#the way I fell in love with him so goddamn fast

[iamthatonefangirl]

Hii, I wanted to ask for some "boys being boys" kind of one-shot. The setting is: Sam, Tony, Bucky and Bruce were arguing about how they could make the Winter Soldier some safety protocol for Bucky's gf since she's also a fighter and go with them in the missions (All of this happening while they were drunk, so OF COURSE IT DOESN'T SEEM LIKE A BAD IDEA.) Bucky also doesn't know that the WS knows gf and is already very protective of gf, so when Steve and Reader (who is Bucky's gf and some kind of Steve's little sis) appear, things get a little… weird with WS being a possessive bf.

(Can I be annon ✨🐍/sparkilin snake?)

~✨🐍

bad luck - nsfw bucky barnes/winter soldier

hey anon I love the emoji combo omg. I went a slightly different direction from your ask but this is my interpretation of it :)

disclaimer: mentions of homicide, bucky turns into the winter soldier obviously, fully consensual smut by both parties although not explicitly stated.

for those of you who follow my winter soldier fics - I will list this in my winter soldier masterlist and my bucky masterlist. this will NOT be correlated with my pre-existing winter soldier series.

~~~

you'd only seen the winter soldier emerge twice, so far.

one time in a hydra base on a mission.

a second time in an ambush he wasn't prepared for.

~~~

you were with him the first time it happened.

in the case anything had gone wrong and somehow it happened, you'd been briefed ahead of time to make a run for it, not to engage the soldier. they would be able to find Bucky later and subdue him.

Bucky gave you a different set of instructions.

if somehow he turned, he instructed you to shoot him on sight. don't hesitate, don't wait. do what you had to in order to stay alive.

"goddamnit, Bucky, I'm not going to fucking kill you," you hissed at him, wishing you could just smack him upside the head. "there's a million other options before that."

"listen to me," he pled with you, "if it comes down to it, you shoot me. you do not hesitate. do you understand me?"

you were appalled.

"I'm not going to-"

"no," he interrupted you, voice stern. "either you promise me you'll do this, or I'm telling Steve to send someone else with me."

you almost felt like crying.

you thought about it. you thought about saying hell no, have him send someone else.

but you didn't trust anyone else to not shoot him if it came down to it.

so you lied.

"I'll kill you if I have to."

~~~

you didn't think it would actually happen. no way in hell.

you were roaming the base, trying to find the information you'd been sent for. you separated from Bucky in the attempts of getting in and out quicker.

after a few minutes, you heard a stark cry of your name from the distance, and your heart fell to your stomach.

you ran as fast as you can, hoping to stop it, do anything at all-

you run up to him, grabbing his arms and shaking him.

"Bucky? goddamnit, Bucky, look at me!" you yell at him.

you're met with those cold, dead eyes that you were told meant run for your goddamn life.

you're too late.

so you began to back up, following the orders you'd been given, trying to run. they could save Bucky, they could, but you had to get the hell out of there. you started to back away, ready to turn and bolt.

it was just your luck that you tripped and fell flat on your ass, all while the soldier was stalking towards you ominously.

you didn't have time to get up.

so you unholstered your gun, pointing it at him, tears coming to your eyes. you held it shakily, trying to make the split second decision,

what do I do? what do I do?

this was not supposed to fucking happen. you weren't about to kill the love of your life.

you were met with the greatest surprise of your life when he didn't rip your arm off, or reach out to choke you to death with his bare hands, or anything of the like.

he grabbed the gun from your hand with ease, and threw it to the side, then reaching for your hand and hauling you to your feet.

you stood there, face to face with him, wondering what the hell was going on. why didn't he immediately attack you?

the sound of gunshots filled the room. someone knew you were there, whoever was left of hydra, surely operating under the assumption that the soldier would kill you and then they could take back their precious asset.

you scrambled for your gun, but he picked it up first, pushing you behind him while he easily decimated the agents running at you.

you were stunned. Bucky never killed anyone, he wouldn't do it. but you had just watched him, not him, kill a dozen people without a second thought.

you prepared for him to turn around and shoot you, but he didn't. he looked you up and down for injuries, saw none, and his face relaxed.

you scrambled for what to do next. "the team, they'll come running at the sound of gunshots. you have to go, they can't know you're..."

you trailed off. your thoughts were a mess.

"I have to go."

he let you make a run for the exit.

~~~

obviously, you lied.

you told everyone that you never saw him. all you saw was the mess of dead, bloodied bodies, and no Bucky. which pointed to the obvious: he turned.

no way in hell were you going to admit anything.

a few sleepless nights passed without Bucky by your side, and with each passing day, you worried more and more that you'd never get him back. that by lying, you'd somehow messed up, and that it was somehow your fault you'd never see him again.

when your apartment window opened in the middle of the night a few days after the incident, you grabbed your gun and watched as the dark figure made its way into your apartment.

Bucky, finally.

"fuck, oh my god, you're okay," you say, running towards him, putting down the gun. you bring your hands to his shoulders, taking in his disheveled appearance.

"you've got to be starving," you comment, but then you look back up at his face.

it's not Bucky.

he's staring at you, looking into your eyes so intensely you'd think it's all he knew how to do.

"are you hungry?" you ask tensely, unsure what else to say. he says nothing in response, but reaches out to you for the second time, this time gripping your waist tightly in both hands as though he owns you.

"mine," he growls.

your breaths become shallow, and you debate your options.

he didn't hurt you last time, he protected you. he let you go. he hasn't hurt you this time.

mine?

you don't fight him when he pulls you into his arms and hauls you to your bed.

you would never admit to a single soul that you were eager, that you were excited when he started to yank at your clothes and began to suck at the skin of your neck.

"no marks!" you exclaim in a panic. you can't have Bucky see it, he'll freak. you're most certainly not sure how you're supposed to explain this to him, but you will.

eventually.

clearly, your request pisses him off, but he lets up on his ministrations, running his mouth across your chest without leaving a single bruise in his wake.

his hands are more firm on your skin than Bucky's. he's not giving, he's taking. he's going to do what he wants.

you moan at the realization.

his hands yank your sweatpants off, not wasting any time as he shoves his hands in your underwear, only to find you absolutely dripping for him.

you hear him grunt at the discovery, quickly pulling his own pants out of the way, not wanting to wait another minute to fuck you.

you've taken Bucky a million times, only a few of them this quickly, with this little prep.

you don't let yourself think about the fact that you've never gotten this wet this quickly before.

he tolds you tightly by the waist underneath him, pinning you to the bed, taking what he wants. he's careful not to leave any marks, just as you asked.

"mine," is all he says, over and over again, the whole time he fucks you.

all the while, you're sobbing out with how fucking good it is, prepared for the neighbors to bang down your door the next day and demand you shut the fuck up.

you don't care. right now, all that's on your mind is that you're his.

~~~

when you wake up the next morning, you're not sure what to expect. you see him laying there next to you, dead asleep. at some point, you both must have stripped off the rest of your clothes to sleep.

you slip out of bed, pulling on your pajamas, telling yourself to not think about how you're going to explain this to him until after you've had coffee.

you're looking out the window above the sink, sipping your beverage, when you hear a familiar voice say your name from behind you.

you whip around, lukewarm coffee sloshing over the sides of the mug, to see him standing there.

"Bucky," you say in relief and run to him.

when he begins to ask questions, you lie. you shouldn't lie to him, but now isn't the time to tell him. you have to wait until he's come to terms with the fact that he was turned again.

you'll tell him when he's ready.

you feed him the same story you fed the rest of the team. you never saw the winter soldier, you only saw the mess he left. when he came in the window last night, you were asleep.

you never saw the winter soldier.

and that's what you told everyone when you brought Bucky in to show everyone that he was alive and himself again. that's the story you stuck to when everyone began arguing over what they were supposed to do, how they were supposed to deal with this. they fought over how to keep you safe going forward, assuming that you would be the first person on the winter soldier's kill list.

you bit your tongue as the anxiety of keeping the secret broiled in your stomach.

~~~

the second time it happened, you weren't there to stop it.

he was only a few blocks from the compound, going for a run around the city, when the ambush happened.

another handful of rogue agents grabbed him, this time intending to set him loose on everyone in the compound. surely they could prevent what happened last time, that they could direct him to kill whoever they pleased.

they were wrong. in the same fashion as the time before, he killed them all without hesitation, the only thought in his mind: you.

you were alone in the fifth floor kitchen, thinking about how it was long past time for you to tell him. it'd been weeks, and he deserved to know.

you just hoped he wouldn't leave you when you told him, that he wouldn't try to convince himself you were better off without him, safer without him.

suddenly, you hear the door slam.

you turn towards the noise, having scared the living daylights out of you, when you see Bucky walking in.

"fucking hell, don't do that, you scared me," you say, tending to your food on the stove, building up the courage to bring up the subject weighing heavy on your mind. "I made lunch. I was hoping we could talk."

he doesn't say anything in response, walking up behind you and wrapping his hands around your waist in the same manner as the time before.

"mine," he whispers in your ear, and you freeze.

not Bucky.

you barely flick the stove off before he's grabbing you all over, a metal hand running up your shirt and his other hand dipping into your pants.

"fuck, how did you-" you begin to ask him, but you know he won't answer you. he probably won't even know the answer.

you lean back against him, letting him carry your whole body weight as he gropes at the flesh of your breast and begins to rub circles over your clit.

"mine."

you almost wonder if it's the only word he knows with how much he repeats it to you.

"yes. yours," you affirm, spurring him on.

this time, he leaves a mark on your neck.

"yours, fuck, I'm yours," you whine as you come too quickly, giving yourself over to him willingly.

"you belong to me," he growls in your ear, wrapping a metal hand around your throat and gently squeezing. the unspoken implication of "not him" is not lost on you.

