#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.”

[fireheartpages]

other plans | b.d.

bodhi durran x reader chapter one. series masterlist summary: everyone has their demons, you just chose to run from yours. straight to basgiath war college. and definitely not towards the grinning tall, dark, and handsome marked rider that seemed too kind to be in a hardened place like the rider's quadrant. word count: 2.1k ish notes: second person pov but i give the reader a nickname (that i stole from dirty dancing) and a last name bc i'm not using y/n and i want this to be readable. she/her pronouns used for reader. this has been stuck in my head and i thought i was gonna combust if i didn't get it on page. and it's all together hovering somewhere around 7k words so im gonna split it up and post it all within the next few days and then have the whole thing available on ao3! i haven't written fanfiction in at least a good six months, and i've never written for fourth wing, so bare with me a little--i tried my best. i have a chronic attachment to side characters with little to no page time. half of this was written while wine tipsy and all of it was proofread while wine drunk, so we die like men

Bodhi has never seen someone walk across the parapet so easily.

He's never seen someone make a dance out of it. As if it were a show, a production. Your feet are so confident, so sure with every step, every placement that you would make it to the next. It's pouring rain and windy as all hell, and yet you make the parapet look like a children's balance beam.

You land right in front of him, and by the time your eyes meet his, he's already decided that he needs to know everything he possibly can about you. The instant your focus lands on him, he's obsessed.

Garrick has other plans.

"Name?"

"Baby," you say, and Bodhi blinks. "Marho."

Garrick is downright gawking at you. "Baby?"

Something that sounds much more like a name and not what an infant is called slips out on a laugh, and Bodhi can't help but trace the lean lines of your neck. Holy shit. If he thought you were pretty before, it was dwarfed to the sound of your laugh. The sun had to fight for space when you smiled.

"Sorry. Childhood nickname, I forget I have another one sometimes."

"Did your parents nickname you after a hooker?" Garrick asks, jotting your name--the true one--on the roll.

"Did yours raise you to be a dick?" you ask, not missing a beat, and the boy's gaze snaps up to you. If Bodhi had been looking anywhere else, his would have too, but he hadn't taken his eyes off of you since the moment you stepped foot onto the parapet. He felt his brow shoot up, lips parting on a huff.

He bursts out laughing.

You don't move. Don't take your eyes from Garrick, from staring him down, until he tips his head in inclination and gives something that sounds like an apology. It's Bodhi's turn to be the subject of your scrutiny now, and as your eyes trace his shape, shifting with the weight of your gaze and his laugh, he senses more than sees the moment you note his rebellion relic. Your face doesn't shift, but it's as if a proverbial file is created and tucked away into the archive of your mind.

You didn't say anything else as you walk away from the two boys, but Bodhi tracks you as you go. Tracks your movements, as you weave through the crowd with a practiced grace, how your hair moves as you take the stairs down and out of his sight.

He's almost sorry to see you go. But he's determined to see you again.

Bodhi snatches the roll sheet from Garrick as parapet comes to an end, scanning to make sure he has the name correct. He marches up to Xaden, and only pausing for a moment to consider how stupid this is--he literally doesn't know a single thing about you--before throwing your name into the space between them.

"I want her in my section."

"Don't you have better things to do than flirt with children?" Xaden asks impassively.

"She's not a literal baby."

"I'm aware of that," he responds, sounding exasperated. "You're an Executive Officer, Bodhi. Do what you want."

Except Dain Aetos has other plans.

You made friends. You stand with the Sorrengail girl and another he didn't recognize, tucking loose strands of hair back into her coronet braid. What type of person fixed the hair of someone they'd just met? You, apparently.

You're in Second Wing. With Aetos and Sorrengial and the other girl. This is fine. Something about you didn't scream "secret rebel" the way wanted it too.

And then Xaden transfers your squad to Fourth Wing. He had sent Bodhi a glance as he put the squad in Flame section--not Tail--and Bodhi could see there was some sort of ulterior motive behind the decision. It did also mean you weren't under his direct chain of command. He couldn't tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing

Fraternization is frowned upon, not forbidden, after all.

Not that you would be fraternizing. After all.

But, challenging you would be a terrible idea. Terribly adverse, fatally cataclysmic, and ill-fated.

And all of those words mean the same thing.

He would stay clear, watch you from afar, and maybe, maybe work up the courage to talk to you outside of parapet. Possibly.

His confidence needed some serious shaping. Since when was he afraid to talk to someone? A pretty someone, to say the least. He was a gods damned dragon rider. He wasn't afraid to talk to you. He was just... hesitant.

Yeah. That. And he did not need a challenge to break the ice.

Emetterio has other ideas.

He calls your name, then Bodhi's, and Bodhi is pretty sure his heart stops in his chest.

You don't look frazzled or scared, just curious as you study him from head to toe. He guards himself as if you were an intruder in his mind, an Inntinnsic slipping in to spill all his secrets. Except you're an unbounded first year that hasn't even developed a signet, and instead that's just you. He's building up walls just to look at you. You and those bright, keen eyes.

