#takes place somewhere before their parents split up

[windfighter]

Not only thunder roars

Prompt: ”I’m scared.”

-----

Takeru curled up next to Yamato and Yamato put an arm around him.

”I’m scared”, Takeru whispered.

Lightning flashed across the sky, thunder roared. I’m scared too, Yamato wanted to say. But he couldn’t. He needed to be brave, Takeru’s rock. Needed to be a good brother. Or else mom and dad might start fighting again.

”I know it looks scary, but lots of things that look scary aren’t”, he said. ”Like that bug you found yesterday!”

A bug was far from the same thing as lightning though. Another flash crossed the sky and Yamato supressed the need to flinch. Takeru did instead, pressed harder into Yamato’s side. Yamato lifted him into his lap. Part of him wanted to suggest they hid in the wardrobe. He pushed that part as far away as possible.

”Why is the sky angry?” Takeru asked.

Yamato didn’t know. He raked his brain to find what he had done to wrong the sky, but nothing came up.

”Maybe….” he started and tried to think something up on the spot. ”...maybe there’s just been too much work for it lately. Like how it is for dad sometimes.”

Thunder roared again. Takeru gripped Yamato’s shirt and pressed his face against Yamato’s chest. Yamato watched the rain run down the window.

”He’s not angry at us, just very loud”, Yamato said.

He wished he could believe his own words. Takeru seemed to calm down a bit though, the tight grip around Yamato’s shirt loosened. Yamato lifted a hand to his cheek. The bruise had disappeared, but the pain was still fresh in his memory. He swallowed and hugged Takeru.

”He could never be angry at you”, he whispered.

”Is the sky angry at you?” Takeru asked.

Yamato blinked. Shook his head.

”Maybe it is”, he said. ”Maybe it’s angry I’m holding you in here instead of letting you go out and greet it.”

Takeru looked at him. Yamato did his best to grin and Takeru laughed. Settled more comfortable in Yamato’s lap and looked through the window. Yamato did as well, tried to keep the memories of dad’s hand and the pain away. Takeru leaned his head back and looked at Yamato.

”You’ll always protect me when it’s angry, won’t you?”

Yamato wasn’t sure what they were talking about any longer, but he knew one thing. He ruffled Takeru’s hair and gave him another hug.

”I’ll always protect you.”

[rottenaero]

Ao3

Part 1

Part 3

Part two to the roommates idea

Whenever the mall ‘burns down’, Eddie is just chilling at home; not doing anything special.

Actually, thats a complete lie. He hadn't seen Steve since he left for his shift the day before, and currently has his band+Wayne scattered in the living room as he paces.

“He may as well be dead, he always calls before staying the night somewhere, and he totally despises that place, so why would he stay after hours?” He comes to a halt infront of Jeff who looks considering. “What?!"

“Maybe, consider, he just forgot to call you." Eddie scoffed, “ ‘Maybe he just forgot’, except you don't know him, Jeff. Steve doesn't forget, tell ‘em Wayne."

Wayne nods from his spot on the lazyboy, “ ‘S true, he'd rather call at 2am than have us worrying.”

Gareth rolls his eyes, “Look Edmund, I get your worried about you boyfriend and all but why did we have to get dragged into this?" He complained, and Eddie began pacing again.

“ Not,my boyfriend, yet, and you’re getting-”

A ringing interrupts him.

The pacing stopped almost as soon as it began, and he darts to the phone. “ Y’hello, it's Eddie talking.” A sharp breath drew from the other end of the line.

“Hey Eds."

Eddie smiled, “Holy shit, Stevie. I thought you died. Wayne and the guys are literally gathered in the living room.” Upon hearing the name, Wayne visibly relaxed, going from hunched over to leaning backwards in seconds.

“Yeah I'm- Well shit not okay but I'm not dead.”In the background there was a noise, barely noticeable but-

“Wait, what? Are those sirens? Are you hurt? What the hell-” Wayne leaned forward again.

“I'm at the mall, there's been, uh, an accident? I don't- they took my keys, I need a ride back home.”

“Who took your keys? Steve you can't just be all ominous and-” The phone line shut off. "Fuck!”

Grant, who hasn't been helpful at all, stood up. "What did he do?”

Eddie groans, running a hand through his greasy hair, “Needs us to pick him up, might be hurt. He's such a- Wayne we're taking my van, you guys coming?”

Turns out the answer is yes.

-

They arrive at the mall five minutes later, mostly because Eddie was driving like a bat outta hell, to every emergency vehicle you can think of, plus thirty more, surrounding the place.

Eddie roles his window down when a cop signals him. “What are you doing over here?"

The metalhead bites his lip, what the hell, “Uh, I'm here to pick up Steve Harrington? He got involved in whatever's happening.”

The cops nods, "Alright, park your vehicle over there, and go get him.”

He does as he's told, a surprising feat showing just how scared he was, because Steve being hurt could mean so many things.

They get out the car, Wayne being the leading man, and head to where the commotion is.

The mall was totally destroyed, a couple kids he didn't know were sitting around, surrounded by their parents, there's a couple teens too, Nancy Wheeler, Johnny Byers, a girl in a sailor costume, and-

Eddie’s heart stopped and he fucking sped forward. “ Holy shit, what the fuck man." Steve looked like hell, understatement of the century but-

His face was bruised and bloody, his hands wrapped in casts, his hair was flat and gross and he was still in his damn sailor costume.

“Hey Munsons, Gareth, Jeff, Grant. It's the whole Scooby gang, or Smurfs, whoever you prefer.” Eddie grabbed his shoulders, and stared him dead in the eye. “ What. The. Fuck. Are you high too?!”

“Just what the hell did you get yourself into. " Wayne said more than asked, shaking his head.

Steve buzzed his lips, his eyebrows furrowed and he brought a hand to them and-

God they were split, and bleeding now. He looked back up at the long haired man infront of him, ignoring Wayne's question-not-question.

“Nah, just recovering from being drugged. Hey this is rivveting conversation and shit, but like, I wanna go home and sleep in your bed, man. Or the couch, or the floor.”

He let out a loud laugh, “Fuck I am not picky right now, I'll even take the back of the van.”

“Christ."

-

They don't talk about it, not after Hellfire goes home, not the next morning, not after Steve heals. They just don't, because the news told them all they need to know, that there was a fire. Eddie just assumed when they said he was drugged, that he meant medically.

(He didn't)

[barleyo]

Strings Attached.

Uncle! Leon Kennedy X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: Read the warnings and tags. This is pretty fucked up, so before you read, please, read the warnings I have provided. Your comfort as a reader is of the upmost importance to me, but the most I can do to protect you as a viewer is to give ample warning. Thanks for reading!

Tags: incest, large age gap (reader: 18, Leon: late 30s/early 40s), p in v, mentions of alcoholism, non/dub-con, coerced/forced, pussyjob, handjob, Leon being a super-mega awful drunken creep (you have been warned, it's bad), cream pie/unprotected sex, shitty amazing writing

Word count: 1.6k

DARK CONTENT AHEAD

Losing your parents really fucked you up. 

Living with your Uncle Leon fucked you up ever further, though. You passed through dozens of your relatives, but Leon, for whatever reason, was the only one who would keep you once you turned eighteen. 

It didn't seem so bad at first. Sure, his house always smelled like cigs and booze, and if he wasn't at work, he was passed out on his shitty couch, but at least you had somewhere to stay while you tried to figure your life out. It was an easy enough arrangement: you kept his place clean, made his food, and kept your mouth shut and he let you stay with him. 

He wasn't awful, but he was so off. His hands lingered on you for too long. His comments were weird sometimes. His eyes scanned over your body too often and left you feeling exposed. 

Really, he wasn't that bad until he got truly shitfaced drunk, which, to be fair, was only a few nights out of the week. That's when he got mean. And frustrated. And horny. 

"Kid," he said from the couch, wiping the sweat from his brow, "g'head into the kitchen n' get another one of these." He held his empty beer can up, shaking the little liquid left at the bottom. 

You really didn't think he needed another, seeing the slowly building pile of cans by his feet and the redness of his face, but who were you to criticize him? You simply nodded and did as you were told. 

"Here, Uncle Leon." You bent down to hand the can to your slouching uncle. 

"Thank you, baby."

He took it and popped the tab, taking a drink. He tried not to gag at the taste. He didn't even like alcohol, it was just an easy, cheap way for him to feel less awful.

"Sit with me. Give an old man some company," he said, patting his lap instead of the available seat next to him. He was always doing uncomfortable stuff like that, and at this point you had gotten used to it. 

You sighed and sat on his legs, trying to focus on the television rather than the drunken murmurings of Leon. You felt a sharp tug on your hair and fell further into his body, leaning back on his chest. 

"Bein' distant for what? I don't bite." He swaddled you with one of his arms and split your legs apart with his knee, forcing you to straddle him. "Y'listen so well, you know that? Don't ever have to deal with backtalk fr'm you." 

You flinched a bit when his face leaned closer to yours, dark, greasy hair covering his eyes that were no doubt drowning in lust. 

"Uncle Leon, I think you should go to bed, it's getting late." You tried to push yourself out of his grasp, but his arm was anchored around you tightly.

"There you go worrying about me again. You love yer uncle, don't you? Takin' good care a' me." Leon nuzzled his face into you neck and inhaled your scent. You smelled so sweet and clean, so perfect. 

"H-hey, c'mon, I don't think–" 

Your mouth shut quickly when you felt his lips on your neck, and his tongue slowly making its way up to the shell of your ear. 

The pungent smell of the booze on his breath brought you back to reality while he whispered into your ear. "You're so nice to me. Just like a little wife f'me, but you don't nag me. You're not a bitch, you're such a sweet girl. Don't know what I'd do without you." 

You felt tears well in your eyes, knowing what was to come. 

It didn't happen very often, and when Leon sobered up, he was always super apologetic about it. On the rare occasion, when the world really came crashing on him and the alcohol took control, he'd use your body to comfort himself. He wasn't rough with you at least, you tried to reason with yourself about it. He wasn't a bad man, you told yourself this over and over again while it happened. He was just— just lonely, is all. 

Leon had long forgot about his beer and focused on your body instead, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it away. 

"Fuck, you look so grown up." He took your tits in his hands, groping them unabashedly. "Puberty hit you hard, girl. Makes me wish I got to you sooner." 

God, he made you so sick, how could he say things like this? They say that drunk words are sober thoughts, but you couldn't stomach the idea of this being what he really thought.

"Please don't," you pleaded, stifling a sob. 

"Shh." He placed his palm over your mouth. "I'll make you feel so good, just help me get it up, okay? Be a good girl. Don't wanna make me upset with you, do you?"

He removed his hand from your face and wrapped it around your wrist instead, holding it to your mouth instead. 

"Spit. More, come on, the more you do, better it feels."

You spit two fat globs into your hand and watched as he undid her belt, pulling his cock out of his slacks. He guided your hand over his length, taking your small hand in his as he jerked himself off with your palm.

"That's it," he said, feeling his chest start to rise and fall. "Those hands are so much soft than mine. Gonna make me cum so easy with 'em." 

Leon brought your hand up to his tip, fluidly twisting your wrist back and forth around it. He bucked his hips up and down, fucking into your hand like a well-lubed fleshlight. He pulled your hand off of his dick before he had the chance to cum, wanting to be inside of you. 

"Wanna feel you. Can I use your mouth or pussy? Wan' you to choose." He gave you the choice, but his hands still slipped your shorts and panties off, impatiently roaming your inner thighs with his hands. His eyes were narrow and sharp like a predator ready to strike, but his tone was so needy and sweet. 

"You can use my pussy," you said quietly, remembering how sore your jaw was after last time. This was the less painful, yet more morally incorrect option, you thought. 

A wave of uneasiness crashed over you when you felt his wet dick slide between your thighs, just barely slipping through your folds. 

"Mm, you won't regret it. Wanted you to choose that one anyways."

It hurt to be so disgusted by him— you loved him, and cared for him, of course. He was the only person who would give you a chance, but was this really the price you had to pay? What the fuck had your life come to?

The head of his cock prodded at your entrance, not yet pushing in.

"You ready?" His chapped lips were slightly parted, looking at you desperately, as if he were drunk on not only beer but on you as well.

How could one man be so sickeningly vile and sweet at the same time? What he was doing was wrong, it made you want to throw up, but the way he did it... you could almost imagine that it wasn't him you could— you could learn to enjoy it and mentally block who he was out of the equation, just to give yourself some semblance of sanity, of dignity. 

You nodded at his question, whining at the stretch of his cock entering you. It wasn't too long, but the girth is what left you aching every time. You felt that you would never get used to it. 

"Please, just hurry."

He didn't respond, he only leaned his head over your shoulder and humped into you pathetically. He didn't fuck often, and he came quick, which made it a bit more bearable. 

The only sounds that filled the room were the squelching of your pussy, his breathy moans, and the strained hums he forced out of you. With a lucky stroke, his cock actually managed to hit your g-spot, brushing into it hard enough to make you squirmy. 

"Feel good?" His voice was cracking and whiny, like a virginal teen beating off for the first time. He was just a hormonal and pathetic. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum. Gonna cum in you, spill my seed." 

Your eyes widened quickly and you again tried to peel his arms off of you. "No, no, no! No, you can't do that, let go of me. I'm not on the pill!" 

He shook his head, still not listening to you as he bullied himself deeper into you, strokes getting messy. 

"Fill you up so good. Make your tits get fatter n' tasty, baby. Cumming now," he whined, wrapping his arms around your  lower stomach, clenching your body against his. 

Your pussy betrayed you, spasming around his cock like it gave you life, widely receiving every drop of his cum. 

You bit your cheeks and let the small pricks of blood fill your mouth. If you weren't stuck with him before, you sure as hell were now. To make matters worse, Leon had drifted off into a drunken nap as soon as he finished, too tired to even pull his limp dick out of you. 

You slid off of his lap and sat on the floor, unsure of how to move on. You looked up at your uncle, shamefully admiring his sleeping face. You stood up, legs weak and wobbling, and threw a blanket over his body, then laid your head over his lap.

The man who did the most awful things to you was also the only one who could comfort you. You took what life gave you with a sigh and made you self comfortable on him, arms dangling over his legs. 

You saw the beer he left on the floor and picked it up, feeling it still half full. 

"Jesus," you mumbled to yourself before downing the rest of the can, grimacing at the bitter taste. 

[darkbluekies]

The witty and uncanny pt 2

Doctor!yandere OC x reader x mafia!yandere OC

Summary: you knew that they'd be back for you, you just didn't know you'd stumble upon them so quickly.

Warnings: stalking, guns, knives, yandere

word count: 2.3k

Part 1 part 3

You pull the dark hood over your face and sit down by the coffee shop's counter, eyes cautiously wandering around the room. You're not sure who's a friend and who's an enemy. Silas has eyes everywhere and you wouldn't be surprised if he'd ordered more people to look for you. After your escape from the hospital, you've done your best to keep a low profile. You've couch surfed and slept outside. It hasn't been comfortable, but it worked. In the inside pocket of your black hoodie is the gun you stole from Silas and then from doctor Kry. You always keep it close … just in case they decide to show up unannounced.

"Hi, Y/N", your manager smiles. "Ready for your shift?"

"Yes", you answer.

When you've collected enough money, you're getting out of here. You like this place, maybe even more than you'd admit. The atmosphere is slow and soft, no one's in a hurry, everyone's just enjoying the moment. Just like you should.

Dr Kry sighs and puts down the dumbbells. His heart is pounding in his ears. Is it even worth it anymore? Despite working so hard that his muscles are pulsating, he can't feel anything. He had you and then he lost you … and then he had you again … and you got away. Dr Kry doesn't blame you for hurting him. You were scared, hurt and unwell. You acted irrationally. That's why he has to get you back. You're not well and the world will only hurt you. Or worse …

His foot is back to normal by now. A scar is left from where you shot him. He can't get himself to feel mad over it. It's a constant reminder of you, so why should he be angry? 

Dr Kry leaves the gym to go take a shower. He does so in your room, somehow wishing that you'll be lying in the bed once he comes out again. He hates to see the empty bed, but he still comes into the room everyday. He uses the shower as an excuse to walk in, but sometimes he just sits by your bed, watching over nothing.

After showering, he makes himself ready to go out. He puts on a sand colored Jean jacket over a white turtleneck and a pair of blue jeans.

The only reason he leaves the hospital is to look for you. He has been to your parents house, your friends houses, motels and other hospitals. He saw some traces of you on a couch in a friend's house. He knows that you're somewhere around him, and it's just a matter of time before he finds you.

You pour up a hot cup of coffee for a customer and give them a gentle smile. Your head is pounding. It's been months since you last slept in a real bed. Ironically enough it was the hospital bed. Couch surfing might keep you social, but your organs are suffering. One wrong move and your spine will split in two.

"Good morning, could I have a plain, black coffee, please?" a voice asks gently. "No coffee, nothing extra … just a plain, black coffee?"

Your eyes dart to the man in front of your colleague as your heart sinks to your stomach. Without his doctor's clothes, he's almost unrecognizable. He looks just like anyone else. 

You're quick to look away and continue with the last customer's order. Your colleague will take care of the doctor. If you're lucky you won't have to interact with him at all and he won't notice you. You pull the hoodie closer and feel for the gun in your pocket.

Your colleagues glance at Dr Kry, unforgivingly checking him out. You give him a discreet look. He has bags under his eyes. He's always had them, but these ones are darker. Otherwise he looks normal.

"Y/N, can you take this order?" your colleague asks you as she swings her bag over her shoulder. "I have to go to the post office before twelve or my letter won't reach my parents before their anniversary."

You want to yell at her but instead you press your lips together and nod. She disappears, leaving you alone by the counter. Quietly, you start to pour a white cup with steaming hot coffee

"Quite a nice morning, don't you think?" Dr Kry says.

You nod, still keeping your head down. The hood covers most of your features and you hope that he's too tall to notice the hair that sticks out. If you start tucking it back, he'll grow suspicious.

You give him the cup and you shudder as your fingers brush against his. Electricity shoots through your veins — and not the good kind.

"Thank you so much", Dr Kry smiles. "Have a good day."

"You too", you whisper.

He walks away. Quickly, you run to the changing room to catch your breath. Holy fuck, he was right in front of you. You literally touched him. You talked to him. This was too much. Without a second to waste, you throw the apron off your body and sprint out the back door. This was too risky, you can't come back here in case he ever comes back. Your heart is beating in your ears. You run the quickest you can down the street before he can realize.

Doctor Kry walks out to his white car with his coffee in his hands. He sighs heavily and takes a sip. It burns nicely in his throat, it reminds him that he's still alive. He feels like a walking shell. He looks for you every day … but you're nowhere.

Wait. That voice. That … touch. 

Dr Kry quickly turns around and looks at the sweet coffee shop. He hurries back in. The counter is empty. With a quick glance around, he walks behind the corner and into the back room. He looks around, seeing an apron on the floor. Squatting down, he picks it up. The nameplate says a name he first doesn't recognize, but then he smiles. Your middle name. 

"Oh, sweetheart", he sighs with a smile on his face. "It really was you."

Hope is blooming in his chest. Holy fuck, he was right in front of you. You literally touched him. You talked to him. He needs more. He notices that the back door is swung open and runs out tk his car. He'll catch you soon enough. He's not unarmed this time.

He's utterly embarrassed. Fainting on the floor in a hospital like that? Because someone managed to prick a needle into him? That's not something he brings up often and frankly something he wishes to forget. The second he regained consciousness he called for his right hand man to pick him up. There was blood in the elevator when he was getting up to the ground floor and he feared it came from you. Silas had to leave the hospital that day. He still believes that the doctor has kept you away in the hospital room. One day he'll be back for you and he won't let that uncanny doctor win. He has put out his men all over the city to keep their eyes open for you. You can't hide forever, it's just a matter of time. But for the time being, he's keeping himself occupied with work until he comes up with a plan to get you away from that pesky doctor.

"Boss, we found them!" 

Silas looks up. "Where?"

"They were caught on one of the city's surveillance cameras, running down the street. We've seen them before, it's the one with the black hoodie. The hood flew off when they were running."

"I had a feeling that it was them!"

He should have trusted his gut. He could already have had you, but he told himself that it couldn't be you. You were at the hospital, weren't you? Apparently not.

"Let's go get them", Silas says and stands up. "I'll get my coat. Get a blanket, they must be cold and make someone prepare the basement. I've had enough of this running around."

Silas grabs his black coat and storms out to his car. His men follow and one gives the boss a green blanket he can wrap around your body once they get you.

Silas jumps into his car, ready to go. He won't let you get far. 

He speeds through the city to reach you before you disappear.

"Where are they?" he asks his second in command. "Hurry up!"

"I-I don't know, boss!" He almost shouts back. "They're not on any of the cameras anymore."

"What?!"

"The last I can see of them was ten minutes ago. They ran out into the forest!"

"I fucking hate them."

He sighs heavily. He'll have to search for you in the woods? He might as well burn it down when he’s at it. He speeds up, determined to get to you before the forest swallows you whole. 

Not long after starting your forced workout, you can hear a car speed up beside you. Looking to the side, you see the face of a familiar blonde man behind the wheel. You gasp and run into the forest before he has time to park. 

"Y/N!" Dr Kry shouts behind you. "Wait!"

Like hell you will. You speed up, flying over the dirty ground beneath you. Behind you, you can hear the man run quickly as a tiger. You feel for the gun in your pocket, happy that it’s still there. Soon, you feel how the doctor grabs a hold of you and suddenly, the ground disappears from under your feet. For a second, you fall, only to be hit by the harsh ground. 

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Y/N”, Dr Kry says and helps you up on your feet. “But I didn’t know how else to stop you.” 

He brushes off your clothes with his hands before cupping your cheeks that have started bleeding. You’re too tired, too scared to move. Teary eyes glare at him as he caresses your cheeks with his hands. 

“My sweetheart”, he whispers and hugs you tightly. “My poor, little Y/N, I’m so sorry it took me so long to find you again. I’ve been feeling so awful about how our last encounter ended. I don’t blame you, you don’t have to be worried that I’m angry. I’m not, I promise! I know Silas scared you and that you wanted to get as far away from him as possible … and that meant getting away from me too. I understand.”

“No!” you shout and push yourself out of his chest. “You don’t understand a single, fucking thing!”

He hisses and brings you back, suffocating you into his sand colored jacket. 

“Let me go!” you shout and try reaching for the gun. 

Something sharp hits you in your waist and you freeze. 

“Y/N”, Dr Kry whispers in your ear. “Don’t make me hurt you, okay? I really don’t want to.”

“If you care about me so much, why would you hurt me? You sick freak.”

“If you don’t understand what’s best for you, then I have to take drastic measures to take you back where you’re safe. You have to understand that, sweetpea.”

“Drop the knife.”

You freeze at the new voice. It can’t be. Before you have time to register the voice, Dr Kry has pushed you behind him. You can glance at Silas standing a few meters away dressed in his black coat, but you hide behind the doctor to shield yourself. 

“How did you know we were here?” Dr Kry asks coldly. 

“I have my ways”, Silas answers just as chilly. “Now, give me what’s mine and you won’t die here today. I might even let you go. Might.”

“Do you think I’m stupid, Silas? You were no match for me last time.”

“Oh, come on, doc … you shouldn’t annoy me. You had luck before. But we’re no longer in your hospital, you have nothing to use here. I’m at an advantage.”

“At least I have Y/N, am I right?”

Silas grits his teeth. “Not for long. What have you done to their cheek?”

"They fell."

Silas tilts his head to look at you. "Clumsy baby. I guess I have to tie you to the bed once we come home, to make sure that you don't hurt yourself running anymore."

"You mean chaining me to the wall in the fucking basement!" you shout, unable to control your anger any longer.

"Details", Silas scoffs and rolls his eyes. "What's important is that you're coming back with me."

"They're not going home with you!" Dr Kry says sternly. "After what happened to them last time they were in your care, I'll never allow it! They have to come back to the hospital with me. I take good care of them."

"Like Hell they do! They belong to me!"

You decide to take this opportunity to flee. They’re too busy arguing that they don’t notice how you back away from Dr Kry and make a run for it into the woods. Only when you’ve come ten meters away, do they notice the running shadow. 

“Y/N, come back!” Dr Kry gasps before glaring at Silas. “Now look at what you’ve done!”

He’s about to run after you when Silas's voice is heard again. He's gotten an insane idea that he's not sure of himself.

"Hey, doc."

"What?" Dr Kry scoffs, turning his head to the criminal who's standing calmly with his hands in his pockets.

"How about we team up?"

[coolnameloading]

Second place part 3

Summary: After walking back to your car and seeing Shauna and Lottie fighting both girls try to tell you why you should pick them.

The two of them look up at you and break apart immediately.

And to think you were actually having a fine day until now.

You look over the two of them. Shauna’s flannel is dirty and ripped open. The buttons popped off and flew off somewhere. Her eyebrow is split open, but whether that’s from Lottie or her face hitting the gravel is unclear. 

Lottie’s designer sweater was covered in grime making her orchid pink sweater look brown in some spots. You also notice a large bruise forming on her cheek and her split lip.

On the floor next to the tires of another student’s car there was also a chunk of hair that could have come from either of them. 

Man, they really tried to rip each other apart. 

“What the fuck guys?”

You ask throwing your hands up. You were gone for maybe fifteen minutes and they’ve managed to beat the shit out of each other.

You do a double take and realize the flannel Shauna is wearing is the one you got for her birthday. 

Before you can gather your thoughts Shauna shoots up and grabs your hand.

“Please, I know I fucked up. I know I made you feel like you’re second to Jackie but you’re not.”

Shauna rushes out stumbling over her words in her desperation.

Her fingernails dig slightly into the back of your hands as if to make sure that you don’t pull away.

That you don’t leave her.