you don't have it in you to disagree.

~~~

do we want an angsty part 2?

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[misakarose]

"This is amazing! I'm brimming with power! But I'm totally depressed." ↳ Okarun ✧ Dandadan Ep.02 "That's a Space Alien, Ain't It?!"

[dannyriccsystem]

congrats on 1k! can i get 18 and 25 with lewis please? ;)

CRAWLIN’ BACK TO YOU.

1K SPECIAL - LH44

Comparing hand sizes + “suck on it.”

SUMMARY: What was meant to be you innocently commenting on the size of your boyfriend’s hands turned into you on your knees for him real fast.

WORD COUNT: 1.3k

WARNINGS: Blowjob, hair pulling, soft dom, size difference (if you squint)

FEATURING: Lewis Hamilton x Reader

NOTE: I SCREAMED. I LOVE LEWIS. Anyway I lied NOW I’m going to bed… Expect more tomorrow

THE DAY HAD BEEN MUNDANE in the way where nothing seemed over the top. All the shows on TV were uninteresting, all the chores were fairly simple, all your friends were busy… It was yet another lazy Sunday where you ended up at home with Lewis. At first it felt, to a limited extent, boring.

You finished up what you wanted to do around the house for the day, wiping your hands off on a towel before choosing to join your fiancé in the living room, where he idly focused on some show he had been binging lately. You didn’t understand the plot, but in your defense, he was already halfway through when you started to watch it with him.

He was sitting like he always did, arms lazily draped over the back of the couch, his position lax. Lewis had one leg crossed over the other, his ankle resting atop his knee. There was nothing off about this, but when you were bored, your mind typically wandered to the most peculiar places.

His ring-clad fingers tapped against the cushions, those eyes hyper focused on the screen. For some reason, knowing one of those pieces of jewelry tied him directly to you sent a fluttering straight to your core, and seeing him so focused didn’t help either. He usually only had that look when he was racing, and it was just as hot now as it was then.

His gaze was dragged away when you stood in front of him, effectively blocking the TV screen. He tilted his head, “Yeah?” And, fuck, his voice…

You held your hand out, palm facing upwards, like you were waiting for him to hand you something. Of course, his confusion worsened as he stared at you expectantly. Lewis waited for an explanation, but didn’t get one. With bewildered hesitance he placed his hand in your palm.

You expertly shifted your hands around, intertwining your fingers with his. His hands were much large than yours, palm easily engulfing yours. “I never noticed how big your hands were,” You muttered. The look in your eyes could only be described as hypnotized. Lewis tenderly squeezed your hand, and in your somewhat entranced state, he helped you lower yourself to the ground.

“What about it?” You could hear the smirk in his voice as he stared down at you, shifting around to get more comfortable in his seat. This day was suddenly starting to look a lot more interesting for him, because he’d have a pretty little thing to keep him entertained. You finally looked up at him, your sultry eyes too sweet for him to not want to ruin. You looked like you were waiting for his every command. “You like ‘em?”

Lewis pulled his hand away from yours, which then fell to rest on his thigh. Meanwhile, he trailed his mitt up alongside your cheek, caressing your soft skin. His touch was lighthearted, like a gentle breeze kissing your warm skin.

Then he dug his digits into your hair, yanking on the messy locks. You gasped, your pupils blown out wide as you stared up at him like a goddamn deer in headlights. You were not making this easy on him— Not in the slightest.

“I do-” You finally replied. Your voice was shaky, weak, pretty. So fuckin’ pretty, just for him. Just for an ounce of his attention because that’s the kind of woman you were.

The tension in the air was thick. There he was, large hands gripping your hair whilst you both made direct eye contact. In spite of his aggressive mannerisms, his eyes held that signature kindness to them. This was all for the hell of it; he’d never truly hurt you.

“Suck on it,” He suddenly commanded. His tone held authority and power that made you drool on the spot. You opened your mouth to speak, but you were quickly silenced with a soft, “Shhh.” He leaned back, head tilted up ever so slightly. He was literally looking down at you. “Use that pretty mouth for something good.”

You obeyed, and that’s how he knew you were loving every minute of this. It didn’t matter how bold he got in bed because if Lewis did something you didn’t like you’d tell him right away. This was the man you were marrying for fuck’s sake. You knew each other better than anyone could ever understand.

With that same weak, lovedrunk expression, your small, petite hands tugged at the waistband of his grey sweatpants, which did wonders at outlining the tenting of his hardening cock. There was no secrets with those on. He lifted his hips, helping you slide them down to his ankles, leaving the man in just his boxers.

You leaned in, slowly. If you moved too fast, his hands would surely tug you back at the hair and you’d get a good scolding. His smug expression grew as you kissed his exposed thighs, your left palm teasing him through the thin piece of fabric, applying pressure to his erection.

He started to get impatient with all the waiting, and Lewis tugged the damn things off himself. His impressive length sprung free, nearly slapping you directly in the face. Through thick lashes, your eyes drifted up to look at him. Everything about him screamed power, which turned you on even more.

You started by licking along the underside, your tongue tracing a rather prominent vein until you reached the mushroom-tip. You kissed the top, feeling his entire cock twitch as a positive response. You had yet to receive verbal feedback of any sort, which meant you’d have to try harder.

You knew from experience it was impossible to fit the entire thing inside your mouth. You briefly spit on one hand, using it to stroke the base of his dick. You leaned in, tongue laying flat back against your chin as you wrapped your lips around the tip. You suckled tenderly until you heard a faint grunt. Success.

“Yeah, just like that,” He whispered, adjusting his hold on your hair. With those words of encouragement, you brought in your tongue to swirl around his evidently sensitive tip. Lewis’ hips involuntarily bucked forward, forcing himself deeper into your mouth. You were surprised, but you adapted rather quickly.

You maintained confident eye contact, searching his gaze for approval with every bob of your head. You idly traced shapes into his thighs with your freehand, and your right one continued stroking him from the bottom. He watched with darkened, lustful eyes as your cheeks hollowed, eyebrows tilted with pleasure. He didn’t even have to touch you for you to get off.

“Keep going and I just might come,” His voice was somewhat shaky, making the fruits of your labor suddenly seem a lot more obtainable. Just an arm’s length away. With another jerk of his hips, Lewis’ other hand flew down to hold your back of your head, easing you further and further down. “Come on, almost there.”

Tears brimmed in your eyes, but you refused to give up here. Still maintaining that eye contact, you took him deeper. You took him faster. Finally…

He leaned his head against the back of the couch, grunting and gripping your hair. A thick, warm, salty solution spilled down your throat in spurts, his warm cock twitching and spasming from within your mouth.

When he finished, you pulled your lips off with a satisfying ‘pop!’ He eased his grip on your hair, smoothing it back and brushing a strand behind your ear. Then, he wiped some of the cum dribbling from your plush lips away. That dirty, filthy smirk had long turned into a loving smile.

“You did great,” He panted out, slightly breathless.

“Let me grab a towel.” Maybe you did all the work, but you just made the man come harder than he ever had before.

The least you could do was offer to clean him up…

[lokisswiftie]

Satisfied

2.5k Words

Summary: Spencer can’t take his eyes off of your mouth once he notices your fixation…

Warnings: Smut!!! So much smut!!! Reader has an Oral Fixation, post prison Spencer, Dom!Spencer but he’s pathetic guys, Slightly rough Spencer, Oral (m receiving), Reader wears lipgloss?

A/N: hey guys!!! I’m back with more Spencer and I can’t lie I absolutely loved writing this. I’m taking requests, read details on my pinned post! Enjoy, and tell me what you think ;)

———————————————————————

Spencer knows the exact moment that he became aware of your fixation. It happened at night, when he was among the only people still in the bullpen working away at his mountain of files. He figured that the endless piles of papers to complete are a good distraction from the thoughts that follow him home. So, there he was at his desk, dutifully filling in the paperwork with focused efficiency. That was until his eyes briefly glanced up from his work, with the sole intention of taking another sip of his coffee.

Instead, they landed on you. Spencer had grown close to you since his return from prison, and found himself opening up to you, the newest agent. You were sweet, and hard working and growing on him fast. So, he felt very ashamed for the way he was becoming hard at the sight of you.

Very clearly wrapped up in your own stack of files, your brow was furrowed as you read over the writing. Your hair looked especially gorgeous in the low lighting- but that wasn’t what had him slack jawed. It was that you didn’t even notice that you were chewing on the lid of your pen. Your lips are parted around the cap, your tongue flicking out against the lid. He realised with a shuddering halt that a number of things you had done around him were adding up.

While speaking to him once he can recall you frequently wetting your lips. Another time, he can remember you sucking on a sweet treat. Now, Spencer Reid realised very quickly that you definitely had an oral fixation. And he felt very guilty for how much he was turned on by that. He didn’t say anything, just returning to his files and fighting to ignore the tent in his trousers- but from then on he was always noticing you, even when he tried not to.

He tried over the next few weeks to stop his eyes from drifting sinfully to your lips, whenever you would mindlessly chew on your pen without even noticing. Or, the way you almost always had some sort of candy on your tongue, even in the field. It seemed to him that you couldn’t stop wanting something in your mouth, and it was growing frustrating to him that he was so fascinated by this. It was making his life much harder, when everytime he was around you he was only able to focus on your soft lips, that he keeps picturing wrapped around him.

It was wrong. He knew that, as your colleague and your superior he has a role of responsibility around you. But with your friendly nature it’s not like you ever give him time away from you- always at his side talking animatedly about cases with an enthusiasm he can’t match. He can’t, because he’s always focused on your goddamn mouth. His stomach twists in guilt every time he finds himself staring at you, and he forces himself to look away.

The obsession- he’s given in and started calling it that- has gotten to a point where he lays awake at night, unable to sleep for thoughts of your mouth. He always feels shameful when he wakes up the next morning, and the wet patch on his boxers is evidence that he once again fell asleep to thoughts of you. Thoughts of what he would do to keep your pretty mouth busy.

So far he’s convinced himself he’s doing well at maintaining a professional relationship with you. The problem is, you’ve noticed the difference in Spencer in the past few weeks. It’s becoming increasingly more obvious that he’s been avoiding you, and you’re growing tired of it. In all honesty, you miss the casual interactions before he started putting distance between you.

That’s why when you’re about to leave for the night and notice Spencer staying late like usual, you decided that the pile of paperwork on your desk would be a perfect excuse to spend more time around him.

Spencer Looks up briefly as you return to your desk, and grab a file from the stack. He quickly looks away but internally his heart is racing. A quick glance around the room tells him that everyone else has left- leaving him alone with you. Sure, this is fine. It’s fine. Only, when he cautiously glances at you again he’s pained at the sight of your lips wrapped around the lid of your pen while you’re deep in thought. His cock is already perking up in his trousers at the sight and it feels almost mocking how your lipgloss catches the light in that moment.

“Spencer, why are you staring at me?”

You sigh in frustration, and Spencer doesn’t feel the surprise at your words for a good few seconds, as he’s so busy watching the way your mouth forms them. He snaps his eyes to yours, mouth agape and floundering beneath your gaze.

“I- uh- sorry, I didn’t realise I was- sorry.”

He pathetically stumbled the response, his mouth going dry. God, he feels ridiculous. It’s like you’re doing this on purpose- looking so pretty every time he sees you. He’s recently noticed You applying that shiny lip gloss that feels like it was made specifically to torment him. He wets his lips and shifts behind his desk conspicuously.

You raise your eyebrows and stay silent, staring at him while you lift your pen to your mouth again. You stare at him, analysing his fidgety nature. As far as you know, you haven’t done anything to elicit this kind of reaction from him. He’s been acting off with you for weeks and you’re determined to know why.

“You’ve been being weird with me- what did I do, Spencer?”

You question him seriously, and when you’re done talking you put your pen back between your lips again. The funny thing is, you don’t even realise you’re doing it again. Your tongue flicks against the lid, and Spencer groans prompting you to raise your eyebrows again.

“Fuck- that.”

He gives in relatively easily to the question, and he could kick himself for it. But it’s not entirely his fault- you’ve worn down on his capacity to lie convincingly, with your mouth haunting his mind. You furrow your eyebrows at him, and squint at him with a puzzled expression.

“What?- Spencer, what are you talking about?”

You feel your cheeks get a little bit heated at the way Spencer’s eyes are so locked on you. You squirm a little under his gaze. Spencer couldn’t handle it anymore- not when your bottom lip brushes the cap of the pen again when you speak. He grits his teeth and gets up as your eyes follow him. Pacing over until he’s standing in front of you, Spencer places his hand on your jaw which goes slack in shock.

“That. The fucking pen- you keep biting it. You don’t even know you do it, do you?”

His voice has gotten lower- rightfully so, this conversation is not for work. You stumble for a response, and you find that your heart has started racing with his touch.

“I- I don’t-“

“-You bite your lips too. And you-“

Spencer interrupts your weak response with a low tone, and you don’t make an effort to interrupt his impromptu ramble. His palm remains seated on your cheek while you gape up at him, gripping the pen in your grasp. It’s true, now that he’s pointed it out you run your tongue over your bottom lip. He groans at that, and goes silent.

There’s a moment after that where he just looks down at you, gritting his teeth and his mind racing. His brow has a crease in it telling you he’s thinking intently. His trousers have a tent in them that tells you what those thoughts might be.

“You have an Oral fixation. You seek out stimulation through your mouth- by sucking on those candies or biting your pen.”

He finally says, and the words sit on your head and then fly away. You can’t much think past his crotch in your eye line. From above, Spencer exhales slowly and then his hand firmly directs your head to look up at him. When you do, you can’t breathe much for the fire in his eyes.

“But you’re never satisfied. You drive me insane with that mouth of yours.”

The words spilling from Spencer’s mouth have been restrained for weeks. Weeks since he first noticed your mouth in this lewd way, and he’s watching the way they affect you just as much. Slowly, he sinks his hand back to grip your hair firmly as he speaks with his voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you want me to help you fill it?”

You feel your heart stutter in your chest, and without really meaning to you tip your head back for him. When his words register in your brain you realise the throbbing between your legs. You’ve surely soaked through your panties by now. Your mouth goes dry and then when your eyes glance back down to his bulge, you find yourself almost salivating at the thought.

“Yes- please, Spencer.”

You nod eagerly and he groans, which turns into a dry chuckle. He feels like this might be another one of his dirty dreams about you- but at this point he can’t be bothered to care. Instead he gently brings your head closer to his aching crotch.

“Yeah, I thought you might… be good for me, undo my belt sweetheart.”

He exhales. Your hands jump into action and you can’t believe this is happening. You drop the pen and it skids away, while you fumble with his belt hurriedly. The thought of Spencer in your mouth is making you press your thighs together. You’ve always had a tiny crush on your fellow agent, ever since you joined the bau and were introduced to him. You always thought that he was impossible to have… but now as you tug down his slacks and come face to face with his tented boxers, you realise you’re not the only one who wanted this. You pause and look up at him, finding him panting and his pupils blown wide in those brown eyes.

“Fuck- c’mon sweetheart, use that pretty mouth for me.”

He says, his chest rising and falling fast. His hand tenses in your hair, eager to direct you to the source of his arousal. The sight of your face so close to his aching cock is making him impatient. Thankfully, you grin and oblige him, pulling down his boxers. He’s painfully hard, his cock hitting off his stomach and pulling a hiss from his lips. Meanwhile, you have to take a moment to stare at him.

Fuck he’s bigger than you expected. You wet your lips as you think about having to take all of him in your mouth, and you decide you want that challenge. Pearly beads of pre-cum form steadily at his tip, and you can’t resist wrapping your hand around his base and directing his head to your mouth. You deliver kitten licks to him, and look up to find him a mess already.

“Oh fuck- god-“

His eyes closed for a moment, eyebrows furrowing as he gathered himself together. You swirling your tongue around his sensitive head is what snaps his eyes open with a broken moan. He draws in a breath before his hand tightens in your hair and lightly tugs you closer to him.

“Don’t fucking tease me- you know you want to take it all. So fucking take it.”

His voice is low and strained, and it’s making wetness pool between your thighs embarrassingly fast. You wet your lips at his words and you don't wait any longer to wrap your lips around him. The sound that spills from Spencer’s mouth when you start taking his cock into your mouth is borderline pornographic. You stop for a moment in surprise and look up, but when you lock eyes with him and see the desperation in his face you promptly take him all the way in your mouth.

“Oh my god!-“

Spencer’s head tips back, and his hand grips your hair tightly, keeping you like that for a moment while he gets his breathing in check. His eyes have drifted closed and he feels like he’s left the planet for a good few seconds.

“Feels so fucking good baby-“

His voice breaks into a moan when he looks down at you, and you fight the urge to smile around his cock. You slowly start to bob your head in a rhythm, the salty taste of his precum spurring you on. It gets to a point where he can’t take it anymore, and it pulls a choked moan from your throat when he grabs your hair more firmly and starts to direct your thrusts.

“Fuck- just like that baby- you love this don’t you?-“

You’re not surprised that he rambles even now, when your mouth is wrapped around his cock. You smile around your mouthful, and when he sees that he thrusts against your throat with a shuddering moan. The throbbing pulse of his vein on your tongue is addicting. What’s more addicting is that everytime you come up, You swirl your tongue around his head. That pulls the most pathetic of moans from his throat.

“Oh god- oh fuck baby- I’m close, I’m so close-“

Spencer starts to babble, forcing himself to keep his eyes open to watch you. When he fixes his eyes on you he sucks in a breath. Your eyes wet with tears from taking him so well, and drool pooling at the sides of your lips. Your lips- you pull back and then he’s hit with the sight of your lipgloss smeared around his cock. when he sees that, you feel him grip you and slam himself back into your mouth again.

“I’m coming- fuck- I’m gonna come-!”

His voice gets higher, whimpering as he proclaims to you in warning. As if you don’t already know what’s coming, with the way he throbs on your tongue. You lock eyes with him when it happens, and the sight is obscene.

Spencer’s dark eyes almost roll back entirely when he comes with a moan down your throat, his hand holding you firmly in place. You take it all, your hand coming to stroke his hip while you swallow everything he gives you. After the waves wash over him his hand grows slack on the back of your head, and you pull off with a pop.

“Spencer, are you with me?”

Your words come out sly, as you wipe the corners of your mouth from any residue. Spencer’s eyes flutter open, and the moment he looks down at you he’s a mess again. No dream could compare to the satisfied grin on your lips.

“You’re so beautiful.”

The words spill from his bitten lips without any hesitation, and his hand slides to cup your cheek. For a moment the two of you look at eachother, a wrecked smile on his face and a satisfied one on yours. When he catches his breath he fixes himself up- though no matter what he does with his clothes, the fucked our expression on his face remains.

His hand strokes over your cheek and he almost falls down to his knees in his hurry to connect his lips with yours. You decide when your lips lock together that you’d happily let Spencer take care of your cravings like that again.

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 9

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen, We have apparently now reached the time where I also bash Ferrari. I am sure they are super nice in real life too. They are not in this.

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Chapter 8 of...who knows.

It felt like forever. He knew it wasn't. It must have been minutes until the car door was ripped open and Charles slipped in right next to him.

It wasn’t until the doors were slammed shut behind Charles that Max dared to look at the Monégasque.

His heart skipped a beat at the sight. Charles was still in his racing suit just as him, the suit itself streaked with sweat.

The moment the car door closed, the car started riving.

"Merde," Charles cursed. Max could only agree. "I am sorry, that it took this long."

Max gave a sharp, jerky shake of his head. "You don’t have to apologize," he somehow managed to get the words out. "I’m just..." he trailed off, a shaky exhale escaping him. "How could you make it here so fast?" he asked, casting a quick glance in his friend’s direction.

Charles snorted. "Your press officer had a shouting match with Ferrari's,“ he said simply.

If Max wasn’t so focused on not completely losing it, he might’ve been amused with the mental image. But at the moment, he could only shake his head.

Next to him, Charles let out a sigh. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

"No. You?" he gave back.

"I don't have a bad feeling," Charles said quietly. “Not worse than it has been for days at least.”

Twin Telepathy was apparently a thing as far as Charles and Colette were concerned. 

Quite frankly, till this day, it still weirded Max out. They just seemed to know when the other one wasn't feeling well. 95% of the time, they got sick at the same time. They communicated more easily with each other than with anyone else, and regardless of what game they played...they needed to be put on opposite teams, because otherwise nobody had a chance against them.

Max was well aware of Colette and Charles' strange connection. Even if he didn’t fully understand it. They both had some sort of sixth sense when it came to the other one, and it sometimes felt like they were talking in secret code.

"What’s it telling you right now?" he asked, his voice barely above a rough whisper.

Charles turned to him fully at that, and Max saw the way his eyes swept over him, taking in every aspect of his appearance.

Max could only imagine what Charles was seeing. He felt like a walking wreck, and there was no doubt his appearance was mirroring that.

"Colette is in pain," Charles finally said, his voice strangely quiet. "She’s scared."

That answer felt like somebody shoved a knife into Max’s stomach. He inhaled sharply, the breath catching in his throat. “Of course, she is,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Charles seemed to sense what he was thinking, even without being telepathically connected through whatever the hell Colette and him had going on. The Monégasque reached out and took a firmer hold of his hand, the grip almost crushing.

"Don’t," Charles said firmly, his voice leaving no room for arguments. "Don’t go there. We’re gonna get to her as fast as we can."

There was a brief moment of silence, as Max tried to collect himself. He focused all his attention on the pressure of Charles' hand on his, and somehow, it actually helped.

"I feel so goddamn useless," he finally admitted, his voice rough with emotion. "I want to be with her."

"You want to try calling her before we are in the air?" Charles suggested.

That was not a bad idea, not at all. Max let out a low and slightly shaky exhale, swallowing hard. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Yeah, I…” he had to stop and clear his throat. “Yeah, I’ll try to call her.”

His hands were shaking when he pulled out his phone out of the backpack that somebody had handed off to him, already packed. Regardless of all the drama that had gone on in the RedBull garage during the year… if it really mattered, the people in there pulled off minor miracles.

Within minutes, his entire day - hell, his entire week - had been packed for him, with all the essentials of clothes and everything else he would need.

He had almost forgotten about the phone in his shaking hands, but now he just stared at the screen for a moment. His fingers were trembling so badly that just unlocking the phone was a challenge in itself.

Jimmy and Sassy were on his lockscreen...a picture that Colette had once sent him when he had been away for one of his races...the two of them laying on top of her on their couch...

Every other time Max saw the photo, it made his heart do a little funny jump. Now though, it made his chest ache. It felt like a sharp stabbing pain, and for a moment, he just sat there and stared at the picture.

Then he called her.

It rang. And it rang, and it rang again. With each passing second, that horrible knot in his stomach tightened a little more. With every ring of the bell, it got harder to breathe.

Finally, to Max’s immense and enormous relief, the line connected.

"Hey, Maxie. I put you on speaker," Victoria's voice came over the phone, sounding surprisingly calm.

A shiver of something resembling dread ran through Max, at the sound of Victoria’s voice. But he pushed past the feeling.

His thoughts were once again running wild - was it a bad sign that Colette wasn’t the one speaking to him? Or was he just overreacting..?

“Hey,” he forced the word out past the lump in his throat. "How are you feeling?" he asked, pleading for Colette's voice. Was it selfish that he just wanted to hear her tell him that everything was going to be okay?

"Better now," Colette's voice came, sounding slightly hoarse.

The words were like a shot of adrenaline, and for a moment, Max actually felt a little lightheaded. “Liefje.” He closed his eyes, just hearing her voice sending another wave of relief through him. “Are you okay? How is Bébé?”

"Bébé has decided that they would rather be born today, so I would suggest you hurry up," Victoria said drily.

"Seems like the kid already inherited Max's need for speed," Charles quipped. "How are you doing, Coco?"

"I'm good," Colette's voice replied, and Max could only imagine the eye-roll that was currently happening. He knew his girlfriend, and he had no doubt that she had been glaring at Victoria ever since the phone was put on speaker.

"Where are you?" she asked, her voice suddenly turning much softer. "You're coming, right?"

"Coming," he assured her, his heart aching. "We're coming, I promise."

"I know. I’m not worried." She sounded like she meant it, but Max could easily imagine the anxiety in her eyes.

"You'd better not worry," Charles said, and then added, "I’m keeping him from doing anything dumb."

Max shot Charles a dirty look at that, bt he swallowed down the annoyed protest and focused back on Colette instead. “Just…hold on a little longer, okay?”

"It's not like I can go anywhere else," Colette replied, her voice slightly amused. "I’ll keep our little speed demon in there a little lo...." She broke off and let out a quiet hiss of pain, her voice once again cut off by what Max suspected to be a particularly painful contraction.

“Colette,” he said sharply, all kinds of emotions washing over him, one by one. “Liefje, just…just breathe through it, okay?”

There was a second of panting, then, he heard her take a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” she finally said. “Just…hurts like hell.”

He swallowed and clenched his free hand tightly into a fist, fighting against the urge to just jump out of the car and start running towards the airport.

Colette being in pain was not something he could deal with.

He heard her take a few more deep breaths, and he just sat there, waiting and listening and feeling absolutely useless.

"How long until you get here?" she asked after a moment, her voice breathless. He could see her in his mind, his sweet girl, sitting on the bed and clutching her belly as another contraction hit her.

"We're not even at the airport yet," he told her, and damn it, why were his eyes suddenly burning. "We’ll get there as soon as we can, okay? Just...hold on a little longer."

"What your dad said..." Colette said with a shaky voice.

"I know," he said simply, the grief raw in his voice. Neither of them were ever really going to get over the two babies they had lost. They had learnt to live with the pain, they had dealt with the heartbreak an grief...but it was always going to be scar for them.

"Max, if something…" she began, her voice a little wobbly. He could tell that she was crying, by the way her breathing got a little more hitched and ragged.

But she suddenly cut off and gasped, letting out an even breath. Another contraction..."Hey, nothing is gonna happen," he quickly said, trying to soothe her. "Nothing. I'll be there soon. I'll be there before you know, and our child will meet their parents. We will be fine, we will get through this. You, and me. Together."

"If something happens," Colette continues. "If..."

"No," he cut her off, the word coming out as a growl. "Nothing is gonna happen. You will not talk that way. You’re going to deliver a gorgeous and healthy baby, and I won’t hear anything else."

"Max..." she protested, but Max wasn’t having it.

"You’re not going anywhere," he said firmly, putting as much steel in his voice as he could. "You will be fine. Our baby will be fine, and I will be there soon and I will hold your hand and you can threaten to geld me and all of it will be okay. Just breathe.” 

He could hear the sound of her breathing, deep and even. She was trying to steady it, and Max gripped his phone tighter. He didn’t know if he was trying to hold himself together, or if he was trying to hold on to the sound of her voice.

The seconds ticked by, and then another contraction hit, and he heard her gasp out another ragged breath. Max felt like he was going to crawl out of his own skin. The idea of her in pain was like an invisible knife twisting a little deeper in his gut, each time.

"We need to go," Charles said suddenly. "We need to get into the plane." The car slowed down at that moment. "Coco, listen to me. I am going to be absolutely fucking furious with you if something happens to you," Charles told her fiercely. 

"Trust me," Colette’s voice said, sounding slightly tired. "I am very, very motivated to stay alive."

That was good. That was a good sign. If she was still being sarcastic and even a little bit cheeky…it was good.

"Just hold on," he told her again, the familiar feeling of helplessness seeping into his bones. "Just keep hanging on, for me. I love you."

“I love you too,” the words were as immediate and as fast as the sunrise each morning. "Hurry up, dammit."

"I’m trying," he replied, his voice hoarse. "I’m trying. We’re at the airport now. We’ll get there as fast as we can-" he had to stop, when he heard her let out another pained gasping sound, as another contraction clearly hit her hard.

“Goddamn,” he exclaimed, all of his muscles tense with the urge to do something. He wanted to help her, he wanted to be there to comfort her…but more than anything,  he was terrified of losing her. "Liefje, just keep breathing, okay? Breathe and stay calm."

"I’m trying to," her voice was breathless, and he knew that she was probably trying hard to fight the urge to cry out. Oh God, he hated that. He hated seeing her in pain, he loathed feeling this utterly useless.

"Go. Love you," she told him.

"I love you," he told her emphatically, wanting to say something more, but then Charles impatiently gestured at him to hurry up and get out of the car. "I...I’ll see you soon, okay? Just hang on, okay?"

"Yeah," he could tell that she was trying even harder to control her voice, trying to put on a calm and steady front for his benefit. "Just..." she cut off and let out a gasp, another contraction evidently hitting her hard. "...just hurry up before this baby decides to make their way out before you arrive, okay?"

"I will," he promised through gritted teeth. "I will, goddammit, I will, just…hang on."

He heard Colette’s pained panting, and each of her breaths was like a stab in the gut.He hated having to hang up on her

Everything in him rebelled at that. How could he, how could he possibly abandon her like that, how could he let her take on this pain and fear all by herself, without him there to hold her hand...but goddamnit, he had no choice.

He took a shuddering breath and pushed past the urge to scream, to slam his fist into something, anything. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, ranging from the desperate need to get to her, to overwhelming panic, to anger at the universe for forcing them apart and for putting her through this pain.

Into the plane they went…it was probably the shortest amount of time between entering a plane and taking off Max had ever experienced. 

Before too long they were up in the air, flying towards Nice.

The minutes ticked by, each one passing by like a century. Max would sit in restless agitation at his seat, his mind racing back and forth. Every thought and memory came back to Colette. He just wanted to be at her side, he just wanted everything to be okay…

And instead he would be stuck on this plane for 6 hours.

He would be stuck on this goddamn plane for six hours. Six hours, each one of them filled with the knowledge that the love of his life was giving birth to their child, and he was not there to support her, to hold her hand and reassure her that everything was okay.

It was driving him absolutely insane. He couldn’t take it, he just wanted to be there, with her. He could vividly picture her, sitting in the hospital bed and gripping the rails, her face screwed up in pain as she fought through another contraction. And he was not there to comfort her.

"Maman is with her. Your sister is with her. Lorenzo and Arthur too." Charles said at that moment. “We aren't there but everybody else is."

"How can you be this calm?" Max asked him, dragging a hand through sweat damp hair.

"Don't mistake calm for not being worried," Charles said evenly, his eyes tracking Max's restless pacing of the plane. "I am worried. For her, for you and for the little one. But freaking out isn't gonna do anyone any favours right now."

"I know,” Max said, his voice still strangled tight with stress. He just couldn't get any of the images out of his mind - her struggling and fighting her way through the pain, looking more vulnerable and pale than he had ever seen her...and he was not there.

“Besides, I shouted at Ferrari’s PR and got it out of my system, so currently, I am feeling quite calm.” Charles said darkly. “I imagine that’s going to change again when I am sure that Colette and the baby are alright.”

Max just stared at him. Charles had done what?

If there was a religion that Charles Leclerc believed in then it was Ferrari.

Charles Leclerc was their golden boy. Their Il Predestinato. There was no good-natured fobbing to be had about Ferrari regardless of what issues there had been had through the years, and there had been a lot.

Charles worshipped Ferrari like a malevolent goddess. He didn’t want to hear any criticism of his team and Max had given up on that a very long time ago. 

Charles and Colette both could be the most stubborn people Max had ever match. The only one who could match their stubbornness were each other. 

"You did what?" Max stared at him, utterly flabbergasted. Charles was an absolute Ferrari fan and loyal to the very core…why the hell would he yell at the PR people?

"Why...? What did they do?"

"They weren't even going to tell me that something was wrong with Colette," Charles said darkly. "I knew it. I knew that something was off. But they didn't say anything. It was one of Red Bull's PR Staff that got me out of the cooldown room. Ferrari wouldn't have said anything to me. Ferrari didn't want me to leave either. They wanted to debrief, they wanted me to give interviews,"

Max had to resist the urge to swear. He had been so focused on the fact that he was not with Colette that he hadn't even processed the fact that Ferrari had actually kept her labour a secret from Charles, simply to make him stay and do his goddamn job for them.

"You know that that is not normal, right?" he asked him drily. "I am not telling you that everything is perfect at Red Bull but Christian would never fucking stand for that."

"You know I never expected it," Charles told him, his mouth a thin hard line. "We are the drivers. We are the stars. But we come second. First and foremost, we are assets to the team. What Ferrari wants, Ferrari gets. We drive, we get podiums, we hold the trophies, and we smile for the cameras. Everything else comes second. It doesn’t matter to them. To them, only the trophies matter. "

"That's what they want," Max told him, anger seeping into his voice. "But that's not how it should be. Ferrari is wrong. If something is wrong with your loved ones, they have no right to keep it from you like that. Especially not for the sake of a goddamn interview."

"I know," Charles said, his lips thin with bitterness. "But there's not much I can do about it, is there? We may be the top drivers on the grid, but we drive the car that the teams give us. There's only so much that we can do when the team has power over pretty much every aspect of our career. And believe me, I am going to pay a fucking price for doing what I did. I just don't care at all. It's Colette," he said sharply. "I love all my siblings. I do. I love Lorenzo and Arthur. I would do everything for them. But they aren't my twin. They aren't the second half of me," Charles said simply. "Ferrari be damned."

Max hadn't thought that he was ever going to hear these words out of Charles' mouth but here they were.

"What the fuck did Jos say by the way? What did Coco mean?" Charles demanded.

"He gave an interview to Sky Sports," Max said, fury still embering deep in his gut.

"Of course he did." Charles said, not sounding surprised at all. "What did he say?"

"Confirmed the relationship...and the pregnancy," Max said clenching his teeth. "And if that wasn't enough...he made a...comment about how it had taken us long enough to have a baby."

There was a sharp indrawn breath as Charles absorbed that. "...What?" Charles said after a moment, his voice strangled. "...he made that comment in public? Are - are you serious?"

"I never told him about the two...miscarriages," Max said quietly. "I couldn't deal with whatever well meant advice he was going to have...but I...We lost two babies," Max said weakly. "My father went out there and confirmed our relationship and the pregnancy without talking to either of us. He just made that decision because it's "ridiculous" that we kept it a secret for so long. An it’s making me furious. This wasn't his decision to make. This was ours."

"Yes," Charles said, his jaw clenching. "It was. Your decision. Nobody else’s. He had absolutely no right to do that. Goddamn it, I have never liked that man, but I've never had the urge to punch him as much as I do this very moment."

"You and me both," Max said. The anger he was feeling would have been burning through him like a damn inferno if he hadn't been so worried about Colette.

"This should have come from us," Max repeated quietly. "Not from anybody else."

"It still can come from you," Charles said.

Max paused, looking up at him. "Are you saying we should..." he began uncertainly.

"You want to tell the entire world that you love my sister and that she is having your baby? You have an Instagram account and a phone with an internet connection," Charles said drily. "Tell them the truth. Your truth."

Max opened his mouth and then closed it again. Charles had a point. It was obvious what the news was going to be now if people had seen Jos's interview.

But he wanted to be the one to tell the world. He wanted it to be on his terms. He wanted it to be public but on his public terms. Not his father's.

"Are you ever going to ask my sister to marry you?" Charles asked him suddenly.

The question caught him completely off guard. "...What?" He said blankly, stunned by the change of the conversation.

"You gave her a ring when you were both 18 that you both insisted was only a promise ring," Charles said drily. "Are you ever going to replace it with the real thing?"

He thought back to that ring that still sat on Colette's finger to this day. A simply gold band with a tiny heart-shaped diamond.

He had given it to her in 2016, after his very first Grand Prix win in Spain. He had gone out and bought it that very same day to be exact.

He had bought Victoira a handbag the first time he had scored his championship points...but the first time he had won...he had bought Colette that ring.

"Apparently the baby is only going to have your surname too, because you have an agreement," Charles continued. "Do I actually want to know what that agreement was?"

"We were 18. Both our father's would have probably killed us, if we came to them and told them that we were engaged," Max said with a sigh. The Leclerc's had always been supportive of their relationship but Hervè Leclerc had very much thought that both Colette and him were far too young to get married. 

Jos on the other hand...Max didn't even want to imagine that screaming fit.  "So I gave her that ring and we agreed that..."

"You agreed that..." Charles repeated slowly, silently urging him to continue.

Max let out a deep sigh and dragged a hand through his already messy hair, mussing it up even more. "We agreed that we didn't really need a piece of paper to tell us what we already knew," he said simply. "Colette and I had been together for 6 years at that point, we already knew and accepted that we were going to be together for the rest of our lives. It was just a matter of when. So we decided that we didn't need a damn piece of paper to know that we were committed to each other. We already knew that, without a doubt," Max said simply. "It was a promise ring. To love and to cherish, till death us do part. One day we would do it properly, but till then...that ring was a promise."

Charles stared at him. "Let me get this straight. You have been married to my sister for 10 years?" he asked him sharply.

Max winced. Okay. Put like that, it sounded kinda bad. "We never had the actual wedding," he said sheepishly. "We both know it wasn't necessary for us, so...we kinda just...never got around to it."

"I mean, I did ask your father for her hand in marriage when it was clear that he wasn't going to be there...when we eventually did it properly...but...for us that ring was… It was more than enough," Max said quietly. "I knew damn well that I would be with her for the rest of my life. She knew it. We both knew it. And that ring was a symbol between us that sealed the deal. We both knew that it was going to be for forever and always. It was a promise. A promise to always stay by each other’s side. No matter how badly things fell apart around us. No matter how much the world wanted to tear us to apart. We were going to stay together, come hell or high water. We didn't need a paper to prove that to us or the rest of the world," Max said firmly.

Charles stared at him for a couple of long moments, processing this. Max was well aware that, from an outside perspective, it might sound weird. That they had been so young, but so utterly certain that they were going to spend their lives together.

But he and Colette had been together for years. And he had seen how strongly they had bonded over the years, seen what they had been able to deal with as a team, as one, and how they had come through every single thing that the life had thrown at them together.

"You two are utterly ridiculous," Charles finally said drily. "You didn't get engaged because as far as you two were concerned you already got married years ago."

Max winced a little bit and couldn't really refute it. If he were to be honest, he'd have admit it did sound utterly ridiculous, when Charles spelled it out like that.

But that just...that was how badly they had known right from the very beginning that this was it for them. They didn't need a piece of paper to tell them what they already knew.

"I'll ask her properly," he promised Charles. "I already got the ring. But Colette doesn't want to overshadow Lorenzo and Charlotte and I knew that she wasn't going to want to have a big party while pregnant so I figured I would just wait."

Charles was slightly taken aback by his words, before he gave a small smile. "She'll definitely say yes, you know," he said, the corner of his eyes crinkling with affection.

Max smiled in return. His heart ached with the thought of her. "I hope so," he said quietly, feeling like there was a hole in his chest where his heart was supposed to be. "I really, really hope so."

[armxnh]

i know we just met, but i love you

synopsis: love at first sight with the tokyo revengers men.

characters: manjiro 'mikey' sano, takashi mitsuya, chifuyu matsuno

genre: fluff

warnings: none (i think...?)

masterlist.

manjiro 'mikey' sano

"ken-chinnnn" the leader of the toman whined at his taller friend. draken rolled his eyes in response, "no mikey, drop it."

"come onnnn-" the said man pouted exaggeratedly, "what did i do wrong?"

"nothing." the delinquent replied taking his wallet out of the pocket of his jacket, "you just don't need to eat twenty-five taiyaki."

"sorry to bother you but there are a lot of people who are waiting take their orders so if you could-" daiki, as it was written on his name tag, tried to cut them off from behind the counter.

for the past ten minutes, the two delinquents were arguing about their order. draken wanted to buy mikey five taiyaki, while mikey wanted his friend to buy him twenty-five of them.

draken turned his head to the cashier, "yeah, so five taiyaki and-"

"twenty-five taiyaki." "damn you-"

"hurry up! unlike other people, some of us have important things to do!" a customer yelled from the back of the line.

manjiro snapped his head to the back of the line, narrowing his eyes at the older man who had just yelled at him. "see now you're making people angry, mikey. 'm not gonna spend ¥5,272 on snacks."

"i need to eat a lot if i want to be taller!"

"for the last time. you won't get taller! you are at your maximum height!"