Emetterio calls it, and you're off. Except neither of you move. You pace around, and it's a stand off. You cock your head, and Bodhi tries every trick in the book: the fakes out, glances quickly off to the side, purposefully stumbles--and you're unfazed. Completely and utterly unfazed.

He can't make the first move. He can't hit you--

Suddenly, his feet are out from under him, and he's staring at the ceiling, and you lunge, reaching to pin him to the floor. He reaches out and catches the elbow you throw, but before he can even make contact, you twist, sliding underneath him, and suddenly you're behind him.

You're fast. Really fucking fast. And suddenly, Bodhi has his work cut out for him.

You kick out again, going to the back of his knees, and he recognizes the move, thrusting his body forward to keep control and twisting before he lands, kipping up so you're eye-level again.

Your first catches his nose, and blood goes flying. He makes the mistake of bringing his hands up to cup his nose and it leaves his core exposed. You take the opportunity to land a knee in his gut, probably bruising a few ribs in there, and he doubles over, the wind having been knocked from him. Holy shit, he needs to get at least one hit in. This was getting embarrassing.

He swings blindly, and you dodge--but you don't grab his fist. And you had the perfect opportunity to. You were fast, and your reflexes were quick, but you didn't know how to end this. The realization crashes into him as you swing again. A lot of force, but no follow-though, giving him the perfect opportunity to deflect, pushing your fist and forcing the follow-through until you were swinging behind him with his hand around your wrist and then he was bringing you to him, one of his arms gripping one of yours across your neck, and the other twisting your other behind your back. Like this, your body was flush against his.

You struggle, kicking out, but it was all too easy for him to get your feet out from under you. You weren't small by any means, but Bodhi was bigger, and had a year of training over you. Your feet kicked out, and all he had to do was lean back to incapacitate you. You gave a frustrated grunt that so heavily affected him that he almost dropped you to make sure you were okay before he realized where he was and what he was doing.

"Finish her without making a fool of yourself, please," Cuir chimes in, probably sensing his hesitation and near-miss, and Bodhi sends an eye roll he hopes he can feel, since he doesn't have the brain space to say anything back, with your body pressed against his and the current task at hand.

He twists and take you both to the ground, pinning both your hands above your head, and taking a leg beneath his foot, balancing on a knee. You let out a sharp huff, and he's mesmerized by the way your nose scrunches up in determination. Your free leg goes to knee him, and he takes the hit, leaning into it before transferring your hands so they're both pinned between one of his, sliding one hand down your hip and to your thigh, holding it to the gourd before you can knee him again. He has a free knee to hold him up, but not without giving leverage to one of your legs. So he's pressed against you, hip to hip, face to face.

"Yield," he says, begs, because he can't hold this for long, and because if you figure out just how much you affect him, you'd win this thing in a matter of heartbeats.

"No," you grind out, thrashing. He's spread thin: his wingspan practically encompassing your body, giving you leverage to wear against him. He worries for a moment, a flash of the bruise he could leave on your thigh going through his mind, and two thoughts overtake him at once.

One, that he doesn't want to hurt you. And that while it may be inevitable with where you two stood, he wanted to try and eliminate the possibility as best he could.

Two, that he would leave bruises all up and down your thighs if he ever got the chance to get between them.

And the combination of the two of those thoughts loosened his grip on you, giving you the opportunity to roll away.

"I did not choose someone this negligent," Cuir snaps, and Bodhi panicks, and now you're pinned underneath him again, his front pressed to your backside, and it's a true plea when he breathes, "Yield."

"No!" You squirm, and fuck stop doing that--

"Get yourself together!" Cuir snaps, and Bodhi sucks in a sharp breath.

"That's enough," Emetterio says, pinning you with a look Bodhi would pick dragon fire over. "Know when to quit, Cadet Marho."

"No!" you yelp. "If this were a real fight, no one is calling the shots--"

"If this was a real fight, you'd be dead. I called it. Get off the mat," Emetterio snaps, and Bodhi scrambles off of you.

He offered you a hand that you send a pointed look at, and he can tell you're considering telling him where to shove it, but you take it anyway, and he walks you off the mat with a hand on your shoulder.

"Good match," Bodhi says, genuinely trying.

You open your mouth to respond, looking like you yourself could spit fire for a second, and Bodhi pities the dragon you end up bonded to for a moment.

"You're fast," he continues, before you can. "Quick reflexes, and you're strong."

"I had you," you throw at him, fiery and determined, and your gaze slips to his rebellion relic.

Oh. So, that's what this is about.

Bodhi shakes his head, and the grin that had been blooming falters. "I can help," he says. "If you're struggling with sparring, I can help."

You suck in a breath.

"Or Imogen. Or Xaden. Or--" he stops, because, fuck, obviously you don't want to be near Marked ones--

"Thank you," you say, and the ghost of the smile he saw after the parapet makes a reappearance. "Thank you."