“I know that I haven’t been the best girlfriend. Actually, I admit I’ve been the worst girlfriend for the last two months but I promise baby from now on everything I do is for you. I won’t even talk to Jackie until I make it up to you!”

Shauna looks into your eyes desperately and you can see small tears forming at the corner of hers.

“I’m just so used to being her shadow you know?” She whimpers out trying to force a smile.

“Back in high school, I was like her sidekick…or like her fucking dog. If she whistled I came running. And I’ve always been so used to that and I just don’t know how to stop.”

She mumbles trying not to cry, she uses the sleeve of her torn flannel to wipe the tears from her eyes.

“I just don’t know how to prioritize other people…how to prioritize you. But I’ll get better! I promise I’ll get better just don’t go.”

You can see the exhaustion in Shauna’s eyes, you didn’t notice them before but now that you’re closer you can clearly see her eyes are bloodshot and there are bags under them.

“Did you sleep last night?”

You ask her gently, forgetting your anger for a moment and feeling worried for your girlfriend. 

Shauna shakes her head.

“After you didn’t text back I stayed awake all night in case you wanted to talk.”

She whispers weakly, her voice cracking slightly as she tries to hold back her tears.

The longer you look at Shauna right now the more things start to stand out. The girl standing in front of you looks nothing like your confident, assured girlfriend. She’s looking at you the same way your dog looks at your mom after she catches it getting into the trash. 

You can practically imagine her as a brown lab with its tail tucked in between its legs with how she’s looking at you. 

Her baby brown eyes were always your weakness. 

“Oh please!”

Suddenly Lottie pushes Shauna away, taking her spot in front of you and grabbing your hands as Shauna stumbles trying to regain her balance.

“She can’t treat you the way you deserve. She might have you convinced that all your problems started two months ago but it’s been like this your entire relationship!”

Lottie yells glaring at Shauna.

“Like that time she was supposed to meet your parents but ditched you because Jackie wanted to run an optional practice. Most of the team didn’t even fucking show up! Look it doesn’t matter what she says right now, if you stay with her you’ll always be second place to Jackie.”

Lottie suddenly pulls you against her, wrapping her arms around your waist. You stumble forward pressing you close enough to feel her warm breath over you.

“You remember when you gave me that pen in English 1010 and I never gave it back? I was going to ask you out when I gave it back but I could never figure out the right words so I never did.”

She whispers looking into your eyes.

“And at the restaurant, you asked me how I knew your anniversary and I said it was because that’s the day Shauna got so annoying. I lied, it’s because it was the day I knew I’d lost my chance.”

Lottie mumbles. You can see her fighting off a blush, trying her best to tell you the truth while fighting her embarrassment. 

You feel her arms unwrap from you as she pulls a familiar pen out of her bag, holding it out to you.

“So what do you say?”

She whispers softly.

“Do I still get a chance?”

[firestorm09890]

it’s still very much a crack theory but if people are earnestly believing Demyx is the Master of Masters, why shouldn’t I lean into this one? anyway don’t take this very seriously

okay so

those lines from Ienzo’s character file where he says his childhood was extremely hazy, but his memories of Radiant Garden are perfectly vivid- ignoring how concerning it is that he considered his childhood over by the time he was in Radiant Garden, what you could take away from it is that he was from somewhere else before Radiant Garden that he barely remembers. I don’t think it’s just childhood amnesia (real term referring to how adults have a hard time recalling early memories) especially since Ienzo remembers his time in Radiant Garden perfectly clearly, it’s like a hard cutoff. Either way the implication he’s from somewhere else remains

And I'm willing to believe they'd put relevant lore hints in the character files because they DID do that for Demyx

Oh yeah, what is it that person used to say all the time? Something about a guiding key? Come to think of it, wasn't something guiding me?

anyway we know that traveling to a different world and a different time and losing your memories is a thing that can happen, thanks to khux. I don’t think Ienzo used an ark though, that’s been done already

Radiant Garden has some kind of connection to Daybreak Town, thanks to it also having arks, and a connection to Scala Ad Caelum, bc of the researcher attire staying the same, but we don’t know how. I’ve seen people theorize that RG is like a sister world to Scala, or the next step in the history of the same place, so RG is built on Scala which is built on Daybreak Town.

so here’s my shot in the dark that I’m choosing to believe until we actually get lore on how Radiant Garden is connected to those places: Missing Link era Scala had its apocalypse and somehow split into Dark Road era Scala and Radiant Garden (hey wait they’re both surrounded by water… curious), with the history of Missing Link being erased in both worlds. Ienzo was from ML Scala and… idk hid somewhere he shouldn’t have or something and he woke up way in the future in Radiant Garden and he didn’t get the Subject X treatment because 1) they found him before Xehanort was there and 2) he didn’t even tell them he couldn’t remember things. they just accepted that he wouldn’t want to talk about his past, he’s just a little kid who lost his parents

I’m calling it the Victorian Orphan Theory. and yes that is why I picked ML Scala, because Victorian Orphan Ienzo being REAL would be awesome

[flurrys-creativity]

Warrior

Pairing: Choi San (Ateez) x Fem!OC Yeong-Ja; Genre: Joseon AU, Historical AU, Fantasy, Shifter AU, Werewolf AU, strangers to lovers, romance, angst, fluff, SMUT; Rating: nsfw, 18+, MDNI; Warnings: concubines, hints of misogyny, somewhat sold off, inaccurate historical stuff, San from his special performance warrior video including the tattoos, shifter San with a very demanding inner wolf, mentions of sex, getting a tattoo the old style (which is probably inaccurate as well), mentions of uproars, death (minor ocs), san murdering them, graphic violence, graphic description of injuries, san being chained to his bed, SMUT -> rough sex, unprotected sex, marking, biting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, several positions, breeding kink, knotting, mating, pet names, mentions of softer sex; Wordcount: 11.482

Summary: Every time emperor San won a battle against foreign forces he got gifted another concubine - another person, who’d be scared of him. Though when he met the newest addition in his palace, he realised Yeong-Ja was everything but scared.

A/N: Ever since that special performance video of Warriors by San came out, I'm a changed person!! I wrote this chonky one within one weekend while playing the video on loop.

Yeong-Ja got ushered into a room by several servants, who told her to stay there until the emperor would arrive. Before she could even ask when that would be the door got shut right in front of her nose, leaving her alone.

With a heavy sigh Yeong-Ja turned around and took a closer look at the room in front of her. While it definitely appeared luxurious - the room was basically as big as her old home - but except for a large bed there wasn’t much inside the room. It didn’t even have windows. There was only another sliding door, which probably led to the private quarters of the emperor.

Yeong-Ja stood in the middle of the room unsure what she was supposed to do besides waiting for the emperor. Should she stand somewhere specific or sit on the bed? She knew what was expected of her yet she couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact she had become a concubine in the span of only a few hours.

That morning Yeong-Ja had woken up and gone out to town since the market was open and she had hoped to buy a few things for her family. So while she bargained with one of the sellers, she got approached by a tall man in fancy clothes.

“Excuse me”, he said with an awkward smile, “I’d like to have a conversation with someone, who speaks for you.”

Yeong-Ja raised an eyebrow, forgetting the little quarrel with the seller as she turned towards the man and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I’m able to speak for myself, sir.”

A twinkle in his eyes and the soft chuckle revealed his amusement even after he focused himself again with a short shake of his head. “I’d still like to inform your husband or any kind of relative that you’re chosen to become a concubine.”

For a split second everything around Yeong-Ja stopped. She stared at the stranger with wide eyes, needing several seconds to register what he just said. Once the heaviness of the message fought through and settled into her mind, her whole world started to crumble. She nodded almost mechanically as she asked the man to follow her, cutting her time at the market short.

Even when she brought him to his parents and sat beside them in the small dining area, somewhat listening to the words he had to say, her thoughts had travelled to a different place. While Yeong-Ja wasn’t the only woman at her age unmarried, it was rather uncommon. Her headstrong attitude and the fact she came from a poorer family were the reasons why she hadn’t been married yet. Though it hadn’t been a problem in her family, Yeong-Ja was incredibly thankful for that since she loved her independence. 

“If you want to take something with you, Miss Yeong-Ja, now would be the time to get it.” The stranger, who had himself introduced as Park Seonghwa the head counsellor of the emperor, looked at her. A hint of pity and understanding swirling in his dark eyes. 

Her mother had followed her to the sleeping area, laying a hand on her shoulder. She had tears in her eyes as she pulled her daughter into her arms. “You’ll have a better life at the palace”, she whispered and caressed the back of the younger woman. “Please take this with you.” With that her mother let go of her and walked over to a small cabinet. She pulled a box out from the farthest end and turned back to Yeong-Ja. “This was a gift from your great grandfather to your great grandmother. It’s supposed to be a lucky item. Wear it to receive the blessings -” she swallowed the lump inside her throat, her voice sounding choked up - “and to remember us.”

Yeong-Ja hiccuped as she accepted the gift with trembling fingers. She looked down at the fine silver necklace in her hands, seeing one turquoise stone added as a pendant. She closed her hands and clutched them against her chest, whispering her thanks while tears streamed down her cheeks.

Now inside the luxurious bedroom Yeong-Ja fumbled with the dozens of layers of clothes to reach for the pendant. She wrapped her fingers around the turquoise and felt the calm energy spreading throughout her body. With no way back she could only look ahead.

She noticed a bowl of water and several towels on a nightstand close to the bed. Yeong-Ja walked closer to the bowl, leaning over it and staring at her own reflection. She barely recognised herself and a frown appeared on her features. 

That ghost-like face looking back at her wasn’t the woman she wanted to be. While the make-up looked magnificent and had been applied with the utmost care by the servants, Yeong-Ja couldn’t help herself but to hate it. She knew noble women liked to appear paler to show they didn’t work on fields in the sun, but Yeong-Ja was born and raised on such fields. She had a natural tan skin and any other colour made her look sick.

Without a second thought Yeong-Ja pushed the fabrics up her arms and dunked her hands into the bowl, cupping them and splashing water into her face. She rubbed her face meticulously and hoped to get rid of all the white make-up plastered on her skin.

Once she deemed her face clean, Yeong-Ja grabbed a towel and patted her skin dry. Her face already felt much lighter without all the make-up. Although the minute Yeong-Ja looked down at her body and saw all the layers of fancy fabric she felt like a fool again. Her face didn’t match this dress anymore. Yeong-Ja pursed her lips and brushed the sleeves of the fabric back down, feeling uncomfortable in all these layers. The young woman looked over her shoulder to the two closed doors, contemplating whether she should risk it and change or just stay put.

She swallowed and tried to listen intently to the sounds outside of the room. When she wasn’t able to pick up any words or steps, she decided to take the risk. 

Yeong-Ja fumbled with the fabrics and the knots that held everything in place. It took her every ounce of self control to stay patient and not rip everything apart. Once she finally got rid of every layer and only stood in the finest silk underwear in the middle of the room, Yeong-Ja thought she was able to breathe again.

She bent down and started folding all the fabrics, placing them neatly in front of the nightstand. Yeong-Ja only kept the outer piece and a few pins. She draped the fabric over her body and secured it with the pins.

When Yeong-Ja was brought into the bedroom, the emperor - Choi San - arrived at the throne room. He barely kept the sigh inside his lungs when he saw Seonghwa waiting for him.

“Another victory, huh?” Seonghwa stepped next to San, trying to contain his grin. He could read San like a book and knew how annoyed his emperor was already.

“Which means another concubine.” San plopped down on the throne. He pushed his hair back with his hand before he fixed his eyes on the older man. “Why is the court getting a concubine every time I come back from a battle? They’re running away in the end.”

“Now, now. You make it out as if every concubine has fled so far. You still have a thriving harem, San.”

San only rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue, resting his chin on his hand. “Anything else I should know before I tell the servants to bring the new concubine to their quarters?” San only wanted to get a bath in peace, wanted to wash off all the grime and blood from the battlefield. He needed to rest and regain his strength again. San had used almost all of his power to keep the intruders in check and only with the help of his wolf was he able to overpower them.

“This one is different. Take at least a look at her.” 

San zoned back into the conversation and shook his head. Whatever Seonghwa had told him just now, San only heard the last two sentences. He grimaced but decided to wave it off for now. With a dismissive hand gesture San got up from the throne and walked to the hidden door behind it. “I’ll think about it”, he told Seonghwa before he bid his goodbye and followed the wooden path towards his private quarters.

A servant rushed to his side, offering their assistance. They nodded in understanding with each order - preparing a bath and bringing the new concubine to their quarters - they received. 

San opened the door to his private bedroom and closed it right behind him again. He trotted towards the bathroom and started stripping out of his clothes, which needed to be washed as well. 

A sudden scream followed by frantic yelling, interrupted San in his undressing. Without regard to his appearance the emperor rushed towards the disturbance. He slammed the door to the concubine bedroom open and hurriedly stepped inside, his eyes jumping from corner to corner. San was ready to fight but except for a servant and a woman he never saw before he couldn’t sense any danger. “Wha-”

“I am so sorry, my emperor. I didn’t mean to disturb you with my yelling. I just wanted to take the concubine to her quarters when I saw what she did.” The servant bowed deeply as they apologised over and over again.

“Please”, San only said in a stern voice, successfully shutting up the servant. He looked around the room again, trying to understand what the servant meant. He inhaled deeply when a sudden wave hit his senses.

‘Smells good’, his wolf hummed, forcing San to inhale again. He even closed his eyes, focusing solely on the sweet scent invading his nose. When he opened his eyes again, they immediately landed on the new concubine.

Yeong-Ja had crossed her arms in front of her chest. She felt embarrassed for screaming when the servant tapped her shoulder. She hadn’t noticed them coming into the room and yelped in surprise from the sudden touch. Yeong-Ja also felt embarrassed for being scolded so harshly. While she had expected to get scolded, she had pictured it to be the emperor himself.

Her eyes fell on the man who had entered the room as well. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks when Yeong-Ja saw the half-naked form of him. Involuntarily her eyes wandered over his toned upper body and well defined muscles. She took the tattoos adorning his body in as well, fascinated by the intricate painting of a wolf’s head on his left pec.

As her eyes continued to wander over his body she finally reached his face. The air inside her lungs nearly got stuck when Yeong-Ja saw the intense gaze on her. She locked eyes with him and the feeling of being a small prey spread throughout her whole body. 

San glanced at the servant, telling them they were dismissed, before his eyes landed on the new concubine again. 

His wolf rumbled inside of him, growling something about having found their mate. He eagerly wanted to cross the distance and get to the woman, wanted to touch her, smell her, scent her, take her and most importantly breed her.

San’s fingers twitched as he fought to keep control over his own body. Seonghwa’s words played in his mind again, while San stared at the woman in front of him. He noticed how she wasn’t turned into a doll-like human like all the other concubines before her. He also noticed how the clothes around her body weren’t as neatly placed. 

‘Easier access’, his wolf nearly howled, keen with the choices that were made.

Yeong-Ja could have sworn she was on fire from the intensity of his gaze but at the same time one ice cold shiver after another ran down her spine. She could feel her heart pounding inside of her ribcage.

“May I know your name?”

The soft voice of the emperor - even though it sounded slightly strangled - surprised Yeong-Ja. She would love to simply listen to him all day, every day. “Yeong-Ja”, she introduced herself, bowing slightly in hopes it was enough courtesy towards the emperor.

San repeated her name, same as his inner wolf, getting a feeling of it on his tongue. “That is a beautiful name”, he complimented her as he suppressed another attempt of his wolf to pounce on her. “Have you been waiting for a long time?”

Yeong-Ja blinked several times, thinking about the question. She wasn’t even sure whether she could answer it or not. Without any windows Yeong-Ja wasn’t able to see how high the sun was and therefore unable to tell the time. Yet she knew it had been enough time for her to change her appearance. “Long enough to wash my face and dress differently.”

San’s eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t expected such an answer and most importantly he hadn’t expected that she took the liberty to change her looks, disregarding everything the servants must have prepared for him. Before San could control himself, he let out a loud laugh. San held his stomach as he leaned back from the force of his laughter. The mental picture of the frustration from his servants and her just undoing everything that has been made, just got to him.

Yeong-Ja observed him silently, a small smile playing over her lips upon noticing the dimples on his face when he grinned brightly. 

Once San calmed down again, he wiped the corner of his eyes. He still grinned, the amusement apparent in his voice as well. “Make yourself comfortable in this room. If you’re in need of anything don’t hesitate to call for a servant.”

Yeong-Ja nodded slowly, trying to hide the confusion that filled her thoughts. She thought the emperor would want her to undress and get on the bed so she could please him. Therefore she hadn’t expected something like this.

“I’d like to have breakfast with you tomorrow morning. Is that alright with you?” San ignored the warning growls from his wolf, telling him to stay with her. But San wanted to be a little more careful with her. He hoped by getting to know her first and taking it slow, Yeong-Ja might not fear him like most of the other concubines. And most importantly she hopefully wouldn’t run away.

Yeong-Ja had to remind herself of keeping it together and actually answer the emperor. Everything she witnessed from him so far contradicted all the rumours surrounding him. It was a miracle that she wasn’t too stunned to speak with him. “It would be a pleasure.”

San smiled and nodded shortly, before he bid his goodbye and walked back into his private chambers. Much to the dismay of his inner wolf.

Over the next weeks San ordered to bring more furniture into the concubine’s bedroom. While he could have admitted Yeong-Ja to the special quarters for the concubine instead of the regular ones, his inner wolf insisted to have her as close as possible - and if sharing a bed wasn’t an option yet it had to be the room right next door.

Yeong-Ja still didn’t know how to properly act around the emperor. He was sweet towards her during the day and made sure every wish she could possibly have was fulfilled as fast as possible but he never called her for the purpose she was brought into the palace.

At night she would lie awake in the large bed, staring up at the ceiling, which she barely saw with the small night light on the stand next to the bed. At first Yeong-Ja wasn’t able to sleep because she constantly stayed on edge, expecting to be called for her duty at any moment. Though when it didn’t happen her thoughts started to tear her apart from the inside. She couldn’t understand why San never came to her at night, why he always kept his distance even when they met. 

Yeong-Ja couldn’t possibly know how much he suffered from not being close to her. His wolf rioted every chance possible - especially at night. A time where he wanted to take his mate and nothing else. 

San writhed in pain, trying to keep his cool. Yet the hard on he sported in his loose pants throbbed painfully. No amount of masturbating helped him and it slowly but surely drove him insane.

‘Go to her.’ His wolf whispered, the sly smirk prominent in his voice. ‘She’ll take care of us.’

“No”, San grunted breathlessly. He pushed himself up and walked over to the door. San stood in front of it, his whole body trembling as he fought with himself. It took all of his will power to go through the other door. 

He walked up to the concubine quarters. San needed a release and he couldn’t care less about who he had to fuck for that. As long as it meant he wouldn’t harm Yeong-Ja.

The woman struggled to fall asleep again. Therefore she decided to go for a short walk. She followed the wooden path to the centre of the palace, where she found a small koi pond and some greenery. Yeong-Ja sat down on the stairs that led down to the pond and stared at the water. The light of the flames from the lanterns around her reflected on the surface, almost dancing to a melody she wasn’t able to hear.

When she heard the sudden movements to her right, she cowered behind the handrail, hoping to stay hidden from whoever walked past in the middle of the night.

San pushed the concubine towards the special quarters since he couldn’t use the bedroom anymore. He got impatient with her stumbling and irritated with his wolf wanting to go somewhere else. Hopefully it would die down the second he stepped into the quarters with that concubine.

Yeong-Ja watched them silently, a lump forming inside her stomach when she recognised San with another woman. She wondered what this woman had that she didn’t have. Her shoulders hung down and she couldn’t contain the sigh that spilled past her lips. While being with the emperor had its perks, she still felt out of place. No matter how many tea ceremonies, breakfasts or evening walks she would have with him, Yeong-Ja still thought there had to be something wrong with her as she seemed to be the only concubine that wasn’t used for her original purpose.

Yeong-Ja winced when she heard the faint cries of pleasure. Swallowing the building lump in her throat she decided to go for a longer walk. There was no way she could just sit there and listen, nor could she go back to her chamber that was located right next to them.

On silent soles the young woman moved over the bridge of the pond and up the stairs towards the throne hall. She hoped the door behind the throne would be open, so she could sneak past. Even though she knew she’d be stopped at the main gate, she had a slimmer of hope within her.

“Miss Yeong-Ja?”

She squeaked and slightly jumped on the spot, her hand hovering above the handle for the sliding door to the throne hall. Yeong-Ja’s head turned almost mechanically to her left, where she saw Seonghwa.

He looked at her with concern written all over his face. Ever so carefully he stepped towards her, fearing she might bolt if he made too hasty movements. “Is everything alright?”

Yeong-Ja winced again, feeling incredibly exposed all of a sudden. “I just wanted to take a walk.”

“In the middle of the night?” Seonghwa finally reached her, placing a hand on her shoulder. He tilted his head, exploring her face in detail. His attention momentarily faltered when he heard the outcry from the special room. Understanding dawned on his features as his attention returned to the woman in front of him. “May I accompany you, Miss Yeong-Ja?”

Yeong-Ja nodded softly, a small smile playing over her features when she saw his awkward grin. “Can we leave the palace grounds for a while?” She asked hopefully, needing some distance to clear her thoughts.

“I’ll send for two guards to follow us”, Seonghwa confirmed and ushered her through the door. They crossed the throne room in silence and waited at the large entrance to the courtyard for two guards to join you.

For a while the silence continued as they walked through the streets of the upper town. Though as if Seonghwa was able to read her mind, he spoke up again: “Something is troubling you.”

Yeong-Ja sighed deeply, tilting her head back and looking up into the dark sky. “Is there something wrong with me?” She didn’t dare to look at Seonghwa, fearing his answer for some reason.

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow, observing her closely. “Why would there something be wrong with you?”

She shrugged with her shoulders, looking back down to the ground again. “It’s a little embarrassing to talk about this”, she confessed, her voice so soft nobody else but Seonghwa could hear her. “I just feel like the emperor doesn’t want me like he wants the other concubines. I’m not even sharing the same quarters with them.”

Seonghwa placed his hand on her shoulder again, chuckling softly. “I’m sure it is quite the opposite, dear.”

Yeong-Ja raised her head and looked at Seonghwa in confusion, a frown adorning her features while she tried to understand what the counsellor meant. “If the emperor wants me why wouldn’t he come to me at night?”

“That is something you should ask him yourself”, Seonghwa answered ominously, halting in his steps and turning around. 

Yeong-Ja followed his example, still confused about what he was hinting at. She noticed him staring ahead and followed his gaze. 

Her eyes widened in surprise when they locked with San’s, who stood breathing heavily in the middle of the street before them.

When she had left the palace, San had stopped mid-thrust. ‘She’s leaving!’ San’s eyes widened in panic when he realised his wolf was right and the scent of Yeong-Ja grew more distant. San growled almost animalistically as he pushed himself away from the concubine. “Go back to your chambers”, he ordered before he rushed out of the room.

He hurried to her bedroom first, needing to confirm what his instincts and sense of smell told him with his own two eyes. San momentarily stopped in front of her door, making himself presentable before he entered. His heartbeat accelerated when he didn’t see her inside the room.

‘Follow her!’ His wolf snarled and pulled San back.

The emperor barely snapped out of this, keeping control over his own body, as he ran towards the main gates. He ignored the questioning looks from the guards and only continued to run through the streets. San followed his nose for the most part but his eyes still frantically scanned his surroundings, making sure he wouldn’t miss her.

He stopped upon finding her - together with Seonghwa, who had a hand placed on her shoulder. San breathed heavily, his shoulders heaving from the sprint he just did. His eyes jumped between Yeong-Ja and Seonghwa, trying to figure out what was going on while his wolf wanted nothing but to rip Seonghwa’s hand off.

Seonghwa bowed slightly towards San and then turned back to Yeong-Ja. “I’ll leave you in his care now.” He smiled knowingly and squeezed her shoulder in reassurance before stepping away.

Yeong-Ja looked puzzled. Instead of finding answers to her questions, she only had more questions inside her head now. Once Seonghwa was out of her sight, her eyes landed on San. Uncertainty wafted off of her in waves and even San could sense it without his inner wolf telling him.

“Is everything alright?” He asked carefully, eyes exploring her expression. San feared she had attempted to escape and only got stopped by Seonghwa.

Yeong-Ja crossed her arms in front of her chest, slightly hugging her upper body even. “I just needed to take a walk.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“Yes!” She snapped, before looking away in embarrassment. “In the middle of the night”, she added more softly, “I needed to clear my head.”

San stepped closer - at least a little. “Is there something bothering you?” He tried to even his breathing, even though the fear inside of him made him want to gasp for air. His thoughts swirled around his head and the whining of his wolf to move closer didn’t help either to stay level headed.

Yeong-Ja watched him. She saw the fear in his eyes, saw him struggle and fight with himself but she didn’t understand why. She tightened the hold around her upper body. “Is there something wrong with me?”

“What?”

She was about to repeat herself, when San interrupted her: “No! Why would you think that? There is absolutely nothing wrong with you! You’re beautiful just the way you are!”

“And yet you always keep your distance.” Yeong-Ja mumbled to herself without knowing San’s heightened senses still picked up on her words. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” San groaned and pressed his face into his hands, before running them through his hair. “I keep my distance because I don’t want to frighten or hurt you.”

Yeong-Ja looked up at him through her eyelashes, gnawing on her lower lip as she contemplated her next question.

San’s wolf begged him to cross the distance and scoop her up in his arms; begged him to litter her in kisses but San stayed put. He wanted to wait; wanted to hear what she had to say.

“So could we have a tea ceremony where you won’t sit across the room and far away from me?” The wavering in her otherwise hopeful voice was heartbreaking.

