#slowly getting more chapters here i promise

[starlit-writer]

in sickness and in health, ch. 3 - alpha!simon riley x omega!reader

here is chapter three!!!! this chapter did NOT go the way i thought it would, but i promise we're getting to the whole simon groveling and begging and all that lovely stuff soon - i just cant seem to stop writing these two FIGHTING! as always, if you want to be added to the tag list to make sure you stay up-to-date, let me know in the replies! eat well, lovelies <3

if you want to understand more about my omegaverse au, you can look at my masterpost here, and it'll help explain all of the intricacies that may or may not be explained well enough in these short-form fics!

word count: 4,208 chapter two masterlist ao3 link

You were in a forest, surrounded by pines. Snow was drifting down slowly, coating the needles around you in light flakes before they melted from the heat of your breath as you stared up at the grey sky. You felt… at peace, for the first time in a long time. You were wrapped securely in the knotted roots of one of the pine trees as they wrapped themselves over and between the straps of your tactical vest, the wood gently resting against a sticky scarlet mark where your heart was supposed to be. You turned your head as much as the roots would allow, and you could see flames in the distance of the forest, a cacophony of gunshots and explosions ricocheting through your ears as the scent of smoking pine and wet gunpowder reaches your nostrils-

You woke up with a start, a gasp of air drawing through your dry, chapped lips sharply, the movement causing your aching ribs to spasm in a coughing fit. Your hands flew up to your chest to check for the wound that you were so convinced would be there, only to be met with the soft, warm, flesh of a massive tattooed bicep that was flung across your chest. But the everpresent scent of smoked pine, wet gunpowder, and a freshly-lit cigarette was still burned into your nostrils.

It was just a dream.

You blinked a few times, the light filtering through the blinds too bright for your blurry eyes to handle. You tried to lift your head, to move, but your body felt far too heavy and sluggish. You were reduced to your basest of instincts - you felt better than you had in months, but it felt like your omega side had completely overridden your logical one. You tried again to speak, to move, anything, but all that came out from your too-dry mouth was a cracking, reedy omega whine.

That made the heavy arm that was draped over your chest move. It quickly lifted off of you, the bed that you were laying on dipping and shifting like sand underfoot as the massive bulk next to you moved. You flinched slightly as rough fingertips gently touched your cheek, the image of Simon’s face swimming above you as a look of concern furrowed his brow. Oh. That would explain why that scent was swimming around you. If you two had been in a normal, healthy mating bond, it probably would have been easier to recognize. But after the months of distance, and neglect, you had forgotten your own alpha’s scent.

You felt it as your own face morphed into a matching expression. Where were you? Why is Simon here? What the fuck happened? You opened your mouth to say something scathing, the words nipping at the tip of your tongue, but before you could speak, the back of Simon’s hand traced down your cheek, almost reverent in his guilt.

“Shh, shh, love. You’re okay, you’re okay. ‘M ‘ere. Just don’t… don’t move, okay? I’ve got some water here for ya-” his voice broke off as he twisted his torso, keeping one hand securely under your head while the other grabbed a white styrofoam cup with a bright white plastic straw sticking up from the lid and brought it back over to the bed. You had to fight to keep your expression neutral, as the sight of the sterile-looking aerated plastic and the very thought of drinking the disgusting water contained inside made your stomach dip in disgust.

Simon could have cried when he felt your disgust through the bond, the cavernous darkness that had shrouded you from him in his mind finally lifting enough to allow him to feel you again. However, that didn’t stop your feeling of disgust, even if it was directed at the apparently devil-like cup in his hands and not at him, from lodging into his chest like the blade of a knife. He winced and quickly moved the cup away from you, frantically looking around his quarters for some other source of water. When he didn’t find one, a short curse fell from his lips as he glanced back at you sympathetically, regret and guilt shining in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I- I just grabbed this from medbay… there’s some vitamins and electrolytes and whatever else you combat medics throw in it, and I figured that that would help since, you know, you’ve been asleep for three days.”

Your eyes widened in shock. Three days? Three days!? You could vomit, and you probably would have if there had been anything in your stomach.

Simon sighed, screwing his eyes shut as he realized that was probably not the best way to tell you that information. He brought his hand - the one still holding that damn cup - up to his face, rubbing his eyes with the back of his thumb. Gods, he sucked at this. He ran his hand down his face and moved to get up from the bed. “I’ll just… yeah, I’ll just go get you some, um, different water in a different glass and… yeah, I’ll be right back.”

As he moved to get up from the bed, your hand weakly shot out, your fingers feebly wrapping around his wrist. Simon glanced down at your hand in thinly-veiled shock before he looked at you. You were just as shocked. You were still angry, at least, you knew you should be, but the only thing you could focus on was the way your omega writhed in pain at the mere thought of Simon walking away from you again.

“You need to drink some water. And if you won’t drink it out of this,” he said as he raised the cup, “then I gotta get you something else.”

You looked up at him pleadingly, an absolutely pathetic look on your face. You didn’t have the strength or energy to fight against the instincts right now. Everything in you was screaming and clawing at the idea of Simon leaving, even just to get you more water, and your instincts didn’t care about how it looked, or if it made you seem like you forgave him and were willing to forget everything that happened. You knew, logically, that you weren’t, but logic was so far out of the realm of control, the only thing reacting in your mind was your wounded omega, desperate for the proximity of her alpha.

“I don’t wanna force you to drink this if it grosses you out that bad.”

Another needy, desperate whine was his only response as you let go of his wrist, your shaking hand held outstretched to take the cup. It was a clear message - I’ll drink it. Just don’t leave.

Simon’s gaze softened as he sat back down on the edge of the bed, bringing the straw close to your lips. You closed your eyes, the moment feeling far too intimate for the reality of your relationship with Simon as your dry, chapped lips wrapped around the plastic of the straw. After a few moments of forcing down the polluted-dirt tasting water, Simon slowly and gently pulled the straw away from you, his free hand coming up to your face to brush an errant strand of your hair behind your ear. His heart ached as your eyes fluttered open, still cold and guarded even as he could feel your omega pleading for him to stay through the bond.

“Feel better?”

You nodded slowly, the movement disjointed and sluggish as you brought a shaking hand up to wipe a small droplet of water off of your lips. “Yeah,” you muttered, the words thick and gruff with disuse. The thanks that should have followed that response stayed stuck in your throat like a pill that was much too big to swallow.

Simon nodded in response as he sat the cup back down on the bedside table. He then grabbed a wrapped protein bar, and tore open the packaging with his teeth. With the unwrapped protein bar in hand, he turned back to you, holding the bar near your face. “Eat.”

A pause, a short breath leaving Simon’s lips as he realized that a demand was probably not the best way to get you to do something at the moment.

“Please,” he amended, his voice softer, gentler. “You need to get your strength up,” he added, shifting the bar a little closer to your lips.

You knew he was right, ultimately, but it wounded your ego, accepting his help after all of the neglect he had put you through. You sighed softly and shifted on the bed with a groan as your muscles protested against the tiniest of movements. Simon’s hand quickly wrapped around your aching shoulder to help shift you on to your side, and you settled back down into the bed, lifting your head up slightly to take a small bite out of the protein bar. You figured it would be impossible to swallow, as all food had been the last few months, but you were shocked to find it easy to get down. You sat up slowly, achingly, agonizingly slowly, but Simon, shockingly, was there to support you. You reached out and took the bar from him, suddenly ravenous.

Simon watched as you all but scarfed down the protein bar, his gaze softening with guilt. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, looking down at his now-empty hands. He hated himself, the guilt and regret of being so blind to you throughout the entirety of your marriage, your mating bond, eating him alive.

You froze, mid-chew of the last bite as you heard his murmured apology. You didn’t know how to respond, feeling like a deer in the headlights of his sin.

“Simon…”

“No, I… I am. Gods, angel, you have no idea how sorry I am. I was such a dick to you, such a bad fuckin’ alpha, and I know that my words probably don’t mean much, or, really, anything to you, but… if I could reverse time, do it all over again, I…”

“Simon, stop,” you croaked out, your gaze fixated on the comforter that pooled against your sweatpant-clad legs, anything to keep your eyes off of him. You couldn’t look at him. It was all too much, far too quickly, and you had nowhere to even begin to parse through the emotions and pain that still existed under your skin like a thrashing beast, even if it felt more subdued than it did three days ago. You didn’t want to think too hard on that, though, wanted to ignore the way your alpha’s presence, his scent calmed the ugly thing, if only slightly.

You couldn’t - wouldn’t - forgive him. Not right now. Sure, he had kept one promise; he had stayed with you, but in the grand scheme of things? It didn’t mean much. You smoothed your hand over the soft comforter, balling the now-empty wrapper of the protein bar in your other hand. Too many emotions, too little time. You felt like you were trapped between your base omega desires and the reality of your situation. The wrapper crinkled in your hand louder as your grip became tighter, the atrophied muscles in your arms shaking with exertion and emotion.

You felt Simon’s hand as it inched closer to you, more than likely to try and bring you comfort, but you couldn’t take it. Right before his hand touched yours, you jerked it away, throwing the wrapper into some random corner of his room in your panic. You quickly scrambled out of the bed, your need to get away from him, from the situation, much greater than any of the aches and pains of your neglected body. You stood in the center of the room, your chest heaving from the exertion as you steadied yourself on your feet, your legs wobbling beneath you.

Simon just stared at you, wide-eyed and frozen.

You stared right back. Your mind was a mess, fractured between your omega and your logical, rational side. Your omega was screaming, tearing at the confines of your skin at the very idea of leaving your alpha, but you pushed it away. You felt cornered, and you were lashing out like a feral cat.

“I- I gotta go.”

And with that, you turned on your heel, and all but ran out of the room. Simon was still sitting on the edge of the bed, shellshocked and staring at the space in the center of his quarters that you were just occupying.

–

It had been about a week since you had left Simon’s quarters. That first day, after you had left, you were violent, volatile - your own quarters destroyed as you tried to release all of the pent-up emotions by throwing anything and everything you could get your hands on before you collapsed into little more than a heap of tears in the middle of all of the broken glass and ripped papers. You had slept there that night, on your floor, but when you woke up, there was one of Simon’s sweatshirts outside of the door of your quarters with a note.

I know you don’t want to see me right now. I know you’re pissed, and you have every right to be. But the bond is still fragile. Just keep this around, please? -Simon

Part of you wanted to burn it, still so full of rage and pain, but the desperation of your omega had you pressing your face into the soft, plush fabric, a small omega purr unconsciously pulling past your lips. As soon as the sound of your purr reached your ears, you threw the article of clothing onto the ground as if it was a ticking incendiary bomb. It was still there, in that corner, but it cursed the entirety of your quarters to smell like Simon, the scent of smokey pine, wet gunpowder, and the first drag of a cigarette cloying to everything, no matter how many of your own clothes you piled on top of it.

The rest of that week had passed by you like a blur. You had mostly stayed in your quarters, focusing on how to control and push down your omega desires, instead replacing them with the rage you knew you should feel towards Simon, definitely not because it was the only place that you could still smell him, certainly not. It was just that the thought of being seen out and about when your emotions and physical health were so volatile seemed like it wouldn’t be the best of ideas, and that was definitely the only reason.

But, today was the first day that you had actually gotten up and took a shower. Looking in the mirror, you noticed that your skin looked much more lively, the sickly grey of the bond sickness had dissipated, and the bruises that had covered your skin had all but faded away. It made you feel… wrong almost, to be, to look, “fixed”. The torment that you had undergone still lived and breathed in your very bones, and seeing yourself without the physical marks of it, even if they were self-inflicted, felt wrong. So, you quickly tugged on some workout gear, grabbed your keys, and left your quarters, determined to make someone pay for the grief and rage that thrummed under your skin.

You dumped your keys and your sweatshirt in a corner by the sparring ring, stretching for a moment as you scanned the gym. Plenty of people to spar with, but, more importantly, no Simon. And, before you knew it, an unsuspecting, far too cocky beta recruit was swaggering up to you. He was new to the base, you could tell. Fresh out of basic training, by the looks of it. You pushed a smirk down off of your lips, as you wanted the challenge. Wanted him to fuck up just so you could absolutely let loose. You batted your eyelashes up at him, really playing into the whole weak omega stereotype.

You ran your gaze up and down the recruit, sinking your teeth into your plush lower lip. You watched as the recruit’s eyes lit up at your actions, obviously taking them as flirtatious. Meanwhile, all you had wanted to do was knock him off his axis, get him thinking hazy.

The recruit smirked, rubbing his hands together. “Name’s Conwell. James Conwell. Need a sparring partner?”

You grinned up at him, the expression so fake and sickly-sweet as you leaned towards him slightly, clasping your hands in front of you. If it pushed your tits together, what was the harm in that?

“Oh, yeah, James, that’d be great! I might need a few pointers though. You okay with that?” The grin that the recruit gave you was downright predatory as he nodded and slipped between the ropes, bouncing around and shadowboxing, obviously trying to show off. You quickly stifled a laugh behind your hand, clearing your throat before you slipped between the ropes as well. Gods, new recruits, especially new beta recruits, were such easy marks. They always had such a chip on their shoulder, desperate to prove themselves, and certainly not above pretending to be something they weren’t to do so. And as you settled into your side of the ring, you could smell just how desperate this recruit was to be something he wasn’t.

He had sprayed fake alpha pheromones on himself. The scent was nauseating, making your stomach roll. But, you pushed it down. You’d play the part, let him get one or two good hits in, then it would be game over for the poor boy.

“How do I start this?” You asked innocently, looking down at the smooth vinyl that coated the floor of the ring. The beta’s (Jim?) grin widened as he sunk into his own fighting stance.

“Just like this, pretty girl.”

You suppressed a disgusted shudder at his words, painting that saccharine faux-innocence on your expression as you pretended to copy him, sinking into your own stance. Yours was a much stronger base, your legs spread wider to better accommodate your movement, your fists actually tucked up to your face as protection, unlike the way the beta kept his hands low over his bare chest, obviously believing the lie that you were no threat.

“You should probably swing first, you know, show an omega like me how an alpha does it.”

That did it. His eyes glinted with that repulsive possessiveness that every douchebag gets when you stroke their ego just right, when you pretend to believe a lie that they’ve tried so hard to force to be truth. And so he did, but it arched wide, giving you the perfect opportunity to dodge under and land a jab right in the left side of his ribs. You popped up, a glee-filled smile on your lips, genuine this time, as you looked at him as he gasped for air, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

He blinked, bewildered, as his head swiveled from side to side in an effort to find where you went. Once his eyes zeroed in on you, his lips pressed into a thin, angry smile, the kind that someone would give an annoying child after they spilt their snack for the third time in a row. “Wow, quick learner, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess!” Your words were bright, your eyes filled with a predatory glint that you tried to hide as you beckoned him tauntingly. “C’mon! That was fun!”

The beta growled in a terrible impression of an alpha rumble, swinging out in the exact same way. It forced you to wonder what the fuck they were teaching these kids in basic training nowadays. The velocity of this punch was slow, and you knew you had to let him get at least one punch in if you wanted this to last any longer than a few minutes before he stormed off with his tail tucked between his legs in embarrassment. Normally, you would have braced yourself for a hit that you knew was coming, but something else hit you before the punch could. Smoked pine. Wet gunpowder. First hit of a cigarette after a stressful mission. It pulled your attention just long enough to allow the beta’s punch to land squarely in your ribs, the force of the impact much greater than the velocity, which promptly knocked all of the air from your lungs. You stumbled back a little, but you forced your gaze to stay on your opponent, not allowing yourself to get distracted by the pheromones that had settled over you like an oppressive coat.

That was, until, you heard an actual alpha growl emanating from the door of the gym. It was so loud, so full of anger, that it caused everyone to stop what they were doing. You rolled your eyes, shaking out your shoulders as you sank back down into your fighting stance, but your opponent was frozen, his hands dropped as he turned to look at where the growl had come from. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who he was staring at. You sighed, your head dropping as you saw Simon’s long, purposeful strides carrying his massive bulk up to the ring. You heard your opponent get pulled from the ring, and before you knew it, Simon was in front of you, lifting your head up with gentle fingers.

“Did he hurt-”

You forcefully knocked his hand off of your chin, your eyes hardening. A small omega growl ripped past your lips as they curled up in displeasure. “Oh my gods, fuck off! We were just sparring!”

Simon’s gaze darkened as he looked down at you, but he, thankfully, didn’t touch you again. “You smell like fuckin’ shit. What, fake pheromones are what does it for ya now, huh?”

Your growl increased in volume as you shoved against his chest. The anger, pain, and guilt that swam between the two of you was almost tangible, the tension thick enough to cut through with a knife. You didn’t care. “Don’t pretend like you know anything about what ‘does it for me’,” you mocked as you put sarcastic air quotes around the repeated words.

Most of the gym had cleared out by now. Everyone knew how volatile the two of you could be separately, and when they sensed the heightened anger and emotions between you two, they quickly disappeared. For the few stragglers that were left, Simon fixed them with a glare hard enough to freeze an ocean, and they quickly packed their things and also scurried away.

“You wanna fucking punch something?” Simon growled as he took a step closer to you. “Punch me. Not some stupid prick tryna peacock around as if he’s an alpha. You fuckin’ smell like that shit ass cologne he was trying to pass off as his own.”

A downright predatory grin spread over your lips. You were pissed. Pissed that he was here, that he had taken away the one outlet that you knew you had to work through all of these emotions. So, you bit back. You knew you were playing with fire. It was one thing you were always good at, part of the reason the team, especially Simon, called you spitfire.

“Oh, is that what that was? It smelled so good, I thought it was real.”

You were lying, and the smirk that spread over Simon’s lips confirmed that he knew it too. You shook your head, blowing out a frustrated breath as you moved to step around Simon. You didn’t want to be around him right now. His hand shot out to grab at your wrist, but you jerked it away from him.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me,” you bit out as your teeth ground together. “I didn’t need you to come save me, and you had no right to storm in here like this.”

“No right?” Simon seethed lowly as he turned his head to look at you. “No right? Pretty sure that’s my fucking teeth marking that mating gland right there on the side of your neck!”

You froze, slowly turning to fully face him now. Your expression was set into a mask of absolute, unbridled rage that Simon had never been on the receiving end of. Your fists were clenched impossibly tight at your sides, and you could feel the anger rolling off of you in hot, tangible waves. You had known Simon didn’t know how to be a mate, but you had never imagined that this is the way he would deem acceptable to treat you. No matter what, you were a soldier first, more than capable of taking care of yourself, you didn’t need him breathing down your neck like some sort of denmother. It almost seemed like he was trying to overcorrect from his mistakes, becoming overbearing and overprotective. That almost pissed you off more.

“If that is how you think this bond is going to go, especially after everything you did, I will cut this mating bond out myself. Do not test me.”

You didn’t wait for a response. With that, you stepped off of the mat, grabbed your things, and walked out, not even bothering to look behind you as your hand rubbed harshly over the mating bite on your neck.

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

as always, thank you so so much for the support, and keep an eye out for chapter four! tag list: @kerst666 @misscaller06 @letaliabane @sai-int @itsmeamysworld @massivescissorsthingperson @aeeliy @alkalineapparition @cringeycookies

[inkypipedreams]

chapter 2 of not today bendy

  “Hey kid, slow down. What are you saying?”

  This was…well, at one point you determined that such an occurrence would have been straight out of a dream…back when you didn’t have a job or bills that needed paying.  

  Now you were certain that you’d come back homeless and without a job. Goosebumps spread down your arms like a rash just to think of it. 

  “Listen, this may be a lot to take in…but I know what’s going on.”

  Henry pinched his nose, inhaling through his mouth. You had to hand it to the guy; he was taking this better than you were. The two of you hung out in the employee’s break room, with Henry taking a seat at one of the tables and you leaning against a wall.

  “So...I’m a character in a video game. And you can only play through one loop?”

  “That’s right. Um, there’s a lot of theories…and I’m sorry, did you just say one loop?”

 He laughed, though there was no mirth behind it. “Thought you said you knew everything.”

  Frowning, you decided to throw darts to think. “Well, I kind of do. I know what to expect and what happens in this place. Back when I was really into this place, I’d develop the craziest theories about why you couldn’t leave,” you rambled, aimlessly throwing darts somewhat near the target. “Time loops were considered, but I think I moved on before seeing all of those theories.”

  “Okay, so you’re in over your head and are terrible at darts. Anything else I should know?”

 “Nobody’s died as a result of my dart game! That’s something.”   “...You managed to hit everything in that area except for the target.”

 You rolled your eyes but took the darts out of the wall as you were supposed to. “Maybe I need to imagine hitting someone I despise…” you muttered. “That helped me with golf.”

  “Well, I hope you’ve got that figured out because we have to go. Since you know a lot about this place, want to split up to get the items?”   Diving across the room, you got to Joey Drew’s book before Henry could go for it. “Let’s make it a competition then!” You challenged him. “I’ve already gotten ahead of you old man!”

  “Call me an old man, will you?” Henry laughed, racing to get to the stairs. “I know this place like the back of my hand!”

  You scrambled after him, but even with your temporary lead, Henry overtook you quickly. You both knew exactly what this was going to do…but you were never one to simply lie quietly. Why not have some fun, at least for the time being? 

    “Hey, kid. Are you sure you want to go through this with me? I mean…that hoodie looks nice. Wouldn’t want it to get ruined.”

  This only got a shrug. “If it gets ink on it, and I can’t get it out, I’ll find a way to make it look cute. Besides, I’m trapped here now, remember?”

  ...that only weakened your resolve. You didn’t belong in this world, not to mention the studio. Had Joey planned this? Was Billie in on it? Was there a way back home? 

  “Oh...Oh no. Henry, if I can’t go back home I’m going to just…take a walk. In the snow.”

   “That’s not going to happen, because you’ll get home. I’m going to get everyone out, and now you fall under that category. Come on, kiddo. Let’s go meet a series of bad life decisions together, alright?”

  You bit back a groan. “This isn’t going to be fun…at all.”

 “Not with that attitude!” He said cheerfully. “Come on, let’s get it over with.”   Now praying that Henry wouldn’t start becoming more like a father figure than he was already (you didn’t want him to spout all the good dad jokes before you did), there was nothing else for you to do.   “Can I check the door? I want to make sure I can’t go back first. You know, spare the trouble?”

  He nodded. “No need to ask me. Go ahead! If it works…well, it was nice to meet you.”

  “Oh no! I would never…okay maybe. I’ll be right back!” You said, jogging to the exit. Henry watched until you were out of view before going to meet Bendy…and starting the worst or best cardio workout ever.   “Alright, front door time..” you sighed, rubbing the palms of your hand on your shirt. “Let’s see if this works.”

   The wood groaned beneath your feet, but it was an old building, and you were supposed to fall so…you thought nothing of it. That is until heavy footsteps came closer and closer. The ink suddenly flooding the corridor gave you enough answers, but Henry was still maybe three feet away when the flooring gave out.

 “Henry you son of a guuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuun!” You screeched, flailing in the air as you fell. 

  But the fall…didn’t kill you. It should have. You weren’t involved in any of this. But…well, guess this now confirmed it.   You wouldn’t have been that mad about it if you had been able to keep the hoodie somewhat clean. As it was, you probably needed a new one as soon as possible. “Hey Henry!” you shouted. “You got two seconds to jump or I’m draining the ink and letting you take the consequences that would follow. I mean it!” 

 Just to emphasize your point, you sloshed as loudly as possible to the valve in the room. 

  Just as good that you did, for not a moment later did a splash sound out. “Wait let’s..let’s not do that.”

   You rolled your eyes and turned the valve. “Well, if you hadn’t gone to see the demon without me, I wouldn’t have considered such a threat.”

 “Well, do you know what’s next?”

  Of course. Sammy. “Don’t…don’t remind me. I am not looking forward to it.”

  “You could always wait in a miracle station. I don’t mind coming back for you.”

  …Well, you have to be honest eventually. 

  “No, I’ll be fine. I just have…the worst sense of humor. Like…well, you’re gonna see eventually,” you shrugged. “It’s my defense mechanism.”

  “It’s not…bad? Well, let’s go meet the prophet then. Whenever you’re ready.”

   You nodded, starting to go for a fist bump only to realize that it hadn’t been invented yet. So a handshake instead. “I was born ready.”

  “I don’t know what I did to warrant a punch but thank you for a handshake instead,” he laughed.

  “One of these days, I’m gonna show you a pretty nifty invention. It’s gonna blow your mind.”

  “I’m trapped in a time loop with ink monsters trying to kill me. But hey, maybe the invention is…a…giant…fan.”

  “Oh come on! What would someone even do with that?”

  He shrugged, picking up a couple of cans of bacon soup. “Maybe you could pretend to fly.”

   “Would be safer than jumping off the Eiffel Tower in a faulty parachute.”

  “Yeah…it would. Oh, look! We’re in the music room. Let’s get you a weapon and let’s get some soup!” Unless you felt like pelting enemies with soup cans…there weren’t a lot of options to choose from. “You think I could find a piece of wood somewhere?” You asked.  

  It took far longer than expected; you hadn’t realized how hard it was to find a piece of wood that Henry declared safe for you to use. Splinters would not be fun down here. 

  “Alright, are we done with our makeup? Come on, let’s get ready to go.”

   “We’re getting there, no worries. Just had to make sure you were prepared.”

  Now that you were armed, making it to the music room was a…creepy stroll in the studio.

  “Okay, so how should we do this?” You asked. “Can you still run after the demon?”   He shrugged but went to the projector room. “Pretty sure this whole thing counts as a workout for me at this point. You know the order?”

  Of course. You’d gone over it many times. Though the audio log changed each time- probably to keep players on their toes- you and Henry had listened to this one…a lot. “Violin, drum, piano, trumpet, cello. I’ll be quick.”

  So off you went, Henry up the stairs and you to the pit. As soon as the projector started rolling, you played the instruments and hoped Henry would make it.

 He clambered down the stairs like a bat out of hell, arriving just as you played the final instrument, despite cringing at the horrid shriek. 

 “It’s not so bad, I suppose,” you told Henry as the door opened. “Perhaps one day, people will adore shrieking violins.”   “That would be a truly tone-deaf world.”

  You shrugged in a “you’d be surprised” kind of way and continued walking. “So…when does mister music director, not cult leader show up?”   “Sheep…Sheep…it’s time for sleep.”

 ‘Aha! I summoned him!’ you thought even as darkness overtook you. At least you got a laugh.  

[honey-tongued-devil]

[Arcane preference]reacting to their s/o calling them husband/wife for the first time

I’ve finished the first chapter of the long fic about Universe 7 (Anytime it rains). As soon as my second beta reader gives me the okay, I’ll post it. While I wait, I’ve written the first headcanon (out of three I’m definitely planning to write and post in the next few days) and picked up the drawing of Steb I’d left unfinished. I’m slow, as usual, but English isn’t my first language, and I’m juggling a lot of things at once. Enjoy!

socials: | INPRNT | | Tip Jar | | X | | BlueSky | | Ao3 | poster: | Jayce poster | | Silco poster | |Silco +self insert poster 1| | Steb poster | if you want to read the fluff longfic with vander and his happy family + Silco x reader you can find it here! ↠ Masterlist

Jayce:

-This man is planning to put a ring on your finger as soon as possible, okay? -Between the academy, public appearances, and both theoretical and practical studies, there isn’t a single moment when he’s really in the right mindset to bring up the topic -The worst part is that, deep down, he’s terrified of putting pressure on you -That’s why, the first time he hears you refer to him as “my husband” during a gala with noble families, he almost chokes -He has to gather all his strength not to grab the interlocutor by the shoulders and ask if they also heard you say that word -He’ll try to keep his composure, maybe responding to your remark with, “Yes, exactly. Her husband really did say/do/design that.”

Viktor:

-It’s not a thought he’s ever really entertained; it never crossed his mind -Part of it is that science is his priority, and part of it is that marriage doesn’t seem like something meant for people like him, -The first time you call him “your husband”, that thought suddenly becomes real in his head, and he can’t help but lean against a wall and wait for the other person to leave -“So, I’m your husband now, huh? Mmm… I don’t mind, a bit pretentious, though…” he jokes, making you roll your eyes -Now, more than ever, he has no idea what to do. He’ll give you a bronze ring from a machine he’s building -“Until I can get one worthy of you.”

Ekko:

-Yes -That’s it -The end -Okay, seriously. The idea of being certain that something will last forever is probably his greatest wish -The first time you call him your husband, he doesn’t see it coming -“Wait, you’re married?” -“I was talking about you, Ekko.” -The moment you say it, he points to his chest, you see his lip tremble slightly, and his eyes grow shinier -He won’t stop talking about it for a week, and at least once a day, he’ll ask if you still want to marry him, if you’re sure, if you love him -No rings before S2; the promise is made by drawing something for each other on your masks and clothes -After S2, he still can’t afford a ring, but now that life is more stable, he can start thinking about a more traditional gift, like a piece of jewelry

Vander:

-This man is ravenous for any family role you might offer him—fiancé, father, husband. Anything goes -The first time you call him “husband”, he plays it cool but will seize the first opportunity to return the favor by telling a customer you’re married -As soon as he can, he’ll squeeze your hand, even under the counter -The idea of being married and having a complete family is everything he’s ever wanted -He won’t stop calling you “my beautiful wife/husband” from that moment on.

-You said it first; you can’t take it back. Now you have to get married

Silco (old man):

-This man’s only sin is loving too much, but I’ll save that reflection for another post -Having no ties other than his illegitimate daughter doesn’t make him someone who’s particularly keen on formalities -The first time you call him “your husband” is in front of Sevika, and he slowly turns to look at you, while she slowly turns to look at him -“Did I... miss something?” Sevika asks, but he doesn’t reply, still perplexed, before glancing at her and saying, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” -He’s relieved but doesn’t show it. He can’t afford to just yet -As soon as he confirms you were serious, your name will be flamboyantly forgotten—he’ll constantly refer to you as “my wife/husband”

Silco (young):

-The man who survives on love -The first time you call him your husband is in front of Vander, and while Vander bursts out laughing, Silco chokes on his drink -“Are you serious?” He’s so happy that his pale iris are completely swallowed by his dilated pupils -He grabs a pen and draws a ring around your finger -To his credit, he works in a mine, so it’s hard to do better than that, but it becomes the goal that keeps him going -Completely focused on family, the future, and anything that sees the two of you together and happy

Steb:

-The first time you call him your husband is at a dinner among enforcer families, and being mute doesn’t stop him from stealing the spotlight -He whips around, blinking slowly with only his third eyelid in a gesture of confusion -When he’s 100% sure he understood what you said, his eyes widen, the small membranes under his eyes flutter madly, and even the barely visible gills near his jaw gasp for a moment -Someone says, “I didn’t know you were married,” and he immediately nods enthusiastically, not giving you time to take it back -Within 48 hours, he’ll have the ring ready

Jinx:

-The first time you call her “your wife”, she freezes -“What did you just call me?” -She’s used to being a little sister, a big sister, a daughter—she’d never thought she could be a wife. Family ties aren’t chosen, but the idea that someone would want her in their life so much they’d marry her feels incredible -“You want to marry me? Really? Why?” -She bursts into tears, and it’ll take at least 24 hours of cuddling in bed to calm her down -After that, she’ll run to her father to announce that she’s now a married woman

Vi:

-She might not be Silco and/or Vander’s blood daughter, but she’s inherited their deep desire for family -From her family’s tragic fate to Vander’s, she’s always seen family as the ultimate aspiration -When you call her “your wife” for the first time, she doesn’t notice right away, but a full minute later, she whirls around to look at you, as if to ask for confirmation -“Say it again.” -“...You need to buy bread?” -“No, all of it.” -“My wife needs to go buy bread.” -“Again.”

-"My... wife?"

-"Again"

Caitlyn:

-Has she thought about it? Yes -Was she planning to act on it? Not exactly -Caitlyn struggles with emotions and feelings, which is why she hesitates and takes her time -But when you first call her “your wife”, her brain completely shuts off—she just stares at you, unable to hear a single word being said -If you or someone else asks her a question, she’ll snap out of it and respond, -“My wife/husband said everything.” Even if it makes no sense as an answer, making you laugh and leaving the other person baffled

Mel:

-Not a single flicker of surprise—the first time you call her “your wife”, she remains completely composed -“So, I’m your wife?” she asks as soon as you’re in private, approaching you like a feline. You can almost hear the purr in her voice -She’s amused but also intrigued by whatever game you’re playing -The idea of marriage is complicated for her—on one hand, it feels like it would limit her freedom to act, while on the other, unresolved family issues seem to devour her at the mere thought of starting a new cycle -She’ll tell you to go ahead, to get married, but she’ll also ask for time -In the meantime, though, she’ll start using the term “husband/wife” with you—she likes the way it rolls off her tongue

Sevika:

-Between the work she does, the environment she lives in, and all the interesting circumstances of her life, marriage has never been on her radar -Not to mention that in Zaun, it’s not exactly a common practice—people just move in together and build families when they can, without much fuss over formalities or bureaucracy -The first time it happens, she’s playing cards with the other goons, and you casually ask if “your wife is winning” -Her first reaction isn’t even hers—it’s the others’. Dustin, the blond goon with the lazy eye, almost starts crying, embarrassing her -Don’t worry, she’ll make you pay for it at home -She won’t ask to formalize anything, but in true Zaunite fashion, she’ll consider you married, plain and simple

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。YEARS LATER — GOJO SATORU. (rich boy au!)

contents. you and your rich husband, sitting and eating sushi years later on your wedding day. the end of one chapter, but the start of a new one. enjoy your happy rich boy gojo ending. with love, tee bee <3

satoru’s eyes are pretty when the sun sets, almost green instead of that usual icy blue—you can’t help but stare. it’s shamelessly, even. you watch as he brings the sushi to his lips, pausing just before he can take the bite as he notices your eyes on him.

“if you’re so busy staring at me, you might not notice it when your food is gone,” he hums, grinning cheekily at you.

you snort, rolling your eyes as you shake your head. “oh yeah? then i’ll just make you buy me more.”

“first day and you’re already admitting to marrying me for my wallet?”

you laugh—it’s a free, bright sound that he has memorized from plenty of experience. and it’s his turn to stare as the sun settles in the crinkles by your eyes, years and years of laughter and smiles evident in the lines of your skin. beautiful, he think, you’ve always been so, so painfully beautiful.

your wedding dress is expensive. a pretty, flattering little thing. you buy it yourself, despite his protests. some years ago, you’d have stared wistfully at the price tag and considered the purchase in another life. you’ve come a long way since then—satoru is proud. so proud, he feels an ache building in his chest from the way things have changed as time crept past the two of you.

not a bad ache, perhaps. a dull throb of nostalgia that settles under his heart, in that spot he has saved just for you.

“i don’t need your wallet, you idiot,” you grin, reaching over with your chopsticks to steal from his roll. he lets you, just like he always used to when you were younger.

satoru thinks now, if he could, he’d love to pat his younger self on the back. the version of himself that used to watch you walk out of class without sparing him a glance, the version of himself that ached so badly for a chance with you, he’d collect stars from the sky to trade for an ounce of your love. he’d tell his younger self that he made it—that he’s sitting here, years later with his grandmother’s ring on your hand, eating sushi go after your wedding.

for old times sake, you’d told him when you asked to stop by, we always celebrated with sushi go when we were younger, remember?

as if he’d forget, he wanted to laugh. but he drives over anyway, parking the car in the same old spot as he used to. this time, there’s newly wed! written on the back of the window—and the words miraculously enough crossed out underneath. (he thinks that’s courtesy of shoko, but she doesn’t fess up, and suguru insists it doesn’t matter. soon enough, he’ll get to the bottom of it.)

“are you sure?” he hums, “you’ll have a lot of fun with it, i promise.”

“i think i’d rather have fun with you,” you hum, giving him a small wink as you take a sip from your soda, making his lips curl into a wide grin.

“oh, isn’t that sweet,” he drawls, “i’m a lucky guy.”

“maybe if you’re on your best behavior, you’ll get extra lucky later tonight.”

“yeah?” he chuckles, folding his hands as he sits up straighter and nods seriously, “i’m a good boy.”

“you’re anything but that, toru,” you snort. and then you soften, staring at him as you reach over and grab his hand. he lets you, lacing his fingers with yours as your thumb brushes over his knuckles.

years and years worth of love resides in between your skin. the first time your hands touched him, you didn’t want him the way he needed you to. then one day, they touched him hesitantly, carefully, slowly exploring him with cautious gentleness. eventually they touched him like he was the world pressed in your palms, heavy with the weight of being your everything.

he likes being yours. more than he likes you being his—he’s always had more than enough. but there’s something about giving himself that feels better than taking, better than wanting, better than having.

satoru has always loved you. he thinks the first day you glared at him, he was doomed from the start. he thinks right now, as you stare at him with fondness, he’s even more doomed now.

he doesn’t mind it, not even a little.

“hey,” he murmurs, making you raise a brow for him to continue, “i’m your husband now.”

“i know,” you nod in amusement, “we just got married…like two hours ago. i didn’t forget that quickly.”

“good,” he wipes his forehead in faux relief, “i was getting worried for a second.”

“you’re too much,” you roll your eyes, squeezing his hand delicately.

“now that we’re officially married,” he starts, grinning cheekily as he bats his lashes, “we should list all the things we love about each other. in alphabetic order. you go first, of course.”

“i don’t have to alphabetize it.”

“why? you numbered it or something? is it organized by importance? i’ll accept that too, i suppose.”

“well, there’s only one thing,” you tease.

he huffs, grumbling a petulant, “so mean. all these years and you can only think of one thing? can’t you be a little nice to me in our wedding day?”

“i’ve worked smarter, not harder,” you shrug, “i’ve condensed all my reasons down to one thing.”

“and what would that be?” he pouts.

“everything.”

“that’s cheesy,” he snorts, but there’s a flush on his cheeks that makes you grin, snickering as you lean over and poke at his cheek.

“you’ll just have to deal with it. you’re my husband, after all.”

“did you ever think about it? when we were kids?” he asks softly, staring off at a young couple in the distance with a tiny grin. the boy pulls out the chair for the girl, pushing her in and tripping slightly on his way to his own seat. satoru chuckles softly at the sight.

“think about what?”

“us,” he mumbles, “getting married some day. before we got serious, at least.”

“i don’t know,” you admit, “i didn’t even think i’d date you, to be fair.”

“you hated me,” he pretends to sniffle, “you wanted me dead. you wanted me to blow up into smithereens and leave my poor mother a grieving mess, didn’t you?”

“maybe not then, but i might now,” you sigh tiredly.

“well, i knew i was going to marry you since the first time you insulted me,” he nods proudly, earning a loud chuckle from you.

“you were a little freak back in the day,” you laugh, “i believe it. only you’d be romanced by degradation.”

“baby,” he huffs, glaring at you (his eyes are soft, playful, even. so sweetly affectionate, your teeth could rot), “you should appreciate a man seeing the best at you. even when you put him through the ringer.”

he almost regrets saying it when your hand pulls away from his, but then one by one, your palms reach over to cradle his cheeks, brushing a thumb along his soft, familiar skin as you stare at him like he’s the only thing that matters.

he is, you make him believe. he’s the only thing that matters. the center of your universe. he fought tooth and nail to get there, of course, but he has no intentions of leaving.

ever.

“i will always appreciate you,” you say softly, eyes watering as you swallow thickly, chuckling when a small tear slips from your eyes. “thank you for loving me, satoru. even when it was hard. even when you had to fight to do it. no one has loved me like that.”

“aw don’t start with the waterworks now,” he mutters, looking away and blinking suspiciously enough that you suspect his own eyes are just as teary, “we can’t have you crying for me already—that’s for later.”

“never any decorum with you,” you huff out a breathless laugh.

his thumb reaches over to swipe at your tear, pinching your cheek affectionately as he grins. it’s toothy, boyish, hopelessly and completely in love. even back then, and even right now. he’s always so in love. it’s you—always, from the day you first rejected him to the day you said yes when he got in one knee, it’s been you.

“thanks for loving me too, sweetheart,” he whispers, his own voice choking a bit as he swallows, “it can’t be easy. i’m a handful.”

“at least you’re self aware,” you snicker.

satoru beams—and he’s yours. your rich, spoiled, beautiful boy. all yours to love for the rest of your rich, spoiled, beautiful days.

i cried writing this. what a man he is truly

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 10.2k DON'T FORGET TO READ PREVIOUS CHAPTER tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation series masterlist < previous chapter< next chapter

“You’re not serious.”

“Himari, please let’s not fight. I said I’d spend the 26th with you.”

“That doesn’t matter!”

She huffs, watching her boyfriend get his shower ready to go out and spend the day with another woman. Bitterness swirls in her stomach, anger threatening to be released if she wasn’t digging her nails into her palms. “You’re spending Christmas with some random bitch and a snot-nosed kid. How do you think that makes me fe—”

“Be quiet.” Satoru says, turning around to face her with a firm frown set in place. “I’ll tolerate you insulting me but don’t disrespect them, especially Koji.”

Himari freezes, her words catching in her throat as she registers the sharpness in Satoru’s voice. His usual laidback tone is gone, replaced with a seriousness that sends a chill down her spine. Her eyes narrow, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty in her expression.  “Disrespect them?” she repeats, her voice tinged with disbelief. “Are you even listening to yourself? You’re choosing them over me, Satoru. On Christmas. What am I supposed to think?”  

“You’re supposed to understand,” he replies, his tone softening but remaining firm. “Koji is my son. I’ve already missed enough of his life—I’m not going to miss any more.”  

“And what about me? What about us?” Himari snaps, stepping closer to him. “We’ve been together for almost two years, and I’ve only just now found out about all this shit. How do you think that makes me feel? Like an afterthought? Like you don’t trust me?”  

Satoru exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knows she has a point, but he also knows this argument isn’t going anywhere productive. “Himari, this isn’t about trust. It’s about priorities. Koji needs me, and I’m not going to let him down. Not ever. I just need you to understand that, that’s all.”  

“And what about my needs?” she presses, her voice breaking slightly. “Am I just supposed to sit here and wait for you to decide when I’m important enough to make time for?”  

“You’re important to me,” Satoru says, his gaze meeting hers. “But Koji will always come first. That’s not going to change, Himari. If you can’t accept that…” He trails off, letting the weight of his words hang in the air.  

Himari’s jaw tightens, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? You waltz into my life with all your charm and promises, and now you’re telling me I have to share you with some other family? What kind of relationship is this supposed to be? I did not sign up to be a fucking step-mother.”

Satoru steps closer, his expression softening slightly. “It’s the kind where I’m trying to do right by my son while still being with you. But I can’t do this if you’re going to make me choose.”  

She stares at him, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. “Maybe you already have,” she whispers before turning on her heel and storming out of the bathroom.  

Satoru watches her leave, a heaviness settling in his chest. He doesn’t chase after her, instead turning back to the shower and letting the water run. For a moment, he just stands there, the steam fogging the mirror and blurring his reflection.  

He’s made his choice, and he doesn’t regret it. But he knows the fallout isn’t over yet. He sighs as he steps in, closing the glass door. She’ll come around in a few hours when she’s all settled down, that’s how it always is—so he won’t dwell over it. Besides, he has more pressing matters to take into account. 

Hearing the shower run in the bathroom, Himari has stomped over to the bedroom. Hands fishing the sheets in order to feel for his phone. After some seconds, she finds it. Already knowing the password, she angrily unlocks it and begins swiping and surfing through every app of his. “If you’re cheating on me, Satoru. I swear to god.” She mutters to herself, scowling down at the screen. 

She doesn’t see anything, but she does click on his message with you. It all consists of just talks of the kid. 

Himari scrolls through the thread of messages, her scowl deepening as she reads. The exchanges are polite, straightforward, and almost entirely about your son—pickup times, school updates, doctor appointments. Nothing incriminating, nothing emotional. Just... parental coordination.  

But it still stings.  

Her grip tightens on the phone as her eyes skim over a message from a few days ago, the last message between you two:  

Y/N: 

Thank you for picking him up and the food.  

Satoru:

Of course, he’s my son. Just let me know if you need anything else.

Himari scoffs, tossing the phone onto the bed with a frustrated huff. “Let me know if you need anything else.” she repeats mockingly under her breath. "He’s bending over backward for her, and I’m just supposed to sit here like nothing’s wrong? Yeah fucking right.”  

She paces the room, her mind racing. No matter how innocent the texts look, she can’t shake the feeling of being replaced. It doesn’t matter that Satoru insists he’s doing this for his son—his attention is divided, and she’s no longer at the center of his world.  Her pacing comes to a halt as she glances back at the phone. A new idea begins to form, one she knows is petty but feels justified in her growing anger.  

"If he won’t make me a priority," she mutters, picking up the phone again, "then I’ll remind him of what he stands to lose."  

She opens the camera app and snaps a picture of herself, deliberately angling it to show her figure in the soft light of the bedroom. Attaching it to a blank text, she hovers over the send button.  But something stops her. A hesitation, a flicker of doubt. She’s never had to fight for Satoru’s attention before—he’s always made her feel like she was the only one that mattered.  

Until now.  

With a frustrated growl, she deletes the photo and tosses the phone back onto the bed. Crossing her arms, she glares at the bathroom door, the sound of the shower still running behind it.  

"If you want to play the perfect dad, fine," she mutters. "But don’t expect me to sit around and wait while you pretend I don’t exist." 

Sitting down onto the bed, another form of thought pops in her head. Yanking the phone back into her hands, she presses his photo album. There must be something in here. And so, she scours and scours, zooming in on every picture in fear you’ll be in the background. However, she doesn’t find anything. Only pictures of that little brat who looks like his mirrored version. “Because of you…” she grits, hand tightening around the phone. 

Continuing to scroll higher, she can tell she’s reaching earlier years. Still, the insecurity and fear plaguing her chest causes her to not stop—not until she gets to the very first photo in his album. Then she’ll for sure know he’s still hers. She’s in the year 2015, before she met Satoru. He looks younger, more boyish. She pushes down the endearing feelings she holds towards his younger self and scrolls up. 

Until, she comes across a video. 

The start of it has your face in it and she’s clicking. You’re sitting cross legged on the floor in some Christmas jammies, a Santa hat on your head with a big Christmas tree behind you. She can assume Satoru’s sitting across from you, hearing his voice say, “Okay, go!”

The entirety of the video is her holding back throwing his phone across the room. Seeing you two open each other's gifts, seeing you smile at her man, and seeing her man look at you holding the camera in such a soft way—a way she’s almost never experienced before. 

She’s getting nauseous. 

She almost throws up when she catches a glimpse of you two kissing, saying the words I love you so softly. She quickly clicks out and shuts the phone off when the sounds of low moaning fill the speakers. 