And with that, you turn and leave, heading back to your squad. Rhiannon is shaking her head at you, and Violet mumbles something that makes you laugh. Bodhi would bottle that sound if he could. What the hell was a countering signet for? His signet should be used for bottling the sound of your laugh--

"Do not finish that thought," Cuir chides. "Get a grip."

Bodhi grins, his hair falling over his temple as Garrick comes up and slaps him on the back, congratulations on a challenge well fought. He watches you take a swig from the water canteen, traces the lines of your jaw down to your shoulder until you hand it back, then traces the length of your wrist as you hand it--

"Pathetic." Cuir. "You haven't spoken."

"We kind of did," Bodhi says mentally. "I offered. I... tried."

"If you like her, try harder," he chides, and Bodhi sighs.

He doesn't like you, he barely knows you.

"Sure."

[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

[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

[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​ 

[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!

[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.]

[itsa-me-lily]

Here is the Master Playlist for MPS AU

Here is Simon & Thimble playlist

Note;

This takes place early on in your marriage to Simon. So way before Baker or anything. Also I actually googled something about COD for this, look at my growth

Content warning;

Mom feelings, just a lot of mom feelings, crying, poor humor from Simon right out the gate

Some days it'd be nice if terrorists could actually be useful and be a great reason to get out of meeting the in-laws. Just a small attack somewhere, an empty building being blown up, no one had to get hurt. And given the colorful threat you had told Simon, the terrorists might have been nicer. At least they wouldn't have him vacuuming the same damn rug for the third time. Though given how you had spent the last hour and a half simultaneously power cleaning and winding yourself up for a possible heart attack, it wasn't like you were just lounging around eat bonbons.

Simon could almost understand the anxiety. He had never had to worry about it before, but he could recall a frazzled phone call with Tommy the first time he was going to meet Beth's parents. That he had been worried about being deemed not good enough. Simon at least knew that deep down he wasn't really good enough for you. Too much blood and violence in him. But as long as you were around he'd at least pretend to be alright. And if being alright meant over vacuuming an area rug well, he was trying to be a good husband.

Being a good husband probably meant he wasn't suppose to find it a little entertaining how you froze and looked at your phone like it was a live bomb. But after having to deal with actual live bombs, the way your eyes got big at the ringing electronic rectangle was a little silly. He watched as you answered the phone with all the seriousness of a man going to the gallows, fingers tapping against the kitchen table like you needed to channel your energy elsewhere. You didn't say a whole lot, and after you hung up you looked at Simon as if the end of the world was coming.

"She's here a half hour early."

Oh. Yeah that would probably explain the expression on your face. You had lost thirty minutes of compulsive cleaning of your tiny home that was already pretty damn clean. And as if to harken the end of times the dryer unit that had been crammed into a utility closet loudly declared itself done, the towels you had deemed needed a wash now dry and fluffy.

You looked...stuck. As if you were trying to pull yourself in two opposite directions and the force of it meant you weren't moving anywhere. Simon recalled that you had explained it once, when he had caught you staring at five different projects one evening. That having so many choices stunned you because you couldn't decide what to do first. Seemed like you were stuck between your mother and some towels. Truly a rock and a hard place. But again, Simon was at least attempting to be a good husband. He'd deal with the hard place.

"Go get your mum. I'll handle the towels."

He watched as you nodded, the deep inhale you took becoming a deeper sigh as you seemed to finally deflate a little, coming back into yourself more.

"Right. Thanks uh...you can-"

"I'll hang out some new ones in the washroom and fold the rest. Get going so she isn't stuck at the gate for longer."

With that it seemed that you were finally free to actually head out the front door. Honestly it was one woman. How bad could it be?

Those were famous last words. He had finished up the towels and had been setting the kettle on the stove when you had returned with your mother. Simon could see the family resemblance. It wasn't in the body build, your mother was taller and a little slimmer, but you both had the same arch to your eyebrows, the same round cheeks, and the same personality. It only took one look at Simon for it to start.

"What's with the face mask?"

Oh god. Fuck, if the earth could split in two and swallow you it would have been a god send. Yes you could recognize that maybe explaining the situation, you know the whole you were now married thing, before she had decided to come visit you would have for the best. But that would have meant having an entire conversation with your mother about why you had even signed up for the stupid program in the first place, why you didn't think it was going to amount to anything anyways, and why you went through with it. Which honestly you could answer the first two parts of that, you could. It was the last part that kind of left you spinning your wheels, and you didn't really care to explore it on a deeper level.

So here you were, in your front hall/kitchen/living room area with your mother questioning your technically husband, about why he was wearing a face mask that covered half his face. This was fine. Before Simon could respond you were stepping in, really unsure what was going to come out of Simon's mouth.

"Mom this is Simon. He um-He's not feeling a hundred percent and he didn't want to get you sick."

You could lie better than that. You knew you could lie better than that. You knew your mother knew you could lie better than that. Thankfully Simon didn't throw you under the bus and instead went with it, clearing his throat and responding in what you think was him trying for a sick voice.

"Would hate for ya to catch what I got ma'am."