“If that is what you wish for”, San agreed with a nod, never moving his eyes away from her. He didn’t dare to let her out of his sight for even a second. “Let us do that then. Tomorrow. After a good night’s rest.”

Yeong-Ja nodded shortly. She still felt uncertain around him but having him agree on being closer felt like a small step in the right direction. The young woman walked over to San - momentarily surprised he didn’t step back, but incredibly pleased he followed through with his words already. “Then we should head back again.”

“Yes”, San breathed out and walked next to you. Relief washed over his whole body once he realised she hadn’t tried running away and was even willing to go back with him. He definitely had to work harder to keep Yeong-Ja by his side - even if it meant torturing himself.

~

San sat in the middle of his private chamber. He had his eyes closed, trying to mentally prepare himself for the close proximity he was about to have with Yeong-Ja. 

Behind him the tattoo artist prepared his utensils to create another mark on the emperor’s body. Hongjoong created every art piece on San’s skin and it hadn’t surprised him to be called again. He placed the small bowl with black ink to his right on a cloth of linen. Next to the bowl he kept the needles and a wooden piece he used as a hammer. To his left Hongjoong had placed a larger bowl of water and several towels. 

“Everything has been prepared. We can start now.”

San raised one hand, halting the artist in his movements. “Please wait a moment. I’m expecting someone to join us.”

Hongjoong’s eyes widened as he stared at the back of the emperor’s head. So far each tattoo session has always been just them. He leaned back on his feet, placing his hands on his thighs to wait.

A servant announced their arrival, requesting to open the door and let Yeong-Ja inside. 

Yeong-Ja played with the fingers of her hands behind her back. She stepped inside once the sliding door got opened enough for her to walk in. To her surprise the door got closed behind her right away. For a second it felt like a deja vu but when she turned her head and looked into the room, she noticed the two men sitting on the floor. 

Just like during the first night San only wore some pants, revealing his bare chest and arms. He looked up at her with a nervous smile. “I know this isn’t like our usual meetings”, he explained when he saw her tilting her head to the side and eyeing Hongjoong behind him. “Will you still join me?”

The woman nodded hesitantly and crossed the room to sit in front of San. She leaned a little to the side to get a better look at the second man, who nearly got devoured by San’s broad shoulders. 

“That’s Kim Hongjoong”, San told her, successfully getting her attention back on him. “He did all of my tattoos and will do another today.” San momentarily looked over his shoulder and told Hongjoong to start now.

At the mention of his tattoos Yeong-Ja’s eyes dropped to his chest, staring at the large wolf tattoo. She mused Hongjoong to be a great artist if he was able to create such detail of a wolf’s head with nothing but black ink. “Do they have a meaning or are you just having them for aesthetic reasons?” 

For a while only the slapping of the wood against Hongjoong’s fingers filled the room. San focused on the slight pain pulsating through his body to keep his wolf in check. The close proximity to her made his wolf run up the walls but he couldn’t let it be. “Some have meaning, others don’t”, he breathed out, his jaw clenching and hand twitching as his wolf made another attempt to reach out to her.

Yeong-Ja watched him silently, noticing how he tensed up and struggled to hold this conversation.

Even Hongjoong noticed the unusual behaviour of the emperor. He knew for a fact San didn’t react to the pain of the needle, so seeing him this tense surprised the artist.

Yeong-Ja turned her attention back to the artist while San continued breathing purposefully. “How are you creating these?”

Hongjoong momentarily halted in his movement to look up at the woman. A proud grin flashed over his feature before he continued to work and started explaining the process to her. 

While his inner wolf got jealous and wanted to bring the focus back to them, San felt some sort of relief that he could deal with his wolf for a moment as she listened intently to the process of tattoo making from Hongjoong.

After what only felt like seconds but probably had been much longer Yeong-Ja looked back at San. She noticed how he had already been watching her, making the heat rise up to her cheeks. Yeong-Ja quickly dismissed the feeling and cleared her throat. “May I see how he’s doing it?”

San’s eyes widened but he nodded nonetheless. He silently watched how she got on her knees and crawled past his left side. She stopped right next to him, letting only her head be behind his body to watch the artist creating the tattoo. Yeong-Ja stayed on all fours as she watched, surprised at the mess she saw on his back.

Hongjoong grabbed one of the towels and dunked it into the water bowl before wiping it over the fresh tattoo.

“Oh”, Yeong-Ja gasped when all the residue ink got wiped away and revealed what the artist had created so far. “How can you see with all the ink and blood being in the way?”

“Memory and constant cleaning.” Hongjoong picked the needle and piece of wood back up into his hands. He dunked the tip of the needle into the black ink and placed it on San’s skin before he slapped the wood against his fingers and pricked the skin in the process.

Yeong-Ja’s hand involuntarily grabbed onto San’s hand that had rested on his lap. She watched the tattoo artist with wide eyes, her hand squeezing San’s with every slap of the wooden piece. 

San had gone completely still, his heart nearly beating out of his chest while his wolf rumbled in satisfaction. The little electric shock waves that flowed through his body were so much stronger than the pain from the needle. He swallowed harshly and turned his head to look at her. His eyes roamed over her features and a soft smile spread over his lips. San turned his attention down to her hand and before he could get second thoughts he placed his free hand on hers and started rubbing his thumb over her delicate skin.

Yeong-Ja leaned back on her feet again, eyes now on San’s face. “Does it hurt?” She noticed how he had relaxed soon after she held his hand, she also realised - with a slight panic arising - how this was the first time she actually had skin to skin contact with San.

“Not anymore”, he answered softly, continuing to stroke her hand with his thumb. “It’s reassuring even. To know I’ll soon have another mark on my skin that shows I’m fighting for my people.” San easily continued to speak about his tattoos and their meaning now, when she asked him to tell her more about them. 

He would be laughing at himself, if it weren’t for the tattooing. San never expected that the simple contact with her skin was enough to keep his wolf somewhat satisfied and make him definitely easier to control. For weeks he battled inside of his mind with his wolf to take it slow. The constant suffering of being near her, having her scent and presence invade all of his senses without the possibility to act on it, turned San almost crazy. Yet, simple hand holding had been the solution all along.

“I’d like to have one as well”, Yeong-Ja announced suddenly, making both men freeze and stare at her with wide eyes.

Hongjoong was the first to break out of his stupor. “You want to have a tattoo?” He raised an eyebrow in question, looking at her and then at San before he looked back at her. “What would you want to get and where?”

Yeong-Ja’s eyes flicked to San, who still hadn’t moved, where she looked at the wolf tattoo shortly. Her eyes moved back up to San’s face, seeing how stunned he was with her statement. 

San barely heard any of Hongjoong’s question as his heart hammered inside his chest and pumped his blood like a raging stream through his body.

Yeong-Ja bid down on her lower lip, feeling suddenly nervous with the way both men stared at her. “I’d like something that shows what I am. Something that shows I belong to the emperor.”

‘She wants us to mark her!’ 

San could feel his dick twitch from the image of marking her. The excitement his wolf felt washing over to himself as well. He had to fight to keep his thoughts clear, needing several minutes before he could even speak again. “You want my sigil on your body?”

Yeong-Ja nodded softly, still gnawing at her lower lip. She had thought of a wolf at first but the second San mentioned his sigil - the moon - she knew it was the perfect tattoo to show she belonged to him. “Would that be alright?” Yeong-Ja looked up at San through her eyelashes, nervous to get a rejection from him.

“Yes”, he breathed out, squeezing her hand gently. “Absolutely!” San turned his head to glance at Hongjoong. “Once you finish my tattoo, prepare everything to make another.”

Hongjoong agreed quietly and got back to work, finishing the tattoo soon after. He cleaned San’s back one last time before he stood up and called for a servant, requesting fresh towels and water. When he turned back around, his eyes landed on the woman. “Have you thought about where you want to get the tattoo?”

“Somewhere where I can see it, if I want to.” Yeong-Ja looked down at her body, wondering which part that would be. She lifted her arms and turned them, quickly deciding against them and looking further down her body. Her gaze momentarily flickered to San’s chest, thinking she could have the moon tattoo on her chest just like him, but she already squirmed at the thought of revealing her breasts. Finally Yeong-Ja’s gaze landed on her lap. “On my thigh?”

Hongjoong nodded. “That’s a good choice for a first tattoo placement. It will hurt less.” He started to prepare everything again, thanking the servants that brought the things he requested.

San squeezed her hand and brought her attention back to him. “Are you afraid?” He asked softly, tilting his head to one side.

“Not with your approval”, she answered him, smiling shyly and brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I was more afraid of your reaction”, she admitted. Again she glanced up at him, gauging his expression to her words. 

San could only grin foolishly at her, his dimples appearing in his cheeks. He loved how she asked for his approval; loved how she wanted to do it with him in her mind. Before he could say anything of that though, Hongjoong requested Yeong-Ja to lay down on her side. San nearly whined out loud when she pulled her hand away from him to follow the request.

Yeong-Ja tried breathing naturally but her nervousness slowly got the best of her. She only followed the instructions of Hongjoong now, her head otherwise empty. She pulled the fabric of her dress to the side, revealing her right thigh. 

Hongjoong then grabbed her by her hip gently and pulled her back to his lap, so that half her body leaned against him. “If this position is too uncomfortable we can get you a pillow to support your upper body.”

San immediately scrambled closer to them. He offered his own lap as a pillow and grinned giddily when Yeong-Ja accepted and placed her head on his lap. The emperor grabbed her right hand as well, pulling her arm up over her head so it wouldn’t be in the way for Hongjoong and so he could hold her hand again.

‘We should be marking her’, his wolf growled. He felt conflicted watching another man putting a mark on the body of his mate - even if it showed humans she belonged to the emperor - and having her so close to him. On one side he wanted to smother his mate in kisses and licks and on the other he wanted to tear his teeth into the artist for touching her. Or take her in front of him just to show his claim.

San groaned silently, debating with his wolf inside his mind. He unconsciously closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, too focused on controlling his wolf.

Yeong-Ja, who had been staring up at San for the whole time, noticed how he tensed up again. She squeezed his hand and smiled reassuringly when he opened his eyes and looked at her.

“Does it hurt?” San asked and raised her hand to his lips, kissing the back of it before he could even think about the action.

“Not anymore”, Yeong-Ja answered, grinning at him as she saw the twinkle of understanding in his eyes. She didn’t just say these words to copy his answer from before, she actually barely felt the way Hongjoong tattooed her since all her focus had been on San only, making her heart soar and stomach flutter. This was the closest she had been to him and she liked the feeling, hoping it would only deepen in the future.

~

“Can I see your tattoo again?” San turned on his side, looking up at Yeong-Ja’s sitting form. He grinned innocently as he looked through his bangs, appearing almost boy-ish. 

Yeong-Ja giggled and leaned back on her hands, stretching her leg out. “You've been asking every day since I got it.” She closed her eyes and inhaled the fresh air surrounding her. 

Ever since she got the tattoo, San kept her as close as possible. He still hadn’t taken her at night but during the day he became quite clingy, disregarding the looks from others when he stayed so close to her.

Though right now he didn’t have to worry about it, having taken Yeong-Ja out on a picnic to a nearby stream in the bordering forest. He told Seonghwa where they were headed and ordered the guards to stay behind. San wanted to be solely with her at least for a moment.

“And I’ll continue to ask every single day.”

Yeong-Ja opened her eyes and laughed softly. “I’m yours. Technically you wouldn’t even have to ask.” She licked over her lips and averted her eyes again, taking in her surroundings instead.

The sun filtered through the canopy of the trees above their heads, letting thin rays of light hit the ground around them. Some rays reached the water of the small stream, where the moving water reflected the light. Birds and cicadas chirped around them and somewhere up the stream even a frog croaked its mating song.

San pushed himself up and crawled over to Yeong-Ja, his body half hovering over hers now. He grabbed her chin with his forefinger and thumb and turned her head until she looked into his eyes again. “I will always ask for your consent.”

Yeong-Ja exhaled shakily and smiled up to him. “And I’ll always give you my consent.”

San grinned brightly and let go of her chin, his hand moving down to her leg instead. When he reached her ankle, he finally made contact with her skin. Ever so slowly San pushed his hand up along her leg now, moving the fabric of the dress to the side in the process. Once he revealed her bare thigh to his sight, he let his thumb brush over the dark tattoo. 

‘We should mark her right next to it!’ His wolf tried to order San and growled in frustration when he didn’t bud. ‘She’s ready for us! Take her, mark her, breed her!’ 

San swallowed harshly, trying to ignore the pictures floating into his mind. He grabbed her thigh, his large hand squeezing it. His eyes slowly wandered back up to her face, seeing how she stared at him with bated breath. 

‘She wants us! Wants us to breed her! Do something!’ His wolf roared in frustration when San only dropped down on her form, using her body as a pillow. 

San pressed his ear against her chest, listening to her erratic heartbeat with a smirk playing over his lips. He sighed in content and closed his eyes. It took all his strength to keep his wolf in check and simply relaxing in her lap helped him gain the power to keep it that way.

Yeong-Ja shifted her weight to hold her up on one hand, so she could card her fingers through San’s dark locks. She tried to ignore how her heart hammered inside of her chest, making her emotions incredibly obvious to the emperor. She tried to ignore the flutter inside her stomach and the heat pooling in her lower regions when he squeezed her thigh. While a part of her wanted him to take her in the middle of the forest, she couldn’t bring herself to ask him.

Yeong-Ja wasn’t inexperienced - not that she’d tell anybody about it - but now that emotions had joined the situation, it created a pit in her stomach and made a mess out of her.

A twig snapped in the distance, alerting San and his wolf. He tensed up before pushing himself into a crouching position in front of Yeong-Ja, ready to protect her at any cost. San barely held the growl inside him when he heard steps coming closer.

“What’s wrong?” Yeong-Ja sat up as well, placing one hand on San’s back and peering over his shoulder. 

“Someone’s coming”, San informed her with a low voice. He had his eyes still trained on the trees in front of him, listening intently to the steps. His nose twitched as he tried to use the sense of smell from his wolf, hoping to get a read on the person that was approaching.

“San?”

Yeong-Ja sat a little straighter than before, her mouth shaping an ‘o’ as she recognised the voice. She also noticed how San visibly relaxed and stood up, calling out for Seonghwa.

Soon enough the older man appeared between the trees with an awkward smile adorning his face. “I’m terribly sorry to interrupt”, he apologised and bowed shortly in front of the couple. “But I have to ask you to return to the palace.”

San frowned and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Why?” Was the only word he said, slightly glaring at Seonghwa for even requesting something like that.

Seonghwa glanced towards Yeong-Ja, who slowly stood up too, readying herself to leave at any moment. He sighed deeply and returned his attention to his emperor. “Patrolling guards have stumbled on a camp of soldiers from the neighbouring region. They were able to overwhelm them without any casualties but now they insist on delivering a message to the emperor himself.”

“And that couldn’t wait?” San grunted in annoyance, but started to pack the few things he had brought along nonetheless. 

“The prisoners make the court nervous.”

“And a nervous court is a bad court.” San sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t want to leave Yeong-Ja’s side so soon. He turned his head and looked at her, contemplating his options. “Would you” - he paused, unsure about his own request - “stay with me?”

Yeong-Ja nodded and quickly stepped next to him, placing a hand on his upper arm. “If that’s what you wish.”

San thanked her quietly and grabbed her hand, leading her back to the palace and towards the throne room. His thumb rubbed slow circles to the back of her hand as his gaze was trained on Seonghwa’s back. He knew Seonghwa wouldn’t have interrupted them if it wasn’t necessary. He still cursed the older man for doing it though.

When they reached the throne room, Seonghwa stepped next to the throne as the head counsellor, looking down at the five soldiers that kneeled at the bottom of the steps towards the throne. 

San glared at them as he walked up the steps and plopped down on the throne. He still held onto Yeong-Ja’s hand and used the chance to pull her right into his lap. There was no way he’d let her go now while being irritated already. San wrapped his arms around her body and silently nosed her neck, inhaling her scent with closed eyes to calm himself down again. 

Yeong-Ja hadn’t expected to sit on the throne as well but she sensed how San needed her presence to keep his cool. She placed one hand on his chest, silently telling him she would be there for him.

“What is this message you have for me?” San opened his eyes again, glaring down at the five soldiers, who cowered away from his intense aura. Even some of his own guards shrunk down on themselves. 

“It’s more of a warning”, one of the soldiers spoke up, raising his head to look up and smirk at San and Yeong-Ja. “You might wanna keep a closer look on your concubines.”

San snarled loudly and tightened his hold on Yeong-Ja, leaning forward a little as if he wanted to attack at any moment. “Be careful of your next words or I will rip your tongue out”, he threatened, baring his teeth in the process.

The soldier laughed maniacally. “I’m not surprised rebel groups are forming in your kingdom when the emperor himself is more concerned whether I insult a concubine or not.” He glared back up at San, a crazy look in his eyes and a smirk on his lips. “They say the dumber the concubine the better the sex. So this one must be incredibly stupid if you keep her that close.”

Yeong-Ja pressed her hand on San’s chest, keeping him in place. She turned her head to the soldier, raising an eyebrow to taunt him. “Oh really?”, she asked with a scoff. “In this case your stupidity outshines mine. You never intended to give the emperor a real warning, did you now? You only desired to insult him or get a rise out of him, isn’t that right? But here you are, on your knees, pathetic and incredibly stupid for revealing your association with rebel groups.” 

Seonghwa stared at the woman with wide eyes. She was the first woman to speak during a court meeting of this magnitude. She was also the first to attend one but that's besides the fact she kept San in check, threw the insults right back at the enemies face and pointed out valuable information. He had also picked up on the rebel part but would have brought it up at a later point without the soldiers present. 

Seonghwa turned his attention to San, noting how he barely held himself together. The only thing stopping him right now was Yeong-Ja’s hand on his chest. Otherwise he appeared to be absolutely livid.

“Pah”, the soldier barked, internally cursing himself for speaking about the rebel groups.

“And let me guess”, Yeong-Ja continued, ignoring how the soldier bared his teeth at her, “part of the rebel group is a former concubine that ran away. Why else would you bring it up?”

“A loud one, aren’t we? I’ll keep in mind to gag you when I fuck you and make you submit to me!”

In a flash San pushed Yeong-Ja from his lap and leaped down the stairs, crashing into the soldier, who had insulted her on several occasions. He punched his face over and over again, not stopping even when he heard the crack of bones.

Seonghwa rushed over to Yeong-Ja and placed his hand on her shoulder, forcing himself into her line of view. “You should leave now!” 

Yeong-Ja stared up at him with an open mouth. She noted his stern voice and expression but something inside her insisted to stay put. “He asked me to stay by his side”, she tried to bargain with Seonghwa, knowing full well her weak voice did nothing to compel him. 

“You do not want to see this”, Seonghwa only told her and grabbed her upper arm, pulling her up and away from the throne. 

“What kind of monster is he?” One of the other soldiers screamed as he tried to move away. 

Yeong-Ja looked over her shoulder upon the scream, seeing how San got tackled by several of his own guards, who tried to pull him away from the now lifeless body of the first soldier. She watched how San pushed all of the guards away and stood up, blood dripping from his fists. His eyes had turned turquoise as he fixed the soldier, who had screamed, with his stare. The last thing Yeong-Ja saw was San snarling, revealing larger canines than a human being should have, before she got pushed through the door behind the throne.

“What is happening to him?” She asked in concern and stared up at Seonghwa’s grim expression. Yeong-Ja stumbled along the wooden path, trying to keep up with the pace Seonghwa had.

“That’s something he’ll have to tell you himself.” Seonghwa opened the door to her quarters and gently pushed her inside. “Stay here and do not come out until I or a servant come for you!”

“What about San? Can I leave when he-?”

“No!” Seonghwa interrupted her immediately, his grip on her shoulder tightening. “In this state San can’t be near you! He wouldn’t want that!” 

Before Yeong-Ja could ask more questions, Seonghwa let go of her and closed the door in front of her nose. She wrapped her arms around her upper body and slowly walked to the large bed while all of her thoughts were with San.

Seonghwa basically ran back to the throne hall, seeing the bloodbath in front of him. He ordered the guards around as he tried to get a better grip of the situation. So far he counted four dead bodies already and several injured guards - which were thankfully on the lighter side. 

San stalked across the room to the remaining living soldier. He pushed himself through the guards that tried to hold him back, his hands that had already turned into claws reached out for the soldier and his turquoise eyes fixed him in the corner of the room. When San broke through his guards he landed on all fours but it didn’t stop him, instead he just continued to crawl forward. He growled menacingly and ignored the guards that grabbed onto his clothes and legs.

“They’re going to kill you! They will hunt you like the animal you are!”

San licked over his canines and pushed one last time forward, breaking free and reaching the soldier. He wrapped his hand around the soldier’s throat, his sharp claws digging into the skin and drawing blood. San leaned down to his face, leaving only a hair’s width between them. “They can try”, he growled before he snapped his back. 

Even though the soldier was dead, San still ripped his throat out and clawed at his upper body. He had lost all of his control, letting his wolf overpower him.

‘Die, die, die, die!’ The wolf chanted over and over again as he relished in the disembodiment of the soldiers. A small part of him had been incredibly proud of his mate for handling the situation so quick-witted but it did nothing for the rage he felt. Nobody insulted his mate and would get out of that alive. He scanned the room, making sure none of the enemies had survived, grinning even when he saw their bodies - or what was left of them. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, the stench of blood infiltrated his nostril as well as the fact the scent of his mate was missing.

Seonghwa and seven other guards stormed towards San, grabbing him and placing huge chains around his arms and wrists. They struggled quite a bit to keep San in check but did it in the end, despite his writhing and twisting.

They brought him to his private quarters and chained San up against his own bed, making sure he wouldn’t be able to break free unless he regained his human consciousness again.

“Take the time to cool off again”, Seonghwa told him with a pained smile on his lips. “You did what you had to. We’ll clean up the mess and take care of the rebel groups. Their scent will be traceable.”

San growled at the mention of the rebel groups, pulling at his chains as well. ‘Anybody associated with these soldiers has to die!’ 

Seonghwa sighed deeply and rubbed a hand over his face. He only hoped San would regain control again sooner than later. He didn’t want to imagine the consequences otherwise.

Yeong-Ja sat up on the bed as she heard the commotion outside her room. She scooted to the edge and listened with bated breath, hearing some muffled words being spoken as well as the rattling of chains. The woman swallowed the lump forming in her throat and stood up, walking to the door that connected her room with San’s. One of her hands clutched the turquoise pendant hanging around her neck while the other hovered above the door, trembling from the nervousness running through her body.

A pitiful whimper from the other side of the door, settled her decision and she pulled the sliding door open. Yeong-Ja glanced into the darkened room, her breath catching in her throat when her eyes connected with the turquoise glowing ones from San.

He whimpered again, trying to move one hand in a weak attempt to reach for her. “Yeong-Ja”, he rasped before he wetted his lips with his tongue.

Yeong-Ja carefully stepped closer to the bed, both hands now clutching the pendant while her eyes took in every detail of the scene before her. 

San laid splayed across the mattress, his upper body slightly hoisted up by the dozens of pillows behind his back. His arms were pulled to the side by heavy looking chains that wrapped around them up to his elbow. His fingers, which appeared more like claws, had blood slowly drying on them. Same with his clothes that got covered in blood stains and started to dry up. San had blood smeared over his lower face as well, the dark liquid a stark contrast to his smooth skin and his glowing eyes.

“San?” She asked hesitantly, halting at the end of the bed. Concern was written all over her features and it only deepened when he whimpered again. Yeong-Ja stared at him, a knot forming in her chest from the helplessness that suddenly arose inside of her. She wanted to help him, be there for him, but she didn’t know how.

A loud crack rang through the room and San broke free in the blink of an eye. He grabbed Yeong-Ja by the waist and slammed her down on the mattress, caging her underneath his body. He leaned down and nosed along her neck, inhaling deeply her intoxicating scent. “Our mate”, he rumbled and pressed his pelvis against her core.

The way San easily threw her onto the bed, knocked Yeong-Ja’s breath out of her lungs. The heat and throbbing inside her lower regions built up tenfold out of nowhere, leaving her incredibly aroused.

“We’ll take good care of our mate,” he breathed against the sensitive part of her neck, gently nibbling the skin even, “we’ll make her feel full with our cock, make her full of our cum until she’ll carry our pups.” He spoke more to himself than to her, too consumed by his own hunger and lust.

Yeong-Ja mewled softly underneath him when he ripped her clothes off, leaving her in a few shredded pieces of fabric but otherwise bare for his eyes. She wanted to hide from his intense gaze but stopped upon hearing him growl. Instead she raised her hands above her head, intertwining her fingers even, to show she wouldn’t hide a single part of her body from his sight. 

He growled almost impatiently as he grabbed her by the hips - the chains around his arms clanged loudly with each movement. With ease he lifted her body and turned her around so she was on all fours. He tore the fabric of his pants open while he pushed Yeong-Ja’s upper body into the mattress, presenting her ass nicely for him. 

Yeong-Ja gasped for air when he thrusted into her with one swift motion. Her walls tightened around his shaft, squeezing him hard from the sudden intrusion. She arched her back, changing the angle slightly he’d fuck into her. 

He grabbed her hair and held her down, pressing her into the mattress with one hand. Part of the cold chains rested on her back, adding to the intense feeling. The other grabbed onto her hip, keeping her body in place as he started to thrust into her. He snapped his hips so his pelvis hit her ass cheeks and created a loud slapping sound that reverberated through the whole room. He growled with each thrust, gaining strength from the increasing moans that turned higher in pitch with every snap of his hips.

Yeong-Ja cried out in pleasure, feeling her insides tingle in pleasure. Every fibre of her body reacted to him and sent her over the edge. If he hadn’t held her hip with a vice-like grip, she would have collapsed on the mattress. She barely caught her own breath when he used his strength again. She whined over the loss of his dick from her throbbing hole but yelped when he turned her back around and slammed her back into the mattress once more.

