#think about it the dirt is brown and the grass is green

[pjchatters]

thinking about how a funny way to interpret joel smallishbeans’ hair is to replace it with the texture of a grass block

[ghouljams]

And I Can Only Think of You (Act II End)

Words: 5.3k Tags: Knight!Ghost x Princess!reader, Keegan x f!oc, knight fights, tournament violence, blood, love confessions(sort of), shitty dads, König being a creepy weirdo, major character injury, no beta we die like [redacted] Summary: Your stage has been set, the player take their places, and suddenly decide to improvise.

< prev part Masterlist

The flags are raised first. Tents follow. Then the knights and their squires, then the arena and brown dirt that will so quickly become darkened with blood. You watch the set up from the castle, content to think through your plans as fences are raised and benches are built. Your mind is made up, wheels in motion, and players taking their places. You have every confidence in Ghost. 

Perhaps you should have that same confidence in yourself, but… one step at a time. It’s hard to turn around a lifetime of conditioning. You have to remind yourself of your convictions, remind yourself that you’re worth the same confidence you offer your knight. Yet, too often you find yourself hoping this is a terrible dream that Ghost will wake you up from, and you’ll find yourself back in the forest with him. 

Suddenly bandits and assassins seem so much easier to deal with. “The enemies you know” as the saying goes.

You’ll find your confidence when this is all over, when you have proof of your abilities. Until then you have your embroidery.

-

It shouldn’t surprise you that your Ghost is popular. He’s at least a head taller than most of the other knights, standing proudly and directing his subordinates in that lovely deep voice, of course there’d be women that admired him. You don’t know why there needs to be so damn many of them though, especially this early in the morning. Your heart clenches so tightly in your chest you think it might have stopped. You wonder if you’ve made a grave mistake, a mistake of the heart that you don't know how to recover from. Until he spots you and his dark eyes lighten with a flash of warmth that may as well melt you. 

You feel so suddenly like yourself, like that damsel he’s always been so dutiful in his protection of. A princess running from her father’s attempt at a marriage arrangement and leaving her slippers with a stranger. Even with that dark cloth over his mouth you know Ghost’s smile by the crinkle of his eyes. You clutch your token close to your chest, something you should have given to Ghost when he'd been taken off your detail. You’d thought he’d be wearing your colors at least, but the cool flash of his armor holds no green besides the reflection of grass under his feet. You tip your head to look up at him, letting his dark eyes hold your gaze until he reaches to smooth his thumb between your brows. 

“What are you frowning about now?” He asks, the low rumble of his voice warm and teasing. The leather of his glove under the cool steal of his armor only makes you pout more. He’s always touched you so easily, too easily if the rumors around you two are to be believed, but it’s never warmed your skin like this. Your fingers dig into the token you’d fashioned, nearly crushing the embroidery under the weight of your nerves.

“I’m merely anxious for the tournament.” You tell him, and earn a crease of his eyes, an amused hum.

“Have I ever disobeyed an order from you, my lady?” Ghost asks, his fingers slipping from your forehead to trace your jaw.

“Of course not.” You frown. You feel strangely… scolded.

“Then trust me,” He tilts his head, “You told me to win, and I intend to.”

The cold determination in his eyes washes over you like a chill. You’ve seen those eyes too many times, caught the fury in them as his sword splattered blood over his helm. It’s the same look he’s held every time he’s saved you from certain doom, and you want nothing more than to give into it, to let him save you once more. What once held your hopes now feels burdensome in your hand. You wish- 

No, no more wishing. You made a promise to yourself. You're not going to be that scared little princess anymore. You're not going to wait on someone to save you. You're in charge of your own destiny, and if you want something you have to take it for yourself.

“You’re not wearing my crest,” You change the subject, leaning to inspect his cape, or lack thereof. Ghost huffs.

“Never would’ve made it out of the barracks if I ‘ad.” Your father’s doing you’re sure. Anything to keep Ghost separated from you, unburdened by responsibilities to the throne. Despite his new position as captain of the knights he doesn’t wear the royal crest. Disavowed, abandoned by the throne he serves. Ripe for a new king to swoop in and claim him.

“Well,” You nod, reassuring yourself, “it’s a good thing I came around then.” Another satisfied hum from Ghost, approving. It leaves your cheeks burning. You hold up the deep green fabric clutched between your fingers, the long strip embroidered carefully with the curling ivy and white dahlias that make up your personal crest. 

“Just in the nick of time,” Ghost makes no move to take it, “was worried one of the other ladies would tuck theirs in my belt first.” It’s a joke, but it stalls in your brain. His hand drops to his side, fingers tugging at the leather belt looped around his middle. Making room for you to slide the banner in.

“Oh,” You stall, beg yourself not to stutter, without finding a single word to stutter on. You glance around at the other knights, house banners and lovers’ tokens hang off their belts. It makes sense, capes would get in the way of combat, but something simple like a flag on their belt…

You glance up at Ghost, feel his stare like a two ton weight. He’s teasing you, you’re sure. The same dry humor that made you throw sticks at him when you made camp. Horrible jokes. 