You could tell your mom didn't believe any of it, but she didn't argue with it. Instead she let you show her around the house, humming in approval of how tidy it was. You were happy to note that Simon had chose to hang up the nicer towels in the wash. An hour and a half of anxiety cleaning paid off. It wasn't until you were showing her the bedroom that you mom closed the door behind her, turning to fix you with the stare, arms crossed over her chest and everything.

"Alright cut the bullshit. What is going on here?"

Oh the jig was up. You both knew it, but just like the time when you were ten and you had decided to give yourself a truly terrible haircut, you tried to pretend that nothing was wrong.

"Mom, I don't know what you're-"

"Since when are you Mrs. Riley?"

Fuuuuuck. Busted by the gate guards and they didn't even know it. Clearing your throat you tried so hard not to scratch the back of your neck or fiddle with your hair, or do any of the other tells your mother had watched you develop. It was hard, so was trying to think of another lie to get yourself out of the situation. You would have made a terrible spy.

"So...I kind of got married?"

"What?"

What were you supposed to do when you were faced with the mom stare. It was practically patented to make you spill your guts. And so it all came stumbling out. How your college best friend had told you about this matchmaking program she wanted to try but was too nervous too. How you decided you'd sign up with her for moral support because honestly you didn't expect to be anyone's cup of tea, it'd be something to laugh over later. And then how apparently you were someone's cup. You chalked up agreeing to benefits, and weren't going to touch any other reasons.

By the time you were done you had seated yourself at the end of the bed, hands motioning into the air like it would further explain yourself. It did not if you were to judge by the unimpressed look on your mother's face.

"I swear to god I raised you with more common sense than this."

"Mom-"

"If Dovey were to throw herself off a bridge would you?"

"That's not fair-"

"Isn't it? Why would you sign up for this just because she doesn't have-"

"Don't fucking even Mom."

You didn't mean to curse at your mother, you really didn't but there were things you weren't okay with your mom just simply assuming. Dovey was one of them.

"You've met her parents mom, they are that bad. She's my best friend and she was there when I got diagnosed, so yeah I'm going to be there for her in this stupid idea."

It seemed your mother hadn't expected you to curse or be as passionate as you were. She looked a little shocked, then a little hurt before she sighed, shoulders slumping a little as she came to sit next to you. You lowered yourself back to the bed, unaware that you had even stood up to shout at her.

You both sat there in silence for a moment, as if trying to find the right word to say. Sure the two of you had your spats over the years, but it was always just the two of you, and eventually you always found a way back to center with each other. It was just a stumbling process sometimes. You were both awkward like that.

"I know Dovey is important to you-"

"Mom-"

"But, you're my baby, and you're important to me. And this idea of you marrying a stranger? Honey that's terrifying. Especially since you didn't even tell me you were doing this."

She was right, and you knew she was right. You had tried to talk Dovey out of it before, with a laundry list of ways it could all go wrong. Hell it could still go terribly wrong for you, you had only known Simon for a few months. You felt your eyes burn a little, a wave of sudden guilt washing over you for scaring your mom.

"I know...and I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I just...I don't know what I'm doing...And I don't want to bother you with my stuff..."

"Baby. I signed up for a lifetime of being bothered by your stuff the second I knew I was having you."

You loved your mom so much, and a part of you had been terrified that she'd be disappointed in what you had done with your life. That she'd realize she had done the whole single mother thing for a waste.

You couldn't help the sniffle, you really couldn't. Thankfully your mother didn't say anything, instead pulling you into a hug where you could wrap your arms around her and just hold on. The two of you sat like that for a while, both of you ignoring sniffles and some stray tears. It was so nice to be held like this again. Like nothing bad could get you because you were with your mom. After a while though she pulled back, wiping at her face while you did the same with your own.

"He doesn't hurt you or anything right?"

It took you a moment to figure out who she was talking about.

"Simon? No, no he doesn't."

"And he doesn't force you to.."

Explaining your lack of sex life to your mother was probably about as awkward as your mother trying to give you the sex talk when you were twelve but you did manage to get through it. At least your mom seemed to approve of the separate bed.

"And you're sure he's not a serial killer with the whole..."

She motioned to her face, indicating Simon's face mask thing. The idea made you laugh. Not because you didn't think Simon was a serial killer, jury was still out on that one. But because the two of you had pretty much had the same train of thought.

"Pretty sure he's not. At least I don't think so."

"Well call me if you find a body in the freezer."

"We'd need a freezer big enough first."

Your mom made a face at that, and you both chuckled. The house was tiny, but so far it was shaping up to be an okay home. With a soft look on her face she brushed her thumb against your cheek.

"But really, don't hesitate to call me if something happens okay? I love you."

You felt your chest hurt with how much love you felt in that moment, throat getting choked up all over again.

"I love you too Mom."

Simon stood outside the bedroom door, not meaning to eavesdrop but well...the house was only so big. Plus when he heard you shout it had made some part of his brain light up with the urge to check if you were alright. From the sounds of it, you were at least. So for now he'd let you two have your moment.