His claws ran over her skin, leaving thin red lines along their path. He moved them from her neck over her chest and down her sides until he stopped at her hips. His eyes landed on the moon tattoo on her thigh, grinning wickedly as he dropped down and licked over the dark ink. “Our mate. We’re marking her for good this time.” He nibbled around her tattoo, licking and kissing it in his way as well. Until he found a spot close to her core.

Yeong-Ja arched her back and screamed out when San bit down on her thigh, together with plunging two fingers into her hole at the same time. The pain and pleasure battled inside of her for the prominent feeling as San’s large canines stayed inside her flesh while he started to fuck his fingers into her at a brutal pace.

Only after he felt satisfied, he pulled away from the bite mark, rumbling pleased to see his own mark on her skin. He leaned down and licked over the tender wound, sealing it with his saliva. “You’re such a good mate for us. So perfect. Taking everything so well.”

With one last kiss on the bite mark he moved to her centre, brushing his lips over her sensitive nub and teasing her folds with a few licks. All while he still pounded his fingers into her relentlessly. He only slowed down his movements to add his tongue to the mixture, pushing it along his fingers into her hole. His nose nudged into her nub during the process, making her mewl and whine in pleasure.

As her high built up yet again, Yeong-Ja wanted to clutch her legs together but his broad shoulders and a tight grip on her thigh prevented her from doing so. She had to endure the onslaught of pleasure to her clit and folds, being toppled over the edge when he added a third finger to push into her. Yeong-Ja’s whole body trembled and was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, her breathing erratic and her mind wrapped in a cotton-like bliss.

He lapped at her essence, slurping up every last drop, before he pushed himself up and ripped the rest of his own pants and shirt away. He tore at the chains as well, getting rid of them and finally being just as bare as her. His dick slapped against his toned stomach, thick and throbbing, with droplets of precum oozing out of its tip. He leaned back down again and rolled his hips against her core, lathering his shaft with her juices and wetting it again before he pushed himself inside of her.

Yeong-Ja didn’t get a warning, nor was she prepared for what was to come. Her legs got pushed to her chest, where he wrapped his arms around to hold them secure while he rammed his dick into her tight hole. The drag along her walls had her thoughts spiralling and her high building rapidly again. Yeong-Ja grabbed onto the sheets of the bed, needing something to ground herself.

“Such a good mate”, he rumbled, accentuating each word with a harsh thrust, “taking us so well. Feeling so good around our cock. Our mate is the only one we need, only one we want.” He pushed into her, getting more and more aggressive since her moans spurred him on. “Need to breed her. Need pups. Need her full of our cum.”

When he let go of her legs, they fell almost limply back on the mattress, spread wide so he could still fuck into her. He grabbed onto her sides, his claws slightly digging into her skin as he continued to push into her. He grunted and growled, hitting the soft spot inside her. 

Yeong-Ja cried out in pleasure, writhing underneath him as she couldn’t control her own body anymore. She grabbed onto her hair with one hand, moaning obscenely loud. Her senses zoned in on the connection between their bodies and with one hard thrust she came undone once more.

He stilled his movements, having his dick pushed inside of her core as far as possible. He felt how the base engorged, forming the knot that would prevent any of his seed spilling out. He kept his position, leaning on his elbows and staring down at the connection. He could see how her entrance got spread wide from the building knot, which was enough to make him spill inside of her. His dick twitched and shot rope after rope of white hot cum into her, painting her insides white and filling her up to the brim.

“So good. Taking it all. Our mate will be round and plump with our pups.” He rumbled in satisfaction, watching how her lower stomach slightly expanded from the amount of cum he shot into her.

Even after he was done, he stayed in place - the knot wouldn’t reduce in its size anytime soon. He tore his glowing eyes away from their connected body parts, letting them wander over her body and up to her face. Out of the corner of the eye he noticed something around her neck.

Yeong-Ja winced slightly when he shifted his weight and reached out to carefully pull at her necklace until he had the turquoise pendant resting in his palm. She watched how the glow in his eyes slowly died down and his warm brown eyes returned again.

San’s gaze flicked from the pendant up to her face, confusion spreading over his features since his memory appeared a little hazy. “Yeong-Ja?” His voice was soft with a hint of worry lacing it. When she only smiled weakly - still too out of it from multiple orgasms - concern replaced San’s confusion. He wanted to push himself up when both of them winced, making him look down at his body again. San scoffed and shook his head. “Can’t believe my wolf fucked you before I did”, he grumbled, hiding his face behind his dark bangs.

“Your wolf?” She asked quietly, her voice hoarse from the constant moans. Yeong-Ja raised one hand to cup his cheek, lifting his head until San looked at her again. She rubbed her thumb over his cheek bone and smiled softly at him, even brushing his bangs out of his eyes. 

San sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I’m not entirely human”, he mumbled, swallowing harshly in fear of her reaction. “I am part wolf.” He noticed how her gaze dropped down to his tattoo, making him grin slyly. San turned his head from side to side and looked around, noting the broken headrest of the bed and the chains discarded on the mattress to his sides. He slowly gained scenes of his memory back, putting the pieces together to get a whole picture. “I’m sorry”, he whispered and his head dropped down again.

“Why are you apologising?” Yeong-Ja got up on her elbows, ignoring the sting between her legs from the movement. “You have nothing to be sorry about!” 

San shook his head. “I wanted to ease you into this mess since it’s a lot to take. I understand if you’re afraid of me now and want to keep your distance. I’m deeply sorry for losing control over my wolf and letting him use you like that.” To his surprise he heard Yeong-Ja chuckle, so he looked back up at her with wide eyes.

“It is a lot to take in”, she agreed with a twinkle in her eyes, “but it doesn’t mean I can’t take it. The moment I requested the tattoo was the moment I decided to be in this for the long run. You don’t have to hide from me, don’t have to keep any secrets. I’m yours. Wholeheartedly.”

San cursed under his breath as he grabbed Yeong-Ja by the neck and pressed his lips against hers. He hummed into the kiss, barely suppressing the grin building from the pleased rumbles his wolf made. San licked over her lips, asking for entrance and deepening the kiss when she gave it to him. He slowly started to roll his hips as well, feeling his hard on buried so snuggly inside of her.

Yeong-Ja arched her back, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. While San’s movements were a lot softer they were precise and hit her insides just right.

San took his sweet time with her, adoring every second of it. For once he could enjoy the pleasure of life without his wolf commenting on everything he did. For once he felt like he became one - not just with himself but with another person as well, a person so special in her own unique way. And he would show her his gratitude every single day for the rest of his life.

© all rights reserved

Taglist: @xavi-in-kpopland​ @songsoomin​ 

[specialagentlokitty]

Hotch x reader - soulmates

Hi, Soulmate AU anon again. I was wondering if you could do the AU I mentioned with Hotch x FBI!Reader. Maybe she's been working with the FBI for a long time, but they haven't been able to talk until she has to join his team for a case. It's up to you 😊 - Anon💜

Soulmate AU: the first words your soulmate says are tattooed somewhere on your skin

You looked at the ink on your shoulder in the mirror with a small frown on your face.

‘We don’t need anymore help.’

What’s what it said, and you wondered what kind of person your soulmate was.

You always wondered that, were they rude? Nasty? Maybe they just didn’t like new people?

You had no idea, but so far you had never been able to find them, you knew the rules. It wouldn’t put names on your skin, or anything that could help you find our soulmate, it would add the next sentence that wasn’t a name or location.

It was strange, but everyone was used to it.

Even you, and thankfully yours was easily hidden by the fabric of your shirt, so no one aside from you and your parents knew what yours said.

You always made up some lie, because you didn’t want to admit that your soulmate seemed rude and horrible.

But you couldn’t think about that now, you had to rush to work because you were being placed with a new team since they needed a new agents for their team, and you were the most qualified.

You followed yours boss into the meeting, and you looked around, standing there with your arms crossed as you looked around, and you felt an intense gaze on you so you look at him.

You’d heard of him of course.

Agent Aaron Hotchner.

Everyone had heard of him and his team.

Most people would be overjoyed to be working with them, but for you it was just another team who needed your help for a while.

While your boss spoke with his, you walked over to him and stood in front of him.

“We don’t need anymore help.” He said.

You hummed a little, flicking your eyes from his to the two people behind him talking away then back to him.

“We don’t get much choice in this Hotchner, so we either work together or we don’t, I don’t care.”

His eyes widened a little and you cracked a small smirk, leaning against the table.

“I always wondered what my soulmate was like. I suppose you aren’t so bad at least you’re not a criminal.”

“How do you know we’re soulmates? You don’t know what mine says.”

You laughed a little, giving a small shrug.

“Maybe not, but the face you stared at me in shock for a split second kind of gives that away.”

You tugged your shirt to the side, pulling it down your shoulder to show him the words before you billed it back up.

He did the same, showing you his collarbone which held your exact words.

“So what does this mean exactly?” He asked.

You shrugged a little.

“No idea, I guess we can either choose to act on it, choose not to, whatever really. Right now though, you have a missing agent, and I’m the one who’s going to find her.”

“How long?”

You looked at your watch.

“A few hours of you give me access to everything I need.”

He nodded and held out his hand.

“Aaron Hotchner.”

You shook his hand.

“(Y/N) (L/N).”

And you worked quickly, it didn’t take long to find his agent safe and sound, and now all you had to do was find their unsub which was harder.

With Garica and you, it took another two days to find them, the small group of unsubs working together, and they were quickly brought down.

And now you were standing over them as they did paperwork.

“Will you be working with us on more cases?” Reid asked you.

You shrugged a little.

“Not my place to say.”

“Yes, she will. For now.”

You titled your head back to look at Hotch and he gestured for you to come up so you did.

“Ooo someone’s in trouble already.” Derek smirked.

You rolled your eyes and tossed your pen at him before you made your way up, following Hotch into his office.

He closed the door and looked at you.

“So, we’re going to be working together for a while, so… what do you want to do?”

You sighed a little, shrugging.

“I don’t know, I mean I’ve dated people and all yeah sure, but this whole soulmate thing? Everyone has one perfect match seems a bit far fetched.”

“You don’t believe in soulmates?”

You shook your head.

“No I do, obviously. But I’m saying I don’t believe that your soulmate is your supposed perfect match. I’ve seen unsubs who’s victims were their soulmates, victims who’s abusers where their soulmates, tell me how that’s a perfect match.”

He sighed.

“I suppose it isn’t. So I assume you don’t want to do this whole soulmate thing?”

“You do?”

“Well, I have a son, and I was married and we weren’t soulmates. But soulmates don’t have to be lovers do they?”

“What’re you saying?”

Hotch smiled a little and held his hand out to you.

“How about friends? Then we just see what happens?”

You smiled, clasping your hand around his.

“Friends. Then we just go with the flow really.”

He nodded his head in agreement.

Neither of you knew what was in store, but at least as friends you could decided if it’s what you wanted and not jump into anything like everyone else does

[coraniaid]

how about an AU where cordelia stayed in sunnydale?

Oh, that's interesting.

I think that, in reality, if Cordelia hadn't left for Angel, she'd probably have ended up occupying a pretty similar place in the rest of Buffy to the role Anya ends up taking. Maybe not exactly the same one (I don't know if the writers would have had her and Xander get back together, for example, and obviously Cordelia isn't a former vengeance demon), but close enough that I'm not even sure that they'd have made Anya a permanenent member of the cast.

But, ignoring that, and taking Anya's ongoing presence in Sunnydale as given...

I think something has to happen to make Cordelia stay in Sunnydale, right? It's clear from Season 3 that she doesn't want to (see, for example, her reaction to finding out that Buffy got into Northwestern: "great! now you can leave and never come back! [I mean] get out of Sunnydale: that's a good thing"). I guess maybe the lazy option is just to have her trying to save up money to get into drama school somewhere? We already see her working at April Fools in Season 3, maybe she can keep doing that. Or maybe -- remembering Cordelia's role as Buffy's shadow -- her parents split up because of her father's tax issues and she ends up feeling she has to stay in town to help look after her mom? Or maybe put those two ideas together: Buffy's surprised to see that Cordelia's still in town, Cordelia tries as nonchalantly as possible to pretend she's still around for her own reasons and then we learn that she's putting her own ambitions on hold because she has to help her mom look for a new place to stay. And maybe that gives us a chance to explore some of the class issue stuff that Buffy as a show always skirts around but never really touches (how does Cordelia feel about now being in a position more like Xander than Buffy or Willow?).

I've complained about this before (more than once), but I think Cordelia being in Sunnydale is a great excuse to change how the gang react to finding out that Harmony is a vampire. I mean, say what you want about the show's approach to vampire lore, but it's pretty jarring how quickly everyone reacts to finding out that their former classmate died helping fight the Mayor and his minions in the same dismissive "haha, Harmony's always been an idiot" way; as if Harmony had 'decided' to become a vampire in a slightly embarrasing post-school life choice. It feels more in character for Buffy, Giles and Xander to argue that Harmony is dead and That Thing Is Not Her while Cordelia (just as in Disharmony over on Angel a season later) says "no, this is definitely Harmony, she's my friend". (Willow can still react in the same way as canon, sure; it's not out of character for her to dislike Harmony.) And I think it would help the maybe-demons-aren't-all-bad approach that the show obviously wants to go for if Harmony and Cordelia actually were friends this season. Like, Harmony herself still absolutely is evil and will hang around trying to feed on people heading home late from work in the dark -- but when she recognizes her intended victim is Cordelia she immediately drops the vamp face and they cheerfully walk back to Cordelia's place chatting about high school and how much they agree Xander sucks.

I think Cordelia would also help to push Giles out of his mid-life crisis a bit earlier than he manages in canon. Partly in the same way she does for Angel in his show. Sure, she can't fix everything going wrong in her own life but she can stop Giles sitting around feeling sorry for himself in his large house [much larger than some people's houses, she'll point out] and maybe push himself into finding an actual job more quickly. I think that would set up some tension with Anya later (when she gets a job at the shop Giles opens, a little ahead of canon) which I think would be nice to see. (I also think it would be fun to see Anya interact with Cordelia more generally, the way they did in The Wish when Anya was first pretending to be human. They are both pretty blunt speakers, after all, who both see themselves as being outside of the core Scooby Group, and it would be fun to see them commenting on things together. Or to imagine Cordelia's puzzled/disgusted reaction whenever Anya starts talking about how great Xander is and how much she enjoys having sex with him.)

Once we get to Season 5, I'd love to see how Dawn and Cordelia interact. As I think I've said before, I think they'd get on really well (and that this would annoy Buffy a lot). Dawn looks up to Cordelia as somebody a lot like her own sister before she became a Slayer (but infinitely superior because she isn't actually her sister), while Cordelia loves having somebody tell her how great she is and tells Dawn how much cooler she is than Buffy (and not entirely just to annoy Buffy). I think Cordelia might even replace Willow in some contexts (in particular, I think it parallels Cordelia instantly agreeing to drive Buffy home in Helpless if Dawn demands to stay at Cordelia's after Joyce's funeral and Cordelia instantly accepts even though we've already established she doesn't want anyone she knows seeing the reduced circumstances she's living in). Cordelia never interacts with Joyce in canon as much as Buffy's other shadow selves do, but she does seem to admire her [in their very limited exchanges]. Actually, maybe at some point in Season 4 Cordelia quits her retail job to go and work for Joyce at the art gallery? I mean, if Season 4 is (in part) about Buffy losing touch with her mother as she moves away from home, what better way to represent that than by having the character who represents Buffy's younger, pre-Slayer self start spending more time with her?

When Riley delivers his stupid ultimatum to Buffy in Into The Woods, Xander would still give his ridiculous speech to Buffy about how great Riley is and how this is all Buffy's fault, but Cordelia (who, it turns out, has views of her own on what to do when your boyfriend cheats on you and expects you to forgive him and take him back and indeed about whether you should take Xander Harris seriously about anything) would interupt and point out just how bizarre what Xander was saying was (and probably be the catalyst for him to realize that what he's saying applies far more to his own relationship with Anya). We cut to Riley waiting by his helicopter ready to go and pacify Central America for Christian missionaries [or whatever] when a female figure emerges from the woods ... Riley looks up, hopeful, but it's not Buffy. It's Cordelia ["what," she says, paraphrasing Gunn; "you were expecting somebody else?"]. Cordelia gets to give Riley a piece of her mind and tell him how great Buffy is [something she'd never tell Buffy, of course] and how badly Riley messed things up, and then she cheerfully waves him off as he leaves Sunnydale forever. [And, okay, yes, Buffy will still be upset about their relationship ending and she will still blame herself later when the topic comes up -- that's just who she is and how she approaches all of her romantic relationships. But at least we don't have to humor Joss Whedon's ego by pretending that she was right to do this and that her relationship with Riley was actually great all along.]

[d3adlove1]

Running Feelings Part 1

Summary: you and Carl don’t like each other at all and rarely see eye to eye, but when you get to Alexandria things change (Carl Grimes x fem!reader)

You've known the group ever since the prison when Daryl found you on one of his solo runs. You were making a makeshift memorial for your parents when he saw you. He was closed off at first and so were you. You noticed that the first day you met him when he was quiet the whole drive back to the prison, but what could he really say to a crying girl he had just met. When you arrived at the prison he saw you were a fighter which made him want to take you underneath his wing because you reminded him of himself, well the good parts at least. That's how you grew on him. You were almost immediately welcomed by everyone, except for Carl of course.

The first time you saw him you noticed the way he looked at you, with disgust in his eyes, as if he saw you as a threat. Which he did. He didn't trust you and who could blame him? he didn't know you and you didn't know him. You tried to make nice with him within your first week there but he wanted absolutely nothing to do with you and his buddy Patrick thought he was cool so he followed along with him obviously. They were the only two kids your age in the prison, Mica and Lizzy, and the other kids were too young while Beth and her boyfriend were too old which left you with the two boys.

As you walked up to them Carls's smile was replaced with a displeased look. "And what do you think you're doing?" he said as he swiftly picked up the soccer ball in the grass and held it with one arm by his side. "I was wondering if I could join?..." you respond a little taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor. Patrick looked at Carl with an unsure look on his face as he waited for him to respond. "No", he said. You looked at him and Patrick for a moment before responding, "Well why the hell not?" you tilted your head at them a little as your anger started to build up. Patrick stayed silent but Carl did the opposite. "We don't know you. Just because you're the same age as us and were welcomed with open arms doesn't mean you're truly welcomed here, now go away" he responded clearly annoyed. You didn't want to argue so you clenched your jaw and turned the other way before you could say something back.

You decided from then on you would treat him the same way he treated you which resulted in him disliking you more than he already did. Ever since then you and Carl despised each other, from the prison all the way to the new community you were welcomed in. Alexandria. Yes, it probably had been more than a few years over the time you had spent with the group but that didn't matter to him nor you. When you arrived at the two houses the group was given you were thrilled to finally have a bed to sleep in and a place to shower. As you quickly walked into the first house with Rick and Carl you couldn't help but smile. You turned your head to look at Carl and he looked back at you with a little smile on his face.

Three Days into staying at Alexandria Rick finally decided to split the group up which ultimately led you to stay in the same house as Rick, Judith, Carl, Michonne, and Daryl. When this was announced at the group's "meeting" Carl was not happy to say the least. "what the fuck?" he said looking at the laid-out sketch drawn of who would be staying where. “Watch your mouth Carl”, Rick scolded him while giving him a stern look. Just when you thought the two of you were getting somewhere he proved you wrong. You rolled your eyes and walked away from the table heading upstairs to your new room. Carl watched you head upstairs slightly confused at your actions. Carl's room was right across from yours just down the hall. The thought of you having hope for you and him actually becoming friends made you feel stupid. All you wanted to do was spend the rest of the day in your room, not wanting to come out or face any of the citizens of Alexandria.

Two hours go by and you have folded up your clothes and put them away into your dresser and closet, organized your room around how you liked it, hung up lights and decorations, and placed a new comforter on your bed. You did all these things to distract yourself until you heard a knock at your door. You stay still for a moment not sure if you even want to open it until a second knock hits your door a little more hurried this time, taking you out of your thoughts and slowly opening the door. On the other side stands Carl looking unsure of himself but quickly looks down at you and clears his throat. "Hey", he says only a little quietly. "Oh um hi... what's up?" you say as you look at him. His face looks slightly uncomfortable as he parts his lips to respond, "Could I maybe come in?" he asks with a twinkle of hope in his eyes. "Yeah sure I guess," you say as you step out of the way for him to come inside. He walks into your room and looks around with his eyebrows slightly raised. "So this is what you've been doing this whole time," he says with a light chuckle as he sits down on the edge of you're bed. "What?" you respond a little lost in the conversation. "Well, this is why you came upstairs earlier right? To do all this"

"No Carl that wasn't the reason", you respond slightly hesitant. "Then why'd you just leave the table randomly earlier?". "Why do you care?" you ask clearly bothered. "I don't" he says as he stands up from your bed. "Then why the fuck are you in here?". Carl sighs and stands a few feet away from you "I guess I just wanted to talk to you" he shrugs. "Why would you want to talk to me?". He opens his mouth but says nothing. Shutting it again before looking at you. "I don't like the way we act toward each other" he says calmly before continuing, "For as long as I've known you all we have done is argue over and over again until we get too tired to respond. I'm tired of it aren't you?".

"Yeah..I guess I am", you say as you look down at the ground. Carl takes a step forward and you lift your head to look at him. "So how about we just start over? Leave everything in the past." You nod your head at him in agreement. "Okay but before we do that I wanna say sorry". "sorry?" you question, "Yea I remember when we met..". He scratches the back of his neck before he continues, "I was a dickhead to you and all you wanted to do was make friends with kids your age and I was so paranoid I pushed you to the side... I'm really sorry y/n" he said with sincerity laced in his voice. "Thank you and I'm sorry too, I shouldn't have been acting like a bitch just because you made me feel bad" you say with a little smile on your face. "It's completely fine, I deserved it, to be honest" his lips turn up into a smile. "so we're good?" he holds his hand up to shake yours. You smile up at him and your hand collides and intertwines with his, "we're good". Your eyes meet as you shake your hands together slightly.

As you shake hands with him you can't help but notice the gold specs in his eyes you had never seen before. The deeper you submerge yourself into the blue pools that you hadn't really noticed before due to always bickering with him and focusing on his faults, behind them, you see good was there. Maybe it had always been there. As you two were together in that moment, maybe just maybe, he saw yours too.

Okay, hopefully, you guys enjoyed it cause I spent almost a day making this. I think I might do a part 2. I also already have another idea for a oneshot so that will be coming soon too!

[scoupsahoy]

leaving like a father, running like water

[crossposted to ao3]

It’s 1991 when Steve finally does what his father’s been telling him his entire life, which is: he grows up. Hawkins is stuck in time, a ticking time bomb, a place that’s never really needed him.

That’s okay. People needed him to stay for a while.

Robin needs him. Stuck to his side, constantly over his house, hardly going back to her own. He hears fighting from the inside for a while before he stops taking her back. Violence and vitriol and venom. And he needs Robin, too, needs her to be by his side, needs her to put him back together after the town splits down the middle.

It’s mainly her.

The kids needed him for a while, but they were always stronger. More magical. He was a piece of shit when he was their age, didn’t understand a single fucking thing, and they just knew. They’d lived entire lives right under his nose. They’d fought and won and lost and lost and lost and won, and they were always smarter than him anyway. More resilient.

And Hawkins can hardly be called a place anymore. It’s gray and rotten and barren, and the kids live there because they grew up on its streets and underneath them, but Steve. Steve has only been beaten down by this place, realizes he has to grow up somewhere else.

His parents give him the house and he sells it immediately. No one’s buying land in Hawkins, but it’s land, the town will take it, they’ll take anything they can get, and so will Steve.

They drive west until they hit Las Vegas and they get hitched at one of those sleazy casinos so people stop asking questions.

Steve dips Robin low and kisses her on the cheek behind a veil and the drunk witnesses don’t notice that her cackle is at the ridiculousness of people ever thinking they could be together. And hopefully in a while she’ll be one of those girls on the news wearing a shirt that says Lavender Menace but she could never have been that girl in Indiana.

And Steve. Well.

Before they really decide to leave, Steve gets drunk and hooks up with a guy he’s never met before and never seen again, a drummer in a little metal band playing just outside Indianapolis when he was convinced he was just testing a theory, and then Alexandria Brown, who had a fucking tongue piercing, just to make sure girls still get him off, and then Ronny Jackson, who was in AP Calc and a huge loud weirdo but otherwise gives him the best orgasm of his life. And he otherwise chases what Robin lovingly calls “the Munson High” until it clicks for him.

He leaves because without the kids to take care of, because he can’t play mother hen forever, Hawkins is nothing but a rotting open grave.

So they drive farther and hit San Francisco with ring pop rings and get a nice two bedroom apartment from a landlord who doesn’t ask questions, and that becomes home.

Steve is twenty four when he decides to grow up.

The problem with growing up is the growing part. Stretching his limbs and pounding at his muscles and working long hours lifting heavy boxes onto wobbly shelves for nine hours a day. He sees ghosts in the grocery store and monsters in dogs on a walk and it’s hard out here pretending this has been his only life. But at least there’s beer.

“Steve,” Robin flies through their front door, crumpled flier in hand, right when Steve cracks the can open. “Put that down.”

“Why?”

“We’re going out tonight. This was in our mailbox. I think it’s a gay club.” She smacks her hand on the counter, spread out over a piece of paper, probably too excited to realize there’s no way Steve would be able to read it.

He puts his beer down anyway before asking what should be an obvious question, because he actually isn’t trying to turn into his father, and because he’s a good friend. “Why would someone slip a flier for a gay club into our mailbox?”