"alright! i'm not going through this again." a soft voice cut both of them before they could start the same argument they had 2 minutes ago. "daiki, i'll pay for their order- just make his goddamn snacks, please."

when manjiro turned to look at the person who 'saved his life', he felt like he has just died and miraculously came back to life as he made eye contact with you.

you were... pretty.

his eyes were set on you, taking in every single detail he could as if he was scared to forget how you look the second he'll look away.

"thank you, but that's not necessary!" draken politely thanked you as you grabbed your fidelity card of the small shop.

"don't worry about it! after all, those fidelity points have to be used for something." you waved him off, looking back at daiki, "could you also add my regular oder with that, please daiki?"

"o-of course, (y/n)!" the young worker quickly tapped your oder in the computer, a red hue covering his cheeks when you smiled at him.

"mikey, what do you say?" draken looked at his friend, hinting him to thank you, but his words fell into deaf ears as mikey kept looking at you like you hung the moon and stars in the sky.

"mikey?" He nudged the said man's shoulder trying to snap him out of his thoughts, only to be ignored once more.

the tall blond dropped the smile as he turned to his friend hitting the side of his head, finally snapping him out of his thoughts, "mikey!"

"um? what?" mikey barely glanced at draken when he responded, his heartbeat increasing when you looked back at him with your receipt in hand.

"i said, what do you say to the girl who just bought you your snacks?" he replied, glancing between the two of you clearly wondering why his friend was acting weird all of the sudden.

"marry me."

ken ryuguji never whipped his head to look at his friend so fast in his life. What the hell did he just said?!

you felt your face warm up at his words, chuckling as you walk past him, placing your hand on his shoulder, "do you ask every girl who buys you snacks to marry you?"

manjiro felt like he was in heaven when you stood closer to him. how can someone be so pretty and be so nice and smell so good and be so pretty at the same time.

"what?" toman's leader came back down to earth when you handed him the box filled of taiyaki. "did i say that out loud?" manjiro mumbled, frowning to himself. before looking back at you, just to see you making your way outside. "hey- wait!"

he tossed the snacks at draken jogging to meet you outside of the shop. "w-wait!"

you turned to look at him, the soft summer breeze sweating through your hair, leaving your face completely out in the open, "yes?"

"you're (y/n), right?" he asked remembering how the cashier called you when you were ordering, "i'm mikey..." he wanted to say something else but the words got caught in his throat when you smiled at him.

"nice to meet you, mikey" you replied before your eyes drifted behind him to the small group of guys that were looking at the two of you intensely, the 'ken-chin' guy from earlier standing with them. "i think your friends are waiting for you"

manjiro glanced back to see his best friends looking at them with knowing looks on their faces, "never mind them- this is- you are more important."

you looked away from him, his intense eye contact making your face feel warm, "you really know how to talk to girls you know?"

"thank you for earlier... the snacks and all..."

"that was 2 months worth of fidelity points- you better eat every single one of those taiyaki" you playfully warned the gang leader.

"don't worry about that..!" mikey replied knowing damn well that he will inhale those snacks. "can i walk you home? it's going to get dark soon- wouldn't want my wife to get attacked or something!"

wife?!

you suppress a smile at his words, "of course, wouldn't want it to get dark at 2 pm, and then get attacked by who knows what next to a bakery."

"exactly! let's go, wifey!"

takashi mitsuya

"what did you say you're brother's name was?" you asked the crying girl in front of you.

"...t- taka-shi" the small girl sobbed in your shoulder as you gently patted her head.

"alright and what's your name?" you gently asked as you scanned the area trying to find someone who looked like they had just lost their child.

"i- i- i'm mana"

"you have a really pretty name, you know?" you smiled fondly at the girl as you whipped the tears of her face with your thumbs.

"really?"

"heck yeah! it's a badass name!" you felt relief wash over you when you saw a smile spread across the kid's face, "i'm (y/n) and i'm gonna help you find your brother alright?"

"thank you..." she mumbled quietly.

"you're going to hop on my shoulders and tell me when you see your brother okay?" the girl looked up at you with stars in her eyes, you pulled mana on your shoulder, her small hands on your head.

you walked for a good 15 minutes before mana tapped your head with on hand while the other pointed toward an unknown man in the crowd of person, "they're there! that's draken!"

draken? wasn't her brother's name takashi? you wondered as you put mana to the ground your hand grabbing hers just in case she got lost again.

"mana!" a little girl's voice called out as you arrived next to the very tall guy with a dragon tattoo on his head. the small girl that looked very similar to mana hugged tightly the younger girl.

"mitsuya! ' found her" the tall guy called out for someone else behind him. the 'mitsuya' guy appeared from behind the 'draken' guy not long after he called out from him. the purple haired teen practically attacked his sister with a hug, sighing in relief.

"don't ever do that again, mana." he gently scaled his younger sister, "you could've gotten lost and we would've been really sad, al-?"

"it's fine! (y/n) helped me find you!" she pointed her finger at her. mitsuya ruffled his sister's hair, before straightening up to thank the person that help his mini-him, "thank you so mu..."

he felt like the world had stopped moving. like it was only the two of them in the middle of the festival. takashi mitsuya was in a trance. he was simply mesmerized by the sight of you.

"it's no problem, really! " you softly smiled at him, "your sister is a real angel-"

anything else you said after wasn't even registered but the delinquent in front of you. he was usually so good at this- talking to people was what he did best so... why couldn't he utter a single word for you.

his cheeks were red, his palm were sweaty, why was he anxious?- he was hanging on everything you did. even if he felt like he had forgotten how to speak, your voice felt like melody to his ears.

he snapped out of his trance when someone nudge his shoulder. mitsuya glanced at draken beside him, suddenly remembering that they weren't alone and that you were talking to him.

you looked at him with a puzzled look, "are you alright?

your question made him overthink about everything that happened in the last 2 minutes of your meeting. Did he look like a creep?

"i- i- great."

the hell was that takashi? he cursed himself.

darken cleared his throat, holding back his laugh. he brought his fist to his mouth faking coughs as he muttered a small, "real smooth, mitsuya".

you chuckled at his friend's comment, making mitsuya straighten up, you pulled out your hand for him to shake.

"let's start over, alright? i'm (y/n)... you're takashi right?"

draken stepped up clearly expecting his friend to be to lost in space to answer you, "he prefers mitsuya-"

"takashi's fine!" the said man interjected, as he quickly grabbed your hand to shake it, sending one of his pretty smile in your direction.

"i-"

"are you going to marry my brother?" he couldn't catch a break could he? luna asked you with big eyes.

you chuckled softly at her words, "how about this... i will give my number to your brother. then we'll go out to eat something to talk about marriage alright?"

"yes!" the girl tightly hugged your leg as you said that.

"does that sound like a plan to you, takashi?" yes!

mitsuya hurriedly started to look in his pocket for a pen, when draken pulled one out of his pocket with a piece of paper and handed it to the purple haired boy, "there you go, casanova"

takashi handed you the paper and the pen, before you wrote your name with your phone number on it.

"see y'a soon, taka! bye, mana don't get lost again alright?"

as soon as you were out of sight takashi turned to draken with a stern look, "not a word about this, alright?"

"you're crazy!" draken crackled putting his hand in his pocket, "i'm going to tell everyone!"

"draken!"

"as your wingman i feel like it's my responsibility-"

"no it is not!"

chifuyu matsuno

"hurry up, chifuyu!" takemichi yelled at his friend. they couldn't be late. not for that.

"how come you are slow as hell during a fight, yet you sprint your life on a sunday at 8 am?" the blond joked as he calmly walked behind takemichi with not a care in the world.

"come on! we're gonna be late!" he repeated hurriedly before stopping abruptly while looking around him.

"late to what?" chifuyu yawned, before looking at his friend, who stood there looking around, up and down as if his brain had finally snapped, "you alright?"

"alright stand here and don't move." takemichi moved the delinquent around so that he would stand in the middle of a park- an empty park.

"did you finally snapped or...?" he asked when the time traveler started to back away from him, "are you going to kill me? is this really how it's gonna end-"

"watch out!"

a voice yelled, but it was too late.

a ball directly hit his face, knocking chifuyu to the dirty ground, his eyes closing due to the shock.

it took him a couple of seconds before finally opening his eyes again, only to realize that he was in heaven. the prettiest girl he had ever seen in his life held his head in her hands, her index and middle finger pressed against the front of his neck just below his jaw- making sure that his heart was still beating.

"oh- thank god! you're not dead!"

"are you an angel?" chifuyu mumbled placing his hand on top of yours- making sure you were real, "am i in heaven?"

you let a breathy chuckle at his words, "you're cute- but no you're not dead... i kicked a ball in your face- unintentionally of course!"

his eyes finally focused on you, remembering what had happened. he blinked a couple of time, his eyes scanning your face- a pretty girl's face... so close to his face with her hands on his face and his hands on her hand-

what?!

chifuyu's face became as red a tomato straitening his posture to apologize for touching you without your authorization, "i'm so sorry-"

his head came in contact with your head, making you pull back immediately from the blond. "ow! i told you i didn't do it on purpose!" you groan holding your head with your hands.

chifuyu gasped in horror at his own clumsiness as he placed a hand on the back of your head. hopping that the coldness of it would help you a little, "i'm sorry! i swear i didn't mean it! please hit me again so that we're even!"

...what? now why would he say that?

"what? what's wrong with you?! do you get turn on by getting hit or something?!"

chifuyu panically looked around to search takemichi so that he could help him. when he finally spotted him, hiding behind the swings, the time traveler was smiling proudly with his two thumbs up in the air.

his action making him recall a conversation the two of them had a couple of weeks earlier.

"so... am i married in the future?" chifuyu asked takemichi as he bit down the sandwich he made himself for lunch.

takemichi raised his brows at the question, "yeah-"

"really?!" the blond gasped, with heart in his eyes, "do i know her?! no wait- that'll ruin the surprise- is she pretty?! no wait- of course she's pretty you idiot!"

the time traveler chuckled at his friend's words, rubbing the back of his neck, "do you want me to tell you how you met?"

"no! it has to be a surprise!" chifuyu refused, "wait am i going to meet her soon? is that why you said that?! takemichi?! answer!"

"nah- like you said it has to be a surprise~"

"takemichi!"

"if it makes you feel better- you embarrassed yourself in front of her"

"how would that make me feel better?!"

that sneaky bastard.

"i'm sorry! i don't know how to talk to pretty girls..." chifuyu mumbled looking to the ground, but his face snapped back at you when he realize what he had just say, your eyes round at his words, "i- i mean not that don't know how to talk you! wait- not that you're not pretty! you are pretty- beautiful even! but that is not the point! i don't need you to hit me! just please don't think i hurt you on purpose- i don't hit pretty girls! no wait- i don't hit girls at all! but you being beautifully-pretty is just a plus you know! an-"

you smacked your hand on his mouth, stopping his rambling, the butterflies in your stomach flying way to much due to his words. "please stop-! you're too cute..."

takemichi titled his head at the scene in front of him, clearly not remembering that part of the story your older self told him in the future about how chifuyu and her had met-

but... mission failed successfully... i guess?

ⓒarmxnh

[stevie-petey]

episode eight: papa

“We’re felons.” Your eyes are squeezed shut as you rub your stomach, nauseous. “I can’t believe we just stole that poor couple’s home.” “Think Spidey would understand?” Steve spares you a glance as he drives. “Don’t ever evoke his name while committing a felony.”

Summary: steve is on the brink of a constant nervous breakdown, eddie questions your taste in music, you and max go halfsies on your lives, angry hicks are scary, and the end of the world is near so of course now is the time for every emotional conversation ever. duh !

Rating: general, some swearing, violence

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, cursing, weapons, talk of death, lowkey suicidal thoughts but barely ??

Words: 15.9k

Before you swing in: hey gang !!! this chapter is a goddamn monster. it took forever to write for a million reasons, but the payoff is worth it in my biased opinion. we get a LOT of conversations in this chapter, all that have been brewing for seasons !!!!! the narrative is narrativing !!! we only have one more chapter, so sit back, relax, n enjoy :)

–

When Steve was a little kid, he would have nightmares about losing his parents. 

They started when he was seven. In the first dream, his mother had been in the car. She was driving away from him, beckoning him to follow, but Steve’s scrawny legs couldn’t keep up; he hadn’t reached her in time. 

He remembers waking up screaming for her. The terror of abandonment was heavy within his chest. It stifled his breathing. He remembers thinking that he was going to die. 

May Harrington rushed into her son’s room upon hearing his screams. She clutched him to her chest, smoothed down his wild hair. Steve had been too upset to explain the dream to her, then. His body simply melted into her embrace, relieved that she had still been there with him. That she hadn’t really left him. 

The dreams continued after that night. 

One time he had dreamt that his father locked him in the closet and told him that no one would ever see him again. Another night, Steve dreamt that his mother no longer loved him. That his love for her hadn’t been enough to convince her to stay. 

The dreams came sporadically. Sometimes Steve would go weeks without one. Other times, he would have one every night for a month. 

His father detested the dreams. He loathed what they did to his son. Not because of the fear that plagued Steve’s now pale skin, but because of how weak they made him. Richard Harrington would grip Steve’s arm tightly and command him to stop crying. The grip would leave bruises alongside his tear stained face. 

When Steve was nine, now too old to be having such vivid nightmares, his mother rocked him back and forth in her arms after a particularly difficult nightmare. Steve’s hiccupping breath echoed his tightening grip on the woman. 

“Oh, my beautiful boy. You’ll never lose me.” May stroked his back, her soothing voice floated around Steve. 

Steve clutched his mother even tighter. “But what if I do?”

May coaxed his head from her neck. She looked at him with such tenderness, such love. Her fingers grazed Steve’s face gently as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. She hummed, her voice lovely as always. “I’ll tell you a secret.”

“What secret, momma?” 

Steve will never forget the way his mother smiled at him. “When you love someone, you can never really lose them.”

And the secret settled a deep ache of uncertainty within her son. He loved hard and fast from then on. If Steve loved everyone he ever met, then he couldn’t lose them.

But then Steve was seventeen and he lost Nancy Wheeler.

Now Steve is nineteen and he’s about to lose you. 

One minute Nancy had been climbing up the rope. Your arms brushed Steve’s and your warmth reassured him that everything was going to be okay. You’d made it out. You were going to escape from the Upside Down and hold one another as soon as this was all over.

Until Nancy’s grip on the rope loosened and she fell. Steve barely had time to catch her before her dead weight landed upon him. Managing to stand her up, Steve finally realized what was happening. Her skin was pale and her body stiff.

She had gone into a vision. 

That’s when Steve turned to you. 

His entire world collapsed after that. You were frozen as well, as stiff as Nancy. The veins in your neck were pulled taunt. Steve thinks he screamed. 

And now he’s alone. You and Nancy have been taken from him. He can’t break you from whatever spell Vecna has the two of you under. 

“Y/N!” 

Steve doesn’t recognize his own voice. He can’t feel his body. He can’t feel yours beneath his hands as he desperately shakes you. Everything is numb from the fear that paralyzes him. 

The whites of your eyes blind him. Steve doesn’t know when they rolled back. 

“Steve, what’s going on down there?” Dustin’s voice cuts through the ringing in his ears. Every nerve in your brother’s body is on edge. Something isn’t right. You’re too still. 

“He’s-he’s got them!” Steve can’t bring himself to let go of you. He just wants to see the color in your eyes again. He wants you to wake up and laugh at him and call him stupid names and remind him that he’s yours. 

Above Steve he can hear screaming. Everyone starts shouting at one another, running around in a panic. No one knows what to do.

“Stay with me, angel.” Steve cradles your head. “Please.”

He can’t lose you. Steve wouldn’t survive a world without you in it. All the warmth and love within the world would leave the second you took your last breath. 

A body lands beside yours, tearing you out of Steve’s grasp. Seeing red, he turns, fists clenched and ready to throw a punch, but he only finds Dustin. The kid’s eyes are shell shocked, a manic look in them as he shakes his sister. 

“Do you have her walkman?” 

Steve almost can’t hear him over the pounding of his heart. “W-what?”

“Y/N’s walkman!” Dustin exclaims, rifting through your pockets. His hands are shaking and he can’t form any other thought besides finding the goddamn walkman. He knows you have it. He made sure that you wouldn’t go anywhere without it. “Steve, where is it?”

“I-I don’t know!” He can’t breathe. He’s too paralyzed by the idea of losing you forever. Then he remembers Nancy and it’s all too much. He can’t lose her either. She’s a part of him in a way that Steve will never be able to explain. “What about Nancy? What the hell do we do?”

“We need to find the fucking walkman.” When Dustin’s fingers feel plastic in your pocket, hope jumps in his throat. Letting out a breath, he pulls it out and quickly gets to work on unwrapping all the plastic that encases it. Only the wrapping is too thick, Dustin wants to scream. “Help me get this shit off!”

Steve yanks the device out of the boy’s grasp and claws at the mess of plastic and knots. Dustin had made sure to secure it when he left you at Lover’s Lake. While it kept the walkman bone dry, you’re now paying the price. It’s almost impossible to tear off. 

“Fuck!” Steve tries to bite through it, but it’s no use. 

“Give me it.” Dustin snatches the walkman back, now holding your knives. He starts cutting through the plastic quickly, but he notices Nancy start to convulse next to you. Panicking, Dustin shouts at Steve, “Help her!”

“But what about Y/N–”

“Now isn’t the goddamn time to argue!” Dustin screeches. He’s almost finished cutting through all the plastic. “I have Y/N. Focus on Nancy!”

It’s what you would want. Steve and Dustin both know this. And as much as it physically pains Steve to let go of you, he knows that you’d never forgive him if he allowed Nancy to die. 

Stumbling over his feet, he grabs her shoulders. Her body is as cold as yours. Her own whites of her eyes taunt Steve. Shaking Nancy, he screams up to the others, “Whatever you guys are doing, hurry up!”

“I got it!” Dustin holds up the now freed walkman, cheering. He can save you. He will save you. All he has to do now is put the headphones over your ears and play the music you love and his sister will be okay.

But then your body starts to convulse. The sight is gruesome. Your fingers bend sideways, your neck snaps back, and your chest collapses into itself. Terrified, Dustin screams your name over and over again. 

Hearing the boy’s pained cries, Steve tears himself away from Nancy. When he sees your body shaking violently, bile and fury rise to his throat. “No.”

He’ll be damned if you die tonight. Steve grabs the walkman from Dustin and opens it. Inside, there’s only one tape. 

For bug.

“Henderson, look at me.” There’s a list of songs messily scrawled on it. Steve shoves the cassette in Dustin’s face, forcing him to read the tracks on it. “Which one is her favorite?” 

Dustin struggles to catch his breath. He forces his vision to sharpen, the words float around in his head. They’re all songs he doesn’t know. None of them would work, none of them except–

“The Beatles!” Dustin is already queuing the song, fingers shaking. They’re your favorite band. When you were younger, your father would softly play their songs on his guitar every Sunday morning. Dustin was never able to remember the lyrics, but you always did.

Steve shoves the headphones on you. Dustin presses play.

That’s when your body lifts. 

– 

Music. 

There is music. A familiar guitar progression. Someone used to strum their fingers to produce the same chords. Their rough timbre would accompany the strings and the sweet smell of pine and grass would lull you. 

There are places I remember all my life, though some have changed. 

Green. Over a hill there is a house. Floorboards creak beneath your feet and there is a yellow couch pressed against the window, overlooking the flowers in the garden. Somewhere there is laughter. You’re a little girl chasing your younger brother around the tree, giggling.

Some forever, not for better. Some have gone and remain.

A moving van. The boxes you spent hours packing are shoved into the vehicle roughly. A long drive. A small town, smaller than the one you ran away from. There is a new house with a yellow door to match the couch your mother got to keep. Across the street a boy with black hair is riding his bike. Your brother follows him. 

Night falls and you’re standing on someone’s porch. There’s a boy your age and his hair falls into his eyes. Words are exchanged. He tells you his name is Jonathan. Your hand touches his and suddenly the world doesn’t feel so lonely anymore. The front door opens. A girl tells you your brother is inside with hers. She’s shy, small and beautiful, but her eyes are cunning. 

All these places had their moments. With lovers and friends, I still can recall.

A smaller house owned by a woman who radiates warmth and love for you. Her sons and their adoration. Bug and bee and childhood nicknames. Sleepless nights filled with hushed laughter. Whispered I love you’s. The smell of fresh baked cookies and the sound of four boys who all view you as their sister. 

There’s a boy with pretty brown eyes and pink lips. Hands wrap around your waist as he saves you. Over and over again he saves you. He begs you for a nickname. His smile fills your lungs and you’re falling. Angel. He calls you angel. 

A girl with fiery red hair and a girl who prefers your touch over words. They giggle together. You dress them in your old clothes. Ice cream melts against your tongues and the summer heat kisses your cheeks. There’s another girl. She’s older. You're in a bathroom stall together and she laughs at all your jokes and calls you pretty girl.

Some are dead and some are living. In my life, I’ve loved them all.

An old man wearing a police hat. He reminds you of your father. Gruff and bitter but he lets you tease him. A cabin in the woods and the waffles he always made for you. A home he has made for you and his daughter. 

There are cold, blue eyes. The boy is your age but the anger within him resembles your father’s. He’s violent. Alone. He’s all alone. Blood drips from his body and you hear a girl scream his name. Billy. 

Your mother cradles your face as you cry. She tells you she’s sorry. Your brother tells you he misses who you used to be. The kindness that you burned to spite your father. 

Soft lips kiss your stained hands. The mouth whispers reassurances. He tells you he loves you. Late night drives. Kissing underneath the stars. Constants and honey and forgiveness. 

A charm bracelet. Building a fort in the rain. Biking to houses with a band of kids in tow. Singing songs in a field. Bickering and loyalty and friendship that leaves you in awe. 

Though I know I’ll never lose affection for people and things that went before.

Memories float through you, into you, around you. 

And you remember. 

I know I’ll often stop and think about them.

You remember everything. 

“Y/N!” 

Steve’s voice pulls you back to where you belong. He’s pleading. Dustin’s screams cut through the noise in your head. Everything is muffled. You can’t move. Why can’t you move? They’re screaming for you and you can’t get to them. 

In my life, I love you more.

But you love them. With everything within you, you love them. There is a blinding light of molten warmth of love in your rib cage. They put it there. It melts your bones. They need you. All this love within you is theirs, so why can’t you move?

“Y/N, angel, stay with me.”

You want it more than anything. You want to stay. You want to live. You can’t leave them behind. Any of them. Steve and Dustin and Jonathan and Robin and Nancy and Max and–

Pain erupts in your ankle as your body lands harshly on the ground. It shocks your system, causing your eyes to fly open. 

Steve is cradling you in his arms. He holds onto you desperately and he’s crying. Sharp inhales expand your lungs as sobs choke your breath. Your skin slides against Steve’s and he’s warm and rough and littered with scars and you aren’t sure if any of this is real.

But Steve is holding you. If this is some sick, twisted vision, then at least you’ll die in his arms. Your death will have been worth something if Steve’s face is the last thing you see. Yet when you look into his eyes, the fear and desperation within them is real. The tears are real. The agony and love is real. 

He’s real.

“Y/N! Angel, oh my God.” Steve’s hands grip your face. He’s ashen and music still plays. His pleas are muffled by it, you can barely make out what he’s saying. He risks looking away from you for a second. “Dustin! She-she’s awake!”

Within seconds your brother falls to his knees and presses his face to your stomach. He’s crying. The hot tears burn your bloodied skin but your weak hands still find him anyways. You hold Dustin tightly, selfishly. When you try to bury your face in Steve’s shoulder, something solid knocks against your head.

“Keep your headphones on.” Steve blocks your hand from taking them off. He isn’t letting you take them off ever again.

Headphones. The music playing, the memories that guided you home. Steve had saved you with your walkman. The realization causes you to jerk in his arms. You’re alive. This is real. Vecna almost killed you. You escaped.

Then where is Nancy?

“Nancy–” You try to get up, but Steve and Dustin hold you down. Panic swells in your chest. Nancy was with you. Vecna brought the two of you into his world, yet only one of you made it out. “Where is she? Is she–?”

Steve’s eyes betray him, revealing to you where Nancy is. She stands across from you, catatonic, and suddenly all the fear is back again. Tearing out of Dustin’s and Steve’s grasps, you run towards her. 

“Nancy!” You shake her viciously. She has to wake up. It can’t just be you who gets to live. You won’t let him win. Not like this. Above you, you see Max and Lucas running around. Eddie’s trailer is a wreck. They’re searching for something. “What are they looking for?”

Dustin tugs Nancy’s arm. “Music for her. It’s our only option.”

“Music.” you mumble, the song from your childhood still playing through your headphones. Nancy needs music. It’s the only way to get through to someone under Vecna’s curse. It’s what saved you. 

A song from your childhood brought you back to the ones you love. With Nancy’s life on the line, the song has to bring her back to you, too.

Ripping your headphones off, you shove them onto Nancy’s head. Steve and Dustin scream at you to put them back on. Your body had been floating not even a minute ago, but you don’t care. Ignoring their protests, your fingers fumble trying to find any possible song on the mixtape that can save her. 

“Please,” fresh tears fall onto the walkman. You can’t lose Nancy. Your relationship may be strained and complicated and tainted by a history neither one of you created yourselves, but she’s your dearest admiration. The world would be dim without her spark. You’ve lost so many people in your life. Pressing your forehead to Nancy’s, you breathe out, “Not you. I can’t lose you, too.”

A strangled gasp escapes Nancy’s mouth. The sound startles you, barely giving you or Steve enough warning to catch her as she falls. 

“You’re okay,” you brush her hair out of her face. Nancy’s chest rises and falls quickly. She’s hyperventilating, in a deep state of panic, and you hold her face delicately. She’s like a frightened deer, you’re afraid you’ll speak too loud and scare her away. “You’re okay, it’s okay.”

Steve is careful not to move her in his arms. “Breathe, Nancy. We’re right here.”

The words are meant to be calming. Your hands on Nancy’s face are meant to make her feel safe, loved. But she stares up at you and Steve with tears in her eyes and despair etched into her skin. 

Nancy begins to cry even harder and you don’t know what to do. “I need you to breathe–”

“The-the music.” She tries to sit up, but Steve won’t let her. Arms weak, she struggles against him. She looks at you frantically, trying to tear the headphones off of her. “You-you need them. He almost-he almost got you. The things he showed me, they were–”

Nancy sobs again, barely able to look at you out of guilt.

She remembers what she saw in your vision. 

The knowledge of this is ice cold against your skin, but there’s something else in Nancy’s reaction that unnerves you. This isn’t just about her now knowing your insecurities regarding her. This is something deeper. Bigger than any estranged relationship.

Vecna made her see something else.

Swallowing deeply, you level your eyes to hers. “Tell me everything, Nancy.”

And she does.

– 

Max’s trailer is all you have left. The cops swarmed Nancy’s house the second Patrick’s body was found. Your home is barricaded off from the public. They’re looking for Dustin, for you, and you don’t want to imagine how distraught your mother must be right now.

For lack of better words, it’s fucking depressing sitting in Max’s trailer surrounded by everyone. Exhaustion ghosts their faces. 

Lucas can’t seem to look away from you, the exhaustion of fear dulling his skin. Max taps her fingers anxiously. She hasn’t left your side since you’ve returned. Eddie nods at you, solemn. Erica, who arrived after the cops interrogated her, gives you a pitying look. 

Robin and Dustin hover you as if afraid you’ll disappear. Steve sits on the couch and presses his legs against your back as you sit on the floor; he needs to feel the heat of your body at all times. A reminder to him that you’re still alive. 

Nancy stands across from everyone. She insisted on doing this herself, that you didn’t need to be standing with her. While she’s always been stubborn and brave, you know she only does this because of the guilt. 

“He showed me things that haven’t happened yet,” Nancy rasps. Her eyes remain on the floor. She can’t look at anyone while she describes all the wreckage she saw. Downtown Hawkins on fire. Dead soldiers littering the streets.  

“And this giant creature, with a gaping mouth. It wasn’t-it wasn’t alone.” Nancy bites the inside of her cheek. She can’t afford to be afraid now. “There were so many monsters. An army. And they… they were coming into Hawkins. Into our neighborhoods. Our homes.”

Your nails dig into your palms. The sting quells the fear that rises within you. The more Nancy describes, more fury replaces your nausea. Hawkins is your home. There are so many good people within this town. Your family. The Wheelers. The Byers and the Sinclairs and the Mayfields and everyone else. 

So many innocent lives. All reduced to rubble and death by a rotting corpse from the Upside Down. 

Yet you still can’t get a hold of El. The only person who truly has any idea of how to stop Vecna is gone. She’s across the country with a landline that apparently doesn’t fucking work. It’s bullshit. It’s all complete and utter bullshit. 

“He showed me my mom. And Holly. Mike… And they were all–” When Nancy breaks, your fury melts into sympathy. You’re walking over to her in seconds, and Nancy throws herself into your arms as she cries. 

“He won’t hurt them.” You promise her, though it’s an empty promise that you both recognize. Neither one of you has any idea of how to stop Vecna. But Nancy clings to the comfort and allows herself to be weak. 

Lost in your worry for the girl, you miss Dustin speaking to you. He clears his throat awkwardly, raises his voice. You turn your attention to him, nodding to indicate you’re listening. 

“Did you see the same thing as Nancy?” Dustin asks you, shifting uncomfortably. The reminder of your body rising into the air only hours ago burns. “Did you… did you share the same vision?”

You and Nancy stiffen at the same time. She pulls away from you as if you’ve burned her. The shame of what she saw in your vision… Too much was revealed to her in an unfair way.

No one can ever know what you saw. It’s too painful, too embarrassing, but you know that the information could be important. Clearing your throat, you answer with what you can. “No, he didn’t show me Hawkins, just my…”

Your voice trails off. Everyone looks at you expectantly, waiting for more. Nancy described her visions in such detail, yet all you can give them are a few words. 

“Just my insecurities.” You clear your throat again. “He was trying to scare me. Similar to what he showed Max. I only got out of it because Steve saved me with the music.” He smiles at you, though it’s pained. Trying to ease the heaviness in the room, you shrug halfheartedly. “The Beatles. Saving lives since 1986.”

It works, albeit with minimal reactions. 

“The Beatles, huh?” Eddie gives you a weak smile. “That’s really what you consider music?”

“I almost died. Cut me some slack.”

Eddie opens his mouth to say more, but Steve shoves a hand in his face and shuts him up. He’s anxious. He hates how much the nine of you still don’t know. He doesn’t want to believe that Nancy’s vision had been real. “Maybe that’s all Vecna is doing. Trying to scare us. It’s not real.”

“Not yet.” Nancy lets out a defeated laugh. She isn’t convinced. Neither are you. That’s when she reveals the gates. How there were four of them spread across Hawkins. “This wasn’t the Upside Down Hawkins. This was our Hawkins. Our home.”

The hair on your arms stands up. He’s targeting your home. The fury is back; you hate Vecna. You hate him with everything within you.

Yet, in sickening irony, from the little you know about Vecna, you do know that nothing he does is accidental. He wouldn’t show Nancy four gates without it meaning something. A deep, awful churning sensation constricts in your esophagus. “Is he… trying to combine our worlds?”

“Four chimes.” Max finally speaks up. “Vecna’s clock.”

Everyone turns. Max only looks at you. “It always chimes four times. You heard them, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” your mouth is dry. The chimes were the first thing you heard. It was how you knew Vecna had gotten you. “I heard them.”

“I heard them, too.” Nancy whispers. 

The room almost seems to hold its breath as everyone comes to the realization at the same time; you’re too afraid to breathe life into the words. Vecna has been telling you his plan this entire time. 

“Four kills.” Lucas slowly looks around the room. “Four gates… End of the world.”

His voice trails off and Dustin’s stomach drops. He studies everyone’s faces. No one seems to realize yet what he has. Dustin looks at you and for the first time in his life resents his intelligence; he wishes he could be naive. 

“If that’s true…” Dustin can’t say it. He can’t bring himself to say it.

“Then he’s only one kill away.” You finish for your brother, instinctively looking at Max. While everyone reacts to what you’ve said, cursing and filling with dread, you and Max stare at one another. You’re both thinking the same thing. 

Vecna is one kill away, and you’re both marked. 

Max’s jaw clenches. She can practically read your mind, knowing that you hope the death will be yours. That you’ll do anything to be the final kill if it means saving her life. All you’ve done this entire week is ensure Max’s safety. You’ve put her life above yours again and again. 

When Vecna almost killed her in the cemetery, Max heard you beg him to take you instead. It infuriated her.

There were you, ready to give up your life for hers without even considering how your death would affect everyone else. Max’s death would go unnoticed. She knows this and she’s accepted it.

But your death would fundamentally alter the earth’s makeup. You are the warmth that her and everyone else needs to survive. If you died because of Max, she knows everyone would blame her. It would be one more death that she caused. Your ghost would join Billy’s. 

Max shakes her head at you. A small, subtle and curt shake. One meant for only you to see. You breathe in sharply. Her stony gaze sears into your skin. The message is clear: Max won’t let you die, either. 

“Try Byers again.” Steve’s urgent voice prevents you from trying to argue with Max. He doesn’t see the interaction. He’s too lost in his own mind, mentally sifting through every possible solution he can come up with. Someone has to know something. “Try calling him again, Y/N.”

Steve is anxious and the crease between his brow deepens when he looks at you. He can’t let you die and you don’t have the heart to remind him that you’ve tried calling the Byers home repeatedly this week, just to be met with a busy signal. 

Instead you sigh and walk over to the phone. Dialing the long memorized number, the line rings. And rings. And rings again. Until the beep of the busy tone alerts you that the line is full. “Damn it!”

You slam your fist against the wall, frustrated tears threatening to spill over. Dustin bites his lip at your reaction. “Guessing he didn’t respond.”

“Maybe she typed it in wrong…?” The death glare you send Steve quickly has him backtracking. “I-I mean it’s possible!”

“The Byers are like Y/N’s second family, dingus.” Robin flicks your boyfriend’s head for you, which you appreciate her for.

You try dialing the number again, but the same thing happens. It rings a few times before the busy signal drones on. Frustrated and worried, you slam the phone down. “No answer. Again. It’s been like this all fucking week.”

“Didn’t you say Joyce has that new telemarketer job? She’s always on the phone. Mike never stops whining about it.” Dustin tries to reason.

Max looks at him, skeptical. “A busy signal for three days?” 

“I’ve never gone this long without hearing from them. They always answer…” fear pricks your skin. “Someone always calls me back. El, Will, Jonathan… something’s wrong.”

“She’s right. It can’t just be coincidence.” Nancy’s uncertainty mirrors your own. The two of you are the closest to the Byers. Their silence is unnerving. 

“What are the odds that something is happening in Lenora?” 

Nancy frowns at you. “Pretty high. And whatever is happening there, it has to be connected to all of this.”

“But how?” 

Everything that has ever happened in Hawkins has remained in Hawkins. While you don’t understand how or why, the Upside Down is tied to this shitty town. It doesn’t make any sense for it to spill over into California, hundreds of miles away.

“I don’t know.” Nancy looks out Max’s window, her face hardening. “But at least Vecna can’t hurt them.”

You laugh bitterly. “I never thought I’d be so happy that they’re in California.”

Every day you miss the Byers like an open wound. You miss Jonathan and his slanted smile. Will and his tenderness. El and her sweet laugh. Joyce and her warm embrace. Their absence is palpable in your life, but for once you’re relieved that they’re gone.

They’re as far away from danger as they can possibly be. Vecna, as far as you know, can’t reach them from Hawkins. Though you may not know why they’ve gone radio silent, at the very least you know they’re alive. 

“I’m not just talking about how far away they are.” Nancy turns to you. Color has returned to her face. Her eyes are bright again and she’s alive with an idea. “Vecna can’t hurt them if he’s dead.”

Nancy Wheeler has always been protective of the ones she loves. You both are; it’s what has tied the two of you together. The only difference is that Nancy sees red where you see cautionary yellow. 

“We have to go back in there. Back to the Upside Down.”

You almost pass out from how quickly you stand. “Are you insane?”

Steve grabs your waist, steadying you, while Eddie rocks back and forth on the couch mumbling to himself. Robin lets out a scared squeak and you can practically see every possible way you can die in the Upside Down before your very eyes. 

“We’re going to die,” you laugh hysterically, finally reaching your breaking point. “Nancy, we are going to die if we go back there.”

“Not if we’re prepared! This time we’ll get weapons and-and protection. We’ll go through the gate, find his lair, and we’ll kill him.”

“Oh, because it’ll be that easy, right? Look,” you break from Steve and grab Nancy’s arm, forcing her to look at you. “I’ve always gone along with your plans. But this? This is too far.”

Steve joins you, looking equally as overwhelmed and alarmed. “Y/N’s right. And, might I add, the only reason you survived is because he wanted you to. He’s not scared of us!”

Nancy falters for a moment. She knows Steve is right. Everyone knows that it wasn’t your music that brought her back. Vecna only allowed her to survive because he could. 

“He let you live because somehow it’s all a part of his plan.” You urge, frustrated that Nancy can’t see what you see. “What if this is what he wants? He knows us, he’s been watching us. He knows you, Nancy. You could be falling right into his trap.”

“And it’s a fucking good trap!” Robin jumps to her feet, already starting to pace as she mumbles to herself. “We were wrong about Vecna. Henry? One? I’m sorry, what are we calling him now?”

Everyone gives her a different response, and you chime in with your own suggestion: “Bitch.”

“I like bitch, but it isn’t really PG, is it?” Robin cracks a smile before remembering where she is. She rambles on about how all you’ve managed to learn about Vecna is that he’s a sick, twisted version of El with deadly powers. “He could turn us inside out with a snap of his fingers. It’s not a fair fight.”

“Then why fight fair?” Dustin finally speaks up. He’s thought of something, too. “You’re right. He’s like Eleven, but that gives us an upper hand.”

Frustratingly, your brother has a point. Ducking your head, you voice what he’s thinking. “Which means we know her strengths and weaknesses.”

“Exactly.”

“Weaknesses?” Erica looks at you and Dustin as if you’re insane. 

Dustin explains how El’s powers work. When he mentions the trance she always seems to fall under when she remote-travels, Lucas snaps his fingers. “That would explain what Vecna was doing in that attic.”

“And when he attacks his next victim–”

“His body will be defenseless…” you breathe out, hope igniting in your chest despite your attempts to snuff it out. 

Steve scoffs at you. “Defenseless? What about the army of bats?” He motions towards his bruised neck before pointing down at your thigh. “I mean, I love you, but I think you’re missing most of your thigh.”

“Only a quarter is gone.”

“Y/N.”

“Okay, maybe a little more.”

Dustin waves his hands at you and Steve. “Alright, we get it. The bats were a bitch, but all we need to do is find a way to distract them.”

“And, uh.” Eddie begins to rise from the couch. “How do we do that, exactly?”

“No idea.”

Eddie sits back down. You smile at him, tight lipped. He should’ve expected an answer like that, honestly. 

Dustin doubles down on his plan. “It’ll be like slaying sleeping Dracula in his coffin.”

But there are components to his plan that the group still needs to figure out. “We’d need someone to lure him, get him into the trance in the first place.”

Robin nods eagerly at you. “My thoughts exactly, and we don’t even know who he’s going to attack next–”

“Yeah, we do.” 

Your heart stops. 

Everyone turns to Max. She only meets your gaze. Her jaw is set, the same hardened look in her eyes from when she shook her head at you returns.

Knowing where this is going, you stand in front of Max and block her from the others. “No.” 

“I can still feel him–”

“No.” You can’t believe Max is even entertaining the idea of you letting her be the bait. As if you’d ever put her in that kind of danger. Like you wouldn’t die a million times if it meant she got to live once. “You know I won’t let you.”

Max glares back at you. “I’m still marked.”

“So am I.” A bitter laugh. “We’re both cursed. You and me. We’re one in the same, but I’m not letting you be the bait.”

“What, so I’m just expected to let you sacrifice yourself?” Max laughs incredulously. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll go over well. Max Mayfield, the one who killed Hawkins’ sweetheart, responsible for yet another death!”

You try to reach out to her, but Max stumbles back. “No one is dying, alright? And you wouldn’t be responsible for my death. I’m choosing to do this. You’re-you’re just a kid, Max. It’s my job to protect you–”

“I never asked you to protect me!” Max screams, startling you into silence. The volume of her voice seems to surprise her as well because she takes a step back, breathing heavily. “I never… I never asked for any of this.”

Silence swallows the room. Max looks at you, her eyes pleading. Her words swim in your head. What did she mean by being responsible for another death? That she would be blamed for yours? 

“You didn’t ask me to protect you,” your voice shakes slightly. Holding her gaze, you allow your tears to fall. “But I never asked to lose you, either.”

Max breathes in sharply. Your words cut through her guard, breaking down the last of her walls. She’s silent again. 

“Neither one of you are going.” Steve is next to you now, hand falling against your back. He looks between you and Max, voice gentle, but firm.

“What if we… leveled the playing field?” Dustin hesitantly suggests. Lucas and Steve frown at him, shocked he’s even considering any of this seeing how protective he is of you. Dustin sighs, rubbing his face tiredly. “Look, they’ve both had visions. They’re both next. And whether we like it or not, Vecna has only doubled his chances of winning.”

Eddie stares at him in disbelief. “What, so we just have them both be the bait? Toss ‘em both to Vecna and see which one he bites?” 

“I’d word it better, but…” Dustin bites his lip, staring at you. “Yeah.”

Behind you, Steve tries to shove past the others to get to you. Only Lucas stops him, shaking his head at the older teen. Now isn’t the time, Lucas knows that Steve will say something he'll regret. 

Steve wants to scream. He doesn’t at all like what he’s hearing, but when he looks at you and notices the interest in your eyes, he feels his heart drop. You’re really considering this. You’re really willing to put yourself in danger to save Hawkins.

Because it’s what you do. It’s what you’ve always done. You’re too good for this world. Steve can’t let you get hurt, not like this. 