He could wait to ask what kind of tea your mum wanted.

Edit;

I love my mom so much, so yes writing this did make me cry a little. Also in my head Thimble's mom has been dubbed Mama Pincushion.

[hopecorps]

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.

[a2trid]

Hehe *drops and runs*

Tw- cringe and unfinished

“Curtis!” Mike shouts, “Get your ass down from there!”

The whole crew was having their lunch break, because after working on godly hours in the sun they really didn’t need someone to pass out. And because no one had thought it to be a good idea to bring their own lunch, Mike- being the boss- had bought them practically the whole menu from Dairy Queen.

They had went back to the house they were working on. Luckily, the house belonged to Sam, one of the workers. So they were aloud to eat inside if they wanted. And they wanted.

Everyone was inside to get away from the sun, because no one wants heatstroke or sunburns. They had the radio playing while a game of poker was going on, placing bets on extra food.

Or, at least, almost everyone was inside. Everyone but the kid- Darrel Curtis.

Logically, Mike knew, Darrel was probably outside working or picking up the mess that’s been left on the ground. He had a.. terrible tendency to overwork himself. Once, Darrel so clearly had a horrible migraine and being in the sun was certainly no help. But, he still refused to go home. And then he had passed out.

So. That had nearly given a few heart attacks.

Mike knew that the reason was because of money problems after his parents died, the responsibility of having to take care of his younger siblings falling directly on his shoulders.

Mike hates that he had to watch Darrel destroy himself over and over just so he can keep a roof over their head and food on their plates.

He’s a good kid, he just needs to learn how to be one.

Apparently, no one knows where Darrel went. Only that he’s somewhere outside. Which, helpful.

So, being the boss, Mike goes out looking for him.

And there he is. Head hanging upside down off the roof, sucking on a lollipop like he’s not about to crush his head open with one wrong move. Eyes close and tapping his fingers to a beat.

(Distantly, Mike remembers Darrel doing the same thing often years ago. From before his parents passed).

“Curtis!” Mike shouts, “Get your ass down from there!”

And that certainly grabs his attention.

Darrel’s eyes snap open, his fingers freeze. And then, once he registers that it’s just Mike yelling at him, Darrel gives him a smile and shifts down a little more. Giving Mike another unwanted heart attack.

“Hey Mr. Cooper!” Darrel shouts, taking the lollipop he probably got off of Alex out of his mouth. “Roof’s coming along nice, ain’t it!?”

“Son, get your ass on the ground!” Mike yells. “I ain’t needing you to break your skull!”

Darrel laughs. “I’m fine! Nothing I haven’t done before!”

The front door opens, and Alex steps out. “Mike, you good? You keep yellin’-“ he freezes when he spots Darrel, mirroring the face Mike probably made.

“Hey Alex-“

“Don’t ‘hey Alex’ me! Get down from there- are you crazy!?”

“I’m not crazy,” Darrel says, having the fucking gull to roll his eyes. And Mike wants the slap him.

“Well you sure as hell are acting it!” Mike yells, about to grab the latter and pull Darrel down himself.

Darrel shrugs and plops the lollipop back into his mouth, closes his eyes and starts tapping his fingers again.

Alex sighs, “Do you want me to grab the latter?” He asks, slouched and pointing towards it.

Mike bites his cheek, crossing his arms. “..give him a while,” he says.

Alex squints at him, “Really?”

“I don’t think he’s been this relaxed all month. Let him stay a little longer.”

Alex hums. His face splits into a smile, “Remember when he used to do this all the time a few years back? When his pop still worked here?”

Mike chuckles at the memories. “Haven’t done it in a year, has he?”

“Don’t think so.”

“I can hear y’all talking about me!” Darrel shouts down.

“No we ain’t!” Alex shouts up, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“Sure you ain’t!”

[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.

[annaphoenix1994]

Dutton Christmas - 2

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

»»-------¤-------««

The rest of Christmas Eve was spent with Simon catching up with his team, talking humorous stories of their downtime in the barracks and catching up on each other's lives as they all took a welcome to American beer. The 141 stayed in a guesthouse close by, leaving only a simple fridge restock to complete their comfort space.

"Aye, Ghos-"

"Simon." He corrected, not wanting to be called by his callsign when not on duty.

"Sorry," Soap nodded. "Simon, Price is needing to go out into town to get food. You up for a commute?"

He sighed, knowing Kiera had dismissed herself to go to the barn and spend much-needed time with her horse. He knew she needed it as well as space from his suffocating care routine.

She was grateful that he was so passionate about taking care of her, but she could admit that he'd be a little suffocating at times.

"I should ask her-"

"Why? You should know that she wouldn't want you to ask her whether if you can go somewhere or not." Soap chuckled.

"I at least want to tell her where I'm going," Simon replied, tossing the beer can into the trash can. "Wouldn't want her to walk this ranch looking for me."

"Then we'll go to where she is," Soap shrugged. "What did you get her for Christmas?"