“I think Addie and Rose from down the hall put it in there. Doesn’t matter. Go with me.”

And. Steve stares at his beer and the tiny television they got when they moved in so they wouldn’t die of boredom. They were going to watch Turner Classics or something because that’s what they always do on the weekend.

He looks back at sweet, hopeful Robin and sighs. “One of these days I’ll say no to you.”

“No you won’t,” she says, bright and shiny, runs into her closet of a room to get dressed and shouts through the apartment. “Also, for the record, you need to get laid!”

“Say it louder, I don’t think Addie and Rose heard you.”

“Don’t say that unless you mean it, because we both know I will.”

So Steve puts on real clothes, nothing too nice, and runs a comb through his hair. It’s a bit longer now than it was when he was a kid, long enough to give him hat hair at work, short enough that he’s not immediately clocked as a freak.

On the walk there, Steve decides his primary goal is to make sure Robin has a good time. His secondary goal is to make sure neither of them get into too much trouble. And the third, if the first two goals go well, is to get head in the bathroom, or, if he’s really lucky, give head in the bathroom.

They haven’t been in San Francisco for very long, considering how long they stayed in Hawkins, but there are regulars in their neighborhood, people he recognizes from work, people he recognizes from the store. It’s like they’re making a life here, almost.

The bartender is a guy who’s jogging route passes in front of their apartment most mornings on their way to work. His grizzled face breaks into pleasant surprise when he gets his eye on them.

“Oh, I recognize you two,” he says, pointing two fingers at them. His voice has a midwest twang to it. Kind of reminds him of home, not that he needs reminding. “That married couple up by that one deli. You guys lost?”

“We’re not.. really married,” Robin says, in that ridiculously un-subtle way she tends to.

Steve shoots her a look. “We’re legally married.”

“Yes, but as friends,” she emphasizes, shakes her naked ring finger at the bartender before leaning both elbows onto the bar and resting her head on her fists. “Tell me, do women frequent this establishment?”

If anything, despite the anxiety burning Steve’s ears red, the bartender at least seems amused. He nods over to a corner of the club closer to the stage and she’s immediately off in that direction, leaving Steve alone on a barstool with a man who knows way too much about him now.

Most of the rest of the bar is empty. Being a club, most people are on the dance floor or in dark corners or against the stage. Steve’s always been the kind of guy to sit by the sidelines. At least, since he graduated.

“She seems quirky,” the bartender says, no malice in his voice, pouring a drink for another patron and sliding it down the bar.

“Yeah, try living with her.”

He heaves a belly-laugh that makes Steve make real eye contact with him for the first time since getting in. “I’m Ricardo.”

“Steve.” They shake hands, firm and friendly.

“Not lost, then?”

“Nope.”

“Thought so,” Ricardo says, though Steve does a quick check of his hair and his clothes, see if anything gives him away. And he must be tense, because he continues. “Hey, relax, let me make you a drink if you want. We don’t bite.”

That shocks a smile out of him, enough to ask for a rum and coke. And Ricardo nods, and Steve tries to remember how to be social again like he hasn’t spent the last five years exclusively hanging out with teenagers and Robin. “That’s a shame. About the biting.”

“Don’t you worry about that. I could introduce you to a friend. He’ll do anything if you ask nicely enough,” he laughs, handing over the drink.

Steve squashes down how flustered that makes him. Robin’s right. He does need to get laid.

“It’s kind of funny, actually. Thinking about it, you’re exactly the kind of guy he usually goes after.”

“What’s that mean?”

“You know. Athletic. Good hair. Very normal looking,” Ricardo makes vague gestures at Steve’s general likeness and he tries not to take it personally. “He usually comes by on Saturdays. In case you were curious.”

“What’s his name?” Steve asks, even though he’ll probably forget, by the amount of rum he can taste in his drink and the way a man with more than one tattoo on his neck looks at him from down the bar.

He does manage to remember, because it’s kind of a weird name. And pretty quickly Steve decides that hooking up with someone in a bathroom isn’t too much trouble to get into at all, and Robin is loud and excitable across the club and he shouldn't worry about her too much anyway. So Jacob with the neck tattoos drags him into the bathroom by the hair at his nape and pushes Steve to his knees and the roughness of it gets him off without even being touched.

And his jaw is sore and his knees are bruised and he thinks about the guy named Winn who usually comes in on Saturdays, who likes guys that look like Steve, who will do anything if Steve asks nicely enough.

On the way out Robin has another girl’s lipstick on her teeth so she can’t say anything too scathing, but she does give him the Munson High stare.

He climbs into her bed that night because he has dreams about monsters and bats and open graves. He thinks about Eddie Munson after five years of him being gone, after only really a few days of knowing him, never knowing what he tasted like and chasing it anyway.

•

It was 1986. Eddie Munson died.

•

It’s 1991, deep into summer, and Steve sweats through his work uniform every single fucking day, takes twice as many showers as he can probably afford the water for, and sometimes it’s so hot in California that he starts to think he might be seeing things.

Robin tells him he’s been hit in the head too many times, which is objectively true, and if he were more self-preserving he’d probably benefit from going to a doctor about it. His father would call him crazy, he knows that, too.

Sometimes at work he’ll see a new-hire with Dustin’s curly hair, the style he had it in years ago when there was a chance he could grow up normal. And Steve will go home on those days and call the Henderson home phone until someone picks up and tells him he’s safe.

And lately, on Friday afternoons after work, when he goes straight from work to the grocery store to pick up whatever he can for dinner, he swears he catches a glimpse of Eddie. Just for a second. Like he’s a ghost.

And there are things wrong, always, the hair, his style, the walk, it has to be a hallucination.

Eddie’s been dead for five years, dead in a different state, in a different universe. And there’s no one to call when he gets home.

The feeling of it sits in his gut and festers like a poison. He doesn’t know why it’s getting worse since coming here. Chasing the Munson High.

They don’t go back to the club very often. They probably should. Robin needs to get laid just as badly as Steve does, but he’s never been the type to let loose when he felt responsible for someone else, not since Nancy. San Francisco is big and gay and new and it’s not quite home yet, and they’re from smalltown Hawkins, Indiana. He doesn’t know how to let his guard down.

But.

“We’re going out tonight,” Robin tells him, sitting next to Steve on their little couch with a sandwich and swinging her legs across his lap as a table.

“We are?”

She nods, smiles, speaks with a mouth full of food. “Yep. We’re going back to the club. And I’m the designated driver.”

“You don’t drive,” Steve blinks. “And we walk there.”

“Then I’m the designated walker. I’ll cart your little drunk self back home. Unless you go home with someone else, of course.”

“What the hell are you going on about?”

Robin smiles her little Robin smile, the one where she’s clearly feeling pity, which she knows Steve hates, and will not apologize for it.

She puts a hand on his shoulder. “Your nightmares are back again. You’re worrying too much about me and everyone back home,” back in Hawkins, she means, their old home, “and it’s Saturday night and as your wife, I’m forcing you to go out and get drunk and get laid and stop worrying about other people for once.”

“There’s plenty of things to worry about, Robin,” Steve points out, even though it’s a losing battle.

“I’m a big girl, Steve. The apocalypse isn’t coming to San Francisco, and I’m pretty sure if it did I’d be able to handle it until you sobered up.”

She’s right. He knows she’s right.

Fuck. He knows she’s right.

So he lets Robin eat her sandwich and he gets changed into something that won’t make him die of heatstroke (because if he survived the past eight years and throws it all away in the basement of a club, he’s going to march into hell pissed off). And he makes himself look good and he wonders if Jacob with the neck tattoos is coming tonight, or maybe a drag performer, or maybe Winn who knows Ricardo.

They come up with a game plan on the way, because Steve is nothing without a game plan, basically the only thing that’s kept him alive this long. He’s going to get as plastered as he likes, and Robin is going to hopefully hook up with a drag king, and they are going to check in at midnight. And if Steve goes home with someone, he’s going to let her know before he goes, and he’s going to have a good time (this, she is adamant about), and he’s going to call her if he plans on spending the morning in bed.

Robin tells as much to Ricardo when they get in, orders Steve shots before setting his watch to go off at midnight like he’s fucking Cinderella. She looks Ricardo right in the eyes and demands him, “make sure he gets plastered.”

And get plastered Steve does.

“I was wondering when you’d be back,” Ricardo says. “Not really your scene?”

Steve leans an elbow on the bar. “It’s not that. I like to be careful. I know that this is San Francisco, but still. We’re from Indiana.”

It’s a half-truth, at least. Indiana itself was part of the problem, it always was. Not safe for Robin, not safe for him. Steve always had to pick the safe option. Tonight is really the first time he’s not going to worry about it.

The world is a scary place, even without all the monsters. Ricardo must understand that. Steve takes another shot.

“Illinois.”

The liquor burns down his throat this time, hits him like a punch, “What?”

“I’m from outside Chicago,” Ricardo says, which explains the midwestern accent.

Steve breathes, the buzz starting in his chest. “How long did it take for you to get used to this?”

“Kid, we’re all still getting used to it.”

He takes another shot at that. He thinks about the things he’s getting used to, the new place and the new world and the way the world spins. The way the ground here isn’t cracked and rotten and part of hell. The way he doesn’t have to worry about getting an annual concussion, hopefully, if he watches out, if he follows his rules.

He thinks about Eddie, which is a bit funny, because he doesn’t think he’s tried to think about him in a long time. Sometimes it happens like that. You know about someone for years and then you know them for a few days and then.

Impact.

And if he’s being honest, he’s never going to get laid like this. Sitting miserable at the bar. It’s a club. There are people and performances and men that he doesn’t have to be afraid of.

Steve has to do more than just survive, now. It’s been eight years of surviving and he gets to live.

So he gets plastered. Sloppily so, finds Robin and kisses her wet on her forehead and lifts her up for the girls by the stage and wingmans until she’s giggling and slapping at him and threatening divorce.

He gets bullshit drunk, chases his Munson High, grinds against a man with lots of eyeliner, hair so long he’s pretty. He tells him so against his lips and his hips. Doesn’t learn his name before he’s sitting back at the bar, a moment that hardly sobers him.

He sits for a while and breathes and people-watches and talks to Ricardo, and there’s a man with sunglasses down the bar, staring right at him. His hair is cropped short and he’s covered in tattoos, and Steve flags Ricardo down.

“Am I really drunk or is that guy staring at me?”

Ricardo smiles, response sloshing around in Steve’s brain. “He’s definitely staring. I told you that you were his type.”

“Oh shit,” he says, “that’s Winn?”

Steve doesn’t stick around long enough to hear anything other than the confirmation. And if Winn gets tense, Steve is too drunk to notice. He wants to drink and he wants to make out and he wants this guy to do whatever he wants with him. He wants to flirt and get in his pants and go home with him. And he’s a reckless drunk and he’s okay with it.

“Hey,” he says when he sidles up, rests his elbows on the bar.

“Hey.”

His voice is gruff and deep, surprisingly so. And he looks out into the crowd for a bit, so Steve can peek behind his sunglasses to see what they’re hiding. “I was wondering if you were planning on buying me a drink.”

Winn smiles, and it’s bright, even if it isn’t huge. It looks shocked, unused, awkward in the lips like they’ll crack open. Steve wants to get bloody on them.

“Now why would I do that?”

“You’ve been staring at me all night,” Steve says, even if he doesn’t know that it’s true. It’s true enough. “And Ricardo told me that I’m just your type. Was wondering if you’d ever make a move.”

“Wow. And you couldn’t make a move of your own?” His voice wavers a bit, a teasing jolt, something familiar, weirdly.

Steve drags his eyes down Winn’s body, his plain black shirt, and dark wash jeans, and the lean muscle that sits underneath. “What do you think I came over here for?”

“You’ve got me there. But I don’t think I was staring at you.”

“I’m pretty sure you were.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m wearing sunglasses, so I could have been staring at anything,” Winn says, turns his shoulders towards Steve’s, like they’re closing in on each other.

“You’re looking at me now, at least.”

“That’s true.”

“Any chance you’ll be looking away any time soon?”

It’s fun. Their back and forth. He can tell Winn likes it too, cheeks red, even when the lights change to flash yellow and blue and green. His voice cracks higher for a half second. “None.”

There it is.

“Good,” Steve says, curls his fist into the front of his shirt and pulls Winn down to him. He can feel the snag of chest hair in his hand, swallows the little groan he lets out into his mouth. He wants to get drunk on that, too.

He knows how drunk he must be, out in the open like this. He knows how selfish this must be, and he couldn't give less of a shit about it. Steve wants.

Winn hesitates for a fraction of a second, the kind of second that drags on when you’re drunk, and then kisses back the kind of kiss that empties your entire mind. His tongue is hot, licks into his mouth like fire, and he doesn’t taste like liquor. It’s just cigarettes and sweat and Steve wants to drown in it.

It turns out that Winn is the take control type. The do whatever you want if you ask nicely enough type, if he’s remembering correctly. He’s solid and bone-crushing and not nearly close enough. Steve is desperate and hungry in a way he hasn’t let himself be in years, doesn’t care about the consequences, wants Winn to make a mark on him that won’t go away.

And Winn gets them both drinks, gets Steve just what he likes, takes his own shots like they’re nothing. He downs them like water and Steve stares at his throat like he wants to build a home inside of it.

There’s a little bit of talking, but mainly making out, and a lot of touching hip bones and exposed biceps and the tender skin at the juncture of Winn’s neck, and ordering drinks and feeling reckless and not giving a shit.

And then his hands are in Steve’s hair, pulling, kissing him again and again, and his knees nearly collapse right there.

“Take me home,” Steve finds himself saying. “Your home. Take me to your place.”

Winn laughs, a sharp sound, “You’re a little drunk, buddy.”

“Sober me up then,” Steve says, slides his free hand up Winn’s leg. He tests a theory. “Please?”

And that does something.

He is pretty drunk, and otherwise his blood isn’t particularly focused on his brain function as much as his dick, honestly. But still, Winn makes Steve dizzy with it, with want and need.

It’s quick and reckless. Steve tells Robin he’s going home with Winn, that he’ll call a cab in the morning, and she salutes him on his way out.

The air outside is just as stale and hot as the club, and Steve leans into Winn’s arm while they walk.

“I hate how hot it is here.”

“You might have come to the wrong place, big boy,” Eddie says. Or, well, Winn says it, but Steve stops short in his tracks, feeling like a tape getting rewound, cranked slowly. It’s five years ago all of a sudden, just for a second, and Winn catches Steve by the bicep and if Steve were feeling more like himself he might have flexed or flirted or something. “You alright?”

And he’s back in the present, skipped ahead with a scratch. “Yeah.”

“Don’t die of heatstroke on me. I have water at my apartment. It’s not far.”

It really isn’t far. Winn keeps his sunglasses on even though Steve can hardly see a foot in front of him as it is. He wonders for a second if Winn has real eyes, or if he sees through his lenses like screens. Or maybe he can’t see at all. That seems unlikely.

He wonders if Winn has Eddie’s eyes, too. Big and brown like he’d never seen before or seen since. The real Munson High: not a guy with long hair and rings and tattoos and weird interests, but a guy who looks at him like that, like Eddie did. Intense and sure and determined and unafraid.

“You remind me of someone,” Steve says, sloshed, uninhibited.

For all accounts, he should keep his mouth shut. Steve is actually trying to sleep with this guy, and he can’t imagine that comparing him to his admittedly life-changing but violently dead friend from five years ago is going to be appealing.

And this guy is cool, Steve tells him so. His style and his walk and his demeanor and how he tastes like cigarettes, the kind you roll yourself.

He thinks, maybe, keeping it lighthearted will be best. If this is the final destination of the Munson High, it doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Or scary the way seeing the ghost of him in his grocery store is.

Winn keeps him talking, though. “Someone nice?”

“Oh,” Steve blinks. He isn’t quite sure, which seems unfair, but he doubts Eddie thought Steve was all that nice either. “Maybe. He was nicer than me, maybe. He was good, I know that. We had a lot going on back when I knew him, but you have the same kind of smile. And manner of speaking. All that.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Steve is too drunk really to read into the way Winn’s posture changes, maybe it has something to do with the fact that they’re at Winn’s apartment already. It’s not far at all. In fact, Steve could probably make it back home in fifteen minutes if he wasn’t so far gone.

His apartment is small and a bit messy, and it’s quiet and a little impersonal. Not much on the walls, no pictures of family around. And sometimes it’s like that here, he’s learned. Not everyone has a Robin. But at least Winn has a Ricardo.

The entry space isn’t too warm. It’s actually nice and cool. Cooler than the club, certainly cooler than the outside. Like, Winn must have good air conditioning. “Jesus Christ, are you rich or something?”

“I can’t believe that you of all people would ask that,” Winn says. Steve doesn’t bother asking what that means but he wonders. He looks for hints in Winn’s sunglasses or the familiar weight of his hands.

“I feel like I can breathe,” Steve takes a deep breath and spins, almost topples over, and Winn catches him by the shoulders. Firm hands. Familiar. They’re familiar. “Woah, thank you.”

“Not a problem, dude.”

There it is again. That tone of voice. Steve has got to be fucking hallucinating, honestly, all of a sudden overcome by this pulling in his chest.

“Is dude really an appropriate thing to call someone you’re trying to sleep with?” He flirts, the only cylinder in his brain that’s firing like this. Everything else is fighting drunken confusion and Eddie and trauma. And it’s not fair that this is happening now.

Winn’s sunglasses are still on. “You’d be surprised, Stevie.”

He stumbles and trips over a cable and it feels like 1986 again and 1985 and 1984, and it’s a black and slimy vine, something that will slither around his neck and ankles and choke him out. And the next few hours are a confusing haze, because he collapses in Winn’s arms. He gets taken to the couch, a fucking ugly thing, and he can’t breathe and it’s humiliating.

It’s been a while since an episode like this. The first few weeks in San Francisco were like that, peeking around every corner, distrustful of every shadow. And the feeling of being back there mainly sticks to nightmares, something he can blame on his dreams.

But he got used to it. He got used to San Francisco and normal problems like being broke and hating your parents.

Steve knows what’s real and what isn’t. He’s smart. He hasn’t gone insane. He’s not crazy, except, he definitely looks crazy to this guy. This poor guy. Not-Eddie. Eddie’s not real. Or, not anymore.

He never should have come here. He should be with Robin. She knows what’s real too. She can talk him down. She’s good at it.

He can’t see for what feels like an hour or what he knows is realistically only a couple of minutes, and then he can, because Eddie or not-Eddie rubs circles into his back and puts a glass of ice water in his hands and tells him how cold it is. He narrates the droplets of condensation that track down his skin and into his watch, which still hasn’t gone off yet.

This is the longest night of his fucking life and that’s saying something, it’s saying too much.

“You’re okay, man,” Eddie or not-Eddie says, calm like he’s used to this feeling, when nobody could be. Nobody but the group of them who fought monsters in alternate dimensions, who were nearly killed off and then paid off by government organizations. It’s why Steve and Robin came here in the first place. To get away from it. Somewhere where no one would know. So they wouldn’t have to see the effects of it every day and breathe the awful polluted air.

A chill runs up his spine. The air conditioning whirrs. A thought comes to his mind: he likes it cold.

And he thinks he’s hyperventilating again, he must be, because Winn is concerned and takes off his sunglasses and Steve gets a good look at his eyes and they’re Eddie’s. Like he took them from him. Like the world is fucking with him, like they never won at all and this is Steve’s fucking ticking clock. Like the last five years weren’t real, like nothing is real.

By some grace of God, that’s too much for his brain to handle, and he passes out right there on Eddie’s couch in Eddie’s arms in San Francisco in 1991.

•

It was 1986. Eddie Munson almost died.

•

It’s 1991, and Steve wakes up hungover in a room he’s never been in before. It’s dark still, and his head is pounding, and he’s sure it’s from the alcohol. But it centers around his eyes like he’d been crying, something he doesn’t let himself do all that often, and it floods back.

His eyes barely adjust and there’s an old Metallica poster on the wall and a stack of books in the corner of the room and a guitar pick necklace hanging from the corner of a mirror and nothing else.

Nothing else recognizable, at least. Nothing else personal, not that Steve can really say he knew Eddie personally. It’s nothing like Eddie’s room at home five years ago, the one he had to clean out because Wayne and Dustin were too heartbroken to do it themselves. With his guitars and posters and fliers and lyrics and chord progressions. With his drugs that they threw back into Rick’s house. That he and Nancy made sure to keep far away from the kids, because God fucking forbid they touch them.

It’s too dark to tell if this is the Upside Down or one of those clock hallucinations or if it’s just night.

There’s no reason Eddie Munson should be alive.

There’s no reason, really, that Steve should have been thinking about him for so long, anyway. For thinking of Eddie as this special thing to him, a high he’s chased for years, a person he recognizes pieces of in strangers on the street. That must be what this is. Punishing him for not letting him go. When he hardly fucking knew the guy.

But that’s not right, either.

He’s shaking, and the bed creaks with it, and the door opens slowly, and he holds his breath until Eddie walks through.

Because Eddie walks through. His hair is cropped and his neck is scarred and his face is older. There aren’t rings or patches or buttons on leather and denim. He looks different and exactly the same, and the light from the other room floods from behind him like a halo, like he’s a ghost.

Steve knows that this can’t be his imagination, though, can’t be the effect of some spell or hypnotism or post-traumatic stress, because he’d never imagine Eddie like this. Barren.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Eddie says, like it’s a normal thing to say, like this is a normal thing to do, and Steve kind of wants to kill him again.

The light flickers on, bathes the room in an ugly yellow. “What did you do?”

“What?” Eddie stops short. Water spills over the rim of a glass Steve didn’t notice he was holding. “You had a panic attack and passed out. I brought you to a bed.”

Steve shakes his head. “You died! You died five years ago! What did you do? Did you make a deal with Vecna? With the guys at the lab?”

“Jesus, no!” Eddie steps forward and Steve tenses. His eyes flash, and they’re just as big and swirling as Steve remembers, but they’re dark, and he holds his other hand out, placating. Is he a vampire? Is Vecna even dead?

“Was any of it real? Is any of it over?”

Exdie crouches, and he takes off his shirt, and Steve must still be a little drunk because he stares at his chest and the curls of hair scattered around. But behind that, more clear now than it was in the club, is scarred, discolored patches of skin, poorly stitched together, healed but slowly. Painfully. The scratches and scars run lightly up his arms and his chest, up into deep pinks and reds at the base of his neck.

“I didn’t die,” Eddie says, patient, practiced, like he’d been prepared to be found out. Which begs the question: what was the fucking point? “I nearly died. I thought I died. But I didn’t.”

Steve fumes and he tries to follow and he stares at Eddie’s skin, thinks about all the people he couldn’t protect.

“We mourned you. Dustin was,” Jesus Christ, it hurts to think about, “torn in half. You let us all think you died, but you let him think you died. We would have helped you.”

Eddie stares like he’s brokenhearted, and Steve is done talking. His throat hurts and his head hurts and he’s too fucking old for this. He dares Eddie to explain himself.

•

It was 1986. Eddie Munson didn’t die.

He really did think he was going to. He’d already accepted it, and if Dustin got to live, he would have done it over and over again indefinitely. He would have relived the pain forever, and he knew it even when it was excruciating and he tasted blood and venom and whatever else.

The only thing he wouldn’t relive was Dustin’s face, dirty and tear-tracked and sobbing.

Eddie faded out and faded back in. He couldn’t open his eyes, but he heard the others come back, heard them tear Dustin off of him, heard the rumbling of thunder and the splitting of earth.

One thing Eddie learned when he was young, when his dad put his mom in the hospital, was that hearing goes last. The last moments wrapped up in loud silence.

He didn’t know if he believed in heaven, but the screams and the cracking and the laughter from Vecna sounded a lot like hell, especially when it didn’t stop. When it kept going. When he thought he was dead.

But hell seemed to spit him back out.

Didn’t want him. Go figure.

He was hardly alive, though. Alive in the sense that he was sometimes conscious and his heart was chugging, pushing blood around his body.

And eventually, in Hawkins, real Hawkins, he crawled until he ended up in the Hendersons’ backyard. He’d heard a story once, right before he died, that Dustin had taken in a little monster until it could live on its own.

It was a long shot, but he was hoping the kid would be willing to do it again.

He was.

Eddie bled sludge onto the concrete of Dustin’s cellar, and Dustin stole antiseptic and gauze and painkillers from where they were keeping Max in the hospital and from the donation drives and wherever else, Eddie never knew. He soaked needles and string in hydrogen peroxide and sewed him up in the really gnarly gashes that wouldn’t scab over, placating Eddie with whatever was in his mother’s liquor cabinet.

And it was fucking hell.

He will never remember most of it.

But as soon as he could stand upright he cut his hair short and hitchhiked to Indianappolis and took a one-way bus to California and didn’t look back.

There was no way he could. Every step was a miracle. He was a man on the run.

But nobody except his uncle knew that his name was Edwin, that his mother’s maiden name was Langley. Nobody except Rick, who’d made him a fake ID before he got sent to prison so he could run off to San Francisco after he graduated, or after Wayne got sick of him, or after shit got really bad.

And well.

It killed the poor kid, he knew it, but he hoped that knowing he was alive would lessen the blow. Even if he swore him to secrecy. The kid was loyal. Could keep a secret.

Dustin is nothing if not stubborn. Packed Eddie’s bag with a note with his home phone number and a radio frequency and a threat, a promise, to tell the police exactly where he was if he didn’t confirm proof of life at least once a month.

An extremely charming scribbled note on a piece of paper he would keep in his bedside table that read: I WILL MAKE ELEVEN FIND YOU. LIVE.

So Eddie Munson – if you asked his ID, Edwin Langley – if you asked anyone else, Winn the Mechanic – didn’t die in Upside Down Hawkins, Indiana in 1986. He laid low for five years in San Francisco, a place where people run to all the fucking time and don’t ask questions, didn’t make too much money, didn’t make too many waves.

