eyes, dark brown, had the typical red ring around the iris. They carried the same gentleness he showed whenever he saw you. Jongho quickly became the only person you really talked to anymore. Anything you told him stayed between the both of you. He became your friend, your assistant and confidant. Pushing a piece of his hair from his face, you took in his handsomeness. The Masters and the other servants had the conventional attractiveness of demons: lean bodies, sharp jawlines, sultry eyes and smirking lips. He had one of his own. Like a bear, he came across as cute and soft. You knew if you took off his clothes, you'd find him just as fit as the others. Hands sliding up to his shoulders, you felt his breath rise and fall. In his shirt, you could feel his muscles much easier than his uniform. Reaching his shoulders, you gave them a tender squeeze.

“Does that mean it's in your nature too?” you asked, sultry and flirty.

“At times,” he answered. He wrapped his arms around your waist, hands on your lower back. The touch warmed your body considerably. “I believe all demons, regardless of classification or status, carry lust inside them. I know,” he kept one hand behind you as the other slowly reached up your body, “That I've had trouble resisting my own instincts lately.”

“How could that be, Jongho?” you asked, gasping softly when he cupped your breast. He kneaded it gently, thumb brushing where your nipple might be. “You're always so strong and resilient.”

“You weaken me, Mistress,” he breathed, eyes focused on the tit in his hand. The touch brought back the tingling sensation. “Being around you constantly challenges my resolve. I bathe you. I see you naked regularly. I watch you be fucked relentlessly by my masters. All the blood in my veins rushes to my dick when I see you through the peepholes. I stand there behind that one painting, leaking all over my hand and wishing it was your pussy instead. You drive me insane, and I suffer through it constantly.”

“These hands, you mean?” You covered both his hands with yours. He moaned, feeling your hands guide him over your breasts. “The ones right here?”

“Yes, Mistress.” He gently pushed you against the shelf, trapping you between him and the plants.

“How often?”

“Too often.”

“What do you like seeing the most, hm?” you flicked his lips, letting him taste the intoxicating saliva on it. “Me getting fucked from behind? On my back? On my side? Riding their dicks? Which one?”

“I like watching them tongue your pussy,” he said, trembling from the hard nipples pushing into his hands. “Your pussy is…”

“Pretty?”

“Yes, especially when soaking wet. I just want to eat it all day, even if my jaw gets locked up. I love seeing you wriggle around when they do it. You always look so needy and you're always begging for more. You claw the sheets,” he shuddered at the mental image, “And hold onto their hair to keep them there."

“I just love it so much,” you said, putting one of his fingers in your mouth. He looked up to watch you suck the digit softly. “I love it most when they finger me while they do it.” You moved even closer, toying your tits with one hand while you sucked another finger, “Or when I'm giving one of them a blowjob. You know how much I love sucking dick, particularly big, long, thick demon dick.” You finally touched the tent forming in his pants, smiling when he whimpered. Lifting his head by the chin, you made eye contact as he said, “And I’d love to suck yours.”

“Mi-M-Mistress?”

“I remember all your little whimpering and moaning when you jerked off in front of me,” you told him, feeling him through the denim. “It looked so tasty, I drooled from looking at it. I want to be the one making you whimper like that. Could you do it for me again?”

“Ye-yes,” he nodded hurriedly. “For as long as my Lady wishes.”

“Then let’s go somewhere more comfortable,” you said, lips centimeters from his before they touched.

Jongho involuntarily squeezed both your breasts as you locked lips. Lips caressing each other softly, you started unbuttoning his shirt before you appeared in your bedroom. Once the expanse of smooth, warm tawny skin became exposed, your hands smoothed right over it. Nipples already hard, you rubbed them with the sides of your thumbs. Jongho gave a short huff as the touch sparked his aroused further. You both only broke away only to remove your shirts, coming back together so your skin touched skin. Kissing him, you stayed as close as you kissed. You noticed a certain type of hunger taking over the longer your tongues explored each other. The lascivious toxin in your spit mixed with his, and you knew the effect it’d have on him. He seemed to get harder, hungrier and needier. The kiss weakened Jongho, who let you slide off his jeans and underwear together. His cock free of its confines, your mouth drooled seeing the throbbing muscle. Having him fully nude, you guided him over to your bed. Lust filled his dark eyes, and he looked nowhere except at you.