Why does he even still have this? Does he look back on this?

She wants to claw her eyes and ears out of her body. Feeling utterly infuriated at her boyfriend for keeping practically a sextape of his ex even after all these years. You fucking assume, Satoru! Himari sits on the edge of the bed, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her mind is a storm of thoughts—jealousy, anger, and a pang of something else she refuses to name. Satoru’s insistence on prioritizing Koji and you feels like a betrayal, even if she knows deep down it’s not the same as him being unfaithful.  

Still, she can’t shake the bitterness creeping into her heart.  

She glances at his phone again, her jaw tightening. What does she have that I don’t? The question gnaws at her, even as she tries to shove it aside.  

When the sound of the shower cuts off, Himari straightens her posture, her eyes narrowing. A brewing begins to form—not a vengeful one, but one that will force Satoru to confront the rift growing between them.  Moments later, Satoru steps out of the bathroom, towel around his neck, his damp hair tousled and messy. He pauses when he sees her sitting there, her gaze piercing through him. “What’s with the look?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.  

She doesn’t answer right away, instead standing up and taking a slow step toward him. “Satoru,” she starts, her voice low but steady, “do you even realize how this feels for me? Watching you drop everything for her and that kid?”  

He sighs, already bracing himself for another argument. “Himari, we’ve been over this. Koji is my son. I have responsibilities—”  

“And what about your responsibilities to me?” she snaps, cutting him off. “I’m your girlfriend. I’ve been by your side for years. I’ve supported you, loved you, stood by you. But lately, it feels like I don’t even exist to you.”  

Satoru pinches the bridge of his nose, frustration etched into his features. “This isn’t about us, Himari. It’s about Koji. He’s my son. I missed years of his life because I didn’t even know he existed. I’m not going to waste more time by pretending he doesn’t matter.”  

“And I don’t matter?” she fires back, her voice rising. “That’s what you’re saying, right? That I come second to some kid you barely even know?”  

Satoru’s patience finally snaps. “He’s not some kid, Himari! He’s my blood, my responsibility. And if you can’t understand that, maybe you don’t belong in my life after all.”  

The words hang in the air like a slap. Himari stares at him, stunned into silence, her mouth opening and closing as she tries to process what he just said. Satoru doesn’t wait for her response. He grabs his phone from the bed, slipping it into his pocket, and heads toward the door. “I’ll be back later,” he says flatly. “Don’t wait up.”  

The door slams shut behind him, leaving Himari alone in the room, her anger boiling over into tears she refuses to let fall. In the silence, one thought echoes louder than the rest: 

I won’t let her win. You wanted me to teach you, right? Then I’ll teach you.

Satoru’s already not having a good day. He could put most of the blame on his girlfriend, the other on his parents for questioning why he’s spending the holiday with you instead, and also the fact that there’s traffic. 

Of course there’s traffic. 

It’s a good thing, almost. It gives him some time to himself. It lets him calm his annoyance, the last thing he wants to do is ruin the day for his son. He’s also a little nervous to see you. He hasn’t seen or texted you since your small argument last time, and while he does feel bad, the other part of him still believes that what he did wasn’t wrong. Hopefully—maybe today or another day—he can settle that issue with you truly. There’s a lot of things he needs to settle with you, actually. 

But just like they say one day at a time, one problem at a time. 

His finger taps absentmindedly against his steering wheel as he surges his car forward before stopping again. Sighing, he checks the time. Cutting it a little close. He turns the music up and leans back, sighing heavily. 

But the song on the radio is something upbeat, and it only serves to grate on his nerves. Satoru switches it off with a sharp jab of his finger. The silence that follows isn’t much better, though—it leaves too much room for his thoughts to wander again. 

He wonders if you’ll bring up the argument as soon as he arrives. You’re not one to let things fester, not when Koji’s around, but he knows you’ve probably been stewing on it, the way you always do when it involves him. The guilt creeps in again, and he brushes it off like a pesky fly. He’s good at that—pushing things aside until they’re too big to ignore. That’s why you two are in this mess in the first place, isn’t it?

Well, it’s surely part of it. 

The honk of a car behind him jolts him out of his thoughts. The traffic’s moving again, and Satoru presses on the gas, muttering a curse under his breath. He’s cutting it close, all right.

By the time he pulls up outside your place, his nerves are just frayed enough that he almost considers texting you to say he’s here instead of going to the door. But that feels… cowardly. He’s Satoru Gojo, for crying out loud. He can face you.

He steps out of the car, walking into the complex and up to your apartment. When he knocks on the door, it takes a moment before he hears the faint sound of footsteps approaching. The door swings open, and there you are, looking… tired. But not unhappy to see him, which is something. Adorned in an apron too, how cute. 

“Hey,” you say, your voice softer than he expected.

“Hey,” he replies, trying for a smile that doesn’t feel forced. “Traffic was a nightmare.”

You nod, stepping aside to let him in. The warmth of your home envelops him immediately, and the faint sound of Koji’s laughter from the other room eases some of the tension in his chest.

“How’s he doing?” Satoru asks, his voice low as he glances toward the sound.

“He’s excited. Been asking about you all morning,” you say, crossing your arms but not looking at him directly.

Satoru shifts on his feet, his fingers tightening around the handle of the gift bag. “Yeah, well… I’m here now.”

You look at him then, your expression unreadable. “Yeah. You are.”

There’s a moment of quiet before Koji comes barreling into the room, his face lighting up when he sees his dad. “Papa!”

Satoru smiles, scooping up his son with ease as he walks into the living room, settling down onto the couch. The smell of delicious food fills his senses, eyes closing momentarily with a heavenly sigh. “Smells good, what’s your mother making?”

Koji grins, his arms wrapped tightly around Satoru’s neck. “She’s making roast chicken and cookies!” he exclaims, his voice brimming with excitement. “And I helped with the cookies. But Mama said I ate too much of the dough.”  

Satoru chuckles, ruffling Koji’s hair. “Sounds about right. You’ve got a sweet tooth like your old man.”  

Koji’s giggle is infectious, and Satoru can’t help but feel a swell of warmth as he holds his son close. His gaze drifts toward the kitchen, where the faint sound of clinking dishes and soft humming filters through. For a moment, the tension from the past few days fades, replaced by the simple comfort of being here with his family.  

“You’re late,” your voice cuts through the air, light but pointed. You step into the living room, wiping your hands on a towel as you glance at him. He notices the small smudge of flour on your cheek, but there’s a softness in your expression that Satoru clings to.  His eyes move down your figure, ignoring the fluttering in his heart because you just look so damn cute in an apron. It feels domestic. 

You’re wearing a comfortable dress underneath, hair down with gold jewelry. Satoru physically gulps and tears his eyes away when they linger too long on your smooth legs. “Like I said, traffic.” He replies effortlessly, flashing you a sheepish grin. “But I’m here now, aren’t I?”  

You inhale deeply, lips thinning but you concede with a simple nod. “Food’s almost ready. Koji, go wash your hands. And don’t forget to use soap this time.”  

Koji pouts but hops off Satoru’s lap, darting toward the bathroom. The moment he’s out of earshot, the room grows quiet, the weight of unspoken words settling between you and Satoru.  He leans back on the couch, watching you as you cross your arms and lean against the doorway. “You didn’t have to go all out today, you know,” he says, his tone softer than usual. “I could’ve helped you cook—”

You shrug, looking away for a moment as you cut him off. “It’s Christmas,” you reply. “I wanted it to be nice. For Koji.”  

He nods, understanding what you’re not saying. “For Koji,” he echoes. There’s a pause before he adds, “And for you, too. You deserve something nice, Y/N.”  

Your eyes flicker to his, searching for any hint of insincerity. But all you find is that familiar look—the one that’s both infuriating and disarming at the same time. “You can’t just say things like that and expect everything to be okay, Satoru,” you murmur, your voice barely audible.  

“I know,” he says, sitting up and resting his elbows on his knees. “But I’m trying, okay? I know I’ve been pushing boundaries, and I’m sorry. I just…” He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply. “I don’t want to miss any more of this. Of him. Of you.”  

The words hang in the air, heavy with meaning. You hate when he says confusing things like this because it messes with your head, fooling yourself into thinking there’s something else there. Clearing your throat, you straighten out your light pink apron. “Don’t say things like that.”

The firmness in your tone causes Satoru to purse his lips. Standing up and walking over to you. “I don’t mean anything weird by it.”

“You may not think that, but other people have different opinions.”

“Are you still mad at me from before?”

That always ticks you off—asking such obvious questions with such an innocent face. You think he’s joking, just trying to poke at the bear. But his concerned eyes, brows lifted up—it tells a whole other story. You open your mouth to respond, but Koji’s cheerful shout from the bathroom interrupts.  

“Mama! Papa! I’m ready!”  

You glance toward the bathroom, then back at Satoru. The moment is gone, but the tension lingers. “Dinner’s in ten,” you say simply, turning on your heel to head back to the kitchen.  

Satoru watches you go, a bittersweet mien playing on his godly face. He knows he’s got a long way to go—but for now, he’ll take whatever moments he can get. It’s Christmas, he wants to make the most out of it. And if that means faking it til he makes it, then so be it. 

He’s not the only one faking. 

You three are seated at the circular table in your kitchen. the warmth of the meal and the soft glow of fairy lights draped along the windows creating a cozy atmosphere. Koji chatters excitedly about his favorite Christmas movies as he eagerly digs into his plate, his small hands occasionally reaching for a cookie from the platter in the center. If Koji knew any better, he’d ask why his parents weren’t really talking to one another. 

And unfortunately, he does know better. 

“Mama? Papa? Why are you so quiet?”

Damn kids’ continent, but uncomfortable questions. 

You freeze, the fork halfway to your mouth, glancing at Satoru across the table. His eyes briefly meet yours before flicking back to Koji, his usual confident demeanor faltering under the weight of the question. “Quiet? We’re not quiet, bud,” Satoru says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He leans forward, propping his chin on his hand. “I’m just too busy stuffing my face to talk. This food is so good.”

Koji tilts his head, unconvinced. “But you always talk a lot, Papa. And Mama, you’re not smiling. I thought today was a happy day.”

Your grip on the fork tightens, the weight of Koji’s words hitting harder than you’d like to admit. Out of the mouths of babes, as they say. You force a small smile, though it feels paper-thin. “It is a happy day, sweetie. Mama’s just tired from all the cooking, that’s all.”  

Koji frowns, his big, curious eyes shifting between you and Satoru. He’s far too perceptive for his age, and it’s moments like this that make it clear just how much he picks up on. Satoru clears his throat, leaning back in his chair. “Hey, how about this? After dinner, we’ll all watch a Christmas movie together. You can pick, Koji. And then, we can open the presents.”  

Koji’s face lights up at the suggestion, but he’s not completely distracted. “Okay! But only if Mama picks, too. We all have to pick one!”  

You manage a soft chuckle, finally taking a bite of your food to avoid answering immediately. Satoru’s gaze lingers on you, and you can feel the unspoken words sitting heavy between you both. “That sounds like a deal,” you say after swallowing. “But only if you promise to eat all your vegetables first.”  

Koji scrunches his nose but nods. “Deal!”  

The rest of the meal is filled with Koji’s chatter, and though you and Satoru exchange a few words here and there, the tension remains. It’s not lost on either of you that Koji’s cheerful energy is doing the heavy lifting to make this feel like the family dinner it should be.  When the plates are cleared and Koji races to the couch to pick out the first movie, Satoru hesitates in the kitchen. He grabs a dish towel and starts drying the plates you’ve already washed, a small gesture that feels too intentional to be casual.  

“You don’t have to help,” you murmur, not looking at him. “I got it.”

“I want to,” he replies simply. There’s a pause before he adds, “I would’ve helped cook too, sorry I came later.”  

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, his expression softer than you expected. “It’s okay,” you admit quietly. “It’s just dinner and opening gifts, I didn’t ask you to.”  

His hand stills on the plate he’s holding. “I know,” he says, his voice low. “But it’s still an obligation of mine, you don’t have to do everything alone. I’m here now, remember?”  

The vulnerability in his tone catches you off guard. The truth to his words cause you to bite your lips, guilt sinking into your bones. It didn’t feel like one of those snide comments, but it had practically the same effect. And you know that he’s here, so he can handle some of your weight. However, it’s nonetheless hard to trust him with it, fearing it’ll be too heavy for him too. Before you can respond, Koji’s voice echoes from the living room.  

“Mama! Papa! Hurry up, the movie’s starting!”  

You sigh, drying your hands on a towel. “Let’s go before he starts it without us.” Satoru follows you to the couch, where Koji has already made a nest of blankets. As the movie begins, Koji snuggles between the two of you, his small hands clutching the remote.  He giggles, snuggling closer to you both, dropping the remote to the table. 

 It’s not perfect, but for tonight, it’s enough. It has to be, it’s Christmas. Although you’re not doing too much this holiday, not that you ever do, it still means a lot to Koji. Because he finally has his dad to spend it with. 

As the movie begins, Koji seems to have other plans. He grabs both of your hands—Satoru’s right and your left— bringing them in front of him and making them mash together. Immediately you tense up, just the slightest graze of Satoru’s long fingers having more of an effect on you than you anticipated. 

You pull away, Satoru’s hand lingers before he soon gets the hint. 

Koji frowns, head swiveling between his two parents. “Mama, Papa, you’re supposed to hold hands! That’s what families do,” Koji says, his little brows furrowing in frustration. His pout deepens, clearly displeased with your reaction.  

You give him a soft smile, hoping to smooth things over. “We are a family, Koji. We don’t need to hold hands to prove that,” you say gently, brushing his hair back from his forehead.  

“But it’s Christmas!” he protests, his small hands still clutching yours and Satoru’s as if he could force them together by sheer will. “Santa says families should be happy and together on Christmas! That’s what they do in the movies.”  

Satoru chuckles lightly, though there’s a hint of something conflicted in his expression as he looks at Koji. “Santa sounds like a pretty smart guy,” he murmurs, his gaze briefly flicking to you before resting on Koji again. “But sometimes families have their own way of being happy, bud. It doesn’t always look the same.”  

Koji seems to consider this, his lips pursed in thought. “Okay… but can we all hold hands just for the movie?” His tone is pleading, his wide eyes impossible to say no to.  

You hesitate, feeling the weight of Satoru’s gaze on you, before finally relenting with a quiet sigh. “I….Alright, just for the movie,” you say, letting Koji place your hand back in Satoru’s.  

Satoru’s fingers brush against yours again, warm and steady, and for a moment, neither of you moves. The contact feels heavier than it should, but Koji’s delighted giggle pulls your focus back to him.  

“See? Now it’s perfect!” he exclaims, snuggling back into the blankets with a satisfied grin. He holds your conjoined hands. 

Satoru hums softly, unintentionally giving your hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze before turning his attention to the screen. The movie plays on, Koji’s laughter filling the room. And while the air between you and Satoru remains thick with unspoken words, for this moment, you let yourself stay in the quiet warmth of your son’s happiness.  

The warmth of Koji’s small hands on top of yours is grounding, even as the tension between you and Satoru buzzes just beneath the surface. You glance at him briefly, finding his expression softer than usual. He’s watching Koji, a faint smile tugging at his lips, but when he catches your gaze, something knowing lingers in his eyes.

You look back at the screen, ignoring the familiarity Satoru’s large hand brings you. It’s familiar but different at the same time. It feels a bit more calloused, proof of his own events he’s faced in his life during the time you were separated. 

And to him, your hand feels just as it always did. Warm, soft, and so perfectly fitting. It’s like two puzzle pieces, or a key to a lock. For a second, he compares how it feels to Himari before mentally chastising himself. That’s probably a fucked up thing to do. But he’s already done a lot of that in his life. His thumb runs smoothly across your knuckles, causing a shiver to run down your spine. 

You want to pull away, but your son is a reminder to keep up the act. 

The movie plays on, filling the silence with cheerful music and laughter, but you can hardly focus. Satoru’s hand is still resting lightly against yours, his thumb brushing against your rugged muscle every so often, whether intentionally or not. It sends a twinge of something—nostalgia, maybe?—through your chest. You shift slightly, trying to focus on the screen, but Koji’s contented sigh draws your attention back to him. He’s nestled between the two of you, his little face illuminated by the glow of the TV, looking completely at peace.

“Are you happy, Koji?” you ask softly, the words slipping out before you can think them through.

Koji nods emphatically, his grin widening. “Yeah! This is the best Christmas ever!”

Satoru chuckles, his voice low and warm. “That’s a pretty big claim, Koji. We haven’t even opened the presents yet. What makes it the best?”

“Because I have Mama and Papa,” Koji says simply, looking between the two of you with wide, earnest eyes. “I don’t need presents or anything. Just you two.”

Your heart clenches at his words, and you feel Satoru’s hand tighten a bit around yours. You don’t twitch away this time, letting the moment settle over you like the soft glow of the fairy lights. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve been emotional this entire week already, or the fact that Koji is just so happy, but you’re feeling yourself choke up. 

For a brief second, the weight of everything—the arguments, the hurt, the uncertainty—fades into the background. It’s just the three of you, here and now, and maybe that’s enough. “Merry Christmas, Koji,” you whisper, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. Hiding a trembling lip against his white tresses. Your eyes close, forcing your tears to stay exactly put where they are. 

“Merry Christmas,” Satoru echoes, his voice unusually tender. He peers over at you from the corner of his eye, a gut-wrenching twisting at his stomach when he sees your expression. He wants to wipe away the crinkle between your eyebrows with his free hand, but he decides against it—probably not the best thing to do right now. He can only offer you a firmer hand on top of yours, cradling it like it’s a diamond. It’s like a warm quilt, it feels oddly comforting. 

Again, you’re getting nostalgic. Maybe that’s another reason why you feel like crying right now—knowing you only have this fleeting moment. Koji’s smile widens, his hands squeezing one last time before settling back into his blanket cocoon.

The hours pass, having watched multiple movies already. Koji’s on the edge of falling asleep before you carefully wake him up that it’s midnight. He practically jumps right back into action, all former sleepiness gone and relaxes with utter excitement. “Presents! We can open the presents!” He scrambles to the tree, already beginning to pick at the ones he wants to open. 

You smile softly, watching Koji bounce around with excitement, the energy from the day still shining brightly in his eyes. He’s so full of joy, so eager to unwrap the surprises you and Satoru managed to get for him. The sight warms your heart, even as a quiet tension lingers in the room.

Satoru, still leaning back against the couch, watches Koji with a mix of amusement and something more—something heavier. His lips twitch, as if trying to hold back a smile, but the look in his eyes when he glances at you doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Alright, baby,” you say softly, standing up from your spot. “Let’s open them, but remember, one at a time.”

Koji nods, his little hands already tearing into the first present like a whirlwind. He pulls out a small toy car and holds it up triumphantly, his eyes sparkling with delight. “Look, Mama! Look, Papa! It’s just like the one I saw at the store!”

Satoru chuckles and ruffles his hair. “That’s a good one, Koji. I’m jealous. What else ya got?”

You can’t help but smile at the exchange, even as you reach down to grab the next present for Koji. But something still nags at you. The way Satoru looks at Koji, it’s so…heartwarming. It’s a look given only to his child, one a father could only give out. You feel both touched and warm at the same time. 

Tonight is about Koji, about making sure he feels loved and special. And while you and Satoru are at odds, you both are doing one hell of a job of making sure that it comes true. 

As Koji continues to unwrap gifts, the room fills with laughter and the sound of crinkling wrapping paper. Your heart swells watching him, but in the back of your mind, the remnants of the earlier tension refuse to fully fade. The space between you and Satoru feels both distant and strangely intimate all at once.

After maybe an hour, after admiring each gift right after opening it, Koji finishes opening his presents. You both settle back into the couch, Koji nestled between you, holding onto his new toys. There’s figurines—mainly Spider-Man or Avengers based—toy cars or motorcycles, a little rocket ship, hot wheels, a Nerf Gun, new clothes, he really got it all this year. Of course, most of the contribution was from Satoru. The silence stretches, but it feels softer now. The tension, although still there, feels more like a quiet hum in the background, overshadowed by Koji’s happiness.

“Thank you, Mama,” Koji says sleepily, his little voice thick with the exhaustion of the day. “And thank you, Papa.”

Satoru leans in, placing a gentle kiss on the top of Koji’s head. “You’re welcome, bud. Merry Christmas.” He smiles, watching his son begin to put his Spider-Man on top of the motorcycle, sparing a glance back at the tree. It’s then his smile falters. 

“Oh, you forgot two, Koji.”

“Hm?” His son looks up, seeing the two gifts all the way at the back of the tree. Getting so distracted with all his other gifts, he must’ve forgotten about those two. He sets his toys to the side and crawls back onto the floor to reach for the gift bags. Reading the tags, he looks over at you. “Oh, Mama. These are from your friend.” 

When Koji stands up and hands you one of the presents, you’re suddenly reminded. Oh. In a way, you did also forget that Suguru got you and Koji something—just so wrapped up in watching Koji rip apart each of his gifts. You smile faintly, thumbs running over the intricate snowflake patterns. 

“Friend?” Satoru asks, his voice bringing you back to reality. 

Head turning over, you realize that his face has contorted—scrunched up slightly when he holds onto Koji’s gift, reading the name of the receiver. “Suguru?” His eyes meet yours, filled with a tint of disapproval. “When did he get you two something?”

You almost lie, feeling a random burst of gultuness hit you. But it’s gone as soon as it comes. Because Satoru’s voice sounds curlis in a sense, but also suspicious. It makes you feel a little irritated, holding back a light scoff. So what Suguru got you and Koji something? “He came over to drop it off.” 

Maybe that wasn’t the best answer to give. Now Satoru’s body has faced you fully, eyebrow raising like he’s trying to put two and two together. But there’s nothing to put together. “And when was this?”

“A few days ago,” you reply back, firming your intonation. 

Satoru’s gaze narrows ever so slightly, and you can feel the shift in the air between you both. The tension that’s been simmering beneath the surface all evening suddenly intensifies. “A few days ago…” Satoru repeats, his tone now more deliberate.

“Is there a problem?” You ask, mirroring his reaction. 

Satoru bites the inside of his cheek, very obviously holding back on something for the sake of his son and the holiday. Shaking his head and giving Koji’s gift back to him. “Nope, no problem.”

You can’t help yourself as you huff under your breath, focusing back on your son as he opens the gift. He gasps, yanking the tissue paper out and revealing a bright, shiny new Spider-Man action figure. His eyes widen with delight as he holds it up to you and Satoru, showing off the intricate details of the toy. "Look, Mama! Look, Papa! It's just like the new one I saw on TV!" He beams, completely oblivious to the lingering tension in the room. “It talks and makes noises and lights up!”

You chuckle softly, finding his excitement endearing. "It's perfect, Koji. You’re going to have so much fun with that."

Satoru, however, seems distracted. He’s still watching you closely, his expression unreadable, though there’s a faint edge to his demeanor. You can tell he's trying to keep his composure, but his mind is clearly elsewhere.

Koji has almost entirely disregarded his previous gifts to play with his new gift, his attention fully focused on the toy in his hands. 

Satoru clears his throat, the subtle sound pulling you back from your thoughts. "So, Suguru came by to drop off gifts...?" His voice carries a tone that’s almost too casual, but you don’t miss the hint of something more in his eyes.

You hold his gaze, the irritation bubbling up again. "Yes, he did. He’s been kind to us." You can’t help the defensiveness that creeps into your voice. "Is that a problem?"

Satoru doesn’t immediately answer. Instead, he glances over at Koji, who’s happily occupied with his toy. He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair before meeting your eyes again. "No, I didn’t say that. I just... I just didn’t know he was so involved."

You feel a knot form in your stomach. The subtle way he’s questioning you, the way his posture tenses every time Suguru’s name comes up—he’s feeling something, and you’re not sure how to read it. Before you can respond, Koji looks up from his toys, his voice full of innocent curiosity. “Is something wrong, Papa? Mama?”

You both turn your attention to him, but the tension doesn’t fully dissipate. You force a smile, trying to keep things light. "No, Koji. Everything’s fine." You reach over to ruffle his hair. "Are you enjoying your presents?"

Koji nods enthusiastically, his smile wide. "Best Christmas ever!" he exclaims. He looks down at your gift. “Open yours, Mama. I wanna see what your friend got you.”

You hesitate, still trying to steady your emotions after the tension with Satoru. “Alright, sweetheart,” you say, holding your gift upright in your lap. Gently peeling away the wrapping, revealing a small, wooden box. The delicate craftsmanship catches your attention immediately. 

Koji’s eyes widen in anticipation. “What’s inside, Mama? What is it?”

You open the box, revealing a small silver pendant shaped like a star, its surface engraved with intricate patterns. It’s beautiful—elegant and simple, a perfect fit for you. You trace your fingers over the smooth edges, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you smile at the thoughtful gesture. It comes with a thin silver chain, a small note underneath it. When you pull it out, it reads: 

“For the one who shines the brightest, even in the darkest of times.”

Your heart skips a beat as you read the words. It’s simple, yet so deeply personal. You trace the note with your fingertips, a mixture of warmth and something else stirring in your chest. You always mocked Suguru in the past for being so corny with his words, you never expected to be on the receiving end of them. And you never expected to blush from it either. 

“Isn’t it pretty, Mama?” Koji asks, his voice filled with genuine excitement. “I think it’s sparkly like the stars!”

You nod. “It’s beautiful, sweetheart. I’m sure it’ll look lovely on me,” You slide the pendant into your hand, clutching it for a moment longer before carefully setting it back inside. But, despite your best efforts to keep things together, you can feel the tension building again. Satoru’s look that he fails to hide is getting more on your nerves by the second. He’s acting like he has some right to be upset if his friend is giving you something. He’s acting like it’s a bigger deal than it actually is.

“Are you gonna wear it?” Koji asks, his eyes shining with curiosity. “Papa, won’t Mama look pretty with it?”

You peer over. “Of course, Mama will look pretty with it,” he says with a half-smile that’s forced. “She’s always beautiful, no matter what she wears.”

You scoff this time. What a load of shit. 

Koji squeals, clearly pleased with the answer. “Right, Mama? You’re the prettiest!”

You smile back, feeling warmth in your chest, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thanks, sweetheart,” you mutter softly, trying to keep things light. 

It’s extremely late now. Koji has passed out in his room with the figurine Suguru got him. Satoru and you have cleaned up in complete silence, the awkward tension intensifying even more now that Koji isn’t here to mend that. There’s only the sound of the soft hum of the dishwasher as it runs. You wipe down the counter, your movements mechanical, each action making the silence stretch longer and longer between you. Satoru stands by the sink, wiping down the wet surface around it with a towel, his back to you. But you can feel his presence in the room like a weight pressing down on the air.

Neither of you says anything, the unspoken words piling up between you both. You can feel the tension crawling beneath your skin, just like before, but now there’s no Koji to distract you, no innocent question to break the silence. Just you and Satoru, both avoiding the inevitable conversation that looms in the background. Until he finally has the balls to do something. “He didn’t tell me he was getting you guys something.”

You pause, staring down at the clean surface. “Why would he have to tell you? It’s just a present.” Your hand moves again, moving onto the corner of the granite. 

Satoru bites his tongue, willing himself not to snark back. He turns his body around, eyes digging holes into the back of your head. “I mean, it’s a little strange.”

“How?”

“Because Koji is my son, you’re my ex.”

“So that suddenly means I’m incapable of receiving presents from other men now?” You whirl around, hands on your hips. “What did you say again? Oh, right. ‘Stop getting mad at little things’.” 

Satoru flinches, his jaw tightening at your words. For a moment, he’s caught off guard, not expecting you to snap back so quickly. But he doesn’t back down. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” His voice is low, tight, as if he’s trying to keep his composure. “I just don’t like how...how weird that feels.”

You roll your eyes. “Right, weird, huh?”

“I’m not trying to argue, okay?”

“I’m not arguing either,” you quip back. “But you have no right to act like this is ‘weird’ when it’s not. You have no right to be even curious about who’s giving Koji and I gifts.”

“No right?” He huffs back at you, lip curling up. “I think I have all the right, Y/N. First off, he’s my son. Second off, we used to date. And third off, that’s my best friend. What kind of best friend—”

“Then maybe you should take that up with him.” You cut him off, chin tilting up. It’s getting harder by the second to keep things calm and composed. But Satoru shoving his fat nose into something that doesn’t involve him is testing every bit of patience you have. “I can get a gift from whoever I want, that’s none of your concern.”

Satoru’s eyes narrow as you speak, his grip on the towel tightening, the vein in his neck twitching with barely restrained frustration. “None of my concern, huh?” His voice lowers, the words coming out sharp. “That’s funny, because it seems like everything I do, say, or feel ends up being your concern, whether you want it to be or not.”

You step closer, your heart racing as the anger rises in your chest, pushing against the barriers you’ve built. “Satoru, I’m done pretending like everything we do is some sort of tangled mess that you have the right to control. You’re not my boyfriend anymore, and Koji isn’t the reason I have to explain every little thing to you.”

“I’m not saying you have to.”

“Then just shut the hell up about it already.”

Silence follows. 

The room feels colder now, the weight of your words settling heavily in the space between you. Satoru doesn’t respond immediately, his jaw clenched tightly as he stares at you, his chest rising and falling as if he’s weighing the next words carefully. He’s frustrated, no doubt, but something else lingers beneath it—something deeper, something that neither of you has dared to address.

You stand there, both of you frozen, the only sound the faint hum of the dishwasher and the quiet rhythm of your breathing. It feels as though time has stopped, the tension so thick it’s almost suffocating. Then, slowly, Satoru takes a breath and places the towel down on the counter, running a hand through his hair. “Fine,” he mutters, his voice much softer now, but still tinged with frustration. “I get it. It’s not my place anymore.”

Your lips purse, feeling slightly caught off guard by his quick reluctance to further escalate things. But that’s a good thing, right? Swallowing down anything else, you nod stiffly. Eyes moving down to focus on anything else but him. Your hands awkwardly fiddle together. 

But he never looks away from you. Mind reeling about what to say or do next, fearing that he did in fact make a big deal out of nothing. It’s just presents, that’s it. But the quiet voice in his head nags at him more and more. But why didn’t Suguru say anything? Isn’t it at least some common courtesy to tell your best friend you’re getting his son and ex a gift? Even a simple text would have sufficed. 

But he didn’t do any of that. So Satoru’s brain feels like he tried to hide it—for a reason? He doesn’t know. Maybe he forgot? Still, he doesn’t like the knot that forms in his gut. 

A calming breath is taken to reset his system, shaking his head. Not tonight, not tonight. His fingers reach into the pocket of his coat, feeling a small, square box. He waits for a few seconds, unsure if he should continue on. Nonetheless, he does. Pulling out the little thing, presenting it in front of him. 

He clears his throat, you look back over at him. Head tilting slightly at the sight of the wrapped box with a tiny red bow. “…what is that?”

“My gift to you.” He murmurs out, holding it to you. 

Your eyes widen, mouth parting. No words come out, feeling a multitude of varying emotions. It all ends with you reaching out for the box, shaking it a little. You hear a small clanking. Asking a stupid question like what is it will just keep your wary feelings alive. So, you carefully remove the light wrapping, slowly like you’re scared as to why you’ll see inside. 

You’re not scared. Just more confused. 

“A key?” You question, holding up the gold key in front of your face. It dangles as your vision focuses back on the man in front of you. “What is this for?”

Satoru watches you, his eyes a mix of uncertainty and something deeper, something more vulnerable. He shifts slightly, hands in his pockets, his shoulders tense as if bracing himself for your reaction. “To your new place.” 

Your heart skips a beat at his words. A new place? Your mind struggles to catch up, trying to make sense of the statement. “My new place?” you repeat, still not sure if you heard him correctly.

Satoru nods slowly, his eyes now focused on the key in your hand. “I’ve been looking for something for you. For Koji. A place where you both can be… comfortable. It’s. A nice neighborhood, enough room. There’s a school next by and there’s open spots left.” His voice is steady, but there’s a tinge of something vulnerable in the way he says it—like he’s giving you space to decide, but also hoping for something more.

A rush of conflicting emotions hits you. You look down at the key again, your fingers curling around it as you try to process what he’s saying. “You… got me a place?” You repeat, still in shock over the fact that he went out of his way to do so. 

He shifts his weight, eyes still on the key. “Not just you. A place for you, Koji… and maybe even me, too. When I come to visit sometimes, there’s four bedrooms, one of them can be used as a spare.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Satoru has always been unpredictable, but this—this is different. It feels like he’s offering something more than just a space. It’s a possibility. A chance. But it also feels like an unspoken question, one that you’re not sure how to answer. “I don’t know what to say,” you whisper, looking at the key again. “Why now?”

Satoru steps closer, his expression softer than you’ve seen in a long time. “Because… I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I know I’ve messed things up too for us, and I’m not asking for anything. Just… I thought it might be a good way to start fresh. For you and Koji. And you guys mean a lot to me, I want you to live in a nice space. Not…not somewhere like this. The people look shady.”

You stand there, the weight of his words sinking in. The offer is unexpected, yet strangely comforting. It’s not just about the apartment or the key—it’s about something deeper, something that might hold the possibility of fixing whatever things were broken.

But then, a quiet part of you wonders: Do I want this?

You bite the inside of your cheek, clutching the key tighter in your hand now. You bite the inside of your cheek, clutching the key in your hand now. The smooth, cold metal feels heavier than it should, like it’s holding all the unanswered questions and unresolved feelings between you and Satoru. You glance up at him, his expression open yet guarded, as though he’s trying to brace himself for any answer you might give.

“Satoru...” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what to say.”

He shrugs, though there’s an uneasy tension in his posture. “You don’t have to say anything right now. I just...I wanted to give you something. Something that’s yours.” His gaze flickers to the key in your hand. “No strings, no expectations. Just a place where you and Koji can feel safe. If you don’t want it, I’ll still keep it around if you someday change your mind.”

The sincerity in his voice tugs at something deep within you, but it also makes your heart ache. You swallow hard, your emotions swirling. “Why didn’t you talk to me about this first?” you ask, your tone softer now, though still tinged with confusion.

“Because I wasn’t sure how you’d take it,” he admits, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured or think it was about me trying to fix everything all at once. It’s not like that. I just... I care about you. And about Koji. And besides, it’s Christmas.” He ends with a small smile, his right dimple peeking out. 

His words hang in the air, filling the silence between you. For a small instant, you don’t respond, your mind racing. This gesture—it’s thoughtful, maybe even selfless—but it’s also overwhelming. You hold the key closer, feeling its edges press into your palm, grounding you in the midst of the emotional storm. Finally, you exhale, your voice steady but quiet. “I need some time to think about this. It’s... a lot.”

Satoru nods, his blue eyes softening. “Take all the time you need. It’s yours, no matter what you decide.” He pauses, glancing toward the door. “Well, I should probably get going.”

Adjusting his coat, he takes one step out the kitchen before you stop him with a hand to his arm. A ring of fire burns up his arm and to his ears, slowly making its way to his cheeks when he looks back down at you. “I…I got you something…too.”

His eyebrows raise, not having expected you to give him something in return. Letting go of his arm, you walk to a small cupboard, reaching in and pulling out a square shaped gift. It’s wrapped in light blue wrapping with a red bow. You hand it to him and he takes it, feeling around. He already has an idea of what it is. 

“Open it when you get back.” You mutter, rubbing the back of your neck. 

He stares quietly for a small time, a hint of a smile almost making its way onto his face again. It’s cute how shy you look right now. Some things never change, do they? He nods, murmuring back. “Okay, thank you.”

With one final hum from you, he heads back to the door. His stomach feeling lighter. You hesitate, watching him turn toward the hallway. “Satoru.”

He stops, looking back at you over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.” Your words are sincere, even if you’re still unsure about everything. “For thinking about us.”

A faint grin tugs at his lips, though there’s a hint of sadness in it. “Always,” he says softly before walking away, leaving you standing there with the key in your hand and your thoughts spinning.

You remain rooted in place, the key dangling lightly in your grip as the door clicks shut behind him. The silence that follows feels deafening. The warmth of the holiday lights around the room does little to ease the cold weight settling in your chest. You sit down at the edge of the couch, staring at the key, your mind replaying Satoru’s words. No strings, no expectations. Just a place where you and Koji can feel safe.

It’s a generous gift, undeniably thoughtful, but it feels complicated—like every other thing in your relationship with Satoru. You know he means well, but the history between you makes it impossible to separate the gesture from the lingering emotions that bind you both. Your gaze shifts to the Christmas tree, now surrounded by Koji’s new toys. You can still picture his bright smile, hear his laughter from earlier in the evening. The thought of giving him a stable home, something truly yours, tugs at your heart. But then there’s the nagging voice in your head, reminding you of the tension tonight—the unspoken conflicts, the unresolved feelings, and the fragile line you and Satoru walk every time you see each other.

You sigh, leaning back against the couch, the key resting in your palm. Your eyes drift to the small silver pendant Suguru gave you earlier. It still sits on the coffee table, catching the warm glow of the Christmas lights. Another kind gesture. Another layer to the mess.

The soft patter of small feet interrupts your thoughts. Koji appears in the hallway, rubbing his eyes sleepily, his Spider-Man toy clutched tightly in one hand. 

“Mama?” he mumbles, his voice groggy. “Why are you still up?”

You quickly set the key on the table, forcing a smile. “Just cleaning up, sweetheart. Is everything okay?” 

He nods, yawning as he climbs onto your lap, resting his head against your chest. “Yes.”

“Did you have a good Christmas?”

“The best Christmas ever.”

You hold him close, brushing his messy hair away from his forehead. “That’s all that matters,” you whisper, kissing the top of his head. But even as you say it, your thoughts drift back to the key—and everything it represents.

Satoru has been staring at the gift—stil wrapped—for about fifteen minutes now. He’s conflicted. Unsure if he wants to know what you got him, or if it’ll bring on something unwanted. The gift sits untouched on the table before him, the wrapping paper shimmering faintly under the soft glow of the Christmas lights. Satoru leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, one hand tangled in his hair as he stares at it. His jaw tightens, then relaxes, his thoughts spiraling in circles.

Fifteen minutes. That’s how long he’s been sitting here, debating whether to open it.

He knows it’s just a gift. A simple, kind gesture. But with everything that’s happened tonight—the tension, the unspoken words, the unresolved feelings—this small box feels heavier than it should. What if it’s something that reminds him of how things used to be? Or worse, what if it’s just a polite, distant gift, a reminder of how far apart you’ve drifted?

He exhales sharply, running a hand over his face. “It’s just a damn gift, Satoru,” he mutters to himself. Yet he doesn’t move, his blue eyes fixed on the box as if it might spring to life and deliver answers to questions he’s too afraid to ask. 

He huffs a reluctant laugh, his hand finally reaching for the gift. His fingers trace the edges of the paper before he carefully begins to unwrap it, the sound of tearing paper filling the quiet room. Beneath the wrapping is a small black box, simple and unassuming. He lifts the top up and it drops to the side. 

His hands still in place, almost beginning to tremble. His breathing shallows, heart thumping quicker than before. Carefully—very carefully—he reaches in. Handling the object with utmost care, bringing it closer to his face. 

Two faces stare back at him. 

His son—undeniably younger, maybe around one year old. He’s being held in your lap, arms secure around his tiny stomach. He looks chubbier, cuter. Wearing a cute Christmas get up. Baby Santa. And when his eyes glaze over to you, he gulps. 

You’re wearing an equally festive outfit. A bright red sweater adorned with little snowflakes and reindeer, a simple black skirt to go with it. Your face is glowing with a smile so genuine, it knocks the breath out of him. Your hair is a little messier, your cheeks flushed with warmth, probably from laughing too much. Koji’s tiny hand clutches at your sweater, and your other hand is raised in a peace sign as you lean closer to him for the photo. 

Satoru’s fingers brush the surface of the photograph, his chest tightening as the memory pulls him under. It looks like a professional photo done, you must’ve gone all out that Christmas. Now, holding it in his hands, it feels like a physical snapshot of a life he had no chance of living in. 

His thumb grazes the edge of the picture frame it’s nestled in. It’s a simple wooden frame, painted white, with the words Our First Christmas Together etched across the top in tiny gold letters.

He lets out a shaky exhale, his vision blurring slightly. He blinks rapidly, trying to push back the emotions clawing at his throat. It’s not just the photograph—it’s what it represents. A time when things were simpler. When the two of you were a family, before everything unraveled. When it was just you and Koji—no room for him. 

The weight of the night presses on him again, harder this time. He feels foolish for hesitating to open the gift, for overthinking it, when you’d given him something so pure. Something so full of love. He pulls the frame in, swallowing hard as he leans back on the couch. He holds it close to his chest. His other hand runs through his hair, tugging slightly as he tries to steady himself. “Why’d you have to go and do this?” he whispers to no one, his voice breaking. He outwardly chuckles—bitter but affectionate. Warm tears sliding down his cheeks and resting atop the wooden frame. His lips press a small kiss to his baby son, and to you. 

Because now, more than ever, he realizes how much he still misses you. And how much he regrets letting it all slip away when he was too young and stupid to think clearly. 

That night when he heads to bed, he sleeps with the picture of his family next to him. Tucked in like it’s a physical being, and in a way, it is. 

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[solelifauna]

Yandere Batfam & Neglected Reader Prt. 2

Okay, so I didn't realize how much building I was gonna do around (Y/n's) social life so this chapter is honestly about knowing (y/n). Anyways, the next chapter will be from the batfam's pov and focus more on the yandere bits! Hope you enjoy this chapter tho!

Tag List!: @sitepathos @ferakillia @uknowimdumb @shycreatorreview @niggrrooo @dhanyasri @cantfindmelol @space1crow @earth-to-mee @rosecentury @yuyuzi-ling @simpingfor-wakasa @bat1212 @sheepintherain @person-from-daaaa-voidddd @resident-cryptid @cupids-pretty-boy @danni1323

The change started slowly on a normal evening, an evening like every other. It was a football season game day, the big match between the Gotham City High Bats and the Gotham Prep Knights. For the rich prep kids, this was nothing more than another game, but for your school, this game was everything. This would help your school get the recognition and funding it deserves, and allow some students to be scouted and rewarded for their talent.

Not only that, but Gotham Prep always, every season goes to state, beating out all the other public schools in the city. They haven’t lost a game since the early 80s so there was a lot riding on this game. 

Your role, funnily enough, was representing the school as one of the Gotham City High school cheerleaders. Turns out that the gymnastics classes you took before were actually useful for purposes other than trying to impress Dick. You surprisingly took to cheerleading like a fish to water, liking the competitiveness and sense of belonging that came from joining the team. 

Anyways, you, the cheer team, and the football team were on a bus headed towards the bigger, better Gotham Prep football field. The bus was loud with music and schoolmates hyping each other up for the big game. Ethan, a friend of yours on the football team was nervously shaking his leg and squeezing his helmet so hard you thought it would crack.

Both you and your friend Arya noticed.

“Ethan, the game hasn’t even started yet and I already see a crack forming on your helmet.” You said jokingly, a gentle arm on his shoulder.

He startled, “Jesus Christ (Y/n) warn a guy next time.” Ethan spoke, offering a nervous smile.

“You need to stop freaking out bro. When you do, it freaks out the others on the team.” Arya gently said.

“I know, I know but— but there’s just a lot riding on this game. For a lot of us, this is our only way to get out of Gotham, and if we screw up the finals, we’ll be stuck here forever.” Ethan said solemnly, looking around at all his teammates.

“Well then good thing you guys aren’t gonna lose. Y’all have spent two years training to make this comeback, to make sure that Gotham City High finally gets this win. I promise you’ve worked harder than those assholes at Gotham Prep, so just go out there and put your training to use. Don’t let your nerves get to you, you have no reason to.” You calmly said.

“Yeah—yeah, we have trained harder, haven't we? Yeah, you’re right! We've just gotta go out there and play like we've practiced.” Ethan exclaimed, as if suddenly realizing why he should have confidence in himself and his team.

“Exactly!” Arya said, matching his enthusiasm and hitting Ethan playfully on the shoulder. 

The rest of the bus ride to the stadium was louder than ever, the coach and other teammates taking turns to hype up the more nervous members, to get them confident for the field. Everything was about normal once everyone made it to the stadium. The band was set up, and people were flooding the bleachers. It wasn’t until the last ten minutes before the game when normalcy died.

“Hey (Y/n), isn’t that your family?” A girl, Maya, says.

Lo’ and behold, Bruce Wayne and his entire gaggle of children were sitting on the home side of the bleachers, sporting Gotham Prep t-shirts. 

“What—oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. What the hell are they doing here, they don’t even like football like that!?” You shout in frustration.

It was then when you remembered a conversation Dick, Bruce, and Damian had at the dinner table. Something about how it would help Damian out if he started going to school events and games, getting him acclimated to what being a normal teenager was like. That was all fine and dandy, but you didn't think the entire damn family was going to show up. Oh, the gossip columns are gonna have a field day with this. You could already imagine the headlines, “Bruce Wayne openly isolates daughter (Y/n) Wayne” or even, “The Wayne Family once again publicly shows dislike for daughter (Y/n) Wayne.”

You rolled your eyes at the thought, you had bigger things to worry about right now.

“Are you good (Y/n)?” Arya questions softly. 

She was one of the only people who you spoke your sorrows to, one of the only people who actually knows of just how lonely you were. Of course everyone knew that Bruce Wayne and his family didn't really like you very much– thank you Vicky vale– but nobody but Arya and Ethan really understood the crux of your situation. 

“Yeah, I'm all good bro, don't worry about it. Just focus on the game.” You said dismissively. It didn't bother you anymore, sure it hurt a little bit, but this was expected.

“Alright, its time to shake hands with the other team, everyone line up!” the football Coach, Coach Daniels, all but yelled.

You sighed, moving to the front of the line for the cheerleaders; you were team captain after all. Both the football teams and cheerleaders made their way to the center of the field where they met. You looked back at the rest of your team, you all knew that this was going to be an unpleasant interaction, it always was. The Gotham Prep cheer captain walked up to you, disdain and poorly concealed disgust on her face. You all quickly shook hands, trying to get this exhausting ordeal done and over with, but of course the other captain had to open her mouth.

“You lower end city girls sure have your own sense of style.” Darla, which was basically code for calling you and your team sluts. Wow, how original.

“You should see what’s underneath the jacket.” You replied, giving her a sharp smile.

She floundered, clearly expecting her insult to rile you and your team up. 

“Ugh, as expected of Bruce Wayne’s biggest embarrassment. You sad Daddy doesn't like you? Or maybe she’s just glad she gets to mooch off of him before he ends up disowning her.” Another girl pipes up, drawing mind grating giggles from the rest of their team. You recognized her, she was the daughter of some hot-shot CEO.