What did I get her? He questioned himself, knowing that he failed to get her a gift for the holiday. Having not being familiar with the tradition, he began to feel awful as he knew he couldn't top the gift she managed to give him - his family.

"I, erm, I don't know what to get her..." He frowned.

"We'll fix that," Soap chuckled, patting his shoulder as he walked by him to retrieve his coat. "Price has been obsessed with looking at local spots around here. Says there's a few places he wants to go before it gets too late. Kiera said something about having dinner in some lodge."

"Her parent's house," Simon corrected. "They always have dinner together for big holidays."

"Sounds like you've been around her for years, mate." Soap chuckled, nodding at Price as he sat on the couch, fumbling with the remote to find a suitable channel while Gaz sat on the other end, his phone sideways in his hands as it looked that he was playing a game.

"Feels like it. Wouldn't trade it."

After Price's lost battle with the remote, he sighed and stood to his feet, retrieving the keys to the Suburban from the nearby hook.

The three piled into the SUV, Simon sitting in the front as Soap sat behind Price. As they descended the driveway, Simon pointed to a fork that split off to continue going onto the main driveway or towards the barn, seeing both Kiera and Alejandro loping horses in the arena.

Simon couldn't help but grin as he watched her, knowing she had been dying to swing her leg over her horse again. He was amazed that it all came so natural to her after spending so much time away from it.

You never lose your passion, he thought as he exited the vehicle, Price and Soap following suit.

They all watched as both Kiera and Alejandro handled ropes while on horseback. He had remembered Alejandro saying that he had horses on his ranch as well as Kiera poking at him to come up to team rope, but if Simon were to tell the truth he thought Alejandro didn't know how to rope and that's why she was teasing him.

They watched as Kiera and Alejandro paired up, seeming to be having a conversation while their horses walked back towards the nose of the arena. "You headin' or heelin'?" She asked, making a decent loop.

"Whatever you want me to do, señora." Alejandro nodded.

"I'll head this one and you heel, and we'll switch on the next steer."

"Aye, sounds good to me."

"Hey, Teeter!" Kiera shouted, getting the female wrangler's attention by her nickname. She was a woman that showed immense confidence as well as intimidation by how she walked alone, catching Soap's attention as they leaned against the fence.

"Yeah?" She replied, a heavy twang resting in her throat as it was clear she wasn't from Wyoming herself. Tennessee? Louisiana?

Her ball cap was turned backward on her head, most of it hiding her lavender-colored hair as she approached Kiera and Alejandro. "We'll run these dozen and switch them out."

"A'right," Teeter nodded, spitting a copper-colored substance onto the arena floor. "I run 'em through and get the other fuckers out o' tha pen."

"Thank you," Kiera nodded, smirking at her funny accent before she rode up to the fence to greet Simon, Price and Soap. "You three are up to something." She narrowed her eyes. 

"Just going into town to get some food. Want anything?" Simon asked, reaching over the fence to press the back of his fingers to her horse's muzzle, Soap doing the same to the horse Alejandro was riding. 

"I'm alright," She smiled, shaking her head. "I'm saving my empty stomach for dinner tonight." 

Simon nodded, "Alright. We should be back soon." 

Kiera smiled at him, that familiar flushed tone draining her cheeks as the gleam in her eyes returned, turning to look at Teeter as she walked up to join the conversation at the fence, turning her ballcap back around on her head, the label reading Cactus Ropes. "Teeter, this is Simon, though you two have already met. These two are Price and Soap." 

She nodded, greeting them, her gaze weighing heavily on the Scotsman. 

"What's your name?" Soap asked, turning his head as he hadn't heard a name like that before. Granted, his code name was considered 'weird,' but he had never heard a unique twist of words. Although he thought it suited her. 

"Teeter." 

"What?" 

"Tee-ter." She replied. 

Soap turned his head to Simon, "Did she say Peter?" 

"Do I fuckin' look like my fuckin' nayme is Peter you chicken-comb lookin' motherfucker?" She scoffed, her thick accent rolling from her tongue.

He smirked, "She just called me a motherfucker." 

Simon and Price chuckled along as well. 

"You heard that, didn't ye, ya bastard. Hey, I bet you was bent up over one of 'em nurse thangs and fucked up the ass 'til yer knees buckled." She poked. 

Soap fought a smirk, "I bet she was taken to school wearing a hockey helmet." 

Alejandro laughed at her strong accent, "That one runs through anything like wildfire." 

"I noticed." 

"Better watch her, Soap," Kiera chuckled, stepping down from her horse and draping her rope over the saddle horn. "She's already got an eye for you." 

He scoffed, blush taking over his complexion, "The feeling isn't mutual." 

She nodded, grinning as she knew better - she was an expert in studying body language. 

That, and Soap's eyes never left Teeter's way since they arrived. 

"She'll grow on you." 

He shook his head. 

"Hundred percent." Simon chuckled. 

"Can you just kiss her bye so we can go, yeah?" He sighed. 

"Hey, you said the same thing when me and her first met." Simon raised a brow. 

"That was obvious, though." 