You look down at his belt, watch his hand raise out of your view, feel his fingers pluck at the hair peeking out from under your circlet. Your own fingers go to his belt, calling his bluff as you thread your banner over the leather, and tug it into place. He leans to press his lips to the strand he’s pulled free, his shadow makes a chill run up your spine, and you feel the tug at your scalp as you shudder. You try to look busy making the banner lay flat, picking at the forest green until it’s perfectly draped over his belt, your crest on display for all to see.

Your fingers won’t pull away from him. You will them to, but there they stay. 

“Thank you,” Ghost says, his voice a low murmur. You nod. His gloved finger traces over your cheek, tips your head up to meet his eyes. “Where did my confident lady go?” He teases you.

“Waiting for her father.” You mutter.

Ghost hums, his distaste clear in the tone. You fidget with the banner on his belt, enjoy the nervous flutter in your stomach as his fingers stroke your cheek. You don’t know how he does it, how he can be so steadfast. There’s never a moment where he’s wavered, never a time you’ve questioned his devotion to you. Ever since you met him, you’ve known that Ghost was here by his will alone and no one else’s. 

Maybe that was why your father hated him. The one man in the kingdom who held no allegiance to the crown. Who never would have taken his commission if he hadn’t wanted to. Who told the monarchy “no” with as much mirth as he did conviction.

“I have to talk to the priest,” You tell him, hoping mention of your errands will help move you. 

It doesn’t help to move Ghost. His hand stays as it was, the worn leather covering his knuckles skirting over your cheek with painful care. 

“What do I get when I win?” Ghost asks.

When, you remind yourself, not if.

“Hopefully whatever you want,” His eyes crease at the edges, warm honey brown making your heart patter, “so start making a list.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You have to look away from him, your cheeks far too warm to allow for eye contact. It takes his hand from your cheek, gives you the strength to pull your hands from his belt. You can’t hang around him all day. Both of you have roles to play, proverbial swords to swing.

“Good luck my lady.” Ghost mumbles. The heat of his hands following you as you hurry back to your retinue.

Your lady-in-waiting smiles at you, takes her hand off your knight’s arm. You note that her family’s crest decorates his belt with, perhaps, too much interest. You’d noticed them growing closer, but not that close. Your knight covers the banner with his hand, and you force your eyes from it to smile at your maid.

"You have everything prepared?" You ask her. She nods.

"Of course m'lady." She twists to unhook the pouch she'd brought, producing a scroll for you.

You'd been worried after your letter to Ghost, that she might resent you. You've known your lady-in-waiting since you were a child, but knowing who you could trust was difficult when your father's grip on your life only seemed to tighten. Still, she'd been steadfast in her allegiance to you, and almost excited to help you in your scheming. You're sure you've been too clear in your affections for your knight, clear enough to risk her as well, it's nice knowing she's in your corner. Even if you hadn't thought she'd been there.

Maybe she weighed her options. Though you're not sure how you won if she did.

"Who's with my father?" You ask Keegan. He makes a face, his nose scrunching his mask in distaste.

"Graves."

"Perfect." You take the scroll from your lady-in-waiting and turn to find the announcer.

"I'm sure he'd be chuffed to hear that," Keegan tells you with an almost audible eye roll.

You're sure he would be. Just like you're sure Graves is doing his best to shove his entire head up your father's ass with how much he kisses the damn thing. That man has his eyes on knight captain, and you're sure your father has already let him know that the position will be open shortly.

Not if you have anything to do with it.

You spot the bored looking priest that's been assigned to announce the contest. Impartial in that he seems uninterested in all of it. You couldn't think of a better puppet than one who seems so keen on staying out of the actual event. Who better than someone who won't question changes because they simply do not care?

"Priest," You wave him down, dissatisfied with the placid smile he turns your way as you walk towards him.

"Princess," He greets.

"My father asked me to deliver this," You hold the scroll out to him, he nods once, a slow and steady bowing of his head. You detest it. Your fathers name carries God's weight. "König had some changes he wanted made to the prize." You smile. An explanation that's unasked for, short and sweet for a man that cares only enough not to crush the paper in his hand.

"Of course." The priest agrees. Inept, you think. There's no chance the man checks your switch, even less that he checks with your father about it. You won't be sad to see him go when your father decides to behead him after the tournament.

You nod, the priest bows, you part ways. You count yourself lucky that his ineptitude extends to his desire to pray for you.

Your lady-in-waiting sticks close to your side as you make your way to the sheltered seats reserved for your family. Another point of luck that you're sitting beside your mother. You father is too busy with his attempts to impress König to notice you settling in your chair, though you do see König's eyes flick to greet you. Mad dog he may be, at least he keeps track of his surroundings.

Your stomach ties itself into knots as your parents are plied with wine. You decline your own glass, too nervous to entertain even thoughts of alcohol. You may throw up. Your confidence, or lack thereof, in the priest is waning the longer you wait. Maybe he's peaked at your alterations. Maybe he'll send a page to alert your father. Maybe you'll be locked in your room for good to prevent any further scheming before you're sold to the highest bidder.

The priest takes his place, carried by long divinely purposeful strides, in the center of the arena. If nothing else, at least he's loud.