You just tiredly look back at your team, a few of them getting angry on your behalf while others looked to you in concern. 

“What, not going to say anything?” The other captain haughtily questioned. 

“I mean, what exactly is the response you’re expecting? Yeah, Bruce Wayne doesn't like me, but at least I didn't have to buy my way into the cheer team or have my daddy pay to make sure I wasn't held back.” You stated boredly.

She was silent in shock, right before the anger came bursting through.

“You whore! I’m going to fuck you up, take you to court and sue you!” She shrieked.

“You’re going to sue me? You mean sue Bruce Wayne?” You snorted, “Like that’ll ever happen. And bitch, you couldn’t fight if your life depended on it, so next time you threaten me remember–I can and will beat the ever-loving shit outta you.”

That must have sparked some fear in her because she just turned around and led her team back to their side of the field. You’re sure others noticed your altercation, obviously having no idea what was being said, but it was clear to both sides of the field that nothing good was said. You’re ready to turn back to your side when you accidentally make eye contact with Tim. The cold, calculating look in his eyes has you shifting in discomfort, you quickly look away as the cheer team and football players head back to their respective sides.

The players took their place onto the field while your team got into formation.

“Aright guys, this’s the big one! Give it all you got, just like we practiced!” You yelled.

Just like that, the whistle blew signaling that the game started. 

By the time you reach half time, Gotham Prep is fifteen points ahead of Gotham High. Your school does its low budget halftime performance which pales in comparison to the extravagant Gotham Prep performance. Your side of the stadium grows louder, louder in support of the football team. Before you know it, the boys are lining up for the second half of the game. Thankfully, Gotham High shoots up in points, the score now becoming 34 to 29. The issue is, the game is starting to come to an end with only two minutes on the clock. The crowd is loud, but everyone knows it'll be damn near impossible for Gotham High to win now. The only way to win would be to score a touch-down, which would bring Gotham High to 35 points.

It isn't until the 36 second mark when Ethan sees an opening and makes a run for it with the ball. The crowd is booming, your own voice adding to the mix of cheers and shouts. 

“Come on Ethan! Come on!” You yell, voice undoubtedly hoarse.

There's 5 seconds on the clock when Ethan dives over an opposing player and rolls into the other team's touchdown zone. The score board changes, the numbers now showcasing 34 to 35. Gotham City High with 35. Everyone goes crazy. You and Arya are holding each other jumping up and down. Holy shit, yall won! The football team was celebrating on the field, as they’re announced as the winners, a big trophy being handed into Ethan and his team's hands. And by tradition, you, Arya and the coach go grab the large gatorade barrel and proceed to soak the football team with it. There are yelps and laughs but everyone knows what it means, it means “you’ve won”. You and Arya run up to Ethan launching into him, uncaring of the gatorade now soaking your uniforms. 

It was a good day, a happy day. Everyone started loading up into the buses, starving for the victory dinner at Taco Bell. You honestly, truly forget that the Bats were even here. Shit hits the fan however, when you're in the middle of messing up a chalupa and Bruce Wayne and the rest of his brood walk in, making awkward eye contact with you. You promptly proceed to choke, Arya hitting your back to get you to stop. You do, but holy shit was that embarrassing. Also, what in the ever-loving fuck were they doing here!? 

Before you could voice your utter disbelief, another familiar face barrels into your table. Oh great.

“Hey ladies, how’d you like the game? Betcha I looked good on the field.” The voice of Adrien, a freshman player on the team, made itself known. 

He even made it a point to flex his arm muscles, hoping to impress you and Arya. You both just looked at each other before bursting out laughing. This poor freshman has been trying to get with y'all all year, despite you and Arya being sophomores. His god-awful attempts at flirting were absolutely adorable and downright hilarious. 

“Guys please don't laugh, I promise I have better pick up lines.” he begs, his demeanor that of a kicked puppy.

“I'm sorry man, you're just too adorable, we can't take you seriously.” Arya says amused.

“Why don't you go talk to one of the freshman cheerleaders? I'm sure I heard Hiba and Darla talking about how good you did on the field.” You pipped in.

“No way! Are you serious!? Oh-uh, gotta blast ladies! See ‘ya around!” Adrien stutters, excitedly scrambling off to go find the girls you mentioned.

You and Arya broke off again into a fit of laughter.

“Were you guys teasing Adrien again?” Comes a lighthearted scold from Ethan.

“Not anymore than usual. Plus, I think we finally got him to pursue girls in his own grade.” You responded, a smug smile on your face.

Ethan just chuckled before sitting down with you and Arya. You all talked and laughed some more, your mood only being slightly soured by the Wayne family’s presence at the table across from yours. You did your best to avoid their not-so-casual glances in your direction. Why they were here is a can of worms you had to marinate on later. But for now, you'd just enjoy the rest of your night.

It didn't take long before everyone started getting ready to leave. Some students had their parents come pick them up, probably to go celebrate the school's victory with their families, whilst everyone else was getting ready to load back up into the buses and head to the school where parents would be waiting for their kids. You, however, would be biking back to the manor on your own. Sure both Arya’s and Ethan’s parents had offered you a ride, but you had declined. There was no need for them to go out of their way for you, especially when they should be spending their time celebrating with their children. You’d honestly just ruin the mood with your shitty circumstances.

So as you threw away the last of your trash and started walking to leave the restaurant, you were not expecting to be stopped, let alone stopped by Bruce Wayne. You froze, not knowing what to do. What did he want?

“(Y/n),” He started, voice lacking any tell-tale emotions, “no need to get on the bus, you’ll be riding home with us.”

You noticed immediately how he didn't really give you a choice, just an order meant to be followed. You swallowed nervously, you did not, under any circumstances want to be in a car with any of them.

“There's no need for that Bruce, I–um actually left my bike back at the school and I can't just leave it there so…yeah. I’ll–I'll see you back at the manor.” You said nervously. You weren't used to talking to him and to be quite frank he scared you.

Bruce of course took note of the fact you had not called him “dad” or “father” and had called home, “the manor” instead. This is when Dick decided to chime in.

“What, you're not going to bike all the way back home, are you?” Dick jested sarcastically.

“Uh, yeah? It's how I get back home everyday.” You mention abashed. Did they seriously not even know how you got home? Whatever, you’re too tired for this.

Bruce and Dick glance at each other, their shared look holding a meaning you couldn't understand.

“Well, it doesn't matter. You’ll just ride home with us from now on.” Dick stated, faux cheer in his voice. 

“Wha–what? Hold up, I can’t just leave without my bike! It’s gonna get stolen or–”

“We’ll get a new one, now stop fussin' and get a move on,” Jason grumbles, cutting you off.

You just sigh in defeat. Why the hell are they doing this? Why now? In the end, your questions don't matter as you get marched over to the waiting Rolce Royce Limo. That was when Arya and Ethan noticed you walking away from the bus, not even noticing the Waynes in their hurry to catch up to you.

“Hey (Y/n), why are ‘ya–oh.” Arya yells out before going silent after noticing the intimidating figure of Bruce Wayne and the even more intimidating figure of Jason Todd.

“Oh, hey guys. So–uh, I actually have a ride back to the manor now so I'm all good.” You say awkwardly.

“That's–that's great! But, what about your bike bro?” Ethan questions worriedly, the awkward and almost tense energy affecting him.

“I'm just going to pray and hope that it's still there when I come back for it tomorrow.”You answer tiredly.

“Damn, well, get home safe and get some sleep. We’ll see you soon girl.” Arya says, hugging you.

You hug her back.

“You too guys, get home safe. And Ethan, good job on the field bro, we’re all super proud of you.” You voice, a small smile on your face while you give him a hug.

“Thanks (Y/n), couldn't have done it without y’all hyping me up.” He says.

“Alright, alright no more sappy, corny lines. Now get on the bus before Coach Daniels pops another blood vessel.” You joke.

“Shit, I didn't even realize that was him yelling! Ethan, we gotta go! See ya (Y/n).” Arya exclaims, practically dragging Ethan to the bus with her.

You wave at them, your smile slowly disappearing as you realize you're about to have the worst fifteen minutes of your life on this car ride. The staring you were trying to ignore when talking to your friends was more prevalent now, making you anxious as you entered the car, squirming and fiddling uncomfortably in your seat as everyone else piled in.

You internally sighed as you heard the door shut and the car engine start. Perhaps it’d be better if you drank acid and died instead, but alas, it was too late for any of that. 

You’d just do your best to stay quiet and avoid the eyes boring into your very being.

[poguelandiarafe]

broken promises 2 | rafe cameron

pairing - rafe cameron x female reader

warnings - angst, mature langauge, mentions of infidelity.

summary - after your relationship is destroyed when rafe cheats on you with sofia, you reveal you're pregnant and leave. he's consumed with guilt and wants nothing more than to make it right. sofia turns up and he shuts her out, needing to find you and talk to you.

(sorry if it's bad, i just wanted to get something out cause it's been a week since uploading. this is more of a filler chapter. also, thank you being patient with me)

not a one-shot, read part one here <3

masterlist

part three

--------

rafe stands frozen in place, flinching when the front door slams. the pregnancy test is still by his feet, a cruel reminder of the life he nearly had. he can't bring himself to pick it up, not when your words still linger in the air, playing on repeat in his head. his mind is spinning, the way you practically spat the words he'd unknowingly longed to hear at him making him feel sick.

the buzzing of rafe's phone breaks the silence, and stupidly, he lets himself think it's you. he quickly leans to pick it up, only to be met with sofia's name lighting up the screen. pressing ignore, he slams his phone face down on the bed. when she keeps calling, he keeps ignoring her until she eventually gives up.

the walls feel like they're closing in on him. his chest tightens as he finally bends down to pick up the test with trembling hands. a shaky breath escapes his lips as he reads the word on the small screen, clear as day.

pregnant 3+

"fuck." he breathes out, a hand dragging over his face in disbelief.

rafe's just lost everything. you, his baby, his perfect future. a future he didn't even know he wanted until he couldn't have it. he let it slip right through his fingers, all of it gone in the space of a day.

----

in a sadistic way, the miserable day you’re greeted with outside calms you, reflecting your feelings. the cold air causes goose bumps on your skin, and you feel compelled to leave immediately. tears pool in your eyes, yet you refuse to let them fall until you're in the safety of your car, where rafe will be unable to hear your sobs.

you need to leave, to get away from him and this house, before you lose the courage to do so. you grip your car keys tightly in your hand, knuckles turning white. sliding into the driver's seat, you slam the door shut with more force than necessary, somewhat satisfied with the ounce of relief that brought you.

the tears fall hot and heavy the minute the first one trails down your cheek, and you give in, letting yourself break. your hands shake as you attempt to put the keys into the ignition, and you have to grip the steering wheel to try to calm yourself.

all you can think about is the betrayal as you drive away. you trusted him with every part of you and he took advantage of it. you believed you could have a future, a family with him, and now this baby is going to be born into a broken home, something you promised yourself would never happen.

----

back inside, rafe's world is collapsing. he's sat on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest with the test balanced on them. tears prick at his eyes for the millionth time since you left, but he doesn't let them fall. he doesn't deserve to cry, not when he's made your own home a place you can't stand to step foot in, where every time you look at your shared bed you feel disgusted.

slowly, rafe rises to his feet, test clutched in his hand. his mind is racing, trying to come up with ways he can make this up to you, how he can get you to forgive him. something in him turns into overdrive and he starts to panic. he can't lose you, he won't.

grabbing his keys, rafe rushes down the stairs, focused solely on making things right with you. his chest is heaving as he opens the door, and he freezes as he locks eyes with sofia.

she's walking tentatively up the drive, guilt written all over her face and the sight of her ignites a newfound hatred and anger. he doesn't have time for this.

"rafe-" sofia begins, her voice barely above a whisper.

"no," he snaps, voice cutting through air, "i'm not doing this right now."

"please, rafe, i-" she tries again, but he's not interested in what she has to say.

"she's pregnant, sofia," he cuts her off, voice laced with a mixture of frustration and desperation, "she's carrying my fucking baby, and this stupid mistake with you fucked up everything."

sofia's shocked and her eyes flicker to the test rafe's still protectively holding. her mouth opens to say something but nothing comes out. rafe steps closer to her, nostrils flared and fists clenched.

"i don't know if y/n will even let me be in this kid's life anymore. she won't respond to my calls, my messages, nothing! all because of you." he knows it's not just her fault, that he played a big part in this too. it's just easier to blame her rather than himself.

sofia lets out a humourless laugh, her eyebrows raised as his words sink in. how could he possibly think this was all her doing when he was the one asking her to go home with him? of course she feels guilty, but to blame this mistake only on her is completely uncalled for.

"don't act like this was all on me, rafe. you brought me back here remember?" she argues, accusingly pointing her finger at him, "we're both to blame here. i should never have agreed to come home with you but you shouldn't have asked me in the first place."

rafe's jaw tightens, sofia's words a slap of reality. he wants to shout, to tell her to leave him alone and never talk to him again, but he knows she's right. he made the decision to bring her home while you were blissfully unaware of your relationship crumbling, and now you're both paying the price for his actions.

"yeah, well you did. so now i have to try my hardest to fix this because i love her, and i love that baby," taking a deep breath, he takes a step closer to her until he towers over her, "now get the fuck off my property, sofia."

not giving her a chance to respond, he storms to his truck and throws himself in the driver's seat, slamming the door shut. he punches the steering wheel over and over again until his knuckles are sore and from his wing mirror, he sees sofia still standing on his drive.

he drives all over the island looking for you, obsessively checking his phone for a missed call or a text back but nothing comes. your absence is killing him, and he's slowly losing hope there's a chance you'll take him back.

--------

meanwhile, you feel numb. you try to focus on the road, but the image of the pregnancy test flying through the air and hitting the floor continues to play in your mind, no matter your efforts to think of anything but. telling the love of your life you're pregnant is meant to be a joyous occasion, not like this, your heart heavy with betrayal.

your phone has been buzzing nonstop while driving, patience already wearing thin. in the end, you've had enough, sending him a quick message about needing to think things through. the silence that follows when you turn off your phone feels like a weight off your shoulders.

time blurs as you continue to drive until you eventually pull into a parking lot near the beach. it's where you go whenever you need to clear your head, a place that brings you a small amount of peace during the turmoil. the fact rafe is nowhere to be seen tells you he doesn't know you as well as you think he does. if he wants to talk so badly, he should be here.

you sit in the car for a few more seconds, wiping away the last of the tears. despite the weather, you step out into the cold air, arms wrapping around yourself in an attempt to bring yourself warmth. the bitter wind bites your skin as you make your way down a path to the beach, the sand damp beneath your shoes.

looking out at the stretch of the sea in front of you, you feel so lost. you don't know where to go from here, how to make this right, not that it should be you fixing this.

"y/n."

the voice startles you, having been so consumed in your thoughts you didn't even hear a car pull up. your heart lurches as you glance over your shoulder, rafe slowly walking towards you. you can't look at him, turning back around to face the water.

"please, we have to talk about this," he continues, stopping a few feet away, "i've been looking everywhere for you."

taglist: @hellothere7 @faephoria @samwinchesterisawhore @xcinnamonmalfoyx @alyisdead @maybankslover @vdotcom @kundaquarius @lil-sparklqueen @flvredcas @esquivelbianca

[cressidagrey]

It's a Love Story - Chapter 3

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues, Fat Shaming, People being utterly horrible.

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

The shadows unceremoniously dumped a whole stack of Sellyn Drake Novels on Azriel’s desk.

Azriel eyed the stack of novels dubiously, wondering how in the Mother's blessed name the Shadows had gotten their hands on these. Or why.

But they stayed silent, clearly waiting for him to outright demand an answer. *Why?* he asked with a long suffering sigh. *What's this about?*

No response.

Azriel reached for one of the books, pulling it off the top of the stack and flipping it over. And immediately he regretted that decision. The cover was…certainly something.

A shirtless man holding a rather skimpily dressed woman up against a wall. 

Azriel let out a long, long sigh.

*You need to read the books, Master,* the shadows told him seriously.

Azriel stared at his shadows, then at the books, then at his shadows. *You cannot possibly be serious.* What exactly was this supposed to give him? 

He flipped it over, reading the synopsis. 

When Lady Eleanor is forced into an unwanted marriage, she despairs—until the enigmatic Sir Tristan, a battle-scarred knight with a fearsome reputation, crashes into her life. Bound by a promise to protect her, Tristan whisks Eleanor away from her gilded prison, thrusting them into a wild escape across enemy lands.

Haunted by his past and wary of love, Tristan tries to keep Eleanor at arm's length. But as they face danger together, a fierce passion grows between them, tempting them to trust in a love that could heal even the deepest wounds.

What the fuck. 

*We are, Master.* The Shadows told him, sounding as earnest as they possibly could.

He opened the book. Titled The Dark Knight’s Desire, flicking through the pages. Was this…a first edition?

*It’s important!* The shadows insisted. *You know…to brush up on these flirting skills of yours.*

Azriel shot the shadows an unamused look. *I can flirt perfectly well,* he protested.

*You most certainly cannot.* The Shadows deadpanned. *It’s research! Read them for her!*

*Read them for…* Azriel started, his voice trailing off.

*You found...* he trailed off weakly. They had found a female for him?

The shadows swirled around him almost playfully. *Of course we did,* they said innocently. *We told you we would, didn’t we?*

They were working quickly. It had only been weeks since he had agreed to let them find him a wife.

*You did,* Azriel said slowly, but his mind was working fast, so fast, trying to wrap around the idea that his Shadows were trying to help him find a wife…and more importantly, that they had found a female they thought he would find suitable.

*Where did you find her?* he asked, carefully.

*Here in Velaris!* the shadows answered brightly.

*Here?* Azriel asked, his surprise obvious. The shadows had found...a female...here in Velaris? Someone who was compatible with him? And they wanted him to read...what were these again? Sellyn Drake novels? So he would know how to best romance this female?

*Read the books, Master,* the shadows said with a sigh. So he did.

And that was how Azriel spent his next few hours. Reading a book, and blushing like some sort of adolescent boy when certain…particularly intimate scenes came around. The Shadows cackled beside him the entire time.

How the fuck did Nesta do this with a straight face?!?

Azriel had no idea, but by the Mother, he was never going to ask her. Ever. He would just die of embarrassment.

Though he needed to admit...he actually quite liked it.

The novels, that is. The…intimate scenes. Azriel liked them. A lot. Not even the...smut, like Nesta called it...no, he liked the love story. He liked the two people that came together and would do everything for each other...the falling in love part. He liked that.

But the Shadows were probably never going to let him live this down. Azriel did find comfort in a single thought, though. Whoever this possible future partner was, she was never going to know about this. There was no way in hell he would let her find out that he read smutty books to brush up his flirting skills.

But even that did not stop the nagging thought in Azriel's head, one that made him hesitate, and doubt himself, and doubt the Shadows' judgment. "What if..." he said softly, hesitantly. "What if she just...doesn't like me?"

He knew he had some...rough edges, to put it kindly. And he had his own...troubles. His own...insecurities. Some of the things he kept to himself, so many of his...issues. The shadows knew of them all, of course…There were many nights they stayed up with him, soothing him when the ghosts in his mind became a little too loud, a little too real.

What if that scared her? He didn't want her to be scared. He didn't want to scare her.

*She'll like you, Master.* The Shadows assured him, wrapping themselves around him comfortingly and soothingly. *She’ll love you.*

He exhaled. *Can you read minds now?*

*Only yours,* the Shadows assured him. *But as long as you don't cheat on her with her sister, you'll be doing a better job than her ex-partners!*

What. 

"Are you seriously reading a Sellyn Drake novel?" Only 5 centuries of training kept him from flinching as he looked up to find Cassian in his doorway.

"Nesta said it was good," he shot back flatly, not hiding the book, because that would just give Cassian even more reason to tease him. 

"You...actually listen to Nesta's...book recommendations?" Cassian stared at him, as if he had grown a third head.

"She is intelligent, and she reads more than either of us," Azriel shot back, sharply. "So yes, if she says it's good, I'll try it."

Cassian gave a slight shake of his head, not believing what he was hearing. "You are…actually reading a Sellyn Drake novel?" He repeated as if he couldn't quite believe that Azriel was actually doing that.

"Yes," Azriel said, his words clipped. "You have a problem with that?"

Cassian just stared at him for a long moment before letting out a quiet laugh. "No, I just never thought I would actually see the day that you read a Sellyn Drake novel."

"Well, I like it," Azriel said evenly. "It’s very are well written."

"And smutty," Cassian said with a grin.

Azriel rolled his eyes. "It’s are more than just...smut, Cassian, It actually has a story, and good characters."

"Characters who can barely keep their hands off each other long enough to solve the mystery, you mean," Cassian drawled, but Azriel ignored him, flipping a page. 

."Have you ever actually read a Sellyn Drake novel, Cassian?" Azriel asked, shooting him a look. "Or do you simply judge by the covers?"

Cassian just grinned, clearly enjoying this conversation and how defensive Azriel had become. "The covers are pretty damn attractive though."

Azriel rolled his eyes at that comment, but didn't respond. Just looked back down at the book, completely ignoring his brother.

"Are you coming to dinner tonight?" Cassian asked him instead. 

"No," he answered flatly. He did really want to know how the book ended.

*We found a house! We can show it to you!* the shadows hissed at that moment. Huh.

"There is something that needs my attention," Azriel said simply.

Cassian gave him a searching look, a frown etched into his face, but Azriel simple met his gaze. 

"Az," Cassian said quietly. "Come on."

"I have something I need to do, Cassian." Azriel's voice was still flat, but more firm, a clear sign that he did not want any arguments.

"Az," Cassian said again, and this time, there was a small thread of pleading in his voice. "Just… come have dinner with us. Please. It'll be good for you."

Good? Good to sit at Rhys' table and be told to "behave"? Azriel would rather eat crushed glass than do that. Which was the reasons why he skipped out of them as often as he possible could.

He knew, he knew that Cassian was just looking out for him, but that didn't mean that he felt like he was obligated to go.

"I have something I need to do," he repeated, his voice even.

Cassian sighed. "You are so goddamn stubborn," he muttered, but he let the subject drop, clearly knowing that Azriel was not going to listen.

That evening, instead of sitting through that dinner, Azriel let the shadows swirl around him in excitement, tugging on his jacket, practically dragging him forward.

*It's a lovely house, Master!* they said as they wrapped him in their embrace.

He blinked twice as he rematerialised in front of a lake. Somehow not quite what he had expected. But then…then he saw the house.

Grey stone and wood and the biggest windows he had ever seen that promised an breathtaking view over the lake… and nobody around as far as he could see. He stared at the house, a brow raised. It was nice…very nice. A little too nice. Exactly too his taste.

Azriel turned towards the shadows as he raised another brow. *And how exactly did you…* he started with a huff. *You know what, nevermind.*

He could already hear the shadows saying that they asked for a favor in exchange. Or maybe they stole it.

The house was still nice though, perfect really. He just…didn't want to know what they had done to get it.

Azriel glanced towards the building again. He could almost picture himself in the space, walking around, just….simply existing. It was peaceful and quiet…and he would not be…disturbed or bothered.

He could see himself reading in front of the fireplace, looking out into the night sky through the large windows. 

Azriel walked towards the building, his fingers brushing over the wall. He could feel it already….he could already feel his muscles loosening, his shoulders lowering from their stiff position.

Home, he thought as stepped into the space, the shadows following after him as his lips tugged upwards.

Yes, he could already see himself calling it that. Home. He liked the ring of it. 

*You're welcome, Master,* the shadows said as they swirled around him, nuzzling him affectionately. They were happy for him, so very happy for him.

The living room was spacious, filled with  overstuffed couches and armchairs made for wings… the view indeed was spectacular. And one long uninterrupted wall was lined with tall, massive bookshelves.

It was perfect.

*Does she like books?* he couldn't help but ask.

*Yes, Master! She loves books!* The Shadows assured him in an excited chorus.

She liked to read. That was the first little tidbit of information he learned about her.

*Will you tell me something else about her?* he asked them softly, as he kept exploring the house.

*What do you want to know?* the shadows asked.

*Did her ex-partner really cheat on her with her sister?* he wondered aloud.

*Yes. They are engaged to be married now,* the shadows answered. *He's an asshole,* they muttered darkly.

Azriel couldn't help but give a nod in agreement. An ass was too kind. Whoever he was, he was more than that. Azriel hated him, whoever he was.

*Anything else?* he asked the shadows, curious, so damn curious, to know more about the female.

*She has a cat. His name is Hector. He may be the ugliest cat in existence,* the shadows said primly, *but she adores him.*

Not what he expected, but it was...sweet. It was kind. She had a pet cat. His lips tugged upwards into an involuntary smile.

*And...?* he trailed off, waiting for a response. He was greedy, so damn greedy for more, so greedy to get to know the female more. His curiosity about her had grown to a fever pitch, it seemed.

The Shadows hummed thoughtfully. *She is very, very kind, Master,* they finally said softly.

Those words caused Azriel's smile to go soft, so damn soft. His heart fluttered at the Shadows' words. She was kind. She was kind and she had a cat that she adored. Her ex was an ass who cheated on her. She read, liked books, which meant she was intelligent, and…

Was he getting excited about someone he had never even met?

*When...when can I meet her?* he asked softly.

*Soon,* the shadows promised. *She doesn't leave the house that often...*

Azriel's brows drew together at that. *Why not?* he asked quietly, not sure if he really wanted the answer to that question.

The Shadows hesitated for a moment before responding. *People...people aren't very nice to her,* they admitted slowly.

Azriel blinked, confused. People...weren't nice to her...? But…why? What was there not to be nice about? From what he had gleaned, she was kind, had a cat, was smart, and liked books. What was wrong with any of that? It didn't make any sense.

*Why?* he demanded shaprly.*Because people are idiots as usual,* the shadows snapped right back. *People aren't nice to you either.*

Azriel gave a small wince at that, the shadows words hitting him like a bucket of ice cold water. But they were right, people weren't all the nicest to him, either.

Still...he didn't like the idea of her being treated poorly. He wanted...Gods, the want was so strong, all of a sudden. The want to…to protect her. To guard her, and protect her. To keep her safe. To make sure she was alright.

*Tell me when she leaves her house,* he demanded.

For a moment he could swear the shadows were nearly frozen in place.

*Change of Plans. Put on a different shirt,* the shadows said quickly. Azriel just stared at them.

*A different shirt?* he asked. He didn't even have any clothing here! That was back at the House of Wind. But the shadows were clearly not taking no for an answer.

He batted away a tendril as it started to unbuckle his fighting leathers and did it himself, only for them to shove him into a shirt that was so dark green it was nearly black and then start fussing with his hair.

Azriel barely had time to even process what was happening before the shadows were pushing him towards the door, still trying to fix and smooth his hair and clothes as they moved forward.

*What is the change of plan?* he asked them

*You are getting to see her right now,* the shadows said with a hint of glee to their voice. *Her sister and some friends are taking her to a bar.*

*The same sister that cheated on her with her ex-partner?* he demanded.

*Yes,* the shadows agreed in a hiss. 

Great. So he was going to have to stop a fight from happening, all while trying to meet the female he apparently was connected to? That was a...recipe for disaster right there..

*She'll be at the Crystal Drop* the shadows informed him, and his heart gave a strange little clench at those words. He was...he was actually going to get to meet her. Tonight.

The feeling of excitement was back, rushing through him like a wildfire. But there was also a hint of trepidation, a hint of nervousness. What if he screwed it all up? What if he messed things up? His stomach was suddenly full of butterflies.

Azriel didn't have time to dwell on those thoughts, though, as the shadows gave him a little nudge forward again, all but forcing him to start moving towards the tavern.

He could see it in the distance, the sign proclaiming it as “Crystal Drop”. It...it was right there. She was there... 

Taking a deep breath, he headed towards the bar, his heart pounding in his chest with every step that he took closer to the entrance. Gods, his hands were shaking. 

He was nervous. He couldn’t even remember the last time he was

He entered the tavern, and his eyes automatically went to the crowd, searching for...something.

The shadows let him towards a place in a corner where he could view the whole bar and he ordered a single fireale, because he was not getting drunk. He wanted his wits about him when he met her. 

But right now…right now, Azriel settled in to watch.

He watched the crowd, his eyes roving around, searching the whole tavern once again. He just wanted to know where the group was. He wanted to know where...she was.

*Do you see her, Master?* the shadows asked him, nearly teasingly.

*I have absolutely no clue how she looks, so how should I?* he gave back in a growl. The door opened and he watched as a group of females poured in...and then right there at the edges of that group...

His breath caught in his throat as his eyes fell on her, and...oh.

Between one blink and the next everything changed. A golden bond unfurled in his chest, connecting him to her.

Her.

He knew it.

She was his mate.

Mine. He whispered in his head, barely more than a thought. He knew it with every fiber of his being, every part of his heart.

He took her in hungrily. 

She was so beautiful. So, so beautiful. Azriel had to physically restrain himself from going over to her right then and there. 

He could hardly breathe. He couldn't form a coherent thought. His whole world had suddenly narrowed to the sight in front of her. His mate.

*Master?* There was alarm in the shadows voices as his breathing became near erratic.

*She's...You found my mate,* he said weakly.

The shadows hummed in confirmation and his eyes were glued to her still, drinking her in. She had long brown hair with soft curls, falling over back, bangs framing a rounded face with high cheekbones and plump cheeks...full rosy lips too and adorable freckles dotting over her nose...

She was the most beautiful being he had ever seen.  She was simply...stunning. 

And mine, he thought to himself. She was his. She was his mate.

He didn't even look at the rest of the group. Just focused on the one...the one who was at the edge of the group, seemingly trying to vanish, to become invisible. 

Even from the distance, Azriel could see the tension in his mate’s form. He frowned slightly at that. He didn't like it, seeing her like that.

He...his instincts were starting to kick in, a soft, protective urge rising up in him. He wanted to go to her, to...to stand by her side and ease away whatever was bothering her. But he stayed rooted to the spot, just...just watching her. Just watching his mate, the sight of her soothing every single little part of him until he felt warm all over.

He let the group settle at a table a few feet away from him, forcing himself to look down on the bottle in front of him and not stare at his mate like a total creep.

If he strained his ears, he could hear the whole conversation. Apparently it was his mate’s sisters Hen Party, the kind of celebration that some High Fae Females had before they got married.

Nice. Why not bring along your sister, when you were engaged to the guy that cheated with you on said sister?

The fact that his mate even came along into this bar that evening was probably a sign of how fucking nice she was. And Gods...no wonder his mate was so anxious...this whole thing was just...a disaster waiting to happen.

He glanced towards the group again, his attention once again immediately falling on his mate. He could see it, the small twitch of her fingers, the tightening of her lips...the small little things, and he felt his heart wrench at the sight.

She didn't talk. She was just sitting there silently, while the other females had a raucous conversation, that she wasn't part of. It made him bristle.

He didn't understand why they were doing that, why she wasn't a part of the conversation. She was right there. But they weren't listening, they weren't noticing her...or maybe they were ignoring her on purpose.

He...he didn't like it. He didn’t like it at all.  

Just minutes later, Azriel realised that he should have wished that they kept ignoring her.

Because Azriel was quite certain that he was going to slit his mate's sister's throat with Truthteller if she said one more word. 

The blonde, her sister, stared at his mate and this time a sharp, nasty smile curled on her lips. "Oh, what's the matter, little sister? Mad that I nabbed the male you were going to marry?" she taunted with a malicious grin. "I guess he just liked me better."

Azriel was so shocked that he could just sit there, staring. 

The other females laughed as the blonde continued, her lips curled in a sneer. "You should be happy for me, really," she said, her voice sugary sweet. "After all, you could never keep him happy. You've always been useless, haven't you?"

The comments made Azriel see red. What the hell was wrong with this female? Who treated their own sister like this? 

He had half a mind to go over there and wring her neck. 

*Don’t,* his shadows hissed. *You’ll make it worse.*

*Make it worse?! It can’t fucking get worse!* he hissed back. 

He itched to go over to the group, to protect his mate from these cruel, cruel words. 

*Yes, it can,* the shadows snapped. *What do you want to do? Massacre her sister right in front of her?!* Azriel growled under his breath. 

*Normally you are much more bloodthirsty,* he complained to the shadows. 

*You are the fucking spymaster. Act like it,* the shadows snapped. *You want us to make her sister’s life a misery? We’ll do it. We’ll do it and it will never be traced back to you. Besides, she deserves worse than a quick death.*

He clenched his teeth. 

The other females were laughing, but his mate...wasn't. She wasn't saying a single word, wasn't defending herself, wasn't saying anything. Just...just sitting there and taking the horrible abuse with a neutral, blank expression on her face.

"Cat got your tongue?" her sister asked her with a roll of her eyes. "I mean, it's not like you're good at talking, are you?" she asked her with a cruel little laugh. "Too bad for you that males want females that are able to have a conversation, not awkward little things who can't even speak when spoken to."

Azriel's body tensed as he listened to the words, every muscle coiled tight. It took every ounce of his control not to stride over to the group of females and punch her sister straight in the face. The only thing he wanted to do in that moment was to protect his mate.

The comment clearly found it's target, Azriel could see his mate flinch at the words, her face crumbling momentarily before it smoothed over into a neutral expression again. Gods...it must've hurt so badly to hear her sister speak to her like that…

*We’ll ruin her fucking life,* he vowed to the shadows. 

*Agreed, Master.”

Her sister rolled her eyes another time. "Come on, let's go," she told the other females. "You have the bill, don't you, Skylar?"

The words made Azriel snap. So the sister hadn't intended to even pay for her drinks in the first place? It was…they had just used her, he realised suddenly. Used her for the first stop on their tavern tour, to pick up the drink tab…and that was all she was good for in their eyes…

It was...Azriel couldn't stand by and watch this anymore, it made him so angry. So fucking furious.

"Ye...yes," his mate stuttered.

She looked so small in that moment, her eyes averted, her shoulders slumped, her hands trembling. She looked...wounded, so hurt, and Azriel was...he was sick of seeing her just accept this verbal abuse without a word. 

They left. They should thank the cauldron that they left at that moment, because otherwise Azriel would have made Cassian at his worst look like a puppy.

He wanted to storm after them, to give every single person in the group a piece of his mind, but that could wait. The most important thing right now was his mate. She was still here, after all. Azriel took a deep breath, and slowly, almost hesitantly walked towards her.

He watched as she didn't move, and he finally decided to speak, his voice a low, soft murmur. "Mind if I sit here?" he asked, gesturing to the chair beside her.

Her head turned, and he felt his heart stop as her eyes met his for the first time. Up close, her eyes were...mesmerizing. A deep, sparkling blue, framed by long, lush eyelashes. He couldn't look away from her.

And she stared at him, her mouth slightly open, her eyes near comically wide.

He gave her a soft, slow smile. "Hi," he greeted her, his voice gentle. She blinked a few times, still staring at him, and he found it so cute, how shocked she was that he was talking to her. 

Her mouth opened but no words came out. She was staring at him like a poor bunny rabbit would at an apex predator , caught in his grasp.

For just a moment her scent went utterly haywire.

Caramel and Hazelnuts. So sugary sweet that he would have gladly rolled around in it. And she just stared at him, wide eyed, silent...until suddenly the scent changed to incadescent happiness.

"Oh." A small sound escaped her as she swallowed.

And he knew. He knew at that moment that the bond had just snapped for her.

[pinkmoontaco]

It all started at a Set || KMG Pt.1

Pairing: Actor-Idol Mingyu x Actress-Idol Reader Genre: Fluff, Idol romance Summary: This story is a heartwarming slow-burn romance between Mingyu and Y/N, a senior idol. It begins with them being cast as co-stars in a drama where their contrasting personalities—Mingyu’s vibrant, outgoing nature and Y/N’s reserved, composed demeanor—become the catalyst for an unexpected connection. Throughout their journey, they face professional challenges, emotional conflicts, and growing feelings for one another. Author's Note: This is the second story of my series, "It All Started..." As I was writing, the story evolved into something much bigger than I initially imagined, so I decided to divide it into three parts to give it the attention and depth it deserves. To everyone who has supported my series so far, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your encouragement and feedback have been a driving force behind my writing, and I can’t wait to hear your thoughts on this part of the story. Stay tuned, because there’s so much more to come, and I promise the journey will only get more exciting from here. Thank you for being part of this adventure with me—I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed creating it! Part one _ Part two _ Part three

If you have any requests for any member or any other groups feel free to do so

Mingyu wasn’t sure what prompted him to accept the role this time. At first, it seemed like any other offer—another chance to showcase a different side of himself. But something about the script resonated with him on a deeper level. The character's struggle to balance vulnerability and strength mirrored his own challenges in navigating fame. He felt an unspoken connection to the story, as if it was calling him to confront parts of himself, he had kept hidden. Perhaps that’s why, despite his initial doubts, he agreed to take the leap. Maybe it was the persistent urging of his members, maybe it was his own curiosity, or maybe, just maybe, it was the script that had managed to tug at something deep within him. Either way, he found himself on the set of "Between Us," his first lead role in a drama, both nervous and excited.

The buzz around the project had been immediate, not just because of Mingyu but because of his co-star. Y/N, a senior idol, had been cast as the female lead. She was a name that carried weight in the industry—the leader of her group, a revered idol with an aura of mystery. Known for her icy demeanor and guarded nature, she seemed to embody mystery and restraint, creating an intriguing contrast to Mingyu’s radiant, extroverted charm. While her reserved nature drew admiration, it also set the stage for a fascinating interplay with Mingyu’s infectious energy, sparking curiosity about how their opposite temperaments might evolve together. It was a pairing that intrigued fans and critics alike.

When they met for the first table read, Mingyu was struck by how composed she was. She greeted him with a polite nod, her expression unreadable. Mingyu, ever the extrovert, tried to break the ice with a joke.

“Looks like we’re going to be spending a lot of time together,” he said, his signature grin in place. “I hope you’re ready for my bad jokes.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of a smile playing at her lips. “I’ll brace myself,” she replied coolly before turning her attention to the script.

From that moment on, their interactions were polite but distant. On set, Mingyu would try to engage her in conversation, but Y/N kept her responses short. It wasn’t that she was rude; she just seemed... guarded. Mingyu couldn’t help but be intrigued. What was she hiding behind that composed facade?

As the weeks went by, they began filming scenes that required emotional depth and vulnerability. The plot of "Between Us" revolved around two people who initially clashed but slowly fell in love as they unraveled each other’s secrets. The parallels between the characters and their real-life dynamics didn’t escape Mingyu.

One evening, after a particularly intense scene, Mingyu found Y/N sitting alone by the set, her gaze fixed on the horizon. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the scene.

“Hey,” Mingyu said, approaching cautiously. “You okay?”

Y/N glanced at him, her expression softening slightly. “I’m fine. Just... thinking.”

Mingyu sat down beside her, leaving a respectful distance between them. “You were amazing in that scene,” he said sincerely. “I felt like I was watching your character come to life.”

She looked at him, surprise flickering in her eyes. “Thank you. You did well too.”

It was the first time she’d offered him a genuine compliment, and Mingyu felt a small thrill of accomplishment. They sat in silence for a while, watching the sky change colors.

“Do you ever get tired?” Y/N asked suddenly. “Of being... this?”

Mingyu frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Of always being expected to be perfect. To smile, to perform, to never let your guard down,” she explained, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mingyu thought for a moment before replying. “Sometimes. But I think it’s okay to not be perfect. People connect with us because of our flaws, not despite them.”

Y/N looked at him, her expression unreadable once more. But something shifted that day. She began to open up, little by little. Mingyu learned that behind her icy exterior was someone who cared deeply about her members, someone who carried the weight of leadership with grace but also with a heavy heart.

The rest of the cast and crew began to notice the change in their dynamic. During breaks, they often saw Mingyu and Y/N sharing quiet conversations or laughing at inside jokes. One day, a crew member walked in on Mingyu patiently teaching Y/N a card game to pass the time, his enthusiasm contagious as Y/N, known for her reserved nature, playfully accused him of cheating.

“Cheating? Me?” Mingyu feigned shock, placing a hand on his chest. “I’m wounded, Y/N. Truly.”

“Wounded or not, you’re still losing,” Y/N shot back with a rare grin.

Another time, during a particularly chilly outdoor shoot, a makeup artist caught Mingyu draping his jacket over Y/N’s shoulders without a word, brushing off her protests with a casual, “You’ll catch a cold.”

The director, amused by their growing rapport, once joked, “If you two don’t win Best Couple at the year-end awards, I’ll be writing to the network myself.”

Even the extras started to notice their synergy, with one commenting during lunch, “Their chemistry isn’t just acting—it’s real.” Mingyu’s consistent warmth and Y/N’s subtle but significant thawing became a favorite topic of conversation among the crew, adding a special layer of excitement to the production. The once distant co-stars were now sharing inside jokes, supporting each other through difficult scenes, and even eating meals together during breaks. Mingyu’s patience and warmth had managed to crack Y/N’s walls, and she, in turn, became a grounding presence for him.

The turning point came during a particularly grueling shoot. It was a night scene set in the rain, with both leads expected to deliver emotionally charged performances. As Y/N sprinted down the wet pavement for a pivotal chase sequence, her ankle twisted, sending her collapsing onto the ground mid-scene. The crew froze, and for a moment, the only sound was the rain hammering down. Mingyu, standing nearby, dropped his prop and sprinted to her side.

“Cut!” the director shouted, but Mingyu was already kneeling beside Y/N, his voice tinged with panic. “Are you okay? Does it hurt a lot?”

Y/N tried to sit up, brushing off the mud on her hands. “I’m fine,” she said through gritted teeth, though the pain was evident in her eyes.

“No, you’re not,” Mingyu said firmly, his worry overriding his usual easygoing demeanor. He gestured for the on-set medic, his brows furrowed in concern. “You need to rest. This isn’t something to push through.”

Despite her protests, Mingyu carefully helped her to a nearby chair, his hand steady on her arm. His genuine concern was clear, and the crew exchanged knowing glances, murmuring about how protective he had become of her. In that moment, something shifted—not just between their characters, but in their real relationship as well.

The injury had forced Y/N to take it slow, and Mingyu took it upon himself to help her. He’d show up to set early to make sure the path was clear for her crutches, brought her snacks during breaks, and even offered to rehearse lines with her to save her unnecessary movement.

“You’re going to spoil me,” Y/N said one day, watching as Mingyu carefully adjusted her chair.

“Maybe,” Mingyu replied with a grin. “But I don’t mind.”

As “Between us” progressed, the romantic tension between Mingyu and Y/N on-screen began to mirror their growing connection off-screen. Their characters, who started out as strangers, gradually developed a deep emotional bond, with Mingyu’s warmth gradually melting Y/N’s cool exterior.

One evening, during a late-night shoot, the scene called for a quiet, intimate moment at the café. Mingyu’s character, Jae-min, had just confessed his feelings to Y/N’s character, Seo-yeon. The air was thick with tension as their eyes met, both characters hesitant yet longing.

“Are you sure you want this?” Jae-min asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as he reached out to gently touch Seo-yeon’s hand.

Y/N, as Seo-yeon, looked at him, her expression unreadable, before slowly nodding. “I don’t know, but I’m willing to try.”

In the next moment, Jae-min leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips, a gentle but tender kiss filled with the promise of something new. The director yelled “Cut!” immediately after the kiss, but both actors were left momentarily frozen, caught in the vulnerability of the moment.

Mingyu quickly stepped back, awkwardly scratching his head. “Uh, sorry, was that too much?”

Y/N, for the first time in a while, let out a soft laugh, something that startled Mingyu. “No, it was good,” she said quietly, her cheeks flushed. “You just… surprised me, I guess.”

That night, as they wrapped up filming, Mingyu couldn’t stop thinking about how natural the kiss had felt—how it wasn’t just an act but something real that he had experienced with her. Y/N, despite her usually cool demeanor, had shown a glimmer of warmth, and it left Mingyu wondering if the lines between their characters were blurring.

The next scene that stood out was a pivotal moment in the drama, where Jae-min (Mingyu’s character) confesses his love for Seo-yeon (Y/N’s character) during a stormy night. They were supposed to be alone in the café, the rain tapping against the window as Jae-min, drenched from the downpour, walked in to find Seo-yeon sitting by the window, gazing out at the rain.

“Seo-yeon,” Jae-min said, his voice shaking with emotion. “I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you. You’re the only one who sees me for who I really am.”

Seo-yeon turned to him, her eyes softening but still guarded. “But you know I’m not the person you think I am, right?”

The tension in the room was palpable as Jae-min walked toward her, his every step determined. “I don’t care,” he whispered, his face inches from hers. “I love you.”

The kiss that followed was more passionate, a moment of release for both characters. The scene was so intense that even the crew stayed silent as they filmed. When the director yelled “Cut,” both Mingyu and Y/N stood frozen in their positions, the chemistry between them undeniable.

During a break, Y/N walked off to the side, away from the set, clearly trying to collect herself after the emotional intensity of the kiss. Mingyu, sensing her discomfort, followed her quietly.

“Are you okay?” Mingyu asked softly, standing a few feet away.

Y/N paused, looking at him for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, just… it’s a lot sometimes, you know?” She shrugged. “This role is… difficult for me.”

Mingyu gave her a gentle smile. “You’re doing amazing. I can tell. I know acting can be hard, but you make it look effortless.”

Y/N looked at him, her walls slowly starting to crack. “Thanks, Mingyu,” she said quietly, her tone sincere.

As she turned back to the set, Mingyu watched her, his heart unexpectedly racing. They might have started out as strangers, but something was beginning to stir between them, something neither of them had anticipated.

One of the final scenes in the drama was another intimate moment between Jae-min and Seo-yeon. The two characters had gone through their fair share of struggles, and in this scene, they finally gave in to their feelings for one another. The script called for a tender, lingering kiss under the moonlight, where Jae-min pulls Seo-yeon into his arms as they both acknowledge their deep connection.

As the cameras rolled, the chemistry between Mingyu and Y/N was undeniable. The kiss was gentle at first, with both characters hesitant, but as the scene progressed, their passion deepened. Their lips met in a slow, sweet kiss that was both vulnerable and full of longing, capturing the emotional weight of everything their characters had been through.

When the director finally called “Cut,” the entire set seemed to hold its breath. Y/N, who had usually kept a distance from Mingyu, seemed to soften in his arms, the connection between them palpable even off-camera.

During the next break, Mingyu found himself sitting next to Y/N, who had become noticeably more relaxed around him since their first interactions. They were both exhausted from the intense filming, but the mood between them was no longer cold.

“I didn’t know acting could be like this,” Mingyu admitted, his voice low. “It’s… more than just saying lines. It feels real.”