"Not really." Kiera commented. 

Glad she didn't notice off the bat, Simon sighed in relief. 

"Can we just go?" 

"I was going to watch them do their thing," Price negotiated, pointing towards the roping boxes. "Then we'll go." 

"Yeah," Simon agreed, nudging Soap with his elbow. "Gives you a few more minutes to lie to yourself that you're attracted to the lass, yeah?" 

He huffed, "Fine." 

"So, he admits it!" Kiera giggled, reaching her left hand over the fence to squeeze Simon's forearm before mounting back up onto her horse, taking her coiled rope from the saddle horn and began making a loop. 

The men chuckled at Soap's embarrassment, watching as Kiera and Alejandro prepared themselves for a go at team roping, both of them being rusty at the sport. She backed the palomino into the heading box, holding the horse back before she nodded slightly at Teeter, signaling for her to release the steer, a powerful wail of the chute opening followed by thunderous hoofbeats. 

They watched as Kiera swung the rope a few times before delivering her shot, the rope going around the steer's neck instead of his horns, dallying the rope around her saddle horn before turning the palomino to the left, looking over her shoulder as Alejandro swung his loop over his head in a diagonal motion, taking his shot as he stopped his horse, the steer stretching as he had managed to heel only one of its back legs. 

"Looks like you never lost it!" Kiera shouted at him, the pair joining a laugh as they loosened slack on their ropes, watching the steer regain its balance before jogging towards the other end of the arena. 

"If that ain't a NFR run if I 'er seen one!" Teeter shouted, catching Soap's attention as he heard her voice. "I'll run another'n through and y'all rope that son-bitch like he makin' a run fer it!" 

Kiera nodded, reaching down to pat her horse on the neck before readjusting herself in the saddle, a sore pain throbbing on the insides of her thighs, remembering that she would have to cut her time short when it came to riding due to the inside of her thighs being an area that was taken from when the surgeons performed skin grafts on her back. 

"You alright?" Simon asked as her horse performed a slow trot back towards the roping boxes. 

She pulled the reins lightly back towards her, the horse stopping abruptly, "I'm fine. Just still sore." She sighed. 

"Don't push it." He reminded, arching his brow.

"I won't," She smiled. "It'll be getting dark soon. When are you going into town?" 

"I guess right now." He sighed, seeing that Price was puffing on a cigar as he had been searching for his maps on his phone for the nearest grocery store. 

"Okay, babe," She smirked, catching his attention rather quickly, knowing that the nickname was quickly becoming one of his favorites. "They're calling for snow. Be careful." 

"Price drives like a nan." Soap commented, zipping up his jacket and stuffing his hands into his pockets. 

"I'd believe it." 

"He really does," Simon agreed, reaching over the fence to pat the top of her knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I love you." 

She blushed, "I love you too." 

»»-------¤-------««

"Have you found anything for a gift yet, mate?" Soap asked Simon as Price wanted to stop at the local mall, the sandwich shop he had found on his Google search catching his interest. 

"I have something in mind, but it's too soon." He replied, sighing, recalling his brief sweep of the jeweler store that was in the mall, cutting his time short of his pursuit of finding a perfect ring for her. 

"What makes you think that?" 

"Just is." 

You're being too quick with it, Simon. Give it time. She's not going anywhere, he scolded himself, pushing his negative thoughts aside.

"Well, have you seen anything else that you think she'd like?" 

"She fuckin' likes everything," He breathed a chuckle. "I could get her a rock and say I thought about her when I saw it and she'd keep it on her dresser. She's easy to please." 

"So, what's making it so hard?" 

He sighed, "Because I want it to be special. There's nothing I can do to top what she did for me."

"While Price is deep in thought over there, let's go see how we can fix your dilemma," Soap encouraged, pointing to Price who was standing to the side as he gazed at the menu of the sandwich shop. "Oy, Cap, we'll be walking around!" Soap shouted at him. 

Price nodded, his fingers gliding over his thick mustache, "Don't make me have to find you. I don't like not having a comm to contact you bastards." 

"Yes, sir." Soap nodded before he and Simon walked off. Feels like I just had to ask my da for permission, he mused. "Okay, first question: what does she like to do?"

"Shoot guns, ride horses, be mean." He chuckled. 

"Aside from that - aside from all the stuff she has to do, what does she like to do in her spare time?" 

It didn't take him long to think of an answer as he's always been very observant, "She likes to read. She could be sitting for hours on the couch reading a novel." 

"Okay, what kind of books does she read?" 

"That, I don't know," He frowned. "I never pried about it. Didn't want her to feel like I was always intruding on her." 

"Surely it's something to do with her personality?" Soap guessed.

"If that's the case, she reads some wild shit." 

The men chuckled, Simon following Soap into the bookstore that they had passed earlier. "We should start in the erotic section," He suggested. "Women like reading porn books, right?"

"Absolutely not," Simon scoffed. "I will not be seen with you in a bookstore in an erotic book section." 

"Why not?" 

"Because?! And I don't know what women read. Romance? Probably." 