Climbing on top of him, your center grinded your clothed sex to his bare crotch. You placed his hands over his head towards the board where your vines wrapped themselves around his wrists. Jongho did not pull against the restraint. If anything, it caused him to push up against you. Kissing down his neck, you left small bites and hickeys that marked his tender flesh before you reached one nipple. Jongho whimpered loudest as you licked around one nipple, so you did the same to the other. Your teasing strengthened the feeling between your legs as well. You didn’t mind being the submissive one, but the change felt nice. Jongho sounded so sweet whining underneath you, eyes closing as he relished in the pleasure you created. Leaving his nipples, you pecked down his front to the tip laying on his lower stomach.

One thin vine slid over to where you knelt, and you saw the yellow-green creeper wrap around the base of his dick and balls. The natural cockring brought on new sensations that Jongho bucked into for friction. You ran your hands up and down his thighs, kissing the inner areas to leave more small marks on them. Having you so close yet so far from his dick made it twitch on his stomach. You kissed right up to the underside of his hilt. Jongho sighed when your tongue only slid between the bottom and halfway to the shaft repeatedly. His fists clenched in his restraint, not fighting it even if his body craved more. Each time you licked upwards, you drew closer to the thick, leaking tip. It was when you cupped his balls that Jongho grew louder.

“Mistress,” he breathed, eyes closed, “Please…”

“Hm?” You started swishing your tongue over the backside of the tip.

“Please…suck on it…Please…”

“We’ll get there soon,” you promised between licks.

Swirling your tongue over the most sensitive part, you began lightly stroking him. Interchanging between hard and soft squeezes, you moved your tongue from back to front, sliding over the slit on top to taste a bead of precum. Then, you continued only sucking the very tip while you moved your hand up and down. Jongho kept watching you through heavy lidded eyes, lips parted in every moan and whimper as you teased him. Every lick across his head had him quivering. Watching him slowly unravel before you became amusing. Using your spit to coat him, you watched your hand gradually work him. The muscle pulsed in your grasp, somehow getting harder than before. You spat on it again to see it shine in the sunlight, before taking the whole head in your mouth.

This rush of relief had Jongho writhing into the soft blankets and moss. You couldn’t get over the feeling of him dripping on your tongue. The salty drops smeared over your tongue and cheeks, and you swallowed each one. As you went further down, you tasted the smooth skin and felt each vein cross over your lips. The vines restricting his length kept him from cumming while you reached the end of his cock at last. Inside your throat, Jongho let out an uncontrollable series of moans. You let him hear you gag on him, constricting your airway each time and creating more drool to wet him with. You let him push into your face once you buried him in your throat, unable to stop himself with your hand on his balls.

“You really are so well behaved,” you croaked, spitting on his dick before licking it back up, “Letting your mistress do whatever she likes with your lovely cock. I can stay down here forever,” you sucked him further, throating him once more to hear him moan. It was when you moved hand and mouth together that he began quivering. “Mmm,” you licked up the string of precum coming down the sides, “Does my little toy want to cum?”

“Yes,” he moaned, “Yes, I do, Mistress.”

“Are you going to?”

“Only i-i-if you wish.”

“Hm, I don’t think so just yet,” you said, “I’m not done playing.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Such a good…good boy,” you cried out, not stopping him as he attacked your sensitive sex. “Keep going like that,” you spat and continued jerking at him, “Make me cum again. Make your mistress cum again.”

You maneuvered yourself to face him in reverse, your sex inches from his face and continued sucking him slowly.

"Eat my pussy," you ordered in a gentle voice, "I want to feel your tongue on my clit."

Tiny bouts of relief came once his hot tongue slid around your aching clit. His thick cock muffled any moans it brought out, which gave a vibrating sensation Jongho loved. Unable to touch you, Jongho could only trace the folds around your pussy before sucking that hard numb. You wiggled your hips over his face, soaked pussy smearing over mouth, chin and cheeks as you did it. The light brushes drove you crazy, needing him to make you cum. You moaned loudest when he captured your clit in his mouth again and quickly swirled his tongue around it. His tongue teased out the orgasm sitting inside you little by little, not focusing on anything else than your tingling nub. Sensing your enjoyment, Jongho continued the same speed and pattern until you finally came. Even as you trembled and shook, your muscles constricting, Jongho kept going.

This time, his tongue slid deep into your sex. You bounced and rocked against the appendage wriggling inside you. Jongho’s mouth had you seeing stars as he tongue fucked you.

“Don’t stop licking, Jongho,” you said, enjoying the overstimulation his tongue made, “Don’t stop.”