Y/N looked at him thoughtfully. “Yeah, it’s like… you let yourself be vulnerable for a moment.” She paused, then added, “You’re a good actor, Mingyu.”

Her words caught him off guard. He smiled, not able to hide his feelings anymore. “Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.”

There was a comfortable silence between them, and for the first time, Mingyu felt a genuine sense of connection to Y/N—not just as his co-star, but as someone who understood the depth of their roles and the emotions they had shared through their characters.

One memorable day, they filmed a scene where their characters shared their first kiss under a canopy of stars. The setup was breathtaking—fairy lights hanging from the trees, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves, and the soft strumming of a guitar playing in the background.

Between takes, Mingyu leaned over with a grin. “They really went all out for this, huh?”

Y/N glanced around, her lips twitching into a rare smile. “It’s beautiful. Almost makes you forget we’ve been here for hours.”

The scene required them to hold hands, exchange lingering gazes, and lean into a kiss that felt as natural as breathing. When the director finally called, “Cut!” he looked up from the monitor and clapped. “That was perfect! The chemistry was off the charts.”

Another day, they filmed a playful sequence where their characters spent an afternoon at a seaside carnival. From riding the Ferris wheel to playing ring toss, the scenes were filled with laughter and lighthearted moments. While filming a shot where Mingyu’s character won a giant stuffed bear for Y/N’s character, he jokingly handed it to her and said, “This is the closest you’ll get to me spoiling you in real life.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “I’ll cherish it forever,” she quipped, hugging the bear dramatically.

The most challenging yet rewarding scene to film came toward the end of the drama, where their characters finally confessed their feelings after a heated argument. The emotions ran high, and even the crew found themselves holding their breath as Mingyu and Y/N brought the raw vulnerability of their characters to life. By the time the director called cut, there was a moment of stunned silence before the set erupted into applause.

“You really outdid yourselves,” the director said, visibly moved. “This is the kind of performance that stays with people.”

Through these scenes, their bond grew stronger. Whether it was the stolen glances that felt too real or the way they naturally gravitated toward each other during breaks, it was clear to everyone that something special was blooming between them.

[twice-inamillion]

OC’s Birthday Part 1

Smut (Birthday sex, Anal, Creampie, Deep Penetration, Fingering, Teasing, Squirting, Slight Scissoring, Ahegao)

Chapter 239

Words: 3,680

(The members reward you with a special birthday present after being away for so long. Some rewarding you earlier than others.) 

You’re deep asleep after caring for the children most of the day. Suddenly you sense something climbing up onto your bed. You slowly open your eyes, see a silhouette, and say, “Jihyo?”

 A hand covers your mouth as the silhouette approaches towards you, “It’s midnight, Happy Birthday, babe.”

You move your hand, “hey, what’s going on?”

“Came here to give you an early birthday present,” as she removes her night blouse, revealing her large breasts. “I know how pent up you’ve been, and you've been a really good boy” as she starts to unbutton your sleeping shorts.

“Wow, just a few touches, and it's already leaking? You must have had a hard time while we were gone, but don't worry, I will fix you right up.”

Jihyo doesn't need to grab your cock as it stands hard and ready to go. She licks the side of your shaft, going around it until it's completely covered with her saliva.

She sees your cock twitch, releasing a bit of precum, “Baby, don't worry, I'm going to make sure you have a chance to explode inside of me,” and continues to play with your cock using her mouth. 

“Jihyo, please let me put it in…”

“Aww, baby, it's cute seeing you whine.” Jihyo enjoys seeing you this vulnerable and thinks to herself before saying, “If you hold on for this one round, I'll let you put it in my ass.”

Really?”

“Yes, really.” Jihyo enjoys seeing your reaction. She typically doesn't do anal but wants to do something special for your birthday. 

Jihyo positions herself better and presses her breasts together, “Are you ready for your Birthday Boobjob?”

Like a hungry idiot, you drool at the sight of your cock in between Jihyo's massive tits. She uses the milk from her tits as lube and covers your length with it. 

“Hmm, I taste good. No wonder you like sucking on my tits, babe.”

You try your best to hold on as you watch Jihyo chokes your cock with her tits. Her brown areolas leak her precious white substance every time she pushes them together. 

“Fuck, I want to cum so bad…”

“You like my tits that much? Or are you that backed up?”

“Both. I miss playing and sucking on your tits. I miss how they would bounce as you would ride me.” 

Jihyo enjoys hearing you compliment her body, and increases the pace of her boobjob. She wants to see you cum, see you in your weakest state.

“Fuck… I feel like I’m going to cum…”

Jihyo grins at the idea of making you cum. “Aww, that’s too bad. You could of had fucked me in my ass.” 

You see her increase the pace when more, wanting to make you cum and cover her breast with your baby batter. Instead, you hold on as much as you can, “No, I can make it!”

After a minute of pure hell, Jihyo finally stops. Her tits are completely red from rubbing against your cock and her tits against each other. 

She gives you an annoyed look of not making you cum with her tits. Jihyo was sure that she could make you cum after abstaining from sex. She knows she can’t make an excuse after promising the use of her ass and musters up the courage, “Alright, a deal is a deal.” 

You can’t help but smile as Jihyo climbs on top of you. She grabs a bottle of lube and pours a good amount on your cock. “Good thing I brought some.” 

With a couple of strokes on your cock she makes sure to cover it full of lube. Jihyo lifts herself, only a few inches away from your cock, “Ready for my ass?”

“Yes… I want it…”

Jihyo grabs your length and aligns it towards her pucker hole. She slowly presses the tip against her entrance and takes a deep breath. 

Both your hearts pound rapidly at the sight and feeling of Jihyo's ass. Jihyo still groans while her ass gets stretched, “Ahh fuck…” 

“Fuck Jihyo, you're so tight.”

She pulls your cock out and pours some lube to make it easier for her. She inserts your cock back in, her walls clench onto your cock as it moves. 

“Fuck… so tight! 

You grab one of her breasts and take it into your mouth. 

“You really like my tits, huh.”

There's no need for an answer as you begin to suckle, milk running down your throat. 

Jihyo slowly begins to ride you, focusing on you sucking her tit rather than the weird sensation of your cock in her ass. 

After some adjustment, Jihyo increases the pace, “Babe, you're so big… you're scraping my insides real good.” 

You grab her hips and hold her still, letting her feel your cock throb inside of her. “You like that? Feeling my throbbing cock inside of your tight ass?”

Yes… you're stretching me up so much…” 

You feel her walls clench tightly onto your cock and decide to have a bit of fun. 

“Let's switch positions; I want to get a better view.”

Jihyo slowly lifts her body and tries to pull herself off your length. You hear a loud pop as she pulls herself out. 

“Get on all fours, I'm going to fuck you from the back.”

With Jihyo's semi-gaped asshole, you spread her ass even further, “Fuck, your ass looks so good. I'm going to fuck you real rough.”

“It's your birthday, do whatever you want…”

With Jihyo's green light, you smack her ass with your cock, smearing it with your precum. You spread her ass cheeks and give it a nice slap, causing Jihyo to yelp.

“I'm going to put my weight on you and start right away so try to relax.”

“Okay, I'm ready.”

You pour some lube and, press your mushroom tip against her pucker hole and slowly insert. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“I'm going to go in.”

Jihyo grabs tightly onto the bed sheets, ready for you to slam yourself inside of her. She closes her eyes and yelps when you press your whole body onto her, “Oh fuck!! Your cock is reaching so deep inside of me! Fuck fuck fuck!!” her ass clenching your cock.

With your body on top of Jihyo, you begin to thrust in a slow but rough manner. The only noises you hear are the heavy breathing from Jihyo and the sound of flesh hitting against each other.

The sounds of Jihyo’s moans fill the air, the smell of her sweet scent and her burning skin on yours. “Lift your head up; I want to see your face.”

Jihyo nods her face against the pillow. 

“Come on, I want to look at you.” Jihyo slowly turns her head, and you see her in a complete mess. Her eyes were completely red, with tears running down and drool dripping from her mouth. 

“You said you didn’t like anal, but from your reaction, you’ve been lying, huh. Look at you, looking like a cock hungry slut.” 

She nods her head in agreement, “cum… cum inside of me please…”

“Get up, I want you to see your own reaction as I pump you full of cum.” 

With the both of you still attached, you make your way down the bed and in front of the large mirror by the bathroom. Jihyo tries to stand upright but stumbles, forcing you to make sure she does not fall. You place your camera against the mirror and say, “Look at yourself, a complete mess. You act all tough, but in reality, you’re just a cock hungry slut. I remember you always begging me to cum inside of you, even to the point of getting you pregnant. What are people going to think if they saw you like this?”

Jihyo looks at the camera in a euphoric state and says, “You’re right, I’m a cock hungry slut. I can’t stop thinking of your cock, not after our first time. I don’t care what people think, fuck them. I only want your cock and that baby batter of yours.” 

“Like a true slut… What about making one more?”

Jihyo’s eyes shine, and she looks at the camera, “Breed me, get me pregnant through all my holes.” In a tender voice, she apologizes, “I’m sorry, baby, but Daddy and I decided to give you another brother or sister, so do your best and be a good older sister.”

Jihyo raises both hands and does a set of peace signs as she clenches her walls around your cock. With Jihyo acting like a cock hungry slut you pull out your cock and, in one go, slam it back inside in full force. Jihyo’s eyes roll back, her tongue completely out as you shoot thick ropes of hot cum inside her ass.

 “Fuck!!!” 

Jihyo’s legs go numb, all her energy gone in one go. You hear a loud pop as you easily pull out your cock from Jihyo’s ass. 

You see Jihyo completely gaped, your cum pouring out and onto the bathroom floor. 

“Fuck, look at that gaped ass,” giving her ass a slap.

“Happy Birthday, babe.” 

—————

Momo wakes up early in the morning and walks towards Sana's room to wake her up. 

“Sana, wake up.”

Sana turns over, “Momo, what time is it?”

“I don’t know but just before sunrise. You ready?”

Rubbing her eyes, she says, “Is it time already?”

“Yeah, let’s wake up, Mina.” 

“Okay.” 

The two of them head to Mina’s room and slowly enter. They gently nudge Mina’s shoulder, “Mina, wake up, it’s time.” 

She slowly opens one eye and looks at her older members who are standing in front of her. “The girls had a hard time sleeping; I’m tired. Just do it without me.” She turns back and covers herself with the bedsheet.

Momo looks at Sana, “I guess it’s just us two.” 

“I guess so. Let's change in my room.”

With the both of them in Sana’s room, Momo hands her a pair of lingerie she bought a few weeks back, “What do you think?”

“Looks cute.”

“Put it on. I want to see how it looks on you.”

Sana, excited, starts to undress and puts on the sexy lingerie, “Momo-ya, you’re naughty,” pointing out at the slits in between the lingerie. 

“Looks good on you.” 

“You think?”

“Yeah, you have an amazing body.”

This causes Sana to blush, “Haha, you have a sexy body too. Try yours on.” 

Momo drops her skimpy shorts and takes off her oversized shirt, revealing her toned body. She puts on the lingerie, “what do you think?”

Sana grins, “You’re so sexy, Momo-ya, I would totally fuck you if I was a guy.” Sana talks up to Momo and inserts her fingers in between the slit, and grabs Momo’s nipple, pulling it. 

“Sana, save it for later…” causing Momo to moan slightly.

“Okay.”

The two of them go over their plan and decide to surprise you now before any of the other members wake up. They head towards your room and slowly turn the door knob. They see you sleeping alone, semi-naked, and only with your boxers on.

Both Momo and Sana look at each other, nodding at their plan. They stand in front of you, Sana inserting her hand between the slit of your boxers and pulling out your limp cock. She grins at Momo and strokes your cock gently, pulling your foreskin to reveal your mushroom tip. 

“Good morning, little guy. We’re going to have fun with you.”

——

You’re tired from the session with Jihyo, so try to catch some sleep before your busy morning. You have errands to run with Dahyun for most of the day so any chance to rest is welcomed.

You are sleeping comfortably when you suddenly feel pressure on both your chest and lower area. You slowly open your eyes and see a dark figure on top of you and ask, “who is it?”

“It's me, silly.”

With your hand, you turn on the light next to your bed and see Sana sitting on your midsection. “What are you doing here?”

With a gentle smile she replies, “We came to give you a surprise.”

“We?”

“Momo and I.”

Sana tilts to the side, allowing you to see Momo on the end of the bed. 

“Hello there, birthday boy. Ready for your gift?”

“Wait… gift…” You are cut off mid-sentence as Momo grabs your cock and inserts most of it down her throat. 

Sana works her way up to your chest, just below your neck, and says, “Make sure to enjoy your meal,” before placing her cunt on your face. 

With her folds against your nose and face you get a sweet but faint whiff of her lower mouth. She grinds her cunt and says, “Make sure to drink all my honey,” as you feel her thick liquid running towards your mouth.

There’s no chance to think as her nectar oozes from your lips and onto your mouth. With just a drop of her sweet nectar you’re hooked and decide to go straight for the source. 

“Ahh, ahh… don’t be so impatient, there’s always more from where that came from,” as she feels your tongue penetrates her honeypot. 

On the other end of the bed, Momo is busy bobbing her head. She switches from having your cock down her throat to licking your balls and shaft.

“Your cock is nice and hard, it's ready for the main event.” 

Just like Sana, she mounts you, smacking your cock against her stomach. Momo holds it firmly and lifts herself, tracing the tip of your cock against her wet folds.

Momo's love nectar drips onto the tip of your cock, showing how hungry her cunt is to eat you whole. 

Having no more patience, Momo presses her lower lips against your cock before falling onto your cock. 

“Ahh fuck!!!”

You hit the end of Momo's womb, her walls clenching onto your cock tightly. You feel Momo's body tremble from the sudden shock of getting internally stabbed by your massive length. 

“I love the feeling of getting my pussy ruined by your cock. I'm going to enjoy it and milk you for all you're worth.”

— — —

You feel like you're in heaven as you get pleasured from both sides. With the constant supply of sweet nectar running down your throat and the internal massage from Momo's womb, you feel like you're getting spoiled really well on your birthday.

“You two know how to pleasure a guy.”

“It's your birthday; of course, we'll spoil you rotten, baby.”

“Yeah, like Sana said. Plus, I'm returning the favor from when you gave me my gift,” grins Momo.

You spend yourself in heaven for who knows how long. It wasn't until you found yourself getting soaked by Sana's love juices that you came back to reality. 

“Baby, I'm cumming!! Ahh… make sure to drink all my love juice.”

A heavy stream of love juice splashes over your face. You try to drink all of it when you feel a sudden tightening of Momo’s walls on your cock. “Momo, you’re going to make me cum!”

”That’s the plan. Dump all your cum inside me.” She places her hands on your midsection and lifts herself just enough for the tip of your cock to remain inside. ”Come on, oppa, fill my cum hungry cunt with your yummy cum” and slams herself once more.

”Fuck, if you want it so much, here, take all of it!” 

Momo immediately feels your cock throbbing as it releases a hot stream of cum into her fertile womb. She places her hand on her belly, feeling your cum pumping into her deepest parts.

”Ahh yes… that’s it. I love this feeling.”

The three of you rest and try to catch your breath. The two members look at each other and nod, mounting themselves off of you. 

“Wow, oppa, you came so much.”

”Unnie, let me see.”

Momo slowly spread her legs up, showing both of you the large amount of cum oozing out of her. 

Sana slowly creeps towards Momo and says, “Aww, I’m jealous. I want some, too.” She traces her finger against Momo’s leaking lips, collecting the cum that’s oozing out of her, “Yum…”

Sana moves in close with her head right next to Momo’s cunt. She looks at Momo, who's biting her lip at how close Sana is to her leaking pussy.

Momo makes eye contact with Sana before she dives in and licks the cum that's running out of her. 

“Ahh… Sana, what are you doing?”

“The honey between your legs looks so good, I couldn't help but want a taste.”

You couldn't believe your eyes, you knew they wanted to spoil you, but this might be one of their best presents. 

You watch as Momo uses her fingers to spread her folds, letting Sana get a better view of your baby batter coming out of her. Sana doesn't wait and goes in for Momo, putting her mouth on Momo's cunt and makes out with it. 

Seeing both of them enjoying themselves makes you both jealous and hard. With Sana's ass sticking up, you decide to join them. 

Momo watches up and smiles as you get behind Sana. 

“I want to join the both of you,” you say as you align your length against Sana's folds. 

“Of course, join us,” replies Momo.

Sana is too busy collecting your baby batter with her mouth to answer, so you decide to get her attention. With your cock alongside her entrance, you place your hand on her back and insert the tip. 

“Oppa, wait, I'm not ready,” whines Sana, but it's too late. By the time she responds, she feels your cock hit the end of her womb. 

She coughs as you thrust rapidly, trying to catch her breath from the sudden shock. 

“Ahh… ahh… you're so big, you're stretching me so much!”

Excited by the sight in front of her, Momo decides to hold Sana’s head, preventing her from moving. With her head against Momo's oozing cunt she continues to eat her out. 

You give Sana a firm ass slap and thrust slowly inside of her. Momo plays with her tits, enjoying the view. 

With stimulation from both sides, she can feel her womb dropping, signaling its desire to get fertilized. 

“Babe, cum inside me too. I don't want to be left out.” She shakes her cute bottom, begging for you to shoot your baby batter inside her. 

“Do you want it that bad?”

”Yes! I need it. Please…”

You pull your cock out and slap it against her ass cheek before inserting it again. With your cock in an angle, you scrape her walls with the tip, causing Sana to tremble. “Ahh… yes. Just like that!”

You grab both of Sana’s arms, leaving her upper body hovering in the air, and begin to thrust rapidly. 

“Ahh… ahhh…”

Momo inserts her fingers back inside her cunt, biting her lip as she watches her younger member getting fucked rapidly in front of her. 

“Fuck her harder, oppa.”

You watch Momo fingering herself while looking at the two of you, making you get turned on even more. You get a better grip on Sana and switch to a slow but rough thrusting. 

“How do you like that Sana?”

”I…I love it,” says Sana. She tries to keep her composure but can’t, as she drools from the pleasure. 

Suddenly, you feel Sana’s body tremble, “Ahh, oppa… I’m cumming!”

You let your left hand go and wrap your arm across her chest and release your right hand, moving towards her cunt. 

“Ahh, what are you doing?” asks Sana as she feels your fingers playing with her clit. She stiffens up when she feels her orgasm arriving and shouts, “Oppa, fuck!!!” 

Sana gets embarrassed knowing that Momo is watching her having an orgasm and is masturbating to it. She spasms, her breathing becoming heavy as she hovers in the air.

As her orgasm ends, her body becomes heavy, barely able to keep her head up from running out of energy. Instead, you bring her closer to you, her back against your chest, and whisper, “You did a great job. Now, for your reward.” 

Sana’s eyes go wide when she feels you pull out and slam yourself back inside with no warning. “Here’s your reward!”

A wave of cum rushes from my balls toward the tip of my cock and, like a fire hydrant, gushes out and fills Sana’s womb. You feel her walls tightening, remembering the familiar taste of the strong and healthy baby batter. 

With a large amount of cum which makes Sana look like she has a swollen belly, she falls onto the bed. Momo makes her way towards her, teasing her on her bulging belly. 

“Alight, I need to get ready, so I’m going to head into the shower.” 

“Okay, we’re tired, so we’ll just stay here for a bit,” replies Momo.

You head to the bathroom and take a quick shower, knowing that your time with Momo and Sana might have made you late. You quickly get out of the shower and stumble on the two of them in a scissoring position, collecting the runway cum and shoving it back inside their cunts. 

“That’s hot. Should I join?”

”Come and …” 

*Knock knock*

”Oppa, it's me, Dahyun. Are you ready?”

The two members cover their mouths, trying to avoid getting caught by Dahyun. 

“I just finished taking a shower. Give me five more minutes, and I’ll be out.”

”Kay.”

You rush and get dressed, and the other two just watch and laugh at you, panicking. “Oppa, don’t forget your pants.”

”Unless you want to go out like that, haha.”

With you gone, the two pull out their phones and take a selfie while wearing one of your shirts. 

[stevie-petey]

episode three: the monster and the superhero

“Breaking and entering into the school to retrieve confidential and extremely personal files.” You wince. It’s as bad as it sounds. Tapping Dustin’s shoulder, you break him away from the walkie. “Wait, we won’t need my files, right?” Steve eyes you up and down, shrugging indifferently. “Well–” Hitting his chest, he sputters at you. “Why do you keep doing that?” “You’re not reading my files, Harrington.”

Summary: you and steve can never have a normal conversation, dustin threatens nasa, eddie sadly eats his cereal because youre mean to him, youre once again nancys biggest fan, dustin and steve have an awkward heart to heart, and you and max become felons together and trauma bond (again) !

Rating: general, some swearing

Warnings: swearing, fem!reader, use of y/n, mentions of blood, trauma lol

Words: 13.5k

Before you swing in: hi hi hi !! so so so sorry for the wait. this chapter was a pain to write and i was so busy with school and work :( promise updates will become more regular soon. i was just simply in the trenches for a hot few weeks. things in the story are heatin up, so get ready gamers. anyways, enjoy !!

–

It’s quiet in Steve’s car. 

Streetlights glow faintly, lighting the way home. The windows are down; the thick late spring air fills the car with the bittersweet scent of honeysuckles in bloom. In the dim of the car lies Steve’s faint outline as he drives. His hands rest against the steering wheel, his chest rises slowly as he inhales all the fear that settles inside the car. 

No one speaks. The tension is suffocating you. 

In the backseat resides Robin with Dustin and Max. The oldest sits in the middle, her fingers drum nervously against the head of your seat. Dustin stares out the window, he hasn’t looked at you ever since promising Eddie you’d be back for him tomorrow. He hadn’t wanted to leave him, he begged you to let him stay in the boathouse, but you wouldn’t let him. 

Max stares out the other window. Her eyes are closed, she’s pretending to be asleep. You’ve come to learn what she looks like when she pretends. Her nose pinches slightly, her eyes can never stay still enough to convince you she’s asleep. It’s what she does whenever she doesn’t want to face your questions, your concerns and your fears. 

Tension builds in the back of your skull, a dull throb rings within your ears. Exhaustion washes over you, fear pierces her nails into your skin. You can’t get Eddie’s terrified eyes out of your head. The way his voice trembled, the sticky blood on his fingernails from the skin he picked at. 

If they’re back again, we need to know.

Vecna’s curse.

The static Eddie felt, Chrissy’s trance-like state. Her bones, the morbid angles they snapped. Barbara Holland, daughter and best friend. Bob Newby, superhero. Billy Hargrove, dearly missed son. Jim Hopper, renown chief and beloved father. 

You’re the best of them, kid.

If the gate really has opened once again… Thick molasses grief coats your tongue and fills your mouth with remorse. There has been so much loss, so many funerals you’ve had to attend. Too many bodies buried without answers, without closure. 

Over and over again. 

“We’re here, Robin.” The gravel of Steve’s voice cuts through the endless dread. He parks the car in front of her driveway, the lights are off inside and you know that Robin is afraid of the dark.

“Need me to walk you in?” You ask her, quiet, but unyielding with all the love you have for her. 

She shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. I’m brave, aren't I always brave?”

“The bravest,” Steve smiles at her, soft and unbroken. “Get some sleep, yeah?”

“I’ll… I’ll try.” Her facade slips, the fear that grips everyone tightens its hold. How could anyone sleep at a time like this? She shakes her head again, her smile returns, albeit forced, tired. Then she messily crawls over Dustin to exit the car, ignoring his cries of annoyance and pain when her elbow catches his ribs. “Sorry, little Henderson!”

“I don’t even let Steve call me that–”

“Too late, I’ve already decided to call you little Henderson,” Robin climbs out the car, lands with a soft thud on the pavement. She shuts the door with a glint in her eyes before poking her head through your passenger window. “Hey, uh. Y/N?” Her voice drops low, her eyes skirt to Steve, whose cool gaze meets her weary one. Robin clears her throat, you nod your head at her with slight concern. You know that she knows about your argument with Steve. He adores her, what he doesn’t confide in you, he confides in her. Knowing that Robin means well, you soften your voice. “Yeah?”

Robin hesitates, caught between her two favorite people in the entire world. Steve sees her hesitancy and sighs, turning away to provide some semblance of privacy. Relieved, Robin ducks her head down and whispers into your ear, “Talk to him.”

She’s gone before you can exhale. 

Steve starts the car again after Robin has safely made it inside her home. Max and Dustin are quiet in the backseat. As Steve drives, his fingers absentmindedly play with the frayed edges of his leather bracelet. It had been a gift from you, the word constants etched into the material. 

Constants. You were Steve’s constant, he was yours. Through everything you’ve been through together, all the heartbreak suffered in order to fall into one another, he’s the constant within your life. 

Now you’re afraid that you’re losing him. 

There’s still so much Steve doesn’t know. There are stories about your father that you still need to tell him about. Words Jonathan told you last night, the dangerous what if he brought into your life. You’re terrified of how Steve will react, he’s always been so trusting of you and Jonathan even after knowing the history you share. 

And yet Steve also doesn’t know that the future you see involves him, that he’s in it with as much certainty as the sky is blue; you just don’t know how to tell him this, how to articulate the abandonment that sits heavy within your chest that prohibits you from getting what you want in the end.

You have to talk to him. Steve deserves to know everything, all he’s ever asked of you is to be honest with him. 

The broken lamppost in front of Max’s trailer greets you. Steve slows the car, puts it into park. His eyes find hers in the rearview mirror. “This is you, Mayfield.”

“Thanks,” Max responds quietly. She goes to open the car door, but you turn in your seat and stop her. 

“Hey, look at me.” Your tone leaves no room for arguments. She listens, her blue eyes meeting your gaze. For a moment you see Billy’s eyes reflecting within hers. It’s only for a brief second, it ends before you can even realize what’s happened. Startled, you momentarily choke on your words. “I–”

Max raises an eyebrow at you. You’ve been acting strange all night, she doesn’t understand why. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Her words couldn’t be more ironic, more painful to hear. “I-I’m sorry.” Billy is dead, he’s gone. You shake your head, try to get his eyes out of your head. “Just… promise me you’ll call if anything happens, please?”

You know that Max isn’t in any danger, she’s safe at home with her mother, but across the street resides yellow caution tape and boarded up windows. Eddie’s trailer is across from Max’s, the proximity makes you uncomfortable. It’s an eerie feeling, Chrissy died here last night. 

Max seems to understand your concern, and she allows herself to nod. She doesn’t want to fight you, not tonight. “I will, promise.”

Squeezing her hand, you leave Max with a soft reminder to get some sleep. She smiles, a hidden joke between the two of you. Both of you know that there will be no sleeping tonight. 

Once she’s gone, it’s just you, Steve, and Dustin remaining in the car. Tension creeps slowly upon the three of you. Dustin’s never ending annoyance towards you clashes with all the unspoken words left floating between you and Steve. 

Dustin coughs awkwardly. Steve’s fingers tap anxiously on the steering wheel. You keep your head down, your fingers pick at the skin between your nails. The ten minute drive from Max’s house to yours is unbearably long. Stuck at one of Hawkins’ only stop lights, Dustin can’t take the silence any longer.

“Well, this is awkward.” He says to no one in particular. “Lots of tension tonight, huh?”

Neither you nor Steve laugh, and Dustin rests his head against the seat in defeat. He understands why you and him aren’t talking, he’s still angry with you for holding a knife to Eddie’s neck. What he doesn’t understand, however, is why there seems to be so much distance between you and Steve tonight.

Normally you’d be all over one another by now. The two of you can never keep your hands off of each other. As much as Dustin hates it, he’s grown used to the way your hands are always intertwined with Steve’s. Whenever he’s in the car with you guys, your hand always rests against Steve’s arm as he drives. At red lights Steve will always turn to you, pulled in by your smile. 

Except tonight Dustin doesn’t think he’s seen Steve look at you once during the drive home. Your hand rests softly at your side, balled into a small fist. There’s a coldness between the two of you, one Dustin is ashamed to admit that he hadn’t noticed before. 

Then he remembers last night. He’d been too lost in his anger towards you to recognize the tears in your voice. He hadn’t even stopped to consider that you wanted a code blue for any other reason besides lecturing him. His stomach twists with guilt at his own selfish actions. 

Something happened between you and Steve, and you had needed your brother last night. But he had abandoned you, denied the code blue you’d needed so desperately. 

When Steve’s car pulls into your driveway, Dustin runs out as soon as the vehicle stops. He’s frantic to escape his guilt, to escape the chasm that surrounds you and Steve. Slamming the door, he shouts, “Talk to each other!” Then, as an afterthought, he adds, “Good luck, Steve!”

The slam of the door echoes into the night. 

It’s just you and Steve, now. 

The air stills between you, reminiscent of the night you drove him home from the Halloween party. A year has passed since then, it’s been so long since Steve’s presence made you feel anything other than peace. The strings that have always followed you constrict against your throat. 

“We need to talk,” Steve says, but at the same time you say, “We need to talk about Jonathan.”

The words come tumbling out of your mouth, slipping through the grooves of your teeth before you can stop them. They’d been building within you all day, fizzling to the surface. And now they spill out into the silence of Steve’s car. 

His head turns to you, the street lights illuminate the shock and confusion on his handsome face. It pinches with bewilderment, he doesn’t understand. He had been ready to apologize to you, despite still not being able to comprehend how you don’t see a future with him. Steve doesn’t want to fight with you anymore, he was ready to just forgive and forget and hold your hand without the weight of guilt behind it.

Steve had been ready to salvage your relationship, and now you want to talk about Jonathan?

“Jonathan?” Shamefully, his voice cracks. He feels like a helpless little kid again, his stomach twists with the foreboding nausea that something bad is about to happen. “Why… why do you want to talk about him?”

The raw frailty on Steve’s face almost kills you. He’s drawing into himself again, preparing for the final blow that will decimate him and everything he knows.

You take a deep breath. This won’t be easy, nothing you’ve ever had to do has been easy. But Steve deserves to know. To hide something from him feels foreign, to lie to him feels like a betrayal. 

“Jonathan, he–” Your voice shakes almost as violently as your hands do. Steve is looking at you but you can’t bear to face him just yet. “He called me last night, after our… after our fight.”

“What did he say, Y/N?” Steve knows, even before you tell him, where this is going. The light in your eyes whenever you talk about Jonathan is gone. His name doesn’t grace your face with a smile. Instead, the grimace of guilt replaces it. Steve’s stomach twists into tighter knots. It’s happening again.

Inhaling, you close your eyes and try to commit to memory the before. How Steve looked at you with such adoration before tonight. How his soft hands, laced with trust, felt against your skin before tonight. His open gaze, one filled with vulnerability, stared into you before tonight. 

Opening your eyes, you exhale. Nothing will ever be the same again. “Jonathan asked me if I ever wondered if… if we made a mistake. Him and I.”

“A mistake?” Steve’s jaw tightens. 

“I think-I think he was asking me if I ever… thought about what could’ve happened between us. If somehow,” you swallow, the words cement in your mouth. “If-if somehow we made a mistake, choosing you and Nancy.”

Steve is quiet. The muscles in his body pull tightly together. He fills with venom, anger and jealousy and hurt; so much hurt. “And you think he’s right.”

It isn’t phrased as a question. 

Immediately your body turns to his. “No! God, no,” your hands search for any expanse of his skin you can find. Steve doesn’t lean into you, he doesn’t react to your touch. Panic overwhelms you, suddenly all you can do is talk and plead and beg. “Steve, I don’t think Jonathan even knew what he was saying, okay? H-he was high, and he’s been so lonely and-and he kept saying things were easy between me and him but-but that’s not how love is supposed to work and I know he’s just scared. He’s scared and he’s never been so alone before and I think-he’s just lost, okay? He’s lost and–” 

“Why are you telling me this, Y/N?” The hardness in Steve’s voice cuts into you, stings your skin. He isn’t screaming, not like he did last night, but you almost wish he were. The way his voice is leveled, cold and hard, scares you even more. 

“Would you rather I didn’t?” You’re helpless against his anger, you know he has every right to be, but you don’t know how to fix this.

Steve laughs bitterly. “I’d rather you not make shitty excuses for the asshole.”

“I’m not making excuses for him, I just wanted you to understand–”

“You are!” His voice raises slightly, almost imperceptibly so, but you hear it anyways. Steve’s chest rises and falls quickly. His hands fly wildly everywhere, he doesn’t know what to do, either. Then, almost as quickly as the anger surfaced, insecurity replaces it. “Is… Jonathan why you don’t see a future with me?”

Your fingers tighten around his wrist, almost as if you’re afraid he’ll slip between your fingers any second now. “I do see a future with you–”

“Pretty fucking hard to believe when you’re wearing the goddamn necklace he got you.” The words drip with acid. They’re hissed out with a jaw clenched so tightly you’re afraid he’ll somehow hurt himself.

The words startle you, catch you off guard. Your hand slips from Steve’s wrist. He’s never once insinuated any jealousy regarding you and Jonathan. He’s always been so trusting of you two together, he’s always been kind towards him. He always knew that he could never touch what you guys have, and yet his gaze now flickers cruelly to the bee pendant that rests against your neck. 

What Steve has said hurts you, deeper than he ever intended to. He knows how you love, how deeply you care for others. It’s who you are. Regardless of the hurt he may be feeling right now, it doesn’t give him the right to throw this crucial part of you back in your face. 

“I’m made of pieces of everyone I’ve ever loved, Steve. You know this.” The bee pendant rests against your skin as heavily as the charm bracelet does. 

And Steve does know that you’re made of pieces of everyone in your life. It’s what he loves the most about you. His eyes follow where your fingers reside, skimming the silver chain that encases your wrist. He hadn’t meant to say what he did, the words had slipped out before he could stop them. 

“Y/N…” Your name is spoken as an apology, it’s all Steve can manage in his shame. 

But the moment is ruined, you’re exhausted and all you want to do is go home. 

You shake your head at Steve, try to hide the tears in your eyes. He sees them anyways. “Can I leave, please?”

The way you ask so delicately to escape breaks Steve. Something in his chest shatters, his mouth fills with the taste of a broken promise. You don’t need his permission, he hates that you feel that you do. 

“Yeah,” his voice is softer than it’s been all night, but it’s too late. He knows this. Swallowing, all Steve can do is be gentle with you. “Yeah, of course you can leave, angel.”

Angel.

You nod at him; if you try to speak you’re afraid you’ll break before him. 

No other words are spoken between you. Steve watches as you leave. 

– 

The next morning you sit hunched over a mug of coffee, more exhausted than ever before. You haven’t slept properly in days now. Dustin finds you with dark circles under your eyes and a pathetic bowl of cereal before you. From the dazed look in your eyes, he knows you haven’t noticed his arrival, and he awkwardly clears his throat to get your attention.

“So, uh.” He scratches the back of his neck, your eyes are slow to look up at him. Pointing to your coffee, Dustin raises his eyebrows. “Rough night, I take it?”

You nod, too tired to say anything else. The cereal goes uneaten. Dustin doesn’t think your coffee is even warm anymore, he hadn’t heard you wake up this morning. He’s worried that you never even went to bed last night. You’re pale, sickly so, and Dustin hates that he hadn’t noticed the signs sooner. 

“Hey,” he pulls a chair beside you, sits down with a playful shove to your shoulder. He’s your brother, it’s his job to take care of you just as much as it’s yours to take care of him. It’s how the two of you have always been. 

For Dustin’s entire life you’ve looked after him, kissing his scraped knees and warding off monsters hidden underneath his bed. When your father left, the depression your mother fell into afterwards left Dustin clinging onto you. You were all he had left. 

Dustin leans against you, he used to do this when he was a little kid and could still fit between your arms. Resting his head against yours, shoulders pressed together, the angle is awkward and uncomfortable, but it’s safe. “Is it too late to have that code blue?”

It’s a peace offering, an extension of an apology, and you can’t help but smile at your brother. Hand finding his mess of curls, you ruffle his hair and laugh softly. “Yeah, guess we can have a code blue now.”

“Good, you know I always love to shit talk Steve.” Dustin says with humor. You both know he admires the boy.

“Language,” you remind him as you always do. Dustin knocks his head against yours in response and the two of you break into laughter; laughing with your brother again feels good.

In between sips of cold coffee and bites of soggy cereal, you tell Dustin about Steve. You explain the original argument a few nights ago, how he didn’t understand why you wouldn’t want him to follow you to New York. 

“It’s what mom did with dad,” Dustin says, looking down at the table. 

You nod at him, you knew he’d understand better than anyone. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Does he know what happened with dad?”

“No, and I know I should explain what he did, but there’s–” You cut yourself off. Dustin would kill Jonathan with his bare hands if he found out about the phone call. Even though it technically goes against the rules of a code blue, you can’t tell Dustin about Jonathan. Not yet, at least. Clearing your throat, you continue. “There’s… other things that have prevented me from explaining dad to Steve.”

Dustin narrows his eyes. “Other things?”

“Other things,” you look pointedly at him, standing your ground about not elaborating. He denied your original code blue. You’re allowed to lie this one time. “And now Steve thinks that I don’t see a future with him.”

“Well then he’s an idiot.” Your brother scoffs. Anyone with eyes can see how much you fawn over Steve. Dustin has watched you fall for him for years now. “You’re practically ready to marry the guy.”

Taking a bite of cereal, you grimace slightly. “Okay, marriage is a little much–”

“Tell that to mom, she’s already started planning the wedding.” 

Of course she has. She wouldn’t be Claudia Henderson if she wasn’t already planning the names of her grandchildren from Steve. 

The bite of cereal turns into cement, your heartbeat pounds against your throat. With everything going on with Steve, the hurt the two of you have brought down upon the other, you’re not even sure there will be a wedding at the rate things are going. 

As the days go on, you can feel Steve slipping away from you more and more.

Dustin must sense that the subject is hurting you, so he stands from his seat and claps his hands together. “Alright, I feel like we’ve covered our bases for a code blue. Checked all the boxes, felt the feelings needed to be felt.”

“I don’t like the feelings being felt,” you mumble, shoving your bowl away. You’re still drawn into yourself, pale and frail and unlike the lively girl your brother has come to miss. He knows things have been difficult between the two of you, a strain that can’t quite be loosened. 

Dustin falters, his bravado fades. He sighs again and his hand settles against your shoulder. He looks at you with sincerity, his expression softens. “Look, you and Steve will figure things out. You guys always do.”

And he truly believes this. Steve loves you with such a ferocity that rivals your love for him. Dustin can’t imagine a world in which you’re no longer with Steve, where he’s let go of you and allowed you to walk away. 

Except Dustin doesn’t know how to express this to you, but you can understand him anyways. Placing your hand over his, you squeeze it. “Thanks, Dustin.”

He smiles back at you and the code blue is over. The moment lingers for only a second longer before he frowns and sits back down next to you. “Do you think Eddie will be okay?”

And there it is. Eddie fucking Munson again. 

Shoving down your annoyance, you force yourself to focus on the situation from last night. As hurt as you are that Dustin wants to talk about Eddie right now, you can understand why he would. Chrissy died in front of him, he’s being accused of murder. 

You’re just being childish, easily irritated from lack of sleep and the stress of it all. 

“I don’t know, I mean…the cops will be looking for him.” With ease you fall back into strategizing, putting the situation above your own thoughts and feelings. Your mind spins with everything you need to do, trying to come up with whatever you can do to help. “If we have any shot of protecting him, we need to figure out what they know.”

Dustin nods, following along. “Cerebro can tap into the Hawkins PD system, we can easily get intel from there.”

“It terrifies me that Cerebro can hack into our town’s police system.”

“Be grateful I stopped there, Suzie wouldn’t let me use it to tap into NASA.”

You learn two things after using Cerebro to gather information. 

One, the radio is far too powerful to reside in your fourteen year old brother’s hands. He’s able to access the PD system with incredible ease, almost as if he’s done so before. It’d be impressive if you didn’t know the horrors that went on inside the kid’s head.

Two, Eddie is well and truly fucked. 

He’s the main suspect. They think he’s killed Chrissy and have every man in the force scouring Hawkins to find him. Her death was gruesome, you understand the manhunt that unfolds. Dustin, however, nearly loses his mind when he hears chief Powell instructing his men to search Eddie’s neighborhood for the teen. 

“We have to go warn him,” Dustin scrambles to his feet, the chair almost toppling over in his haste. “We need to leave, now.”

There isn’t time to argue, Dustin is already ringing Steve’s number. Either he’s already forgotten about your argument with the teen, or maybe he just doesn’t care. Regardless, the thought of seeing Steve again so soon after last night makes your stomach churn. You want to stop Dustin, make up some excuse to him about why you can’t help Eddie, but you know it wouldn’t matter. Your brother would only beg you to come, your worry for him would force you to listen. 

All you can do is drop your head into your hands and sigh.

– 

It was your idea to stop and get Eddie food. 

Steve had arrived at your house within minutes. Dustin immediately went for the passenger seat, which was more than okay with you, and Steve had mumbled a soft “hello” to the two of you. His greeting went ignored by you, still trying to find your breath around him, and Dustin, who promptly demanded that Steve pick up Robin and Max before returning to the boathouse. 

Halfway to Max’s, the silence in the car was thickening rapidly, so you offhandedly suggested stopping at the local grocery store to get Eddie some food and water. You figured he would appreciate the small act of kindness, especially considering the grime news you’d be delivering to him soon. That, and it’d give you an excuse to leave Steve’s car for a few moments and steady your breathing. 

The boathouse isn’t nearly as creepy in the daylight, but still you make sure your knives are in your pocket before approaching it. Robin walks beside you, helping you and Dustin carry the groceries, while Max and Steve walk silently behind. 

“Think we got him enough?” Robin asks, holding up one of the grocery bags. “I mean, don’t stoners eat a lot? Munchies or whatever?”

Rolling your eyes, you undo one of the buttons on your sweater, allowing the crisp spring air to soak your body. The sun is too warm to be worrying about whatever stoners eat. “If he complains, then he can starve.” 

“Cat’s got claws today,” Robin nudges you with her arm. Turning to make sure Steve is far enough away so he doesn’t overhear, she lowers her voice. “Guessing the talk didn’t go well last night?”

“Oh, it was just peachy,” you grit out through a forced smile. “But we have to focus on harboring a murder suspect right now.” Because nothing in your life can ever be simple. If you aren’t hunting monsters, you’re protecting the town. If you aren’t protecting the town, you’re fighting alternate dimensions.

Robin opens her mouth to say something, but Dustin shoulders past her and bursts through the boathouse doors, ending your conversation. “Delivery service!” 

Eddie nearly has a heart attack at the abrupt entrance. He jumps out of his skin and clutches at his chest after letting out a very unmanly yelp. The reaction is almost enough to brighten your foul mood, momentarily forgetting that Steve stands behind you. 

“Someone’s jumpy,” you sidestep your brother and walk over towards the table. Setting the groceries down, you begin to unload them. “We got you some food, but please don’t eat it all at once. I really don’t want to spend any more money on you.”

“Thanks…?” Eddie slowly approaches you, both relieved for the food and offended you seem so begrudged to have gotten it for him in the first place. From his few interactions with you since last night, he’s coming to learn that you’re far from the girl who showed him such selfless kindness all those years ago.

Eddie doesn’t think you even remember what you did for him. He had been at such a low point in his life, one failed exam away from dropping out of high school and disappointing his uncle, until you appeared. It’d been your sophomore year, Eddie’s failed one, and you had given him your pencil.

The action had been small, meniscal, yet it saved Eddie’s life. He hadn’t brought his own pencil for some stupid English exam. He’d been too nervous for it that he had forgotten his, and Mrs. Greer, the teacher who couldn’t have cared less whether or not Eddie died, threatened to fail him. 

The threat sank deep into his bones, freezing his intestines with dread. Eddie had promised his uncle he’d try harder in school, that he’d graduate, and yet he couldn't do something as simple as bringing a pencil to an exam. Close to tears, embarrassed and overwhelmed, Eddie almost hadn’t registered your softly whispered voice.

“Here,” you tapped his shoulder. Eddie remembers turning around, surprised you were even talking to him, and he remembers the immediate relief that sagged his bones when he saw the pencil extended in offering. He had nodded curtly at you before frantically rushing to begin the exam. He’d already wasted five minutes, he couldn’t afford any more. 

It would only be later that Eddie learned you willingly failed the exam because you’d given him your only pencil, just so he wouldn’t fail. In the end, he passed. It was the first exam Eddie had passed in a long, long time; his uncle had been so proud of him that he bought him his electric guitar.

Eddie never thanked you for that. 

And now you stand in front of him, once again extending your arm out to him with yet another offering, but your eyes are cold. Your body is tense around Eddie’s, he doesn’t miss the wide berth you seem to always give him. 

“Thanks,” he says to you again, clearing his throat uncomfortably. He accepts the box of cereal you offer him and he wills himself to smile. “I, uh. Appreciate it. I’d offer to pay you back, but…”

“You’re wanted for murder.” You finish for Eddie. 

He drops his head. “Yeah, it kinda ruins a person’s life, ya know?”

“I don’t, actually. Never been accused of killing someone.”

Eddie blinks at you. He doesn’t know what to do with the disdain you display towards him. “Right.” He looks at Dustin for help, silently begging the kid to step in before you gut him with your knives.

“Okay, why don’t you crack open that box of honey combs while we all gather around for a fun story time!” Dustin sets down the remaining groceries and ushers everyone to spread around the boathouse. 

“‘Storytime’?” Eddie asks him, looking around in confusion. 

“Y/N and Dustin did some detective work,” Robin offers him, trying to make her voice sound as cheery as possible. “They-uh. Well they found-I mean,” she doesn’t know how to break the news to Eddie, she feels awful for the guy. Deflating, she mumbles, “They’re definitely good detectives.”

Eddie only looks more confused by this, and Dustin sits down awkwardly on a stool next to you. “So, we got, uh. Some good news and some bad news.”

You snort at your brother. Steve stands next to you, his body angled away from you so that your skin doesn’t touch. The distance is small enough to go unnoticed by anyone, yet it’s a chasm that your stomach drops into. “That’s really how you’re gonna break it to him?” 

“What are you guys breaking to me?” Eddie asks, eyes wide.

Dustin hits your leg and gets the teen’s attention. “Ignore her, look at me, alright? Now, how do you prefer it? Good or bad first?”

“Bad news first, always.” Eddie doesn’t even think about his answer, he responds immediately while shoving cereal into his mouth. 

“The bad news is that you’re pretty fucked.” You inform him, arms crossed over your chest. There’s no easy way to lessen the blow of what you overhead from Hawkins PD. The news is bad, it’s all bad. 

Dustin snaps his head towards you, “Y/N!”

“I’m not going to lie to the guy or sugarcoat things!” 