Tentatively you look at Max. “If one of us is in the Upside Down…”

“And the other in the attic in Hawkins.” Max continues for you, relieved you seem to understand. “He’s guaranteed to find one of us. And whoever he chooses, we just… we just need to keep him busy long enough so that the others can get into the attic.”

A game of luck disguised as a compromise. Even though luck has never been on your side, Max won’t back down from this, and neither will you. 

However this story ends, you hope that it’s your body that is buried. Max, thinking the same thing, smiles pitifully at you. Reaching a stalemate, all you can do now is smile back at her.

“Do me a favor,” you turn to the rest of the group. “When you stab him, blow him up with whatever explosives Dustin inevitably comes up with, however you end up killing this piece of shit… Try not to miss.”

“For both of us.” Max says. 

Steve’s hand presses harshly against your back. He’s biting his tongue. You can feel all the unsaid resentment and protests that die in his throat. Exhaustion darkens his eyes and you want, more than anything, to promise him that everything will be okay.

But you can’t. 

Not this time. 

– 

Eddie slams down a massive flier onto the table. With big, bold letters and an abundance of American flags in the background, the flier is your worst nightmare.

“‘The War Zone?’” You look at Eddie uncertainly. “Not a very welcoming store name.”

“That’s because it’s not a very welcoming store, princess.” He winks at you. “But I’ve been there before, and it’s huge. They’ve got everything you need for, uh…”

“War?”

“I was gonna say killing things, but war works, too.”

Robin pokes your side, gently moving you aside so that she can look over Eddie’s shoulder. “Think fake Rambo has enough guns there?”

“Well there’s a grenade sale going on, so.” You shrug at her. “I’m willing to bet they’ve got enough guns. And an aversion to laws.”

Robin still looks unsure, but Eddie quickly explains that the War Zone is far enough away from Hawkins that no one will recognize any of you there. With a wanted murderer and multiple accomplices in your group, anonymity is your only option. 

“But if we’re trying to avoid angry hicks, maybe we shouldn’t go to some store called the War Zone.” Erica points out, which you snort at.

“She’s not wrong.”

Nancy sighs. “Normally I’d agree, but we need the weapons. I think it’s worth the risk.”

Lucas agrees, but Dustin reminds everyone that you currently have no way to get there. Steve’s car is gone and all you have are bikes and prayers. 

Eddie smiles wickedly at your brother. “Who said anything about bikes?”

“What, you got some car we don’t know about?” Steve asks him.

“It’s not exactly a car, Steve. And it’s not exactly mine, but… it’ll do.”

You step in between Steve and Eddie. “What do you mean it’s not exactly yours?”

He ignores your question and looks at Max. “Hey, Red, you got a ski mask, or a bandanna, something like that?”

“Why the fuck do you need a ski mask–” You hit at Eddie’s chest, worry growing more and more by the second. 

Eddie catches your hand that swings down at him, a devious smile. “Have you ever stolen a RV, Y/N?”

“No. No fucking way.” You’ve never hated an idea more. “That’s someone’s home. And-and it’s a crime. A huge one at that, like insanely huge and very, very illegal–”

Dustin pats your back, laughing to himself. “C’mon. Lighten up a bit. Do it for science, for the world!”

“What does science have to do with any of this? We’re talking about literally robbing someone’s entire livelihood to go kill some wrinkly old guy and there’s no way in hell that I am ever agreeing to stealing a RV–”

You end up stealing a fucking RV. 

Eddie is wearing a ridiculous ski mask that Max once wore for Halloween as he guides you through the trailer park. Weaving in and out of mobile homes, Eddie finds his target and throws himself through the window. 

Steve jumps in next, leaning out the side so that he can then help you climb through. The window is just tall enough to be painful to squeeze into, and you let out several choice words as Steve pulls you up. 

“You alright?” He asks you once you’re in.

“I hate everything about this.”

“Henderson, you got anything sharp?” Eddie whispers from the driver’s seat. He’s holding a bunch of wires that all look the same to you.

Digging into your pocket, you toss him your knives. “If anyone asks, you stole them from me.”

Eddie smirks at you, flicking the knives open and cutting random wires. He works quickly, with practiced ease, and Steve notices, too. “Where’d you learn how to do this?”

Eddie’s fingers tie wires together and he laughs sarcastically. He explains that his father was the one who taught him, bitter and relentless. “I swore to myself I’d never wind up like he did, but now I’m wanted for murder, and soon, grand theft auto. So, uh. I’m really livin’ up to the Munson name.”

“Aren’t fathers lovely?” You force a laugh, but you can still feel the heavy weight of your father’s hands around you. The vision, how real he had seemed. Eddie gives you an odd, slightly concerned look, before Robin suddenly appears. 

“Eddie, I’m not sure I love the idea of you driving this thing.”

You bite your lip. “Honestly, I also don’t like the idea.”

“Oh, I’m just starting this sucker. Harrington’s got her.” Eddie leans in close to Steve, almost flirting with him. “Don’t ya, big boy?” 

Steve’s off-put expression, the pure joy in Eddie’s eyes and Robin’s utter confusion, it all makes you laugh hysterically. This entire situation is so fucking bizarre. Here you are, hotwiring a RV with Eddie goddamn Munson while he flirts with your boyfriend. 

The engine sparks to life, cutting your laughter short, and within seconds the married couple who owns the RV is pounding on the windows. Cover blown, Steve curses and shoves Eddie out of the way so that he can throw you against the passenger seat. 

“Get ready!” Steve shouts after making sure you’re secured before jumping into the driver’s seat.

Heart pounding, you quickly shout over your shoulder to the kids. “Everyone, hang on!”

Dustin scrambles onto the back window and holds on for dear life. “Drive, Steve!”

Throwing his foot on the gas, the RV pulls out of the trailer park with impressive speed. For being more home than mobile, you have to tightly clutch the sides of your seat in fear of flying forward. 

“Shit, they look pissed.” Dustin watches the couple run after the RV, but it’s a lost cause.

“I mean, it’s not every day you lose your house and your car in one fell swoop.” Robin says, body jolting due to the rough terrain. 

Steve screams, telling everyone to hold on, before he barrels through a pile of garbage. The RV takes a rough turn, tilting slightly, before finally finding the road. The tires squeal, but Steve manages to steady the vehicle and grace you with smoother driving. 

“We’re felons.” Your eyes are squeezed shut as you rub your stomach, nauseous. “I can’t believe we just stole that poor couple’s home.”

“Think Spidey would understand?” Steve spares you a glance as he drives.

“Don’t ever evoke his name while committing a felony.”

– 

For the first few miles, all you could focus on was the squeezing knot of guilt in your chest as the adrenaline crashed. Every car you passed set you on edge. Every passing second you were terrified you’d encounter cops and get pulled over, sent to jail.

However, after about fifteen miles, you finally settle into the drive. Despite all you’ve been through, it’s still a beautiful time of year. The spring trees are green and soft music plays on the radio. Everyone is quiet, looking out the windows or talking amongst themselves.

Steve looks at ease driving the RV, the dewy sun framing his beautiful face. This is the calmest you’ve seen him all week. Feet propped up on the dashboard, you poke his arm. “You look real comfortable driving this thing.”

He smiles softly, shrugging. “It’s not half bad, considering this is a house.”

You giggle, smiling along with him. A comfortable silence follows and the music floats around you. The guitar strings are sweet, melancholy, and they make you miss your father. “My dad used to play this song on his guitar.”

“He did?” Steve seems surprised you’ve brought your father up, and you don’t blame him. It isn’t often that you talk about him.

“Yeah,” you’re not sure why you’re telling Steve this. Not now, at least. Driving a stolen RV to a war store for supplies. “He’d play it around bonfires. Everyone loved it. It was… it was nice.”

“Did he… play any other songs?” Steve doesn’t want to push you. He’s honestly just grateful you’ve shared even this small snippet of your life with him, but Steve will always want to know more about you. 

You pause for a moment. You’re not used to talking about this with anyone else. Only Dustin and Jonathan. “The Beatles. He really loved the Beatles.”

“Sounds like your dad had good taste in music, then.” 

“Yeah,” smiling to yourself, you allow this one good memory of your father to linger. “He really did.”

After a beat of silence, Steve clears his throat. He doesn’t want this softness to end. “Thank you for telling me, angel.”

You shrug, cheeks burning. You’re uncomfortable with the sincerity. You know Steve is being genuine, but the foreignness of revealing yourself is still unsettling.

Not wanting to lose this vulnerability yet, Steve risks looking at you. “Dustin told me about him, you know. Your dad, I mean. He told me what he did. And I-I’m really sorry, Y/N. I am. Your family didn’t deserve that.”

You’re quiet. 

“I understand, now.” Steve doesn’t want to say the wrong thing. Not again, not like he always seems to do. “I-I had this dream, you know, that I’d have this really big family. I’m talking, like, a full brood of Harringtons. Like, five or six kids.”

Even though you laugh a bit, his confession stings. You know exactly why Steve has always envisioned a big family for himself. His home was never really a home. His family was never really a family. 

You’ve only ever met Richard Harrington once, and you will always remember how cold his eyes were. 

“And what would you do with these six kids of yours?” You entertain Steve’s dream because you love him. Because you know that no one else will.

Steve blushes slightly, although relieved that you’re at least responding to him again. “I figured every summer, all of us Harringtons would pack into something like this and just see the country. You know, the Rockies, Grand Canyon… maybe even the Shenandoah valley in Virginia.” 

It’s your turn to blush. Steve wants to take his kids to where you grew up. “That sounds really nice, honey.”

Steve looks at you hopefully, adoration in his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you know your eyes reveal your fondness for him, too. “Although six kids might be too much. I think three is all I’d agree to.”

Steve catches your slip before you do. He watches, bashful and giddy, as you realize what you’ve said. How you unconsciously told him your kids would be his kids. While you blush furiously at the implications, Steve’s heart flutters. 

So you do see a future with him. A family. 

Seeing Steve’s bashful smile, all your embarrassment fades away. He loves you, pure and unabashedly. All he wants is his future to have you, and you finally understand that you have a safe place to land. Steve will always be there to catch you. 

“You’ll be a good dad, honey.” He isn’t like your father. Steve doesn’t know how to abandon someone. It isn’t in his blood.

Steve ducks his head, smiling even wider. He thanks you softly, eyes flicking between you and the road. The strings that were twisted between you straighten. The knots come undone. Smiling at him again, you feel someone’s eyes on you.

When you turn around, you find Nancy quickly looking away. She pretends that she hadn’t been watching you and Steve, though she does a terrible job at it. Sighing, you kiss Steve’s forehead.

“I’ll be back.”

He tries to ask you where you’re going, but you’re out of your seat before he can finish his question. 

You sit next to Nancy, shoulder bumping against hers as you do so. She doesn’t look up at you, too busy pretending to be engrossed in Eddie’s War Zone flier. Her eyebrows are knit together and you know she’s anxious about it all.

Gently nudging her, you prompt Nancy to look at you. When she reluctantly does, you ask the question that’s been burning your tongue all morning. “How much of my vision did you see?”

“I-I’m so sorry.” Nancy breaks immediately. Unable to look at you, she turns her head and closes her eyes. “He… he showed me Steve. He made me listen to your cries as he and I–” Her voice cracks, nausea builds. “I heard what he told you.”

Your face burn in embarrassment. While you appreciate her honesty, you hate that Nancy saw you in your most vulnerable state. You hate that she had to see that your deepest, innermost insecurity is her. 

“It was real, wasn’t it?” Nancy hesitantly asks. Her lips are chapped and her voice is rough from disuse and uncertainty. “You really do think that Steve will never forget me.”

She knows she shouldn’t be asking you any of this. She knows that too much was shown to her, more than you’ve ever shown to anyone. Nancy doesn’t know what she would do if she were you. To have your deepest fears shown to someone without consent. Without any warning. 

You roll Nancy’s question around in your head. You aren’t surprised that she’s asked it; she’s never shied away from the questions that keep everyone else up at night. Absentmindedly your eyes roam Steve’s body. His shoulders are relaxed as he drives. He knows you’ll return to him when you’re done. 

It is a certainty for him, one only love can provide.

“I know he loves me.” You say slowly, carefully. Looking up at Steve again, your eyes soften slightly. “But I think sometimes I get scared of the hold you have over him.”

Nancy starts to laugh, loud and without any humor. Your eyes widen at her, hurt blooming within your chest. “What’s so funny, Wheeler?”

“Nothing!” She grabs your hand, laughter dying quickly. “God, I’m not laughing at you, I swear. It’s just-it’s ironic, isn’t it? I mean, I have the same fear with you and Jonathan. The hold you seem to have over him.”

Your thumb strokes the back of her hand. In a way, you suppose it all really is ironic. 

Risking it all, your head drops down to Nancy’s shoulder. She allows you to rest it there as you both stare out the window in front of you. “We were their first loves.” Watching the trees pass by, it’s all so very bittersweet. “Do you ever think about that?”

You were Jonathan’s first love. Nancy was Steve’s. 

Nancy hums softly, recognizing the irony as well. The two of you have always felt lesser than the other, yet the boys you love are so blindly devoted to you. Nancy remembers last summer and her cruel words of insecurity. 

“I’m sorry we wasted so much time.” Nancy whispers, and you don’t need to ask her what she means. You know she’s referring to the July phone call. 

“Lost time can always be made up.”

Nancy squeezes your hand. The two of you sit in the quiet for a moment, mending the fragments that were shattered a while ago. The mending isn’t perfect. Some pieces have been lost forever, but the image it creates is the same; it’s still love.

“I know you don’t need me to tell you this, but I’ve never seen Steve so in love.” 

You pick your head up and smile at her, appreciative of the sentiment. “Jonathan is the same, you know. He loves you so much, Nancy. Even if he struggles to show it.”

Nancy doesn’t believe you. You can see it in the way her eyes suddenly darken. The wrinkle in her forehead. She doesn’t believe that Jonathan loves her anymore, and the thought makes you ache. 

“I know he’s been distant lately. He’s been distant with me, too.” The admission is difficult only because you don’t want Nancy to think you’re being cruel. She deserves to know everything. “He’s lonely in California. He misses you more than I think he’s even able to process.”

Slowly, Nancy nods at you to continue; you haven’t scared her away yet. “Jonathan will never admit when he’s hurting, it’s infuriating and admirable all at the same time. But he… he gets lost, sometimes. Jonathan loves you so much that he’s afraid he doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t understand that sometimes love is selfish.” 

Do you ever wonder if we’ve made a mistake?

But you ‘n me? ‘S easy. Always so easy.

Jonathan hadn’t been confessing his feelings for you. It’s only now that you realize this. He’d just been scared, weak. Weak from hiding his fears, his uncertainty for his future and the weight of his family on his shoulders. 

All his life Jonathan has only ever known instability. He was never able to adjust to Nancy’s foundations. It was only when he was finally starting to trust the stability that their fighting began, and Jonathan hid. It was instinctive.

“Jonathan, he called me the other night.” You say, causing Nancy to stiffen slightly. You squeeze her hand again, silently urging her to listen before she says anything else. “It was before the world was ending, obviously, and he… he asked me if I ever thought we made a mistake. Me and him.”

“A mistake?” Nancy shakes her head. 

“Steve and I had a fight earlier that day, and you and Jonathan were having problems, so he just… he was afraid that if we made a mistake choosing you and Steve, then it would mean we made things harder for you, too.” 

The wrinkle in Nancy’s forehead lessens, but only by a fragment. She’s listening, she’s trying to follow along, but she’s been so hurt for so long that it’s difficult for her to distinguish fact from fiction. 

“Loving you has always been easy for him to do, so he got scared when the ease fell away.” Your eyes never leave Nancy’s. “Jonathan didn’t understand that love can be just as hard as it is soft. You can’t have one without the other.”

Nancy is quiet for several long moments. She sits with your words, allows herself to think through them. To trust where they came from and know that they’re meant to help, not hurt. Eventually, Nancy exhales after months of holding her breath. 

“‘Love can be just as hard as it is soft’.” Nancy laughs, short but genuine. “I like that.”

A laugh echoes from your own chest. “Thanks, Wheeler. Came up with it myself.”

“It’s me who should be thanking you.” She ducks her head, suddenly shy. “Thank you. For everything.”

You squeeze her hand one last time. Recognizing her thanks as a polite dismissal, wanting to be alone right now, you kiss the back of her hand before rejoining Steve up front. 

Steve catches your hand before you can sit in the passenger seat. He kisses it, the same as you did with Nancy’s. “What did you two talk about?”

Tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, you catch Nancy’s eye in the rearview mirror. She winks, secretive and teasing, and you wink back at her. Sitting down, you prop your feet back up on the dashboard. 

“We were just catching up.”

– 

By the time Steve pulls into War Zone’s parking lot, it’s packed with cars. There are way more people than expected, concerned families running around with guns they don’t know how to use.

“I guess a grenade sale draws in a big crowd.” You whistle low, eyes following a dad and daughter bickering over a baseball bat. 

Steve parks the RV and turns around in his seat. “Alright, dipshits. What’s the plan?” Robin rolls her eyes. “Don’t call us dipshits, dipshit.” 

“Obviously Eddie stays in the RV. He’s Indiana’s most wanted at this point.” Eddie tips an imaginary hat at you. “Dustin and Lucas, you guys should stay, too.”

Your brother makes a disgruntled sound. “What do you mean I’m staying?”

“You’re both in Hellfire and a lot of people with guns want the club gone. I’m not letting either of you step foot in there.”

Lucas sags in his seat, but he doesn’t argue. He knows you’re right. Dustin, however, continues to argue. “Did you forget that I almost watched you die ten hours ago? I’m not leaving you.”

Annoyance softening, you tug at Dustin’s hat playfully. “Don’t worry about me. We grew up with hicks, I know how to fend them off.”

“Plus we’ll be glued to her side, little Henderson.” Robin points at Steve, who nods quickly. “We got her.”

It takes some more arguing and a bribe from Eddie before Dustin eventually calms down. You leave him with Lucas, trusting they’ll be fine on their own. Steve holds his hand out and helps you walk down the RV’s steps and into the store.

Inside, a swarm of people are running around. The entire point of driving all the way to the War Zone was to avoid Hawkins, and yet here everyone is: stocking up on pistols and mace.

“Let’s… be fast.” Nancy eyes everyone wearily, and none of you hesitate to agree.

Splitting up, you, Steve, and Robin head towards the gasoline section. You’d suggested it during the drive here. Fire has always been the most reliable weapon against the Upside Down. 

Eyes scanning the gasoline aisle, you make a mental list of what else you may need. “Okay, I think we should get at least six of these–”

Steve must see something in another aisle, because he whips around and screams behind his shoulder, “Be right back!” 

Robin frowns. “He has the attention span of a dog.”

“Don’t say that,” you toss another can of gasoline into your cart. “It’s offensive to dogs.”

Giggling, Robin helps you. Loading the cart to the brim, you almost miss Steve’s sudden return. “What do you think, angel?”

Looking up, you almost drop the can you’re holding. In the midst of weapons and ammo within the store, Steve has somehow managed to find a nice, brown army jacket. The material is thick, covered in patches, and the brown looks criminally good on your boyfriend. While you’ll miss his arms being on constant display, you almost don’t want him to ever take the jacket off again.

Seeing your speechless reaction, Steve smirks at you. “I take it you approve?”

“Mhm,” your mouth is dry. 

“Good, because I also found this.” Steve reveals another brown army jacket behind him, only this one is smaller. More your size. Not even waiting for your approval, Steve drapes the material over your shoulders. “And now we match.”

“You’re disgusting,” you grumble, though you both know your heart isn’t in it. The apples of your cheeks burn a cherry red. Taking Robin’s flannel off, you return it to her. “A part of me thinks Steve wants me to wear the army jacket because he doesn’t like seeing me in your clothes.”

Steve shrugs. “Half true.”

“Has anyone ever told you how gross you two are?” Robin gags. “I mean, really, it’s sickening how annoying you…”

Her voice trails off. Mid insult. Something she has never done before in the two years you’ve known her. Confused, you look up and notice her lovestruck expression as she stares at something. Following her line of sight, you almost laugh when you find the familiar red curls standing across from you.

“What are you gonna do? Stand and gawk?” Steve teases Robin, amused by the series of events.

You elbow his side. “Be nice. All you did was gawk at me for months.”

“Both of you, shut up.” Robin commands, voice breathy. Her eyes never leave Vickie and she takes a step forward, finally having the courage to approach her, before some guy comes up behind Vickie and scares her.

Vickie yelps, turning around to tell the boy off, but instead he takes her into his arms. The guy is tall, lanky but sure. He stares down at Vickie like she’s some prize and your stomach twists into knots. 

When their lips connect, you can almost feel Robin’s heartbreak. Her face drops and the light in her eyes is extinguished. Vickie turns, face paling when she sees Robin, and the entire ordeal is too much for her to handle. 

Robin’s shoulder knocks roughly against yours as she flees. You call after her, wanting desperately to follow. You know how cruel unrequited love can be. “Robin, wait!”

But Steve stops you, gently pulling you back. “Give her some space.”

As much as you want to argue, snatch your arm back and run after your heartbroken friend, you know that Steve is right. Robin has always preferred seclusion to public displays. She’s never wanted anyone’s pity. When she’s ready, she’ll find you and Steve and you’ll give her all the sun’s rays to melt the ice of rejection.

Steve helps you look for whatever else you’ll need. You roam the aisles, both silent and worried for your friend. At one point you end up in the knives section. When you turn your head to ask Steve his opinion on a silver hilt you find, the question dies in your throat.

Nancy is across the store, holding a rifle while Jason Carver stalks closer and closer to her.

“He’s like a goddamn plague,” you sneer to yourself. Quickly catching Steve’s attention, you motion over to the two teens. “We got a problem.”

Steve curses, also exasperated seeing Jason, but when he tries to walk towards them you stop him. Shaking your head, you block his path. “I love you, but if you go over there right now you’ll make everything worse.”

“That’s not true!”

“Steve.”

He falters. “Okay, well. What do you want me to do?”

“Go find Erica and the others and tell them we’re leaving. Clearly we’ve overstayed our welcome here.” Smoothing down your new leather jacket, you fix your hair and adjust your shoes. “As for me, I’m really hoping Jason still has that crush on me from last summer.”

Steve gawks at you, but you shove him towards the exit and beckon him to do as you say. Jason has only gotten closer to Nancy during your conversation. He leers over her, gripping the rifle with possession. 

Trying to keep your steps slow, casual, you analyze their body movements as you approach. Jason smirks at Nancy, as if he knows all her secrets. “Well, you look nervous.”

Nancy swallows. “Like I said. Scary times.”

Jason doesn’t like her answer. “Now, your brother. Is he here with you, by chance?”

Hearing him mention Mike, your heartbeat races as you practically sprint towards Nancy. Your appearance is abrupt, you’re breathless from exhilaration, and when your body slams against Jason’s, you feign sympathy. “Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

Body turned towards Nancy, you nod at her once, reassuring, before forcing a smile on your face and spinning back around to Jason. “Long time no see, Carver.”

“Y/N.” He doesn’t return your smile. 

Tension thick, you pretend not to notice it. “Sorry for interrupting, but I found the bat Nancy was looking for earlier and was dying to show her.�� Tilting your head at her, you indicate towards the exit with your eyes. “Wanna check it out?”

She nods, understanding the hidden meaning behind your words. “Yeah, let’s go.”

“Not so fast.” Jason still hasn’t let go of Nancy’s barrel. He tugs it back, forcing you and her to freeze. “I asked Wheeler here a question. Have you seen Mike?”

“No.” Nancy doesn’t flinch away. “He isn’t here.”

Jason then looks at you. There is no warmth in his gaze. “And your brother, he’s in that Hellfire club too, isn’t he? Have you seen him around?”

“I’m not my brother’s keeper.” You keep your voice cold, neutral. Jason is trying to get a reaction from you. He wants you to be scared of him. But you’ve dealt with worse men than him. Wrapping your hand around his arm, you dig your nails into his flesh. “You understand, right?”

Jason’s mouth twitches. His composure is quickly slipping and Nancy uses the slip against him, Tightening her grip on the gun, she pulls it against her chest. “Let go.”

His hand remains. They maintain eye contact, neither looking away. Your nails dig even deeper, the skin beneath them breaks. Hot blood seeps into your nailbeds and Jason finally lets go. 

He rubs the crescent indents in his skin, chuckling darkly at you. “Quite a grip you got there.”

“I tend not to let things go.” A sickly sweet smile crawls onto your face. 

Jason smiles back at you, holding your gaze for another few seconds, before finally walking away. He doesn’t say anything else. The moment he’s gone, you lace your fingers through Nancy’s and run through the store to find Steve and the others.

“That was close.” You duck behind a cart, nearly running into one of Jason’s goonies.

“Too close.” Nancy finds Robin, pointing towards her as she looks for an opening to run. “Think you’ll be able to run?”

“Not really much of a choice, is there?”

And you run. Weaving through what feels like the entirety of Hawkins, you and Nancy manage to break through the store’s exit with Steve, Robin, Max, and Erica in tow. Bursting through the RV’s door, it’s a mess of bodies flailing into seats and screams.

“We need to leave. Now!” You shout at Dustin and the others, having no other time to explain further. “Everyone find a seat and stay low.”

Dustin screeches at Steve to drive while everyone scrambles to do as you’ve said. Hands shaking as you buckle your seatbelt, Steve only has enough time to shout “get ready!” before he’s starting the engine.

The War Zone sign fades into the distance. 

– 

The further you drive, the thicker the air in the RV becomes. Unease creeps over the seats, onto your skin. Nancy sits with all the bags around her as she and Robin sort through them. Dustin watches them, knee bouncing up and down.

Nancy talks first. Slowly, piece by piece, her and Dustin come up with a plan. 

“We’ll need to split into groups.”

“But how many? And where would everyone go?”

Nancy pauses for a moment. “One group in the Upside Down and one group at the Creel house. That should be enough, right?”

You raise your hand as if you’re in school. “If I may, I’d like to remind the class about the bats. We aren’t getting anywhere if they’re eating us alive.”

“She’s got a point.” Dustin says. 

Nancy sighs, but she doesn’t have an answer. 

“What if we had another group in dimension hell?” Eddie suggests. “Ya know, distract the little fuckers while the main group goes and be heroes.” 

“I don’t know,” you shift in your seat. You’re already risking a lot having a few of you go back into the Upside Down. The thought of risking even more lives makes your skin crawl. “Ideally, the less of us in the Upside Down, the better.”

Steve nods. “I’m with Y/N on this one. We don’t all need to go down there. It’s creepy and freakishly cold.”

“It’s our only option. Whoever goes there to kill Vecna will need all the help they can get.” Max says. “If the bats get to them first, then it’s pointless.”

Lucas nods, agreeing with Max, and Dustin has to nod as well. She’s right. There needs to be a third group if there’s any hope of pulling this off. 

Nancy, seeing the growing agreement between everyone, nods. “Alright. Then it’s settled. There’ll be three groups. Me, Y/N, Steve, and Robin will go to the Upside Down and track down Vecna.”

She waits a moment, giving time for anyone to protest. When no one does, she continues. “Y/N will have her walkman, but she won’t use it unless absolutely necessary. If Vecna chooses her, Steve will watch her while Robin and I go into the attic.”

“I’ll be the best goddamn bodyguard there ever was.” Steve jokes, trying to laugh away the discomfort of knowing your life will be on the line of luck. Knowing what he’s doing, you kiss his hand softly.

“If you fuck up and get my sister killed, I know how to procure acid.” Dustin forces Steve to meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. The older teen gulps.

Touched, you preen at Dustin. “That’s the nicest threat anyone has ever said for me.”

It gets him to laugh, which you’re thankful for. Nancy cracks a smile as well, but it dims when she remembers where she is. Where you all are. 

“Max, Erica, and Lucas will be at the Creel house. They’ll have her walkman as well. If Vecna chooses her, Lucas needs to be ready.”

The teen slowly nods at Nancy. He hunches his shoulders, places the weight of Max’s life upon him. You’re not entirely comfortable with leaving the kids alone at the house, but it’s the safest location. You’d rather they be in Hawkins than the Upside Down.

You’ll give Max your knives. You’ll show her how to use them and you’ll pray that she never has to. They’ll be fine.

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. The mantra that is keeping you sane. 

“Eddie, would you be alright with distracting the bats?” Nancy turns to him, the question posed more as a silent challenge. It was his suggestion; now he has to be willing to lay his life down for it. 

Eddie pales at the question. “I-I mean I guess? Like, would I be-I don’t know, screaming at them? Or-or running around like an idiot, or–”

“I’ll go with him.” Dustin interrupts, saving Eddie from a nervous breakdown. 

Your head spins around the second you hear his voice, cold with fear. “No–”

But Dustin expected this reaction. He meets your fear with a leveled response. “Y/N, this is the only way.”

“I won’t let you go into the Upside Down!” Screaming, voice raw, panic sets in. This is all wrong. Everything is wrong. You could die tonight, Max and Lucas and Erica will be defenseless in a house that you can’t reach, and now your brother wants to go to the place that almost killed you?

It’s too much.

“And I won’t leave Eddie behind!” Dustin screams back at you. “He needs me, and if it means the bats won’t try to kill you again, then I’m doing it.”

“But–”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Y/N. We kinda need them.” Robin tries to placate you, but you’re seeing red and you can’t breathe.

Eddie manages to catch your eye. He lowers his voice, the most sincere he’s ever been. “I promise I’ll protect Dustin with my life. Alright? I won’t let the shithead die.”

Only it’s the wrong thing to say. Your ears are ringing and your chest feels like it’s about to explode. Anger and fear and despair all claw at your throat, begging to be released. 

“Do you really think I can’t protect my own brother?” You hiss at Eddie, teeth clenched and face burning. The words tumble from your mouth before you can even really stop them. You’re blinded by anger, by the overwhelming feeling that you’ll lose. 

You can’t protect everyone on your own. Not this time, not like you’ve always done. Your entire life you’ve given everything within you to protect the ones you love. Pieces of yourself have been broken, bruised, exhausted from it; but it’s all you know. 

You’ve never been good at asking for help. Never trusted anyone enough to love and care for your family with the ferocity that you do. 

But now, faced with something much bigger than yourself, your greatest fear has come true. You have to let go. You have to trust that someone else will be there for your loved ones when you can’t. There’s nothing else you can do.

And it’s fucking terrifying. 

Eddie clears his throat in response to your sudden outburst. The RV falls silent. Eyes stare at you and you turn away in shame, facing the windshield with tears in your eyes. Steve can’t keep his eyes on the road knowing you’re upset.

Eventually there’s a field and Nancy tells Steve to park. With nowhere else to go, the open field will be your basecamp. There are weapons to be made, final moments to be shared. 

No one wastes any time getting out. The RV empties quickly until it’s only you, Dustin, and Steve who remain. Your brother clears his throat awkwardly, standing before you with his arms tucked behind him. 

“Code blue?”

Strings twinge in your chest, but laughter floods anyways. “Yeah,” you wipe your eyes, already crying. “I think we’re due for one.”

You get up from the passenger seat, giving Steve a quick but reassuring glance. He understands without having to be told that you need to be alone with your brother. Giving you some privacy, he turns away while you and Dustin head towards the back. 

Sitting down, Dustin immediately falls against you. You butt heads, playfully and childishly, and you want to cherish these small moments with your brother forever. 

“Please don’t be like dad.” Dustin whispers, so quiet you almost don’t hear him. 

Your throat closes. “Dustin…”

“You can’t leave me. Not like he did. You can’t-you can’t do that to me and mom.” There are tears in his eyes. 

The mention of your mother makes you cry as well. You miss her, you haven’t seen her in days and all you want is to have her hold you one last time. To hear her call you her sweet girl again. To etch her love for you into your skin. 

“I won’t leave you,” your fingers grip Dustin’s arms. Your body shakes, so does his. “I-I won’t. I love you, okay? More than anything in this world. I’m your sister, and I know I haven’t been a very good one recently and I know that I can’t promise that everything will be okay, but–”

“All I want from you is for you to come home.” Dustin rasps. His eyes shine and he sniffs, shaking his head fondly, albeit annoyed. “God, that’s all you have to do. Don’t be like him, don’t leave the house empty. That’s all I want from you, Y/N.”

Brushing his hair back, the promise you make doesn’t burn how you expect it to. “I’ll come home.”

“Good.” Dustin throws himself into you, arms gripping you tightly. His hair tickles your nose and his hat almost pokes your eye out, but you hold onto him anyways. 

“Yo, Henderson!” Eddie’s voice calls from outside. There’s a bang on the RV door, followed by a quiet curse for presumably injuring a hand. “Come help me with these trash lids. The nails are bitches!”

“Trash lids?” You ask Dustin.

He shrugs. “Weapon against the bats. Could be worse.”

You snort, pushing the kid away. “Go help Munson. With his luck, he’ll lose an eye wielding a hammer.” 

Dustin also laughs and allows your body to leave. He stands up, lingers in the doorway, before smiling one last time at you. Your promise to him melts into his skin. He’s chosen to believe you; you have to choose to believe yourself as well.

When he’s gone, the silence in the RV almost drowns you. There’s a dull roar in your head. Conversations echo. Nancy’s confessions and Dustin’s terror. Max’s sacrifice. How long it’s been since you’ve been alone.

Your head drops to your hands. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to salvage what little of your sanity is left. 

A body lands next to you. The smell of bergamot and spice is like a salve to your open wounds. Hands grab your body, pull you flush against a chest. Without having to look, you know Steve is the one holding you.

He lays you down onto the couch and you curl into him instinctively. You use his body to shield you away from the world, feeling like a little kid again. Your bones ache. Steve rubs your flesh as if to dispel the pain that is always there. 

“I know you want to be alone right now,” his chest vibrates against your cheek as he speaks. “But can I just say that I hate this plan?”

His honesty is refreshing, candid and desperately needed. It causes the corners of your mouth to tug upwards, ever so slightly. The ache lessens, the echoes aren’t as deafening. 

Pressing your nose against the base of Steve’s neck, you allow yourself to be weak in this moment. To be soft, vulnerable, trusting that he’ll catch you. “I don’t want to die.”

Steve kisses your forehead, lips warming the cold skin underneath. “I know.” His finger strokes your cheek. He memorizes the lines and dots that litter your face. Old scars, new ones that will never really go away. “It’s a good thing I won’t let you.”

You smile again. No one can promise anything anymore. Yesterday you almost died, today you will use your life as bait, and tomorrow you might never see. Nothing is promised. Not anymore. 

Yet you believe Steve. 

“What did you see in your vision?”

The question is whispered and velvety. You haven’t talked about last night, but Steve knows whatever you saw is weighing on you. He can see the way you carry it on your shoulders, tired and aching. He noticed the tension between you and Nancy, the unyielding fear of letting your brother go. 

Your eyes meet. The brown honey in Steve’s eyes reminds you that he’s real. Here, in his arms, you’re safe. You could confess all your sins to him and Steve would kiss the impurity with holy lips and call you angel. 

Taking a deep breath, you tell him everything. 

“He took me to a field. I recognized that it was Virginia the moment my feet touched the grass. I could see my childhood home up the hill and there was someone calling my name.” Your father’s voice echoes in your ears. You can’t remember the last time he called. “It was my dad.”

Steve pulls you closer.

“I ran to him, even though I knew it wasn’t real, but–” you were a child when he left. The wound will never fade. “I had to see him. I just… I wanted to remember what it was like to be held by him.”

Warm. You remember the warmth.

“Then suddenly I was falling. I screamed, but-but no one could hear me. I was in the woods. The same woods Will disappeared in and I was so scared he had him. That it was all my fault again. I was the one who lost him again. I started to run. I-I had to find him… But he wasn’t there.”

How many times had Will called for you the night he disappeared?

“He’s safe in California, Y/N.” Steve reminds you, tucking hair out of your face. He wants to smooth the worry lines in your face, mold your skin into something calmer, happier. “It wasn’t real.”

“I know none of it was real, but the things Vecna showed me…” Unable to bear saying anything else, you give yourself a moment to breathe. Nothing had been real. But it had felt real. 

Steve frowns, sensing that there’s something else. “What else did he show you, angel?”

“You,” you breathe out, too weak to find any other way to say it. “He showed me you.”

Surprise mars his pretty face. “Me?”

“Nancy, too.” Wiping a tear, you fix Steve’s hair, needing something to distract yourself with. You don’t want to tell him any of this. Shame coats your body but the love in his eyes subdues it. “Vecna preys on your fears, your insecurities, and for me… He showed me you and Nancy together. Having sex.”

Steve doesn’t say anything. 

“He told me that you’d never forget her. Not as easily as my father forgot me, at least.” You laugh bitterly. “He has a sick sense of humor. I’ll give him that.” 

Still Steve remains silent. 

But for once, his silence doesn’t scare you. There’s a trust behind it. An understanding that he wants you to continue, to tell him everything. And you do. 

“I’m scared my guilt will suffocate me.” The confession falls from your lips as easily as a prayer does. “I’m scared of starting a life with someone that I can’t control. I’m scared that I’ll always be abandoned. That I’ll always be second to Nancy. Every boy I have loved has loved her. Who wouldn’t be terrified of that?”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, angel.” Steve cups your face. He doesn’t know what he feels right now. Anger, for both you and him. Agony that he can’t absolve you from the guilt, from the thought of him leaving you. “I love you. Only you.”

“I know you do,” you bring your hand to his face as well. He leans against your palm, gaze tragic and loyal. There is no doubt that he loves you. That has never been what you’ve doubted. 

It’s always been the how. 

How he came to love you. After Nancy. After she left him. After you picked up the pieces she left behind. The love that you know is yours is genuine, but you’ve always been terrified that the foundations of it are false. 

With Steve staring down at you as if you’ve hung the sun and moon for him, you ask him the question that’s been lingering in the back of your mind ever since he crashed into your life. 

“Would you have loved me even without Nancy? If we hadn’t fallen together because of her, would you still have fallen in love with me?”

The answer comes easily to Steve. “Always.”

And it’s everything you need from him. One word, but it’s enough. 

Your fist grips his shirt. A tug, no time to prepare, and your lips crash together. There is nothing soft. The kiss is bruising and it is rough and hard and urgent. Everything left unsaid between you and Steve rises to your lips and melts into your tongues. For every broken promise, there is a bite of skin, a lick of flesh. For every hurt you brought upon the other, there is a soft moan of an apology.

Heat pours from your teeth and into Steve’s lungs. Your breaths become one, your heartbeats overlap and he is everywhere. He is an explosion of light festering on your skin. 

“I see more than just a future with you,” Steve whispers against your lips, hushed and aching. It takes everything within him to pull away for even a second. He kisses you again. Over and over until he’s memorized every crevice of your lips, the cracks on them. “I see my entire life with you.”

Steve breathes you in, hands cradling your face as if to steady the dizziness within him. He looks into your eyes, follows the flushed pink of your lips and your staccato breathing. He takes you in and hopes he never has to forget the way you look when you are in love. 

“I would wait forever,” lips skim the length of your face. Feather light kisses trace your nose, flutter against your eyelids. Inhaling sharply, Steve rests his forehead against yours. He stays there. He will never leave. “I would wait forever if it meant I could start forever with you.”

This is love. This is what can never be taken from me.

“Hey! Lip smackers!” Robin bangs through the RV door, scaring the shit out of you and Steve and causing you to spring apart. She smirks at your reaction, though she tries to cover it with a scoff. She crosses her arms. “Are you assholes gonna help us, or are you too busy swapping spit?”

Steve’s face turns fire red. “Do you always have to be so vulgar?”

“It’s why people find me so charming. Right, Y/N?”

“As long as the nickname ‘lip smackers’ doesn’t stick, I’ll agree with whatever.” You say, getting off the couch. 

Robin laughs. “I actually kinda like it. Has a nice ring to it, ya know?”

“No,” you and Steve say at the same time. Your “no” is more bored while Steve’s is more panicked. 

Rolling your eyes at his affronted reaction, you pat his cheek lovingly and press a quick kiss to it. “Nicknames aside, I should go. There’s one more person I need to talk to.”

Steve tilts his head at you, silently asking who, but you don’t respond. Instead, you turn to Robin. “Whatever you make him help you with, just promise me you won’t scar his pretty face. I have to look at it for the rest of my life.”

Robin grins, secretly relieved the two of you finally seem to be okay again. “No promises, pretty girl. He’s gonna help me make molotov cocktails and we all know his hair is a fire hazard.”

“Ha ha,” Steve laughs boredly. “Very funny.”

You giggle alongside Robin, leaving them to grab their needed supplies. The sunlight outside kisses your skin and in the distance you find Eddie chasing Dustin around. They wield their makeshift shields around, laughing like children.

The image of them before you leaves you breathless for a moment. Even when everything seems grim and hopeless, Eddie has still found a way to make your brother laugh.

They don’t see you approaching them. You have to sidestep Dustin, who nearly runs into you. “Woah!” You grab his shoulders, steadying him. Something pokes your thigh, and when you look down you realize it’s his nail filled trash lid. “God, you’re bound to poke someone’s eye out.”

“What are you doing here?” Dustin asks you, looking around for Steve.

“I came to ask if I could steal Eddie away from you for a second.” You respond, shrugging as if you’ve ever offered to interact with Eddie outside of Dustin. “I need to talk to him.”

Both boys widen their eyes. Eddie pales, while Dustin narrows his eyes at you. “The last time I let you talk to one of my friends, you ended up making him your boyfriend.”

Eddie blanches while you flick your brother’s forehead. “Then it’s a good thing I don’t want Eddie to be my boyfriend.”

Without another word, you grab Eddie by his jacket and yank him away. Dustin shouts at you that he’ll rat you out to Steve, but you don’t care. Eddie is a mumbling mess, unsure what you want with him and slightly terrified he’s done something wrong. 

When you’re far enough away from everyone else, you finally release him. Tucking your hair behind your ears, you look at Eddie. “I owe you an apology.”

“Oh.” He blinks. This definitely hadn’t been what he was expecting. “Can I ask what for?”

“Don’t play dumb. I know I kinda lost my mind earlier. You can say it.” You roll your eyes. “I won’t kill you.” 

“Says the girl who held a knife to my throat.”

“Water under the bridge.” Your fingers fidget. You know this is the right thing to do, but it still makes you uncomfortable. “Look, it was wrong of me to snap at you. I, uh. Get pretty defensive when it comes to accepting help.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, although his eyes flash with slight amusement. 

You clear your throat. “I guess I also struggle to accept when I’m no longer needed.”

“Bullshit.” Eddie laughs in your face. “The universe will always need Hawkin’s sweetheart. Don’t sound so pessimistic, sunshine.”

“You never shut up, do you?” You cut him off, glaring. Here you are, trying to be vulnerable with him, and he’s laughing at you. “Jesus. Anyways, what I’m trying to say is, I shockingly have found myself tolerating you.”