He got rid of anything that would identify him. That was the hard part. All Eddie Munson had was his identity. Was his band and his music and his club and his loud personality. And he’d never held himself back for anyone.

He figured, though, if he was going to hold himself back for something, it would be for the teenagers who fought monsters. Maybe, he thought, this way he’ll win. There’s no other way for them to win.

Eddie knew his odds. Every day was a stealth check. And for five years he rolled high enough. It helped staying mainly sober and playing the new performance of being mysterious and quiet. Like that was a new game in itself.

And then, one day, a drunk and traumatized Steve Harrington rolled high enough on investigation to crumble the whole thing down.

•

It’s 1991. And Eddie Munson didn’t die.

He was alive when Wayne and Steve organized a pathetic little funeral for him with sticks and pins and guitar picks buried into the ground on the right-side-up of where he got attacked by the bats. He was alive when Steve and Lucas spent nights in Dustin’s room, giving them a break from the hospital room and making sure they were doing okay.

For Christ sake, he held Dustin while they mourned.

Eddie was alive when Steve sort of pieced together why he was so heartbroken. When Robin asked why he kept Eddie’s jean jacket hung on the back of his desk chair, why he didn’t bury it or give it to Wayne. He was alive when Steve was confused and tired and drove out to Indianapolis and went down on some drummer with long hair and big eyes who called him baby and pretty and gave him a warning before coming down his throat.

When Robin coined the term Munson High.

And Jesus Christ, Steve is exhausted. He’s nauseous and dizzy and hungover and his mouth tastes like shit. He’s only pretty sure this whole thing isn’t an elaborate mind game.

“I don't understand, dude,” Steve says, running the palm of his hand flat down his face.

“What don’t you understand?”

Steve kind of wants to kill him again. “Why did you have to be dead? Why didn’t you tell the rest of us? Why didn’t you tell me? We were friends!” He clears his throat. “And why the fuck did you take me home tonight knowing damn well who I was?”

Eddie counts the questions off on his fingers, formulating his thoughts, and it’s infuriating to watch. Knowing that Eddie has had five years to think about this, and Steve is falling over on himself like a fucking idiot. Blindsided.

He speaks, and for some reason it sounds the exact same as it has in Steve’s memory, and it hurts. “The town wanted me dead, man. There were people coming after me with pitchforks, no questions asked, there was no saving me. Not after Jason died. Not after it broke national news. I couldn’t be missing or sent to jail or any of that shit. I had to be dead or they would kill me. And if they couldn’t kill me, they’d kill you guys for keeping me alive.”

Steve clenches his jaw and it sends the violent sting of a migraine into his eye. “We would have done it. We needed you–”

“That’s why you guys couldn’t know. You would try to fix it. If you knew I lived, you would patch me up and take me to your magical girl’s friends with the government and they would wave their wands, but I would be public enemy number one, and that was never going to change or get better,” Eddie says, a crack in his voice like he’s frustrated, like he has a right to be. “I’ve been public enemy number one since the kids in Hawkins found out who my dad was. It never fucking changes.

“I told Dustin because I knew he wouldn’t ask me to stay after I’d already made up my mind. I didn’t tell you because I knew you would. You would have asked me to stay and I would have done anything for you back then. And now, too. I just can’t say no to you, Stevie.

“But,” he finishes, “you needed to focus on the bigger picture. If you thought there was any shot I would make it, you would have taken it, and you would have gotten yourself killed.”

Steve breathes. He can’t do much to argue with that, but the parts of it that were personal, that made Steve feel like stained glass or the open mouth of a cave, like he was something Eddie could really see, those parts are hard to swallow.

“And?”

“And,” Eddie says. “I haven’t seen you in five years and I never got to kiss you back then, I never even thought of it as a possibility. And my cover was broken and I was drinking even though I don’t do that anymore, and you asked to go home with me, Steve. I already said I can’t say no to you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Eddie relaxes into a position more familiar, barely. The ghost of a posture Steve recognizes from five years ago. He wonders if he’s still the same or different in Eddie’s eyes. “And I wouldn’t have slept with you under false pretenses, I just figured you’d rather not be in a dark little gay club when you realized I was Eddie.”

He’s a little too tired for this. A little too broken. It’s a little too much.

Steve wonders if he would feel his heart stop if it did. Or if it would just feel like the same dull ache he’s been feeling for five years. More than that. Since his world turned upside down.

“You’re stuck with me, now. You got that?”

Eddie smiles, and it’s something so massive and heart stopping and sickening that Steve worries if it’s real at all. It’s just different enough. Five years older. Relieved and real.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, waterlogged and broken and also whole.

Steve would hate to break this, but he glances at the clock and feels a tension about a fifteen minute walk away. “You’re going to have to deal with Robin, though. And Dustin is going to have to deal with me”

•

In 1996 there’s a wedding in Hawkins, Indiana.

•

It’s 1991. Steve unlocks his apartment, cramped and kind of ugly, and full of life.

“Hey Rob?”

Robin calls from her little closet room. “No honey I’m home? Where has our love gone, Stevie?”

“Uh,” he shifts by the door. “I ran into someone last night.”

“I thought you went home with that Winn guy. Did he fuck your brains out? I should have told him about your history of concussions before I let you leave…” Robin trails off when she turns one of the snug corners of their apartment and makes eye contact with them.

And Steve can only imagine how they look to her, considering everything. Steve bringing home a man who looks more like Eddie Munson than is probably healthy for him. Looking exhausted, his eyes are chapped and red from last night. And Eddie looks kind of terrified, which he should. It’s a blessing that Nancy is on the other side of the country, because Eddie would be dirt in the fucking ground, probably.

“Hi,” Robin looks Eddie up and down with so much intensity that Steve can feel the heat of it. “I’m sorry. I’m Robin. I need to steal Steve away for just one minute.”

“Robin,” Steve manages. She looks away from Eddie and gives Steve a scathing Munson High stare. It quiets him.

Eddie speaks, though. That same old voice. “Robin.”

It’s pleading, almost. And it works. Steve and Robin joke about being able to read each others’ minds, but it’s like something really happens then. Exactly how he thought she’d react: confused, and then suspicious, and then almost angry.

“What is this?”

She doesn’t give either of them a chance to respond, just walks up to Eddie and pulls on the collar of his shirt. Steve looks too: the smattering of scars, years healed over but still gnarly, raised, skin crawling over itself like veins.

There’s this little quirk in the scars on Steve’s stomach, marks that never faded, speckles of black, like shards of venom from the bats stuck inside him. They play just underneath the pale scars on Eddie’s neck. And Robin’s face breaks.

“What the hell is this?

“I’m–” Steve thinks there’s going to be an apology from Eddie, half-formed, scared and desperate in a way that tears Steve’s heart in half even though it’s only just been mended. But Robin launches forward, unsteady on her feet, wraps both arms around his neck.

“You were gone,” Robin croaks into his skin. “I saw it.”

Eddie rubs her back, and Steve’s heart lurches at the memory of her and her brave face when they found Dustin hovering over his body.

“I’m sorry.”

“How are you here? Did they–” the government, the Lab, the Russians, the creatures, “did they take you away? Are you under witness protection? Who’s Winn?”

Eddie’s voice shakes while he explains it again, and Steve shakes while he hears it again, and Robin watches and listens with her usual intensity, careful and horrified and spinning cogs in her brain while she puts the pieces together. She’s always loved a mystery. A puzzle. She asks the right questions, gets the right answers.

“You’re not going to run away again, are you?”

Steve watches Eddie’s face. This beautiful thing. It crumples the tiniest bit, and Steve’s always been attuned to these non-verbal signs, these warnings. So for a second, there’s a wet anguish in his eyes, and Robin’s fingers curl hard into his shirt like a threat, and Steve worries that whatever comes out of his mouth will be a lie.

It’s too much like 1986 and Eddie’s smiling at him, curly and beautiful, promising that he’s not a hero. Like it’s 1987 and Dustin is sitting at Eddie’s grave like he doesn’t know where he is. Like it’s 1988 and Steve on the phone with his parents, telling them things are fine. It’s 1989 and Steve is telling Robin that he’s fine. 1990: this town isn’t sucking the soul out of him, he can stay for the kids, he deserves one more year as a kid himself, he still has something to offer.

It’s 1991, and Steve knows how to lie, and he’s never been afraid of being lied to. He’s only ever been afraid of the truth.

–

In 1996 there’s a wedding in Hawkins, Indiana. There’s no big white spectacle event at the town’s once-gaudy now-dilapidated church, no priests or preachers. The bride never believed in all of that, and the rest of them haven’t bought into it for at least a decade.

It’s a small ceremony. Steve walks Max down the aisle. He whispers to her that Lucas started crying the moment he saw her, Max says she knew he would, and Steve laughs, delighted.

He drops her off and falls back into Lucas’ groomsmen line, punching him in the shoulder on the way, lands his hands on Dustin’s shoulders and squeezes.

He catches Robin’s eye on the other side of the aisle. She’s still wearing their wedding ring, but she’s playing with the lace on Nancy’s shoulder, and Nancy’s smiling in a way Steve’s never seen from her.

It’s been a decade free of evil in this town, and Steve doesn’t often come back, but it’s moments like this where Steve remembers that this was his home, once. There aren’t towns like this in California, smattered with woods, filled with people who have always known him, who he doesn’t have anything to lie about to.

Eddie’s there. He hasn’t been to Indiana since he crawled out ten years ago. He’s sitting, playing with hair he’s been growing back out for five years.

There’s a tattoo on his ring finger, now, black and sprawling.

Steve stares at it the entire time.

–

It’s 1991, and Steve is back in Eddie’s apartment. There’s a nice radio in the closet, and the two of them sit on the cool ground in front of it.

Steve hasn’t taken his eyes off of Eddie in hours, what’s felt like years. He edges closer, like Eddie is a stray, like he’ll scamper away. And Eddie at least seems to understand. Press back, knowing there’s fear that he won’t.

He’s warm. That’s one of the most jarring things.

He still remembers how cold he felt, years ago, bleeding through his clothes, through Steve’s hands.

And now he’s warm and alive and Steve wants to be burned by him. Seared. He wants Eddie so close he leaves a mark.

Eddie turns to look at him, raises an eyebrow, “ready?” And he waits for Steve to nod before he turns on the radio and plays with the frequency.

“Obi-Wan to Luke checking in…” His eyes flicker up to Steve’s. “Over.”

Steve smiles. Of course Dustin is Luke. He’s almost surprised he isn’t Han.

It takes a few seconds for Dustin to respond, undeniably him, attempting to hide his excitement in the way he’s never been able to pull off. “Luke to Obi-Wan, confirming check-in. Is everything alright? We just spoke last week. Over.”

“Just peachy, young Skywalker. Though I do have a visitor. Over.”

“Are you compromised?” Dustin’s voice crackles with his natural intense panic. “Over.”

“No,” Steve leans into the microphone, keeping all points of contact with Eddie like he’ll float away. “But you are. Over.”

There’s a bit of amusement that Steve can see in Eddie’s eye, a smile that he can’t look away from. It makes this whole thing feel less massive. Everything’s felt massive for almost ten years, and Eddie just dissipates the whole thing. Like magic. Eddie’s fucking Houdini.

“Shit.”

“You didn’t say over. Over,” Eddie says, voice light.

It’s ridiculous, all of a sudden. Easy. Even though everything is an awful disaster, it’s easy.

“Shit… Over.”

–

In 1996 they stay at the Motel 6 on Cornwallis after the reception. They slow dance in the little space next to the bed, entirely sober, both of them. Drunk off each other, almost.

They don’t sleep, because they fuck like rabbits, and because Hawkins is still a little too haunted to get real rest, and because the Motel 6 is still a piece of shit even after rebuilding it in the 90’s.

The sun rises and it stays there.

[c0wb0yenthusiast]

Country Boy - Part II

Phillip Graves/Fem!reader

Summary : There’s a little tension between you and Phillip, but surely you can avoid it? Not when you get tipsy at your welcome party and share a rather intimate moment, revealing some feelings in question to each other.

Word count : 3.4k

A/N : was about to post this earlier then realised a funny glitch had happened and the whole beginning had been deleted…. So I had to redo it and I PRAY it’s not choppy or anything!! Anyways thank you to everybody who read part 1, I appreciate all of your support and hope this part lives up to your expectations! :))

All morning, your mind seemed to be preoccupied.

You prepare your tea in utter silence, finding peace in the soft clank of utensils on plates while your parents eat at the table. Your shoulders are hunched and your back is to them, which allows a little more privacy to let the events of earlier sink in.

Phillip Graves.

Phillip Graves was on your porch. He teased you.

And you let him.

You’re busy pouring hot water into your mug, now attempting to recover everything about that meeting that your mind allowed you to.

It was almost horrible how good he looked, prompting you to keep your head low as you approach the table with your mug cupped in your hands.

He was so tall, so broad and so much more handsome. However, now he brandished a scar sliced deeply into his cheekbone from what you saw. It contrasted his tanned skin and stood out among the small nips and marks he’d collected on his skin since seemingly forever.

His hair fit perfectly under his hat, small dirty blond strands peeking from underneath. You felt as if he was teasing you. Look at me now, look at what you missed out on.

You blow on your tea quietly, hiding the fact it’s actually a deep exhale to comprehend the sight you saw this morning.

Leaning against the arch of your porch, he was wearing a red flannel which managed to hug him in all the right places. His broad shoulders were now defined and so were his arms. The plaid flannel pulled up to reveal his strong, muscled forearms wasn’t warding you off at all.

It’s embarrassing that you remember these features from such a short meeting, causing you to raise your mug to your mouth slowly in an attempt to cover the sheepish smile appearing at the memory of how he used to hold you back then. The way his warm hands cupped your face perfectly, as if they were two pieces connecting in a jigsaw puzzle. You now wished you could’ve gotten a better glimpse at them this morning.

“Is something wrong, dear?” Your mother takes notice of your silent routine, which makes you eye her nervously.

“Nothing. Just.. Phillip-“

“What does that boy want?” Your father interrupts, facing you with an accusatory glare.

“He said your fencing had arrived, wanted you to pick it up.” You mumble awkwardly, wishing you could sink into your mug of coffee and never return. It’s barely been a day and the city seems to be calling your name already with open arms.

You would’ve happily embraced it again, but now you’re here. No regrets, right?

“Oh. Alright.” He shrugs, stretching and getting out of his chair.

Alright?

What is going on?

Ten years ago, your father and Phillip’s rivalry seemed to be unmatched. It pretty much was the talk of the town - the love-struck teen and the unmoved father.

You don’t respond, draining your mug and sitting there stock still. There’s a lot to process this morning.

Like the way Phillip barely looked at you. His eyes only grazing over your face for a split second before directing his attention to his truck or the front door. It’s a little obvious if you say so.

But you can’t help but mourn over the way his gaze would tenderly trace over your figure, how he took his time to memorise any scar or beauty mark somewhere across your body. He’d always run his thumb over his gently at first, but as the two of you got more comfortable in the relationship he learned how much you loved it when he kissed any of your birthmarks.

You stop yourself; you have a husband, you can’t be thinking like this. You’ve moved on.

And clearly Phillip has moved on too. Probably for the better, you reassure yourself. It’s been 10 years, everyone seemed to have given up on chances of you returning.

You’re rinsing your cup in the sink when your internal argument seems to be intercepted by your father.

“I’m heading into town to pick up some equipment, would you like to come, dear?” As he finishes his sentence, his warm hand pats your shoulder gently.

You try not to give off any startled reaction to this sudden touch, you don’t want your family catching onto your mental battles with the memories flooding back so quickly and harshly into your mind once more.

You watch him for a second, he’s pulling a very hopeful yet playful smile, raising his eyebrows in invitation.

“Sure, Pa. I’ll come along.”

He cracks a grin, clapping your shoulder happily before turning away.

“Be dressed by 10!”

You’re overthinking this.

They’re just clothes, you reassure yourself but can’t help shrinking from the intimidating way the assorted pieces of garments glare at you from their position on the bed.

It never used to be this difficult, or at least you don’t remember it like this. Maybe it was because you were a teenage girl and wore all the cute little dresses and cropped items you could get your hands on. You never used to worry like this.

Probably because of Phillip.

You tense a little at the thought of him again. Yet you do remember how he’d savour every outfit you wore, even if you’d worn it before.

“You look great, honey.” He’d whisper to you at some point in the day, his hands comfortably stroking your waist as his eyes would examine every inch of you.

You caught yourself smiling fondly at the memory, but it’s countered by the sudden remembrance of his coldness this morning.

You don’t waste any more time, grabbing whatever catches your eye to throw together an ensemble. It’s not like anyone will care.

The town is sure lively. You’re trying not to act surprised at the influx of new faces meshed with old ones and little children running around, sharing old traits from former classmates.

Just a reminder of how far you’ve seen to have gotten in your marriage with Louis. The only success being his job - you’re just working in his office so he can keep a very inattentive eye on you. You groan and lean back into your seat, trying to shield yourself away from prying eyes that throw cursory glances at your father’s large, quite obtrusive car.

Thinking about Louis and the city was enough to completely lower your mood, including the past memories and flickers of Deja vu when one of your senses encounters something vaguely familiar. It’s like a magic spell of some sort, fleshing out your life 10 years ago and how it may have affected you if you’d stayed.

The car reverses into a parking spot and you hear the thud of the drivers door slamming shut.

“Sweetie, hop out. I’m sure uncle Jimmy will be shocked to see you.” He adds, grinning and patting the car firmly. It seems playful but in reality it’s a bit of a threat.

You slip out hesitantly, allowing the beams of the full sun to encase your body with warmth as well as the now very noticeable sounds and voices flowing around you.

It’s so much quieter than the city yet very distinct, while on your painfully slow journey to the entrance of the shop you overhear someone reciting their shopping list, gossip between two old ladies and complaints about the weather.

This all leaves your mind the minute the shop bell rings as you push open the door.

“Finally, what took you so long?” It’s a rhetorical question. Your father stands by the counter expectantly, looking eagerly to you then to Jimmy at the counter.

He’s not really your uncle, just a saying.

Just a neighbour who used to bring his daughter around, then stopped frequenting after an ‘incident’ broke out at your school and realised it would be a hazard to bring the bratty 13-year-old over again.

He’s not a bad guy, you reassure yourself. Sauntering up to the counter with a smile across your face, he returns it and chuckles at the sight of you.

“You’re all grown up now! I remember when you were just a small thing, hon.” He gestures with his hand, amusement clearly visible on his face at this ‘rare sighting’ of the girl who finally came back.

The city mouse becoming the country mouse she used to be.

“Just what I said! She’s all big and successful in the city, you see, Jim? Even married too!” He exclaims.

Your dad has a habit of doing this, which you’ve grown used to - showing off in front of any other middle aged man. Maybe they’re competition? Who knows.

You’re smiling very calmly, nodding and chuckling lightly just to ease the time and escape from this conversation. The words only begin to sink in once you hear a very specific sentence. More like a word.

A name.

“Yeah, how’s your nephew Phil doing? He an errand boy now? Came round this morning to tell me about those fences.”

“Oh yeah, he’s doing just fine. Pretty damn skilled too, if you need some help with those fences I’ll send him over later.”

You almost freeze.

You can’t interact with him more than once today. You need a break from his painfully pretty face, silky smooth voice, breathtaking blue eyes-

“No need for a later, Jim, I’m right here.”

It’s coming from behind you.

No time to shrink or hide, but that would be futile anyways. It’s almost silly how worked up you’re getting.

“Speak of the devil, Phillip. Sorry I missed you this morning.” Your dad turns and greets him happily, you can hear the clap as their hands collide into a hearty handshake.

You also turn to face him, forcing a smile as his gaze lingered on you.

“Nice to see you back in town, Y/N.” He comments, his hands drifting to hold onto his belt rather than shaking your hand. Or touching you at all.

You think it’s because of the tension, the unresolved problems left behind 10 years ago that are apparently prevalent now still as you can’t seem to look at him for too long.

From the way his hand tightens around his belt loop, he’s feeling similar to you.

“Phillip? You mind coming round sometime to help an old man out?” Your dad interrupts this strangely intense moment, as Philip’s face seems to ease to his usual soft smile and attentive manner.

“Sure can do. But I don’t want to interrupt that party you’re having later with the neighbourhood.” He adds, probably an attempt to weasel out of seeing you again today.

“Nonsense! You’re practically family so don’t give me any excuses, just get your ass over there.”

And with that, your father lets out a hearty laugh and claps a hand on your shoulder. You try not to look as winded as you are from the utter force he exudes.

“I’ll see you soon then. Tom. Y/N.” He addresses the two of you with a fairly civil tone, but it’s hardened at the edges.

He walks out and you desperately drag your wandering eyes away from his form fitting flannel and jeans.

The party is civil.

That’s all you can say about it, because there’s not much else to really pay attention to other than the small, seemingly riveting conversations everybody seems to be having apart from you.

Obviously people come and ask how you’re doing and what your current life goals are, but you just throw out a few repeated phrases you’ve found reassures them the best from the masses of people who flocked to you when walking around town earlier with your father.

It’s not exhausting, but more nerve-wracking. Not everyone wants to see anybody apart from their own family achieving something more in their lives. At least, that’s what you look like to them.

You’re just tired.

So, so tired.

You’re observing the overall party from a swing in the backyard. Your dress delicately spread across the seat and hanging off of the seat a little. It’s a bright pink, which your mother insisted didn’t ‘wash you out’ whatsoever and was the perfect choice for a party.

That is if you’re attending a five year old’s tea party. Which you would rather.

Kids don’t tut at you when you explain your job to them, neither do they spout vaguely critical comments when they believe you aren’t listening.

“It’s nice to see her back after so long, don’t you think?”

“Oh yes, she’s definitely… blossomed… into that beauty of hers.”

“Exactly!”

You can only sit and watch, unbothered at this rate. You’re married and have your life together; people just want to pick at anything they can.

Everything seems to change when the familiar honk of a horn rings from the front of the house. You’re practically leaning out of your chair completely to catch a quick glimpse.

However, you instantly relax once more as your father comes into the backyard accompanied by Philip Graves.

White button up, soft blue blazer thrown on lazily and jeans. You don’t want to linger on him, it’s not right. It’s not fair.

So you get up and do something about it.

You stumble out of your chair, walking down to where everybody seemed to be congregating and looked around for the bowl of your mother’s special punch.

Maybe if you drowned yourself in punch it would avoid having to look at his pretty face. His infuriatingly beautiful face.

Your movements begin as careful, long pours of punch with the ladle into your glass as you throw around polite smiles and chatter. As you refill your glass more and more, the familiar sound of punch swishing in the cup begins to ring in your head. And so do the conversations around you.

You don’t know how long you’ve been idly sipping punch for, but it’s enough time to let the effects of the rather strong beverages -mixed in by your mother- take effect.

You forget that you’re a grown adult now who probably shouldn’t be drinking like a party girl on a weekend. But that thought slips out of your head too quickly to develop into rational feelings, so you just laugh it off and sloppily place the glass on whatever stable surface is the nearest to you.

Wandering through the groups of people, sometimes barging past and almost tripping headfirst into the grass or just walking right in the middle of a conversation just for the convenience of it.

At this rate it’s only to justify why your head feels like it’s melting. God, what was in that punch? It’s not like you’re the biggest lightweight on Earth, but it’s been awhile since you’ve drank that hard in such a short period of time.

At least, that’s what you realise looking back on the situation.

Right now you’re just trying to get back to your seat. Solace away from all the faces you keep bumping into. Somewhere that isn’t spinning, and spinning and spinning.

And spinning.

You slump back into your chair, utterly drained from the strenuous journey of climbing three steps while drunk. It’s such a huge achievement that you smile to yourself, satisfied with your efforts.

You’re busy taking a moment for this newfound quiet to settle into your raving brain when a blur of blue and brown seems to appear in the corner of your eye.

“Here’s the girl of the hour.” He’s suddenly next to you, leaning against the wall of the house with his arms crossed over his chest.

Now that he’s here, you’ve been dying to get a better glimpse at his muscles than this morning.

You only smile passively at him, letting the words flow into one ear and out of the other as your eyes are now fixated on his strong arms.

Phillip isn’t offended by your lack of response, more so concerned at the blankness in your expression.

“Sugar? You alright there…?” He questions, a little amused at your wide eyed, careful examination of his muscles.

Without thinking - which you seem a little bad at doing right now - your hand reaches out and your fingertips glide over his bicep. It’s solid, sturdy and hugs against his blazer in a flattering way.

Now you’re smiling even harder, fondly remembering how he’d carry you home when you were too tired to walk after a date. Or his joy when you’d run to him and he’d instantly wrap his arms around you and spin, your dress would almost float.

You don’t know why these memories seem to flood back at this very moment, but it furthers this euphoric state that you’re slowly slipping into.

“Remember when you used to hold me like a princess?” You murmur, looking up at him with a tenderness evident in your gaze.

He attempts to hide the way his eyes widened at your question, or how he’s beginning to falter or look away. You’re not very aware of it in that moment - but it haunts you afterwards.

“I do. Because you were. Are.” He adds, almost firmly as his hand moves to yours and his fingers brush against your knuckles. It’s funny how he seems to instinctively slow his movements purposefully just so he’s gentle with you, as if you were a doll.

“I’m not.. I’m not a little girl anymore..” you sigh, accepting his fingers intertwining with yours now. His rough, calloused fingers that always seemed to soften in your grasp. The hands that always seemed tense or even clenched in fists most of the time, but were always laid out for you to touch to your liking as your relationship progressed.

He doesn’t initially notice something nudging on his fingers, but glances down at your hands out of curiosity.