“Would you just let me handle it–”

“Dustin,” Eddie hasn’t moved from his seat. His hand remains in the cereal box, his voice jagged and defeated. He’s tired. He just wants to go home. “Just say it.”

Your brother’s shoulders drop, the anger in his eyes extinguished. “We… We tapped into the Hawkins PD dispatch with our Cerebro, and they’re definitely looking for you.”

“Chief Powell thinks you killed Chrissy.” Unable to look at Eddie, your eyes trace the ground. As much as you hate him, you can’t help but feel awful for the hand he’s been dealt. No one will possibly believe he’s innocent. “He ordered all his men to track you down before word gets out that you’re the prime suspect.”

“Which leads us to the good news: your name hasn’t gone public yet.” Robin continues for you, her own expression pitying. “But if Y/N and Dustin could find out about you during breakfast, then it’s a matter of time before others do, too.”

“And once that gets out,” you shake your head, you know how cruel a small town like Hawkins can be. “There’s going to be a lot of angry people who know your name.”

Eddie clenches his jaw. You can see tears forming in his eyes; you’re not sure if they’re from frustration or fear. He inhales sharply, licks his lips in disdain. “Hunt the freak, right?”

It’s the way he says it, with so much despair and venom in his voice. The look of resignation on Eddie’s face breaks your heart. He knows his odds, he’s been tormented and abused his entire life by the people in Hawkins. You’ve heard all the stories. The exile he faced because of how he looked, who he would hang out with, the music he listened to and the drugs he smoked. 

Eddie Munson, the freak. The moment the town finds out he’s wanted for murder, you’re afraid he’ll never come out of it alive. 

The ice-hot contempt you feel for him begins to melt. He’s only a year or two older than you, still just a scared kid with no place to call home anymore. Despite the protests of your body, you step towards Eddie and place a hand on his shoulder. Your hand is tense, your fingers scratch on the rough material of his denim jacket, but he seems to calm at the touch. 

“Hey, we’ll protect the freak, alright?” You mean what you tell him, your hand warms his skin. Whatever history you have with Eddie, good or bad, it doesn’t matter right now. He needs you, he’s lost and alone. 

Eddie looks up at you, your kindness startles him slightly, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, his eyes find yours. They’re brown, almost doe-eyed, with a vulnerability within them so intense that it leaves a lump in your throat. 

“We won’t let anything happen to you, Eddie.” Dustin’s voice cuts through, reminding you of where you are. Stumbling slightly, you remove your hand and walk back over to Steve, who gives you an odd, confused look. You ignore him. “We have to find Vecna, kill him, and prove your innocence.” 

“That’s all, Dustin?” Eddie mocks, he doesn’t stand a chance and he knows it.

Dustin draws into himself, uncertain, before letting out a feeble response. You allow yourself to smile, enjoying his wallowing. You understand where Eddie is coming from. “It is a lot that we have to do in order to clear his name.”

“Okay, I know that everything Dustin is saying sounds totally delusional, but we’ve actually been through this before.” Robin tries to reassure him. She’s leaning against a doorframe, she’s trying her best not to let her own uncertainty show. 

“We’ve been here before,” you say with slight bitterness. “You’d be surprised how many times we’ve almost died.”

Robin laughs nervously. “Well, mine was more human-flesh-based, theirs was more smoke-related. I didn’t necessarily almost die, but Y/N has some pretty sick scars on her body and Steve has been concussed more times than he’s had girlfriends–”

“Get to the point, Robin.” Steve finally speaks up, no hint of amusement in his voice. His hand rests besides yours, his fingers ache to curl against your skin. You’re wearing a soft blue sweater, tucked into your skirt, and your eyes shine against the spring cold. He doesn’t want to be here right now.

“Right. The bottom line is, collectively, I really feel we got this.”

Unable to bear the itch in his skin to touch you, Steve brings his hand to his face and rubs at his jaw to distract himself. “Except we usually rely on this girl who has superpowers, but-uh. Those went bye-bye, so–”

“And she’s in California, hundreds of miles from here.” You add on, picking at your nails. The topic makes you uncomfortable. With California comes the reminder of Jonathan.

Robin points at you and Steve. “Both good points, so I guess you could say we’re more in the-in the…?”

“Brainstorming phase.” Max supplies, which Steve snaps his fingers in agreement and Dustin hums thoughtfully. 

“There’s-uh. There’s nothing to worry about!” Your brother says unconvincingly, voice high pitched and full of lies. 

Eddie stares at everyone around him, studying the collective mess that he somehow must place all his trust in. None of you can give him a straight answer about what will happen next, and as you listen to Steve and Dustin try again to make sense of what’s going on, you recognize how hopeless it all sounds. 

“We may not sound like much,” you interrupt the boys, trying again to ease the hopelessness Eddie must be feeling. “But we’re kind of your only option right now–”

The distant wailing of sirens drown out your words, loud and piercing. The sound sets everyone into a panic. Robin instructs Dustin to cover Eddie with a tarp while you, Max, and Steve run towards the window. Squished together, you watch as multiple cop cars fly down the street with an ambulance following them; your breath catches. 

The last time you saw this many cop cars speeding through Hawkins, they had been a dead body in the quarry. It had been Will’s body, lifeless and pale. You had watched as his body was pulled from the water, you held Lucas and Dustin as they cried.

Only this time Will is in California, far away from danger. The onslaught of cars can only mean one thing. 

“I think…” Your mouth fills with syrupy dread, coating your tongue with grief. Breathing becomes difficult. You hope, more than anything, that you’re wrong. “I think someone else died.”

The moment the words leave your lips, Steve grabs his keys and instructs everyone to get into his car. He doesn't ask any questions, he doesn’t question how you know. Dustin quickly tells Eddie to stay in the boathouse while you leave. 

Your eyes squeeze shut as Steve drives, your hand clutches the seat in terror. Every second that passes, your body becomes heavier and heavier from dread. Steve’s knuckles are white against the steering wheel. Robin can’t look at you, Max and Dustin don’t say a word.

The white blanket draped over a body is what you see first. A horde of police surround it, there are lights flashing everywhere. People crowd behind a barricade, necks straining to get a look at the body on the ground. 

Then you see who the cops are talking to, and your heart drops. 

“Nancy,” you breathe out, already opening Steve’s door before he can even park the car. Something terrible has happened. Nancy stands in front of the officers, her arms crossed against her chest as if to calm herself down. She’s never looked so weak, she needs you.

Standing outside the car, the others join you. Steve has parked as close as he can to the crime scene, no one moves. Nancy releases a shaky breath when her eyes find yours. Raising her hand, she waves at you, unsure, and you wave back. She smiles, timid but genuine, and a pit forms in your stomach.

You haven’t told Nancy about Jonathan. 

Steve looks away from her, gaze turning towards you, and he’s thinking the same thing. 

– 

Nancy guides everyone to a park bench at the trailer park. She doesn’t say anything as you all walk, her eyes are exhausted. The police hadn’t wanted her to leave just yet, they had more questions for her, but you’d quickly spoke with the men to let her go. 

Sitting around the table, a bitter cold creeps into the air. The sun is out yet winter still lingers. Nancy sits across from you with Robin and Max next to her. You’re with the boys, Steve pushes his weight against you while Dustin sits stiffly beside you. 

Seeing Nancy’s sunken cheeks and glass eyes, you reach across the table and grab her hand. “What happened, Nance?”

Tears well in her eyes and for once she doesn’t wipe them away. Nancy’s hand twitches in yours, she doesn’t hold onto you like you do her. She’s grieving, you’ve come to learn all the signs of someone who has lost a friend. “It-it’s Fred.”

She explains what they’d been doing, investigating Chrissy’s death at the trailer park. Guilt laces her words, she didn’t think anything would happen to Fred. He’s always been sweet to her, his crush obvious to you but unknown to her. A shiver runs through you; Fred was smart, he was nice to you whenever you spent your days in the yearbook room. 

He didn’t deserve to die. Neither did Chrissy. 

“That makes two deaths in two days,” you say out loud, voicing what everyone else is thinking. Death is common in Hawkins, an inevitability of what lies underneath it, but there’s never been such gruesome deaths so close together. “It’s happening again.”

“What’s happening again?” Nancy shakes her head. “I-I don’t understand, you guys already know what’s causing all of this?”

“We have a working theory, but it’s… not great.” Dustin slouches down, he isn’t sure how much he can explain to the girl with all that he still doesn’t know. “We think it’s connected to Chrissy’s death, something killed her in Eddie’s trailer. He told us she had gone into some sort of trance before her bones snapped and her eyes exploded..”

Nancy grimaces at the gory imagery and you squeeze her hand again. “I’m sorry about Fred.”

She gives you a tight smile before turning to your brother. “A trance? Like El? You aren’t… do you really think this has something to do with–”

“The Upside Down.” You and Max say at the same time.

“‘It’s happening again’,” Nancy echoes your words from moments ago. She understands, now. “So this-this thing that killed Fred and Chrissy is from the Upside Down?”

Steve nods at her and Dustin sighs heavily. “We think he attacks with a spell, or maybe even a curse.”

“But we don’t know if he’s under the Mind Flayer’s control,” you point out. “For all we know, he could just be someone with El’s powers. We know the lab tested on other kids, right?”

Max looks up at you and her face twists with apprehension. “I don’t know, something feels different about this, it’s almost like it’s something new. I don’t think it’s anyone like El.”

“It doesn’t make sense.” Nancy mumbles.

“No, I think Max is right. Something feels off about all of this.” Your arms draw together, it’s impossibly cold for late March. The chill has set into your bones. 

Nancy nods at you, but there’s something else on her mind. “But Fred and Chrissy also don’t make sense. I mean, why them?”

“Maybe they were just in the wrong place? They were both at the game.” Dustin offers, and you shiver again.

Billy had been in the wrong place, too. It’s how the Mind Flayer got him. He’d just been unlucky and alone.

“And the trailer park,” Max adds.

Steve’s eyes widen slightly, he shifts against you and unconsciously moves you closer to him. “We’re at the trailer park, should we… maybe not be here?”

The wind picks up and a crow cries overhead. The barren grass rustles as shadows fall against it. Your spine prickles with nerves. Steve is right to be worried. There’s something eerie about the trailer park, the caution tape that guards Eddie’s door is still too fresh. 

You wrap your sweater tighter to your body, cold with unease. Nancy’s eyes flicker around the park as the wind rustles the leaves. “Fred started acting weird the second we got here.”

Robin asks what she means, and when Nancy begins to explain how scared and on edge Fred had been, a dull throb slowly creeps up the base of your neck. The sensation builds until it’s a roar of nerve endings exploding against your temple, and you wince in pain.

Steve’s fingers skim the crest of your wrist. “Hey,” he’s lowered his voice so the others can’t hear, he knows you never like to worry others. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” the concern in Steve’s eyes burns you. He hasn’t spoken to you all day, but still his skin warms yours and he wants to make sure you’re safe. Comfortable. Okay. Even with the anger between you and all the unspoken half-truths, he still cares about you. 

You want to tell him that you haven’t slept in days, that the nightmares are back and that they’re worse than ever before. You want to rest your head against his chest and listen to his heartbeat. It’s the only way you’ve been able to keep the migraines at bay. 

But you don’t tell Steve any of this. Instead, you lie through your teeth. “I’m fine,” you reassure him again. There isn’t time for you not to be okay. Two people have died already, your migraines can wait. 

Steve doesn’t look convinced. He knows you, he knows how you are and how much you push down for the sake of others, but before he can press you further, Robin interrupts. “Hey, lovebirds, we’re trying to solve a murder case here.”

“I’m listening,” you roll your eyes at her, skin flushing a bit with embarrassment. “Anyways, what if Fred and Chrissy saw something that made them go catatonic? I think we should be focusing on the trace-like state more, it’s a trauma response.”

“What, so they’re insane asylum patients?” Dustin asks with slight displeasure. “I mean, I guess that makes sense. But Vecna can cast spells, at least in DnD. I don’t think they just ‘saw’ something.” 

Steve scratches his nose. “If I saw some freaky wizard monster, I would mention it to someone.”

“Would you, though?” You don’t mean for the question to come off as condescending, and you quickly try to alleviate the offended look on the teen’s face. “What I mean is, who would you go to about something like that?”

“I… I think I know who they’d go to.” Max stares down at the table, her eyebrows furrowed together. She’s deep in thought, remembering something. “I saw Chrissy leaving Ms. Kelly’s office. If you saw a monster, you wouldn’t go to the police.”

“They’d never believe you,” you bear your weight against the table. Nostalgia wraps around you at the memory of how scared you’d been to tell Hopper about El, the years it took for you to trust him. “That’s why I never went to Hopper when I first found El.”

Max nods, she’s relieved you get where she’s going with this. “Exactly, but you might go to your–”

“Shrink.” Robin finishes, sending you an apologetic smile for the offensive language against the profession you hope to one day go into. “No offense, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes, feeling defensive. “Again with calling Ms. Kelly a shrink. She’s not a shrink, she’s actually really nice.”

“You sound like you know her personally.” Dustin narrows his eyes at you. Nothing goes unnoticed by him. 

All eyes turn to you, and you sink down in embarrassment. “I’ve… had a few meetings with her.”

Simultaneously both Steve and Dustin widen their eyes. They hadn’t known you were seeing Ms. Kelly. Nancy looks at you curiously, Robin bites her lip, and Max nods solemnly. It’s a large range of reactions, one that makes you anxious to deal with. “Can everyone stop staring at me, please?”

Steve lets out a quick breath and runs a hand through his hair. “You didn’t tell me you were seeing the school’s guidance counselor, Y/N.”

“She didn’t tell me, either.” Dustin mumbles bitterly. You’ve never hidden anything from him before. He wonders, distantly, when you started to.

“I didn’t want to worry you guys, it really isn’t a big deal.” When both boys bristle at this, you hold your hand up to silence them. “No, I don’t want to hear it. It’s not like I was seeing Ms. Kelly for anything serious, okay? She’s the guidance counselor, so I just. You know. Needed some guidance.”

It’s a horrible lie, you know that no one believes you, but they take pity on you and move on. Originally you really were seeing Ms. Kelly for college admissions help, but after a few sessions you slowly started opening up to her about the sleepless nights. The image of Billy’s lifeless body. Max’s screams. 

Nancy clears her throat and changes the topic. She comes up with what to do next, creating a plan to ask Ms. Kelly what she knows, and you sit silently. You’re relieved the attention is finally off of you. Within minutes a plan is formed: you and Max will talk to Ms. Kelly to try and get more information.

Steve agrees to drive to the house. As you’re walking to his passenger side door, he notices that Nancy isn’t following. Instead, she’s going to her own car. “Hey, Nance. Where’re you going?”

Nancy turns around, a guilty but determined look on her face. Her eyes land on you, knowing you’ll be the hardest to convince of her plan. “There’s just-there’s something I want to check on first.”

Predictably, your shoulders tense and your eyes ignite with worry. “Please don’t make me remind you that there are people dying right now. You can’t seriously think it’s safe to be on your own.”

“I can protect myself, Y/N.” Nancy reminds you gently, understanding your concern but knowing it isn’t needed.

“You care to share with the rest of us?” Dustin calls over to the two of you.

“I don’t want to waste your time,” Nancy shoves her hands into her jean jacket. “It’s… a real shot in the dark.”

You frown at this. “If it’s something you think is worth looking into, then it isn’t a shot in the dark. You’ve always been right.”

Nancy blushes at your words, but Steve silently fumes beside you. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Are you guys out of your mind? No way is Nancy flying solo with Vecna on the loose.”

“I never said that she should fly solo,” you say slowly, not at all liking how he’s twisting your words. You had been complimenting Nancy’s intelligence, restoring her faith back into her work. You don’t understand where this protectiveness from Steve is coming from. “I know it’s too dangerous, that’s why I was going to suggest–”

“You’re right. It’s too dangerous. Bottom line. She needs someone to-Christ.” Steve isn’t listening. He’s too caught up in his head as tosses his keys to Robin, who only barely manages to catch them. “Here, Y/N and I will stick with Nance.”

You cross your arms and glare at him. “I’m sorry?”

Steve doesn’t look at you, he’s too busy staring at Nancy, and for a brief second you truly believe that there’s something soft in his gaze when he looks at her. They’re friends, you know this. There’s a history between them that rivals your history with Jonathan. Nancy was Steve’s first love, and now he loves you, and you try desperately to shake the insecurity that you feel. 

If you’re being completely honest, you’re not even sure why you’re suddenly thinking all of this. You’ve never been insecure, at least not in your relationship with Steve. During the almost year you’ve been with him, there’ve been times girls have flirted with him or old flings that have tried to vie for his attention. But through it all your trust in him never wavered, you knew that at the end of the day it was your bed he was crawling into. 

And yet there’s a voice in the back of your head telling you that the way Steve is looking at Nancy right now is different; it’s how he looks at you. The voice is darker, more cruel. It’s one you don’t recognize, and yet you do. 

Steve seems to come back to himself and turns to you. “Robin can go with the kids to the shrink. Max can talk to her alone, it’s no big deal.”

Robin holds the keys away from her as if they’re poisoned. “I don’t think you want me driving your car.”

“Why?”

“I don’t have a license.”

Steve shakes his head with impatience. “Why don’t you have a license?”

“I’m poor,” Robin shrugs, and you laugh slightly. 

Max raises her hand. “I can drive.”

“No!” You and Steve exclaim at the same time, both of you getting war flashbacks to when Max had driven you after Billy had knocked you guys unconscious. It’d been a rough night and waking up to a thirteen year old driving a sports car definitely hadn't helped. 

“Please,” you look at Max with genuine longing. “Never, ever drive me ever again.”

“Literally anyone but you–” Steve sees Dustin make a face, offering himself to drive, and the older teen snaps his fingers at him in annoyance. “No chance.”

You shake your head as well. No way in hell are you allowing the kid to drive either. “Absolutely not, Dustin. You couldn’t even drive a golf cart properly.”

“I did a decent job!”

“I still think you’re the one who gave Steve his third concussion with your horrible braking.”

“We were being chased by evil Russians!” 

Robin steps between you and your brother, holding her hands up. “Alright, this is stupid.” She grabs Dustin’s walkie from his backpack and marches to Nancy while handing Steve his keys. “Us ladies, sans Y/N, will stick together. Unless Steve thinks we need him to protect us?”

She raises her eyebrows, challenging the teen, and you watch him. He shuffles nervously, ducks his head down. Steve is guilty and ashamed and embarrassed. Your stomach clenches. 

“He knows better than to doubt you guys,” you step in for him, saving him. “Right, Steve?”

Nancy laughs at the look of fear on his face and Robin smirks. Satisfied, they turn around and start to head towards Nancy’s car. You wish them luck as they leave, tell them to be safe. They wave back at you, and although you wish you could join them, you know that Max will want you by her side while she talks to Ms. Kelly. 

Once the girls are gone, you hit Steve’s chest. “Nice one, buddy.”

He lets out a pained huff, but he doesn’t say anything. He knows he had it coming. With a sigh he follows you back to his car and gets into the driver’s seat. Dustin stares at him through the rearview mirror with a shit eating grin on his face. Tired, Steve glares at him. “Not a word.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Dustin defends himself.

“No, but you were going to, and-hey,” Steve turns in his seat and glares even more at your brother. “Did you make sure to wipe your feet?”

“Yes,” Dustin says at the same time as you and Max say, “No.”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose and starts the car angrily. His movements are jerky and uncontrolled. “Always the goddamn babysitter!” He exclaims, resentment marring his face.

You jump slightly at his raised voice. He hates being sidelined, you know this. Similar to you, all Steve ever wants to do is help. He does whatever he can, he tries harder than anyone. It’s what you first fell for, back when Steve originally crashed into your life. 

It’s because of his kindness and devotion to others that you reach for Steve’s hand. His skin is cold, goosebumps raise at your touch, but you interlock your fingers through his and slowly, piece by piece, Steve relaxes. 

He’s missed your touch. You’ve missed his, too.

– 

Ms. Kelly, to her credit, tries to mask her surprise when she sees you and Max standing at her door. “Oh, hello, girls.”

“Hi,” you smile kindly at the woman. “We really hate to bother you over spring break, but do you possibly have a minute to talk?”

“With the two of you?” Ms. Kelly knew that you and Max were both grieving Billy, but she hadn’t known that you knew each other. “Y/N, I’m sure you’re aware that this is highly unusual to request.”

You wince. “Yeah, I’m definitely aware that this is a pretty strange thing to ask. It’s just that I was the one who convinced Max to start seeing you in the first place, and now that I’m also seeing you, we figured we could… talk to you together?”

It’s a horrible excuse. The lie is vague and too transparent to believe. Neither you or Max had a lot of time to come up with a convincing cover story during the drive here. 

“I don’t know,” Ms. Kelly’s face strains with contemplation. 

Max softens her eyes and does her best to look small, pleading. “Please?”

You try to appear troubled as well, though it isn’t hard. Your headache hasn’t left. The pounding in your head has only intensified since leaving the trailer park. Ms. Kelly’s gaze flits between you and Max, reading for any signs of lying or ill-will, before her resolve crumbles.

“Oh, alright.” She opens her door wider, ushers the two of you inside. “Come in.”

Steve and Dustin watch as you disappear inside the house. They’ve parked across the street, opting to be the lookout in case anything happens. You spare one last glance over your shoulder, eyes meeting Steve’s, before Ms. Kelly closes the door. 

“Okay, they’re in.” Steve states the obvious, slightly unsettled to be stuck in the car while you’re inside.

“I’m missing collarbones, not eyes.” Dustin snorts. He expects Steve to say something snarky in response, but then he notices that the teen is still staring longingly out the window, tracing Ms. Kelly’s door. He looks pathetic, waiting for you, and Dustin sighs. “So… we gonna talk about it?”

Steve’s eyes linger on the doorway, a far off look on his face. When he realizes that Dustin has spoken, he turns to him slowly. “Huh? Sorry, talk about what?”

“Your temporary insanity earlier today when you basically threw yourself at Nance? In front of my sister?” 

“Okay, first of all, that’s not what happened.”

Dustin glares at Steve, defensive over you. “Oh, really? I’m pretty sure it did, there were a lot of witnesses. Y/N included.”

“What are you implying, little Henderson?” Steve rubs his face, too tired for the kid’s mind games. He knows he was being weird earlier with Nancy, but he would never do that to you. Ever. He had simply been overwhelmed and confused and feeling a multitude of things that he still isn’t ready to face.

“I’m not implying anything,” Dustin puts his hands up. “All I’m saying is that I know you and Y/N have been fighting lately and that for some stupid reason, you’re doubting your relationship.”

Steve throws his head back against the seat. Of course you told Dustin about last night. “Look, I’m not-I’m not doubting our relationship, alright? I mean, I love her, man. So, so much. We just… things have been hard, lately. Really fucking hard.”

He isn’t sure how much you’ve told your brother. He doesn’t think you’d tell him about Jonathan, at least not until you know yourself whatever the hell he’d been trying to tell you the other night. 

Dustin doesn’t say anything for a few moments. He stares past Steve, his eyes almost seem to glaze over. “It’s because she’s leaving, isn’t it?”

All the air in Steve’s lungs gets knocked out of him. “Yes,” he breathes out. His mouth is dry. He swallows, his tongue feels too thick for his mouth. “Sometimes it feels like she’s, I don’t know, like she’s outgrown me? I-I know it’s stupid, but she’s going so far for college and I’m stuck in Hawkins like some fucking moron and she-she didn’t want me going with her.” 

“Did you know that I cried when she got into NYU?” Dustin asks him, a hurt smile on his face. When Steve shakes his head, the boy inhales deeply. “Yeah, cried like a baby the whole night. I mean, I knew she applied, I knew she’d get in, but… you’re right. She is going pretty far. I’ve never,” he wipes at his eyes quickly, embarrassed that he’s crying. “I’ve never had to spend a single day without my sister.”

Steve stares at your brother, finally beginning to understand the distance between the two of you. For weeks now it’s all you’ve complained about to Steve. How much you resented Eddie for being Dustin’s new favorite person, how much you miss singing with him in the kitchen while you baked. But now here Dustin is, teary eyed, explaining to Steve just how scared he is to be without his sister. “It feels like she’s leaving you, too.”

“Yeah,” Dustin wipes his eyes again, nodding. “Yeah, sometimes it feels like she can’t wait to get out of this town.”

“Even though we’ll still be here,” Steve says solemnly. 

It’s quiet again. A few birds sing in the tree above them. You and Max haven’t returned, yet. After a while, Dustin turns to Steve. “She doesn’t mean it, you know.”

“Who?”

“Y/N,” the boy clarifies, and Steve’s heart skips a beat. “She doesn’t mean it when she says she doesn’t want you going with her to New York. She’s just… she’s scared, and she knows that it isn’t what you really want. Nothing gets past her, it’s really annoying.”

Steve scoffs a bit, fondness running through him. Dustin’s right. Nothing ever gets past you, you notice and see everything. But then he thinks about what your brother has said, the fear he hadn’t known about. “Why would she be scared?” 

Dustin stiffens in his seat, his gaze once again blurs. He twists his hands anxiously, fixes his hat. The atmosphere shifts, Steve can see that he’s uncomfortable now. He’s about to tell Dustin that he doesn’t have to answer, but the kid does anyways. “Our parents, they-um. Met in college.”

Steve sits up as well. You and Dustin never talk about your parents, at least not about your father. Steve can’t remember the last time you’ve even mentioned him. He thinks maybe the man had called you once, during Christmas. 

“They got married right before graduation. Our mom had been pregnant with Y/N, they got hitched and in their marital bliss, our dad somehow convinced our mom to leave Indiana. She grew up here, but our dad was from Virginia and he insisted that she move there.”

Bitter. Dustin is bitter.

“Everything was fine, I guess. I liked Virginia. Y/N did, too. But our mom was lonely, anyone could see that. We lived in a pretty small town, our dad was basically a goddamn Kennedy there. Everyone adored him, but our mom… things were different for her. She was always in his shadow, but Y/N and I were too young to notice for a long time.”

Steve swallows. “And then… the divorce?” 

“The stupid fucking divorce.” Dustin spits out. “It wasn’t a surprise, but somehow we still felt blindsided. One day our dad was charming, cracking jokes with everyone and playing the guitar with us, then the next he just-he snapped. Became bitter, mean. Y/N idolized him, but when our parents started fighting every night and our mom cried over some woman named Carry… I lost my sister, for a while.”

“She told me,” Steve whispers, remembering the rawness in your voice the night you confessed to him that you were once cruel. “I had to remind her that she came back, in the end.”

The corners of Dustin’s mouth turn upwards slightly. “Yeah, she came back.” But then his expression darkens, his mood sours. “Our mother almost didn’t, though. After having to move back to Hawkins with barely any money to support us, it basically destroyed her. She had lost all her friends by that point, her own parents died while we lived in Virginia.” 

“I’m sorry,” Steve’s throat constricts. He hadn’t known any of this. He feels like such an asshole now for assuming the worst in you. For allowing his own insecurities to blind him. “I-I didn’t know about any of that.” 

“Yeah, well.” Dustin shrugs. “Now you do. And you need to know that Y/N is being her usual selfless self because of our mom and what happened to her. She doesn't want that happening to you, dipshit.”

Steve exhales through his nose, his head is swimming with so many more questions, so many apologies he wishes he could say. Instead, he stares out the window, waiting for you to return. 

–

“So, what would you girls like to discuss with me?” The clock on Ms. Kelly’s walk ticks ominously behind her. She’s seated you and Max in her basement den. You can tell by the stack of books and messy desk that she uses the area as her makeshift office. 

Max slouches against her seat. “Oh, it’s nothing too serious, we were just–”

“I’m worried about Max.” You interrupt the girl, not daring to look at her.

Ms. Kelly raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I think with all the murders happening, it might be affecting her.” It isn’t necessarily a lie. You have been worried about Max and her behavior. Especially these last few weeks. “It might be resurfacing some… memories.”

Max tries to argue, but Ms. Kelly holds her hand up. “You’ve both experienced trauma, Y/N. She lost her brother while you held his dying body.”

A lump forms in your throat, your lungs feel cold. 

The woman turns to Max, now. “And when you keep your feelings in, your pain, bottled up the way you do, it doesn’t take much to trigger them again. I can see why Y/N may be worried.”

Max doesn’t meet Ms. Kelly’s eyes. She swallows heavily and looks down at her hands. “Yeah, I know.”

“You know you can always talk to me, Max.” You say softly, wanting desperately to reach out to her. But you’re afraid it’ll only drive her further away.

She frowns at you. “Like how you talk to Dustin, or even to Steve?”

Her accusation cuts deeply. You hadn’t known that she was paying attention to you. That your disguised “I’m fine’s” weren’t convincing her. Max must know this, because she lowers her eyes again and mumbles a quiet apology. 

Ms. Kelly notices the tension and leans between the two of you. “Do you think you’re ready to talk more about that night?”

Max’s eyes gloss over briefly, her face distorts with discomfort. An onslaught of memories overtakes her, just as they overtake you. The echoes of her screams for her brother replay in your mind over and over again. The squelch of Billy’s blood trickles down your spine. You were right next to her when it happened. The blood still stains your clothes from that night at Starcourt. 

“I live next door to where it happened.” Max changes the subject, her voice returning. When Ms. Kelly asks for more clarification, she continues. “Next to where Chrissy was murdered. The cops asked me a bunch of questions. Did they talk to you?”

The woman sits up, apprehensive. She hadn’t been expecting to talk about this. You sit there quietly, head still pounding from earlier as Max takes over. She interrogates Ms. Kelly, who does her best to dodge every question, and suddenly the warmth in the room becomes unbearable. 

“Excuse me,” you stand up, hand clutching your stomach. Nausea swirls within you. You feel faint, the pounding has increased and sweat trickles down your neck. Both Max and Ms. Kelly look at you in concern, but you ignore them.

Blindly you stumble towards the kitchen you remember seeing when you arrived. Too nauseous and overwhelmed to care about niceties, you dig through Ms. Kelly’s cupboards until you find a cup. After filling it with water, the icey coolness of the liquid settles uneasily in your stomach. You lean over the sink, hands clutching the edge. Everything in your body feels unsteady.

Max comes up the stairs and finds you breathing heavily. “You’re not going to hurl, are you?”

“Trying really hard not to right now,” you breathe through your nose, out through your mouth. “Thanks for the concern.”

No response comes. Instead, footsteps walk up behind you. You hear metal clanking against glass, and when you turn around, you find Max holding up a pair of keys. She smirks, flashing you the white keyring attached to them labeled, “office”.

Your eyes bulge out of your head. “No, we are not stealing–” 

Except Max grabs your arm and practically flings you out the front door. She shoves you, urging you to start running towards Steve’s car, and all you can do is stumble over your feet and follow after her. When you make it back to the car, panting from the exertion and thrill, Steve and Dustin turn to you with wide eyes. 

“What’d she say?” Your brother asks, noting your frazzled appearance. 

“Nothing, just drive.” Max dismisses. 

“I just became a felon.”

The girl rolls her eyes at you. “Personal property theft isn’t a felony.”

“Jesus,” Steve does a double take, baffled by this entire conversation. “What the hell did you guys do in there?”

“Steve, drive!” Max shouts at him. 

The tires of the car squeal against the pavement as Steve steps on the gas. He steadies the car, a wild look in his eyes. “Where are we even going?”

“The school,” Max holds up the keys she stole.

Dustin looks at her incredulously. “Are those–”

“The keys to Ms. Kelly’s office? Yeah.” You nod grimly. “I told you, I’m now a felon.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic–”

A voice comes through Cerebro, cutting Max off. “Dustin? It’s Lucas. Do you copy?”

Relief washes over you hearing Lucas’ voice. Between tracking down Eddie and dealing with interrogating school guidance counselors, you’d also been slowly worrying yourself to death over the boy. It’s unusual for him to be quiet for so long, and with all the murders now occurring… You’d been terrified. 

“Lucas? Where the hell have you been?” Demands Dustin.

“Just listen, are you guys looking for Eddie?”

You and Steve share an uncertain look. Why would Lucas be radioing about him? How much does he know?

Your brother tells Lucas that you’ve found Eddie and tells him where he is, that he’s safe. Immediately, the boy responds, “You guys know he killed Chrissy, right?”

Predictably, Dustin doesn’t take this very well. “That’s bullshit, Eddie tried to save Chrissy.”

Lucas presses further, not believing what he’s hearing. Max snatches the radio from Dustin, tired of all the vague responses. “Lucas, you’re so behind it’s ridiculous, okay?”

“Technically we still haven’t elaborated on the whole Eddie thing,” you point out, which she glares at you for. 

“Y/N?” Lucas asks, surprised to hear you’re with them.

You grab the walkie. “Hey, how’s your day been?”

“Awful,” he responds bluntly while Steve snorts at your question. “Why are you guys so sure Eddie didn’t–”

“Just meet us at school. We’ll explain later.” Max instructs, leaning over the car’s console. 

“I can’t,” fear leaks through Lucas’ voice. You sit up now, looking at Steve again. He hears it, too. “I think some real bad shit’s about to go down.”

You feel your heartbeat pick up. “Lucas, what does that mean? Are you okay, where are you?”

“Sinclair!” A voice shouts, before the radio cuts into static. 

“Lucas? Lucas!” Max shouts into the walkie, but he doesn’t respond. She sounds scared, it’s the most emotion you’ve heard in her voice in months.

You’re no better. You sit in the passenger seat, numb. The voice, you recognized it. You’d know Jason Carver’s voice anywhere. Everything clicks; you remember how Lucas was supposed to go to the party after the basketball game. Chrissy had been Jason’s girlfriend before she was brutally killed. The cops would’ve questioned him, they would’ve told him how her body had been found in Eddie’s trailer. 

Eddie Munson, the town freak everyone hates. 

“What shit could Lucas get into?” Dustin questions, annoyance twinged with worry for his friend. 

You try to steady your breathing, nausea returning. You almost don’t recognize the sound of your own voice. “It’s Jason. He’s-he’s angry.”

The words settle in the car, linger in the air, before they crash heavily upon the four of you. The realization dawns on everyone, the inevitability of what will happen next is an unbearable weight.

Steve steps even harder on the gas. He knows the basketball team, how cruel teen boys can be. 

– 

Every time you’ve snuck into one of Hawkins’ schools, it’s never led to anything good. The first two times had been in the middle school for Will. Neither time involved very pleasant memories. This year you’re sneaking into the high school in order to violate your classmates’ privacy and read their deepest, darkest secrets.

“This feels wrong,” you huff under your breath, barely keeping up with Steve and the others as they run through the hallway. “I’d hate it if anyone read my file.”

“Would you rather risk anyone else dying?” Max responds, giving you a pointed look.

You frown but don’t say anything, figuring she’s right. As much as you hate to do this, it’s objectively the lesser of two evils. You’ll apologize to the students after this is done. If they question why you’ve baked them brownies, you’ll simply lie and say you had extra laying around. 

“Dustin, do you copy?” Robin’s voice carries over the radio. Your heart skips a beat hearing her, you’ve missed her today. After your brother responds, she starts to explain what she and Nancy found. “So, Nancy’s a genius.”

“What else is new?” You say, and Robin laughs.

“My thoughts exactly, pretty girl.” She clears her throat. “Anyways, Vecna’s first victims date back all the way to 1959. Her shot in the dark was a bull’s-eye.”

The new information startles you. Vecna first started killing in 1959? Why didn’t you hear anything about it until now, and why didn’t El sense him before?

Dustin looks equally unsettled by the news. “Okay, that’s totally bonkers, but we can’t really talk right now.”

“What are you doing?”

“Breaking and entering into the school to retrieve confidential and extremely personal files.”

You wince. It’s as bad as it sounds. Tapping Dustin’s shoulder, you break him away from the walkie. “Wait, we won’t need my files, right?”

Steve eyes you up and down, shrugging indifferently. “Well–” Hitting his chest, he sputters at you. “Why do you keep doing that?”

“You’re not reading my files, Harrington.”

Meanwhile, Dustin urges Robin and Nancy to meet you guys at the school. By the time their conversation wraps up, Max has unlocked the office door. She heads straight towards the drawers, long familiar with the layout; you follow after her.

Steve and Dustin look around while you and Max dig through the files. They mumble something about Watergate, but you can barely hear them over the rush of blood in your eardrums. Max’s fingers rest on a specific file. The name printed on it makes you feel sick.

Fred Benson.

“Holy shit,” she exhales, grabbing it.

“Found it?” Dustin stands next to you now, neck peering down. 

You struggle to breathe. “We didn’t just find Chrissy’s file.”

Dustin tilts his head, he doesn’t understand, and Max holds the file up. “Fred was seeing Ms. Kelly too.”

Steve and Dustin freeze. You can practically see their heartbeats still. The air in the room goes stale. Their eyes linger on you, they wish they couldn’t piece it together. Chrissy and Fred were seeing Ms. Kelly up until their deaths. You and Max have been seeing her, too. It’s one hell of a coincidence. 

But that’s all this is. A horrible, awful coincidence. 

“Y/N…” Steve breathes out, but you shake your head at him.

“Please,” your lip trembles. Not here, not now. He can’t look away from you, but you can’t bear to look at him. Instead, you grab the remaining files and hand them to Max. “We need to go through them. All of them.”

Dustin sits at the desk, Steve’s hand rests on the small of your back as you lean over Max to read the files. He shines a flashlight for the two of you, Chrissy’s file is the first one you read. The image of her once vibrant and alive smile stares back at you. There’s a column of writing to the left of her photo, the handwriting is neat, orderly, and it catches your attention.

“Are those…?”

“Symptoms.” Max softly answers, eyes skimming down the list.

Past trauma.

Terrible migraines.

Difficulty sleeping.

Headaches.

Max’s entire body tenses, her muscles pull taut against you. Your own body shakes, the tremors misalign your bones. Slowly, she looks up at you. Her eyes silently beg you to tell her that you’ve gotten it all wrong. Max’s blue eyes plead with you to tell her that none of this is real.

“Steve,” your voice catches, unable to inhale. “Can we see Fred’s file?”

He softly agrees, handing you the file immediately. You take it from him. The paper trembles in your unsteady grasp. Laying them down, you open the file and Fred’s photo burns you. Next to it is a list of symptoms.

They’re the same as Chrissy’s. 

They’re the same as yours. 

The headaches. Sleepless nights. The trauma you’ve been through, the nightmares that will never truly go away. Everything you’ve experienced within the last week. 

Nosebleeds is starred, and for a moment your heartbeat settles. You haven’t had a nosebleed since you were five. It isn’t one of your symptoms; it can all still be a coincidence.

“This-this can’t be right.” You don’t know if you say this to reassure Max or yourself, but when you look down at her, you know. She has a far off look in her eyes. She doesn’t react to what you’ve just said. 

It’s only then that you remember her nosebleed from earlier this week; it hadn’t been a coincidence. 

“Max?” You shake her shoulders, tears already in your eyes. You know better than to be so naive, so blindly ignorant. You should’ve known better. You should’ve known that something was wrong.

Dustin and Steve try to wake Max, but she’s already left her body. She’s unresponsive, lost in whatever trance she’s in. 

“Y/N, what’s happening?” Steve demands, fear in his own voice.

You’re hysterical, screaming and sobbing for Max to wake up. Her body is so small against yours, she’s frail and weak and her skin has never looked so translucent. Over and over you shake her, your palms rest against her cheeks and you cry.

You’ve come to know what fear is. How it can blind a person, leave them stricken with such raw anguish. Fear takes whatever air is left inside you and it poisons it with sulfur and leaves you choking. 

The day Will went missing, the only air left in your body had been blood. 

When inside the tunnels defending your little brother from monsters, the air in your body had been carbon. 

Starcourt mall and the fireworks that exploded over Billy’s dangling and bloodied body left only just enough air in your lungs to scream.

But this fear, seeing Max unresponsive to your pleas, this fear doesn’t spare you any air. 

Gasping and choking, you’re a wreck. “Max!”

Faintly you can feel Steve’s hands on you, or maybe they’re Dustin’s. Someone grabs you, pulls you away, but all you can do is scream.

It all makes sense now, Nancy’s question from earlier rings in your ears. You know why Chrissy and Fred were targeted. Why Ms. Kelly was somehow the center of it all.

The symptoms they experienced prior, the same ones that plague you and Max. You know what it is.

Venca’s curse.

-

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[handful0fteeth]

i was made for lovin' you, baby

chapter 2 of my Funny How Love Is series. read chapter 1 here summary: following the success of your first date, you and Steve catch a movie together. or, at least, that's the plan - before Steve discovers you've shown up to the date with no panties.

pairings: steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: smut, minors DNI, (light) exhibitionism, dirty talk (a lot of it), steve harrington has a big ole monsterc*ck, tooth rotting fluff, multiple orgasms

words: 16.3k

Miraculously, you survive.

Not without a thorough verbal lashing, but that was to be expected. The moment you walk through your front door, you’re bombarded with questions, and your outfit is fussed with – you don’t think you’ve ever experienced more blind panic in your life than when you have to snatch your skirt out of your mother’s prying hands before you accidentally flash her. 

She yells. A lot. You endure it only because the fearful tremor of her voice makes your stomach churn with guilt. You're silent when she demands to know what was so goddamned important you couldn’t bother to pick up a phone to call home, because you can’t very well tell her the actual reason, that you were pretty preoccupied with your longtime crush sucking your soul out of your pussy and so time just sort of…slipped away.

After forty-five minutes, your mother finally quiets and slumps into her recliner, exhausted. You are sent upstairs with a, “If you ever scare me like that again, I will chain you to the foundation of this house. Do you understand me?” You promise you’ll never be out this late without a courtesy call back home explaining your absence, and she waves you away, satisfied for the moment. 

You jump in the shower, not because you’re eager to wash Steve’s lingering scent off your skin, but because you’re uncomfortably sticky from the slick smeared between your thighs and the sweat cooling beneath your clothes. Your body is pleasantly warm, even without the water cascading over it, and remnants of that dreamlike serenity you experienced while straddling Steve’s lap swirls around your brain like mist. It enables your thoughts to wander as you scrub shampoo into your scalp.

You imagine Steve in here with you, hair slicked out of his face and soap lingering on his skin, bending down to kiss you while his hands roam the expanse of your body. You didn’t see him naked tonight, but God, you want to. It’s so easy to picture droplets of water clinging to the thatch of dark hair between his hips, and easier still to envision yourself following the thin trail above it with your tongue as you sink to your knees. 

 After a while, you aren’t even focused on getting clean anymore. You’re just tilted against the slippery tile wall, hands dancing idly over your wet skin as you lose yourself in your fantasies. You forget the amount of attention your pussy’s been shown tonight until you absently reach down to massage your clit, and the ache that bounces up into your stomach makes you hiss through your clenched teeth. Okay, you think, twisting the faucet off and peeling back the shower curtain. Definitely no more of that tonight.

Exhaustion hits the moment you cross the threshold into your bedroom. You toss your towel over the back of a chair and dive beneath your covers, resolving to call Kelsey in the morning and rub in her face just how proficient Steve Harrington is at eating pussy. 

It seems like you’ve just shut your eyes when your mother’s voice rouses you from slumber. You can barely make out the vague syllables of your name as you pry one open and holler back, “Yeah?”

“You have a phone call!”

“Tell Kelsey I’ll be there in a second!” You sit up slowly, scrubbing your eyes and swinging your legs over the side of the bed. There’s no helping the low groan that slips past your lips as you stand. You’re sore – your thighs burn with every step you take to grab a robe off the back of your door, and your jaw clicks as you loose a yawn.

“It’s not Kelsey!” Mom shouts. “It’s that Harrington boy you went out with last night!”

That was fast. Delicious memories from the night before flood your brain, and your cheeks burn as you knot the belt on your robe and burst into the hallway. You descend the steps two at a time, and in your haste, you nearly tackle your mother as you rip the phone from her.

“Ow, Jesus! Bent my goddamn fingers back, Y/N!” she snaps, shaking out her hand and retreating to the living room with a sour look on her face.

You mouth a silent apology at her back before inhaling deeply through your nose and rolling your shoulders. There isn’t time to practice your best “nonchalant” voice, so you hope for the best as you bring the phone’s receiver to your lips.

“Hello?” Your voice cracks. Of course it does. 

Steve doesn’t seem to notice, thank God. “Good morning, beautiful. How’d you sleep?” 

You tangle your fingers within the curls of the phone cord and lean against the wall, butterflies fluttering their wings against the inside of your ribcage. That smooth, carefree confidence drips from his voice like honey, and you can’t even see him, but you know he’s smiling, so the corners of your mouth twitch upward in return.

“Wonderfully. You?”

“Like a baby. I was just about to head off to work, but I wanted to call to check in about last night, make sure you were…yanno, still okay with everything.”

“I’m still very, very okay, Steve,” you promise. You scan the kitchen and poke your head around the wall to peer into the living room, ensuring your mother isn’t secretly eavesdropping. She’s taking sips of coffee between glances at her magazine and the morning news, but you still lower your voice and turn your face tighter toward the phone when you respond.

“I think the evidence of how okay I am is staining your backseat.”

Steve chuckles, and you bite your bottom lip as your face flushes. 

“Good point,” he says. “I also was wondering if, maybe, possibly…you were free again tonight?”

You’re sure you'd spit your heart onto the floor if it bounced harder into your throat. Is he asking you out again? Two days in a row? You knot the phone cord so tightly around your fist that the flesh starts to go white.

“Oh, yeah, absolutely, I’m free,” you say, forcing yourself to sound normal and not like an overexcited middle schooler. “Did you, uh, have something in mind?”

“Well, I get off work early tonight, so if you’re interested…I was wondering if you wanted to catch a movie?”

“Yes!” you exclaim. You catch your mother giving you an odd look over the lip of her mug before you turn your back to her. “Y-Yeah, absolutely, I’d love to catch a movie.”

“Sweet. I’ll be done at five. I can pick you up after?”

“I’ll just meet you,” you counter, “Family Video’s not that far from my house.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

It’s not that you don’t want Steve to pick you up – it’s moreso that you know your mother will want to talk to him, and you aren’t ready to subject him to her well-intentioned interrogations just yet, not when she’s likely still a little hot about your late arrival last night. 

“Alright, you’ll meet me at five, then,” Steve concedes.

“Sounds like a plan. Mind telling me what we’re seeing?”

“Back to the Future.”

You furrow your brow a bit. You thought everyone in Hawkins had seen that movie by now since it came out three months ago, and had assumed it’d already trickled out of the theaters in favor of being burned onto DVDs.

“I didn’t peg you as a sci-fi nerd,” you admonish playfully, and Steve huffs in amusement.