“Gee, you really know how to make a guy feel special.”

“I try,” you glance quickly at Eddie, smirking, and he smirks back. “For a long time, I didn’t understand what Dustin saw in you. You were a total jackass with a giant ego, but I guess these last few days have proven you’re only a tolerable jackass with a moderately oversized ego.”

A surprised laugh leaves Eddie’s lips. “Wow, you really aren’t holding back.”

“Figured we’re overdue for some honesty.” You hate being vulnerable, but Eddie deserves this. Swallowing down your nerves, you finally confess the real reason you’re here. “I’ve never had to place Dustin’s safety in someone else’s hands. I’ve always found a way to be there for him, even through years of constant hell and monsters. I’ve always… I’ve always been the one to protect him.”

Eddie’s laughter is gone.

“But tonight I can’t. Tonight, all I can do is make you promise me that you’ll keep my baby brother safe. I-” Your voice breaks, there are tears that you don’t want to fall. “I need you to promise me, Eddie.”

He sucks in a breath. The boyish humor he so often portrays is stoic. He’s serious, perhaps for the very first time since you’ve met him. 

The two of you stare at one another, both unwavering, before Eddie slowly, almost mischievously, extends his pinky to you. “I promise.”

Linking your pinky around his, your cheeks burn from the suppressed smile. 

– 

The sun is setting when everyone climbs back into the RV. No one speaks. There isn’t anything else to talk about, driving to the Creel house. 

The silence weighs heavily upon the car, setting alongside the sun. You sit in the passenger seat, holding your knives to your chest with your headphones dangling over your neck. There is still blood staining the bandage on your shoulder. The bites on your thigh aches. 

You’ve done all that you can. You keep repeating this to yourself, over and over again like a prayer.

You’ve prepared, you’ve planned, you’ve sacrificed. There isn’t anything else you can do. All that’s left is the end. 

Steve sits next to you, his knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel. His forehead is creased and his shoulders are tense. The closer you get to the house, the more he draws into himself. 

When you finally get to the house, Erica, Lucas, and Max almost leave without saying anything else. While there are no more well wishes to give, no more luck to spare, you can’t bear the thought of leaving them without hearing their voices.

“Be careful,” you follow after them, exiting the RV as well. The three of them turn to you, bittersweet smiles on their faces. They knew you’d do this. 

“We will.” Lucas reassures you, refraining himself from reaching out. He knows that if he hugs you now, he may never let you go. Instead, he ducks his head at you. “We’ll see you later, alright?”

Blinking back tears, you nod back at him. The siblings walk away, leaving you alone with Max. A part of you wonders if they planned this. Stepping towards her, you try one last time to exchange her life for yours. 

“Can I at least ask you not to antagonize Vecna? If you try to persuade him to take you instead, I’m haunting your grave.” It’s a vile thing to say, a joke that you know you’ll come to regret, but it’s the only way you know to get Max to laugh one last time. 

Max does laugh, but she also doesn’t promise you anything. Instead, she exchanges her life for yours. “If he chooses you, remember to picture your good memories. Hide in them. Run to the light.” 

You nod, you’ve spoken briefly about her plan before. It makes sense, in a way. Instead of getting trapped in the bad memories Vecna shows you, you need to hide in the good. Except what Max says next hadn’t been discussed. 

“It’s what Billy tried to do with you. You were his light.” 

It catches you off guard, freezing your lungs. 

“His final words… they took me a while to understand. But I think I know now, and I don’t want you blaming yourself for any of it.” Max’s gaze softens. “You told Billy to find you, and that’s what he tried to do.”

But if you need anyone to talk to, about anything, come find me, okay?

Talking to you… sweetheart.

Like pieces of a puzzle, everything falls into place.

Unable to stop yourself, you throw your arms around Max. She tenses, and you almost release her with an apology, before she melts; she hugs you back. It’s been a long time since she’s done that.

“Billy was trying to find the light,” she whispers into your ear. “That’s how we’re going to survive.”

And you believe her.

-

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[syoounn]

~ Their Reactions not giving them physical affection.

~ Characters: Dazai, Chuuya, Fyodor, Nikolai, Sigma

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"Belllaaaa~"

He said, begging and pleading at you he was looking at you with those puppy eyes of his as you continue to ignore him.

Dazai whimpers as you’re starting to ignore him. At this point, he has no other choice than to pout and plead. He buries his head against the pillow and speaks with a pouty voice.

“Come onnnn…. You’re not gonna break and feel bad for me? Maybe even forgive me? I mean, I’m love of your life, right?"

You sigh.. "If you haven't touched that cake, you wouldn't be in this situation." you said.

“Please, please, please…. Just come cuddle with me… I can handle any punishment you give me, anything… but not denial of physical affection…”

"No means no." You said and got back the attention to the book.

Dazai’s frown deepens further when you continue to deny him. The words ‘no means no’ are the absolute worst thing you could’ve said to him right now.

His arms slowly let go of yours, and he folds his, folding his arms and turning in the opposite direction of you. His voice now has a more cold but also pouty tone to it as he mumbles.

“Fine… but you’ll come to regret denying me….”

As you felt your eyelids getting heavy.. you closed your eyes and slowly fell asleep, still holding the book. Dazai looks over towards you and notices that you look like you’re fast asleep, still trying to uphold the pouty behaviour. He lets out a soft sigh before he reaches to wrap his arms around you and pulls you closer. After this, he buries his face into your neck, enjoying the warmth of your skin.

A light chuckle then escapes his lips as he decides to be mischievous and kisses your neck softly.

Dazai decides to continue this behaviour, continuing to kiss and nibble your neck and hold you close as the silence fills the room. The only other sounds that accompany the moment are the light snores from you as well as the soft breathing coming from himself. He’s now content and no longer pouting.

You ended up having hickeys this morning.

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You were busy handling papers... as Chuuya looks at you as he's saying it's time for you two to cuddle.

"Can't cuddle right now, Chuu.. need to finish this... you can sleep first." You said as returning your attention back to the papers.

Chuuya looks slightly disappointed but accepts it. He sighs a little.

“Fine. I’ll just... lie here.”

He puts his arms over you anyway, not expecting much more than being allowed to hold you in his grasp.

He remains quiet, staring up at the ceiling. He glances at you for a moment before turning his gaze back towards the ceiling. You notice that his muscles are noticeably tensing, his jaw clenched. As if he’s trying to hold himself back from something.

“You know what, screw it. If you’re gonna stay up all goddamn night, I’ll stay up with you. There’s no way that I can sleep while you’re still up.”

He shifts toward your direction and pulls you to the bed so that he’s lying close beside you. One of his arms wraps around you as he turns the lights off. His voice is soft in the darkness, but you can sense that he must be in a bad mood. You don't need to see the frown on his face to know that.

"I was not done yet!" You said protesting.

"Too bad. You need to get some rest, and I'll see to it that you do." His tone of voice is sharp and short, but at the same time, you detect a touch of concern.

Chuuya gently pulls you closer and settles you onto his chest. The faint smell of his cologne, expensive wine, and sweat radiates off his skin. The rhythm of his heartbeat is steady and slow. He's clearly trying hard to be patient, but his agitation is barely contained. The tension is palpable.

"I'll make you tired whether you want it or not."

His embrace tightens as he begins to stroke your hair gently. His hand slides up and down your head, the friction of his fingers running through your hair being strangely soothing. Every time his hand goes across your hair, it's like another wave of tiredness washes over you, making it increasingly harder to keep your eyes open.

As you can't keep your eyes open , you eventually dozed off and ended up panicking about the papers the next day. However.. it was worth it.

•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°

You don't really see any reason for him to be getting declined for physical affection or.. until you ask him...

"Hmm.. how would you react having no cuddles and kisses?"

He raises an eyebrow, but a small smirk forms on his lips as he reaches for you and pulls you close, kissing your forehead and stroking your hair gently. "You do realise you could ask for affection like I am your lover, instead of asking an open-ended question with the intent to start a debate?"

Despite the words, Fyodor remains calm and collected as he runs his fingers through your soft hair. "I trust the absence of physical contact was what you were insinuating?"

"I-..I was just asking.." You said.

Again, he lets out a soft hum. Very well. I'll answer, even though I find the question in itself quite strange. "Would I be upset with no cuddles or kisses? Of course not. I don't require such acts to be satisfied."

Fyodor's voice now holds a certain tone of amusement. "Now, is your curiosity sated?" He pulls you close again, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead once more.

You nodded in response..

Fyodor chuckles softly. Then, I shall continue to be affectionate. "Now, let me ask you something, dear. Would you rather spend your nights without my warm embrace?" His voice holds a certain degree of teasing, but there's a note of seriousness to it, his deep eyes locking with yours.

"No..! Of course not..!"

His smile grows wider as he continues to stroke your hair. "Then you shall not be without it." He pulls you closer, planting another peck on your forehead and then on your lips. You melt on his little kiss as you glad to ask about that.

•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°

Both of you are just relaxing at the couch as Nikolai is always asking you these quizzes.. and of course.. you wanna make it a little hard for him.

“Alright~”

Nikolai grins as he adjusts himself to sit up properly, hands behind his back. He looks at you with curious intensity in his eyes.

“Okay…. First question!”

His grin widens even further as he waits for you to give him a nod to start.

"Oh.. if i got it right.. you won't get cuddles and kisses, " you said..

“And if you get it wrong?”

Nikolai asks, smirking as he waits for you to answer his question. He already knows what you’re gonna choose, but it’s just a matter of seeing if you’ll fall for one of his trap questions he’ll put in later.

"You'll get one.."

“Okay then, I’ll kiss and cuddle you if you get it wrong~”

He states."The question is ‘is the sky blue?’ What will you choose, yes or no~?"

"It's light blue." You said correctly.

“Oh~”

Nikolai says playfully, pretending to be surprised by your answer. He seems amused by the fact that you specified ‘light’ blue instead of saying just… blue.

“But that’s right, so you guessed correctly~"

He says, smiling at you flirtatiously as he wiggles closer to you. He grabs you by your waist and pulls you closer and closer to his lap.

“I guess I gotta kiss and cuddle you.”

Before you could even do that, you stopped him and smiled..

"I got it right.. so no kisses and cuddles.."

“But I said I’ll give those to you if you guessed correctly—

Nikolai grumbles, playing along with the charade while still smiling playfully at you. He lets out a few chuckles as he rests his hands on your hips and moves his head over yours. You can tell from his gaze just how much he enjoys playing with you instead of being serious.

“No fair~”

“Hm…" well then…”

Nikolai leans in closer so he’s right inches away from your face.

“I guess I’ll have to just…”

He says before suddenly he leans in a tiny bit more, almost as if he’s about to kiss you. He keeps getting closer and closer until his nose is almost touching your lips.

As Nikolai pulls his head away from yours, he laughs. He notices that his little joke worked and that you really did get flustered by his fake, almost kiss. He couldn’t help but feel pleased about your reaction.

He smiles mischievously and leans in to actually kiss you on the lips that time. Only this time, it’s a proper full-on smooch. His lips are soft and tender as they linger on yours.

Nikolai slowly pulls back once more, taking in the moment and your panting breaths while you’re left a flustered mess. He giggles at your reaction once more and snickers while watching you try to gather yourself back together. He can’t help himself but kiss you again, lingering his lips on yours for an extended period of time. Nikolai doesn’t want to end this, not yet. He enjoys seeing you so flustered and red.

And now.. you've ended up being overly showered with kisses.

•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°

Sigma has been spending too much time at the Casino again. And now you’re being all pouty and refused to give him cuddles.

He then let out a deep breath, seeing you all pouty and refusing to give him cuddles. He couldn’t help but have his soft, loving eyes widen a bit, thinking how could you be so incredibly adorable. He then slowly walked over to you. “My love…?” He then reached out slowly to wrap his arms around you, hoping to get you to smile again.

As you still didn’t reply or smile back to him, he then started looking at you even more intently. He then started hugging you tightly, trying his best to make you feel comfortable.

He didn’t know what to do as he couldn’t remember what triggered your pouty look, and he couldn’t bear the thought of upsetting you.

He then started rubbing your back, trying to show his affection physically, and hoping this would ease the tension.

He then pulled away and started playing with your hair, looking into your eyes as he tilted his head out of curiosity to see if you were still going to remain stubborn enough to not smile at him. After playing with your hand for a few seconds, he then gave it a soft kiss, hoping this would break the tension.

And you couldn't pretend to be mad at him anymore... you were melting and blushing from his touch as you just gave him a hug.

"I miss you..."

As you suddenly hugged him, all his worries instantly melted away, and his arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly and not letting go. His mind then cleared itself of all thoughts, as he focused his attention on just feeling you in his arms.

He then started tracing circles on your back, while one hand remained holding on to yours. He then spoke softly as his other hand moved to the back of your head and started slowly stroking your hair. “I miss you too..”

You ended up clinging to him all night feeling guilty that you tried to ignore him and would never do that again, you mean.. how, can you ignore this adorable person?!

•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°•○°

[bahablastplz]

Snap: Minho x Reader x Jisung

After your boyfriend decides to punish you by not touching you for two weeks, you take matters into your own hands. There's one way to make him snap, and that is Han Jisung. Content: Smut. That's it. Warnings: Heavy degradation, humiliation, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cum eating, fingering, dom/sub dynamics, choking, complicated feelings WC: 3500

You should have known not to test your boyfriend. 

Your boyfriend Minho is one of the best things that has ever happened to you. He is sweet, kind, forgiving, and so so patient with you. 

Ever since you have been dating, he has done an amazing job to make sure you feel loved, whether that be through smaller gestures like baking food with you or writing notes, or buying you flowers and taking you out on the best dates of your life. He is thoughtful and caring, and you both love each other very much. 

The other great thing about Minho is this other side of the world he has helped you to explore… sexually, that is. He introduced you to the world of doms and subs and your relationship has absolutely thrived on that dynamic. Because for that gentle, loving and caring boyfriend that you get to see during the day… you also get to see the exact opposite. Minho, who will take no bullshit. Minho, who can edge you for hours on end and knows exactly which buttons to push to get you to fall apart for him. Minho, who can wrap his hand around your throat and whisper the filthiest, most vulgar things in your ears to try to get you to submit to him. 

Lee Minho, your boyfriend, is an enigma. Better yet, he is yours.

Which is why you know that you can get away with pushing him to his limits the same way that he pushes you to yours. 

That’s sort of how you got yourself into your current situation. 

 Because, maybe one day you decided to push him, and he might have caught you touching yourself in your bed when you weren’t supposed to. And when he tried to give you your punishment, you had an orgasm without his permission. Fast forward to your new punishment: He hasn’t touched you in two weeks. 

Sometimes, you feel like your boyfriend has turned you into a sex-craved machine. But, who can blame you? It’s not your fault that your boyfriend has a body sculpted by the Gods and an even sexier personality. You swore on your life you would never beg and be desperate for a man. And then came Minho. 

During the past two weeks, you have felt absolutely deprived and horny out of your goddamn mind. He knew it, too. He saw the way that you would squeeze your legs together whenever he sat next to you, the way you would squirm, the way that your eyes would get blown out and your breathing heavy… and he didn’t even have to touch you. It was a mind game, and you were losing badly. 

So, that’s how you came up with your awful idea; push Minho to the breaking point and watch him snap. It was a win/win, really. Not only would your punishment end, but maybe you could get him angry enough to have the rough, hard, toe-curling sex you’ve been craving. You just needed to wait for the right opportunity… and it practically fell into your lap. 

Movie night with Han Jisung. 

Jisung is Minho’s best friend. The two are practically inseparable, bonded with a connection deeper than words could describe. Of course, Jisung was at one point one of your best friends as well, as he was the one that introduced you to your boyfriend in the first place. That’s how you know that the way to get to Minho is through Jisung. 

It started with making dinner, the three of you. It’s a weekly tradition, Friday nights eating homemade dinner and watching cheesy movies. This week is your pick, too. It was almost like all of the pieces of the puzzle were coming together. 

You laugh at Jisung’s jokes. Of course, Minho laughs too, but you make a point to laugh harder than you should, slapping your hand onto his shoulder. “Jisung, you are so funny,” you laugh. “I forgot how funny you are. We should hang out more!” 

That causes the man to let out a shy chuckle, throwing his hand behind his head sheepishly. You look over at your boyfriend and smile at him brightly. 

That night, you make sure to leave lingering touches on Jisung’s body. You reach into the popcorn bowl at the same time as him, grazing his knuckles with your fingers. You swipe a piece of stray hair behind his ear. You even drape your legs across his lap completely during the movie. It always leads to a light laugh from him and a blush that spreads across his cheeks, his eyes flickering to Minho’s for approval. Of course, Minho was never looking at him. 

He was looking at you. 

His eyes bore into yours all night, eyes hard and mouth set into a straight line. You really, truly couldn’t tell what he was thinking. But you make a show of looking at him for a reaction every time and smiling at him with big, bright eyes. 

That night, for your movie choice you made sure to pick the raunchiest, sexiest chick flick that you could find. So of course, when a sex scene started playing you shifted your position. Switching the direction of your body, you put your legs on Minho’s lap and your head on Jisung’s thigh, looking up at him with a bright smile. You admire his bright red cheeks, obviously flushed from the situation at hand. 

“Isn’t this a good movie, Sungie?” You giggle, nustling your head against his thigh. That is the breaking point. 

Minho’s hand reaches across the table, snatching the remote. The TV turns off, causing you and Jisung to turn your heads to look at him. 

“Enough,” he said in a low timbre. 

“What?” you ask innocently. That’s when Minho grabbed the flesh of your thigh hard, kneading the muscle. You gasp when he does so, not expecting the action. His hand trails higher and cups your clothed pussy. 

That was something else… you had put on one of the most revealing outfits you owned, clad with a tight tank-top and miniskirt. This gives Minho easy access to slip his hand right where you need him most. 

“Minho, what are you–” 

“Shhh. If you’re going to act like a needy slut, then you’re going to fucking take it.” Your face goes completely red. While you were expecting him to snap, you thought he was going to drag you to your room and fuck the shit out of you. Not in the living room, while your head rests on Jisung’s lap. 

Your eyes shoot up to Jisung’s, who has been staring at you unabashedly this whole time. When your eyes meet, he clears his throat. 

“Um… I should probably go,” he says, making to stand up. 

“Don’t.” Minho’s voice is sharp, causing you both to freeze. At the same time, he slides your panties to the side and thrusts a finger into your core, causing your body to rock back into Jisung. You let out a loud moan–after weeks, you’re finally getting the contact you’ve been desperately craving. Jisung’s hands make way to your shoulders, holding you in place as he looks at Minho. 

“You’re gonna act like you haven’t been loving my girlfriend touching up on you and flirting with you all night? God, it’s so obvious, Sungie,” he laughs, continuing his ministrations and now thrusting two finger in and out of your sopping core. “She’s been acting like a needy, desperate slut for us, though, so I think we should treat her like one, yeah?” 

Jisung gulps. “We? Minho, I–” 

“You want to fuck her, Sungie? You can fuck her tight cunt, she’ll love it, too. And when you’re done, I’m gonna fuck her harder… I’m gonna fuck her better and fill her up so she knows who her pussy really belongs to.” You moan at his words, squirming around trying to get away from the way his fingers bully into your cunt. 

“Please… Jisung,” you say, looking up at him. “Want you to fuck me, too.” And you truly do. You can see the way your boyfriend is getting off on it, the way that he wants to prove to you that he is better. Somehow you could just tell that he wasn’t bothered in the slightest. 

“Yeah, okay. Fuck,” Jisung breaths. 

“Pull down her shirt,” Minho instructs. Jisung immediately follows his directions, as if in a trance, revealing your bare chest to the two men. “Play with her nipples. Pinch them, she likes that.” The feeling of Jisung’s thumbs pinching and pulling harshly against your nipples has you breathless and moaning, because this person touching you wasn’t your boyfriend. It felt so wrong, but with your boyfriend’s attention still on your leaking pussy and his eyes never leaving yours, it felt so right. 

“Fuck, she’s clenching so tight on my fingers,” Minho tells Jisung. “She likes you playing with her, I can feel her getting close.” 

“Yeah?” Jisung stares down and looks at your face, fucked out, and you look at him fucked out out of your mind. Lips parted and eyes glossy, your eyes didn’t leave his. He looked at you with utter adoration, never stopping his motions on your chest. 

“Min, Min… Cumming, fuck,” you breath. Your boyfriend keeps a steady pace, finger fucking you right through your orgasm. As Jisung slows his pace, rubbing slower on your nipples, he pulls off with a harsh tug. 

You sit up, putting your pressure on your arms as you look at Minho who slowly pulls his fingers out of your cunt. Revealing his fingers, he shows Jisung how soaked his fingers are. 

“Want to taste her sweet cunt?” Minho asks with a devilish smirk. Jisung nods his head with doe eyes. 

Minho reaches past your body and extends his hand to Jisung, offering the boy his two fingers. You watch as Jisung parts his lips, Minho sliding the appendage inside. You clench your thighs together at the loud slurping and soft whimper that this elicits from his mouth, eyes shut as he tastes your release. Minho’s gaze hardens, watching him with predatory eyes. When he pulls his fingers out from his mouth, a long string of saliva connects his fingers to Jisung’s mouth, dripping down onto your bare chest. The action makes both you and Jisung moan softly. 

Minho stands, maneuvering your body to the position he wants you in. He puts you on your hands and knees on the couch, ass up and hanging over the edge for easy access. He pulls your underwear down around your knees but keeps the skirt on, opting to flip it up over your body instead. You feel used like this, shirt bunched down around your waist and panties not even fully off your body yet. 

“Come fuck her pussy,” Minho says to Jisung. He stands up fast, moving behind you to position himself at your entrance. Here he has a full view of your cunt, still soaked and glistening from your release. He lets out a shaky breath and looks at Minho for permission, who stands over you and looks down at you. You look up at him almost pathetically, giving him a weak smile. He smirks at you, practically cooing as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Go on,” he says, his voice suddenly turning sharp as he addresses Jisung. “I’m not going to tell you twice.” 

You don’t see Jisung pull his pants down but you feel him poke at your entrance, his tip leaking as he rubs it up and down your folds. You rock your hips back, desperate for the pressure, and hiss when he finally enters you. As soon as he does, he stills, breathing heavy behind you. 

“Fuck… so tight,” he says, more to Minho than to you. He gives a cat-like smirk and gestures for the boy to continue. And so Jisung starts, slowly rocking his hips into you. He grinds up against your ass each time, a grip bruising right on your hips. 

Minho sits down on the couch now in front of you. Here he can look right into your eyes, his gaze harsher than you had ever seen before. 

“Look at you getting your slutty pussy fucked by my friend,” he coos. It feels condescending, and you tilt your head down to look toward the couch when you feel his fingers underneath your chin. He pulls you up to meet his eyes, fingers pinching your cheeks to part your mouth open for him. “Do you know how long he’s been waiting to fuck you for? It’s almost pathetic. He’s wanted your sweet cunt for so long but he could never have it, could he?” You shake your head at him, and Jisung whines from behind you, increasing his pace. 

As Jisung goes harder and you start approaching your release, you look up at Minho with tears pricking your eyes. 

“Close?” He coos. You nod your head. “You gonna cum on his cock?” 

“Please,” you grunt out. “Please Minho.” 

“Go ahead, then.” And it's not until Minho brings your face to his in a wet, messy kiss that you finally finish. You moan into his mouth and he drinks it up, his tongue pushing against yours and into your mouth. Jisung becomes more vocal as well, whiny moans and heavy breathing as he fucks you through your orgasm. 

Minho pulls you off of his lips harshly, looking at his friend behind you. Jisung looks absolutely wrecked and Minho knows it won’t take long to push him over his edge as well. 

“Is her tight pussy clenching around you good?” He asks. He looks at his friend with a proud smirk. Jisung nods, eyes closed and head thrown back. “As good as you imagined? Wanna tell me how good her pussy feels?” 

“S’good,” he says. “So warm and wet… so tight, fuck…” 

Minho stands, walking over to Jisung. He lifts your skirt higher, revealing your bare ass to Jisung. “Go ahead and paint her ass, if you’re gonna cum,” he tells him. 

And with a few more thrusts and a soft ‘fuck, fuck, fuck,’ he pulls out and covers your ass with him cum. You’re covered in it, as he came a lot, and it starts dripping down your body. Minho scoops some of Jisung’s release with two fingers and brings them to your mouth, your lips automatically parting for him. You lick it off of his fingers, looking at him. You’re floating into a soft subspace and he can see it, utterly and completely submissive for him now. You’re pliant and completely at his command. He looks down at you with dark eyes. 

“My turn,” he says. Him and Jisung switch places, promptly. Jisung stares at you with wide eyes and watches your face, the way that you moan when Minho slips into you easily. 

His pace is brutal from the start, his hips snapping into yours relentlessly, his thighs making a loud wet sound as they slap against the backs of yours. A hand grabs at your hair, yanking you upwards to look at Jisung; he gasps when he sees you, mouth wide open and tears streaming down your face as you let out a sob. It’s too much, the overstimulation, the way Minho’s long cock kisses your cervix at every thrust. And he uses the hand in your hair to control you, pulling you back onto his cock with his strong grip. 

“Fuck…ing… pussy… so… good… for… me…,” Minho enunciates with every snap of his hips. 

You’re babbling at this point, too far gone to form any coherent words. “Min… oh my… fuck,” you say. “Jisung, Sungie…” you cry out at one point, his eyes never leaving yours. Even though he’s no longer participating he still watches intently, his lips parted in a soft ‘o’. 

“What are you calling his name for?” Minho taunts. “I’m the one fucking this cunt, not him. Are you so braindead that you don’t know who’s cock you’re calling out for?” 

“No… Min,” you answer. 

“Good, I’m gonna cum in this greedy pussy,” he says. “Only I can fill you up. Only I can breed your filthy cunt,” he says. “Say… fuck, say my name when you cum on my cock, baby.” 

And you do, because your release comes out of nowhere. With a loud cry you’re calling, no, screaming his name, clenching around him impossibly tight. Your orgasm seems to last forever, and you know he can feel the way you’re spasming around him with every thrust. 

When his hand snakes around and grabs the front of your throat, you know he’s close. His hand squeezes tight and you feel dizzy and light-headed, but this floaty feeling has you rolling your eyes to the back of your head in pleasure. 

Minho must be completely gone now, no longer spewing filthy words. He doesn’t say anything as he finally cums inside, grabbing your hips so tight that it’s sure to leave a mark. He stills against you and you can feel his hot release flood you, his cock twitching as he grinds impossibly deeper into your ass, as if he were trying to get his cum as far into you as he can, as if he were trying to mark you as his. 

When he releases his grip on you your body slumps onto the couch. Suddenly you’re weak all over and your body feels limp, vision starting to blur as you look up at Jisung. You notice a large wet stain on his pants, and you realize he must’ve cum again, simply from watching you get fucked within an inch of your life. You let out a soft chuckle and reach for his hand, your fingers weakly intertwining with his and giving him a soft squeeze. 

Arms are scooping you up in an instant, and you open your eyes to see your boyfriend carrying you in his arms, bridal style. 

“I’m going to get her into the bath,” he tells Jisung. 

“Okay. I should… I’m probably going to leave,” he says, voice riddled with uncertainty. 

“You don’t have to,” he replies. You can hear the softness in his tone, the fondness for his best friend coming through in his words. “You don’t have to,” he repeats. 

And though he’s no longer using that domineering tone that had you and Jisung submitting to him in an instant, Jisung still listens to his words. You shoot Jisung a shy smile and wave your fingers at him as you’re carried off into the bathroom. 

Minho is ever the attentive lover, humming as he sits next to you beside the tub. He scrubs your skin gently, rubbing soothing circles into your sore muscles. He pays careful attention when shampooing your hair, making sure not to get any of the soap into your eyes. Your boyfriend Minho is one of the best things that has ever happened to you. He is sweet, kind, forgiving, and so so patient with you. In this moment you’re reminded of that fact, and you feel a twinge of guilt when you’re reminded of the way you acted earlier. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. It’s the first words you’ve spoken since after you had sex. They’re barely loud enough to hear, but you know your words haven’t fallen upon deaf ears when he lets out a soft sigh. 

“You have nothing to apologize for, love,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry for dragging out your punishment for too long. I know you were trying to rile me up and get on my nerves… and it worked. Not for the reason that I thought though. I thought that… I thought that Jisung touching you would make me mad, but the more I thought about it… fuck, the thought of sharing with him what’s mine, to show him ‘this is my beautiful girlfriend that makes me feel so good…’ It was so hot, baby. And I wanted him to touch you. I wanted him to make you feel good, too. He looked so fucked out, and I liked that it was us that made him feel like that, y’know?” 

You smile softly at him. “Min, can I ask you a question?” 

He hums in response. 

“Do you… have feelings for him?” He doesn’t meet your eye, and that’s all the answer that you need. You know that outloud, at least right now, he could never truly admit it, but he didn’t have to. “It’s okay,” you reassure. “Nobody’s faulting you if you do. We don’t have to talk about it right now, okay?” 

Minho wraps you in a towel and dries your skin. His eyes are full of adoration for you. Before you walk into your bedroom, his lips meet yours in a soft kiss. 

That night, the three of you fall asleep in your bed. There’s no discussion to be had about how this complicates your relationship. There’s no words exchanged, there’s no awkward eye contact, and there are no bad thoughts that cloud your mind as you drift to sleep. You listen to Jisung’s soft snoring and the pitter patter of Minho’s heartbeat. You fall asleep warm, intertwined with many limbs, and with a soft smile on your face.  *** Part 2/4 of the threesome series ;) Hope y'all enjoyed Masterlist Recs

Taglist: @lolareadsimagines / let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this series

[captain-hawks]

hi dee, merry christmas eve eve.

if you’re still taking drabble requests, i propose reuniting with famous ex-bf sae at a hometown xmas party

i don’t forgive you (but please don’t hold me to it) 🎀 itoshi sae x f!reader

4k — 18+, exes to lovers, infidelity (not sae x reader’s relationship), fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, praise kink, oral fixation, finger sucking, angst with a hopeful ending, playing fast and loose with sae’s timeline, timeskip

a/n: i listened to phoebe bridgers - punisher (the album) on repeat nonstop while writing this. recommended for the vibes!

“I knew you hated me. But I didn’t realize just how much until tonight.”

A voice interrupts the silence on the back porch of the Itoshi household, its owner someone that you’ve spent the better part of the night avoiding. Your tongue caresses the back of your teeth, fingers subtly tightening their grip against the wooden railing. 

It feels like it might snow.

“Since when do you come back here for Christmas? Did you need to come sign some hometown autographs to boost your ego?” you ask, voice dripping with sarcasm as you stare out into the dark backyard, rather than turning your gaze to the ghost now standing beside you. 

Itoshi Sae laughs, and the sound cracks against your ribcage like a whip.

It reverberates against the grooves and fissures that still linger there, ones that might as well have been carved by his own hand. It races through you like a cold wind. It makes your lungs burn. 

You find it difficult to breathe for a moment.

And it takes everything in you to appear as unbothered by it all as you wish you were. As you’d like him to believe. 

“I heard from Rin that you’re working on your master’s degree now.”

That’s not any of your goddamn business, you think to yourself. 

“Rin has a big mouth—and since when are you two on speaking terms?”

Sae shrugs, leaving you to stew for a moment as you try to decide whether or not to be annoyed that Rin neglected to share that pertinent bit of information with you.

To be fair, the nearest object usually becomes a projectile weapon by your hand whenever the mention of Rin even having a brother comes up in conversation though. 

At the very least, you’ve stayed close with one of the Itoshi brothers.

And it’s bad enough that you have to dodge Sae’s stupidly famous name like the plague any time you dare to indulge in any piece of football media for Rin’s sake. Fuck him for being so good. 

(At least, that’s what you try to tell yourself. Rather than believing the alternative—that you’re just pathetically hyper aware of Sae in his absence, of all the space he left behind in your life. That five years later, you’re still slowly bleeding out from something that shattered into so many pieces, you don’t think you’ll ever find the last sliver.)

Inhaling sharply, you finally turn to face him. 

It’s not fair, not really—what the sight of him still does to you, even now. Even after all this time. 

Sae’s hair is tousled in a purposeful way, and his eyes are still as sharp as ever. He’s wearing sleek boots and fitted, dark wash jeans, his upper half covered by a jacket that’s likely as expensive as it appears.

He looks far better than he has any right to while you’re standing out here wearing a silly, ugly Christmas sweater that’s an annual staple of Itoshi holiday parties (your parents have been neighbors with them since you were a kid, so you know the drill by now). 

You try not to think about how you fell in love for the first time with the man standing five steps away from you here, between this dark backyard and the one nestled beside it. Beneath the shade of towering oak trees, in the plush grass on warm summer days with sticky popsicle fingers and sweat-slick skin. 

About how terribly you missed him when he left for Spain.

How you didn’t fully understand what you felt until he came back to Japan after you graduated high school. 

How you fell in love with him all over again. 

How he kissed you for the first time in this very spot, with one hand on your waist and the other cupping your cheek. You remember the way this very railing felt as it pressed into your back, the humid summer air and the buzz of the cicadas and the fireflies that winked in and out of sight around you. 

How you fell a little more in love with him every day over the four years that followed.

And you remember that you were standing here when Sae called you five years ago and told you that he’d cancelled his flight. That he wouldn’t be home for Christmas. 

That he didn’t think things were working anymore.

You couldn’t have disagreed more, but he didn’t give you a chance to argue. 

“Why are you here, Sae?”

He looks out into the darkness beyond in the yard before turning back to you. “Rin said you’re engaged.”

Self-consciously, you tuck the hand adorned with said diamond ring into your pocket. 

Sae’s eyes track the movement. 

“And?”

“That was quick,” he says calmly. 

The anger that rears up inside of you is so quick and sudden, you hardly have a chance to reign it in. 

“We’ve been together for two years. When you know, you know,” you shrug, ignoring the raw feeling at the back of your throat as you push the words out. 

Sae’s quiet for a moment, taking the subtle jab for what it is. “Where is he tonight?”

This time, you don’t hold back. “What, were you hoping to be politely introduced as the reason why I was a fucking emotionally unstable mess when he met me?”

His facial expression flickers. “I’m not going to apologize for not letting you continue to burn yourself out juggling a long distance relationship and a university degree between time zones. For not letting you choose me over your dream internship.”

“So you broke up with me over the phone three days before Christmas and mailed me all of my shit and went radio silent for five years? To show how much you cared about me?”

Sae takes two steps forward, shortening the distance between the two of you with tangible purpose. 

“You would have tried to talk me out of it, to come up with a solution that wouldn’t have worked.”

You nod, voice bordering on a frantic laugh. “So you made the choice for both of us. Because you know best.”

“Do you think I wasn’t hurting?”

Turning away, you wrap your arms around yourself, the cold finally seeping in past the adrenaline pumping through your veins, sinking into your bones in a way that makes you ache. 

“The only thing that could possibly hurt you is football.”

This time, it’s Sae that laughs, but it’s less amused and more self-deprecating now. And without warning, something heavy and warm settles around your shoulders, the musky scent of cologne enveloping you. 

Sae comes to stand in front of you, leaving you wearing his jacket. 

He’s wearing the goddamn stupid, ugly Christmas sweater with a dog on it that you bought for him years ago. 

“You’re wrong,” he says quietly, breath coming out as a white, whispy cloud of condensation. 

You wish you were. 

Ripping off his jacket, you shove it back into his arms before storming back inside, heart on the verge of pounding its way out of your chest and through the slats on the deck to burrow into the dirt below. 

—

You manage to avoid Sae for the next hour or so, mingling amongst other party guests and pointedly ignoring all of the excited chatter about the footballer’s festive homecoming. 

Rin doesn’t push, not in front of everyone, but you can tell by the concerned way he keeps glancing over at you that he’s aware you and Sae have talked. 

It’s only on your way to use the upstairs bathroom, hoping to glean a moment of quiet after your time out on the porch was so spectacularly ruined, that you find yourself distracted. 

There’s a dim light on in Sae’s childhood bedroom. 

And this is where he finds you again, standing frozen in the doorway and staring at the constellations projected on the walls by the small sphere-shaped lamp sitting on the desk in the corner of his room. 

The two of you used to lie on his bedroom floor for hours staring at the stars on his ceiling. 

“Does he make you happy?”

You’re expecting it this time when you hear Sae’s voice.

“Do you feel that’s any of your business?” you ask tiredly. 

He slowly walks past you into the room, sweater and jacket both seemingly discarded downstairs. He’s stripped down to a white t-shirt now, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. 

“I made myself let you go so that you could be with someone who would make you as happy as you deserve. I don’t think I deserve your answer, but I’d like to know.”

You curl your toes against the carpet beneath your feet—just like you used to every time a silly teenage confession for him was trembling on the tip of your tongue. 

Your engagement ring feels cool and heavy on your finger. 

You hate him, hate this. Hate this effortless vice grip he still has on your weak heart. 

“You made me happy,” you tell him, voice hardly above a whisper. 

You hate that you know he made the right choice. 

Sae blinks. 

You would have left everything behind for him—school, your career, your future. 

You were content with weekends spent tangled up in hotel rooms between his games, with failed exams and missed assignments and a life spent in suitcases. 

“Aren’t you dating that model?” you blurt out, scrambling for something. Anything. 

He nods but doesn’t offer anything else. 

“Well, why didn’t you bring her here?” It’s a battle to keep your voice steady. 

“I didn’t want to.”

He—

“What, you didn’t want her to see you jealous if I brought my fiancé?” you joke. 

Sae lets out a huff of air—it might be a laugh.

“Something like that,” he responds quietly, gaze shifting to the window.

“Tell me why you’re here,” you say again.

The sound of voices climbing the stairs floats through the open door, and you step further into the room, pushing it closed and locking it behind you before crossing your arms. You’d rather not be interrupted by his drunk aunts. 

“I wanted to know how it would feel.”

You tilt your head. “How what would feel?”

He gestures to your hand, to the new diamond just hardly glinting in the low light. “Seeing a ring on your finger, knowing I didn’t put it there myself.”

The ground beneath your feet feels marginally less solid as your gut churns and your nerves sway. Your teeth sink into your cheek, pain blossoming as you bite down. 

“And?”

Sae runs a hand through his hair. 

“I hate it.” 

It’s blunt and raw, the way the words slide off of his tongue. And he stares at you when it says it, refusing to break eye contact. You take a step toward him, no reasonable explanation for the movement beyond the fucked up magnetism that still pulls you toward this false promise of true north. 

“Why, would you have gotten me something nicer?”

It’s dizzying, this conversation. The way words keep coming out of your mouth unbidden, filling the gaps in years worth of silence. Stroking a bruise, scraping a scar. 

“You hate gold,” he replies evenly, and your hand subconsciously goes to your neck. To where a silver chain sat for years before you finally tore it off and threw it in an envelope marked with Sae’s address. 

His eyes wordlessly track the movement. 

“Do I?”

He steps toward you, closing the dwindling gap further. And you swear you can feel it—a subtle charge in the air. 

Sae nods, reaching out to lightly take your hand in his. He holds it up to inspect. “And this diamond’s too big. Too square. You like small stones, something vintage.”

He’s right. 

You stare at him, all too aware of the familiar feeling of his skin against your own. 

“You sound confident.”

He knows he’s right. 

And he doesn’t falter. “There’s been a ring sitting in a small, velvet box in the back of my closet for five years. I haven’t forgotten what it looks like.”

A—

Words die feebly in your throat as you weakly croak, “—what?”

Sae sits down on the edge of his bed, looking down at his own hands. “I had it all planned out. I was so fucking nervous, it was ridiculous. And then I woke up that morning and realized that I was being selfish trying to tie you down to me permanently.”

He meets your gaze as you stare back at him, dumbfounded. Your knees feel weak.

“You were going to propose?”

Sae nods.

You move to stand in front of him, your socked feet nudging his own. “Did you fly all the way home to finally tell me that?”

He looks up at you. “I don’t know.”

You’re not sure what happens first—the brush of your knees against his own or the spreading of his thighs. But you find yourself between his legs all the same, denim resting against your sheer stockings and the fabric of your skirt.

“What am I supposed to do with this information, Sae?”

His eyes burn through you. 

“Tell me to get rid of the ring. Tell me you want nothing to do with me. Tell me you hate me.”

His words strike like flint against the raw edges of your nerves.

“I hate you,” you tell him, even as you reach out let your fingers ghost along the curve of his jaw.

Sae’s eyes fall shut, and he leans into your touch.

You let your hand slide higher, into the soft locks of his hair. 

His intake of breath is audible.

“I hate that you left me. I hate that you made the choice without me. I hate that you were right, because I never would have come this far in my career, and I never would have gone this far with my education.”

“I’m sorry—” His voice comes out hoarse, and he collapses forward, head pressed against your abdomen.