There’s two rings on your hand. One on your ring finger and another on your middle; it’s easy to tell which one was made by a lovestruck boy professing his dedication to a high-school sweetheart, whereas the other is flashy, decorative and unthought of. It didn’t strike him as something you used to wear, especially when it clashed with the other ring. His ring.

The ring he saved up for and pleaded for ever so desperately as he handed over his wages to his uncle, asking him for advice on what to make for his girlfriend at the time.

But that didn’t seem to matter anymore. Not when this ring was clearly an engagement ring.

I was planning to come here when I got married, the statement rings in his mind.

“I know. You’re a big girl now, hm?” He chuckles dryly, using humour to cope with the fact you’re touching him. Even after your tense conversation this morning; the conversation that mostly consisted of him speaking and you watching, mouth agape as if you’d just seen a ghost.

He thought he’d been dead to you anyways, especially with your sudden disappearance and lack of communication. Was he that insignificant?

Clearly not, he interrupts his doubts. Clearly not when you’re touching him the exact same way you did like 10 years haven’t passed and you weren’t already taken by some lucky bastard. Engaged. Basically married at this rate if he’s lucky.

His hand slips out of your grasp seamlessly. Deep down he’s berating himself, practically begging himself to hug you, hold you, kiss you so hard his lips bruise and he cannot possibly breathe anymore.

But he doesn’t do any of these things.

You’re looking up at him plainly, waiting for his next move. There’s no animosity or embarrassment clouding your face like the way it was in his uncle’s shop or your front porch.

It’s just you.

The dreamy, doll-like girl he’d happily mapped out his future with while she listened attentively, chirping in her thoughts about what she wanted to do in the future alongside him.

“Sorry, sugar. I’ve got to go to work now.” He whispers, turning away and walking off again. Walking away from the one thing he craves. He’d lost his chance, so what was the point?

He may as well just watch you succeed from afar, living a life that doesn’t involve a country bumpkin from her past ruining her plans.

His footsteps become a little forceful, digging into the dirt and kicking any little stones out of his way.

God, he probably looked so stupid.

He drives off without another word, leaving you a little dazed as you lay back into your chair. You don’t want to even try to think about what just happened, so you just sit there for what feels like forever until people begin to disperse.

Slowly but surely, the crowd grows smaller and smaller and the minute everybody is gone, you run up to your room.

You run as quickly as you can, not waiting to hear your parents’ questions or concerns. This was all a mistake.

A really confusing mistake.

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: 𝙳𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚐ä𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 [3]

Pairing: Dark!Ransom x Reader, Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Summary: Your husband’s twin brother has always made you uncomfortable, and after two years of marriage, you finally find out why. 

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Stalking, Kidnapping, Basement-wife, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Breeding kink, Smut, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do not eat!

Word Count: 6,133

A/N: oof. this one is a long one, but i really hope you all enjoy. no smut, but be assured… it’s on it’s way. 😈

previous

Dinner is privately catered, a stoic chef cooking for the four of you in the big communal kitchen in the largest villa, the one you were staying in with Ransom and Lloyd. You’re practically ravenous, splitting your time between watching him impatiently through the large open archway into the kitchen and staring enviously at Nathalie’s over-full glass of wine. 

 “Don’s supposed to be getting here tomorrow, he and Kathy are coming with mom and dad,” she says, and Lloyd nods. Your brother had refused Lloyd’s offer of airfare, as had your father. They were both hard-headed and cynical on the best of days, so you assumed it had been because they thought he was trying to buy them off. If he was, it had certainly worked with Nat. Who, despite your mutual dislike of Lloyd, had not been able to stop thanking him. He preened under her praise of course, peacock that he was. 

 “I can’t wait to meet the in-laws.” He says, hoisting a glass of wine as if in a toast to your absent parents. 

 “My in-laws,” Ransom reminds him, and Lloyd makes a face you can’t discern beyond vague irritation.

 “That’s what I said,” he snaps back, his lip curling. 

 You roll your eyes at their bickering. “When are your parents getting here again, babe?” You ask, talking over Lloyd’s irritated muttering. Ransom cocks his head. 

 “Day after tomorrow. But they’re not staying here, you know my mom. Full amenities.” He shrugs dismissively. “Why?”

 “Just curious,” you say, eyeing the chef over his shoulder again. It looks like he’s plating up the food, which you’re grateful for, because you’re hungry enough to eat a horse. You don’t exactly hate the idea of the Thrombeys staying somewhere else. The plates come out hot, and you’re grateful to be served first, picking up your fork immediately. The chicken is flavorful and well seasoned, and your eyes roll as you bite in. 

 “Oh my God,” you say, and Nat releases a similarly pleased groan.

 “Right? This is—Christ. Do they rent this place out like, monthly?” She leans over to elbow your brother-in-law. “Because I would definitely move here. Only if the personal chef is included, though.” You eye Nat’s glass of wine jealously as you eat, knowing it would pair perfectly with the chicken. Probably better with her fish, but I can’t eat that. You know you shouldn’t be sullenly coveting your sister’s dietary freedoms, after all, she’s not the one who decided to go ahead and get pregnant. 

 You wonder what Ransom’s parents will have to say about the baby—you know part of the purpose of this trip is to butter them up to the idea of being grandparents. Linda wasn’t exactly the most… supportive of you and Ransom getting together, her cold acceptance the one constant every time you were forced to interact. Maybe, you think, placing an absent hand on your belly as you push the food around your plate, she’ll finally find something to be happy about. 

  “Hey, hello,” Nathalie snaps her fingers in front of your face to get your attention. You scowl, slapping her hands away as she laughs. She’s never quite grown out of her irritating younger sibling behavior, and you don’t want to smile at her childish antics, but you can’t help it. “I was thinking maybe we could go into town tomorrow, maybe see the sights, take some pictures—”

 “That won’t work,” Lloyd replies before either you or Ransom have time to consider it. “I have work.” 

 “Work?” Nathalie scoffs. “What work? We’re on vacation,” she says, shaking her head. “And besides, we can just meet you after, can’t we?” 

 “No.” Lloyd’s voice is oddly strained, like he’s angry at the suggestion even being made. “If we can’t all go, we should stay here.” You frown—you don’t like him snapping at Nat like that, and you make your displeasure known. 

 “Lloyd this is our trip too. We’re allowed to do things.” He cuts his eyes at you before they soften just a little at the edges. 

 “The two of you shouldn’t go places alone.” You get the feeling that isn’t really what he wants to say. “The town is nice, but it can get… dicey.” It’s your turn to roll your eyes. “Besides, it’s a family trip—”

 “Honestly, Lloyd, if you’re upset at being left out, just say so,” you snap, reaching rather forcefully for your water glass. It takes a moment for you to realize that everyone is staring at you—Lloyd’s eyes angry, Ransom’s amused, and Nathalie’s worried. You’re tired of him nagging you, his secretive smiles, knowing little glances—you’re already sick of it. You know they’ll probably chalk it up to hormones, and you’re willing to let them believe it, ignoring their looks as you focus on your food. 

 “How about we make plans tomorrow?” Nathalie says, her voice small. You know she’s capitulating to save herself having to sit through the argument she can tell is brewing. And hell, maybe it is hormones, but you’re not going to put up with Lloyd bossing you around all week. You don’t take part in the small talk that creeps up around the table in the wake of your outburst, and you feel a shameful amount of pleasure at having thrown Lloyd for a loop. For once, he’s broody and irritable instead of smug, and you can’t help but revel in it. 

 Nathalie excuses herself back to her little cabana, and you to the suite you share with Ransom, knowing he’ll be there soon to chastise you. You pop into the shower, standing gratefully underneath the scalding hot spray. It’s the one thing you’ve never really understood, your husband’s staunch defense of his brother. There’s little you know Ransom would deny Lloyd if he asked, and Lloyd never hesitates to take advantage of his brother’s good will. 

 When you exit the shower, your prediction has officially come to fruition. Ransom is sitting on the bed, his arms crossed as he purses his lips at you. 

 “Sweetheart, picking fights is not going to make things easier.” You roll your eyes. 

 “He’s a prick,” you huff. “He’s controlling and rude and smug—”

 “And he’s trying to get closer to you—to us. He wants to be a real part of our family,” Ransom says, his eyes dropping pointedly to your belly before he drags them back up to your face. “Why can’t you try and get along with him, too?” You huff as your husband stands and walks over to you. Stubbornly, you don’t return his hug, and he chuckles, pressing a kiss into your hair. When he doesn’t let go, you sigh, wrapping your arms around his broad torso in return. You turn your head, pressing your cheek to his chest. You catch sight of the bracelet on the dresser, and sigh again. 

 “I am trying to get along with him,” you say petulantly, and Ransom fixes you with a deadpan stare as he leans away. “Fine. I can… I can try harder. For you,” you add the last part pointedly. “I know you guys are close, and I don’t… Ugh. I don’t want to get in the way of that. I just… I didn’t like how he was talking to Nat,” you admit, and Ransom laughs. You do too, even as you slap playfully at his arm in Nathalie’s defense. 

 “Spoiled rotten, both of them,” Ransom cedes that to you, at least—even if he has to incriminate Nathalie in the process. Which you don’t really mind—it’s not like it isn’t true. “Let’s give him this one day, okay? We’ll all go to the beach after he’s done work.”

 “Fine.” You say, shaking your head as you move toward your suitcase. The resort staff had offered to unpack it for you, but you were less than keen at having a stranger go through your things, so you rummage around until you’ve found one of Ransom’s old university t-shirts. 

“I don’t even know what work he could be doing here, like five-thousand miles away from his job,” you mutter as you climb into bed. With only a touch of shame, you watch your husband get undressed, leaving a trail of clothes behind him as he goes to shower too. 

 “Did you take your vitamins, Sweetheart?” Ransom calls from the bathroom, and you curse. You aren’t used to your new regimen of prenatal vitamins and supplements, and you grimace, remembering the size of them.

 “No, but I’ll take them tomorrow,” you call, and Ransom pokes his head out of the bathroom, a stern look on his face. “Fine, now,” you climb back out of bed and grab your toiletry bag. You’d been surprised when Ransom had insisted on you seeing the family doctor after your own, and doubly so when he had prescribed you a veritable laundry list of pills. Even now as you line up the bottles on the dresser, you feel intimidated by their sheer number. Vitamins for you, vitamins for the baby, supplements for you, supplements for the baby, something for your blood pressure, for the morning sickness—too many to count. 

 Ransom gives you a satisfied nod before ducking back into the bathroom. You want to stay awake until he comes out—you’re not finished with this Lloyd conversation, not by a long shot—but your eyelids begin to droop before the water even shuts off. Your awareness is patchy, brief moments of clarity as it becomes harder and harder for you to surface from underneath the pitch black weight of unconsciousness. 

 You’re alone, and then Ransom is in the bed with you, and then he isn’t, and then his voice, and then—

 Nothing. 

 —

 You greet your first morning in the villa groggily. The morning sun streaming in through the gap in the blinds paints a blinding stripe across your face as you squint. There’s a chalk-dust taste on your tongue when you sit up, and you grimace, swallowing dryly. Each of your limbs feels like it weighs easily twice as much as normal as you drag yourself to the bathroom, nausea twisting your stomach into an acid mess. After your—now routine—session of heaving up absolutely nothing, you rinse your mouth out in the sink. 

 The digital clock on the dresser tells you its half past ten, easily an hour or two after you usually wake up in the morning. The villa is quiet, though, no signs of Ransom—or Lloyd. You chalk it up to luck as you pad down the short set of steps into the empty kitchen. You can hear the ocean if you listen hard, just underneath the sound of the comforting breeze passing through the trees before it flows in through the wide open windows. You open the fridge, and find evidence of breakfast—sliced fruit, cold pancakes. 

 Ignoring the pancakes, you grab the plate of fruit, pulling off the saran-wrap covering it before popping a date into your mouth. 

 “Oh, you’re up. How’s your stomach this morning?”  You glance briefly around the open door of the fridge at your husband, before closing it. 

 “Ugh. I puked again this morning,” you say, swallowing at the memory of the acid bile on your tongue. “Not looking forward to nine months of this.” You pop another piece of mango into your mouth. 

 “Well, you know they say there are good remedies for morning sickness.” There’s a suggestiveness in his voice that makes you laugh, a bashful heat rising in your cheeks. You shake your head, plucking an orange slice from the plate before looking fully up at—

 Your chest tightens—this isn’t Ransom at all. 

 It’s Lloyd. 

 How he’d managed to sound exactly like Ransom you aren’t sure—their voices are similar, but certainly not identical. You hadn’t even realized at a glance, his telltale mustache missing, as were the thick signet rings on his fingers. The smile on his face remains disgustingly innocent, as if he doesn’t know what he’s done.

 “Something wrong?” He asks, parroting Ransom’s drawl with terrifying accuracy. 

 You swallow, suddenly uncomfortably aware of the fact that the hem of Ransom’s t-shirt skirts the tops of your thighs. And more than that, you are aware of the fact that you are alone.

 “I th—” The words stick in your throat. “I thought. Um. You were Ransom.” Your voice is tight, like your white knuckled grip on the fruit plate. Lloyd’s eyebrows rise, and he clucks his tongue, a apologetic little pout forming on his lips. 

 “I’m sorry, Princess.” You know he isn’t sorry, he isn’t sorry at all. “Even the best get us mixed up from time to time.” He breezes by you, making a show of looking in the fridge. He’s so close to you that you can feel the heat of him, smell his cologne. Your body is tense and frozen as he rummages through the fridge behind you, too close for you to move without touching him. 

 He’s doing this on purpose.

 You know the thought is unreasonable, but you can’t help thinking it anyway. Lloyd hadn’t claimed to be Ransom, not really. It was you who had made the assumption, and to be fair, you hadn’t even voiced it. He just didn’t correct me. As per usual, Lloyd’s proverbial cup fucking runneth over with plausible deniability, and you’re stuck debating whether what you’re feeling is even real at all. 

 After what feels like an eternity, Lloyd closes the fridge. The few extra inches of space the shut door allows you to slip around to the other side of the kitchen island, keeping your eyes on him the whole time. Lloyd leans forward to pluck handful of grapes off of the tray. 

 “No need to be so anxious, Princess. It was an honest mistake.” His smile is too amused for the situation, and it unnerves you. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” 

 “There’s nothing to tell.” You say, wishing your words had come out in the slow and measured way you’d meant for them to. Instead, they’re rushed, hard. 

 Defensive. 

 “Exactly.” Lloyd pops the last of the grapes into his mouth, and claps his hands together in a manner you know is meant to be agreeable. Try to get along, says the needful Ransom in the back of your mind. For me. 

 “I’m going to, um. Go and get dressed.” You gesture loosely at yourself. “If you could send Ransom my way, I’d appreciate it.” 

 “My pleasure.” He purrs. You retreat back to your room, careful not to rush. You feel Lloyd’s eyes on you the whole way, and it isn’t until you’re in the bedroom with the door shut and your weight leaned heavily against it that the feeling dissipates. You’re tying the bandeau on the back of your swimsuit top when Ransom comes in, and for a moment you forget the nagging feeling as he sweeps you into his arms, nuzzling the side of your neck affectionately. 

 “Sweetheart, I’m glad you’re up.” He smooths greedy hands over your hips before tapping your ass sharply through your linen shorts. “Almost makes me want to take you back to bed.” 

 You giggle, slapping at his wandering hands. 

 “I was promised a beach outing,” you reply, reaching around him for the matching blouse. “You can take me to bed after.” 

 “I’ll remember that,” Ransom replies, pulling his own trunks out of his suitcase. He’s already starting to tan, freckles appearing over the bridge of his nose and the tops of his cheeks. You can’t help but inspect him closely, especially after… you shake your head, adjusting your top in the mirror. 

 “You’re staring, baby. Do I have something in my teeth?” He asks, cocking his head at you. 

 “No, no,” you say quickly, shaking your head. There’s nothing to tell. “It’s nothing.” 

 —

 “Baby girl!” Your father sweeps you up into a crushing hug, your mother fluttering around from your left to your right like an excited hummingbird. “You don’t know how happy we are to see you.” He plants an embarrassingly loud kiss on your cheek, and then moves out of the way to allow your mother her turn. Nathalie sucks her teeth from beside you. 

 “Where’s my warm welcome?” She complains jokingly, crossing her arms. “Am I chopped liver or something over here?” Your mother clucks her tongue at your sister over your shoulder. 

 “We see you every Sunday for dinner Nathalie,” she says, and over her shoulder you see your father roll his eyes. 

 “Yeah, and every time you need money.” He gripes, but moves to hug her anyway. 

 “Now that is a grossly unfair assessment of my character,” Nathalie sniffs, ignoring your father’s outstretched arms in favor of giving him a cold handshake. He laughs, and you wonder if the booming sound of it travels all the way back to the gate from here. Your father has always been a cheerful man, and you see that the long trip hasn’t dulled that disposition. The only thing that seems to be putting a damper on his mood is—

 “Sir. I trust your trip was comfortable,” Ransom says, leaning forward to shake your father’s hand. He regards your husband with a cool, muted smile before returning the gesture. You aren’t sure why your father—and your brother, who has disappeared from the back of the shuttle with your sister-in-law—have taken such a dislike to him. It had been tough work convincing him that Ransom wasn’t just some rich weirdo looking for a good time, and to be quite honest, you aren’t sure if he’s entirely convinced, even now. 

 “It was.” 

 You could cut the fucking tension with a knife, you think, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose. 

 “So, um. Are you guys hungry? And where’s Don? He and Kathy have been looking for a bathroom for like, ever,” you mutter, unable to resist trying to diffuse the tension with chatter. If your father was cool on Ransom, you knew he actively disliked Lloyd. 

 Getting piss-drunk at my wedding didn’t fucking help, you think grimly, looking between your dissatisfied father and your husband. You know Ransom—he isn’t going to bow and scrape for your father’s approval. And, you’d had this argument before. 

 “We’re going to need help unloading all the bags.” Your mother answers, and you look at her confusedly. 

 “All the bags? Guys this is like, a four day trip.” A disbelieving little laugh escapes you before you can swallow it. “How much did you pack?” Your inquisition is interrupted by the sight of your brother, Nathalie worming her way in between you to point him out. He and his wife are pushing one of the resort’s little dollies, no doubt with the intent of loading it up with suitcases. You peek around the back of the van, and your mouth drops at the veritable mountain of suitcases.  

 “Squirt,” your brother greets you, and you scowl at the nickname. 

 “You have got to stop calling me that. We’re all grown up now, Don,” you say, and he laughs. 

 “When you’re taller than me, we’ll talk about it.” 

 Everyone seems overjoyed to see you, and you wonder guiltily if you really have been away so long. Nat is prone to complaining about the distance between you, but you generally chalked that up to her clinginess. And sure, your mother usually found a way to lament seeing you now on holidays and special occasions, but…

 “I bet you’re all exhausted,” Lloyd replies, interrupting the chain of your thoughts. “Why don’t we get you guys unpacked—we’ve got reservations in town at nine.” You turn to look at him in confusion. No one had told you about dinner reservations. And by the easy smile on Ransom’s face, he certainly isn’t surprised by the news, and neither is Nathalie. 

 You seem to be the only person out of the loop. 

 Ransom squeezes your hand, drawing shapes on the back of it with his thumb as you all make your way into the main villa for coffee and presumably awkward chit-chat. About as soon as you walk inside and kick off your flip-flops, Nathalie drags your mother and Kathy off to take in the amazing view, leaving you alone with the men. They seem about as eager to talk to each other as you are to play mediator, and you leave them in awkward silence to get ready for dinner. 

 When Ransom edges into the bedroom, you’re already dressed, sweeping your hair up into a messy, loose bun. He hums with approval as he approaches you, smoothing his hands appreciatively over your bare shoulders. His lips follow, and you can’t help but giggle. Your eyes meet his in the mirror, and Ransom’s playful smile turns smarmy as you watch his gaze travel down to your breasts, pushed up by the bra you’re wearing. 

 “You look good enough to eat.” 

 “You like it?” You ask, turning to face him, and he chuckles. 

 “If we hadn’t already made dinner plans…” He trails off, cupping your cheek with one palm. Ransom’s fingers trace down the side of your throat, catching at the delicate silver chain nestled there. The pendant rests just above your breasts, a tear-drop shaped sapphire winking in the light from the vanity. It was Ransom’s first birthday gift to you, the first one of many extravagant displays of affection.

 “You should wear your bracelet,” he says, nodding at Lloyd’s gift. You haven’t put it on since he’d given it to you, and you wonder if Ransom’s suggestion is because he’s noticed. “It would match with your necklace.” He picks it up, and begins fastening it around your wrist without your input. You eye yourself skeptically in the mirror when he’s finished, holding up your arm so that you can see the jewelry together. It does match—absurdly well. Even down to the little leaf designs on the prongs holding the stones in place. 

 Weird.

 It does look nice with the flowy, silky taffeta dress you’re wearing to dinner. 

 “I still can’t believe how much this cost,” you mutter. The stones sparkle in the light as you turn your hand. 

 “Oh?” Ransom asks, glancing at you in the mirror as he buttons up his shirt. “How much?” You cock your head at him. 

 “What?” 

 “How much?” He repeats the question casually, like he doesn’t understand why you’re looking at him like he’s grown another head. “What,” he asks with a little laugh. “Lloyd tell you not to tell me, or something?” 

 “Fif—It was fifteen-thousand dollars, Ran.” You know you’re staring, but you can’t help it. “You told me.” Like something clicks in his brain, Ransom makes an oh face, and then smacks a hand against his forehead. 

 “Ugh. Jet-lag,” he says, shaking his head. “I forgot.” He smiles at you warmly in the mirror as he finishes buttoning up his cuffs. You want to chalk it up to his rich upbringing, after all, fifteen-thousand dollars is a paltry sum to someone with Thrombey money. Easy to forget. 

 Isn’t it? 

 You and Ransom greet your parents in the living area, and both they and your brother and sister-in-law look much refreshed. Lloyd is there too, Ransom’s spitting image in perfectly reversed colors. You know you shouldn’t feel… a way about him looking at you, about his eyes traveling slowly down the bodice of your dress to where your hands are clasped in front of your belly. His brows rise a fraction at the sight of the bracelet, and the corners of his mouth turn up in a little grin. You’d describe it as almost triumphant—but it’s gone just as quickly as it had come, and you’re left wondering if you’d even seen it at all. 

 “Are we all here and ready?” Ransom asks, and the quiet murmur in the room ceases. You’re still not quite sure how he does that, how he commands all of the attention in a room with no effort at all. 

 “No, we’re missing Nathalie—where is that girl? I’m starving,” your mother replies, beginning to dig into her purse for her phone. As she pulls it out, Nathalie rushes through the sliding door to the patio, still tugging on her shoes. 

 “Sorry, sorry, I was on the phone with Jaiden,” she mutters in apology, rolling her eyes. “He is so clingy.” She smooths her hands over her dress, and then claps them together. “But I am ready to go! Starving.” Your family begins moving outside toward the cars, and Nathalie slides her arm through yours. 

 “If he’s so clingy, why didn’t he come with?” You ask suspiciously, and she rolls her eyes a second time. 

 “He… would have. I just, I don’t think, um. Meeting the family is the best idea. We’re not, you know. Serious.” You poke her with one outstretched finger as you walk, and she swats at your hand in protest. 

 “Does he know that?”

 She snorts. 

 “He should. We don’t do anything but f—study.” She looks quickly in your father’s direction. He’s busy getting into Ransom’s rental, but you know that doesn’t mean he isn’t listening carefully. 

 The ride to the restaurant is a quiet one. You can’t quiet your thoughts no matter how much you try, and it’s noticeable—your mother tries to fill the gap in the conversation left by your absence, trying in vain to get your father to acknowledge Ransom’s conversation hooks with more than terse one-liners.

Fifteen-thousand dollars. You don’t know why you’re still thinking about it but you are, turning the thought over in your head as if it were a pebble in your shoe. 

 Fifteen-thousand dollars. You would think it was a sum you wouldn’t soon forget—but Ransom had. It wasn’t just that he had forgotten—when you’d been on the plane, he’d delivered the dollar amount with offhanded familiarity, it just didn’t… it didn’t make sense. Does it have to? 

 It feels like you’ve only just gotten into the car when you’re piling back out of it again. The restaurant is like something out of a movie, set into the cliffside as the sound of crashing waves echoes up from the rocks below. You lean over the railing, marveling at the sight of the moon’s face reflected in the dark, shifting waters. 

 “Oh you look so pretty,” Nathalie gushes, reaching for her phone. “Let me take a picture—Ransom get in here, God,” she gestures at your husband. “This is a Kodak moment.” The smell of him is comforting and familiar as he presses close, tucking you into his body as he tilts your head up for a kiss. “Aww, that’s cute. Stay just like that!” He brushes his lips against yours, a soft laugh puffing across your cheeks. 

 “Bossy, isn’t she?” He asks, and you laugh too. 

 “I think we’ve had this conversation.”

 Ransom wouldn’t lie to me. You’re still thinking about it—fifteen-fucking-thousand dollars—how could you not be? But you want to believe him. After all, what would he have to gain by lying? You lean forward and kiss him fully, and you feel his fingers sink appreciatively into the curves of your hips through the layers of your dress. He wouldn’t. 

 “Alright, alright lovebirds, I’ve got enough pictures,” Nathalie says. Ransom kisses you one more time—out of spite, you’re sure—before he grabs your hand, and you make your way into the restaurant with your family. 

 “I had the terrace reserved,” Lloyd says, a haughty sort of pride evident in the words. No one else seems to notice or mind, though. Your mother gasps appropriately at the sight of the candlelit table, and as she and Nathalie titter about how beautiful it is, you swear you see Lloyd’s head inflate two sizes. 

 “It’s just lovely,” your mother gushes, trailing her fingers along the silky tablecloth. The plates are all ceramic pieces, and you can tell they’re handmade, probably by a local artist. There are seashells set along the table too, in between the place settings and around the glasses. 