“I tried to watch it when it first came out but, uh…well, I had stuff going on that night, and then Starcourt burnt down….” He trails off, but you nod and suck your teeth in acknowledgment. 

You remember the news about the mall burning down the morning after it happened – the police surmised a couple of dumb kids snuck into the building after it had closed and decided it would be a good idea to set off fireworks on the Fourth. Your mother shook her head at the newspaper that day, steaming mug abandoned on the table in front of her and hand pressed mournfully to her mouth. You’d snuck a peek over her shoulder, and Detective Jim Hopper had stared reproachfully back at you, beneath a headline announcing his untimely demise as a hero. His and Heather Holloway’s names were the only ones you’d really recognized in the expansive list of casualties, and you weren’t even close to Heather. You’d had one meaningless conversation with her during one of her shifts at the pool because Kelsey mentioned a band she was traveling to see, and Heather overheard and announced her plans to go to that very same concert – one in Indianapolis, in August. Needless to say, Kelsey was the only one who made that trip.

The second-only movie theater in Hawkins burned with Starcourt, and now all that’s left is The Hawk downtown, in all its crumbling, dusty glory.

“Yeah, I guess scooping ice cream waits for no man, huh?” you ask slyly. You’d never gone to Scoops Ahoy when it existed, mainly because you didn’t trust yourself to not sound like a stuttering idiot if you tried to order from Steve, but you’d never deny yourself the indulgent glances you’d steal from across the food court at him. He was the only man you’d ever seen make sailor shorts and a dixie-cup hat look sexy.

“Hey, I was doin’ much more than scooping ice cream.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Just, yanno…helping some friends with some…stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“Stuff.”

You snort.

“Important stuff,” he adds, and you nod.

“Is there any other kind?”

“None that I know of. See you in a few hours?”

“Definitely,” you say.

“Awesome. I gotta go, I have to pick up my friend so we can carpool. I’ll see you later, baby.”

The line clicks dead, and you’re left standing against the wall, wrapped up in the phone cord and blushing bright scarlet as the dial tone groans at you. 

Baby. 

If Steve never uses your real name again and exclusively calls you “baby” forever, you’ll die a happy woman. You spin around to disentangle yourself and slam the receiver back down on the hook, clasping the front of your robe shut as you hurry back up the stairs.

“I’m going out again tonight!” you call over your shoulder. “With Steve!”

“And what will happen if you’re out past curfew again without calling home?” your mother yells back. You roll your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, chain me to the foundation, I heard you!”

“Just checking! Oh, and Y/N?”

You pause in your bedroom doorway, robe already halfway shucked off. “Yes?”

“When do I get to meet this Harrington boy?”

“Oh, uh, you know…!” You shut your door quickly.

~~~

You have too many clothes.

You come to this conclusion as you’re standing naked in front of your closet, half of its contents belched out into a pile on the floor, hair and makeup already over an hour old. You’ve never thought so hard about what to put on your body in your entire life. The cold air dribbling through your cracked window suggests that you wear pants. But you hate all the clean options in your drawers, so maybe a skirt with some leggings? But then what do you wear on top – something dressy, casual, or a little bit of both? 

You blow out a harsh puff of air and flop unceremoniously to the floor, landing on your ass with a thud. Maybe you’ll just go naked. That’ll go off without a hitch, right?

Ultimately, you build your outfit around a plaid skirt you haven’t worn since the previous year's winter. It’s snug on your hips, almost too snug, and as you bend to slip some plain white Keds on, you feel the waistline dig into the soft skin of your belly. The feeling isn’t unbearable, and the skirt makes your ass look stellar, so you decide it’ll be worth the discomfort and the slight waddle you must walk with. Only after you’ve shrugged a denim jacket over a well-loved Heart t-shirt and have your hand on the doorknob to leave do you consider something: your panties.

They’re cute and simple, and you’re sure Steve would praise your choice of undergarment even if they were beige granny panties, but…wouldn’t he be far more surprised if he hiked your skirt up and found no panties at all? You bite your lip.

Well…if last night is anything to go by, he’d just steal these panties, too, right? And then you’d be down two pairs, and you aren’t made of money. You can’t just replace the pairs he tucks away as memorabilia continuously, can you? It’s a smarter, more fiscally responsible decision to go commando, you reason.

Stomach flipping and cheeks burning red hot, you shimmy your underwear down your legs and kick them toward the hamper in the corner of the room. 

~~~

You can’t pry your thoughts away from the breeze tickling between your thighs the entire walk to Family Video. 

You’d intended to drive the family car here, but your mother was already clutching the keys and shrugging her jacket on as you plodded down the stairs, citing that she’d had plans to meet some girlfriends for a drink, so you’d have to figure out different transportation. You were only sort of pouty about it, but mostly very brave – if you consider loudly complaining at your mother’s back that she must hate you and want you to get kidnapped as she scurried out the front door as “brave,” that is. Luckily, Family Video is a relatively brief walk if you navigate the forest behind your neighborhood as opposed to trying to follow the main road through town.

Before last night, you had never even considered going anywhere without panties – it seemed like a thing women only did in pornos. But now, here you are, out and about in the middle of the woods, pussy completely exposed beneath a skirt that’s barely long enough to cover the swell of your ass. It’s…oddly invigorating. And far more arousing than you would’ve imagined. 

The autumnal chill of October seeps through your jacket, sending chills up and down your bare legs, and you wrap the sides tighter around your waist to preserve what little warmth you still have. A few older couples, folks out for an evening walk, you gather, eye you up and down in confusion – or pity – as you shiver past them, and you can’t help but be a little envious of their thick woolen coats and long knitted pants. But the thought of Steve realizing you’ve shown up for your date without panties, and his eyes darkening with arousal as he hitches your legs up to your chest, hot breath ghosting over your exposed flesh as he gazes at you in the way that makes you feel like the single most desirable thing on the planet…

It’s more than worth being a little chilly.

The dark green exterior of the Family Video is almost entirely blocked by a swarm of patrons when you reach the parking lot. You should’ve expected this, seeing as the weekend has just begun, but the sight makes you swallow hard and self-consciously smooth a hand over the front of your skirt. A majority of the clientele for the evening seems to be rowdy teenage boys who raucously mill about the parking lot, some smoking cigarettes, others performing tricks on their skateboards. Shit.

You take a deep, steadying breath and lift your chin as you cut through the drifting crowds filtering in and out of the store. You tuck your hands behind your back as you walk, trying to appear casual as you slide them down over your butt and pin the fabric of your skirt in place. A giggling teenage girl blows a pink bubble with her gum as she holds the door open for you, and you flash her a thankful smile. 

The air in the store is warm and a little stuffy, the smell of dust, candy, and stale popcorn hanging like fog between the doorway and the checkout counter. People amble around, most chattering with friends as they bemusedly pick up DVDs and scan the front and back covers for something that piques their interest. An unsupervised little girl shrieks as she darts past you, clenching The Care Bears Movie against her chest as she begs her mom to buy it. 

A lithe, busy-looking girl paces behind the counter, wearing a green vest with Family Video emblazoned in bright orange lettering on the lapel. Her hair is a dirty, warm blonde and curls softly just beneath her chin, and her angular features are pinched together in apparent dismay as she worries a chipped blue thumbnail between her teeth. You progress toward her slowly, tapping on the counter’s surface to gain her attention. Despite what you thought was a markedly careful and delicate approach, the girl almost flings herself over the counter’s edge, gasping and exclaiming in surprise.

“Sorry! Sorry, um, hi, I’m Y/N, I’m supposed to be meeting Steve here?” you say hurriedly, and the girl blinks her round blue eyes at you. Silence falls gracelessly between the two of you, and you’re sure it only lasts a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity lapses in the seconds the girl’s unblinking gaze is fixed on your face. 

It’s…a little unnerving, you’ll admit. 

She squints, like she’s trying to glean more information from the nervous smile you’ve pasted on your lips, then snaps her fingers and points in your direction as a sudden realization dawns on her.

“I sat on your underwear!” she announces, loud enough for a father and young child to turn their heads and stare at you both in confusion. If you weren’t trying to conceal your ass from what feels like the entirety of Hawkins right now, you’d bury your face in your hands. The girl, to her credit, instantly realizes her mistake (and her volume) and claps a hand over her mouth.

“I am so sorry,” she says, voice muffled from behind her multi-ringed fingers. “That was…I meant…”

She sticks a hand out before her, offering you an apologetic smile along with the handshake. “I’m Robin. Steve’s told me a lot about you.”

Ohhhh. Robin. She was a key character in many of the stories Steve told you last night, and from the way he described her, her frenetic energy suddenly makes a lot more sense. You return her smile and shake her hand, but Robin doesn’t let go immediately. Instead, she grips you tight while waving your interlocked arms up and down repeatedly as she talks, almost like she’s unaware she’s doing it.

“I wasn’t, like, seeking out your underwear or anything, by the way. I just, like – well, Steve and I drove to work together this morning, and when I sat down, I felt something weird bunched up under me, and I was like, ‘Huh, wonder what that is,’ so I pulled it out and lo and behold,” she mouths the word “panties” silently, laughing a bit awkwardly around it, “and I was like ‘Woah! What the hell!’ and then Steve told me to put them down, and I was like, ‘Whose are these?’ and then he told me about your date and….” She trails off and lets go of your hand once she recognizes she’s been flapping it for about thirty seconds. 

“Sorry. I…talk a lot,” she says sheepishly, but you just laugh and shake your head. 

“It’s alright. It’s nice to meet you, too, by the way.”

She grins so wide you worry it’ll split her slim face right down the middle. “So, Steve told me you guys have a second date tonight?” she asks.

You nod. “Yep! We’re gonna go see Back to the Future.”

“Ohh, I remember that movie! Michael J. Fox wants to, like, bang his mom, right?”

You giggle and shrug. “Something like that, yeah. Do you know where Steve is, by the way?”

Robin nods and slides out from behind the counter. “Yep, I’ll go grab him. Be right back!”

She flits off, disappearing behind rows of DVDs and throngs of idle customers. You turn, keeping your back pointed at the counter for safety, and lean against it. Oddly, you feel compelled to greet people when they walk in since you’re standing right at the front; you get a few curious looks thrown your way as you wave and welcome people inside the store, clearly not in uniform and rather done up for a supposed Family Video employee.

A minute passes, and while you don’t see Steve emerge with Robin, you certainly hear him.

A display of chocolate bars flies off the counter behind you, clattering to the floor with a loud, metallic clang that makes everyone stop what they’re doing and look. Candy spills across the floor, and Steve stoops to the ground to collect the fallen sweets and discarded metal rack, mumbling apologies at startled customers all the while. He cradles the chocolate in his arms and lets the rack dangle off one crooked finger as he straightens and smiles at you.

“Smooth move, dingus,” Robin teases, patting Steve’s shoulder and resuming her post behind the counter. He shoots her a look and swings the display rack back on the counter. He sloppily dumps the bars next to it before wiping his palms on his jeans and stepping closer to you. 

He’s sporting the same Family Video vest as Robin, a slightly baggy yellow sweatshirt, and blue jeans. The yellow makes the greenish flecks in his eyes pop, and the moles along his cheeks stand out even brighter. Once again, Steve Harrington is the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen, and he doesn’t even have to try.

“You look gorgeous,” he murmurs. A hand slides around your waist and rests on the small of your back, pressing you close enough that he can stamp a chaste kiss on your cheek. His lips are warm against your chilled skin, and after a moment, he pulls back with a concerned look.

“Jesus, you’re freezing. Did you walk here?”

“Oh, yeah, uh. Mom had to take the car to a thing, so….” You shrug, trying to appear apathetic, but a shiver slithers up your spine as the front door swings open and a gust of frigid air nips at your heels. Steve hugs you closer, fingers squeezing and sliding up your hip and waist to warm you up.

“Next time, just call me. I’ll gladly pick you up so you don’t have to freeze your cute little ass off,” he mumbles against the shell of your ear. Before you can reply – not that you had anything remotely intelligent to say anyway – he turns both of your bodies so they’re angled at Robin.

“You two have been introduced, right?”

“Yep. I told her all of your embarrassing secrets before I went and got you,” Robin says flatly, shuffling candy bars in her hands like playing cards and slotting them into their original spaces on the display.

“Awesome, that means I’ll have plenty of time to tell her all of yours in the car,” Steve retorts. Robin rolls her eyes and holds a chocolate bar above her head threateningly.

“I am not afraid to use this.”

“You couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.”

Steve yanks you to the right as the bar soars past your head, pinwheeling onto the floor and almost knocking against the ankles of two teenage girls by the front door. They both look up sourly, lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed in displeasure, and Robin squeaks out an apology before they strut away.

“Good one,” Steve taunts, slipping his work vest off and dropping it on the counter behind him in a heap. Robin swipes it away with narrowed eyes, chastising Steve about not being his mother as she folds the fabric into a neat, green square. He slings an arm over your shoulder and starts to guide you out of the store, calling out to Robin over his shoulder.

“Don’t forget to lock the front door when you leave!”

“One time, Steve. It was one time!”

~~~

The drive to the theater is a pleasant blur of conversation. 

The smell of Steve’s cologne envelops you the second the passenger-side door shuts, woody and sweet and perfectly him. As you toss your purse into the backseat, you find yourself staring intently at the upholstery. It doesn’t appear that your previous escapades have actually maimed the leather.

At one point, as Steve talks about a particularly belligerent customer he had to deal with earlier in the day, he reaches over and rests his hand on your thigh. It’s not an insinuation or expectation – he hardly even applies pressure, just idly rubs his pinky back and forth over your skin while he continues his story. His ministrations do slightly disturb the hem of your skirt, but he doesn’t seem to notice. 

You entertain the idea of just guiding his fingers between your legs, allowing him to feel you entirely, letting him play with your cunt while he drives, but just as you’ve built up the necessary courage, the car is pulling into the parking lot behind The Hawk. 

He squeezes your leg before hopping out of the car, and you’ve barely gathered your purse strings in your fist before he swings your door open for you and extends a hand down to help you out.

“Madame,” he says, bowing his head slightly. You giggle and take his hand.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” you say, and as you step onto the cracked asphalt below, Steve shuts the door and crowds you up against the side of his car. 

His lips are instantly on yours, warm, soft, and hungry, and you can’t help but sigh against his mouth. You didn’t know how addictive kissing Steve Harrington would be until you went without it; now that you’re here, you’re tempted to forego the movie entirely so you don’t have to stop making out with him. He nudges his knee between your legs, and you tense up involuntarily, inhaling sharply through your nose. You feel him start to pull away, having noticed your apparent hesitance, but you remedy that quickly by bringing a hand up to tangle in the hair at the base of his neck and locking your right ankle around his calf. You lick at his lips, and he parts them readily, excitedly. He tastes minty, something you weren’t expecting but aren’t displeased with.

“You smell good,” Steve mumbles, kissing a trail down your neck and tugging the collar of your shirt to one side so he can better access the skin beneath. He hums approvingly before latching onto a pre-existing hickey, suckling and nipping at his handiwork. 

“If you do that, they’re never gonna go away,” you breathe. He chuckles.

“Good. They look so pretty on you.” His hands glide down your waist and settle on your hips, kneading circles into your flesh and pulling you flush against his body. You notice how comfortably you fit together, like pieces of a puzzle clicking into place for the first time. When he straightens, you find yourself tilting your head to meet his eyes.

“You have the softest mouth,” he says quietly, raising his hand and ghosting it along your jaw. His curled pointer finger settles beneath your chin, and his thumb presses into the center of your lower lip. “I could kiss you all day.”

“We’d miss the movie,” you warn, words slurred slightly by the presence of his thumb. You have to admit, though, that spending an entire day holed up with Steve, doing nothing but making out and allowing his hands to roam wherever they pleased on your body sounds like heaven on earth. He smiles at you, that perfect crooked smile, and gives you one last peck on the lips before stepping back.

“Better get a move on, then,” he says, sweeping his arm out and moving to the side. Cold air rushes to fill the space his body occupied a moment ago, and you shiver. You smooth the front of your skirt with one hand and slot the other inside his, keeping in step as you both navigate the alleyway next to the theater.

Empty cardboard boxes loom above your head, stacked haphazardly and tilted into the walkway. Puddles of opaque liquid splash beneath your shoes as you walk through them. A rumor Kelsey whispered to you ages ago floats to the forefront of your mind.

“Hey…didn’t Jonathan Byers kick your ass back here a few years ago?” you ask. The corner of Steve’s mouth twitches. Then, he smacks his lips and walks ahead, tugging on your arm and dragging you through the alley.

“So, what size popcorn did you want? I was thinking we’d get a large to share!”

~~~

Your sneakers stick noisily to the floor as you and Steve slither through the narrow rows of the mostly empty theater. You’re clutching the large Coke you’re going to share and the box of Sour Patch Kids Steve insisted upon while he’s balancing the unnecessarily massive bucket of popcorn on the tips of his fingers. You eye it cautiously, ready to leap to catch it if it pitches forward.

The seats you’ve picked in the top middle row, away from what little crowd is scattered about the theater, creak as you sit down, and the decrepit padding sags under your weight. You’ve missed the previews but are just in time to watch Marty McFly hitching a ride on the back of a truck to get to school. You pass Steve his candy and take a sip of your drink as he settles in and sticks the popcorn bucket between his knees.

“So, what’s happening?” Steve whispers, leaning down to your ear.

“Hardly anything yet. He’s on his way to school from Doc Brown’s house.”

“He who? And who’s Doc Brown?”

“He is Michael J. Fox,” you murmur, pointing at Marty as Principal Strickland berates him. “Doc Brown is Christopher Lloyd, the crazy scientist.”

“Ohh. Wait, isn’t he the One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest guy?”

You lean back in your seat enough to give Steve an incredulous look.

“You’ve seen One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest?”

He shrugs, ripping the cardboard lip of the Sour Patch box open and spilling a few multi-colored gummies into his palm. “Robin and I have movie nights every Sunday. She chooses artsy shit on her turns. My last pick was Gremlins. You should come this weekend, but I can’t promise she’ll give up her turn for you. She’s suuuuper anal about that stuff.”

You smile and relax into his side. “As long as she’s cool with me bringing hot chips, she can pick whatever she wants.” This date isn’t over yet, and he’s already talking about seeing you again. If it weren’t the least cool thing you could do right now, you’d squeal over it.

Steve silently holds a blue Sour Patch beneath your nose as an offer, pinched between thumb and forefinger. You take it, gently pulling with your front teeth, and before he can retract his hand, you surge forward. Your tongue laps at the sticky sugar left over on the pads of his fingers, and in the flickering light of the film, you catch Steve staring at you, surprised. 

He bites the inside of his cheek when you draw his thumb inside your mouth and give a tentative suck. His gaze darkens as you blink up at him through your eyelashes, feigning innocence. As you start to pull away, he presses a finger beneath your chin and hooks his thumb downward against the backs of your bottom teeth, locking you in place. He leans toward you, mouth so close to your cheek that you feel the rumble of his voice across your heating skin.

“Do you really think it’s smart to tease me like that in public, baby?”

It is by the grace of God you don’t moan in the middle of the theater. 

You shift in your seat, trying to discreetly cross one leg over the other to squeeze your thighs together. His tone, the unrelenting grip on your jaw, and the change in his body language make you want to challenge him. You want to nod in agreement, to meet his gaze defiantly, do something that’ll make his eyes flash. But someone a few rows down from you loudly clears their throat, and Steve’s eyes dart toward the noise. 

You bite back the disappointed whine that builds in your throat as Steve slowly pulls his thumb from your mouth, eyeing the thin string of glittering saliva that keeps it briefly connected to your bottom lip before snapping. A beat passes where you both stare at each other, your lips barely parted, ready to welcome anything Steve deigns to slide past them again, but he rests that hand in his lap instead. 

“Watch the movie,” he murmurs, smirking at your open-mouthed and dazed expression.

Yeah, like that’s possible.

You swallow hard, uncrossing your legs and squirming. He hasn’t even done anything, not really, but your pussy is throbbing right now, and you’re genuinely concerned you’re going to start leaking all over the cushion below your ass. The potential embarrassment of standing up and discovering the shiny wet spot, a definitive indication of your arousal, thrills as much as it fills you with dread.

Steve seems to get absorbed into the movie rather quickly, mindlessly alternating between popping gummies and kernels of popcorn in his mouth, but your brain is buzzing, making it impossible to focus. When Steve places the popcorn bucket in the empty seat next to him, you can’t help yourself – you glance down at his empty lap, staring at his dick through his jeans like a fucking pervert. You gnaw the edges of your fingers, which doesn’t come close to sating the desire to have anything of Steve’s back inside your mouth..

The 1950s version of Marty’s father has just knocked Biff Tannen unconscious when Steve leans over the armrest between you again, and his voice is light with amusement when he asks, “What’s got you squirming so much?”

You breathe out sharply through your nose.

“I thought you wanted us to watch the movie,” you snark. Steve’s smile widens.

“I told you to watch the movie,” he corrects. His elbow nudges into your side slightly as he bends toward you. “But it seems like you’re havin’ a hard time with that. I’m just curious as to why.”

“You know why.”

“Mmm, no, I don’t.” Smug motherfucker.

Your hands rest on your thighs, clenching and unclenching as you contemplate your next move. He watches you intently, eyes roaming from your undoubtedly flushed face to where your hands are fidgeting in your lap. 

You won’t tell him why you can’t sit still – you’ll show him.

Wordlessly, you slide your fingers down the sleeve of his sweatshirt until you’re grasping his hand and guiding it toward your skirt. His fingers are cold as they brush against the soft, warm flesh of your inner thighs, and you grin as a gasp flutters past his lips.

“Fuck,” he growls. He pulls his hand back, and before you can whine at the loss, he adjusts himself in his seat so he’s angled toward you and reaches between your legs with his other hand, the one that offers better leverage. You duck your face into the crook of his neck as his two fingers slide up the length of your slit, collecting the slick that’s puddled near your hole and smearing it up your lips. You can’t part your legs any further, or you’ll rip your skirt right up the seam, but that doesn’t stop you from trying. You whimper softly as Steve crowds you up against the back of your seat. 

“I can’t believe you went out with no panties on,” he breathes raggedly. That same fervent, desperate arousal he displayed last night while nose-deep in your pussy bleeds into his voice, making it husky as it washes over your ear, and you shiver. 

Steve dips the tips of his fingers inside you, a groan stifled against the back of his teeth, and you suck in a breath. Is he really going to finger you here, in the theater? You’re not exactly sure what you were expecting, but knowing that anyone could turn around and see you both right now makes you simultaneously nervous and stupidly horny.

“God, you’re already so wet,” Steve rasps, fingers nudging deeper inside of you. “Have you been thinking about this the whole movie? Teasing me ‘til I played with your pussy?”

“M-Maybe,” you whimper. “I didn’t…have a concrete plan…oh, fuck–”

Steve claps his free hand over your mouth before you can loose the moan bubbling up your throat, snickering as his two fingers slide inside you. They curl as he drags them almost entirely out of your hole, leaving only the tips inside before slowly stuffing you full again. He keeps this devastatingly slow pace, fucking his fingers in so deep you ache, only to leave you mostly empty, again and again. You pant and whine against his palm, hips bucking off the seat to try and make him go faster, God, you need him to fuck you properly, but he won’t be swayed.

“You should see yourself right now,” he says against your ear. His fingers still inside you, the tips rubbing against your g-spot so that despite the people around you, you’re confident you’ll scream in frustration if he doesn’t start fucking you the way you want, the way you need. “Your cunt is drooling all over the seat, baby.”

He removes his hand from between your thighs, smirking at how you fuss and strain in an attempt to coax him back inside you. He frees your mouth, but only briefly, as his slick-soaked digits push past your lips the second you open them to protest. They don’t stop, either, sliding across your tongue and toward the back of your throat. He presses down, nearly activating your gag reflex. 

Steve watches hungrily as you hollow your cheeks and suck on his fingers, swirling your tongue over and between them to clean what remains of your slick off. The subtle way he shifts his weight catches your attention, and your gaze drifts down to his lap again.

He’s hard, you can tell, even with the inconsistent light the movie affords you. 

Embarrassingly, your mouth floods with saliva at the thought of kneeling on the sticky theater floor and swallowing Steve Harrington’s cock while the people around you innocently watch Back to the Future.

“Please,” you mewl once Steve pulls his fingers from your mouth. He hums inquisitively, tracing your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.

You straighten and push yourself into Steve’s space, crushing your mouths together as you reach into his lap and stroke the bulge in his jeans. A shudder ripples through his body as your fingers squeeze and rub insistently, and it only spurs you on. You deftly unhook the button on his pants and drag the zipper down as Steve explores your mouth with his tongue, hands curling around your jaw and holding you in place.

“You gonna stroke my cock in front of all these people, baby?” Steve chides playfully, nipping your bottom lip. 

“If you’ll let me.” 

He seems a bit taken aback by your answer, enough to where his mouth hovers above yours, and his dark eyes blink open. Steve examines your face, almost as if he’s trying to discern if you’re serious or just so mind-bogglingly horny that you’ll agree to anything.

You sink your hand beneath the waistband of his boxers and grasp his cock, too eager to let the cogs finish turning in his head. His flesh is burning hot to the touch, and as you swipe your thumb over the swollen, thick head, you smear a pearl of precum down his shaft. 

The sound he makes once he captures your lips in a kiss again is sinful.

If it weren’t for the armrest, you’re sure he’d be pulling you into his lap right about now. Steve’s breath comes in shallow bursts as you stroke him, slow and deliberate, mimicking the pace at which he fingered you. He reaches for you, wrenching your shirt from where it’s tucked into your skirt and sliding a hand up your stomach. When he cups that hand around your breast, you gasp, and he swallows the sound greedily before pushing your bra down and out of the way.

Two things happen just as Steve brings his other hand down between your legs again: lightning crashes into the clocktower on the screen, and someone unleashes a sustained, phlegmy round of coughing. 

Steve jerks back from you, panting, pink high on his cheeks and his hair dangling in his face. He looks around, tongue darting out to wet his red, swollen lips. After a moment, he laughs and leans back, closing a hand over the one you still have jammed down his pants.

“Why’d you stop?” you ask.

“'Cause if I don’t, I’m gonna fuck your brains out in front of all these people,” he admits, eyes shining mischievously. 

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you purr, squeezing the base of his cock. He twitches but gently wraps his fingers around your wrist, guiding it out of his underwear. 

“You say that until Chief Powell locks us both up for public indecency,” he laughs. “Do you wanna come back to my place, baby? It’s a lot more comfortable and…private.”

You start nodding before he’s even got the whole sentence out. He smiles, popping a quick kiss on the tip of your nose before reclining in his seat to tuck his dick away and do his pants back up. You have to do a bit of awkward twisting and shuffling to get your bra back into place without accidentally flashing the whole room, and Steve grabs your hand before carefully leading you down the steps and toward the theater door.

“So, uh, just in case I don’t get to see it ‘til it comes out on DVD,” he whispers over his shoulder, “how’s the movie end?”

“Uh, Marty hooks his mom and dad back up, and they all end up better off in the future. His dad’s some hotshot author and makes Biff chauffeur him everywhere.”

“Good for George!”

“Oh, and Doc lives.”

Steve stops cold, holding the door halfway open before turning to face you with a puzzled expression.

“Wait, what, how’d he-”

“Steve, do you wanna stand here talking about it, or do you wanna go have sex?” you ask, patting his chest and urging him out the door.

“Right, right, sorry, just – tell me later!”

~~~

Steve’s mouth finds yours the moment his front door shuts behind the both of you.

His hand slides behind your head, partially to tangle in your hair and keep you where he wants, but also so you don’t smack it against the wall as he pins you there. A few picture frames dotted along the entryway rattle from the force, and the sound stirs a thought.

“Wait, Steve, your parents…” Your protest is weak and breathless, swallowed by a gasp as Steve kisses a trail down your neck and laves his tongue over a healing hickey. 

“Not home,” he breathes.

“Are you sure?”

“They never are,” he murmurs into your skin. 

Paranoia still flickers dimly in the back of your mind, so you crack your eyes open to look around. The oak floors beneath you gleam as if freshly polished, and the cream walls you’re pressed against are stippled with a few small pieces of geometric art. There’s a side table just beyond Steve’s back, shiny and black and dimly illuminated by a single lamp, and while you don’t spot the glint of anyone’s keys on it right away, you still aren’t convinced that means no one’s home. Stairs are crushed against the furthest wall, thick ivory fabric carpeting each step, flowing upstairs into a rectangle of darkness on the top landing.

Steve sinks his teeth into the flesh above your pulse point, ripping your attention away from the decor. You moan louder than you intended and tip your head further to the side to give him better access.

“Such a little fuckin’ tease,” Steve growls against your throat. His fingers clench, tugging your hair by the root. The pain stings sweetly across your scalp, and you suck in a breath. “You have no fucking idea how much self-control it took to not bend you over in that theater, Y/N, Jesus Christ.”

You whimper, snaking your hands up under the back of his sweatshirt. He radiates heat, and the sensation of his smooth, unblemished skin beneath your fingers makes you want to scratch grooves into it. You won’t, not yet – you don’t have a read quite yet on how much pain Steve likes intermingled with his pleasure, if any. 

His free hand glides down your thigh before hitching itself behind your knee, and you gasp as Steve hikes your leg up and over his hip, leaving you suddenly exposed. Steve’s warm, solid body swiftly replaces the cool air that tickles between your thighs as he presses himself flush against you, his bulge straining against your bare pussy in a way that makes you shiver.

“God, I could fuck you right here,” he breathes, and you’re grateful for his iron grip because, without it, your buckling knees would’ve sent you straight to the floor. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, baby. Y’know how bad I wanted to drag you back inside my car last night? Keep you all to myself?”

“Fuck, Steve,” you whine, voice muffled against his soft, sweet-smelling hair. Arousal sinks itself between your hips like lead, hot and insistent, and you grind against Steve’s denim-clad cock desperately. You’ll let him fuck you anywhere he likes – against the wall, on the floor, bent over the railing of the stairs. A perverse thrill rushes through you at the thought, and you’re about to open your mouth to beg Steve for just that when he releases his grip on your hair and leg. 

By the time you realize what’s happening, Steve’s knees have already hit the dark blue rug below you, and his fingers are squeezing your skirt over your hips. He tilts your lower half away from the wall, toward his face, by grabbing a greedy handful of your ass and pulling; you stumble a little and have to tangle both hands in his hair to keep from falling over his shoulder. He peppers kisses along your inner thigh, turning his face into the soft, malleable flesh, and you see the flash of his teeth before you feel them, nipping the juncture where your pelvis and leg meet. 

“Let’s see if I still remember our lesson,” he murmurs, a sound that vibrates up into your core and shakes a moan from your lips. His voice, though faint between your legs, is dark and strained, as if he’s barely holding himself back from ravaging you right where you stand. You don’t know how to verbalize quite yet that you want, more than anything, for Steve to just fucking take you already. You worry the wicked thoughts swirling around in your head right now, tapping their claws against your skull and whispering encouragement to you, will freak him out if you dump all of them on him at once.

Steve’s tongue flattens against your cunt, and the noise he makes as he licks up to your clit makes you shudder. He crushes you closer to him, so close you can feel the tip of his nose bumping between your folds as he gets right to work eating your pussy with the fervor of a starving man. 

“Still so fucking wet,” he mumbles. He pulls away, just far enough to spread you open with two fingers, and teases the tips around the rim of your hole. You whimper, hips bucking involuntarily, your grip tightening in Steve’s hair to keep yourself steady. His dark eyes flicker to your face; his swollen pupils eclipse the color in his irises, leaving them almost black in the dim light of the entryway. 

“You want my fingers, baby?” he asks. You nod, breathless.

“Y-Yes.”

“Yes, what?” He traces around your twitching entrance, gaze unwaveringly intense. You swallow hard and swear you see the corner of his mouth tic amusedly when he catches how your throat bobs with the effort.

“Yes, please, Steve,” you offer, and he sucks his teeth in admonishment. 

“C’mon, pretty girl, I thought you learned how to beg for me properly last night,” he chastises, and your stomach flips. The high, squeaky sound that ekes out of your mouth is wholly unintentional, but how the fuck are you supposed to be quiet when he’s talking like that, looking at you like that, touching you like that?

“P-Please, please, Steve, I need your fingers inside me, please,” you mewl, and Steve makes a satisfied noise low in his throat. He places an approving kiss right above your clit, and if the thought of falling directly on top of him wasn’t mortifying, you’re sure you’d collapse.

“Do you wanna take my cock tonight baby?” he asks. He pushes his two fingers inside you just as your mouth drops open to answer, and you suck in a breath sharply as they curl and brush over that spot inside you. 

“God, fuck, yes, I do, please. I want your cock,” you babble.

“Are you sure? You’re not too sore?” It’s a sincere question. Truthfully, you are still sore – not terribly, not the way you were in the shower last night, but the ache pulsing in your muscles as Steve slowly, so fucking slowly, draws his fingers in and out of your pussy, is inescapable. Admittedly, though, it doesn’t discourage your arousal even one bit – you want him to fuck you until you can’t walk, to have that dull pain twinge throughout your body for days as a reminder. 

And considering how big he is, you don’t think that’ll be hard to accomplish.

“No, I’m okay, not too sore,” you assure him. 

“Yeah? You’ll let me know if it hurts too much, won’t you, pretty girl?” 

You nod, breath hitching as the pads of his fingers rub gentle circles over your g-spot. “I can take it, Steve.”

He smiles, sweet and innocent, his sunshine yellow sweatshirt rumpled and perfect hair ruffled across his forehead. He kisses your thigh again and pulls his fingers almost all the way out.

“You’ll need to take more than two fingers if you wanna fit my cock inside you,” he says simply, and plunges three fingers inside you up to the knuckle while latching his mouth over your clit.

The only reason you don’t scream is because all the oxygen has been sucked from your lungs. 

Steve drives his fingers home again and again, spreading them apart inside you while his tongue swirls over your throbbing clit. Your fingers claw at the smooth wall behind you, desperate for anything that might aid you in remaining upright, and when you can’t find it and the tremoring in your thighs threatens to overtake you, you thrust your hands into Steve’s hair, pushing it away from his face. It gives you an unencumbered view of his dark, thick eyelashes fluttering over his cheekbones as he focuses on your slit and the faint flush hueing his tanned skin. 

When your head falls back against the wall, and you moan, high and desperate, you unthinkingly ball your hands into fists. The strands of Steve’s hair go taut in your grip, and just as you’re about to whisper an apology, he groans into you. 

“Harder,” he says, breathless, a gleaming string of saliva tenuously connecting his bottom lip to your cunt. 

“Wha…” You’re borderline delirious from pleasure, which makes forming an intelligible sentence very difficult. Sensing this, Steve lifts the hand not buried knuckles deep inside you and rests it over yours, squeezing gently.

“Pull harder, baby.” 

You swallow hard. His eyes are wide open now, staring directly at your face, bright and blazing. When you oblige him, clench your fingers and tug at the root of Steve’s hair with both hands, hard enough to make his head tip back, his lids flicker, and a smirk sprawls across his reddened lips. The gasp that passes through them clenches your stomach, and his approval inspires you to pull his head back further.

“Fuck,” he growls. 

“That feel nice?” you ask, and Steve nods as best he can. He looks fucking divine like this; slick lips parted to allow shallow breaths, gazing up at you like you’re the only person in the universe who matters. You wonder if he’ll ever let you take the reins, if he’d let you pluck him apart, piece by piece, just as he’s done to you, only to paste him back together at your leisure.

The thought makes you shiver, and you gush a bit around his fingers.

He’s broken free of your grasp just as quickly as he invited it, however, and when he dives back into your cunt, he’s abandoned all pretense. He laps at your clit with long, flat strokes of his tongue and purposefully thrusts his three fingers against your g-spot, curling them tight and pumping so fast you can see the veins twitching in his bicep. Your pussy makes wet, obscene sounds as he fucks into it, and the embarrassment that tinges the edge of your arousal at that fact brings you closer to orgasm than you were expecting.

“S-Steve, Steve, God, fuck, I’m gonna cum, please, I wanna cum,” you blurt out, and he hums affirmatively. Without warning, you feel the tip of his pinky finger nudging against your hole.

“Cum for me,” he says – rather, he demands it of you. “Cum on my fingers if you wanna earn my cock, baby.”

Earn it. That thought, and the sweet, burning stretch of his four fingers inside your spasming pussy send you tumbling over the edge. You scream so loud you worry any neighbor Steve has will think he’s trying to kill you. In all fairness, he may be – you cum so hard that once your scream fizzles out, it’s impossible to draw in an adequate breath, so you’re just left paralyzed, choking on your own tongue, trembling on Steve’s deft fingers and mouth.

He milks it for as long as he can, chuckling against your folds when you finally gather the wherewithal to whine and push weakly at his forehead after your pleasure ripens into pain. When he pulls his fingers out, all four shimmer with slick, and it takes you a beat to realize your thighs are warm and wet from your orgasm, all the way down to your knees. The small puddle of your own cum that’s collected between your shoes glistens mockingly up at you. 

“Okay…you have to at least let me clean that up,” you pant, jutting your chin toward your mess. Steve laughs and sucks a kiss into one of the few unblemished areas of your inner thigh you have left.

“It’ll dry, don’t worry about it. You can clean this for me, though.”

Steve reaches up and presses all four fingers into your mouth. You moan, a wholly compulsory sound, but obediently twirl your tongue over the digits, doing precisely as he asked and cleaning your cum from his skin. As you do, Steve murmurs praise into your flesh between featherlight kisses, trailing them across both thighs and either side of your hips as he raises himself higher on his knees. 

“Good girl,” he purrs, retrieving his fingers from your mouth. You’re about to thank him when he presses you flush against the wall again. You find yourself upside down before you can ask what he’s doing.

Steve has hoisted you up and over his shoulder, not unlike a literal sack of potatoes, and you’re now completely inverted, blood rushing to your head but enjoying an eyeful of Steve’s ass in his jeans. The fabric of your skirt is still bunched up around your hips, leaving your bare ass fully exposed, and you reflexively reach back to cover it as Steve darts up the staircase. Your body bounces on the rounded edge of his shoulder, which digs a bit unpleasantly into the soft pouch of your stomach, but you find yourself giggling uncontrollably all the same. His strength impresses and arouses you all over again.

“Sorry, baby, I just don’t fully trust you to walk all the way to my room on those shaky legs,” Steve says, mirth belying his apology. You’d like to argue, but he isn’t wrong. Even as they dangle uselessly across Steve’s torso, your thighs tremble. At this rate, you would’ve been lucky if they cooperated enough to let you crawl after Steve to his bedroom.

Although…

Before you can entertain that thought, you’re flying through the air. The springs of Steve’s bed shriek as you land atop it in a heap, making you wonder if they always squeak like that. 

“Sorry about the mess,” Steve says, arms crossed over his torso and hands gripping the hem of his sweatshirt. You look around – aside from a few crumpled pieces of paper on a desk and a moderate pile of rumpled clothes in one corner, the room is spotless. The walls and curtains are matching shades of plaid, and more oak furniture crowds the corners. You take a deep breath, expecting Steve’s cologne to waft sweetly up your nose, but instead, you inhale the scent of dust. There isn’t much here to denote that the room belongs to a college-aged man, let alone that he spends any meaningful amount of time in it. It looks more like a well-used guest room, aside from the forest green sleeve of Steve’s varsity jacket peeking out from the cracked closet door and a singular framed picture on his desk. The features of the two figures are bathed in shadow, but you can tell by the exaggerated swoop of hair on the taller one that it’s Steve with…someone.

It makes you sad, Steve’s room.

You sit on your knees and shuffle toward him as he peels off his shirt, laying your hands over his to stop him.

“Let me,” you whisper. 

He pauses, a sliver of smooth skin visible through the gap he’s made in his clothes, and you catch a glimpse of his happy trail just above his belt buckle. One hand drifts downward, and your fingers press tentatively into that thatch of hair. Steve’s stomach is a hard wall of muscle protected by soft flesh that pudges out around your fingertips slightly, and the way he tenses beneath your touch doesn’t escape your notice. His eyes glitter in the room's dim light, flickering over your face, searching. 

“Please?” you add, and he smiles.

He drops both arms to his sides, allowing you to slide your palms along his waist and lift the sweatshirt from his body. Dark, coarse hair swirls across his chest, dipping between his pectorals in a thin line before reappearing above the waistband of his jeans; beneath the sparse edges of his body hair, you’re able to pick out dozens of freckles and beauty marks dappled along the lean, tan expanse of his torso. The sleeves of his sweatshirt flip inside out and cling to his wrists as you tug the last of it off, and you both giggle when the neckline snags on the tip of his nose before snapping over his forehead. 

You sit back on your haunches, hands hovering above his body, unsure of where to settle first. He’s so fucking pretty, you want to touch everywhere at once, from the broad line of his shoulders to the divots along his pelvis.

You don’t have long to think about it. Steve slips both hands behind your knees and pulls; your back hits the bed in a squeal of springs and a whoosh of air, and as your thighs spread instinctively, the riiiiip of your skirt splitting clean up the seams catches his attention.

“Oh, shit. Sorry,” Steve chuckles, pinching a jagged flap of fabric between his fingers. It’s unsalvageable, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You squeeze what remains of the waistband down your hips and drop the scraps off the edge of his bed, giggling.

“You’re gonna owe me a whole new wardrobe at this rate,” you say, and Steve presses an apologetic kiss to the bridge of your nose.

“I’ll get you the best a Family Video salary can buy,” he promises. Then, two fingers are buried inside of you to the knuckles, and any witty retort you had loaded up for him dissipates on the breath that hisses out through your teeth.

“Fucking – oh, my God,” you groan, stretching out the last word as Steve plunges his fingers in and out of your cunt. He tilts his hand slightly so that he’s brushing up against your g-spot every time, and you would be embarrassed about the pathetic little whimpers tumbling from your lips if you had the wherewithal for shame at this juncture. Your back arches, driving your head into the pillow, but Steve’s free hand tangles itself in your hair and forces you into a semi-sitting position.

“I want you to watch, baby,” he murmurs. “Watch how you take me.” 

“Please, Steve, more, please, I can take it,” you pant, eyelashes fluttering as you watch Steve’s glistening fingers vanish and reappear rhythmically. He laughs against the shell of your ear before kissing your temple.

“I know you can take more of my fingers, pretty girl. I watched you do that,” he coos, voice rife with singsongy condescension. “Unless that’s not what you mean.”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” you whine, and you don’t think you’ve ever sounded so petulant in your entire life. Steve’s fingers still, and he makes a quizzical Hm? sound high in his throat before deliberately dragging tight, fast circles around your g-spot. The veins in his forearm pulse and bulge with the effort, and he’s gone and sucked all the air out of your lungs, so you can’t even answer him when he says, “Then use your words and tell me what you need.”

For a few seconds, your brain goes blank. Pleasure thrums through every nerve in your body until your skin is prickling with heat, gooseflesh rising on your thighs despite the sweat beading at your hairline, and the realization that you’re already close again cracks through your skull like lightning. You grab Steve’s wrist, though you’re torn on if you want to push him away or pull him in deeper. It’s too much, it’s far too much and yet it’s not nearly enough at the same time because it’s not his cock, and you need his cock, so finally, you draw in a shallow breath, swallow what little saliva remains in your mouth, and you tell him.

“I need your cock, please, Steve. I need your fucking cock so badly, please just give it to me.”

“That’s my girl.”

Steve crawls between your legs, aptly slipping his belt out of his jeans and whipping it to the other end of the room. As he strips his pants off – you bite back a laugh, watching him struggle to rip his foot out of one of the legs – you sit forward slightly and peel off your Heart T-shirt. Fresh air cools your flushed skin while you reach behind yourself, awkwardly attempting to unclasp your bra and still look sexy, a feat you don’t think has ever been accomplished.

“I got it,” Steve says, and as he presses himself against you, head hanging over your shoulder and fingers adeptly unhooking the tiny metal hoops, something hot and hard rubs between your legs. You look down and realize he’s already stripped himself of his briefs, and once your bra falls away, discarded alongside your shirt, you see the flushed length of his cock bobbing slightly between his hips. 

Your mouth fills with saliva. It’s like you can still taste him, heady and salty and perfect, on the back of your tongue, and for a moment, you want to beg him to fill your throat over and over again. 

“God, you’re fucking perfect,” Steve murmurs, lips trailing down the side of your neck, then your collarbone, before both hands rise to cup your now bare tits, and his mouth glides along your heated flesh. When he closes it around a nipple and laves his tongue around it in slow circles, you arch your back, moaning with abandon; Steve inches closer, the head of his cock nudging more insistently against your cunt. He repeats his ministrations on the other nipple, hands kneading and squeezing the pliant skin of your chest gently until you’re whining and bucking against him.

“You ready, baby?” he purrs. He lifts his eyes to yours, pupils blown so wide and black within his dark irises that it’s like staring into twin pools of ink. You open your mouth to respond just as Steve grips himself by the base of his cock and grinds the shaft against your soaked slit, up and down, up and down, grazing your clit with every stroke. If you weren’t so smitten by him, you’d fucking kill him.

Growling, you plunge both hands into his hair, tugging hard at the locks by his temples as you did before, and Steve’s shocked gasp skitters across your face. 

“Fuck me before I lose my goddamned mind,” you pant, voice much less authoritative than you’d like it to be. You compensate by jerking Steve’s head back, punctuating your demand, and he laughs. 

“If you insist.”

Both of your wrists are swept up in one of his hands and pinned above your head so fast you don’t have time to react. The head of his cock presses against your hole, thick and hot. Despite his thorough prep work, you can tell this will still be quite the stretch. You hitch your legs up over his hips as he prods further, keening and squirming as your pussy struggles to accommodate the sheer girth of him – it fucking burns, but the pain doesn’t discourage you in the slightest. Still, you can’t help the pitiful mewls that fall from your lips, nor the way your body thrashes against Steve’s iron grip.

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, voice rough with arousal. “You can take it. I know you can. Just relax. Does it hurt?”

“K-Kinda.”

“Do you need me to stop?”

“Fuck no, please don’t stop,” you plead, and Steve huffs out a laugh. 

When the head finally pops inside you, you reflexively bear down on it and release a broken moan through gritted teeth, and Steve’s low groan reverberates through your body. “So fucking tight, fuck baby,” he moans, and just as your lips part to beg him to keep going, he thrusts in another inch. Steve pushes inside of you slowly and steadily, sucking air through his teeth and screwing his eyes shut so tight you wonder if he’s consciously keeping himself from cumming already.

Then – he pulls out.

Fuck it. You’re gonna kill him and kill him slowly.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he wheezes, scrambling off the bed and leaving you with a spasming, achingly empty hole and questions on your tongue. The low lighting doesn’t afford you much clarity on what Steve is doing. Under normal circumstances, you’d probably find the way he’s frenziedly flitting about the room, naked as the day he was born, funny, but you are legs akimbo on his bed, alone, with nary an explanation as to why he pulled his dick out of you in the first place.

It dawns on you when he finds what he’s looking for and kneels on the bed again, and the slim plastic wrapper in his hand gleams in the lamplight.

Duh.

“I completely forgot,” he says, smiling bashfully as he frees the condom from its wrapper and rolls it down over his flushed cock. You can’t help it – you’re disappointed he’s not gonna be fucking you raw tonight. You understand why he can’t, why you can’t let him, of course, and if you’d had your wits about you, you’d have reminded him about it yourself. But still. 

Steve kisses your forehead as he lines himself up with your cunt again, and this time, he doesn’t make you beg at all – he thrusts almost half his length inside of you in one go, and you forget all about the condom for the moment.

“Fuck, fuck, yes, Steve!” You twist his sheets up into your fists, shocked you don’t tear a hole clean through the fabric, and your mouth hangs open as Steve bullies his cock deeper inside you. Pleasure rumbles through him, something you feel rather than hear at first because he leans over you, one hand supporting the small of your back, lifting you partially off the bed, and presses your bodies together. He plants wet kisses along the side of your neck and down your chest, breath washing over your skin as he pants raggedly. 

“You have no idea how hard it was to not just fuck you raw, baby,” he murmurs. A shiver ripples down your back and you moan, the sound swinging high and cracking in your throat because that is maybe the hottest thing he could have said in this moment. 

“I would’ve let you,” you admit, the words slipping from your mouth without much thought given to them, and perhaps you’d be embarrassed at your stark honesty, or how desperate you sound if Steve didn’t groan so deliciously in your ear afterward and start snapping his hips forward faster.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, breathless. With every thrust, he buries himself just a bit deeper inside you, and the ever-increasing fullness makes it hard to think, let alone maintain any sort of filter on your words. It still burns just that little bit, enough to remind you that you’ve never had anything – or anyone – this big inside of you before, and it just makes this sweeter. 

“God, yes, absolutely,” you huff, because it’s true – you’d never admit it to him, would never tell a single soul or even pen it in the margins of your diary, but you have spent more than one sleepless night in your life with your hand jammed down the front of your underwear, fantasizing about Steve Harrington filling your pussy with load after load until his cum dribbled steadily out of your thoroughly used hole. You’d always flush with embarrassment afterward, when the warm glow of your orgasm had faded and you had to deal with your soaked sheets before they went cold under your ass, mostly because, at that point, you’d hardly said five words to the guy. 

Steve adjusts his grip, hands sliding from your back to behind both knees before he pushes them toward your chest. When he bucks against you next, it’s all you can do not to scream. He can get so fucking deep at this angle, with your hips tilted up and Steve looming over you, and you’re positively flabbergasted when you look down between your bodies and realize he hasn’t even pushed his entire length inside of you yet. You’re brimming with him, entirely full, you don’t think you could take another inch, but still you whine and look up at him through your lashes.

“Deeper,” you plead, weakly gripping his elbows for purchase. “P-Please, deeper…more…”

 He chuckles, a low sound that rolls like thunder through your body and makes gooseflesh prickle across your skin, and when he pushes a sweat-damp clump of hair from his eyes, you realize just how bright they are. The way they flash at you, coupled with the sheen of sweat glistening off his pinked cheeks and the parting of his red, swollen lips to allow passage for his heaving breaths makes you wish you had a camera. You’d live in this moment forever if you could, Steve pounding you into the mattress and gazing at you like this, like you’re the only thing in the world he cares about.

“You’re fuckin’ twitching around me, baby, are you gonna cum already?” he asks, and the question drops you back into your body at once, though you weren’t aware you’d been floating out of it in the first place. He’s right – without having even acknowledged your clit the entire time Steve’s had his cock inside of you, you’re teetering on the edge of an orgasm, your cunt fluttering sporadically around his length. You open your mouth to reply, but no sound beyond gasping breath comes out, and this is apparently greatly amusing to Steve.

“Oh, you are, aren’t you? My pretty girl’s gonna cum all over my cock and I’ve barely even started, huh?” 

His words are like a crank winding an invisible cord that stretches from your core to your clit, one that has already been pulled so taut that you don’t think it’ll withstand his mouth much longer. You want to cum so fucking badly, but you also don’t want to be finished yet, and before you can verbalize any of that to Steve, he’s bearing down on you and pushing your thighs even further back. You’re not sure how you manage it, because you could’ve sworn you were not this flexible before tonight, but Steve forces your legs almost flush against your shoulders and slots both arms behind your knees, so you can’t close them even if you wanted to; he crowds against you, the full weight of his body now accompanying each thrust as he obliges your earlier request and sinks deeper into your drooling pussy than you thought possible.

Your mind goes blissfully blank. The tether in your belly snaps, and you start cumming so hard on Steve’s cock that you can’t even manage a scream – your mouth opens, a perfectly rounded O as your eyes screw themselves shut, and your back arches off his bed, your orgasm igniting every nerve in your body until you’re little more than a writhing live wire. It’s intense – that’s the only word you have for it, understatement of the century though it may be. You clench so tight around Steve that you’re shocked you don’t force him out of you, and he just keeps fucking you through it.

“That’s it, baby,” he croons, swiping the hair from your face with one hand and holding you in place. “That’s it, good girl, keep cumming for me, fuck, I can feel you soaking my cock–” 

“Steve, fuck, fuck, God, don’t stop, please,” you wheeze, your pleasure ebbing just enough for you to draw a small breath and find your voice again. You reach up, fingers shaking before settling in his hair, and tug the locks at the nape of his neck as your body trembles uncontrollably. Though he does moan in that way you’re rapidly becoming addicted to as you pull his hair, he slows his pace to a devastatingly slow grind and releases your legs. They flop uselessly down onto the bed, tingling with pins and needles, and you whimper pitifully as Steve takes this moment to sit up on his heels.

“Steve–”

“I’m not going anywhere, baby, it’s okay,” he assures you, resting both hands on your aching hips and kneading small circles into the soft flesh with his thumbs. “I’m here.”

“Did you…?” You glance down at where your bodies are still joined, and Steve snorts.

“Almost. That’s why I had to stop for a sec. You just feel too fucking good.”

You can’t help the smug grin that creeps across your lips. You’re tempted to rock against him anyway, or perhaps even knock him backward and ride him until he can’t take it anymore, but your leaden limbs forbid you from making any significant strides toward either option. Steve pants above you, hands slowly migrating up the squishy expanse of your stomach, past your breasts, and finally landing on either side of your jaw before he licks his lips and bends toward you. He kisses you, chaste and gentle, a featherlight brush of his mouth against yours, and his thumbs press somewhat insistently at your temples.

“You’re crying,” he informs you, and again, it’s Steve’s observation that brings you back to your body – the sides of your face are wet, and if you turn your head at all, you can feel your damp hair sliding around on the pillow. “Are you okay?”

“Mmhmm…very, very okay,” you purr. “Jus’ felt good, that’s all…”

If your orgasm was like a firework shooting off and exploding inside of you, the afterglow you’re nestled in is like a warm bath, with every inch of you buzzing pleasantly in sluggish pleasure. Steve kisses you again, trailing his lips up past your cheekbone so he can plant them square in the middle of your sweaty forehead. The juxtaposition of this tenderness, the capacity he has to be so gentle with you after he just had you bent in half and seemed hellbent on fucking you through the bed, makes your stomach flutter with the kind of girlish giddiness only Steve can bring out of you. 

“Do you want me to keep going?” he asks. His cock throbs inside of you, but when he pulls back far enough to flash you that sweet, lopsided smile of his you know he’d roll off in a heartbeat if you asked him to. But you do not want him to do that, not even slightly, so you find the strength to lift your thighs and wrap them around his hips before you nod, grinning dopily, and say, “Please keep fucking me, Steve.”

His mouth is on yours before you’re finished saying his name. His movements have slowed, from the glide of his tongue past your lips to the roll of his hips, and he greedily swallows the keening whines that bubble up from your throat as his cock drags along your oversensitive walls. Your breath hitches every time he pushes himself as deep as he can go, something he makes a note of with a laugh and a playful nip to your bottom lip.

“You like being full of my cock, huh, beautiful?” he murmurs, ducking his head. He’s seemingly decided you need more hickeys, as evidenced by the way he starts sucking on a patch of flesh just beneath your ear like he’s trying to draw blood from the thumping veins below. 

“S-So much, yeah.”

“Yeah? That’s not even all of it, baby.”

“It’s not?” you whine, incredulous, and Steve snickers against your skin, shaking his head. 

“No, but I think it’d hurt if I tried to fit it all inside of you,” he says, and there’s something sharp in his voice – something mocking. 

“You don’t know that,” you huff, and Steve hums against your throat. 

He takes one of your hands in his, guiding it toward where he’s buried inside you, and says, “Feel that? Feel how nice and full you are now?”

You nod. Steve drops your hand. “Now feel how much of me is still left,” he says.

You do, fingers twitching along the length that remains outside of you, and you’re shocked. There must be at least two inches that Steve has yet to stuff you with, or perhaps that he physically can’t stuff you with, and while you want so badly for him to just shove the rest of it inside, you consider he may be right. His thick cockhead pulses where it’s resting inside your pussy, nestled against the very back of you; any deeper, he’d certainly hit your cervix, something you’ve experienced before with other (clumsy, inconsiderate, douchey) partners and would very much so like to never experience again. Still, your pride weathers this slight blow, and you compensate by wrapping your fingers around the bit of Steve’s cock that you can’t accommodate.

“Fuck,” he moans, drawing the word out nice and long as you start to jerk him off. He lifts his head from your throat, mouth curling into a shocked smile as he rocks his hips into your fist and, consequently, your cunt. “That’s…fuck, that’s really hot, Y/N.”

“Yeah?” Your voice is breathy, and pleasure sparks anew throughout your core. You have to twist your wrist at a slightly odd angle to get a grip on him with both of your bodies in the way, and your fingers keep slipping in the ample lubrication your pussy supplies, so it’s perhaps the clumsiest handjob you’ve ever given, but Steve doesn’t seem to care. He thrusts into you messily, brows pinched and swollen mouth dropped open as he chases his peak inside you, and your free hand raises to cup the side of his face.

“Cum in me,” you whisper, and the broken sound that tumbles from Steve’s lips spurs you on. You push back against him and bear down on his cock at the same time you squeeze your fist, the rubber rim of the condom skidding beneath your fingers. He slumps forward, pressing his cheek into your palm, hands shooting out to catch himself before he falls headlong into your chest. Sweat beads at his hairline and trickles down the long column of his throat before pooling in the hollow at the base, and the sight is so tempting you sit up and lave your tongue over his salty skin. 

“Cum in me,” you say again, “please, Steve. I need it, please, please.” 

“God-fucking-dammit,” he growls, his hips stuttering, chest heaving, and not a second later, he’s cumming. You can’t feel his load inside you – a fact that inspires a non-zero amount of disappointment that hasn’t abated since the second he slid the condom on – but watching him cum is enough to make that disappointment vanish. He goes silent for a beat as his peak overwhelms him, but when his cock starts to pulse inside your cunt and within your loose fist, fresh moans rip themselves from his throat, and you are so fucking thankful that Steve Harrington is not afraid to be loud for you. His body tenses and shudders as he pumps into you erratically. 

Just as you think he’s finished, and you’ve begun to take your cramping hand back, Steve stops you. He’s panting, gasping for air like he’s just finished a marathon, and his eyes are positively sparkling. He places your hand back on your pussy, and when you don’t move, he nods his head.

“Make yourself cum for me again,” he says simply, and it’s all you can do not to balk at him.

“But you just–”

“Don’t care. You can give me one more, baby.” 

Of all the things you’ve done tonight – in the last 48 hours, really – touching yourself in full view of Steve is the thing that makes you blush the deepest. You swallow thickly, fingers hesitating over your admittedly swollen clit, and Steve chuckles. He’s not as hard as he was moments ago, and you can feel him softening the longer he remains inside you, but that doesn’t stop him from jerking his hips forward harder in encouragement.

“C’mon, you’re gonna give me one more,” he insists. “Touch that pretty pussy for me, show me how you do it when you’re all by yourself.”

Well, when he says it like that.

You suck your bottom lip between your teeth and make quick work of your clit, rubbing circles around the throbbing bud as Steve fucks you fast and sloppy. You really didn’t think you had it in you at first, but once again, your body seems to have an endless capacity for orgasms when you’re around Steve – the coil in your belly winds itself quickly this time, burning blood-hot between your hips and readying itself to snap faster than you’ve ever experienced before. A wicked thought crosses your mind then, one that involves Steve testing just how quickly he can make you cum, and how many times he can replicate that speed, and you resolve to bring it up to him at a later date as your pussy spasms and Steve moans above you.

“Fuck yes, I can feel you getting close, that’s it,” he babbles, breathy laughter carrying his reassurance, and with one last well-placed thrust, you’re cumming on his cock again. God help you, there’s a splash, and wet heat soaks between your fingers as Steve fucks you through your orgasm, audibly impressed with how much you cum this time.

“Good fucking girl, I knew you had it in you. Shoulda put a towel down.”

You’d shush him if you had any air in your lungs. 

He pulls out and delicately unwinds your trembling thighs from his hips, beaming at you the whole time he peels the condom off his dick and disposes of it in a small wastebasket. When he returns to the bed, he scoops you up and rolls you over, placing himself in the wet spot you’ve created and dragging you on top of him so all you can feel is his solid warmth. He peppers kisses along your dampened hairline and gently strokes both hands up and down the length of your spine, pausing above the swell of your ass to knead his fingers into your heated flesh a few times. Your hearts are pounding, and for a moment, you swear they beat in sync. You tell yourself it must be the post-orgasm endorphin drop making the world a little rosier than it truly is.

“I’m so proud of you, pretty girl,” Steve murmurs, pressing his lips to your forehead and tilting your face toward his. His cheeks still have an adorable flush to them, and his hair is slicked away from his face with sweat. You note the twin moles stamped on the left side of his face, right on the apple of his cheek, and surge forward on your elbow to capture them in a kiss. 

“You feel okay?” he asks. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shake your head. “Not at all. I kinda wanted you to, but–”

“Oh?”

Motherfuck. You and your big mouth. 

“Uh…” Steve stares at you, eyes bright and curious, and the corner of his mouth flirts with a grin. He looks…intrigued? You don’t know why that’s so shocking, considering you’ve yanked on his hair like they were a horse’s reins multiple times tonight and he nearly melted in your hands, but you blush all the same under his gaze and chew your bottom lip.

“We can definitely talk about that,” he says, and his voice is surprisingly soft given the mischievous look on his handsome face. 

“Really?”

“Well, I mean, kinda depends on what you mean by “hurt” you,” he adds, raising two fingers to twitch around the word “hurt.” “D’you mean, like, get a lil’ rough with you, or…like, stick you with a cattle prod?”

“Cattle prod,” you deadpan, and in the beat of silence that follows, genuine fear flashes across Steve’s face. You snort, smacking him lightly in the center of his chest, and his abdominal muscles relax noticeably beneath you. 

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t thoroughly enjoy everything that you just did, by the way,” you clarify, flattening your palm between his pecs and idly mussing his chest hair. “‘Cause I did. I just…like it a little rougher, sometimes, too.”

“I can do rougher,” Steve asserts, pinching a lock of your hair between thumb and forefinger and delicately tucking it behind your ear. Your belly flutters at the prospect, and though you already have suggestions bubbling up your throat, your tongue feels too thick in your mouth to adequately communicate any of them. In fact, the more Steve caresses your body, the heavier you feel, and it’s only after his face begins to blur that you realize that your eyelids are drooping.

“Tired?” he laughs as you blink a few times.

“Mmm,” you mumble, noncommittal, even as your head comes down to nuzzle into his neck and your thoughts go fuzzy at the edges. “Can’t sleep…curfew…”

“I’ll wake you up,” he promises. “Just nap, baby, it’s okay. I got you.”

You grumble again, a piss-poor argument that Steve does not heed. Instead, he drags his fingers through the hair on the side of your head, careful not to snag on any tangles, his touch so light it makes you shiver. It is impossible to ignore the pull of unconsciousness when someone is playing with your hair, that’s just an objective fact, and so you sigh, limbs loosening and body going slack on top of Steve’s as he lulls you deeper into darkness.