“I hate that I still love you, even now. Even after all this time.”

Sae’s arms wrap around the backs of your legs even as he mumbles, “Don’t say that.”

You feel like you could catch fire at any moment. 

“Why not?”

He shifts his head, rubbing his face against the bottom edge of your sweater, and the material rides up just enough to expose a sliver of skin. 

“I don’t deserve to hear it.”

You drag your hand to the back of his head, tugging the hair there to tilt his chin upward to meet your gaze once more. Your heart lurches in your chest at the sight before you.

“Probably not, but you decided to kick off honesty hour, so.”

Sae tips his head back downward, his breath hot where his mouth rests against the bare skin above the waist of your skirt.

“I wish you’d tell me not to touch you.”

You shiver. “Should I?”

“Yeah,” he breathes out.

You don’t answer him as every reasonable part of you goes quiet, drowned out by the blood rushing in your ears and the reckless desire that shamelessly shudders its way down your spine.

“And if I don’t?”

It’s pointed this time, the way Sae’s lips press to your stomach in an open-mouthed kiss. 

Logically, you know this isn’t right—standing here between your ex-boyfriend’s legs in the darkness of his childhood bedroom. Not with an engagement ring on your finger. Not when he’s got a girlfriend waiting on him somewhere. Not when this well should be dry, this bridge should be burned.

The bruise should be gone and the scar should be healed.

But—

But you’ve known him more than half of your life.

And for as much as the past five years have hurt—

For as much as you’ve missed him.

For as much as you’ve wanted to forget him.

For as much as you want to hate him.

—you’ve never regretted anything when it comes to Itoshi Sae.

Not once.

You climb onto the bed, straddling Sae’s lap. He reaches up, pointer finger curling beneath your chin as his thumb presses against the edge of your bottom lip.

“I can’t promise I’ll be a good man if you don’t tell me to stop,” he murmurs.

Your pulse quickens, and you part your lips slightly, heat flooding your gut as Sae slides his thumb into your mouth. 

This is a terrible idea.

You flick your tongue against the tip of the digit, and he holds your gaze as he slowly pulls his thumb back out.

“I want you to touch me,” you finally say.

Sae’s other hand, now resting at the base of your spine, slides up your back, stopping once he’s cupping the back of your head. He leans in, forehead resting against your own.

You’re maddeningly aware of every single spot his body is touching yours.

“Say it again.”

You let your nose brush against the side of his as you murmur, “Touch me, Sae.”

It drags all of the air from your lungs—the feeling of Sae’s lips crashing into yours.

His mouth greets you like a long-lost lover, like a dog-eared page. Like worn in soles and the perpetual creak in the step at the bottom of the stairs. 

His lips move with the purpose of car tires down a street you’ve known most of your life. With the muscle memory of feet across a childhood home in the dark. 

Tongue dancing against the seam of your mouth, your lips part for him, desire and longing cresting in equal measure as he grasps your hips and pulls you impossibly closer.

Sae kisses you like he hasn’t kissed you in five years.

He kisses you like no time has passed at all.

He kisses you like he wants to tell you something more between tongues and teeth, between slick saliva and gasping breaths. 

You don’t mean for it to come out so desperate, so needy—the way you breathe out his name when he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and bites and sucks his way to the edge before letting go.

“Sae.”

You hardly have time to register the way the room spins when Sae’s grip on you shifts, your back softly colliding with the mattress as you find him staring down at you. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks.

You shake your head, and he moves backward, pushing up your skirt, spreading your legs and settling down between your thighs. In the meantime, you slip off your sweater and toss it aside. Sae watches you do it, watches the way the tight black tank top you’re wearing underneath clings to your body, the way your peaked nipples sit on display through the fabric of your thin bralette. 

The heat that licks within your abdomen flares white-hot when he drags a thumb against your mound, your stockings already damp from the arousal soaking through your underwear.

There’s a slight tug in the material, followed by a ripping sound.

“Really?”

“There was already a hole.”

“You’re lying.”

Sae shrugs, but he doesn’t look sorry about it. “Yeah.”

You don’t have a chance to give him a hard time about ripping your stockings, not when you’re suddenly met with the feeling of two of his fingers sliding through the slick, creamy folds of your bare, soaked slit. 

“Sae,” you whine.

The bed creaks when you buck your hips upward while he circles his middle finger around the outer edges of your fluttering hole.

“You have to be quiet,” he murmurs, staring at you intently as he slowly slides a finger into your tight channel. 

You try to swallow it down, the moan that dangles at the edges of your lips while the slender digit slips deeper into your cunt. But as you tightly grasp the sheets on either side of you, it’s a lost cause when he pulls it out, only to stuff it back in up to the last knuckle. 

Sae’s mouth closes over yours, tongue sliding in past your lips in a messy, spit soaked kiss. You moan into it as he slowly finger fucks you, one digit becoming two, his thumb stroking your swollen, aching clit with each stroke, with every thrust. 

“Always loved how wet you get for me,” he rasps before capturing your tongue between his lips and sucking on it, the sounds nearly as filthy as the slick, creamy squelch of your cunt around his fingers.

You gasp, spine arching, thighs spreading wider as you rock into his touch, hands stretching downward until they brush the stiff press of Sae’s erection against the zipper of his jeans.

He groans into your mouth before pulling back, murmuring against your lips. “Are you sure—”

You squeeze his cock through his pants in return, kissing him again. 

Sae’s exhale is labored as he extricates his drenched fingers from your pussy just long enough to kick off his jeans and boxer briefs, leaving both in a discarded pile on the floor as he climbs back on top of you.

Your soaked panties and stockings are a lost cause by now, not worth the battle of peeling off, not when the torn hole allows him to rub the leaking head of his cock against your slit all the same. Tears of pleasure prick at the corners of your eyes as stares down at you while he eases his shaft into the grip of your cunt inch by inch, until he’s balls deep and your legs are wrapped around his waist tugging him impossibly deeper. 

“Fuck,” he gasps, one hand splayed at the back of your head, the other sliding up your shirt and beneath your bra to palm at your breasts.

Just the sensation of his thumb stroking its way across one of your pebbled nipples alone has you twitching beneath him, cunt grinding against the base of his shaft. Your muscles tremble with pleasure as Sae pulls out of you, only to rock back in. The room echoes with the wet sounds of your pussy swallowing his cock, the accompanying little moans begging to trickle out past your lips silenced by the two fingers he slides into your mouth in turn.

Because Sae hasn’t forgotten any of the little ways to take you apart, not at all.

There’s no apprehension in the way you shamelessly suck on his fingers, a trail of drool spilling out past your lips and dripping down your chin, the arousal churning between your legs going molten. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs—if for no reason other than the fact that he knows what it’ll do to you.

And the way your pussy clenches down on his cock makes it abundantly clear.

The corner of Sae’s mouth lifts, caught somewhere between a smirk and a rueful smile. It’s the satisfaction that he still knows you, that this is more than just muscle memory. 

He knows you like the stars know the night sky.

Like the shore knows the tide.

He kisses you again, languid and deep. Like this means so much more than a quick fuck on a cold December night caught in the throes of the liminal space of his childhood bedroom.

Like this means so much more than finally ending it where it all began.

“I love you,” Sae gasps against your lips as he thrusts into you.

The coil wrapped tightly in your gut unfurls, rapid and quick, and a scorching wave of pleasure washes over you as your cunt spasms and contracts around his length.

“I love you, too,” you choke out, bordering on a sob, and Sae’s fingers brush away the tear that slips down your cheek as he fucks you through your climax.

You can feel when he’s on the verge of pulling out, and you shake your head. His lips crash back into yours with a rough groan as his cock pulses inside of you, spilling rope after rope of thick, hot cum deep in your cunt.

Sae eventually collapses beside you, rather than climbing off of the bed, and he pulls you to his chest. You lie there like that for a moment before slowly sitting up, and he watches you quietly as you raise both hands, grasping your occupied ring finger. The sound of metal clinking against wood echoes in the silence of Sae’s bedroom as you turn to the nightstand before laying back down beside him.

He takes your now-empty hand in his, pressing his lips to the heel of your palm. 

Like the shore knows the tide.

[noearchives]

things that you do that make his heart skip a beat!

characters: portgas d. ace, sabo, trafalgar d. water law, sanji.

note: you ever get that feeling when your heart feels like it fell out of your ribcage when the person you like does Something . yeah

cw/ tags: gender neutral reader, short drabbles, fluff ^_^

portgas d. ace

when you say "i love you" out loud.

- it's simple, yet it makes his heart stop every time you say it. many people throw around those three words like it meant nothing at all, but to him, it weighs heavier than the entire world.

- when you say it out loud to his face, he immediately beams brighter than the sun.

- he'll never get tired of how those three words roll of your tongue-- it's a reminder of how you love him and him only, out of everyone else on this planet.

- even if the whole world's against him, you still chose him.

- "say it again," he says, the glint in his eyes like a puppy's.

- when you do, he lets out a chuckle and wraps you in his arms, squishing the air out of your lungs as his cheeks turn warm.

- "oh, i love you. iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou," he mumbles into your neck.

sabo

when your fingers accidentally brush against his.

- god, it makes him feel so stupid because you've been together for a while now, and it's silly to get so flustered over something so minor. what is he, 12?

- but whenever the two of you reach for the same pen at the same time and your fingers overlap his during the process, the way you giggle as you say "whoops, sorry about that" makes his poor little heart flutter.

- the effects only double if it happens when the both of you are on a mission together with the rest of the revolutionaries.

- he's supposed to be professional and serious, but when your hand brushes against his when you walk side-by-side, he feels like he has to drop everything he's doing to kiss you silly.

- oh, darling, how can you do something so scandalous as such in front of your fellow coworkers...

- he fights against every fibre of his being to not hold your hand right then and there. it's like torture to him!

trafalgar d. water law

when you bandage his wounds.

- most of the time, even when he says he's alright and he can handle it on his own, you insist on helping him bandage his wounds and take care of him until he's healed.

- he was forced to mature too early when he was a wee child, and he's been taking care of himself ever since-- there's no time nor place for him to be gently cared for.

- so when your mind is focused on nothing but his wounds, delicate fingers wrapping him up as if every movement is calculated to make it hurt the least, his heart melts right there in his ribcage.

- "sorry- did i press too hard?" the look of worry in your eyes is so adorable. he might just pretend that it actually hurt so he can see the knot between your brows tighten more as you apologise frantically.

- not to mention the way you unintentionally stick the tip of your tongue out as you focus on taking care of him is so goddamn adorable. he would tease you with a kiss if not for the fractures in his bones.

- your cool fingertips on his skin makes his entire body tingle. thank god he doesn't have a monitor showing how fast his heart is beating right now.

sanji

when you hug him from behind his back.

- his favourite love language is definitely physical touch...

- when you catch him off guard when he's busy cooking for the crew, he feels like he just ascended to heaven.

- the way your arms rest so perfectly around his waist, the way your face is buried in his back, the way that you smile at him when he turns his head around...

- it just feels so domestic! it's like everything he's fantasized about when he was younger, with him cooking on a casual friday afternoon, with the love of his life behind him saying something like "mmm, love, that smells so good..."

- this is all he's ever wanted. him doing his favourite thing (cooking), with his favourite person (you), in his favourite place (the thousand sunny).

- it makes him think of a future with you in it.

- he bites his tongue to hold himself back from saying "let's get married right now."

[dijayeah]

Ma Meilleure Ennemie //

sylus x fem!reader // [AO3] // wc: 15k // NSFW MDNI 🔞 // ♡ / ↻ — appreciated!

♡ Summary:

You didn't want to but you shot him. His Aether Core reacted. A moment of resonance, a tear in reality—and just like that, Sylus was somewhere else. A world where he had everything he never let himself want. A version of you who loved him without hesitation, who remembered. And for the first time, he was happy despite the guilt. But he was never meant to stay. And returning home means losing you all over again.

♡ A/N notes:

Before diving in, please make sure to check the tags—they exist for a reason. This fic was heavily inspired by Arcane (specifically, the themes surrounding Ekko & Jinx in S2) and the song Ma Meilleure Ennemie, which perfectly captures the mood I wanted to weave into this story. If you really want to elevate the experience, I’ve also attached a playlist that sets the atmosphere—because, let’s be honest, this fic is best consumed with the right music in the background. Playlist link: Ma Meilleure Ennemie playlist

♡ Content:

★ NSFW, soulmates across timelines, memory loss, emotional sex that cuts deep. Reincarnation angst, time distortion, and a love that refuses to die. Established but messy—he remembers, you don’t. Creampie, fingering, aftercare, soft smut laced with heartbreak. Mutual pining in every universe. Parallel worlds, same ache. No beta, just tears and orgasms.

The air between you was thick with the scent of smoke and blood, heavy enough to choke on. The gun in your hand trembled, its metal burning against your palm, but your grip was weak—just as he wanted.

Sylus sat beneath you, reclined in that oversized chair like a man who had already won something unbeknownst to you. His silver hair fell over his forehead in loose soft strands, his crimson-hued eyes locked on yours, gleaming with something unreadable. He could feel your pulse hammering beneath his long fingers, where his hand tightly curled around your wrist, forcing the gun to stay steady. Not yours. His. His heart, his body, his rules. Even now.

“Go on,” he murmured, voice dark, teasing in a way that didn’t feel like it. “You’ve wanted this for so long. Wasn’t it your objective? To shoot the big bad guy of the N109 zone, Miss Hunter?” He scoffed, because even if his life was quite literally in your hands, he was aware that you viewed him as the top dog of the no man’s land, someone who threatened all that you stood for.

Your breath came too fast, too shallow. He could see it—how you hesitated, how your knuckles went white against the grip, how the weight of what you were about to do sat heavy in your ribs, because for one, you have never killed a person, never actually went after someone who wasn’t a wanderer.

Perhaps, in your perspective, it should have been easy. Hell, it was supposed to be easy. He was a criminal, a mass one at that, someone with a goddamn bounty on his head that was worth millions if not billions amounts of money.

His grip was stronger than yours, guiding your hand, forcing your lithe fingers to curl around the trigger as it left your wrist for a moment. His other hand found your wrist once more, calloused thumb brushing slow, deliberate circles over your pulse, feeling it spike under his fingertips like some sort of heightened frequency. Still, for you, it was a mere reminder—of control, of patience, of power.

“Don’t look away,” he said, tilting his head. “I want you to remember.”

And he meant it. If you were going to kill him, he wanted to be the last thing you saw.

Your stomach twisted. He saw it in your eyes. That hesitation. That doubt. He would have laughed, if not for the part of him that wanted you to do it. That wanted to see just how much you could take. What it would make you.

A slow, steady pull. The trigger clicked. The gun roared.

Heat seared through his chest. The recoil of the gun didn’t hurt the way you thought it would. Not at first. It wasn’t the bullet that burned.

It was you.

His head lolled back against the chair, his body slumping from the force of the shot, but his lips still curled at the edges, breath leaving in something almost like a laugh. The protocore in his eye flared at the edges of his vision. He felt it, the way his core should have helped his evol to pull him back together, the way it should have already been stitching flesh and sealing the deep wound.

But something was wrong.

The air rippled, thick with something electric. Your Aether Core pulsed. His flickered in response, as if whispering back in an ancient language neither of you could understand. His fingers clenched around your wrist, breath hitching. His eyes locked onto yours, wide, startled—not with pain, but recognition.

He felt it before he understood it.

The collision was violent. Raw, unchecked energy surged between you, wrapping around his ribs, curling deep inside his lungs like fire and static, and something ancient waking up inside his bones. The edges of the room blurred, the world folding in on itself, dragging him down, down, down…

There was no floor beneath him, no walls, no sense of gravity. Just weightlessness, as if he had been yanked from existence itself. The nothingness stretched infinitely, void pressing in from all sides, and for a moment, he swore he could still feel the ghost of your hand against his chest, your heartbeat overlapping his own.

His mind clawed for something tangible, something real. But the only thing that existed was absence. No air, no sound—just silence so deep it rattled inside his, perhaps now nonexistent, skull. Was this death? Or something far worse? Perhaps, for someone like him, it was the right way to go out, all things considered.

He was still aware though, aware of the last thing he heard being your voice. Calling him back.

After that? There was nothing.

It could have been seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. He had no way of knowing. Time did not move here. It had no form, no direction, no flow. He was lost within it, floating, grasping at something unseen lost in his own thoughts for what felt like a millennium.

He wondered what it would be like… if at the end of the day, things had turned out the other way and you would’ve remembered. He pondered the possibility for a while, and then just shut off, seeing no point in it anymore.

It wasn’t until Sylus felt pressure. A pull, slow at first, then all at once. He was dragged back down, breath stolen from his lungs as sensation crashed over him like a tidal wave. Heavy limbs, breath coming too light, too thin, like he’d been holding it for longer than he should have. His body wasn’t where he left it. It was somewhere else—

Soft sheets under his naked back. The scent of something warm, something sweet curling into his lungs. Reality was unsteady, blurred at the edges like ink bleeding into still water. The sensation of weightlessness made his stomach lurch, like stepping off a ledge only to find solid ground where there should have been a fall.

Then—pressure. A touch, gentle and familiar, pressing against his chest. His mind clawed at the sensation, trying to place it, trying to understand before the world clicked into focus all at once.

A manicured hand on his chest.

“Morning, my dragon.”

His eyes snapped open. His lungs locked tight as he lightly flinched at the words.

The bed dipped beside him as you shifted, pressing closer, and it was you. But not quite. Not the way he remembered. Not the way he had left you.

Your hair was a shade warmer than before, a hue that caught the morning light in a way that unsettled him. The soft curve of your face was familiar but wrong, the placement of a mole near your temple off by just a fraction. Your skin looked healthier, as though you had never known sleepless nights spent chasing ghosts, never worn the sharp edges of grief, thanks to losing your loved ones, in the set of your jaw.

Your pretty lips curved in a lazy smile, soft with sleep, with something warmer, something easy. Your hand trailed down his chest, fingertips feather-light, as if this was second nature to you. Your voice hummed with the weight of a thousand mornings just like this.

But it was wrong. All of it.

His body had always been primed for danger, his mind trained to recognize even the smallest inconsistencies. And this—this was a trap he didn’t know how to navigate. Every detail, every shift in reality, was so seamlessly woven into what should have been real. But he knew better.

His breath was uneven, muscles tensed as if expecting a strike that would never come. You weren’t looking at him with suspicion, with fear, with disgust. You weren’t recoiling from him. You weren’t her.

And that was the worst part.

Because the last thing he remembered was you putting a bullet in his heart.

His fingers twitched against the sheets, breath coming too shallow, too sharp. The words shouldn’t have meant anything to this world’s Sylus. But they did—to him. To his real self.

A slow blink, a measured exhale. He forced his body to relax, to settle back into the warmth pressing against his side, but the coil of unease in his chest refused to loosen. He needed to play this off, to find his footing before you noticed—

But you already had.

"Bad dream?" your voice was gentle, teasing, as you brushed stray silver strands from his forehead, fingers trailing down to rest against his jaw. "You looked like you saw a ghost."

He let out a breathy chuckle, low, strained. "Yeah. Something like that."

Your gaze lingered, just a fraction too long. Not in suspicion—at least, not yet. But something about his reaction had given you pause. The way your fingers absently traced over his collarbone felt almost reflexive, as if you were grounding yourself, making sense of something that didn’t quite fit. Your Sylus wouldn’t have reacted. Your Sylus knew exactly what that name meant to you.

This one—he flinched.

He didn't think twice about it. Not because he was careless—no, he was never careless—but because he never had to. You weren’t the type to notice, not in the way that mattered. Or at least, not the you he knew.

This one? This one had been watching him for a long time.

You weren’t staring at him the way someone would look at a lover acting strangely. You weren’t confused, or concerned. You were reading him. The way he breathed, the way he moved, the way his pulse had jumped when you called him that name.

The Sylus in this world—your Sylus—must have never reacted like this before. Maybe that was why your head tilted just slightly, the beginnings of a thought forming, only to be brushed away before it could settle. A flicker of curiosity, not alarm.

The realization curled in his stomach like a vice. He had spent years perfecting the art of deception, of control. And yet, in a single second, he had given himself away to someone who had spent just as long studying him.

He needed to fix it. Needed to cover his tracks before you could follow them too far. He shifted, turning onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow as his lips brushed the curve of your shoulder.

"Maybe you wore me out last night, sweetheart," he murmured, voice slipping into something smoother, something easy. "Guess even I have my limits."

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head, but the tension in your fingers remained. You were still watching him. But not in a way that suggested you had figured him out—just in that quiet, assessing way of someone who had learned to pick up on even the smallest shifts in behavior. And for now, you seemed content to let it go.

"I'm sorry, Sy, I will be less demanding on you next time then." You purred out, amusement lacing your tone as you placed a soft kiss under his jaw.

He needed to tread carefully. Because whatever this was, however he had ended up here—he wasn’t the only one beginning to notice the fractures in the illusion.

He let out a slow exhale, willing his muscles to stay loose, to let himself sink into the warmth of this world—this lie. And yet, it didn’t feel foreign. That was the part that gnawed at him. The way his body knew how to fit into this space, the way his arms instinctively curled around you, the way he could slide into this role without even thinking.

It should’ve felt unnatural. But it didn’t.

A flicker of something old stirred at the back of his mind. He had been here before—not here, not in this lifetime, but in something close to it. The pieces slotted together too easily, the familiarity too deep to be mere coincidence. He had been with you before. In one lifetime, in one story, in one myth.

The Abysm Sovereign as one would’ve called him. The last of the dragons. The one who had hoarded something too precious, too fragile, only to lose himself to it.

Was that what this was? Another return to something inevitable? Another step in a cycle he was too entangled in to escape?

His fingers twitched against the sheets, his breath slow and controlled, but his mind ran circles around the truth.

Maybe this was why it was so easy to fall back into you.

Maybe it had never been a matter of if—only when. Your lips lingered against his skin, soft, familiar in a way that sent something cold slithering down his spine.

"You say that, but I know you," he murmured, forcing a smirk, running his fingers up the curve of your spine. "You’ll have me right where you want me again by sundown."

You laughed against his throat, your breath warm, real, and yet every second of it felt like something closing in around him, something he couldn’t escape. Because the moment he stopped playing along, the moment he let the weight of what had happened settle—

What then?

His fingers curled into the sheets behind your back, grounding himself. He needed to understand how this had happened, why this had happened. His core still hummed faintly beneath his skin, pulsing with something unsettled, something wrong.

And you? You were too at ease, too at home in a life that had never belonged to him. You weren’t looking at him with suspicion anymore, not yet, but he knew it was only a matter of time.

He had to move carefully.

He had to get ahead of this before you started looking too closely.

A week passed, and the edges of reality blurred further, slipping past his fingertips like water.

The leader of Onychinus hadn’t meant to fall into it so easily. He had intended to keep his distance from you and this entire place, to play the part without slipping deeper. But the longer he stayed, the more the weight of this world settled into him like second nature. The way his hands reached for things before his mind could catch up. The way he answered your questions not with lies, but with truths that didn’t belong to him.

Everything was wrong.

N109 wasn’t the place he had built—not the ruthless, lawless battleground where only the strongest survived. It was something else, something structured. There were systems here, stability where there should have been chaos. And he could see the mark of your hand in all of it.

You had helped him build this.

Or rather, you had helped him—the version of Sylus that belonged to this world. The one who had let you in, who had trusted you enough to do this with you instead of fighting against it. The one who, by all accounts, loved you openly—without the guarded words, without the veiled threats laced with something too sharp to be mistaken for tenderness.

Sylus had never been that man. He had never been happy.

The realization crawled under his skin, digging deep. He moved through the city, and people didn’t look at him with fear. They acknowledged him, some even greeted him, as though he was someone worth trusting. As though he was someone good.

But he wasn’t. He never had been. He was always seen as a monster.

Yet this world had rewritten him into something else, something he couldn’t recognize. And worse? His body remembered things he hadn’t lived.

The first time it happened, it was small. A flicker of familiarity when he reached for a glass in the penthouse, his hand moving before he even thought about it. He had never lived here. Never walked these halls before. But his feet knew where to go. His hands knew what to reach for. The weight of a life that wasn’t his settled on him like muscle memory, instincts burned into his body without his consent.

Then the memories started creeping in. Not all at once, not enough to overwhelm, but slow, steady, like a trickle of water, like something waking up inside him, filling in the gaps of who this Sylus was supposed to be.

Your laughter against his skin. The press of your hand over his as you guided it to something he had once refused to hold and he scoffed at your audacity in a way that wasn’t malicious. A quiet moment in the dark, where your breath had mingled with his, your fingers tracing his jaw like you were memorizing him, your chests pressed together.

He wasn’t supposed to have these memories. But he did.

And you—you noticed.

Not in suspicion. Not yet. You watched him in the quiet moments, like you were waiting for something. Like you saw the way he hesitated before answering, how his gaze lingered too long, and instead of questioning it, you let yourself hope for the first time in years.

Because you knew what it was like to remember when no one else did.

You had lived that life already—spent years waiting, never pushing. Because in your world, you had been in his place. The one who held the memories, the one who had to swallow down the ache of being the only one who remembered what it meant. And the version of Sylus you had known—the one who belonged to you—had never remembered you.

However, these days… a thought of such scale didn’t seem to be just that—just a theory.

Because for once, he was the one acting differently. He was answering in ways that weren’t expected, slipping just enough to make you wonder. And that meant maybe—just maybe—your dragon had finally found his way back to you.

And Sylus? He couldn’t afford to let you believe that. Because he wasn’t your Sylus. He wasn’t yours at all.

But he couldn’t bring himself to say it either. Was it selfish of him to bask in your affection? To feel happy to be in your presence? He felt like an imposter, and hell, he was.

And yet, he couldn’t help but want to stay, to bask in your warmth and affection like the starved man that he was.

It started in the small moments. The way you curled up next to him without hesitation, your body fitting against his like it had always belonged there. The way your laughter filled the space between you, warm and unburdened, untainted by the kind of guardedness he had come to expect from you—from the version of you he had left behind.

You reached for him often, and he let you. But his touch was different—hesitant, restrained. He knew you noticed. Knew you could tell that when his fingers skimmed over your wrist, when his palm rested against the small of your back, it wasn’t with the same familiarity as before. It was careful, measured, as if he were trying not to take too much. As if he was still convincing himself he had no right to.

And you—you never said anything about it. Never called him out on the distance that shouldn’t have been there. Maybe you thought he was relearning, trying to remember you in the way you hoped he would. Or maybe, deep down, you didn’t want to risk shattering whatever fragile balance had settled between you.

Maybe that’s what made it worse.

It was in the way his hand would linger at the small of your back just a moment too long when guiding you through a crowded space in the city. The way his gaze would flicker to your glossed lips when you spoke, as if some part of him was already familiar with the way they’d feel against his own. The way his breathing would shift in the middle of the night when you curled closer in sleep, as if his body, not his mind, was the one remembering what it meant to hold you.

And yet, for some reason, your dragon still held back.

One evening, you sat across from him at the kitchen table, the hum of the city outside muffled by the walls of the penthouse. You slid a cup of tea toward him, fingers brushing against his, and he almost pulled away—almost. Instead, he let the warmth of your skin linger against his own, just for a second longer than he should have.

“Long day?” you asked, voice softer than usual.

He let out a quiet chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “Something like that.”

You hummed, watching him over the rim of your own cup. "You know, you don’t always have to act like you’re carrying the weight of the world. You can let me carry some of it too."

Something tightened in his chest. That was the difference, wasn’t it? This you—you didn’t fight him. You didn’t push against him, claw your way in through force and fear. You were already there, waiting, patient, understanding, everything he could’ve asked for, really.

His gaze flickered over you, cataloging every detail—the warmth in your expression, the easy tilt of your head, the way your fingers wrapped around your cup like it was the only thing anchoring you in the moment. It was such a simple thing, an evening routine that felt natural. Comfortable.

He had spent a lifetime keeping people at arm’s length, yet here you were, fitting into his space like you had always belonged in it. And maybe—maybe he wanted to let you.

His fingers ghosted over the ceramic of his own cup before reaching for it fully, brushing against the spot yours had just been. The residual heat lingered against his skin, sinking into him, grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected.

“That so?” he murmured, voice just a touch lower, something dangerous curling at the edges. Something he couldn’t quite hold back anymore.

You smiled, slow and knowing, like you had already decided the answer. Like you weren’t waiting for him to give it—you had always known it was inevitable.

And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to fight it. Because for the first time in his life, staying didn’t feel like a trap. It felt like home.

You tapped your fingers against the side of your cup, watching him carefully, studying him in the way you always did when something unsettled you. "You're different," you said finally, the words light, like an observation rather than an accusation. "You've been spending a lot of time in your lab lately. More than usual."

He didn’t react immediately, instead swirling the tea in his cup, staring into the liquid as if it might hold answers he hadn’t yet found. "Just keeping busy."

You exhaled softly, leaning back into your chair. "Busy with what?" The question was easy, and unassuming. But it hung between you like a thread waiting to be unravelled. When Sylus hesitated to answer, you spoke out before he could, again. "Something tells me you’re not going to find it that easily." You rested your elbow against the table, propping your chin on your hand, eyes flicking over him like you were trying to fit mismatched pieces together. "I get it, you know. When you’re searching for something that’s missing, it feels like nothing else fits until you find the exact piece."

His fingers tightened around the cup, tension settling into his shoulders before he brushed it with a soft scoff. "And what is it you think I’m looking for?"

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you let the silence stretch, heavy with meaning. "I don’t know," you admitted, voice softer now, thoughtful. "But I know it’s important to you."

A muscle in his sharp jaw ticked, but his expression remained unreadable. "And if I was?"

Your lips twitched, something faint and unreadable in your gaze. "Then maybe you’re looking in the wrong place."

For a moment, he wasn’t sure if you were speaking about the research or something else entirely. But then your hand brushed against his again—deliberate this time. A quiet, wordless reminder that he didn’t have to look so hard for something that was already here.

And for the first time, he wondered if you were right, but the thought went away just as fast as it came.

“Sweetie, I think you are overthinking, in fact, I am just busy tinkering with Mephisto, seems like he’s been malfunctioning a lot these days,” He sighed wearily before continuing, “Maybe Luke and Kieran pulled a prank on him again after the last mission, some parts are a bit hard to come by.” That was what he told you in the end, his tone held a tint of finality to it. It was all lies, you knew, he knew, an attempt to deter you. You didn’t question him directly after that.

That was why, hours later, when the silver-haired man was out, you found yourself in your shared room, standing before the small, unassuming pouch tucked away deep in the drawer of your closet. You hesitated before reaching for it, fingers grazing the worn fabric, your breath coming slower, more measured.

You hadn’t touched it in years.

The protocores inside—shining fragments of something more dangerous than they appeared—were the last thing you ever wanted to see again. But now, after watching Sylus over the past few week, after seeing the way he moved through the city like he was searching for something invisible, you couldn’t ignore the creeping suspicion that perhaps this was what he was looking for.

You pulled the pouch open, the familiar hum of the cores vibrating against your palm. A chill crawled down your spine.

Your grandmother, no, the woman who had adopted you, Josephine, had given them to you. A legacy, she had called it. A curse, you had always believed. Because you knew what they could do. What they had done to your body and not only that.

Caleb.

You swallowed hard, pushing down the sick feeling curling in your stomach. Your childhood had been built on the wreckage of experiments thanks to Ever, of pain, of things no child should have known. Caleb had paid the price for that knowledge. And now, you had kept these, untouched, avoided them like they might reach out and pull you back into that nightmare.

But Sylus—your Sylus—had never cared for protocores. He had never needed them, never even mentioned them. And yet, the way he had been disappearing into his lab, the way his eyes darkened when he thought you weren’t looking…

What if he was looking for these?

What if he already knew they existed?

A new kind of dread settled deep in your chest, anxiety slowly creeping in. If he had been searching for something that shouldn’t be here, then maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t supposed to be here either.

The city stretched out below them, neon bleeding into the skyline, turning the air electric. But here—just outside the N109 Zone, where the roads weren’t quite as suffocating, where the world wasn’t watching—it was quiet.

The leader of Onychinus leaned against his bike, fingers drumming idly against the handlebars. The wind carried the scent of the sea, crisp and laced with salt, and for the first time in days, maybe weeks, he wasn’t thinking about what he had lost. What he was trying to return to.

Instead, he was here, with you, hoping that the place he was taking you to still existed even in this world.

"Didn’t think you’d actually take me up on this," he mused, tilting his head as he watched you swing a leg over the bike beside him.

You huffed, rolling your eyes but settling in behind him anyway, the heat of your body pressing into his back. "Well, I didn’t think you did joyrides."

His lips curled, half amusement, half something softer. "You underestimate me, sweetheart."

You couldn’t see his expression, but you could hear it in his voice—the edge of something warm, something almost teasing. And that was what made it strange, wasn’t it? Because this wasn’t the Sylus you had known before. He was different in a way you couldn’t quite grasp yet. There was something looser about him, like he had stepped outside of his own skin for just a moment, letting himself be without the weight of expectation pressing down on him.

His fingers curled around your hands as you settled them against his waist, steadying you against him. The touch was easy, natural. Like he had done this a thousand times before.

Maybe, in a way, he had.

The memory had come to him unbidden earlier that night—the sight of another road. Not here, but somewhere else, far, far away. Somewhere that didn’t exist in this world. You had been there, too. A different you, and yet… still you, laying on the grass bed of crimson datura flowers, splayed out like a goddess before a heartless monster like him.

He shook the though off with a squint of his eyes as he focused on other things at hand.

"Figured you deserved a break," he murmured, turning the engine over, the rumble of it cutting through the silence. "Could use one myself."

You raised a brow, shifting against him as the bike eased forward. "So what, you’re taking me out on a date now?"

A chuckle, dark and amused. "If I was, you’d know."

But maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what this was.

The city faded behind them as he pushed the throttle forward, the roar of the engine filling the empty space between words. The wind bit at your skin, but you barely felt it, pressed close to him, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath beneath your cheek under the helmet. He rode like it was instinct, like the machine beneath him was just an extension of himself, weaving effortlessly through the empty roads, taking you somewhere only he knew.

It wasn’t until he slowed, rolling to a stop just off the side of the road, that you realized where he had brought you.

A cliffside view, the city lights flickering in the distance, the dark sea stretching endlessly before you both, its waves crashing against the wet stone. It was breathtaking. Quiet. Isolated in a way that made it feel like the rest of the world had melted away.

You exhaled, pulling off your helmet, staring out over the water. "You used to come here a lot, didn’t you?"

Sylus didn’t answer right away. He was still for a moment, gaze distant, unreadable. Then, finally, after a moment that stretched for far too long: "Yeah." There were no lies to his words.

You studied him, the way the neon glow caught the silver strands of his hair, how the tension in his broad shoulders had eased ever so slightly. "What for?"

He let out a soft breath, the kind that wasn’t quite a sigh. "Thinking."

You hummed, rocking on your heels slightly. "Dangerous habit."

That pulled a smirk from him, small but genuine. "Tell me about it."

The quiet stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was easy, the way the silence settled, the way the wind played with your hair, the way his presence beside you didn’t feel overwhelming, just… solid. Something you could lean into without fearing it would crumble beneath you.

The red-eyed man shifted slightly, and then—before you could react—he shrugged off his leather jacket and draped it over your shoulders.

Your brows lifted. "Chivalry? From you? I must be dreaming."

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You’re shaking."

"Am not."

His lips curled, like he wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t argue. He just stepped closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, even with the space between you. Close enough that if you reached out, you could...

You swallowed hard, looking away first.

"Thanks," you murmured. Were you allowed to kiss him? At this point in time, you didn't know.

He didn’t respond, but his gaze lingered, steady and knowing. And then, softly: "Resonate with me." The sound of his deep voice was nearly swallowed by the waves beneath the two of you, because if he was any further away from you, you wouldn’t have heard what he said.

The words sent a slow ripple of shock through you. Your fingers tightened around the jacket he had draped over your shoulders, your breath catching in your throat. Of all things, you hadn’t expected that.

"What?" Your voice was quieter, more than you meant for it to be, but the moment felt fragile, like one wrong move would send it slipping through your fingers.

His gaze didn’t waver. "Resonate with me," he repeated, voice smooth but deliberate. "You offered before, didn’t you?" He knew he was tapping too much into the memories of the person who had lived with her before he ever came here, yet he couldn’t help himself.

It was truth though, you had offered. But not like this. Not with this kind of weight behind it.

Because it had been him—the other him—who had never pushed for it before. And now, here he was, making the request instead, but for reasons you weren’t quite so sure you understood yet.

Your heartbeat hammered in your ears. If you resonated, if you let yourself open up to him—if he let you in—there would be no going back. If there was even a sliver of a difference, if something didn’t match, you would know. You would know for certain whether the man standing in front of you was truly the one you had always loved… or something else entirely.

But the look in his eyes was unreadable, and for the first time, you weren’t sure if he wanted you to say yes, or if he was afraid you might.

But you nodded, slowly, lifting your hands between you. Sylus watched, his expression carefully neutral, but you caught the faint twitch of his fingers at his sides, the way his breath came just a fraction too slow. He was anticipating something—bracing for it.

You exhaled and reached for him. “Palms up.”

He didn’t question the request.

The moment your palms pressed against his, something inside you clicked, as if a long-buried mechanism had finally been set in motion. A warmth—not just from your Evol, but something deeper, something old—coursed through your veins, latching onto him, pulling him closer without touch. You could feel him, the real him, beneath the layers of fractured memories and misplaced identity and confusion. For a split second, you swore you were looking into the eyes of the man you had loved before—before timelines fractured, before everything twisted beyond recognition.

And Sylus—this Sylus—felt it too.

His long fingers clenched around yours, breath hitching, as something shifted in his expression, his lips parting like he wanted to speak but couldn’t quite find the words. His energy tangled with yours, hesitant but hungry, threading through the connection like a hesitant echo, unsure if it was supposed to be there at all.

Your chest tightened. He didn’t pull away.

He should have. He always pulled away.

But this time, he didn’t, didn’t want to.

You didn’t speak. Neither of you did. You let the resonance settle between you, the familiarity of it both exhilarating and terrifying. You could feel his presence weaving through yours, wrapping around your bones, filling spaces that had been left empty for too long. And in that moment, you knew.

This wasn’t your Sylus.

But he carried your Sylus’s memories. He was being rewritten, piece by piece, attuning to you like he had been yours all along. And he didn’t even realize it in the way you did just now.

You swallowed hard and forced a smile, careful not to let your fingers tighten around his. He couldn’t know what you had just learned.

So you let the moment pass, let the resonance fade, and when he finally exhaled, something in his dark carmine gaze flickering uncertainly, you only tilted your head and offered a quiet, "See? Not so bad."