"We'll still look at the porn books. You could probably learn something." 

"I have no problem in that department, MacTavish. Let's split up." 

"Why?" 

"Because I seem to think better when you're not around." 

"Yeah, you're right." 

As he browsed through the different genres of books, he thought about how her brows would furrow as she concentrated on the story she was reading, smirking at the thought of how the tip of her tongue would pry between her lips as she turned a page, laying on her stomach on the couch as her ankles crossed. She loved fleece - anything fleece, really. He mentally noted the store that sold fleece blankets and socks, knowing she would always welcome them as a gift even though she had blankets scattered throughout the house. She loved coffee - iced coffee if he were to be specific, taking a liking to different mugs with funny sayings on them depending on her mood, so he made a note of that, too. 

She loved music, but he didn't think too hard about it as he would leave her to discover new songs as his taste in music was completely different than hers, so he pushed that thought aside, knowing he'd screw it up. He wanted to get a ring so bad - to see how it would glisten on her finger as she would announce to the world she was his, but he knew it was in his best interest to wait. Guess I'll keep pretending one is there for the time being, he sighed to himself as he walked the aisles of the bookstore, a familiar cover catching his eye. Perfect. 

Simon wasn't a huge fan of poetry novels, but he had been glad he decided to read it when he was deployed overseas when he found it randomly, taking its contents as something relative to his own emotions.

All The Things I Wish You Knew by Evelyne Mikulicz caught his attention. Poetry wasn't his thing, but it stuck out to him when he would read it during his time deployed. 

It was only thirty-six pages, but he knew it was worth a shot as he saw it as a window to his emotional roughage as well as hoping it was a clearer understanding for her as to how he felt. 

He always struggled with his words. Always. 

»»-------¤-------««

With a bag full of the gifts he hoped she would like - getting the poetry book, a weighted blanket to help her cope with the anxiety that she never would admit she had, but he knew by her body language, hoping the blanket would help her relax when he wasn't around as she always sought his comfort, a pair of fleece socks, and a new mug with print on it that screamed her personality: "I'm fucking fabulous". 

He wanted to get her so much more, picking up a bottle of her favorite perfume that he noticed she was running low on, loving the scent himself if he were to be honest. 

On his way out of the mall, he purchased a pair of turquoise stud earrings that resembled the pair she had been looking at online. Shouldn't have left your phone open, love, he thought to himself, smirking down at the pair of earrings that were in the bag. 

"Christ, mate, got a hole in your pocket, yeah?" Soap poked. 

"I'd spend my entire check on her if she'd tell me what she wanted," He chuckled. "With what I've got in my sight, I could buy a used car with how much I'm wanting to spend." 

»»-------¤-------««

The lodge was packed full of both Kiera's family and the 141, Alejandro's eight-year-old son running around the main living room after Kiera's niece - the pair playing a game of tag, taunting each other about how "Percy the Elf" was going to prank the other first. The main dining room table was full, leaving the second option of moving the smaller table that was in the lounge closer to the main area to provide more room. Although one would assume it looked cramped, everyone was happy. 

Everyone was together. 

Simon was beyond anxious in gatherings, his social anxiety spiking as he had never been one comfortable in a room full of people, but his team made the tension in his muscles ease. Kiera had mentioned that she wanted everyone to sit together for dinner, truly enjoying how full her heart felt seeing Simon in something different than what he was used to. 

"Oye! Deja de correr! (Hey! Stop running!)" Alejandro scolded his son.

Fernando pouted, doing as he was told as Kiera's niece came up to Alejandro. "He-He said he doesn't want Percy to mess with him tonight." She babbled. 

"Percy? Who's Percy?" Soap asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin. 

Kiera smirked, "The Elf on the Shelf. It's a little elf that comes out the whole month of December." She explained, mischievous intent playing on her mind. 

Soap furrowed his brows, looking to Simon in search of the joke. 

He nodded, "It's true." 

"Stop fibbin'," Soap scoffed. "An elf?"

"Yeah... on the shelf," Kiera chuckled. "Percy is sitting right over there in the tree," She explained, pointing to the Christmas tree for Soap to see the elf in question sitting within one of the branches between the ornaments. "Percy plays a prank at night to one of the kids and freezes throughout the day." 

It's just sitting there...watching, Soap thought, beginning to feel uneasy with the elf's creepy grin and "beady eyes." 

Simon's leg nudged hers under the table, the couple seeming to communicate with no words at all, both smirking at the thought of borderline traumatizing Soap with the children's toy. "So...it moves on its own?" 

"At night," Kiera nodded, taking a sip of wine. "She just plays little pranks. Nothing scary. She comes around for the kids. Keeps the Christmas spirit alive, ya know?" 

"Aye..." He replied, sighing as he chose to keep his thoughts of the creepy tale at the back of his mind. 

Being a demolitions expert as well as experiencing what felt like hell on earth, the thought of a six-inch plush elf moving around at night on its own didn't sit right with him. 

And Simon was about to take advantage of it.