~~~

Turns out, Steve’s sweatpants fit you.

Well, maybe “fit” is being generous – you had to knot the drawstrings as tight as they would go to keep the waistband above your hips, and it still slings well below the curve of your pelvis if you don’t bunch the front up in your fist and manually hold it up. They’re also comically long, and you’ve had to cuff the legs three times over just to make sure you don’t trip over the fabric that otherwise puddles around your feet.

The heater purrs as it drools warmth into the interior of Steve’s car, a welcome reprieve from the freezing October air that presses against the windows. They’re fogged, and you absently draw little doodles on the misty glass with one finger. Queen’s second self-titled album plays faintly, a throbbing bassline and Freddie Mercury’s crooning vocals filling the narrow space between you and Steve.

“I didn’t peg you as a Queen guy,” you say, gesturing in the direction of his cassette deck, your hand interlocked with his and beside the gear shift. He scoffs.

“You kidding? I love Queen,” he says emphatically and takes his hand off the steering wheel for a moment to spin the volume dial. As he does, the song changes, bleeding seamlessly into the next one; Freddie’s voice reaches its peak just as a few bright notes are plunked on a piano, and a beat is thudded out on the drums. Steve sings along, loudly, and though you can tell he’s not being serious about it, his voice is smooth and clear. You’re so enamored by the sight of him that the lyrics don’t register right away, not until he leans into your space, eyes pinned fastidiously to the darkened road ahead, and sings at you.

“Funny how love is everywhere, just look and see.”

They’re just words, not even Steve’s words, but your cheeks color nonetheless.

“Funny how love is anywhere you’re bound to be.” His gaze flickers from the road for a moment, one singular moment, and he looks right at you. Your belly flips, and the heat in your face burns all the way down your neck. If it were anyone else, literally any other human being on the planet, you’d be tucking and rolling out of the car the moment they started serenading you, even as a joke – but this is Steve, and he’s smiling so wide, and he’s fucking harmonizing with Freddie Mercury, and he shakes your intertwined hands to the beat as he does it, so you’re content to sit here and let him give you a rendition of the entire rest of the album if he wants to. 

You definitely don’t get hung up on the fact that he looked you in the eye while he sang about love. Nope. Not at all.

The song peters out just as Steve pulls up to your house, and he checks his watch as he puts the car in park, nodding at the glowing numbers proudly.

“Back, and with five minutes to spare this time,” he announces.

“I’ll have to tip you for the excellent service,” you tease.

“I accept cash, credit, or a kiss on the lips,” Steve shoots back, already dragging you toward him and leaning his body over the gear shift. You giggle, and he swallows the sound, pressing his warm mouth against yours so tenderly you’d hardly believe the filth it’s capable of if you weren’t a firsthand witness.

He helps you shrug your jacket on before you step out of the car, and the chill of the night gusts against you so intently you can’t help but shudder. You stoop down as he rolls the passenger side window down for you, just as you had the night before.

“You comin’ to movie night on Sunday?” he asks.

“Wouldn’t miss it. D’you think Robin will let me pick if it’s my first time? And I ask her so nicely?”

“I think you’d have a better shot at winning the lottery and getting struck by lightning on the same day,” Steve estimates, “but I can check. Who knows, maybe she’ll be feeling generous.”

“Tell her I’ll bring extra hot chips if she is.”

Steve laughs, and both hands come up to cup the sides of your face. He kisses you again, and this time it’s slower, languid, a purposeful prolonging of your departure. You gladly accept it, and again, there’s a pang in your stomach, a desperate want to hop back in the car with him and not let the night end. When he pulls away from you, playfully nipping your bottom lip, Steve murmurs something against your lips that makes you feel like Earth has stopped spinning.

“D’you wanna be my girlfriend, Y/N?”

The innocence, the painful earnestness of the question strikes you, makes the breath catch in your throat, and Steve’s eyes glitter with starlight as he looks up at you. “It’s probably kinda silly, considering…well, considering, but, I mean, I wanted to…yanno, ask, formally…I know it’s only been two dates, but, I just, I really like you, and I wanna keep doing this, seeing you, and I wanna be the only one seeing you –”

“Like there could be anyone else,” you breathe, and this time it’s your own words that shock you. You could see the whirlwind beginning in his head, the anxious avalanche of words to defend himself from potential humiliation, so you just blurted that out because, well, duh, of course there isn’t anyone else you’d want to be with. You knew that from the second he picked you up with flowers in his hand last night.

He perks visibly. “Is that a yes?”

“Of course, it’s a yes.” 

You hear the door whoosh open, slam shut, and gravel crunching underfoot before you register that Steve has gotten out of the car and is rounding on you. When he grabs you, one hand supporting the small of your back, the other plunging into your hair, and dips you backward to plant a kiss on your mouth, you try your damndest not to focus on the fact that not only is he not wearing shoes, but his socks are mismatched – one white tube sock, one black with green swirls. You mostly succeed, and you think the giggle that tickles against his lips passes as one of shock. 

As he tips you upright, something out of the corner of your eye catches your attention. A light is flickering from your house, and as you squint against it, you realize it’s not the flicker of an old bulb fizzling out. It’s measured, a steady pattern, and the reason for this is quickly made apparent as the dark shape of your mother floats in front of the curtains. She’s flicking the porch light on and off, signaling for you to hurry it up, and you’re torn on whether you wanna die right on the spot, or march up the driveway and throttle her.

“That’s my cue,” you sigh, but when you turn to look at Steve, there’s something odd about his expression. He’s fixated on the light, which casts scattered shadows across the angles of his face, and his eyes are sort of…glazed. There’s a faraway look to them, as though he’s gone somewhere in his head that you can’t reach.

“Steve?” You thump his chest once, not too hard, and he inhales sharply through his nose. He blinks a few times before shaking his head, like he’s physically shucking whatever unpleasantness was burdening him off, and just like that, he’s himself again.

“I’ll pick you up Sunday afternoon,” he says, kissing you one last time on the forehead before allowing you to step out of his embrace. You want to ask what that was, where he went just now, why his eyes keep flitting almost nervously between you and your porch light – perhaps the threat of your mother scares him that much? – but you don’t have time. You both part from each other slowly, him walking backward toward his car, you retreating up your driveway.

“I’ll pick something good!” you holler, and Steve nods.

“See you then, baby.” 

You’re backing up against the front steps of your house as Steve disappears into his front seat, and the sound of your front door opening is muted by the revv of his engine.

“Right on time,” your mother says from behind you, shadow obstructing the yellowy light that spills onto the porch. You look over your shoulder at her, eyes narrowed.

“You know, I’m legally an adult,” you point out, “I shouldn’t have a curfew.”

“He’s got a nice car,” Mom says, craning her neck to look around you and tucking the fuzzy blue halves of her robe tighter against her body. “Does he drive like a maniac?”

“Yes, he’s like Dale Earnhardt but worse,” you snark, eyes glued to the glittering shell of Steve’s BMW as it curves down the street and into the yawning mouth of the night.

He does have a nice car…your boyfriend has a nice car. The word is like helium, lifting you off the ground and floating you inside the house.

“Wait…weren’t you wearing a skirt when you left?” Mom asks as you glide past her. “Where did you get those sweats from?”

Oops.

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[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 05. ANGEL OF SMALL DEATH

a/n: i am apologizing now and a chapter early because this will be the last bit of happiness before the real angst settles in. i'm talking absolute pain. but for now we get to indulge in logan being content and happy with having his honey exactly how he wants. this chapter wasn't supposed to be this long, but i'm feral for this man. so here we are. enjoy the equivalent to a beach episode in a tv show before the real pain begins!

summary: when the world grows silent and time seems to stand still, you and logan find a reprieve in the serenity of your apartment.

OR nasty fucking him all over the small space until he sees god.

word count: 8k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, oral (m receiving), sloppy toppy to the highest degree, p in v sex, choking, cumplay, spitplay, dirty talk, wade being a peeping tom, just wade, squirting, slightly dom!logan, accidental edging, face fucking, creampie, logan being a freak and his honey matching him entirely.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

He slept. For the first time in near a decade, he slept long after the sun rose in the morning sky. He resided in a vast emptiness of nothing but darkness. No nightmares, no screams, no fear that ate his heart bit by bit until all but a shell remained. Merely the echo of your breaths as you lay sprawled across his chest—naked skin pressed intimately atop his.

The curtains on your bedroom window remained open from the day prior—allowing the sun to stream in. Catching across your face and forcing your eyes to open with a squint of displeasure. You stirred gently, a sigh pressed to the hard chest against your cheek. The one that rose and fell in time with his heart beat.

Surprisingly he didn't snore as often as you expected. The first night he spent in your bed he was rigid. Unsure of where to lay, or how to curve around your body. Now he remained a heavy mass that slumped into your soft mattress, one arm spread to your side of the bed and the other a weight on your back.

Even in sleep Logan was adamant on keeping you right there. Pressed tight enough to feel every shift, every deep and sated breath.

A sore ache built between your thighs as you turned your head to look at him—admiring the way his face was devoid of a frown. After the fifth orgasm (three around his cock and two from his mouth) you had no choice but to shove him away. The promise of more on the tip of your tongue—as long as you got a chance to rest.

Although you were positive if he tried to fuck you right away you'd be screaming. And not from pleasure. The raw pain of your still leaking cunt is what kept you from shuffling up his body to sit on his now hard cock. It stirred against your stomach, pressed deliciously on your warm skin. You could feel it begin to drip, pooling against the trail of hair that led downward.

Moving slowly, you managed to maneuver yourself down his body—checking with each shift to see if he remained asleep. The sight made you smile; knowing he felt safe enough to find some solace in a dreamless night here in your bed. You watched him toss and turn on Wade's couch long enough.

For now he’d get a chance to actually breathe peacefully. His body no longer at the ready for a fight that would never come.

"Pretty," you sighed, eyes trailing down his stomach to the patch of hair nestled at the base of his already hard cock.

A pearlescent drop slipped down the vein, his chest a steady rise and fall even as you carefully peeked your tongue out to lick it up. You froze when his body shifted, a heavy sigh falling past his lips. Waking him up was the last thing you wanted—given the state of unrest he found himself stuck in for two weeks—but the thought of finally getting to taste him kept you going.

The salty tang of him spread along your tongue as you licked at his cock again. This time less afraid of feeling his body shift. He seemed to be on the very precipice of consciousness. But sleep would hold him captive for just a bit longer.

You moaned softly when your lips wrapped around him fully—hand gently holding what you may not be able to fit in your mouth. If last night told you anything, it’s that James Howlett was not a small man. In fact you had proof to uphold that statement. Yet that alone wouldn't deter you from taking him as deep as you could; even if you choked.

The stuttered breath that left his chest made your heart race the further you went. Pulling off quickly, you let your spit drip out of your mouth, coating his length to help you slide down a bit easier. The wet echo of your hand filled the room—his breaths deep and raspy as he started to feel the tendrils of pleasure take hold in his body.

Biting back another whine, you swallowed him down until he hit the back of your throat. Your hand a steady rhythm along what you couldn't fit. He pulsed on your tongue; precum dribbled down the back of your throat. The taste made your head spin—his cum now leaking from your spent cunt. Coating the inside of your thighs with a combination of you and him.

A match made in the entanglement of two universes. Colliding into one another without mercy.

"F-fuck," he groaned, hips shifting forward and choking you on his cock. You spluttered for breath as he caused you to gag—spit leaking down to his pubic hair.

Even through your gasps for air and soft breathy whimpers, he remained asleep. Lost in a dream of you sucking his cock greedily back into your mouth. Eyes overflowing with tears and lungs begging for just a bit more oxygen. He fucked your mouth gently, hips thrusting unconsciously to stay in that wet heat. To feel just a bit more of a white hot ecstasy you helped him chase.

Cupping his balls, you felt your spit coat them in a sticky layer. You wanted them in your mouth. Ached to feel them on your tongue. And with a gasp of the crisp morning air, you shifted—sucking on them with a soft moan of need.

Your hand pumped him rapidly, building his high until there was no denying what was happening. Scraping your teeth along the soft skin of his balls, you felt them draw up tightly. Logan's eyes flew open with a sharp gasp of air, his face tilting to see you between his thighs—your chin and mouth covered in a mix of your spit and his precum.

His mouth opened to speak, to give you a filthy comment you'd no doubt feel down your spine. Only for you to take him down your throat in one swift thrust. Tugging sharply on his pulsing balls to draw him right over the edge.

He came with a raw shout of your name, spilling into your mouth with enough cum to choke you. Until it began to leak out around your spread lips—trailing the sticky mess down your hand. His chest heaved as he struggled to breathe—head pushed back into the pillow and back arched with the force of his release. And you kept going.

You licked up every trace of his spend with an eager tongue and sighed out moans. A hand yanked you up his body, fingers gripping your chin to keep your mouth open as you looked at him with eyes glazed over—your body covered in a sheet of sweat.

"Share," he rasped, tugging you closer.

Smiling, you cupped his chin and guided his open mouth towards yours. Allowing whatever cum remained on your tongue to drip down onto his awaiting taste buds. The shiver that ran down his body caused you to clench around nothing—empty and aching for this to continue.

He moaned, pulling you in for a kiss that had you clambering into his lap. Your tongue sliding against his and fingers delving into his bedhead of hair. The passion from last night still lingered in your veins. A silent plea for his touch to drag down your naked form; for him to consume you entirely. Yet you remained content like this—in his arms, lazily kissing until you had no choice but to come up for air.

"I can make us breakfast," you murmured, running your thumb along his cheek—your breath a warm caress on his face.

A hum purred in his chest, hands cupping your ass and kneading the flesh with a sleepy grin. "That sounds good."

"Got anything in mind?"

His eyes trailed down your throat to the way your breasts were pushed up against his chest. You felt your nipples tighten at the heat from his gaze. The want in his touch that left you craving for more. Vanessa really wasn't kidding when she told you he'd lock you in this apartment. Ravishing you every way he knew how; showing you everything he learned in his two hundred years on Earth.

"I do," he replied, voice low and thick with sleep.

"Yeah?" He nodded, an air of serenity lighting up his eyes. The sight felt new—unlike the Logan from last night—but you could feel the warmth of it slide down your spine. Encasing you in a cocoon of domesticity that thrived in the afternoon sun. "Pancakes?"

"Mm." Lips trailed along your jaw, tracing the line of your neck with gentle bites that were soothed by his hot tongue. "I've got somethin' else in mind honey."

Heat pooled between your legs, slicking your skin with a fresh wave of arousal. You felt his nostrils flare—your scent thick in the air and drawing out a side of him that begged to take a bite out of your plush form. He wanted to eat you alive. It sent a thrill of fear through his body.

You longed to explain that you felt the very same way about him.

A low growl emanated from your stomach, pulling him free from the shackles of lust that clamped on his neck. The flutter of your heart was only furthered by his soft laugh; hazel eyes now a bit clearer as he listened to the cues of your body.

"Actual food then," he said, tapping your ass lightly to shift you when he clambered out of bed. Searching for the jeans that were thrown to the side.

You tried to swallow the flare of disappointment that soured your stomach and Logan could tell. He knew you wanted to stay there tangled beneath the sheets. Your bodies stuck to one another long enough to cause discomfort. Fuck he'd never wanted anything more. He could sense the danger in letting his heart be filled by you—the fear of this going a different way.

Silencing it was near impossible when all he wanted to do was listen to it.

Pressing a kiss to your furrowed brows, he handed you his flannel. Watching in adoration as you struggled with the buttons. Similar to him twenty four hours prior.

Not bothering with his belt, he walked out into your living room—seeing the trail of clothing left in your wake of need. He gathered what he could, tossing your robe to the back of the couch. His boots placed by the foot of the coffee table. While you stumbled behind him on unsteady legs that still shook from last night's activities.

Pride flared hot in his chest at the sight; his cock twitching in interest at your messy state.

"I can make the pancakes," you announced, trying your best to walk to the stove without your knees buckling beneath you.

He laughed, reaching an arm around your waist to tug you back and into his chest. "I know how to make pancakes bub."

"And if I don't believe you?"

His lips pressed to your ear, teeth biting at the lobe. "I used to be a teacher honey. Who do you think kept those kids fed most of the time?"

"The other X-Men," you huffed, though the smile on your face told him you were more than happy to stay in his arms. "Weren't they professors too?"

"Yeah right," he scoffed. "Jean was considered a fuckin' fire hazard and forget Scott. He couldn't even find the kitchen if he wanted to." He walked you both towards the counter, turning you to sit you on it with a messy kiss that had his teeth digging into your lip—pulling at it gently with a groan. "Storm was better. She knew how to handle the little shits when they came up with strange food demands."

You smiled, curling your arms around his waist. "I like hearing you talk about them."

A flicker of grief filtered through the joy, reminding him of what he once had. But as usual, he smothered it with a puff of air—craving the taste of a cigar between his teeth he could bite down on. Something to let his pain sink into other than you.

"It's been awhile."

"Well you should talk about them. They're your family Logan."

His body went stiff, hands pressed flat to the counter, and you let the words sink into his skin. You watched his mind come to life with old memories long past. Good memories. Ones that involved cooking in a kitchen full of students and jokes with the people he loved most. He felt the weight of grief begin to lift off his chest with each moment of laughter, each piece of love he once forgot.

All the horrors he'd endured buried the good under a wave of bleak nothingness.

To have them back brought a light he forgot once belonged.

"They uh..." He cleared his throat, moving to grab a mixing bowl you stored somewhere deep in your cabinets. You weren't one for cooking often; the dinner with Logan being an exception. "I forgot how it feels."

"What?"

"Havin' them back. Even if it's just through this." He smiled—more to himself than anything—and flicked the stove burner on.

A part of you knew that was the end of the conversation for now. After spending decades avoiding his past mistakes—his trauma that might never heal—he finally felt safe enough to open the door. Even if it barely remained cracked enough for you to peek through. This was him taking a step towards keeping true to the promise he uttered against your lips last night.

The intent of staying no longer an echo of words that held no weight behind them.

There existed—between you and him—a sense of fulfillment that sprouted from the seeds of the you he knew before. A version that was capable of handling his grief, because you shared in it. You mourned his family for one sole reason: they were your family too.

If you could give that to him now, you would. Offering him a place of serenity despite the chaos he lingered in was enough. You could see it on his face—the peace he'd been searching for...now in his grasp. He'd be damned to let even a sliver of it go now.

The scent of batter being poured onto a grill filled your apartment, setting the hunger in your body alight with a new vigor. He moved with such fluidity and ease. As if he already memorized the layout of your kitchen from the last time he was here; his hand reaching for things in drawers you forgot were there. You traced your gaze along his bare back, down the curves and sinews of his muscles that rippled beneath his skin.

Skin you clawed at with need; that ripped beneath your nails and healed over seconds later. You longed to place your mark on his body, to see a trail of hickeys lead down into his jeans. But that remained a disappointment you could live with. As long as he let you try over and over again.

"Careful honey." His hand pressed to the counter, back hunching as his nostrils flared. "I gotta feed ya before anything else can happen."

"I'm not-"

He turned, eyes narrowing at the way your thighs pressed together to alleviate the growing ache. "Then spread 'em."

Your breath grew heavy, eyes lidded as lust washed over your body with a demand you couldn't fight again. The sight of you practically panting at the sight of his grin—so sure that he'd find you dripping onto the marble counter—left you clamoring for some semblance of control. Surely you could wait until he'd finished cooking. You needed food more than him.

But the longer he watched you—scrutinizing every part of your trembling form—began to shift that truth to something else entirely.

"C'mon bub. Show me the mess you're makin'." A whine echoed in the small kitchen as he flipped another pancake onto the plate. "Be good and I'll reward you."

Fuck.

Your legs parted, flannel pulled up, as you revealed the slick lips of your cunt that begged for his attention. A groan rumbled in his chest, his eyes greedy in the way he devoured the sight of you so ready for him to slip right in. The spatula nearly bent in his hand—the smoldering scent of a forgotten pancake became an afterthought as he stepped closer.

"Logan the stove," you breathed.

He flicked it off without looking, the small pile of pancakes slid beside you with a fork. "Eat."

"But-"

The pointed look shut you up within seconds, his hands parting your thighs to spread you even further. Until he was standing before you with intent hammering in his heart. Cutting through the pancakes, you moaned at the taste as it hit your tongue. Only for Logan to drop to his knees—his thumbs pulling you open for your slick to pour out right onto the counter.

"What are you—oh-" you gasped, a hand digging into his hair as his mouth sealed over your cunt with a husky moan.

He watched you while his tongue licked over every part of you. Plunging into you as you swallowed down the buttery pancake—your mouth parted with another heady moan of his name. The challenge was clear enough for you to understand without further questioning. You were meant to eat. As he indulged in devouring a breakfast of his own.

The tip of his tongue flicked at your clit, drawing a whine from your throat—the fork nearly slipping out of your hand. Only for him to grasp it and drag it back to the plate. He stopped, keeping his mouth directly over your throbbing center, yet never touching you. The action was enough to drag even a sane person to madness.

"I'm sorry," you whimpered, the burn of tears stinging your eyes as you cut another piece and placed it on your tongue.

He continued with a growl. Sucking at you lewdly until all you could hear was the echo of his mouth moving over you wetly. His thumb rubbing quick circles over your clit, tongue thrusting deep enough to drink down every drop of you that poured out.

Having managed to eat two of the smaller pancakes, you felt the tendrils of pleasure begin to rush through your body—pulling and tugging at each nerve with a familiar heat you'd grown to love. He moaned, eyes fluttering shut as he ate you with a drunken hunger. An urgency to feel you pulse around his tongue.

"Logan I'm gonna-" You gasped, fingers yanking on his hair.

The fork clattered to the counter—your hips dragging along his mouth with a cry as you broke for him. Unlike before this felt like a rush of fresh air. An echo of love that lingered in his tongue, in his promise to keep you. Your chest heaved, legs trembling over his shoulders, and the ache of want still stuck to your skin like the humid air of summer.

He didn't quell your hunger.

He merely lit the match for something stronger.

"Good job," he murmured, catching your lips in a kiss that had you wrapping your body around him, arms twining around his neck. "Mm. Think I found somethin' better than fuckin' syrup."

The skin of your cheeks burned hot as he smiled; his tongue licking at your open mouth. Words were lost as you kissed him with an eagerness that threatened to break you. This is what you longed for. The promise of a life overflowing with small bits of joy. Pieces of a future that echoed with what you built together.

Certainly not a perfect Polaroid, but you supposed that's what made the sun spots so endearing. It captured the truth of what still had to be figured out. The pain that you'd one day have to face head on. But as he kissed you slowly, hands grasping gently at your flesh, you felt certain that things would be okay.

Because he would be there, standing beside you with his hand in yours, ready to face it with you.

The midday sun cast shadows along your living room, turning dark spots into shade you now lounged in. Logan sat at your kitchen table with a plate of food you'd made an hour after your kitchen escapades. The quiet of having him there, watching you with a warmth in his eyes that burned lovingly against your skin, left you craving more of this.

"I like you in my shirt," he said, pushing the now empty plate to the side.

You smiled, leaning against the edge of the table as he kissed your bare thigh. "I like you in no shirt."

"Yeah I bet bub," he chuckled.

The heavy press of his palm to your leg kept you still—even as you continued to burn from an hour ago. You didn't rush him into the act, because if anything you had an excess of time. One more day off from work left you with the knowledge that you would have Logan more times than your body could handle.

He was quickly turning into an addiction you held no intention of kicking. How could you? When the sweetness of him spread along your tongue like the finest whiskey known to man. When you were so devoted to a relationship that barely started to bloom. Yet you felt as if you'd known him your entire life. Your heart was waiting for him to appear—claim you without question—and you could do nothing but respond with a desperate yes.

"Still needy for me honey?" he teased, standing to his full height with a soft grunt, his hands spreading along your hips.

You scoffed, pushing at his chest; even if he did resemble a brick wall. "You're imagining things Howlett."

"Oh it's Howlett now huh?" He nipped at your jaw, smiling at your soft bubble of laughter that burrowed its way into the depths of his heart. "Thought you liked callin' me James."

The breath caught in your throat when his tongue slid along your throat, heat pooling in your stomach. "Logan," you sighed, fingers tangling in his hair to draw his face up.

"That's better," he growled, cupping your chin to connect his lips to yours.

The raw needy ache of last night reared its head in your body, screaming out for him as he licked into your mouth with a purr. One you felt reverberate through your chest and down to the very tips of your fingers. He was yours to kiss, yours to love, and without knowing it you managed to tame the lonesome Wolverine that begged for a hint of your affection.

"Can't fuckin' get enough of you," he mumbled against your neck, sucking at the tender skin as his hands kneaded at your ass. "Got me goin' feral honey."

"I don't mean to."

"I know." He pushed his hips into yours, dragging you along his jeans with a stuttered breath. "'M gonna fuck you."

Your eyes met his gaze—a pool of slick now staining the dark denim he leaked into. "Here?"

He nodded, teeth bared in a ravenous smile. "When you eat dinner here without me..." Tugging the flannel open, he sucked at the top of your breast. "You'll remember me bending you over this table."

No words could counter what he just uttered as if he was reading straight from a novel of your life. His hands guided you to turn around—your palms flat on the wood and breath heavy in your chest. The audible echo of his zipper sent a flare of want through your body. Slick now coating the inside of your thighs, dripping down for him to see the slight shine of it in the sunlight.

He grunted palm sliding along your cunt and jolting you with a shuddered breath. Though he'd already eaten—twice—he was intent on indulging in a dessert so sweet he would go to the grave thinking about it. His cock—hard and throbbing—slid along the lips of your cunt. Coating him in your slick with a soft puff of air that blew across the back of your neck.

"Press your cheek down for me honey," he said softly, hand gripping your neck and guiding you until your back had no choice but to curve—ass presented to him with a soft moan. "There we go. Lookin' like a damn goddess."

"Oh fuck-" you sighed, the ache between your legs now a searing burn that could only be put out by him.

"You want my cock?"

You nodded, a stray tear falling to the table. "I do."

He huffed, lips pressing to the shell of your ear. "Begging so sweetly for me. Can't believe you thought I'd leave willingly."

The comment was more for himself than you, but you mewled for him, hips pushing back into his until the head of his cock tapped your clit. Drawing a high pitched cry from your parted lips still shiny with his spit.

"Please," you gasped, nails scratching along the wood. You'd see the marks later and be placed back into this memory with a visceral shove. As he intended

"I know, I know."

Lining himself up, he pushed forward with a broken gasp—his face buried against your shoulder. The stretch was divine. Last night's pain dispersed the second he slid into you with one thrust, your walls clamping down around him tight enough to choke a moan from his throat. The breathy grunted fuck had your head spinning, another gush of slick pouring out of you until it leaked between you.

Yet he held himself there, panting against your back as his cock twitched inside you. Begging him to move. He gave you a moment to catch your breath, to find something in your mind to latch onto. Yet what remained when he already sent you to the stratosphere? What could you attach yourself to when you were floating above the clouds?

"Need you to move," you whined.

He kissed your ear, grinding against you with a rasped grunt. "So fucking tight bub. 'M tryin’ not to cum."

"But I want you to-"

Pulling back he thrust into you with a stunted shift of his hips—cutting off your words as you moaned. Your eyes rolled back when he began to move in earnest. His hips slapping against your ass and hand bunching the fabric of his flannel to pull you back along his cock. And you took it.

You were reduced to a moaning wet mess when he fucked into you with a growl. Searching for the place that would draw you over the edge with ease. The cry that wrenched from your throat—your body trembling in his grasp—told him he'd struck gold. A smile curved over his lips as he kept that angle. Thrusting into you with a needy growl you heard bounce off the cabinets and walls.

"That it?" His hand gripped your throat, pulling you up and off the table. "That's the spot huh bub."

A sob fell past your parted lips, tears spilling down your cheeks when his other hand found your clit—fingers pulling up the hood to press right against the nerve. A burning sensation began to build in your stomach. Unlike what transpired in the times before.

This felt like more. All encompassing and treacherous enough to split you right down the center.

Your fingers scrambled to clutch his wrist. Unable to discern if you wanted to push him away or keep him there.

Logan merely chuckled, going faster with ease. You choked on your spit, your knees buckling, but he merely clutched you tighter. Keeping you right where he wanted as he fucked you within an inch of your life. The wet squelch of his cock plunging into you only made the fire burn brighter. You swore you could feel the flames lick along your skin—eating you alive.

"Got no words for me honey?" he grunted, teeth biting at your jaw. "Don't tell me I fucked 'em all out of your head."

"Hngg-"

"What was that?"

Nails dug into his skin and a cracked sob ripped from your raw throat when you came. Your walls pulsing around him as something wet gushed down your thighs. It splattered against the table, causing Logan to feel as if all the breath was punched from his lungs. His fingers still moved, spreading the mess and pulling every last drop from your spent body.

Even as he fought to ram his cock into you without mercy—desperate for his own high. You whimpered with each shift of his hips, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open with gasped breaths. And Logan had never seen a prettier sight than this.

He felt his heart clench, breath aching for lungs, as he fucked you through it. Until your body sagged against his with a sigh—eyes fluttering open to reveal your dazed expression. His heart twisted at the sight, cock throbbing with a needy ache he could no longer ignore.

"Y-Your turn," you panted, reaching up with a shaky hand to draw his lips to yours.

"Yeah?" His hips shifted forward and your mouth dropped open. "You want me to fill you up honey?"

The quick nod was all he needed to start chasing the built up high that threatened to strangle him. But the shrill echo of your phone across the table killed him like a shot to his head. He bit back a snarl of rage when your eyes lazily dragged to the face down device. Your heart picking up speed at the thought of who might be trying to contact you.

"I can ignore it," you mumbled.

The temptation to murder whoever was on the other line built up like bile in the back of his throat. But like a better man, he swallowed it down with a grunt. Pulling himself free with a hiss as his cock slapped against his stomach—covered in the sticky white cream that was your cum and aching for a release that would have to come later.

"Might be your work." He tapped your ass, carefully placing himself back in his jeans with a pained grunt. "Go on bub. I'm okay."

A glimmer of disappointment flared to life in your eyes before you were answering without checking the screen. The soft hello barely audible over the rush of blood that blared in his ears. He knew he wouldn't die from this. But fuck if he didn't feel like his body might combust at the sensation of being edged so hard his chest hurt.

"Wade?"