His lips twitched at that, something unreadable in his gaze as he tried to process his own emotions and yours too, to a degree. "You always this smug?"

You let yourself laugh, even as something inside you twisted with the weight of what you now knew. "You tell me."

And just like that, the moment was gone. But you wouldn’t forget. You couldn’t.

“You are unpredictable, at times.” His eyes were soft, crinkling at you, red hue chasing the warmth of your gaze.

“I suppose, you never complained though.” You scoffed playfully when all you wanted to do was push him into a hug, tell him you understood, understood him to the core, yet, you couldn’t.

“Perhaps I never did.” He murmured back, his eyes fleeting away from your face and over to the neon-painted horizon.

Just like any day of the week, the city stretched endlessly below, a sea of neon and shadow, humming with a life that neither of you could quite touch from up here. The penthouse balcony felt like another world entirely—isolated, removed, too quiet despite the distant hum of traffic and the occasional siren wailing through the depths of the N109 zone.

The leader of Onychinus stood near the railing, hands braced against the cool metal, shoulders tense beneath the weight of his thoughts. Another night, another failure. The protocores didn’t exist here, not in the way he needed them to. Another dead end as his experiment at creating one failed spectacularly. He needed something, anything to resonate with, to try and recreate the feeling he had felt back then when a version of you shot him back in his old reality.

He was tired of thinking, unsure of why he even wanted to go back—however, he felt like he was stealing someone else's life, their moments, their memories. His imposter syndrome was getting worse by the day, he just got better at stuffing it down and pretending to ignore it until late into the night when you slept soundly next to him and his eyes stayed wide open.

// You're the best thing to ever happen to me

But also the worst thing to ever happen to me

On that day when I met you, maybe I would rather

That it never happened to me (To me)

The worst of all blessings

The best of all cursеs //

You stepped up beside him, close enough to feel the frustration rolling off him in waves, but you didn’t say anything at first. You just reached for the bottle he had set down on the ledge, taking a slow sip before setting it back down between you.

He scoffed, but it wasn’t sharp. More like a breath of amusement he hadn’t meant to let slip as he looked over his shoulder. "Didn’t take you for a whiskey thief."

"Didn’t take you for someone who’d let a bad mood ruin a perfectly good night," you shot back, bumping your hip lightly against his as you shrugged in a way that was far too casual.

He exhaled, shaking his head, but didn’t pull away. His grip tightened against the railing, tension coiled tight beneath his skin. "It’s not a bad mood. Just—"

"Frustration? Exhaustion? Stubbornness?" You listed off each word with a teasing lilt, watching the faint flicker of something softer pass through his expression. "You really think brooding’s going to get you any closer to what you’re looking for?" Here it was again, your subtle questioning that he wasn’t sure he was ready to begin dealing with.

"And you think dancing will?" His voice was flat, unimpressed, but the flicker of a smirk gave him away. You saw it even in the dim glow of the city lights reflecting off his pale skin.

You grinned, stepping back toward the open space of the large balcony, arms outstretched as you swayed slightly. "It might not get you answers, but it might remind you why you’re still here." Your words sounded almost cryptic to him, but at this point, he was too tired to keep track of every word you spoke. This version of you seemed like both a prophet and a walking riddle, unfortunately to him.

His carmine gaze followed you, something unreadable in the way he looked at you then. Cautious, hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to step into whatever this was. But when you reached for his hand, palm up, waiting... he took it, automatically.

The first step was slow, uncertain, like he had forgotten how to move without a purpose despite being a great dancer. But for the first time ever, it was you who led, guiding him effortlessly, the rhythm slow, the tension melting from his body as the weight of everything else faded into the background. The air between you was warm, charged, something unspoken weaving between each movement as your fingers stayed entwined with his, his other hand settling at your waist like it had always belonged there, the warmth of his palm seeping into your shirt.

You laughed, attempting to spin him around as he gave you an effortless smirk back and a shake of his head before he turned the tables on you and had your body inches away from the floor, your faces close together. You looked beautiful, a flushed mess, strands of hair sticking to your face, and hell, he knew it was an image he’d remember for a long time, because this was an expression, and experience you gave to him voluntarily like it was charity.

The music was distant—something playing from inside the penthouse, soft and melancholic, a tune that felt both familiar and foreign all at once. You swayed together, the city watching from below, his breath warm against your temple when he exhaled slowly, finally giving in to the moment.

"You’re ridiculous," he muttered, voice lower now, something closer to fondness threading through the exasperation.

"And you’re a liar," you murmured back, tilting your head slightly, your nose barely brushing against his jaw as you moved. "You like this." You murmured.

His fingers flexed against your back. He didn’t deny it.

// I should stray away from you

But as the saying goes

"Bettеr than alone, is to be in bad company" //

The movements slowed, a lingering pause between each step, until there was no rhythm left—only the quiet press of your bodies against each other, the weight of his palm against your spine as you both swayed gently back and forth. His breath came slow, measured, as if he was waiting for something. As if he was waiting for you.

Your fingers trailed up, brushing along his jaw before settling at the back of his neck, your thumb tracing small, absentminded circles against his skin. His red eyes flickered down, gaze lingering on your soft lips for just a second too long, before he let out a breath—one that almost sounded like surrender.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate, but it held something deeper, something that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long, for the last few months he had spent here, really. He kissed you like he was grounding himself in you, like you were the only real thing left in a world full of uncertainty. His fingers tightened against you, pulling you closer, as if he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

And maybe, just for tonight, neither of you had to.

But it wasn’t enough, for a greedy dragon like him, nothing was ever enough, and yet you knew, encouraged it even, because he was your dragon, no matter the timeline, no matter what came between the two of you.

Sylus’s hands moved before he could stop them, tracing up your spine, anchoring you closer as his lips deepened against yours, his tongue brushing softly against your bottom lip in a silent plea for more. The weight of his past, of his guilt, of the knowledge that you weren’t his but still knew him, pressed down on him like a vice. He needed this—needed you. Because for once, Sylus felt understood, accepted to his core and you didn’t even have to make it verbal.

// You know what they say

Stay close to your dearest friends

But also

Even closer to your adversaries //

This version of you was all he ever wanted, and it felt unfair, unfair that he ended up here this way and you weren’t his from the very beginning. No, instead you moaned, allowing his tongue into your mouth like it always belonged there, your tiny hand pulling on his hair to have him lean more into you, his weight pressing you against the railing.

He broke the kiss only to pull in a breath, his forehead resting against yours, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please, tell me to stop, y/n." The lights of the city flickered in his sharp yet soft eyes and you shook your head, as if disapproving of such request to begin with.

You didn’t. Instead, your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, tugging him forward until the tall man stumbled slightly, his grip tightening on your waist. The warmth of you burned against him, grounding him in ways he couldn’t explain. He was unraveling, and you were pulling him apart thread by thread, but he didn’t want you to stop, he was hypnotized, no, bewitched by you.

Your lips found his again, slow and deliberate, and something in him cracked. He let himself have this. Just this.

You gasped softly when he shifted, hands sliding beneath your thighs, slightly under your shorts as he lifted you effortlessly. A quiet laugh left you as your back hit the doorframe of the sliding door, his large hot body pressing flush against yours, his mouth finding the pulse at your throat, lingering there like he could memorize the rhythm.

The world outside didn’t matter. His search for the protocores, the fractures between realities, the inevitable moment when he’d have to leave you behind—none of it mattered when you both started bleeding into one, making good use of the curse you’d put on him once upon a time.

Not when you were here, warm and willing, whispering his name like he was something worth holding onto.

Perhaps from the very beginning, you were both his key back and his demise all wrapped up in one. It was like you were a tiny, dangerous package, waiting to be unraveled by his own calloused and tired hands. For now, he was still far away from unraveling the entire truth, but you both knew it was inevitable. All it took was a kiss for your mind to come to a conclusion, that regardless of the result, you would help him, help him go back if he wished to do so. Still, you couldn’t help but think it was bittersweet, you were finally getting what you wanted but the cost was far too much, and you refused to think how long it would later take you to recover from this bond that you both gave into. His gaze was set on you, soft, deep, and all yours, you almost couldn’t bear it.

// But my best enemy is you

Flee from me, the worst is you and I

But if you keep searching for my voice

Forget me, the worst is you and I //

He carried you inside, into the dim light of your shared room, the door sliding shut behind him as your hands tangled in his snowy-white hair, pulling him closer like you were afraid he’d let go.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Sylus let himself believe that he belonged somewhere, that perhaps even a monster like him was worthy of his beloved’s touch.

His hands mapped the curves of your body with reverence, but there was nothing chaste about the way he touched you. He was greedy—fuck, he was always greedy when it came to you. His lips never strayed far from yours, dragging slow, wet kisses down your throat, nipping at your skin just to hear you gasp. He wanted to ruin you, wanted you to come apart under his hands, but fuck, he needed to take his time, too.

You whispered his name, breathless, and he groaned in response, grinding against you with a quiet, desperate noise that only came from years of suppresing one's self desires. He wanted this to be slow, to be soft, but he wanted you more. His fingers curled into the fabric at your hips, gripping tight, like he was barely holding himself together.

The bed dipped beneath you as he laid you down, hovering above you as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he blinked. His lips traced the edge of your soft jaw, your deep collarbone, but it wasn’t enough. He needed more.

"You're mine," he muttered, but it wasn’t a claim—it was a fucking plea. A confession. A desperate, broken thing that he offered you in hopes of acceptance he didn’t need to fight for in the first place.

You pulled him down, fingers tangling at the nape of his neck, guiding him back to your lips. "I always have been." It was a fact, a statement to calm him down, and perhaps yourself too.

And when he kissed you again, it was deeper, hungrier, like he was trying to drown in you.

// I had told you, not to keep looking behind

Your past will follow you and wage war on you //

His mouth left a trail of warmth down your skin, kissing, sucking, marking. As much as he hated himself and perhaps even this entire situation of him ending up here, he wanted to fucking brand himself into you, make sure you’d never forget this, never forget him. His hands slid lower, fingertips teasing at your thighs before parting them, spreading you open for him, eyes dark and wild with need. He slid your shorts down with ease, your soaked panties coming into view.

"Sweetie, look at you," he muttered, voice wrecked as he dragged his knuckles up the inside of your thigh, feeling the way you trembled for him. "So pretty. So fucking perfect."

Your breath hitched, hips arching instinctively when his fingers finally dipped between your legs, long fingers pushing the flimsy fabric aside. He groaned at the wetness he found there, jaw tightening as he slid his fingers through your slit slow, teasing, drawing soft, shuddering gasps from your lips.

"Let me," he whispered, but he wasn’t really asking. His fingers pressed deeper, curling just right, and you moaned, your hands flying to his muscled arms, nails digging into the solid warmth of him. He felt you, squeezing around him, already so sensitive, so eager, and it was fucking perfect.

Your hands moved instinctively, reaching for him, sliding over the hard planes of his back, feeling every muscle tense beneath your fingertips. You traced his spine, his shoulders, memorizing the way he shuddered when your lips found his throat, tasting the salt of his skin, sucking bruises into him because you needed to mark your dragon too, just the way he marked and bit you all those years ago.

He was unraveling, piece by piece, and yet he didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to pull away from the warmth of your body, the soft sounds you made just for him, the way your fingers clutched at him like he was something worth keeping.

"Sylus," you gasped, his name falling from your lips like a prayer in ways that had nothing to do with religion, and that’s when he fucking lost it. His fingers tightened against you, two long digits fucking into you with aching reverence, his forehead pressing against yours as he watched you come undone, as he felt you lose yourself against his hand when his palm brushed your clit.

"That’s it, love," he whispered, his voice wrecked, full of nothing but you. "That’s my good girl. Come for me, show me your face when you do, please," He rasped in a plea, looking like he needed this more than you.

And when you shattered against him, trembling, moaning, desperate—he caught you, held you through it, whispering your name against your lips like a vow he would never break.

Like a man who had finally found home.

But you weren’t done.

Your fingers traced down his chest, slow, deliberate, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch as you unbuttoned his shirt properly. His breathing was uneven, ragged, his body still wound tight with restraint. He wanted you—fuck, he needed you—but he hadn’t let himself take yet. Hadn’t let himself have.

"Let me touch you," you whispered, pressing soft kisses against his jaw, down the column of his throat, feeling the way he shuddered under your lips. "Let me make you feel good too."

His hands twitched at his sides, fighting against the instinct to take control, to flip you beneath him, to make you his in the way he so desperately wanted. But your fingers, soft yet firm, trailed lower, undoing his belt with an ease and familiarity that sent heat flooding through his veins.

"Y/n," he warned, voice hoarse, but you only smiled, pressing your palm against him through his clothes, feeling how fucking hard he was for you.

"No buts, no ifs," you murmured, your fingers slipping beneath the waistband, wrapping around him, hot and heavy in your grasp. "I want this too. I want you too."

His head tipped back against the pillow, a guttural groan ripping from his throat as you stroked him, slow, teasing, savoring the way he twitched in your hand. His breath stuttered, fingers gripping at the sheets, trying—failing—to keep himself together as you touched him with the same aching reverence he had given you.

"Fuck," he hissed through clenched teeth, his hips jerking slightly as you tightened your grip, finding a rhythm that had him near unraveling, breaking apart beneath you.

And as his desperate moans filled the space between you, you knew—you’d never let him forget how much you wanted him too.

And hell, you weren’t finished yet.

Your fingers left his cock only long enough to pull your flimsy top over your head, baring yourself to him, watching the way his eyes darkened, the way his lips parted in something close to awe as your naked chest came into view. You reached for his shirt next, pushing it down his shoulders, revealing more of the hard, scarred planes of his body beneath your touch.

His breath hitched as you climbed onto his lap, straddling him, pressing your bare skin flush against his. His hands found your waist, gripping tight, as if grounding himself, as if this was something he needed to commit to memory.

"You drive me fucking insane," he murmured, voice rough, strained, his fingers flexing against your hips as you rocked against him, teasing, deliberate, slit dipping into the form of his cock like a mould.

You leaned in, lips brushing against his ear, your breath warm against his skin. "Then let me ruin you, properly."

A shudder ran through him, his grip tightening as if he needed to anchor himself to reality—to you. His lips found your chest, slow, reverent, tracing open-mouthed kisses down the curve of your collarbone, lower, lower, until his tongue flicked against the peak of your soft breast. You gasped, your fingers sinking into his hair, holding him there as he worshipped you with his mouth, his hands, murmuring words against your skin that you could barely make out—something about how perfect you were, how he would never get enough of you.

You arched into his touch, desperate for more, for everything, your fingers trailing down his abdomen, tracing the tense muscles there before reaching between you, finding him, hard and leaking against your palm.

"Please," you whispered, breathless, need curling through your voice, arousal thickening the tone, deep, carnal, animalistic. "I need you inside me."

A strangled noise escaped him as he pulled back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide, his breathing uneven. "You sure?" But the way he said it, the way he swallowed hard, like he was holding himself back, you knew he needed it just as much—if not more. Yet, he was guilty, guilty of asking for more than he already had received.

You nodded, guiding him to where you needed him most, the anticipation sending a sharp thrill up your spine. His hands trembled against your waist, and when he finally pushed inside, slow, careful, savoring the stretch, a moan tore from both of you, breath tangling as you held onto each other like this was the only thing keeping you tethered to this plane of existence.

He cursed under his breath, gripping your hips like he wasn’t sure if he could control himself, pulling you flush against him as he set a slow, deep rhythm, dragging pleasure through every inch of you as he moved from below. Every thrust sent heat curling in your gut, the friction perfect, devastating. You gasped, nails digging into his biceps, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch, his breath ragged against your lips as he fought to keep it together.

But it wasn’t just about the pleasure. It was about this—the way he looked at you like you were the only thing grounding him, like he needed you more than air itself. It was about the way he whispered your name like a prayer, the way he kissed you between gasps, desperate and searching.

"You feel so good," he groaned, voice rough, reverent, like he wanted to worship every part of you. "So fucking perfect, I love you—" the words slipped out before he could even stop them, the emotions between the two of you proving too much.

You whimpered in response, meeting his thrusts, chasing the sensation building between you, chasing him. The way his body slotted against yours, the way he shuddered when you clenched around him—it was intoxicating, overwhelming. “Love you too, my dragon.”

His forehead pressed against yours, sweat slick on both your skin, messy strands of snowy hair in his face, his movements turning erratic as he felt you tightening, trembling beneath him. His grip on you tightened, his pace faltering as he gasped your name like a plea. "I can’t—fuck, I’m gonna—"

"M-me too," you breathed, gripping his face, kissing him hard, letting yourself fall apart with him.

The pleasure crested in a wave so intense it stole your breath, your entire body trembling as you clenched around him, pulling him over the edge with you, white noise ringing in your ears. He groaned against your mouth, burying himself deep, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you, hands shaking as he held you close like he never wanted to let go.

Silence filled the space between you, save for the soft, uneven breaths you shared. His arms tightened around you, his lips pressing against your forehead, your cheek, anywhere he could reach.

"You okay?" His voice was hoarse, but his touch was impossibly soft, fingertips tracing idle patterns along your skin.

You leaned down, smiling against his shoulder, pressing a lazy kiss to his jaw. "More than okay."

He let out a breathy laugh, rolling onto his side and pulling you with him, keeping you tangled in his arms like he wasn’t ready to lose the warmth of you just yet. He kissed your temple, your shoulder, his touch slow, absentminded, like he was memorizing every inch of you all over again.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment, content in the quiet, in the soft hum of each other’s presence. His fingers brushed through your hair, massaging your scalp, grounding himself in the weight of you pressed against him.

"I needed this," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper, almost like he wasn’t sure he had the right to say it.

You curled closer, pressing a soft kiss over his heart. "I know."

A beat of silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t heavy. It was warm, something unspoken settling in the space where words should have been. Your fingers traced idle shapes against his skin, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

"I don’t care where you came from," you murmured eventually, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t care if you’re not exactly him—because you are. You carry his memories, his feelings, his burdens. You’re my dragon, no matter what."

Sylus stiffened slightly, his breath catching, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, his grip on you tightened, his fingers pressing into your back like he needed to hold onto you, needed to be sure you were real.

"You knew," he breathed, something unreadable in his voice. It wasn’t a question. It was realization, settling into him like an inevitability.

You nodded against his chest. "I had my suspicions, and resonating confirmed them. The way you looked at me, the way you reacted when I called you that name… and then your search… for protocores, I assume? I don’t really know what they do, not exactly, but I know they must be important. And you aren’t looking for something impossible, are you? You are looking for a way back."

His breath hitched slightly, his fingers pausing in their slow movements against your back. You could feel the weight of it, the hesitation, the way he was still balancing between trusting you and protecting you from the truth.

"Tell me," you murmured, tracing your fingers gently along his jawline. "What really happened? How did you end up here?"

He sighed, the sound heavy, resigned. "It was the shot," he admitted finally. "Our, no hers and mine Aether cores… they reacted. I shouldn’t have survived it, not like that. But instead of dying, I woke up here. And it’s all the same but not. It’s wrong, and it’s—"

"Different," you finished for him, tilting your head to search his gaze. "But not entirely, right? Because I’m still here. And maybe that means I can help."

Sylus studied you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his expression. You could see the internal war he was fighting—the instinct to bear the weight alone versus the quiet, desperate longing to let you carry some of it with him.

You reached up, brushing your fingers over his cheek, cupping his face in your palm. "I might not understand everything, but my Evol… it’s tied to resonance, to connection. And those protocores—I’ve had them since I was young. Maybe together, we can figure this out. But only if you let me, allow me in."

His throat bobbed, his arms tightening around you as he traced the fractures of your life with the same aching recognition he had carried in his own. Even in this world, you hadn’t been spared from the weight of what had been done to you. Different choices, different faces, but the same pain, lingering beneath your skin like an old wound that never fully healed. His fingers curled slightly against your back, gripping you like a tether. "You really want to get involved in this mess?"

You gave a small, breathy laugh, nudging your nose against his. "I think I already am."

For the first time, something in his shoulders eased, though not entirely. His lips brushed against your temple, a quiet, unspoken surrender, his breath warm against your skin, his presence grounding. He let himself have this, just for a moment longer than he should. Just until the moment shattered.

"Alright," he murmured. "Then let’s start in the lab. Later, in a few days." The words felt like a delay, an excuse to hold onto this a little longer, because the more time he spent with you, the more he feared what it would mean when he finally had to leave. He was falling—already had fallen—for this version of you completely. A dangerous, selfish thing to do, because one day, one way or another, this was going to end, just like all good things in his life.

"Okay." You breathed the word out, the syllable melting into the warmth of the space between you, skin against skin as you inhaled his presence, his hesitation, his unspoken struggle.

A moment passed, his fingers tracing lazy circles against the plane of your shoulder, his other hand resting low on your waist, as if grounding himself in the quiet of your heartbeat. Then, finally, he spoke, the question slipping out in a voice barely above a whisper. "Was it hard?"

You blinked, tilting your head slightly to look up at him. "What?"

"Knowing that the me from this world didn’t remember you the way you remembered him?" There was something guarded in his voice, a careful attempt at detachment that didn’t quite hold.

You exhaled slowly, letting the weight of the question settle between you. "It was," you admitted. "But I never pushed him to. Because I knew I couldn’t force him to be something he wasn’t, or well, didn’t want to be."

His grip on you tightened slightly. "I went through the same thing. Just… in reverse."

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, eyes searching his, soft but steady. "Then you know why I never gave up on him, on you."

His expression shifted—something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. He had spent so much time trying to be the version of himself that you deserved, to fill the space left behind by another man, another life. But here, now, with you pressed against him, with the quiet weight of the past and present tangled between your fingers, he wasn’t sure it mattered anymore.

You had never asked him to be anyone but himself.

And yet, somehow, it still didn’t feel like enough. Not when he carried memories that weren’t truly his, not when he was slipping into another man’s place with terrifying ease. He wasn’t supposed to belong here. And yet, with you looking at him like this, with all the warmth and knowing in your eyes, it was hard to remember why he should leave at all.

He swallowed hard, his fingers brushing over the curve of your cheek, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to touch you this way. "You know, if you were also an art piece, then whoever created you must have loved you dearly."

The words came unbidden, slipping past his lips before he could stop them. He realized it too late.

Your breath hitched, your fingers tightening ever so slightly where they rested against his chest. You knew those words. You knew them.

His pulse stuttered beneath your touch, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Your lips parted, but whatever you were about to say faltered before it could form.

Because this wasn’t something the Sylus of this world had ever said to you.

It was something else. Older. Something tangled in the past you had spent lifetimes trying to understand.

A memory wrapped in myth, woven into the very essence of your existence. It was a phrase that had echoed through time, through lifetimes, a truth neither of you had fully grasped until now. Because you were the one who cursed him to always find you.

"Sylus…" Your voice was barely above a whisper, something raw laced into the way you spoke his name.

His throat worked around a swallow, but he didn’t let go. Didn’t move away. Instead, he leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours, letting the silence stretch between you, letting it settle.

He wasn’t supposed to stay.

But you weren’t supposed to recognize him either.

And yet, you did. Because no matter what world you were in, what life you lived, he had always been yours. And now, in the quiet of your shared breaths, you both had to reckon with what that meant.

You ran your fingers through his messy hair, feeling the way he shuddered under your touch, how his breath hitched as you traced along his jaw, memorizing the lines of his face like you had a thousand times before. This version of him, the one who knew too much and yet not enough, the one who carried another’s memories but still looked at you like you were the only thing tethering him to this world—this was your Sylus, too. And you weren’t going to let him forget that.

"Take me again," you murmured, voice softer this time, reverent, like an invocation. "After all, you are my magnum opus, too."

His breath left him in a slow, shaky exhale before he surged forward, kissing you like his life depended on it, like you were the only real thing left in his unraveling world. His lips were urgent, desperate, but beneath it, there was something softer, something aching—a quiet kind of devotion buried beneath the hunger.

Your Evol surged between you, wrapping around him like a second skin, slipping into his body, his bones, his very soul. He groaned at the sensation, his grip tightening, his hands pressing into your skin like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers if he let go. He wasn’t just touching you—he was feeling you in a way he never had before, deeper, like every thread of your being was merging with his.

His lips trailed down your neck, over your collarbone, pressing kisses that felt like prayers whispered into the moonless night. He breathed your name between them, voice hoarse, full of something raw, something unspoken. "I don’t know how to stop wanting you."

"Then don’t, not until you will have to stop because there will be no other choice," you whispered back, and for once, he listened.

// You told me I would never see you walk away

Said you'd never break my heart

Never leave me in the dark

I guess there's just some promises you shouldn't make

Should've known from the start //

The days passed in a haze of quiet moments and endless work. The lab became a space of flickering lights, glowing protocores, and the hum of equations muttered under breath. Sylus had spent hours testing, recalibrating, adjusting parameters, his mind consumed by the impossibility of what he was trying to achieve. But he wasn’t doing it alone.

You were there, beside him, sleeves rolled up, eyes alight with concentration as you fed your Evol into the protocores, trying to get them to react. You asked questions, challenged his theories, made him consider angles he hadn’t before. And despite the weight of his purpose, despite the growing dread of what success would mean, he found himself happy.

It wasn’t loud, wasn’t a rush of euphoria—it was quieter than that. The kind of happiness that settled into his bones, that made him feel like, for the first time in forever, he wasn’t just clawing toward something impossible. He was here, with you. Creating something together.

He watched you, the way you chewed your lip in concentration, the way your fingers flickered with Evol’s glow, and something inside him ached—not in the way it usually did, not with grief or longing, but with something warmer.

He wanted to leave a mark on you, something more than just marks on your body that would blur back into your skin with time.

Not like this. Not like a memory that would fade the moment he disappeared from this world. No, he wanted something real. Something tangible.

So he worked through the night, after you had fallen asleep curled up in the corner of the lab, exhausted but refusing to leave his side. He pieced it together with careful hands, refining every detail, ensuring it was perfect.

By the time you woke, from what presumably wasn’t a very comfortable nap, blinking blearily against the dim light of the lab, he was waiting for you, something small and glinting in his palm.

"What’s that?" you murmured, voice thick with sleep.

The man smirked, but it was softer than usual, less cocky, more... something else. "A gift."

You sat up slowly, rubbing at your eyes before focusing on the small object in his hand. "For me?"

"Who else?" He rolled it between his fingers, and as the light hit it just right, you could see it—a necklace, the pendant intricate yet simple, shaped like something familiar. A dragon, curled protectively around a small, shimmering core, its tail looping around to form the delicate chain that would rest against your skin.

You stared at it, breath catching in your throat.

"Sylus…"

He didn’t meet your eyes immediately, instead focusing on the way the light caught on the edges of the pendant. At the back of the small dragon’s body, barely noticeable unless you looked closely, was an engraving—your name, alongside a phrase in a language almost lost to time. Magnum opus. The words were carved with meticulous precision, as if each letter had been pressed into existence with intent. "It’s not much," he muttered, voice lower than usual. "But I thought… if I leave, I don’t want you to forget. And I wanted something of mine to stay with you, even if I can’t."

Your fingers brushed over the pendant, tracing its curves, before reaching for his hand instead. "Like I ever could."

For once, he didn’t have a smirk or a teasing remark ready. He just looked at you, something vulnerable flashing behind his eyes before he pressed the pendant into your palm, curling your fingers around it like a silent promise.

// Reach out and show a little loving

Shine a little light on me

Show a little loving

Shine a little light on me //

After a moment, his fingers lingered at the chain. "Let me?" His voice was softer now, almost hesitant.

You nodded, and he shifted closer, taking the necklace from your hands with deliberate care. His fingers brushed against your skin as he gathered your hair, draping the chain around your neck, the metal cool against your collarbone. The clasp clicked into place with a quiet finality, and he let his hands settle lightly on your shoulders, his thumbs skimming the curve where your neck met your shoulder.

His gaze dropped to the pendant resting against your chest, something unreadable in his expression. "Looks good on you," he murmured, almost like he was speaking to himself.

You swallowed, pressing your fingers over the pendant. "It’s beautiful, you know."

Sylus let out a quiet exhale, his hands falling away reluctantly. "You’ll keep it on?"

You met his eyes, something warm and unwavering in your voice. "Always, after all it’s a gift from my dragon."

For a moment, he just looked at you, the weight of something unspoken passing between you. Then, with a slow nod, he leaned back, watching the way the pendant caught the light, like he wanted to commit the sight to memory.

The days bled into weeks, and the lab became their second home inside their home. The protocores you gave lined the tables, some glowing faintly, others scattered in varying states of disassembly. Wires snaked across the metal workstations, and the air smelled of burnt circuits, metal, and the faint energy hum of active Evol. It was methodical, precise work—calculations laid out in notebooks, equations scribbled on glass panels, the sound of quiet murmurs filling the space between them.

"If we adjust the frequency output here—" you gestured toward a set of figures on the screen, brow furrowed in concentration. "It might stabilize long enough to sustain a full transfer when I use my Evol."

Sylus leaned back, exhaling, his gaze flickering between you and the numbers. "Theoretically, sure. But the problem isn’t just maintaining the flow—it’s how the protocores respond to prolonged exposure."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. "That’s the same argument we had two days ago. We already ran the last test at max output, and it held. The issue isn’t the flow. It’s the integration."

He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he adjusted a dial on the worktable, watching the way the energy flickered beneath the surface of the half-built device. "You sound like me."

"That’s because I’m right."

He glanced up at you then, something amused—something fond—in his expression before he returned his attention to the mechanism between you. The metal casing was nearly finished, the internal structuring laid out in careful detail. It looked crude, unfinished, but Sylus could see it—the shape of something real, something functional—coming together in front of him.

"We’ll need a power source capable of stabilizing the fluctuations," he muttered, mostly to himself. "Something more stable than raw Evol."

Your fingers tapped against the edge of the table. "Would a secondary protocore work? One embedded into the structure itself?"

He considered that, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Might. But that’s a risk in itself. If it fractures under pressure—"

"Then we’d both be in trouble," you finished for him, sighing. "I know. But if we can’t sustain the shift long enough for a proper transfer, then what’s the point?"

Sylus went silent, gaze fixed on the unfinished device as his mind ran through every possible failure point, every risk, every outcome. And then, finally, he exhaled, rolling his shoulders back.

"We do it."

You blinked, momentarily thrown by how easily he agreed. "Just like that? You think your consciousness will seperate from the body just like that?"

A ghost of a smirk played at his lips. "You’re the one who said you were right."

You let out a soft laugh, but it didn’t reach your eyes. He saw it—the way you smiled just a little too quickly, the way your hands lingered over the project like you weren’t ready to let go. Like if you just kept working, you wouldn’t have to think about what finishing this meant.

You weren’t the only one pretending.

Neither of you said it. Neither of you acknowledged what came next. Instead, you both turned back to the device, hands moving in tandem, finalizing the last connections, watching as the energy flickered and pulsed in a steady, rhythmic glow.

It was done.

"Will it work?"

A tired breath.

"I don't know, but this seems final."

// My body's on the line now I can't fight this time now I can feel the light shine on my face Did I disappoint you? Will they still let me over If I cross the line? //

The next few days passed in a quiet limbo. Neither of you spoke about what came next. The equations checked out. The device was ready. The chance of failure was small—too small. But you hoped, in some selfish, desperate way, that it wasn’t small enough. That something, somehow, would keep him here.

Sylus didn’t push to activate it right away. He let the days stretch, let the minutes and hours melt into something softer, something that neither of you acknowledged for what it was. An ending.

You spent those days tangled in quiet conversations, in stolen glances, in the way his hands lingered a little longer when he passed you a tool in the lab. In the way he pressed a kiss to your temple when he thought you were half-asleep after sex that left you both yearning. In the weight of his arm slung across your waist as if he could anchor himself to you.

Neither of you rushed.

Neither of you dared to say goodbye.

Because the moment you activated that device, one of you was going to disappear from each other's lives, forever.

// Take a seat But I'd rather you not be here for What could be my final form Stay your pretty eyes on course Keep the memories of who I was before So stay with me because // 

The lab was too quiet. The hum of energy from the device filled the space, pressing against your skin, against your ribs, against the unspoken words lingering between you. The Protocore pulsed steadily, waiting.

"You're sure about this?" your voice was steady, but the slight tremor in your fingers as they hovered over the Protocore betrayed you.

Sylus exhaled, his gaze flickering to you before settling back on the mechanism. "No. But we’re out of options."

Your Evol shimmered at your fingertips, stabilizing the energy field surrounding the device. It crackled, resisting at first, but you pushed past the tension, guiding the flow into something controlled, something manageable.

"If I hold the frequency stable, it should buy you enough time to separate cleanly," you murmured, adjusting your stance as a pulse of energy pushed against you.

"Should," Sylus repeated dryly. He glanced at you then, something in his expression unreadable. "You always did have a habit of gambling with the odds."

You swallowed. "I’d rather gamble than have you miserable, if you are inclined to go back, then just do it." Something in you almost snapped, all that tension contained in your small body.

A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he didn’t argue. He only nodded, stepping forward, fingers flexing at his sides, his carmine gaze locked onto the mechanism as though daring it to prove him wrong. A sharp breath. A flicker of hesitation.

Then, he reached for the switch.

Time buckled.

The air around you warped, bending in on itself, light fracturing into something unfamiliar. A deep, guttural hum reverberated through the lab, the walls trembling with the weight of it. Space twisted, folding inward, a tear forming in reality itself.

A strangled gasp tore from Sylus’s throat, his body shuddering as his form split—not in two, but into something neither of you understood. His skin shimmered, his edges blurred, the weight of existence pressing down on him. He looked different—his silver hair shorter at the nape, his carmine eyes clouded with something beyond exhaustion, his entire presence thinner, like he was being stretched too far, pulled in a direction he could never return from.

The sight made your stomach drop.

"Sylus?" Your voice cracked, Evol sparking wildly at your fingertips. The connection between you flickered like a dying star. "No, no, no, hold on!"

His body flickered again. The Protocore pulsed brighter, its hum turning into something shrill, something piercing. He was unraveling before you, a white ringing noise in your ears.

"Don’t—" His, now panicked, voice faltered as his eyes locked onto yours, his hand lifting but never quite reaching you. "You have to let me go."

Your Evol reacted, spiraling out of control as you reached for him as you lost the control over your own emotions, raw energy crackling between your fingertips. You didn’t think—you just acted, instinct overriding logic as you tried to grasp onto something of him, anything, as if sheer will could keep him here.

For a fleeting moment, your hands touched. Just barely. His fingers ghosted over your skin, the sensation featherlight, ephemeral, not enough.

Tears burned in your eyes. "Please—" It wasn’t fair. It was never fair. Yet faced with the consequences of your actions and seflnessnes you couldn’t help but want to be selfish, for once in your life.

His lips parted, something on the edge of his tongue, he mouthed the words at you because he felt like the actual sound wouldn’t reach you.

I love you.

// Honestly I thought I was fully prepared for The threshold in store Stay your pretty eyes on course I guess I never really faced my fears before So stay with me because // 

A wrenching sensation tore through the lab. A surge of light, a ripple of pressure that made your ears ring, your body burn with the force of it as the lights went out and some light bulbs tore apart, small glass shards raining over the equipment. The impact of it all sent you staggering back, your vision blurring, a scream tearing from your throat as you felt the world snap back into place.

The Protocore burst into a violent pulse before it shattered, shimmery dust sparkling in the now still air of the lab before silence engulfed you.

A dead, aching silence that pressed against your aching skull like thousands of needles, suffocating, crushing as you fell to your knees, trying to come to terms of what you’ve done just now.

You barely registered the movement on the floor behind you until a sharp, gasping breath broke through the quiet.

Sylus—your Sylus—gasped awake, fingers clawing at the ground as he sucked in deep, ragged breaths. His body jerked, muscles spasming as though something had just ripped him back into existence.

He blinked, unfocused, disoriented. "What—"

But you were still staring at the empty space where he had been, hands trembling, heart hammering wildly as you tried to stop the hiccups. You couldn't remember the last time you had a panic attack this bad, your entire body shaking, as if reaching for something that didn't exist anymore, a comfort that only belonged in your memory.

He was gone.

And this Sylus, your Sylus, didn’t even know why you were crying.

// My body's on the line now Pull the blanket tight now I can feel the light shine on my face Did I disappoint you? Will they still let me over If I cross the line? //

The sensation was a shock to the system—his lungs burned, his body ached, and for a moment, he wasn’t entirely sure he had made it back at all. The shift between two separate timelines had been seamless, cruel, even. One breath, he was watching the tear in time consume him; the next, he was exactly back where he had left, forced to stay almost at the exact second it had all gone wrong.

Memories worth of months trickled into his subconscious all within a few seconds, forcing him to relive all of that, yet making him stay here as if he never left to begin with.

The weight of a body straddled his lap, grounding him in something real, something tangible. The warmth of you, the way your thighs braced against him, the scent of gunpowder thick in the air, your hands hovering over the wound in his chest. A wound that, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, wasn’t healing immediately. The pain was sharp, electric, but it paled in comparison to the disorientation flooding his senses and the ringing noise in his ears.

Still, he tried his best to keep his expression rooted in calmness and forced his vision to sharpen, on you.

You were still over him, breathing hard, panic tightening every muscle in your frame. The gun you had fired lay discarded somewhere on the ground, its barrel still smoking, the air thick with cordite and something else—something wrong. Your hands trembled where they pressed against him, hovering between regret and survival instinct, torn between saving him and finishing what you had started.

And then, for a split second, the world shifted again. The Aether core flickered at the edges of your heart where it was nestled, reacting to something unseen, something lingering between this world and the one he had just left behind. It pulsed, faint but undeniable, something poking at your skull like a thousand needles.