Jongho whimpered into your center as you sensed his orgasm approaching. You quickened the pace with your hand, counting down the seconds in your head. His toes curled inwards and his thighs shook as it came closer and closer to the edge. Right when you sensed him there, you pulled away. A muffled ‘Mistress’ came from behind you and you cackled.

“I told you I wanted to play with it,” you said innocently, sliding off him to let him breathe and come down from the edge. Kissing his wet lips, you licked up whatever juices escaped him before sliding your tongue into his mouth. “It’s so much fun.”

Laying on top of him between his legs, you squeezed his dick with your thighs. His thick shaft brushed across your drenched sex in steady, measured thrusts that drove you wild. Fingers rolling his nipples, you smiled as he haphazardly rocked his hips into you. Jongho’s heavy breaths came out with whimpering moans. You never thought you’d see your bear so frantic for a release. It brought a sense of pride to see him like a putty in your hands. You became used to submitting to your partners, since you enjoyed that more, but this felt good. For once, you are in control.

Feeling him shivering once more, you forced yourself to spread your legs apart. Jongho cried, thrashing from the slight pain of being edged once again. When he started coming back down, you lightly grinded against him. Your pussy aching to have him inside, you knew dominants didn’t particularly give into their own desires. They took pleasure from withholding from their submissive. Yet, you craved to have him deep inside you. Everytime he brushes over your entrance, you feel tempted to ride him.

‘Then ride him, Mistress.’

Octavius. His deep, raspy voice sounded in your head like your own thoughts. You glanced up to the peonies around your bed. Your carnivorous, licentious friend had eyes and ears anywhere flowers grew. You wondered if you could do the same.

The vines around Jongho’s wrists slid away, and your servant immediately grabbed your hips to angle you properly. You didn’t stop him as he filled you completely. Hands on either side of him, you steadily moved up and down on him. His cock throbbed against your walls, passing over ridges and bumps within you. Once you started, you did not want to stop. Jongho knew this, and began meeting you in the middle. He only ever came an inch or two out of you every time, and the tip pushing your g-spot made you see stars. Knowing your plant-friends watched nearby made you eager to keep going. Some of them, you knew, needed more than water and sunlight.

“Mistress,” Jongho breathed, wrapping his arms around you to keep you in place, “You feel so good. Please, don’t stop,” he began pushing into you harder and faster, “Don’t make me stop. I want to make you cum. I want to please you.”

“Is that so?” you asked, whirling your hips to move him around inside you. “You wish to please me?”

“Yes,” he whimpered. “Let me make you cum again.”

“Then go ahead,” you whispered in his ear, trying your best not to completely lose it on top of him.

Jongho flipped you onto your back right away. Putting your legs on his shoulders, your servant pumped his cock into you at a deep angle. The perfect angle, if you were honest. Balls smacking your ass, hands palming your tits and nipples, he brought you in for another kiss as he fucked you. Soon enough, your third orgasm crawled towards your center again. It became more sensitive in every thrust. His touches on your nipples, his lips and tongue on your mouth, you broke away when it finally hit you. Something wet squirted onto his balls as he kept going; you could feel that taut feeling erupting again in every cry. You thought you might go insane from his cock. The mere feeling of it stretching and filling you elongated your climax. By the time you finished, Jongho had pinned you down.

“Mistress,” he breathed, “Mistress, Mistress….Can I cum now? Please, please,” he pleaded through gritted teeth, whining as your pussy gripped him.

“Yes,” you replied, rubbing your clit to produce another orgasm. You knew your plants wanted more of it. They needed as much as they could get. “I want you to cum on me. Cum all over me, now.”

Jongho withdrew from you and violently jerked his wet dick. A couple of pumps later, Jongho’s hot cum shot over your stomach and breasts. You watched his entire body clench and shake as he came, his eyes squeezing shut and mouth open. When the last few drops fell onto your sex, you pulled him closer to kiss him again. You wanted him to stay hard just a bit longer. On your mossy bed, you rolled onto your stomach and grinded into his dick. Apparently, your butler wasn’t fazed by how he hadn’t grown soft. He didn’t question or object. He almost seemed incapable of comprehending what was happening. Perhaps your kisses can be dangerous to a person’s sanity.

You giggled as Jongho plunged back into you.

***

A/N: Talk about some big changes in this house. Is YN truly loved or simply lusted over and coveted? That remains to be seen. At least she's got her big bear <3 please like and reblog <3

#pirateeznet #ateez #ateez fanfiction #ateez smut #choi jongho #jongho x reader #jongho x you #jongho ateez #ateez jongho #jongho smut

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