His head whipped towards you—a look of blistering fury crossed his face as he ripped the phone from your grasp. "You motherfucker," he snarled.

"You should really fuck with your knees Log. Save that adamantium skeleton." His voice was light, cheerful, and Logan had never wanted to rip him to shreds more.

"Are you watching us?" Your eyes widened and before Wade could give a snarky response, you were facing the still open window.

Wade stood across the street in his living room, waving with a knife. "Gotta give you pointers peanut. I've never been so hard in my life."

"Oh god," you sighed, covering your face. You reached for the phone; Logan gave it over before he could crush it in his fist. "Wade!"

"Whoa sweet angel! Don't go screaming my name after your man just made you see Natasha Romanoff in the afterlife. Did you tell her I said hi by the way?"

"It's rude to spy on people Wade Winston Wilson." His face fell as Logan snickered behind you. "Now I want an apology. Or I'm calling Nessa."

Though you couldn't see him well, you caught the way his face paled. "Right. I'm sorry. I won't be a perv next time. Even if you do have your window open and are screaming Logan's name so loud they can hear you on Knowhere."

"I wasn't-"

"And for your information FYI, I didn't spy. I just happened to see him and you bent over a table and assumed." He smiled, toothy and proud. "Can't fault me for being right on the money."

In an attempt to control your breathing (so as not to ask Logan to cut off Wade's limbs) you smiled through the flicker of annoyance. He was your friend. The person who was there for you in times when you needed someone. You couldn't really stay mad at Wade—even if the actions did call for the anger.

Especially not when you were still in the throws of recovering from the greatest orgasm of your life.

"I'd say I could do better, but now I'm not so sure angel face. I think Logan's won this round."

Surprisingly, you laughed. "He definitely won this round."

Logan stepped in closer when he was mentioned—his head dipping to hear Wade's voice through the phone. Unconsciously you found yourself leaning into his warmth—your body seeking out the gentle aftercare from the man who held your heart in his hands. His arm went around your waist, lips placing a gentle kiss to your shoulder, and Wade groaned audibly in completely disgust.

"Would you get a room. God it's like watching an episode of WandaVision. Only this time it's the deleted scenes where they were allowed to actually fuck." He smiled, fingers forming a faux gun as he winked.

"We all know the robot dicking her down extravaganza exists Marvel. Don't lie."

"Your fault for peeking in on the show Wade," you replied, eyes fluttering shut as Logan fixed the flannel to cover as much of you as possible.

"I get it. I'm an unpaying customer. Therefore not wanted." He sighed, gesturing to no one in particular. "I mean what about those guys? They get a free show!"

"Wilson," Logan bit out, his claws sliding free to cover the top of your thighs.

Another weary (yet dramatic and totally Oscar worthy) sigh came through the phone. "I'll just dance the Lonesome Tango tonight. Don't mind me, taking all of the domesticity in so I can vomit."

You smiled when Logan nudged your cheek with his nose. "Goodnight Wade."

"Hardly good! Ness is out for the day and what about me? Don't I have needs? Am I not just a boy looking at the couple he's going to third wheel someday saying: please save some pancakes for me?"

The gasp that flew from your mouth was loud enough to be heard through the open window as Logan ripped the phone from your ear. Cussing out the man who stared at you with a Cheshire grin big enough to fill up an entire room. He waved, tossing his phone to the couch as he leaned out the window.

"Turns out you are gonna dance again peanut!"

Before you could shout a response, Logan was slamming the window shut with a growl. His claws slicing through the already fragile wood at the base of it as the lock slid into place. The middle finger he offered was all Wade got before Logan was dragging you back towards the bedroom; the decision to buy you some fucking curtains now solidified in his mind.

"Favorite movie?"

He groaned, dragging your legs over his lap as you curled into his side. "I've been alive too fuckin' long to choose honey. Tell me yours."

A wince overtook your features as Logan ran his hand up and down your bare leg—his gaze determined to trace every detail of your face a thousand times over. Hoping that over time he'd find new things to fall in love with. New pieces of you he'd grow to cherish. He settled on the shape of your lips—watching them move with each words you spoke.

"Okay don't laugh at me. It's a good movie." You toyed with his fingers, thumb tracing the spaces between his knuckles where his claws broke the skin to come free. "The Mummy."

His eyebrows pulled together. "Isn't that the one where they...fight a fuckin' mummy?"

You nodded, laughter falling on his perked up ears. "Listen! She's a librarian who gets to go on an adventure and fall in love. I'm an archivist who...well meeting you has been an adventure and..."

You fell in love.

Saying the words out loud felt wrong. Misplaced. Yet you'd never felt something sit in your chest so perfectly and feel like it belonged. Love had always been a complicated formula that felt impossible to crack. After all, no real theory ever mixed well with something so convoluted.

But nothing else could possibly make the same amount of sense with you as those three words did.

Logan watched every thought cross your face; every problem you struggled with now on full display for him to see. He willed himself to say them aloud. To simply let them fall free and settle in your heart with ease. But the last person he said them to now hated his very existence. They held an entirely different heart yet wore the exact replica of your face.

That only seemed to complicate the matter further.

So he pressed a kiss to the space between your eyebrows until the skin smoothed, and pulled you out of the internal battle you seemed to be losing.

"Tell me about your family bub."

You perked up, eyes alight with the joy that lingered from hours before. "My sister?" He nodded. "Oh well she's a teacher. Works at a high-school in the city."

"Guess you were bound to have another teacher in your life huh?" His heart twisted when you laughed, your fingers curling into his hair—toying with the sides without even realizing it.

"I guess so." You sighed, settling against his body. "It's funny, because I'd have never met Wade if it wasn't for her. This used to be her place before she—ya know—got married and stuff. Wade actually sold her the car I borrowed the day I met you."

His hand traveled higher, slipping to the curve of your hip. "Sneaky little fucker," he muttered.

"Although I think nearly killing me in the street is what really made me like him."

Logan jolted, his hand pinching your chin to face him. "What the fuck do you mean nearly killing you?"

The smile on your face did nothing to appease the fresh wave of anger that filled his body. If anything he only felt it eat away at him faster. Like a parasite with no cure. You were so calm about the entire situation. So nonchalant as you explained to him what actually happened.

That alone terrified him.

What if one day something like this happened again? What if the person who would cause you harm was someone he couldn't save you from?

Dread weighed heavy on his stomach like a rock he never intended to swallow. Even as you spoke he could feel the way it pulled at him. Dragging him into a darkness he'd never escape. He endured it once before, swam to the shore and climbed his way out, but to lose you was to put an end to his existence in this universe.

Logan couldn't die.

But he'd sure as hell find a way to if you were no longer by his side.

"I know he didn't mean to almost hit me with his knife. He was aiming for the guy behind me." You placed a kiss on his wrist, right above his pulse point. "Anyways we laugh about it now. Wade calls it fate. And since I met you...I kinda feel like he's right."

The breath caught in his chest. "Honey you got no idea..."

Lips trailed up his arm, sending chills down his spine as you placed kiss after kiss along his body. Right to his chest. Your tongue licked along his nipple—sucking it into your mouth and drawing a stuttered moan from his parted lips. His cock twitched in his jeans, the lost orgasm from earlier now raring to life with each delicate brush of your mouth on his skin.

Scraping your teeth on his pec, he felt his hips shift in an effort to find even a brief second of relief. You smiled at the feeling of him hard and aching against your thigh.

"You didn't get to cum earlier," you murmured, kissing along his jaw, nose brushing his cheek. The slight brush of your hand dipping along his stomach and down into his jeans drew a ragged groan from his chest. "Fair's fair baby."

Soft skin of your palm met his still leaking cock and the surprise that flickered across your face at the knowledge that he'd been dripping all night for you turned his mind numb. His kiss seared your entire being as you stroked him slowly. Logan shoved his jeans down the best he could with you blocking his way, simply to feel your palm drag down his length to cup his balls still covered in your sticky cum.

A breathy whine you never heard before slipped past his lips—his head falling back when your mouth latched onto his throat. Teeth and tongue sucking a mark that would fade within seconds. But catching a glimpse of the purple bruise made your heart flutter.

The wet slide of your hand filled the room with each pump. His hips canted up into your fist, fucking the slick hole you formed around him with panted grunts of nonsensical words.

It didn't build steadily like before where he held the capability of holding out. Now he felt helpless to the burn that forced its through his veins. The tension pulling taut in his stomach.

Only for you to pull away.

"W-What?" he rasped, his eyes flying open to see how you fell back on the bed—fingers popping open the shirt button by button.

"Come here," you breathed, hooking your foot around his hip. "Don't you wanna fuck my face baby?"

His mind went blank. Eyes dazed and mouth open as he watched you smile up at him—mischief shining bright in your gaze. You were an angel sent from who knows where bestowed upon him like a gift. An apology for all he'd gone through.

If the light he saw as he took his last breath was your face, he'd die a happy man.

Beckoning him forward with your hand on his thigh, Logan knelt above your chest. He could see how you longed for him to press weight against you—the feel of your palm against his ass telling him enough. But risking it would never be an option. He knew how much his skeleton as a whole weighed; you would not survive five seconds of it atop your body entirely.

"So pretty," you cooed, wrapping a hand around his cock as he shuddered. "Can I taste you Logan?"

He nodded dumbly, hand cupping the top of your head to keep himself grounded. Only for his soul to leave his body at the feel of your lips sucking him in. The wet heat of your mouth felt like a death to his heart. He'd never recover.

Yet one truth remained ingrained in the back of his mind.

He didn't want to survive.

"Fuck," he breathed, canting his hips down and into your waiting mouth.

The second his tip brushed the back of your throat, Logan knew he'd never last. He was a man lost in the depths of your body. Finding his way back to himself was never an option. You suckled on him with a whimper, letting him slowly thrust into your mouth as your fingers dug into the flesh of his ass.

Moans fell from his mouth with ease; words eventually following suit. "You fuckin' like this huh? You like me sitting on your face?"

Another muffled sound vibrated against his cock. His balls began to draw up slightly—thighs practically numb with the pleasure that consumed him. He sunk deeper, fucking your throat with a wet gasp, his body curving over yours and hand pressing to the mattress for stability.

"Fuck your mouth is heaven." He panted through the flames that licked at his spine, fighting to stay with you. "Gonna make a mess of you."

A jolt of lightning echoed across his skin when your hand slipped between his legs to fondle his balls, massaging the tender skin as tears dripped down into your hair. Whatever sanity he held left would wither away with the tendrils of his oncoming orgasm. But this isn't how he wanted to finish.

Ripping himself away, you barely got out half a question of what he was doing, before you were yanked into his lap—his tongue invading your mouth in a messy kiss. Spit spread across his cheek, but you seemed to get the hint when he grinded up into your dripping cunt.

"I promised to fill ya honey," he grunted, guiding your hand to wrap around his pulsating cock. "I don't break my promises."

With a sigh of his name pressed to his mouth, you guided him to your entrance, sinking down slowly to engulf him into your throbbing walls. A rough noise tore from his throat at the feeling—his body barely giving him enough time to comprehend that he'd been on the edge for far longer than he realized.

"Shit!" His thumb found your clit, working you over with quick circles that had your body curving into his. "'M not gonna last. Need you to fuckin' cum for me bub."

"Let go," you mumbled, dragging yourself up and off his cock. Only to sit back down hard enough to make him go blind. "Fill me up baby. Make it spill out."

His teeth set into your shoulder, claws sinking into your already ruined mattress to steady himself. He clutched you to him with a hoarse shout of your name as he came. Rope after rope of his spend spurted into your waiting body, drawing a soft breathy moan out from your swollen lips. You held him close, lips sliding along his neck, and talked him through it.

"Thank you baby," you sighed, grinding your hips along his lap. "Feels so good. So warm."

The lilt of your words bled with the adoration you felt for him in the center of your chest. The fact that you didn't finish didn't feel necessary when you had him like this. Entirely wrapped around you—face pressed into your chest and soul desperate to brush against yours.

"One of these days I'm gonna die like this bub."

You smiled, dragging your lips along his temple. "Would that be so bad?"

"Mm." Teeth scraped your skin as he slowly fell back onto the bed, taking you with him. "Probably not."

What lingered in the space between was a silence you reveled in. A peaceful kind of calm that created a bubble of warmth for the both of you to exist. Not completely in the world, yet never out of it entirely.

His body practically overheated beneath your skin, but you didn't mind the closeness. In fact, you found that you craved that above everything else. How he held you, allowed you to see the soft side of him that would normally be withheld.

This was the memory you'd hold close to your heart over the years. The one that'd always remain to give you a sense of peace in an otherwise crazy world.

"I'm really happy I met you Logan." The words weren't exactly what you wanted to say. But they felt close enough to exhibit the same emotion—the one that clawed at your heart, looking for a way to break free.

He hummed, dragging a hand down your spine. "Me too honey."

Settling atop him fully, you rested your ear where you knew his heart lay beneath layers of muscle and a cage of adamantium. The steady beat lulled you into a tranquil state. Where time no longer felt real and comfort became your only option.

Oh how you longed to remain here with him. Bound to nothing and no one, but each other.

note: i'm so sorry for what's about to befall these two.

[splatoonpolls]

a really long analysis about fanon Marina and the flanderization by fandom she has gotten

fanon marina (the version created by the fans) mainly focuses on two things, her being autistic coded and her being basically confirmed to be a lesbian. And I do think this has to do with her being VERY much like a typical splatoon fan in many people’s eyes. Her being a nerdy queer neurodivergent person. This is also why other parts, especially her relationship with her being an octoling gets often locked away. Subconsciously at least

if Marina was a book, several chapters would focus on her identity as a dome octoling. Her being autistic would probably pop up here and there, but it wouldn’t be a whole chapter. But her very much gay relationship with Pearl would definitely have a few chapters. But with people focusing on those few lines and chapters rather than the whole book. People would slowly ignore the other chapters, get shocked like Adam Sandler learning Pac-Man was the bad guy in the hit movie pixels.

the splatoon fandom’s western side is mainly white Americans and Europeans. Which is one reason why the fanon Marina doesn’t focus on her identity as an octoling, but also on how many details are not really told to the player. Marina barely shows her ears, which can both be read as her having sensory issues (which is a super valid headcanon(, but also her not feeling super comfortable with her body. With her ears being a reminder of her “you are with people who still think you are only going to steal stuff”. Her tentacles may be weird, she may lack the eyeliner an inkling has. But those things can simply be a stylistic choice. Her ears can’t be one. They are too different. I also know the DLCS focuses more on her identity as a dome octoling. However many can understand how her arc as a whole can be paralleled to the real life experiences of people belonging to marginalized ethnic communities. I also want to point, while writing this. I realized (which many people probably already did). Dome octolings you see outside of the domes (splatoon 2 octolings, Marina, Acht, Paul), are all refugees. They are all characters who grew up in a society that had been shunned for decades, even centuries. That society ended up being oppressive both due to external and internal issues. They know the society they’re living in is no longer a good place to live in. So they escape. Hoping to find a place that will take them on. For agent 8, Marina, and Paul. They found a safe place. Acht wasn’t super lucky however. They were told they could find a “promised land” only to be left in even more ruin before. So not only does Marina’s character arc focus on her being a part of an ethnic minority, but a refugee at that. so why does fanon marina usually avoid that part of her? Well as a mentioned before. Marina has three things that makes her very relatable. While the more backstory focused things are less relatable to a way smaller margin of the splatoon fandom. A way smaller part of the fandom are poc in a very white country. And a very small percentage are refugees.

if we removed Marina’s backstory. We would still be left with the fanon version. A nerdy autistic lesbian who deeply loves Pearl. I love how Nintendo got a game that also isn’t afraid to show a society that cares about queer people if not is queer centric itself. Which is probably why many people cling to that part of Marina. But if we removed that part. What would we be left with? Well, we would have an octoling refugee who is a trained soldier and can create weapons of destructions (and she would still be in love with Pearl, it is an important part of her backstory). im not saying the splatoon fandom’s openness to lgbtq and neurodivergent people is a bad thing just because they boil down one of the most plot heavy characters down to those things. It is actually a really great thing to have a fandom that is open to these marginalized groups.

i just want to say, due to this love for Marina being a character you can relate to. It feels like certain parts of Marina’s character (which can also be very relatable to some) is being drifted away to the more lore centric side of the fandom. Which will lead to a sort of fandom flandarization which is very unintentional and just done due to a love of Marina as a character.

If you’ve read this an disagreed, that is fine. Character writing is a very subjective thing

[fvsm4x]

𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 - 𝟓

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. ex! gojo s. x fem. reader

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. Your boyfriend, who you loved more than anything, who was your will to live, broke up with you.

𝐜𝐰. angst / happy ending for reader but not gojo / wc. 4.1k / last chapter / kinda rushed

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

But it wouldn‘t hurt to give him a second chance, right.?

But as much as you wanted to believe that a second chance could heal the wounds between you, doubt gnawed at the edges of your resolve. The pain he had caused was not something easily forgotten, and the memories of the betrayal still stung like fresh wounds. You had to consider what giving him another chance would mean—not just for your relationship with him, but for your own self-worth, your own sense of dignity.

"Gojo," you began, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside, "you say you want another chance, but can you honestly tell me why? Is it because you've realized what you lost, or because you're afraid of being alone now that she's gone?"

His eyes widened, as if the question had struck a chord deep within him. He struggled to find the right words, his expression a mix of desperation and confusion. "I... I just know that I don't want to lose you. I made a mistake, I see that now. I was stupid, selfish, but I swear, I’ve changed."

"You’ve changed?" you echoed, the skepticism clear in your tone. "How can I trust that? Last time, you promised me the world, only to break me apart when it suited you. How do I know this time won’t be the same?"

Gojo remained silent for a moment, the weight of your words sinking in. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle between his desire to make things right and the reality of the pain he had caused.

"I don’t know how to prove it to you," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I want to try. I want to be the person you deserve, the one who won’t hurt you again."

You let out a soft sigh, the tension in your chest making it hard to breathe. His sincerity tugged at your heart, but the scars he had left made it difficult to simply accept his words at face value. You had to think about what was best for you, not just what he wanted.

"Gojo," you said slowly, choosing your words carefully, "I need to understand something. What would be different this time? How do you expect me to believe that you're not just saying these things because you're hurt and vulnerable right now? That you won't just fall back into old habits the moment things get tough?"

He looked down, his hands trembling slightly as they gripped yours tighter. "I’ve learned from my mistakes," he said, his voice laced with determination. "I know I hurt you, and I regret it more than anything. I took you for granted, and I was wrong. I can’t take back what I did, but I want to show you that I can be better—that I can love you the way you deserve to be loved."

The sincerity in his voice was almost enough to break down your defenses. Almost. But the reality of the situation loomed large in your mind. You had been here before, heard these promises before, only to be left shattered in the end.

"Do you really understand what you're asking of me?" you asked, your voice soft but firm. "You're asking me to put my heart on the line again, to risk everything for the chance that you might actually change this time. But what if you don't? What if I let you back in, only to find myself back in this same place a few months from now?"

Gojo's expression faltered, the weight of your words sinking in. He knew you were right—he was asking for a lot, maybe too much. But still, he refused to give up.

"I can't promise that everything will be perfect," he said, his voice raw with emotion. "But I can promise that I’ll fight for us, that I won’t make the same mistakes again. I’ll prove to you that I’m serious this time. Just... please, give me a chance to show you."

Your heart ached at the sight of him, so vulnerable and desperate for your forgiveness. You wanted to believe him, to believe that he could change, that he could become the man you needed him to be. But the fear of getting hurt again was a powerful force, one that you couldn't simply ignore.

"I don't know if I can do this, Gojo," you said, your voice trembling with the weight of the decision before you. "I don't know if I can put myself through this again, not after everything that's happened."

He looked at you with a mix of hope and despair, as if he knew he was teetering on the edge of losing you forever. "Please," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Just one more chance. Let me show you that I can be better."

You closed your eyes, the tears finally spilling over as the emotions you had been holding back crashed over you like a tidal wave. The love you had for him was still there, buried beneath the pain and betrayal, but it was overshadowed by the fear of being hurt again.

Finally, you opened your eyes and met his gaze, your heart heavy with the weight of your decision. "Gojo, I need time," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I can't just jump back into this like nothing happened. I need time to think, to figure out what's best for me."

His face fell, but he nodded, understanding that this was as much as you could give him right now. "I’ll wait," he said, his voice filled with a mix of sadness and determination. "I’ll wait as long as it takes."

With that, you slowly pulled your hand away from his, the warmth of his touch lingering even as you stepped back. The distance between you felt like a chasm, one that might never be bridged again. But for now, it was what you needed—to find your own path, to heal in your own time.

As you turned to walk away, leaving him kneeling there in the cold, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had made the right choice. The future was uncertain, the path ahead filled with doubts and unanswered questions. But one thing was clear: you had to choose yourself this time, even if it meant walking away from the man you once loved.

As you walked away, the echoes of your footsteps reverberating through the quiet night, the weight of your decision settled heavily on your shoulders. Each step felt like an eternity, as if the very air around you was thick with the tension of what had just transpired. The distance between you and Gojo grew, but the connection, the history, and the unresolved emotions hung in the air, clinging to you like a shadow.

You couldn’t help but replay his words over and over in your mind. The desperation in his voice, the sincerity in his eyes—were they enough? Could a person truly change, or was it just wishful thinking? The memories of your time together flooded your mind, both the good and the bad, each moment tinged with the bittersweetness of what once was and what might never be again.

But as you walked further, a different voice began to whisper in the back of your mind, a voice that questioned your own choices, your own feelings. You had been hurt, yes, but was there a part of you that still longed for the love you once shared? Was there still a flicker of hope that things could be different this time, that the man you had loved was still in there, waiting to be rediscovered?

You stopped walking, standing there in the dim light of the streetlamp, your breath visible in the cold night air. The silence was deafening, your thoughts swirling like a storm inside your head. You had asked for time, but the truth was, you didn’t know how much time you would need. The wound was still fresh, the trust still shattered, and yet, beneath all that pain, there was a part of you that wanted to believe in second chances.

What if you were being too harsh? What if, in pushing him away, you were closing the door on something that could be beautiful again? The questions gnawed at you, each one more persistent than the last. Could you really walk away from him, from everything you had built together, without giving him the chance to prove himself? Was it fair to judge him solely on his past mistakes, without considering the possibility that he had learned from them?

As you stood there, lost in thought, the memories of the love you once shared began to resurface. The way he used to look at you, the way his laughter would fill the room, the warmth of his embrace on a cold night—it all felt so distant now, yet so painfully close. You remembered the moments of joy, the times when it felt like nothing in the world could come between you. Those memories were precious, and they weren’t so easily erased by the pain he had caused.

But then, there were the darker memories, the ones that cut deep into your soul. The lies, the betrayal, the feeling of being second best—those wounds were still raw, still bleeding, and the thought of reopening them was terrifying. You had worked so hard to rebuild yourself, to find strength in your own company, to remember who you were without him. Letting him back in meant risking all of that, risking everything you had fought so hard to regain.

A small voice inside you, however, urged you to reconsider. People could change, couldn’t they? Life wasn’t black and white, and relationships were messy, complicated. What if Gojo truly had realized the error of his ways? What if he was genuinely remorseful, ready to make amends and to be the partner you needed him to be?

You shook your head, trying to clear the confusion. You had to be sure, had to know that whatever decision you made, it was the right one for you. Turning around, you saw Gojo still kneeling where you had left him, his form barely visible in the distance. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t given up, even though you had walked away.

Was it really fair to expect him to change? Could you risk your heart again on the mere possibility that things might be different this time?

The truth was, you weren’t ready to forgive him. Not yet, and maybe not ever. The wounds were still too fresh, the scars too deep. Giving him another chance felt like inviting more pain into your life, a pain you weren’t sure you could endure again.

You took a deep breath and forced your feet to move, each step taking you further away from the man you once loved. The night was silent, the only sound was the soft crunch of gravel under your shoes as you walked down the empty street. The distance between you and Gojo grew, but so did the clarity in your mind. You deserved more than empty promises and second chances. You deserved someone who wouldn’t make you question your worth, someone who wouldn’t break your heart over and over again.

.

Gojo remained on his knees long after you had walked away, the chill of the night air seeping into his bones. He stared at the spot where you had stood just moments ago, as if by sheer force of will he could bring you back. But the empty space before him was a harsh reminder that you were gone, that he had lost you once again.

A dull ache settled in his chest, spreading through his entire body as he tried to process what had just happened. He had begged, pleaded, laid his heart bare before you, and yet it hadn’t been enough. You had looked at him with such pain in your eyes, a pain he knew he had caused, and that knowledge cut deeper than any rejection.

He slowly rose to his feet, his legs unsteady beneath him as he tried to regain his composure. The night felt colder now, the darkness more oppressive as he realized how truly alone he was. He had gambled everything on the hope that you might still care, that you might still see the man he was trying to become, but the truth was undeniable—you were done with him. And maybe you were right to be.

As he started walking, his mind replayed every word you had said, every look you had given him. Your voice, so full of hurt and doubt, echoed in his ears, a constant reminder of the mistakes he had made. He had taken you for granted, convinced himself that you would always be there, waiting for him to get his act together. But now, standing in the aftermath of his own selfishness, he realized just how badly he had miscalculated.

Gojo’s footsteps were heavy as he walked back to his own place, the streets eerily quiet. For the first time, he felt the full weight of his actions, the depth of the hurt he had caused not only to you but to himself. He had ruined something beautiful, something that might never be repaired, and the regret was almost too much to bear.

He reached his apartment and fumbled with his keys, his hands shaking slightly as he unlocked the door. The silence inside was deafening, the emptiness of the space mirroring the emptiness he felt within. He collapsed onto the couch, burying his face in his hands as the reality of the situation washed over him.

He had wanted so desperately to make things right, to prove to you that he had changed, but deep down, he knew it wasn’t that simple. Change wasn’t just about saying the right words or making promises—it was about action, about becoming a better person, and that was something he hadn’t truly grasped until now. He had hurt you, deeply, and no amount of pleading could erase that.

The truth settled heavily on his shoulders: he had lost you, maybe for good this time. And the worst part was, he had no one to blame but himself. He had played with your heart, made you question your worth, and now he was paying the price. The realization that he might never have another chance with you, that you might move on and find someone who would treat you the way you deserved, was almost too painful to bear.

But as he sat there in the darkness, Gojo knew that this was his moment of reckoning. He could no longer hide from the consequences of his actions. If he truly wanted to change, it had to start now—with or without you. He had to learn to be a better person, not just for you, but for himself. And if that meant letting you go, if that meant accepting that you might never forgive him, then so be it.

.

Weeks had passed since that night, but for Gojo, it felt like a lifetime. The days blurred together, a monotonous cycle of work, training, and sleepless nights. He threw himself into his duties, trying to drown out the memories of you, but nothing seemed to work. Every quiet moment was filled with thoughts of you—your laughter, your smile, the way your eyes had softened when you looked at him, before everything had fallen apart.

He hadn’t tried to contact you since that night. He knew better than to push, to force himself back into your life when you had made it clear that you needed space. Instead, he focused on himself, trying to understand where he had gone wrong, trying to become the man he had promised he would be. But no matter how much he tried to move forward, the emptiness where you used to be haunted him.

One chilly afternoon, Gojo found himself wandering aimlessly through the city streets, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he watched the world go by. It was one of those rare days when he had no obligations, no missions or responsibilities to distract him from his thoughts. The city was bustling with life, people rushing past him with purpose, but he felt disconnected from it all, as if he were watching from a distance.

As he walked, he turned a corner and stopped in his tracks. There you were, just a few steps ahead, standing at the entrance of a cozy little café. For a moment, his heart leapt at the sight of you, his mind racing with the possibility of speaking to you, of seeing how you were doing after all this time. But before he could take a step, he noticed that you weren’t alone.

Standing beside you was a man—tall, with dark hair and a warm smile that reached his eyes. He was holding your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles as you both laughed at something he had said. The sound of your laughter, so light and carefree, pierced through Gojo’s chest like a dagger. It was the same laugh he had fallen in love with, the one he had thought he might never hear again.

Gojo’s breath caught in his throat as he watched the two of you. There was an ease between you and the man, a comfort that spoke of familiarity, of something more than just a passing connection. The man leaned in closer, and you responded with a soft smile, one that Gojo knew all too well. It was the kind of smile that came from genuine happiness, from feeling safe and cherished.

He felt his heart constrict, a mix of emotions swirling inside him—regret, jealousy, sadness. But most of all, there was a deep, aching sense of loss. He had known this day might come, that you would eventually move on and find someone who could give you the love and security you deserved. But knowing it and seeing it were two different things, and the reality of it hit him harder than he had expected.

Gojo stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to tear his eyes away from you. He knew he should leave, walk away before you noticed him, but something kept him there, some part of him that needed to see this, to accept that you were no longer his.

As you and the man turned to enter the café, Gojo’s eyes met yours for the briefest of moments. Time seemed to freeze as recognition flickered in your gaze. There was a flash of surprise, quickly followed by something else—something softer, perhaps understanding or even sympathy. But you didn’t stop, didn’t call out to him. You simply gave him a small, polite nod before turning away,

As the door of the café closed behind you, Gojo hesitated for a moment, debating whether to follow you inside. He knew he should just walk away, let you enjoy your time with the man who clearly made you happy. But something stronger than reason pushed him forward. The unresolved tension between you gnawed at him, a silent torment that demanded closure.

With a deep breath, Gojo pushed open the door to the café, the small bell above it chiming softly as he stepped inside. The warm scent of coffee and baked goods filled the air, and the soft hum of conversation surrounded him. He quickly scanned the room, spotting you at a table near the window, the man still by your side.

You noticed him immediately, your eyes widening slightly in surprise as he approached. The man beside you looked up, clearly sensing the change in your demeanor, but remained silent, his expression polite but questioning.

Gojo stopped a few feet from your table, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he struggled to find the right words. He felt the weight of the moment pressing down on him, the significance of what he was about to say looming large in his mind.

"Can we talk for a minute?" he asked, his voice low and tentative, trying not to intrude too much on your moment with the other man.

You hesitated, glancing at the man beside you. He gave you a small, understanding nod, standing up to give you space. "I'll be right over there," he said softly, before stepping away to another part of the café.

Once he was out of earshot, you turned your attention back to Gojo, your expression guarded but not unkind. "Gojo, what do you want?" you asked quietly, your tone not accusatory but rather cautious, as if you were bracing yourself for whatever he might say.

He took a deep breath, struggling to meet your eyes. "I just... I just wanted to say I'm sorry. For everything. For the way I treated you, for the way I made you feel. I know I can’t undo the past, but I need you to know that I regret it all, deeply."

You looked at him, your expression softening slightly at his words, but there was still a distance in your gaze, a wall that hadn’t been there before. "Gojo," you began, your voice gentle but firm, "I appreciate you saying that. I really do. But what’s done is done. We can’t go back and change what happened. We both know that."

He nodded, swallowing hard against the lump forming in his throat. "I know," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "I just… I wish things could have been different. That I could’ve been better for you."

A small, sad smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Maybe in another life," you said softly, your words like a bittersweet melody that hung in the air between you. "Maybe in another life, we were meant to be. But in this one…"

You trailed off, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The unspoken truth between you was palpable—no matter how much either of you wished it could be different, the damage had been done. The love you once shared was irreparably broken, and no amount of apologies could fix it.

Gojo felt a sharp pain in his chest, the finality of your words cutting through him like a blade. He had known, deep down, that this was how it would end, but hearing it from you made it all the more real.

"I understand," he murmured, his voice barely audible as he looked down at the floor. "I just… I hope you find the happiness you deserve."

You reached out then, gently touching his arm, the gesture both comforting and heartbreaking. "I hope you do too, Gojo," you whispered, your voice filled with a kind of tenderness that he hadn’t heard from you in a long time. "Take care of yourself."

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and acceptance. He knew this was goodbye—not just for now, but for the life you might have had together. It was the kind of parting that left an indelible mark on his soul, a reminder of what could have been.

With a heavy heart, Gojo nodded, turning to leave the café. As he walked away, he didn’t look back, knowing that doing so would only make it harder to let go. The door closed behind him, the cool air outside hitting him like a wake-up call. He stood there for a moment, trying to steady his breathing, trying to process the finality of what had just happened.

Inside, you watched him leave, your heart heavy but resolute. There was a part of you that would always care for Gojo, that would always wonder what might have been. But you knew, deep down, that you had made the right choice. Sometimes, love wasn’t enough to bridge the gap that had grown between two people. Sometimes, the kindest thing you could do was let go.

As you turned back to your table, the man who had been with you returned, concern etched on his face. He didn’t ask what had happened—he didn’t need to. He simply took your hand in his, offering silent support as you both sat down together.

Gojo walked down the street, the sun beginning to set, casting long shadows on the pavement. The ache in his chest was still there, but so was a strange sense of peace. You had found your path, and now, he had to find his own. And maybe, just maybe, in another life, things would have been different. But in this one, it was time to move on.

End

© fvsm4x 2023/4 : do not translate, plagiarise or steal my work.

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THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR STICKING WITH THIS STORY\(^ヮ^)/ new gojo series soon<33

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (36/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Lets get drunk part two - with new opportunities.

Warnings: fluff, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 3.2k

series masterlist

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A/N: hah. you thought you'd seen the last of me. feedback is appreciated!

"Okay," says Charles and sits back down next to you on the sun bed. He sets the basket down between you, with the necks of various bottles sticking out of it. "Are you more of a vodka girl or a tequila girl?" He pulls out two bottles and holds them out to you. 

You examine the bottles before raising your hands. "Neither, to be honest." You carefully pull the basket towards you and take a look inside. Your hands turn the containers slowly so you can read the labels better, and when a bottle catches your eye, you grin at your roommate. "Here."

Charles takes the bottle you hold out to him. "Peach?" He looks at you and raises an eyebrow. "Quite summery."

You shrug your shoulders. "You promised to take me with you next summer so I could go swimming in the sea. I just want to prepare myself properly."

A smile spreads across his face. "Touché. All right." He reaches into the basket and fishes out two small shot glasses. He places them at the head of the sun bed to fill them with the peach liqueur. "You'll love it here during the summer. The sun is blazing, the sea is cold and the days are long." He carefully slides a glass over to you so that the contents don't spill over the rim. "It's like paradise."

You nod gratefully at him. "So now you definitely don't have a choice."

He looks at you, confused. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well," you sit up straight and pick up the shot glass. "You talked me up about the boat and summer at sea so much that you definitely have to bring me here next year." You grin at him. "So you have no choice but to take me with you."

"Oh no." He rolls his eyes in mock annoyance and reaches for his glass as well. "So I guess I can't get rid of you at all, huh?"

You shake your head excessively. "No fucking way. You definitely won't get me off this boat in the summer. And the deal about us sharing the apartment is on anyway." You tilt your head. "Even if you really tried, you wouldn't get rid of me that easily." You hold out your arm so he can clink glasses with you. 

He looks you in the eye. There's a sparkle in his green ones as he knocks his glass against yours. "Thank God."

The peach liqueur tastes indescribably good and the longer you lie on the sun bed looking at the glowing Monaco in front of you, the more you drink of it. The stars above you twinkle and although it's getting colder, you're nice and warm. Whether it's the alcohol or Charles' laughter, you don't know. 

"You've met Arthur yourself," he says as you have to press your face into the pillow to stop your laughter echoing across the ocean. "I swear, his April Fool's jokes are the worst! And you never see them coming!"

You giggle into your pillow. "Tell me you didn't fall for it." Hesitantly, you peek over the hem of the pillow to see Charles' blushing face. You quickly push it back into your face and laugh. "Oh, Charles!"

Your roommate grabs his own pillow and hits yours with it. "Don't laugh at me! You'll be affected soon enough! And then I'm not going to be the one to rescue you."

As you slowly calm down and wipe the tears from the corners of your eyes, you put the pillow back behind your head and look at him. "Trust me - by then Arthur will like me enough that we'll form an alliance. Then he certainly won't play any tricks on me."

Charles looks at you, dumbfounded. "Excuse me? I thought you and I were friends! You're supposed to stand on my side!" With a shake of his head, he reaches for the peach liqueur and refills your glasses.

You grin at him. "I don't form alliances with people who fall for stupid pranks like that."

He pushes your glass over to you. "All traitors." He shakes his head again. "I thought at least I had you on my side."

You raise your glass to your lips. "I'm always on your side, Charles. You're my best friend," you assure him, although the sentence leaves a nasty taste in your mouth. You wash it down with the liqueur. "But I'm not going to let Arthur take the piss just to make you feel better."

"You're a great best friend," he says and pours the liqueur into his mouth. "Just you wait and see. I won't save you if my brother does decide to play an April Fool's joke on you."

"You wouldn't dare," you reply with a grin. "Your mom would give you hell if she knew you were abandoning me." You grab the liqueur and fill your glasses again. "After all, she likes me better than you."

Charles watches you fill his glass to the brim. He presses his tongue into your cheek before licking his teeth. "I wish you were wrong." He holds out his arm for you to clink glasses with him. "Here's to my family liking you better than me."

You try to suppress your grin. "Don't worry, Charlie. I like you all the more for it," the alcohol speaks out of you and when you hear what you're saying, the blood rushes to your face. You quickly clink your glass against his and drink the liqueur so you don't have to look at the Monegasque in front of you. 

As he puts his empty glass down, he grins at you. "'Charlie'? You're really going to give me a nickname?"

You roll your eyes and run your fingers through your hair so he doesn't notice your nervousness. "Don't worry," you try to play it down. Thank goodness he can't hear your rapid heartbeat. "I only use it when it's just us."

When you look at Charles again, he smiles at you softly. "I like the name," he assures you. "And if it stays your little secret and mine, I like it even more. It belongs only to you. Only you can call me that."

You smile at him before leaning back into your pillow and looking up at the stars. The night is clear, there isn't a single cloud in the night sky and the sea breeze on your face cools your alcohol-warmed skin pleasantly. You feel Charles lie down as well. 

"Do you want to spend the night at my mother's tomorrow?" he asks quietly. When you turn your head in his direction, he's already looking at you. "I usually spend the night there. Maman always gets delicious wine and when we all get together, the evening gets pretty long." When you raise an eyebrow with a smile, he continues. "And there are plenty of rooms in the house. You're welcome to choose one of them. I'd hate to go back home for Christmas," he adds. "Especially because my mom would be alone and -"

"Charlie," you interrupt him. "We can spend the night at your mom's. There's nothing wrong with that." You wink at him. "Besides, I want to have a drink with Arthur and then I definitely can't go home."

He exhales with relief. "Very good." He turns his head forward and looks up at the stars too. "It's going to be a nice evening. My maman cooks delicious food and then we always play something. It's usually Uno or charades. You've heard how Monopoly turns out for us."

You have to giggle. "I would really like to play Monopoly with you," you admit quietly. "And I would never steal money from the bank either."

Charles exhales. "I'll take your word for that. But Arthur is more cunning than you think. He would steal money from the bank and make it look like it was you. You definitely don't want to play Monopoly with him."

You shrug your shoulders. "Then again, maybe I'm smarter than you give me credit for." You look up at the night sky again. "Maybe I can outsmart Arthur and win."

Your roommate laughs out loud. "Then you'd have to get past me first. And I'm certainly not going to let you win just like that. Not after you said you'd team up with my brother and not stand by me when he pulls his April Fool's pranks."

Offended, you reach behind your head for your pillow to smash it into his face, but Charles is quicker and snatches the pillow out of your hand before you can hit him with it. "You suck, Charlie."

"You love me. Just admit it," he grins and hesitantly gives you your pillow back, risking being exposed to your attack again. 

But you merely wrap your arms around the pillow and hug it to your chest. Even through the feathers inside, you can feel how fast your heart is beating. 

"Of course," you try to play down the swirling feelings inside you and hope that he doesn't notice the trembling in your voice. Or the truth in your words. "I'll still try to beat you at Monopoly. Or Uno. Or charades." Offended, you lie back on your pillow and cross your arms in front of your chest. 

Charles sits up again and refills your shot glasses. He pushes it towards you like a peace offering. "Maybe I'll let you win," he smiles as you look at him. "After all, Christmas is the festival of love and I -" he continues, but is interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. 

You look at him in confusion. You'd love to know how he would have finished the sentence. "You have reception out here?" you ask him as he pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. 

The Monegasque shakes his head and shows you his phone screen. "I had set an alarm clock."

You raise an eyebrow. "For what?" 

He points to the time with his finger. It's midnight and therefore officially Christmas. He looks at you with a grin. "I have a Christmas present for you." 

As he gets up from the sun bed and staggers onto the wood of the deck, you look at him indignantly. "No way," you reply, annoyed. "If I can't give you a present, then you can't give me one either." 

"Calm down, mon ami," he says, swaying slightly from left to right as he circles you. The alcohol seems to have hit him hard too. "I'll be right back." Without another word, he disappears into the interior of the yacht, leaving you on the sun bed. 

Annoyed, you sit up. 

The fact that you're not allowed to give him a present has almost ruined your friendship. Just the memory of his words that he wants nothing from you but your friendship sends a cold shiver down your spine. You would love to tell him that you want more from him than friendship, that you desire him, that you want him for yourself - that you love him - but no amount of money in the world would make you reveal your feelings to him. If he actually knew how you felt about him, you would certainly lose the only good thing in your life. And you wouldn't risk that under any circumstances. 

You run your fingers nervously through your hair. What could he possibly give you? You've never mentioned anything to him that he could possibly buy. And there's no way he'd change his mind in a day and confess his love for you. You'd have to be incredibly naive to believe that. 

It's not his fault that he doesn't feel the same way about you as you do about him. It's not his fault that his words have torn your heart apart. And it's not his fault that he can't take your feelings into consideration if you don't tell him about them. 

You take a deep breath and smile at him as he rejoins you. In his hand, he holds a brown envelope, which he hands to you as he drops back onto the sun bed next to you. When you look at him uncertainly, he nods at you. "Merry Christmas, mon ami."

Hesitantly, you open the envelope and pull out several pages of paper, held together at the top left corner by a paper clip. You immediately recognize your name on the first page, with Charles written underneath. The rest is written in French, which is why you look at your roommate even more confused than before. "What's this?"

Irritated, he takes the pages from your hand and lets his eyes wander over the letters for a moment before he hits his forehead a little too hard with the palm of his hand. "Shit. I thought they'd printed it out in English," he says, handing the papers back to you. I'm really sorry."

You raise an eyebrow. "And what's this?" Your eyes wander over the paper, trying to identify any of the words, until you unsuccessfully put the papers down in front of you. 

"This, mon ami, is an employment contract," he explains with a smile and leans back a little. 

"An employment contract?"

" Mh-hmm." He licks his lips once. "Remember when Joris mentioned that he had a new job?"

You nod. Of course you remember. 

After you'd been to the place where Charles had been with his father in the past, you both went to Joris' and had lunch there. Joris had told you that he was starting a new job and when you had been there to burn Annika's things, he had talked about it too. 

"Well," Charles says hesitantly. "Joris was my personal photographer. And now that he can no longer work for me and accompany me around the world because of his new job, I thought - well - maybe you'd like to be my new photographer. You - um - you don't have a job at the moment and - well - I thought it would be cool if you and I worked together," he babbles in one breath, blood rushing to his cheeks. "You'd travel with me to the Formula 1 races and take photos there, but of course you'd also spend a lot of time with me in private. Which would be a good fit, as you and I live together anyway and the fans loved the photo you took of me at the lookout point. And the one you just took of me turned out great too."

Your breath is stuck in your lungs. 

Charles wants you to work for him? That you photograph him so he can post the pictures on Instagram? That you fly around the world with him? 

You'd love to throw your arms around his neck with joy, but you just grin at him. "Are you serious?" When he nods, you squeal with excitement. "You're really serious, Charlie? You really want me to work for you?"

"Of course," he admits openly and smiles at you. "You and I are best friends. Why would I want to work with someone else when I have the perfect and best photographer literally sitting right in front of me? I'd be pretty stupid to ask anyone else."

Carefully and with shaky hands, you put the documents back in the envelope. "I - thank you. I don't even know what to say."

"Just say yes." He leans a little to the side so that he can push your full shot glass over to you. "You'll travel around the world with me, get paid incredibly well and spend a lot of time with me. I'll cover the travel expenses, of course. All you have to do is take good photos of me."

You look at him in amazement. "I'm getting paid and you're still covering the travel costs?"

Your flatmate laughs out loud. "Of course! What do you think? Whether I give you more salary so you can pay for your flights and everything yourself, or whether I pay you everything, it's the same in the end."

Heat shoots into your face. "Then at least let me give you money for the rent. Now that I have a job again."

He shakes his head vehemently. "Absolutely not. The money is yours, you can do anything you want with it."

"Except pay the rent," you reply and get his pillow thrown in your face. 

"Exactly. Everything except pay the rent," he assures you. "So, what do you say, mon ami? Do you fancy exploring the world with me?"

You nod with a grin. "Definitely." You raise your shot glass. "Thank you, Charlie. That's the best Christmas present I've ever been given."

A blush creeps into his cheeks as he scratches the back of his neck nervously. "Really?"

You nod with a smile. "Definitely. I can't thank you enough for that." 

The thought of being permanently close to Charles scares you as much as it makes you happy. As his best friend, you're looking forward to spending every minute with him, traveling the world and discovering the most beautiful places. And getting paid for it too. 

As the woman who loves him, you're a little worried about what will happen if he meets someone he falls in love with while you're traveling. You don't want to imagine the pain if he gets into a committed relationship with someone and all you can do is stand on the sidelines and watch him be happy. There's no question that he deserves to be happy - but the thought that the person he's falling in love with isn't you makes you feel sick. 

You try to suppress the thought and smile bravely at him. "It's absolutely the best present. Thank you so much, Charlie. No one's ever done anything like this for me before."

There is a loving sparkle in his eyes. "I'd do anything for you." Before he picks up his glass as well, he pulls out his cell phone again and taps on it. "Can I post it like this?" he asks you and holds his phone out to you. His screen shows the picture you just took, with a simple caption. 

You shrug your shoulders. "I think so. But do you think it's a good idea to post something when you've had so much alcohol?" you ask him with a grin. 

"Oh nonsense," he grins at you and taps his phone one last time before activating the keypad lock and putting it back in his pocket. "I only have good ideas when I'm drunk." He reaches for his shot glass and holds it out to you so you can clink glasses. "I'm glad you said yes. I can hardly wait." 

"Me neither," you reply with a smile. 

He takes a deep breath before his eyes search yours. He would love to put the glasses aside, pull you onto his lap and kiss you until you can't breathe, until the sun rises, until the world ends. But that's just the alcohol whispering to him, he thinks. 

He knocks his glass against yours. "Here's to us."

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