Your breath hitched deep in your throat. A sharp inhale, eyes widening—not in horror, not in fear, but in recognition.

"Sylus?" you whispered in a voice that did and didn’t belong to you at the same time. The craziest part about this was that this version of you didn’t even know his name properly.

Still your words… they were not a question. Not a demand. A call—the same way you had spoken to him in another world. The same way you had reached for him when time had fractured around you. The voice of the woman who had begged him to stay, the woman who had known him in ways you shouldn’t have, couldn’t have.

It struck him like a blade. The breath he took rattled in his wounded chest. You had remembered—for just a second, you had remembered, and hell, if he only came back here to die, this recognition on your face was more than enough for a man who had a dying wish to begin with.

However, that emotion that flickered within your pretty features, slightly different than what he came to remember, was gone in an instant.

The recognition flickered out of your gaze like a dying ember, slipping from your grasp and consciousness before it could root itself in place. The fear returned just as quickly, swallowing it whole, consuming every other emotion in your expression. You blinked, the moment severed, and your hands pressed harder against the wound, grounding yourself in this reality, the only one you knew. The only one you had ever known.

"Shit—stop bleeding—" Your voice trembled, desperate, your grip firm as if you could physically hold him here, as if you could undo what you had done.

Sylus, bleeding out, could only laugh, breathless, hollow, head falling back against the high-backed throne-like chair he was still sat on. What else was there to do?

Because he had made it back.

And yet, he had lost you all over again.

His fingers stiffly twitched at his side, reaching for something that wasn’t there, something that never would be again. The ache in his chest had nothing to do with the bullet lodged inside him and everything to do with the fact that the person he had spent months knowing—the person who had known him back—was gone.

And you, this version of you, looked at him with the same eyes but didn’t see him at all, didn’t see him past the façade he put on.

A dull, slow warmth started spreading beneath your palms. His Evol was finally kicking in, sluggish but effective, helping his wvol with the wound pulling itself back together, knitting flesh where it had been torn apart. The pain dulled, his breath came a little easier, but none of it felt like a victory.

If anything, it was pathetic. The body would heal, as it always did, but the wound carved into something deeper—something raw and untouchable—would never close. That, he knew with certainty.

His breath hitched again, this time with something like amusement. A smirk ghosted his lips, though it barely held together, more like a cruel mockery of what it should have been.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," he rasped, voice hoarse but laced with something eerily close to amusement. "Relax, sweetheart. Just scared you a little."

Your fingers twitched against his chest, hesitation breaking through the frantic worry lining your face, you were so naive in your intentions it was almost laughable.

"Bastard."

He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "You should do a better job next time, kitten."

The words landed between you like a slap, and he almost laughed again at the way your brows furrowed, your lips parting as if to protest. But you didn’t. You only pressed your hands firmer against him, watching the last traces of blood smear against your skin as the wound fully disappeared beneath your touch.

There was a time he thought home was a place, a kingdom of steel and fire where only the strongest survived. Then, he thought home was a person, soft hands pulling him from the wreckage, a voice saying his name like it was something worth remembering. But now, standing at the edge of a world that had rewritten him, he understood—home was never his to claim. It was borrowed, fleeting, a warmth that slipped through his fingers the moment he held it too tight. What is a home, if given by another? A gift? A curse? A promise he was never meant to keep. And in the cruel, inevitable symmetry of it all, he had always been doomed to lose you, in every world, in every lifetime, over and over again.

There was no fight left in him. And you—this version of you—had no idea what he had just lost.

// If I cross the line

If I cross the line //

a/n: divider by @/cafekitsune // fic by: @dijayeah

[lost-in-thoughts03]

Falling for you // Hwang brothers

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Summary: Jun-ho realized what he had done and recognized that he had made a serious mistake. He was already late, but he had no choice but to let it go.

" According to your heart, my place is not deliberate."

Warnings: Heartbreak, pain, crying, cursing, Jun-ho needs a hug, drinking, driving under the influence, realization, guilt, anxiety, self-doubt

Jun-ho gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, his breath ragged, his chest heaving with every sob that tore through him.

The car was filled with the sound of his frustration—his fists slamming against the dashboard, his voice breaking as he shouted curses into the suffocating silence.

" Stupid. Fucking stupid."

He let his head fall back against the seat, eyes squeezing shut as the memories crashed into him like waves—merciless, relentless, drowning him in regret.

He should have told you. He should have fucking told you.

The day you stood before him, eyes shimmering with vulnerability, voice barely above a whisper as you confessed your feelings—he should’ve said the words that had been clawing at his throat for so long.

But instead, he let fear win.

He let his own insecurities, his own doubts, control him.

" I see you as my sister. As a family."

The words haunted him now, echoing in his mind like a cruel joke. A lie. A goddamn lie.

Because the truth was—it was always you.

Not the girl he pretended to like, not the safe choices he convinced himself were better. It was you. It had always been you.

And now, it was too late.

He saw the way you kissed In-ho. He saw the way you melted into him, the way you let his brother hold you, touch you, love you in a way Jun-ho never had the courage to.

And it killed him.

Jealousy burned through his veins like poison, twisting his insides, making it hard to breathe.

He hated how easily In-ho could have you, how effortlessly he could pull you into his arms without hesitation.

Unlike Jun-ho, who fumbled over his words, who ruined every moment between you with awkward silences and forced distance.

And now? Now he had to live with the consequences of his own fear.

He wiped at his face angrily, hating the wetness on his cheeks, hating how weak he felt. But no amount of rage, no amount of regret could change the truth.

He had already lost you.

And the worst part?

It was all his own damn fault.

The car roared down the expressway, the speedometer climbing recklessly higher, but Jun-ho didn’t care.

He barely even saw the road ahead—his vision blurred with tears, his mind clouded with the suffocating weight of regret.

His grip on the steering wheel was unsteady, one hand clutching a half-empty bottle of whiskey, the burn of alcohol mixing with the fire already raging inside him.

" Fucking idiot. FUCK!" He screamed, slamming his fist against the wheel, the car swerving slightly before he straightened it.

The pain in his chest was unbearable. It clawed at him, choking him, making it impossible to breathe.

His head throbbed from where he had slammed it against the dashboard, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the torment in his heart.

You had been his. Not in the way that mattered, not in the way he wished—but you had loved him once. And he threw it away.

" I see you as my sister."

He let out a choked, bitter laugh, his fingers tightening around the bottle before he took another long swig.

The whiskey did nothing to numb the ache.

Nothing could.

In his mind, all he could see was you.

The way your face fell when he rejected you. The way your voice trembled as you tried to hold back tears. The way In-ho now held you the way he should have.

His brother had won. And Jun-ho had no one to blame but himself.

The lights on the highway blurred past him, but he didn’t slow down.

Maybe if he went fast enough, he could outrun the pain.

Maybe if he crashed, if he finally let himself spiral into oblivion, he wouldn’t have to live with the agony of knowing he had lost you forever.

Tears streamed down his face, his breath coming in sharp gasps as he slammed his head against the steering wheel again.

" I love you."

The words escaped in a broken whisper, the confession he should have made to you instead of the empty void of the night.

But it was too late.

It was too fucking late.

Jun-ho barely made it through the door before slamming it shut behind him. His body felt heavy, sluggish, his legs barely cooperating as he stumbled toward the couch and collapsed onto it.

A deep, shaky sigh escaped his lips, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

His face was a mess—eyes red and swollen, dried tear tracks staining his cheeks, the lingering burn of alcohol thick on his breath.

His mother, who had been sitting quietly in the living room, immediately stood up at the sound of the door slamming.

Her brows knitted together in concern as she took in the sight of her son—disheveled, broken, a shadow of the strong, composed man he had always been.

" Jun-ho…" She called gently, walking closer, her voice laced with worry. " What happened?"

He barely lifted his head, mumbling incoherent words under his breath, his voice slurred and weak.

His mother crouched down in front of him, her warm hands reaching for his.

" Talk to me, son. What’s wrong?"

At that, Jun-ho let out a shaky breath, his shoulders trembling. And then, just like that, the dam broke.

Tears spilled down his cheeks again as he let out a strangled sob. He looked at his mother, his vision blurry from both alcohol and heartbreak.

" I lost her, Eomma…" His voice cracked, his words broken between hiccups of breath.

" I lost the only person I—" He choked on his words, unable to finish, burying his face in his hands.

His mother’s heart clenched at the sight of him. Jun-ho had always been the strong one, the one who carried so much on his shoulders but never let anyone see the weight of it.

And now, he sat before her like a child—raw, vulnerable, shattered.

Without hesitation, she pulled him into her arms, cradling his shaking body. She ran her fingers through his hair, the way she used to when he was younger, soothing him, whispering soft words of comfort.

" It hurts, Eomma…it hurts so much." He whimpered against her shoulder, his fingers gripping the fabric of her sweater like it was the only thing holding him together.

" I know, sweetheart." She murmured, pressing a kiss to his head.

" But pain means you loved deeply. And loving deeply is never a mistake."

Jun-ho shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. " But I was a coward. I let her slip away…I pushed her right into his arms." His voice was filled with so much regret that it nearly broke her.

His mother pulled away slightly, cupping his face in her hands, making him look at her. " Then fight for her, Jun-ho."

He blinked through his tears, staring at her in disbelief.

" If you truly love her," She continued,

" don’t let fear decide for you anymore. Don't let regret be the last thing you hold onto. If there's even the slightest chance…take it. Before it's really too late."

Jun-ho swallowed thickly, his heart hammering in his chest. His mother’s words settled deep inside him, shaking him awake from the darkness he had let consume him.

Maybe…just maybe, it wasn’t over yet.

Jun-ho shook his head, his eyes still glistening with tears as he leaned back against the couch. His mother’s words echoed in his mind, but the weight of reality pressed down on him like a boulder.

" It’s not that simple, Eomma." He murmured, his voice hollow.

His mother studied him carefully, waiting for him to continue.

" I lost. I already know the result. What’s the point of fighting if I already know I’m going to lose?"

His mother let out a soft sigh, sitting beside him, her hand resting gently over his clenched fist. " Jun-ho, love isn’t a competition. It’s not about winning or losing."

Jun-ho let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. " Then why does it feel like I’ve already lost everything?"

His mother squeezed his hand. " Because you’re letting your fear make the decision for you. You think you lost her, but did you ever try to hold on to her in the first place?"

His breath caught in his throat.

" You let her go because you were scared.” She continued, her voice gentle but firm.

" And now you’re willing to let her slip away completely—not because she doesn’t love you, but because you think you don’t deserve to fight for her."

Jun-ho clenched his jaw, looking away.

His mother sighed, brushing a hand through his hair like she used to when he was a child. " I’m not telling you to force anything. But if you truly love her, you owe it to yourself—to her—to be honest. Not for the sake of winning, but because love deserves the truth."

Jun-ho swallowed the lump in his throat.

" You don’t know what’s in her heart, Jun-ho. Maybe she’s still waiting for you. Maybe she’s just trying to move on because she thinks you don’t love her. But you’ll never know unless you tell her."

His mother’s words settled deep inside him, stirring something in his chest—hope, fear, longing, all tangled together.

His mother leaned forward, her gaze unwavering. " You don't realize, do you?"

" Realize what?" He asked, though something deep inside him twisted—an unspoken anticipation, an uncertainty he wasn’t sure he was ready to confront.

She chuckled lightly, but there was sadness in it.

" Y/n loves you."

N/A: I really want to hug Jun-ho. But why didn't you tell her how you really felt? If you tell her first, you will be the happiest man on the planet. Don't give up, buddy. We are still supporting you!

So, this is Jun-ho's point of view, which is why he lied to her about liking someone and never liking Y/n. Our pookie desperately wants to protect his cookie, but he ends up hurting her unintentionally.

Y/n and Jun-ho met when they were 16. In-ho, on the other hand, began to like her when she reached her legal age—around the time Y/n was in her twenties. (I need to clarify this to avoid misunderstandings between the characters)

Y/n and Jun-ho's age right now: 23 (College students)

In-ho's age right now: 30 (I need to lower down his age to make it more accurate)

Tags: @lariem-blog2 @maah-sama @colorwastaken @jsprien213 @justanotherkpopstanlol @tasiasworld @pearing

See u in part 10. 🫶🏻

[dollyzdaydreamz]

Arthur Morgan x Bounty Hunter! Reader

Ghosts of the West

Description: Ghosts don’t hunt outlaws. At least that’s what Arthur Morgan tells himself. But after a home robbery turns up a strange cigarette card, and an old man weaves the tale of a faceless bounty hunter with a vendetta, he starts to feel eyes on him. Not Pinkertons. Not rival gangs. Something, or someone else. Warnings: mentions of death, guns, vengeance, reader stalks Arthur for a bit `(*>﹏<*)′ (Fluff, Action, Mystery)

The scent of gunpowder, tobacco, and rotting wood clung to the dingy sheriff’s office as you stepped inside from the downpour, dragging your latest bounty behind you. Just a thief, nothing special, someone you caught only for some extra cash. You’d been saving up, hoping to buy a nice plot of land someday, maybe even start your own ranch. But that dream was still a long way off, and with the age of outlaws coming to an end, you had to make do with catching petty criminals for now.

The man groaned, barely conscious, his lip split and one eye swollen shut from your scuffle. You shoved him forward, letting him collapse against the desk with a dull thud.

“Got your man.”

Blackwater’s Sheriff Malloy barely looked up from his paperwork. He’d grown used to the sight of you hauling in criminals. Instead, it was his deputy who let out a low whistle, eyeing the battered outlaw.

“Fast work as always,” he drawled, heaving the man up and dragging him toward an empty cell.

You tossed the bounty notice onto the desk. “Found him holed up in a cave not too far from here. Put up quite a fight.”

“I can tell,” Malloy chuckled, giving the bounty’s face a pointed look. As he counted out your reward, your eyes wandered to the posters on the walls. A new one had been pinned up since your last visit, and the price stamped in bold ink made you pause. Five thousand dollars? That’s the highest sum you’d seen in a while.

You stepped closer, reading the name.

Arthur Morgan.

The description detailed a hardened outlaw, dangerous, ruthless, armed. Do not approach.

A chuckle rang out from the back of the room. “You ain’t thinkin’ of goin’ after that one, are ya?”

A small group of bounty hunters lounged near the holding cells, their grizzled faces twisted in amusement. Carl, a skilled redhead you recognized, leaned forward, his chair creaking under his weight.

“Lemme tell you somethin’,” he drawled, tipping his hat up. “That Morgan ain't just some drunk you can knock out in a fistfight. Have you ever heard of the Van der Linde boys?”

You’d heard plenty. More than that, you’d been there when their infamous boat heist fell apart in Blackwater.

But you shrugged. “No, can’t say that I have.”

Coyle hummed. “Well, he’s one of ‘em.” He let out a bitter chuckle. “They’re a goddamn storm. And you don’t take down a storm. You just pray it don’t tear through your town like it did here.”

A storm indeed. You’d boarded that boat, posing as an aristocrat, expecting thieves, maybe pickpockets, some tricksters at worst. But what unfolded had been uglier than anything you imagined. You’d seen Dutch Van der Linde and Hosea Matthews, men whose faces adorned every wanted poster in the state. Yet, you didn’t recall seeing an Arthur Morgan that night.

“I see,” you murmured, glancing at the sheriff. How long does it take to count a stack of bills?

Another bounty hunter snorted. “You remember what happened to Big Joe when he tried takin’ Morgan in? Found more bullet holes in him than a target at a shootin’ range.”

You felt your fingers twitch at your side, but kept your face neutral. The way they talked about him, as if he were some unstoppable force, only made you more excited. You loved a challenge.

Coyle leaned in slightly. “It’s gon’ take more than one woman to bring him in.”

That made something twist in your gut, spite, maybe. Or something deeper. You needed something, anything, to take your mind off your lifelong quest for vengeance. A quest you’d prolonged so much, you secretly wondered how empty you’d feel if you did finally catch the bastards who killed your parents all those years ago.

Every whisper about the Van der Linde gang wove Arthur Morgan deeper into legend, just as every cigarette card and hushed tale among outlaws wove you into myth. You knew how to hunt men. But something told you Arthur Morgan wasn’t just another man.

Still, you tore the poster from the wall, much to the bounty hunters’ bewilderment. __

Weeks passed, filled with dead-end leads and half-truths from townsfolk too scared or too indifferent to talk. But eventually, your search led you to a muddy little town in New Hanover.

Valentine.

The streets were loud and filthy, a blur of cattle, wagons, and drunk cowboys. You sat on a bench outside the saloon, cigarette in hand, trying to blend in as you scanned the crowd.

And then, you saw him.

Arthur Morgan.

He stood by the general store, speaking with a few men. One, in particular, you recognized, a younger man with long dark hair and small, deep-set eyes and a freshly scarred face. 

That was the man you shot at Blackwater. You’d aimed for his arm, hoping to bring someone in that night, but the slippery bastard had gotten away.

At least I didn’t kill him, you thought to yourself with a shrug. 

You turned your gaze back to Arthur. He was built like a mountain, broad-shouldered and towering over the men in the street. His hat sat low over his sharp blue eyes, stubble lining his jaw, his coat heavy with dust and experience.

That’s going to be a problem.

You’d dealt with big men before, but this one seemed to be the size of a tractor. If you were going to do this, you’d have to be smarter than him, go for an even more unconventional route than you were used to. 

As you tried to think of a plan, Arthur’s group made their way toward the saloon. You forced yourself to stay calm, taking a long drag from your cigarette.

As he reached the doors, he paused. Then, to your surprise, he tipped his hat and motioned for you to enter first.

“Ma’am,” he said with a polite grin, an almost boyish glint in his eyes.

Damn, why does he have to be so charming?

You nodded, ignoring the sudden warmth in your cheeks, and pushed the doors open.

Inside, you kept your distance, watching from a round table as he played poker and drank whiskey, laughing with the ease of a man without a bounty on his head. He didn’t seem like a ruthless killer. He didn’t even seem concerned about his wanted status.

And you couldn’t look away.

This was the first time you’d ever put your hunt for your parents’ killers on hold. The first time you’d truly fixated on something else.

Was it because the others said you couldn’t do it? Because you wanted to prove them wrong?

Or because Arthur Morgan was more than ink on a poster?

Outside, you watched as he steadied an older man who nearly fell off the saloon steps. Later, you saw him give a few coins to a disabled veteran, crouching down to speak to him rather than just tossing money his way.

A few days later, you caught him outside the church, sketching in a leather-bound journal, his pencil moving with thoughtful precision.

What kind of outlaw is this guy?

You had spent your life painting bounty targets as nothing more than devils in human skin. But Arthur Morgan? He was complicating that picture.

Maybe that picture you painted was a way for you to desensitize yourself, put a barrier between you and your parents' killers, a barrier between you and the other bounty’s you’d left to the ‘mercy of the law.’ 

You hated to prove yourself wrong.

The thought made you frown as you kicked the dirt under your feet dejectedly. You didn’t remember much of your parents, but you sure as hell inherited someone’s stubbornness. 

As you made your way toward your horse, you realized that kindness could be a weapon, too. Maybe that was his tactic, make people like him, make them trust him, then strike.

Maybe that was something you could use against him. But you had to be careful. If you made one wrong move, he’d be on you before you could blink. So you waited, waited for him to be vulnerable, to slip up. 

But the longer you watched him, the more you wondered if you were the one slipping. __

The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of wood beneath Arthur’s boots. He moved carefully, sifting through drawers and cabinets, looking for anything of value. Hosea was in the other room, no doubt pocketing whatever trinkets he deemed worth taking. The fence’s cousin by marriage had more than enough to spare, and Arthur wasn’t one to pass up easy money.

His fingers brushed against a small wooden box. He opened the latch with his knife, expecting to find jewelry or perhaps a stash of cash, but instead, he found a box of ammunition and something that made him pause.

A cigarette card.

Arthur turned it over in his hands, eyes narrowing. The illustration was unlike any other card he’d seen before. It wasn’t some baseball player or famous gunslinger. Wasn’t comical or colorful. No, this was different. The picture illustrated a woman, at least he thought it was a woman. A wide-brimmed hat shadowed most of her face, and a bandana covered the lower half. In one hand, she held a shotgun, and in the other, a bloodied handful of crumpled wanted posters.

Something about it sent a strange chill down his spine. He’d dealt with plenty of bounty hunters in his time, most were mediocre, but there was something almost...ominous about this one. The way she stood, like she wasn’t just hunting men, she was ending them.

“Find anything?” Hosea’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Arthur glanced up, tucking the card into his satchel. “Nah, nothin’ special. Let’s get goin’.”

Later that evening, Arthur chose to camp out in the fields near Emerald Ranch. He wasn’t ready to head back to camp just yet, and he figured some time alone wouldn’t hurt. The fire crackled softly, casting long shadows across the grass as he leaned back against a tree, his hat pulled low over his eyes.

The quiet didn’t last long.

Footsteps crunched against the dirt, slow and deliberate. Arthur’s hand drifted toward his gun, but he didn’t move just yet.

“Evenin’,” came a voice, gravelly, worn with age.

Arthur lifted his head slightly. An older man stood a few feet away, rifle slung over his back. He didn’t look like much of a threat, but Arthur had learned never to take chances.

“Got any spare bullets?” the man asked. “Plannin’ on hunting at dawn, but some crook made off with my supplies.”

Arthur studied him for a moment before sighing, reaching into his satchel. “Yeah, I got a few.” 

He pulled out some cartridges, passing them over. As he did, the cigarette card he’d found earlier slipped slightly from his bag, catching the dim light of the fire.

The old man’s expression shifted.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the card.

Arthur frowned. “Somethin’ wrong?”

The man shook his head, but there was something almost distant in his gaze. “Ain’t seen one of those in a while.” He exhaled sharply, then looked at Arthur, his expression solemn. “You ever hear the story of the girl in that picture?”

Arthur glanced at the card, then back at the man, “Can’t say I have.”

The old man sat down across from him, warming his hands by the fire. “They say she’s a ghost,” he began. “A shadow that moves through the West, huntin’ down outlaws like a damn reaper. Young woman lost her folks to bandits when she was just a child. Made it her mission to bring every last savage outlaw to justice.”

Arthur remained silent, listening.

“No one really knows who she is. Never shows her face, not even to the lawmen she works with. Some say she ain’t real at all, just a myth made up by the government to scare off troublemakers.” 

Arthur huffed, not fully buying the story just yet, “And what do you think?” 

The man leaned in slightly, a grave look shadowing his face, “I tell you, boy, I seen things. Heard stories from young men who swore they felt her eyes on ‘em before they ever saw her. Like a wolf trackin’ its prey.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened slightly. He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling lately, like he was being watched. But not by the Pinkertons. 

The old man chuckled, shaking his head. “But I don’t reckon it matters much to a man like you. Just thought it was funny, seein’ that card.”

Arthur tutted, leaning back. “You believe in ghosts, old man?”

The man shrugged, “Don’t have to. Outlaws should, but it’s a good thing we ain't them.”

With that, he stood, tipping his hat before walking off into the night, leaving Arthur alone with the crackling fire and the cigarette card still clutched in his fingers.

He turned it over once more, staring at the faceless woman holding the wanted posters.

For the first time in a long while, something like unease settled in his gut.

And no matter how he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, that damn ghost was already watching him. __

After deducting that the outlaw has a blatantly obvious soft spot for those in need, you come up with a plan to follow him one day when he’s out of town, take an alternate path to get ahead of him, and pretend you got bitten by a snake. 

The act worked like a charm.

Arthur came stomping through the underbrush with a mix of wariness and concern etched on his face, his hand resting near his holster as he approached. You lay curled on the ground, clutching your leg, face twisted in pain.

“Ma’am?” His voice was gruff but cautious. “You alright?”

You gave a sharp, shuddering breath, “Damn snake…bit me”

He sighed, already moving to crouch beside you.

 “Damn it. Hold still, let me-” he faltered once he came into proximity of your face, 

“Hey, I know you-”

Before he could finish, you struck.

Your hand shot out, jamming a needle into his neck. His eyes widened in surprise, mouth opening, probably to curse you to hell, but the tranquilizer worked fast. He slumped, and you caught him just before he hit the dirt.

“That was almost too easy,” you murmured, shaking your head as you adjusted his weight. 

You had gotten the vial of tranquilizer from a native you had helped out not too long ago, hunted down some pathetic excuse of a man who’d stolen his tribe's supplies. He said it was supposed to be used on bears, but hell, Arthur was close enough to one.  __

When Arthur woke up, he was draped over the back of your horse like a sack of potatoes. His head throbbed, his limbs were heavy, and, most notably, he was in iron. Thick chains bound his wrists, making movement difficult.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, lifting his head groggily.

“Oh, good, you’re up.” Your voice was annoyingly cheerful. You couldn’t help but feel a little giddy at your new accomplishment. 

Arthur blinked, trying to focus on you as you guided the horse down a winding trail. “What the hell happened?”

“You got caught.”

“By you?” He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Nah, that don’t seem right.”

You threw a glance over your shoulder, “I gotta say, I’m a little disappointed. I expected a fight. But no, you just helped me like some big dumb do-gooder. Real shame.”

Arthur grunted, rolling onto his side as best he could. “I don’t make a habit of leavin’ folk for dead. Thought you might be decent.”

“That was your first mistake” You snorted, as you dismounted your horse to pause for a stretch, it was going to be a long ride back to Blackwater.

__

Hours passed, the sun dipping lower in the sky. Eventually, you pulled into a tiny, dusty town with nothing but a rundown store and a few scattered homes. You struggled but managed to get him off the horse and onto a small field of grass near the store. Arthur figured this was his chance, you’d have to leave him tied up outside while you got yourself a meal. Maybe he could get free. Maybe some idiot drunk would take pity and cut him loose.

But no.

When you came back out, you were holding a couple cans of food.

Arthur raised a brow.

“Figured I’d need you alive to collect my money,” you teased, grabbing a few metal plates from your satchel and setting them down in the grass before untying him just enough to help him sit upright.

Arthur shifted, watching as you created a fire and roasted a few sticks of meat beside him with an easy air. 

You nudged the food toward him, but he made no move toward it.

You laughed, “Right, wouldn’t do for a terrifying outlaw such as yourself to be fed by a woman.”

Silence stretched between you, save for the distant hum of insects and the crackle of the campfire. Eventually, Arthur studied you properly now that he wasn’t under the influence of a sedative. 

Your face was out, bandana sitting around your neck, and his brows furrowed as he observed the youth in your face. His gaze wandered to the rifle strapped to your saddle, the knives at your belt, the confidence in your posture,

“I’ve seen you on them cigarette cards…heard horror stories,” he chuckled, before craning his head, “But you sure as hell don’t look the part, could mistake you for a school-girl.” 

You huffed, “If that’s your way of trying to butter me up, it ain't working”

“Clearly,” Arthur scoffed, looking at his bound wrists before leaning back to watch the fire flicker. 

You give him a sideways glance, “I could say the same about you.” 

Arthur scoffed, “What, I look like a schoolgirl too?” 

“No, you brute,” you chuckled, “I mean, you look like a killer, but you sure as hell don’t act like one.”

He tutted, “You don’t know me then.” “You sure about that?” you chuckled, “I’ve been following you around for weeks now Mr. Morgan. Forgive me if I’m making a quick judgement but, whenever I see you, you're always...helping people.” 

Arthur shifted, brushing you off as a light flush dusted his cheeks, “Well, I was just actin’...didn’t want folk to start getting all suspicious.” 

“Sure,” you rolled your eyes, taking another bite of food.

“My gang, we ain’t just shootin’ folks for fun. We steal from the rich, give to the poor. Ain’t that worth something?”

You arched a brow, “Maybe.” 

“So why capture me, then?”

You suppressed a smile, “Sport, I guess.”

Arthur’s gaze flicked to you sharply, “Sport?”

You nodded, picking at your food, feeling curiosity get the better of you, “So why do you…re-distribute money, as you like to call it?” 

Arthur tilted his head before narrowing his eyes, “Sport, I guess.” You huffed, “Well, I do all this give myself some…purpose I suppose,” you tapped your spoon against your plate absentmindedly, “sometimes, I guess it’s to distract myself from all that’s happened.” 

“I get that,” He mumbled quietly. 

You paused, “You do?” 

“Sure,” he sighed, staring into the campfire with an almost solemn look, “...My mama died when I was young, and my daddy-well I watched him die, was hung by a few lawmen.”

You were speechless, not expecting him to open up.

“Dutch and Hosea, they found me afterwards. Taught me how to read and write, taught me a few other things too,” he huffed with a shake of his head. “I bet,” you chuckled, “you must be grateful.” 

“Yeah, but recently I’ve been…” he cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably, “seein' things a bit differently. Wondering if what we’re doing is…right.” “Why didn’t you leave?” you asked.

“Loyalty, I suppose.” He sighed, before chuckling bitterly, “That or sheer stupidity.” 

You said nothing, suddenly feeling sympathetic. One thing you’ve learned within the past couple of weeks is that the world isn’t divided into just good and evil. The lawmen were just as crooked as some of the outlaws that roamed this country. And well, the outlaws might've had their reasons.

You certainly weren’t an angel, and sometimes, you questioned if what you did was right. 

In a way, the two of you weren’t as different as you had thought. 

“It’s funny how that works,” you muttered.

“What is?” he asked. 

“Your father died at the hands of the law, so you became an outlaw,” you mused, tossing your plate aside as you shifted to sit more comfortably, “my parents were killed by outlaws, so I became a bounty hunter. Yet, here we are.” 

Arthur chuckled softly, shaking his head as he looked up at the sky, “A damn comedy.” 

The sun was long gone by the time you stood, brushing dust off your black dress. Arthur watched as you moved toward him, expecting you to tighten his restraints again. Instead, he heard the unmistakable click of iron coming undone. 

He blinked, “What the hell?”

You straightened with a tired sigh, slipping the cuffs off him entirely. “You’re free to go.”

Arthur stared at you, frowning in suspicion, “This a trick?”

You snorted, “No more tricks.” 

After spending enough time with the outlaw, you decided there are others more deserving of that jail cell. From observing his behavior back in Valentine and listening to him here, you guessed he’d eventually leave that lunatic Van der Linde at some point.  

“You sure about this? Five thousand dollars would tempt me, I'd turn myself in if I could.” he smirked, rubbing at his wrists.

“I’m sure you would,” You waved him off, “but taking down the big bad Arthur Morgan? That’s enough for me.” 

Arthur let out a huff, “You are one odd woman.”

“Yeah, yeah." You mounted your horse, lifting your bandana over the bottom half of your face, before looking down at him, "You stay out of trouble, Mr. Morgan.” You warned with a pointer finger.

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded, a sarcastic grin tugging at his lips.

Arthur watched as you rode off into the night without so much as a glance back. 

He exhaled, shaking his head,

Damn odd girl.

And yet, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever see you again. As you approached Blackwater, you thought back to what he said, his story, his thoughts, his doubts. He was just as much a confused soul as you were. You huffed, finding the whole ordeal ridiculous but amusing nonetheless, I guess outlaws and bounty hunters aren’t so different. After all, you were both ghosts of the west.

thank yew for reading *: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:* if this gets enough likes, i might make a part two :) feel free to send in requests :3

P.S: part 3 of 'Hell of a Life' is on hold because I'm stuck on ideas and i dont like writing purely for the sake of getting it done.

[londonfog-chan]

I Will Not Keep My Mouth Shut About this High School Romance Between Eddie Munson x Reader (Headcanons)

Why lord? Why are we not talking about this?

I’ve dated metalhead guys in the past, and believe in me when I say these fuckers move fast.

Eddie is no exception to this rule. He loves hard and quickly, especially if you’re into the same things he’s into as well.

I’m talking balls to the wall insanity like: the day won’t even be over and he’ll have already asked you out, kissed you, offered you weed, and secretly be planning the names of the four kids he wants with you.

Mans is delulu as fuck for you.

As much as he has his passions there’s just something about the fact that you actually gave the town freak unconditional love that makes him desperate. Corroded Coffin, Hellfire Club, he’d pick you over them any day if it meant he got to keep you.

Guarantee, you’ll already have gone all the way before the weekend is up of that first week of the relationship.

Cherry boy cherry boy cherry boy.

But he knows what he’s doing. It will have been awkward but the best part is now “Rainbow in the Dark” makes you feel all hot under the collar and “Shame on the Night” makes you laugh and reminds you of the awkward panic cleaning up after.

The epitome of live fast die young. He will throw his life away if you ask him to, so make sure you use your powers wisely.

At some point Eddie will ask you to run away with him. He doesn’t give a shit where, so long as it’s with you.

Shared interests are probably how the two of you met in the first place, especially if you’re like me and unable to beat the weird kid allegations. You drifted towards his club because you for whatever reason were an outcast too.

Eddie would probably crush on those who are conventionally pretty, popular, the epitome of the 80’s beauty standards. That’s just human nature. But with you… it’s so much more different.

You’re like his nerdy fantasies come to life, like the princesses he writes about in his campaigns that are a mix of dark, dangerous, able to hold their own and fight for him and with him. Think of if you will a sexy bombshell rotoscoped into those old metal music videos. Facing the world wearing only red lipstick and a cocksure expression.

He would get along so well with someone who wasn’t afraid to let their wild side show, or to express it. But at the same time if you’re more shy and reserved, he is determined to help you come out of that shell and be the best possible version of yourself.

It’s impossible not to match his excitable energy, it’s just so goddamn contagious. It might scare you how far you’re willing to go for Eddie and how quickly you might find yourself changing. Because believe me, you will change, and it will be for the better.

Eddie will always be your number one hype man.

He will literally be so excited about everything you do because it’s you! The person he loves more than anyone in this whole entire world.

Eddie will literally put up with so much for you. Even if you guys fight he will struggle to maintain his composure because he does not want to fuck this beautiful thing up.

Drives himself up the wall with anxiety about it too. But that’s the thing about Eddie’s dynamic with you: is that he will do what it takes to keep his fucking cool around you.

Your fights are infrequent but can get explosive if there are unsaid insecurities. So to avoid this: keep honest with him. About everything. Don’t lie to him, because as fast as he fell for you, lying is the quickest way to break his trust and send him packing.

One of his flaws in the relationship is that his insecurity that this will all go away will make him all that more prepared to leave if you have a massive blow up fight.

Like he’s already preplanned his exit strategy and everything.

But the longer you’re together, the more comfortable he gets and eventually he settles down from jumping the gun into taking things one day at a time.

He’s a fucking keeper. And all I’m gonna say is you better start training with swinging a blunt weapon because once you have him, you’re going to be right there in the Upside Down fucking up some monsters keeping them away from your man.

[fettuccin-e]

Fires In Those Eyes

Kinktober Day 11: Seduction

Tags: Joel Miller x Reader, afab!fem!reader, oral (m!recieving), fingering, unprotected piv (pls wrap it irl omg please), joel is whipped, but also so is reader, degradation, possessive sex, joel's filthy mouth again my bad (w/c: 1.3K)

A/N: Second Joel fic of the month! Hooray! This time they actually get naked and get down and dirty so double hooray. I tend to just write Jackson!era Joel just because I want him to be happy okay. Also day 10 will be up eventually so sorry about that lol (I have been using these prompts from flightlessangelwings!)

Most of the time, Joel doesn’t think you’re even trying to seduce him like you do. You’re just you. Perfect, soft you, the woman he fell in love with when he didn’t think he was even capable of it anymore. And God, it’s embarrassing with how much he wants you all the fucking time. When you’re on patrol with him, when you’re making dinner for him, you, and Ellie, in the house that you managed to make a home. He feels deranged with the way he wants to tear your clothes off and fuck you until you scream for him at only the drop of a hat. And you’re not even trying.

You’re trying now, though.

He can tell, from the moment you step inside the house, peeling off your gloves and looking at him with a glint in your eyes that has his breath hitching and cock bulging in his jeans.

“Ellie’s sleeping over at Dina’s tonight,” you whisper, smoothing your hands over the planes of his chest. There are flames in your eyes, and Joel feels like he’s burning. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he murmurs, his voice rougher than he means it, but you only lick your lips and look up at him through your lashes. You look like pure fuckin’ sin. 

You perch up on your tip-toes, leaning close enough that your lips brush the skin of his ear. “What are you going to do about it?” you whisper, and Joel can’t help how he growls.

He’s got you slammed up against the wall before he even knows what he’s done, tearing your coat off your shoulders and letting it fall carelessly to the floor. You pull your shirt off, throwing it somewhere behind him, before you lick into his mouth in the messiest, dirtiest kiss he’s ever had. You claw at his back, rubbing against him like a damn cat in heat, and Joel feels lightheaded with how fast blood rushes to his cock. 

“What do you need, sweetheart?” he rasps against your lips, and you whine so sweetly for him.

“Need you to fuck me, God, I need it so bad, Joel.” Your hand comes down to squeeze the bulge of his cock through his jeans, and fuck, you’ve never been this bold, never taken him like you are right now. 

“C’mon, baby,” he groans, “let’s go to bed.” But you’re shaking your head, your deft hand unzipping him and freeing him from the confines of his clothes.

“No, no,” you whine, “‘S too far, Joel, need you now.” 

You look up into his eyes as you sink to your knees before him, and Joel’s vision blurs at the edges when you lick a long, slow stripe up the underside of his length. He has to brace his hands on the wall as you take him into your mouth, hot wet heat engulfing him as you sink deep. The tight clutch of your throat has him groaning, his hips pitching forward.

You grab onto his hips like you love it, sucking hard enough to make the breath punch out of his lungs. Your head bobs obscenely, your hair brushing his thighs every time to take him to the root. His knees tremble, struggling to hold himself up as you suck his cock like you’ll never get the chance again.

“Baby,” he groans, and you pop off of him, grinning with that same fire in your eyes that makes him want to rip you apart on him. Fuck, he thinks you want him to do just that. 

The way he gets to the floor, gets you on your hands and knees for him, is a goddamn mystery. It can stay a mystery, a blur in his memory for all he cares, because when he gets your pants off, peeling your panties halfway down your thighs, baring your beautiful, glistening pussy to his gaze, none of it fucking matters anymore. All that matters is the way his fingers drive into you, reckless, insistent, hammering into you so hard you see stars.

“Fuck, honey, you’re drippin’,” Joel mutters, and your face burns, even as your hips hump back into his hand on pure instinct. “She’s just gonna suck me right in,” he says, twisting his hand as his fingers spread you apart in a way that makes you sob.

And he’s right, he’s so right. Sinking into you is a goddamn revelation, hot and tight around him as you scrabble at the floor for purchase, moaning and pushing your hips back against him. Your pussy lets him in so easy, so perfect, and he shudders as your body clutches at him like a vice, hot and wet and at his fucking mercy.

“God damn it, baby,” he groans, thrusting into you to the fucking hilt and relishing in the way it makes you scream. “You’re so fuckin’ wet f’me.”

“Oh God,” you gasp, even as it feels like your pussy is being stretched to its fucking limit. “All day, fuck- I’ve been wet for you all fucking day.” His hips slap against your ass so hard, pressing in so deep that all you can do is gasp for air and fucking take it.

“Yeah, honey? Needed this cock all fuckin’ day? Comin’ home just to fuck me like a goddamn slut,” he rasps, and God, it’s true. His cock in your cunt is all you need, all you ever need. Even with the wooden floor digging into your achy knees, your panties tangled around your thighs, fuck, this is all you’ve needed since you woke up this morning. He’s right, you’re a whore for the way he fucks you.

“Yes, yes, oh my fucking- Joel,” you cry out as he hammers into that sweet spot buried deep inside, not letting you breathe for a second.

“This what you needed, sweetheart? Needed me to fuck you on the goddamn floor like we’re fuckin’ animals?” He presses a hand to the small of your back, shaping you into an obscene arch that has you getting tighter around him, practically choking his cock with your pretty pussy. “Such a fuckin’ whore,” he snarls. “Who can fuck you like this?”

“You, Joel,” you cry, tears dripping from your eyes onto the floor. He pulls your hair into his hand, yanking your head back and pulling your body onto his cock with every thrust. The sounds of your cunt smack, smack, smacking against his body are sticky and wet and fucking debauched.

“That’s fuckin right,” he says, sounding about as wrecked as you feel. “Only me. I own this fuckin’ pussy, right baby?”

“Fuck, yes, yes, yes,” you’re gasping, clawing at the wooden floor, and Joel fucking chuckles behind you, deep and dark and primal.

“C’mon, girl,” he rasps, and he snakes a thick hand under your heaving body to rub a calloused finger along your throbbing clit, and you scream. “Squeeze this cock with this slutty little cunt. Show me who owns you.”

And you can’t refuse him, you can’t, not when your body is already locking up with your orgasm. Your pussy strangles his cock, practically forcing his orgasm out of him, and he snarls as he fills you up with his cum. He takes his hand from your hair to wrap it around your chest, pulling you up to press your back against his chest. You tremble in his hold as spasms rock through you.

When you finally settle, he presses kisses to your neck, and you let out soft giggles in reply, running your fingers through his hair.

“Mm, I need a nap,” you sigh, sinking against him. You gasp as Joel nips harshly at your skin.

“Nuh uh, baby. You started this,” he rasps, dark with promise. “And I’m the one that’s gonna fuckin' finish it.”