 “It is lovely,” you say, admitting it begrudgingly as Lloyd basks in your praise. “Thank you, Lloyd.” 

 “Anything for you, Princess.” He purrs. “We’re all family now.” His grin makes something cold settle at the base of your spine, and you watch as he turns to the host. “A bottle of Prosecco for the table, please.” He leans in close, and whispers loudly, “And a bottle of sparkling cider, please.” You wince. Your parents are also still blissfully unaware of your condition, and you certainly don’t want LLoyd tipping them off. You glare at him, but either he doesn’t notice, or he doesn’t care as he gestures at the the table. 

 “Please, sit, everyone.” Lloyd holds court like Ransom does, and you hate to admit that you find him equally enthralling. He’s just as good at telling stories, at commanding rapt attention, just like your husband. Ransom pulls out a chair for you, and you feel your face heat. He still makes you feel like a giddy newlywed, even though you’re staring down the barrel of two years in just a couple of months. You sit, and Ransom takes up residence at your right. Much to your chagrin, Lloyd sandwiches you in on the other side. 

 You stop yourself from shooting him a sharp look—there aren’t any assigned seats at this table, and unfortunately for you, it seems like no one else is privy to your discomfort, all seating themselves without issue. You try to ignore him, propping open the menu. There are little English translations underneath the Greek, and you squint, trying to see them in the low light. 

 “Would you like some help, Princess?” Lloyd asks, and you hate that his voice manages to be silky smooth even through the thickness of his Boston accent. A glance at Ransom tells you he’s trying to engage your brother, and surprisingly doing a fair job of it without your help. Lloyd’s thigh brushes up against your own as he scoots closer, his arm going around the back of your chair while he leans in close. 

 He smells like Ransom.

 The thought is unsettling. They’re probably wearing the same cologne or something, but either way, you don’t like not having an additional physical tell. 

 “All of the seafood is down here —no fish for you, though, right, Princess?” He hums amusedly. “Red meat here, chicken here, pasta, and salads.” 

 “Thank you.” You smile curtly at him retreating a few inches to the other side of your seat. To your dismay, he follows. His fingers brush your bare shoulder as he presses in tighter. You know that to anyone looking, it seems like he’s helping you. You aren’t sure why you feel differently, like there’s a different sort of intent simmering underneath his innocent touches. 

 “Oh, any time.” He lingers for another second or two before settling himself firmly back into his seat. You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

 Fifteen-thousand dollars. You purse your lips, pushing the thought back out of your head with effort. Ransom’s hand covers yours, and you turn to him gratefully. The conversation around the table falls to a low hum as the waiter approaches. When the orders are all taken, you see a look pass between Ransom and Lloyd, one you don’t understand. A thin tendril of jealousy curls in your gut, even though you don’t want it to. They’re brothers, twins, of course you can’t be privy to every aspect of their relationship. 

 It doesn’t stop the sting, though. 

 Ransom stands, clearing his throat as he clasps his hands behind his back. 

 “I just wanted to thank you, Phil, Bonnie, Don, Kathy, Nathalie, for joining us. Family is… very important to me, to my brother and I,” he gestures at Lloyd. “And I know blending two very different families is difficult, at best.” He looks at your father when he says it, and to your surprise, he nods. Ransom produces a black velvet box from his pocket. You feel your breath catch in your chest as he turns to you. 

 “When we first started dating, I remember you told me you were looking for something solid. Something forever, and I quote ‘like my parents have.’” Your eye darts quickly over to your parents to gauge their reaction. Your mother’s lips curve up into a soft smile, and even your father looks rather touched. “You told me about how hard things were, when you were younger, the way your parents sacrificed everything to make sure that you could stand here, with me, now, and I thought to myself ‘those people gave me the greatest gift, and they don’t even know it’.” He laughs, shaking his head a little. 

 Ransom pushes his chair out of the way, and walks around to the other side of the table where your mother is sitting. 

 “This is for you. It isn’t anything compared to what you’ve given me,” Ransom looks lovingly at you and warm pride fills you at the sight. “But it was the best I could do.” He places the little jewelry box in front of her. “Please, open it.” 

 “You really didn’t have—” Your mother goes silent, covering her mouth with one hand as she looks at your father. “Phillip, I…” 

 “How did you get this?” Your father’s voice is tight with emotion as your mother reaches with trembling fingers into the box. Threaded between her fingers is a delicate silver chain, with a heavy looking pendant—a locket, hanging from it. You recognize it, but only because you’ve seen it about a dozen times in all of the family albums. 

“We-we sold this.” He lets a disbelieving little laugh as your mother holds it up. ���We had to. Two babies, and another on the way—we couldn’t let them cut off the power, or the heat, so…”

 “It was my grandmothers,” your mother’s voice is thickly laced with tears as she places it carefully back into the box. 

 “Well, when she told me that, I thought maybe I could track it down. I had to enlist my brother’s help, of course,” he says, nodding in Lloyd’s direction. “Couldn’t have done it alone.” 

 Lloyd nods graciously in a way that tells you he’s pleased. “Amazing the things you find when you’ve got high enough clearance.” 

 He winks. Your mother is openly crying now, dabbing at her eyes with her napkin so as not to muss her makeup too much. To your astonishment, your father’s eyes are wet too. And though he doesn’t shed any tears, you don’t mistake it for anything less than complete astonishment and gratefulness. He stands up and sniffs, his mustache wiggling above his lip as he walks over to your husband and hugs him, clapping him loudly on the back. 

 “Welcome to the family.” He pats Ransom again between the shoulders with a clap. “Son.” 

 Fifteen-thousand dollars. 

 Your father nods at Lloyd before sitting back down, and your mother carefully tucks the jewelry box into her purse. 

 “Government clearance, huh?” Don says, nodding respectfully at Lloyd. “What’s that like?” 

 Ransom sits back down beside you, and you turn to him, squeezing his hand as he settles back in. Servers come out with drinks, and suddenly the table seems more lively than it was ten minutes ago, the terrace brighter and more welcoming against the starry night and dark sea. You feel somehow disconnected from it all, though, as though a glass pane stands between you and everyone else as the thought rings again in your unwilling head—fifteen-thousand dollars. 

 “I can’t believe you found that for my mom,” you say quietly, and Ransom smiles at you, shrugging. “That was like, ten Christmases worth of gifts all in one.” 

 “Do you think that means I can skip ten Christmases?” He asks, and you laugh, shoving at his arm. 

 “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

 “I didn’t know if we were going to be able to get it. Plus I didn’t want Nathalie getting it out of you.” You know you should feel happy, this is a big stride, and a happy night. You want to be happy. And most of all, you want to believe. You want to more than anything. Because you already know where you’ll end up if you don’t. 

 You know where the thin, winding thread of that distrust leads, and you don’t even want to think it. It’s such a silly chain of if, then’s that you don’t want to follow it all the way through to the end, not when you can be happy. 

 Because if Ransom is lying, then it wasn’t him on the plane at all—

 It was Lloyd. 

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[vajazzly]

ok i have been thinking a lot about how sirius ended up with grimmauld place, and im going to rant about it under the cut

so, the most likely (imo) (with jkr kind of in mind) theory is that yes, sirius was disowned officially, but he still has the last name black. since all his cousins are married into other families, when regulus died the house went to sirius automatically as the "last black" despite his being disowned, since there were no others with the last name living. sirius being the og heir probably strengthened that.

the second theory, which is also quite possible, is that the inheritance was going to go to either bellatrix (eldest) or narcissa (eldest with an heir), but sirius (probably with help from dumbledore/moody/possibly bill) managed to override it sometime during GOF. if that's the case, though, it seems odd that the house was seemingly abandoned before the order/sirius moves in.

my favorite theory though is that sirius was never disinherited at all. maybe he was bumped down behind regulus, maybe not, but he wasn't taken out of the will entirely at any rate. and okay, here we're getting into like - conjecture and headcanon territory, so yknow, fair warning.

we know that sirius was a lot of things that a pureblood family would value in an heir - charismatic, confident, talented in magic, intelligent. regulus on the other hand - well, we dont know much about him in terms of his talent for magic, though it can be assumed he was reasonably intelligent since he figured out the horcrux thing, but we do know he was a lot more predisposed to following rather than leading. where sirius was confident in his own beliefs, ready to make his own path, forward-thinking, etc., regulus was happy to idealize and follow voldemort.

obviously, this is why sirius split from his family - their beliefs did not align. but despite that, siriuss personality lends itself a lot better to being the head of a great house. reguluss loyalty to voldemort could have been a good thing for the black house, sure, but if voldemort failed it would be ruinous, and throwing all of one's weight behind one leader, one plan, the way regulus seemed to be doing isn't really the mark of a great leader.

this is 100% conjecture, but id argue that the blacks were in decline, both in money and power. despite an enormous amount of pride in their house and generally giving off an old money vibe, the black vault is never referenced as particularly grand, and they only have one house, and a townhouse in a muggle area at that - grand, but nowhere near somewhere like malfoy manor or the other country mansions pureblood families of status seem to favor.

it makes a lot more sense for orion, from an objective point of view, to leave everything to sirius. regulus was unlikely to make their house into anything great, more interested in worshipping someone else, but sirius had real potential, and if the blacks fortune and power was dwindling, it makes more sense to put the future in the hands of someone more adaptable, who might be able to turn things around instead of being stuck on one path. blindly following someone else doesnt really lend itself to greatness, or potential.

here i think its also notable that siriuss parents were never death eaters. they agreed with voldemort, sure, but they never threw their weight behind him. that, i think, is the old money pride talking - they thought of blacks as being akin to royalty, and royalty does not let someone else take the reigns, tell them what to do, etc. even if voldemort had succeeded, leaving the inheritance to regulus would make their family successful only as long as they remained attached to voldemort, comfortably under his thumb. leaving everything to sirius would be a risk, but the potential payoff would leave the blacks at least with their pride intact, independent. which, yknow, maybe a bit insane, but again - old money pride.

i also think that in general sirius being a golden child who went astray when he went to hogwarts is a lot more interesting (and plausible) than him being the family scapegoat from the jump. hes the heir! and again, hes all the things a family like the blacks would look for in an heir! i dont think their family was ever particularly, like, healthy, but the narrative that sirius was abused and hated from a young age doesnt make all that much sense to me. and in ootp we see glimpses of sirius having a complicated relationship with his family, especially his mother, which hints more at a bond gone sour than outright hatred.

all this to say that sirius was a much better heir than regulus, politics aside, and i think orion and walburga may have seen that, or at least been unwilling to let their wayward perfect heir go completely, and left him on the will in some capacity.

[collectivecloseness]

11 with whatever stranger things character works best ig. 11 nearly *just* makes it but is always left out, ones that don’t quite make it onto some lists are always interesting, like 6 or 51, or the last 100 or something lol

Babes... the fact 11 is literally Nobody by Mitski... the lonely left out one 😭 Anyway this is poor Stevie fr 😭😭

(Cw: this fic is about Steve’s mental health after dealing with all the upside down trauma the past few years)

Steve Harrington x reader

Steve doesn’t sigh, he doesn’t groan, he just doesn’t make a sound when he finally wakes up. He’d fallen back asleep a couple of times after opening his eyes, just hoping to shorten the day and stay somewhere peaceful a moment longer, but his body couldn’t take anymore sleep. He was awake now.

There was no work today. No alarm to make sure he could be autonomous and run on autopilot to brush his teeth and rush to the car in yesterday’s work clothes, and no radio call from one of the kids in danger giving him the boost of adrenaline to get up either.

But tapping his fingers on his plain grey quilt, Steve couldn’t handle the realisation he’d be alone with his thoughts right now if he didn’t get up.

Pushing himself with a sigh, Steve winces as his feet hit the cold fooorboards, slumping over to put some black socks on first, before he finds a shirt to throw over his head. He looks down to his sweatpants, but suddenly the thought of changing out of them, and into something else made Steve’s head ache and feel faint at the same time. So he didn’t care about wearing what he’d worn to bed downstairs as he dragged himself to the living room.

Steve was used to being alone in this house. His parents basically treated the place he grew up in as a holiday home, rather than a home, being there around a weekend every six weeks, if they were ever that scheduled. He never knew when they were coming back.

Steve basically owned the house now, as the sole person who actually lived there. He’d turn his parents room into a spare room, maybe have Robin as a roommate, he knew she wanted to move out away from her parents, but even mentioning it to his mom, his dad overheard him over the phone and he had yells and disappointed chidings of how selfish and inconsiderate he was assaulted down the speaker. ‘They still lived there!’ They said, although they hardly ever turned up to prove their point.

At least people visited, even if Steve couldn’t truly make the house his home yet, no decorating of his own. But being alone here, it at least made his house the designated hang out zone. It gave him good memories here. You visited a lot, and Steve was so grateful to have you as a partner. He wondered what you were up to today...

There was nothing for Steve to do here. Definitely not alone. And he definitely couldn’t risk messing something up, and his parents deciding to drop in from the other side of the country. But standing at the base of the stairs, looking around at his open, and empty home, something vile and sickening clawed at his chest, trying to scrape up his throat, split open his head from the inside. Steve went straight to the television, his chest in pain enough it made Steve flinch, turning the tv onto some random channel, any, just turning it up. A sitcom being on air, and the noise of a family all chatting together made Steve feel less alone.

Steve nearly sprinted to all the windows in the house, opening them up so he could hear noise from the outside, the things happening in the real world. He opened up the curtainless window of his kitchen, and he stood there a moment, the one further away from the tv, as he let the world go by. The wind stroked comfortingly through Steve’s brown hair, from the open panel at the top of the glass, where he was. Steve closed his eyes, letting the touch encouragingly pass. But soon there was another reason he wanted his eyes closed, because it was beginning to get harder to look outside.

He listened to cars honking hello to each other, teenagers chatting to their friends on the way to school, parents repeating road safety with their eager kids. Pushchair wheels rolling and dogs yipping and leaf blowers working. Everyone talking. In their own conversations, taking part in lives separate to the others they pass by without even noticing them, but everyone out there at least has something in common. Something Steve envied and yearned, but just could not find it in himself to seek at this moment.

The wind was cooler now. Biting him. Not meant for him. Everyone had someone else around, shielding each other from nature’s course, holding onto each other to avoid puddles, stepping away from the leaves blowing near them, or in one case, jumping on them themselves.

Steve retreated to his television. He didn’t know this family in the show, he wasn’t even watching, his eyes on the tv, but unfocused and mind not taking any of the images in. He just wanted them to keep talking.

As soon as he’d sat down, Steve realised he probably should have grabbed something from the kitchen to eat. And now he was thinking about it, his stomach churned in hunger. He knew he was hungry, even if it was the type of hunger that made you feel nauseous. But Steve had already sat down. And standing up again, just to get himself some food, just could not be prioritised enough for Steve to motivate himself to get his legs to move.

All Steve wants is somebody. Somebody near him right now. Somebody to be with him. He was a changed man after his first encounter with the upside down those few years ago. Battling creatures with his baseball bat, his ex and her new guy, and learning all about the horrible world underneath this one. Becoming the protector of others and the perpetual and never ending punching bag at the same time.

He looped it all in with the upside down, all these events, the Russians torturing him, what happened with Nancy, the possible state of his future, his relationship with his parents, almost losing the people he loves even though he always puts himself on the line first he just!!- What else can he do?!! And why isn’t him throwing himself into every danger to protect the people who actually deserve to be protected ever enough?!

Why do people still get hurt, when Steve will always let himself get hurt for them!?

Steve puts his head into his hands, his elbows digging into his thighs but he just pushes them in harder, his bitten nails barely doing damage as he scrapes them into his head whilst he’s burying his eyes. “Shut up shut up shut up.” Steve growls softly to himself, knowing he wasn’t helping anything.

He was a coward.

He acted strong, in front of the others. Proud to always be ‘the’ badass around the kids, especially Dustin. And he always headed straight on for danger if that would mean it helped the others. But he was so changed when it was just him now. He wasn’t the same person before; and he was glad, he’d been an asshole - something Steve winces into his hand at, as he remembers - but he’s not like he used to be.

He used to be able to get through his nightmares about his childhood. He used to come home and just chill. Enjoy the house to himself, and throw parties. He never felt like this until he went through all that trauma, as you’d promised him it was. He never felt so troubled, so down, so exhausted, so scared, so lonely. So just everything all at once.

He knows it’s not up to anybody to save him, he knows that no one can. Or at least, he thinks that, sometimes. Even though Steve sometimes feels like screaming, begging you to save him, even at the moments he’s least in danger, just in his own home. Even with you right there holding him. Not actually risking his life like he’s done so many times, like he’s made you cry over, watching him be so selfless, and brave, and hurt, again and again. Needing you to help save him, after it all too. But part of him feels like a coward for wanting it. The other half remembers all your loving words, all of them, not one is ever forgotten by Steve, and he’s able to regain control over those thoughts again most times he slaves over this.

Before you, there would have been no one to save Steve first, no one he was most important to, during all these life threatening events. Steve almost allowed himself to be okay with the thought no one would save him, even as he was first to throw himself in head first if it meant protecting his friends. Everyone had someone else. Someone they’d check up on first. Steve was glad he had you. Even when you promised him he wasn’t just your first choice to save, that others would pick him too. Even that helped Steve. Not just you being there, but you, you being the one to be his partner, you who just always knows how to help him.

All he wanted was to feel alright. Not great, just alright. Something he always used to take for granted. Something he can start to feel again, whenever he’s with you, or surrounded by his loved ones. ...Steve’s lips twisted up, his head tilting slightly as it came out of his hands. Why was that something so hard, for him to be able to feel alright? Why was his life like that?

But you at least told him he wasn’t a coward. You got through it with him, you let him be changed even when he wasn’t alone, you-

Steve’s head shot up as he heard the key in the door. And his heart froze like a cool zap in his chest, as he prayed inside his head to let it be you. That you somehow knew he needed you today. That you were coming for him, like you always did.

And Steve felt relief pour through his body so hard, his frozen fingers and toes flooded with such warmth, allowing him to actually feel able to move his muscles, as he reached his arms out for you from where he was sat on the couch, as you made eye contact with him from where you’d hung your coat, your own eyes filled immediately with your knowledge.

“Oh... Oh baby.”

You spoke so softly. Steve loved your voice. He kept his arms open as you rushed over, sitting by him on the couch and immediately pulling Steve into your arms with a big breath. Steve melting his face into your collarbone, as he let himself listen to your breath, your heartbeat, the creak of your trousers against his couch, and he felt whole not being alone at all anymore.

Steve is happy to listen for moments longer, his brown messy hair nestling into the crook of your neck, as he smooths his cheek over your warm skin. He can smell the body wash he uses when he showers at yours. His hands crawl up to hold you by the side of your chest softly. Steve happy to start to listen to the beat of your heart, and see if his will follow rhythm, like it does when he pays attention to it.

But you start speaking again. At least, filling his home with your voice. “Stevie darling. I’m here. You’re okay Steve.” You kiss his soft hair, stroking his head, and Steve leans into your touch. “You’re okay. I’m staying with you today.” You promise, knowing he likes when you do so, and when you plan it for the rest of his day.

Steve nods, letting you know he heard you, and he’s thankful, but a big sigh leaves his lungs, tickling hot against your collar, as he thinks, at least now while in a safety bubble of your warm hold, having wrapped your arms and legs, all of you safely around him.

Whether he’s been big or small, tough or soft, he’s still never good enough, still nobody wanted him. He was a douchey smartass, then a loser dumbass, and he wasn’t liked as either of those - never wanted, Steve thinks. Until you.

His thoughts still wandering around those paths, as he starts to let you take over for him this morning. He’s got to remind himself those thoughts he has just aren’t true, during spirals like this. You do want him. You, his best friend, his other friends, the kids, Joyce, Hopper, hell even his parents.

He is wanted.

Steve’s just got to remember it even in his lonely times. It doesn’t matter whether he’s brave and macho, or a dorky himbo, he’s still him, and he’s still loved by somebody. By multiple somebodies. And turning his head, peering his soft brown eyes up into your own, Steve constantly knows you really love him.

Steve leans his hand up, not even thinking about how his body no longer feels tired or achy anymore, just brushing your hair away behind your ears so he can see more of your perfect face, and also touch your soft hair.

“Good morning.” He speaks up, smiling crookedly and smally at you, but Steve feels relieved and wondrous, hearing his own voice in his big house.

“Good morning Steve.” You smile down at him. And God are Steve’s eyes sparkly as they look mesmerised at you. You moving to stroke Steve’s puffy brown hair, as his longer fingers still caress over your own. You smile, and Steve smiles back. No ache in his heart, his thoughts just full of all he can do with you today now his house is not so empty, or you can even leave the house together, if he chooses that he wants to. And that small other aware part of his thoughts, so happy and thankful that in this moment, that you are here with him.

Even though Steve can tell you know he was sad. That he was going through it a bit again. He’s obviously much better now he’s practically laying across your lap, his toned body fitting perfectly in your arms, and his head tucked warmly at the bottom of your chest, looking up at how you peer down at him, holding him, cradling your boyfriend safely, and Steve brings his hands to rest on your forearms, smiling as he swallows in his throat, relaxing in a position Steve loves.

Steve’s not asking you to fix him, he knows it’s not as simple as that, and he knows you don’t need any pressure. You two are working on it all, together. Both your issues, both your needs, and importantly, your wants. Steve so happy to be able to share his wants with you just as much as his needs, and have you take care of each other’s, of each other. Steve’s not asking for you to fix him, instead he’s licking his dry lips, and with a small and endearing smile, asks “Can I have my kiss now?”

His adoring smile only growing as you gleefully and slowly move in, pressing your warm lips against his own. Giving Steve the one thing he needed to start feeling properly alright again. Allowing Steve to hold your face close, as you both chuckle softly into each other’s mouths, the small sound so audible to Steve with how close you both are. As you happily, and so open heartedly, honestly, lovingly, both share a sweet kiss, for the start of his better day.

[artymcartist]

ALRIGHT because someone did want em My post s2 drabbles for the group au we're doin

I'll paste most of em here, but here's an AO3 link to the rest of the stuff!!

LUKAS SCRIVENS

- Takes up mentoring Radar in F!Jesse's absence

- He writes to her and Petra often about how things are going in town

- The new Ocelots don't disband, but with so many members, Lukas starts running it like a guild.

- He builds a little guild hall in town for people to submit requests to and for members to take them. Probably helps take a load off of Radar's shoulders as the current Hero in Resident

- Either stays with Radar or Jack and Nurm during long stays, his house out of town still stands. He's home less often. Eventually he'll possibly make a little apartment either on top of or behind the guild hall. Maybe.

- Helps in managing Beacon Town

- Surprisingly takes leading the Ocelots and helping with Beacon Town pretty well, despite his independent nature.

- The Ocelots guild gains some notoriety outside of town, and they begin getting long distance requests via traders dropping them off at the Guild Hall. Possible adventure?

---

- He's not sure how to feel about Jesse's brother at first. It's kind of weird having a near carbon copy of one of your best friends with the exact same name.

- Observes the little man for quite a while. He slowly becomes more comfortable with him. Its like Jesse and Lukas got reversed from S1

- Allows him to live in his house on one of his couches. Dewey doesn't like him for QUITE a while.

- Enjoys having another parental force for Radar. Single parenting the hyperactive young adult could be a nightmare on his own some days.

- Having Jesse around allows him to write a bit more often.

- Totally diaries about the man and his eventual acceptance of him into his life.... and eventual feelings. Because you know it's gonna happen eventually. LMAO

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

JESSE DOS MINECRAFT

- Was living out in a little village far from Beacon Town on the world's edge before his sister called him to town.

- He's never been in Beacon Town before, and is slightly overwhelmed by it at first. He quickly learns to settle in however.

- Bro is covered in scars, some you'd wonder how he even got.

- A little more blunt and reckless than his sister, but to be fair, he hasn't really seen anything she has other than the Wither Storm.

- Speaking of, he's spooked by dreams of the Wither Storm. He only ever saw the beast when it was split in three.

- After the Wither Storm was defeated a second time, he attempted to return home. It was entirely destroyed. Not a single thing was left. So he set off to find somewhere else.

- A small town, practically just the size of a village, to the far east is where he finally settles down. He helps out with basically everything in an attempt to earn his keep.

- He's initially skeptical about returning to the resting grounds of the beast, but immediately forgets upon arriving (mostly due to being entirely overwhelmed by the two towns now residing there LMAO)

- He IS amazing by how they were able to bring life back to the entirely barren wasteland the monster left in it's path. Proud of his sister's great job assisting in building the place back up.

---

- A little put off by Radar's immense energy at first, but comes to enjoy the lil fella.

- Lukas... man. He's got no words. Insanely curious about the blonde.

- Enjoys the stroll from Lukas' house to Beacon Town. He'd probably go insane living in the town itself. He occasionally stays with him and Radar when needed.

- Starts stealing Lukas' bed at night after they've gotten comfortable with each other. Though, admittedly, he got comfortable quicker knowing this man was a friend of his sister.

---

- Occasionally also writes to his sister

"DUDE you didn't tell me you knew a sick ass blonde, he's pretty cool. Not getting over the leather jacket anytime soon."

"Sad I didn't get to see Reuben again before he died. Lukas and Radar tell me he died a hero. The memorial you built for him is nice. P.S. gonna beat up whoever this 'Romeo' guy is for destroying it"

"They're telling me about this portal network you guys explored. Sounds pretty cool. Lukas doesn't like to talk about the robot thingy though. Does this 'Ivor' fella still have that atlas? I'd love to go exploring sometime."

"YOU DIDN'T TELL ME JACK LIVED HERE TOO. I'm so going to beat you up next time you visit."

- He's not nearly as big of a fan as Petra is, but word goes around. Even to his itty bitty village on the world's edge