You tune out most of the drivel he spews. Artfully copied word for word by your lady-in-waiting from the real scroll, you really should ask where she learned such forgery, it's all praises for the king, the day, your god on high. Worthless. Less than worthless. At least the paper holds value, the ink, the time taken, but the words themselves? God. Get to the important part.

"The prize-" The priest screeches, "-which shall be allotted in full to the victor alone, announced to the people by their gracious and loving king, heretofore and forever regarded as the divinely appointed ruler of the land, shall be His Majesty's only daughter's hand in-" The priest stalls, stutters, stares at the parchment and finishes weakly, "-in marriage."

There's silence.

Then chaos.

The knights in their pen turn to you with such pinpoint precision you'd think they'd practiced the movement. You keep your eyes on the priest. Of all the eyes on you, you feel your father's the heaviest. He nails you in place, unable to speak a word over the raucous excitement of the crowd. The crown princess, finally to be married, and to a knight- no, the best night in the land, no less. It's like a fairy tale.

If you can survive it.

Your eyes dart to the pen, to the stoic figure of your knight, his eyes fixed on the priest as well. His hand is clenched tight around the hilt of his sword. Even with all the excitement he stands like a statue, his gaze level. If you didn't know him better you might mistake his stillness for calmness. He's thinking, calculating, weighing his odds. You told him to win, he'd already known what he had to do, but this- this changes things. Chaos is harder to account for.

He turns your way, his eyes dark when they lock onto yours. He gives you a short nod, and you feel the weight of it settle in your chest. Ghost turns back to the arena and disappears behind the helm he presses over his head.

You haven't seen it in ages. Burnished steel, the white pattern of a scull pained over the front, and his eyes flashing cold in the shadows. He cuts a fitting picture, your father's nightmare given human form. He has no one to root for now.

You turn your attention back to your family. Your mother hides her shock behind a facade of calm, her eyes fixed on her people with a placid smile. You never had a chance to truly ask her- no matter. Your father hides his contempt well. Practiced at it, you suppose. König has his cheek resting against his hand, his lips curled over his teeth in an approximation of a smile. You've seen monkeys in caravans make that expression, baring their teeth the way their human handler has taught them. Some part of you feels glad to have earned some semblance of his approval, as detestable a man as he may be. At least someone is having fun.

You wonder what human taught him to approximate a smile. You can't imagine his kingdom has many saints, but his handler must be one of them.

You'll try to enjoy yourself as well. After all, you're soon to be betrothed to your knight. You can't think of a better man to hand your future to. Ghost has never let you down, and you can't see him starting now.

That's how the first match goes.

Your knight swings his sword with such practiced precision that it sends his opponent's flying from his grip barely moments into the fight.

Not to be outdone the rival knight lunges for him, and you taste bitterness on your tongue when Ghost brings his sword down hard on his rival's helm. The poor fool is crushed, sent sprawling flat on the ground with the imprint of Ghost's hilt decorating the back of his helm. The cheers are as violent as the match-up as Ghost raises his fist to the crowd, his sword hung lazy at his side. You can almost feel the smug air radiating off of him. Similarly, you can feel your father's ire poisoning the air around you.

You care little for the other matches. Tournaments are only fun when you have someone to root for after all, and when it's your life hanging in the balance you find yourself looking away from the lecherous gazes of the other challenging knights. You can't find it in yourself to feign an interest in their matches.

If your mother is to believed you shouldn't have to.

Rumors of your attachment to Ghost are the very reason he was taken away from you. You're sure the other knights know all too well who you're rooting for. If it weren't clear from the banner on his belt, surely they'd know it from the gossip that floods the castle. It's only their own greed and lust for your crown that gives them any hope at all for taking your hand at the end of the day.

One thing is for sure. You've never seen a tournament so bloody.

The knights fight like rabid dogs. If they cannot disarm their opponent they will attempt to kill him, searching for the breaks in their armor and beating their sword into the bends. Men beat each other with their fists, they batter each other with maces, they claw for every scrape they can achieve until the priest yells for them to stop.

You watch Keegan dodge a particularly deadly blow from a larger knight, his eyes wild with bloodlust. It makes your skin crawl to think such a man might ever force his way into your bed. Your only saving grace is watching your knight swing his sword, twisting with the grace of a dancer to hold his blade against his opponent's throat.

You suppose it's good that Keegan has no dreams of the monarchy, content as he is to pull your lady-in-waiting's banner from his belt and press it to his helm. He could give your Ghost a run for his money.

One of the servants offers you lunch partway through. You bundle bread and sweet meat into your handkerchief, and pass it off to your lady-in-waiting to take to Ghost. You're sure he's resigned himself to hunger, and you'd rather he keep himself in fighting shape.

You smile when you catch your father's eye.

There is something pleasant about going against the man. Not pleasant enough to go so far as killing him, despite König's suggestion, but satisfying nonetheless. Your father has always seemed larger than life, untouchable in his judgement, but now you see him as exactly what he always has been: a man in a fancy hat. A man without half the strength that your Ghost has. A man that could crumble under the weight of a sword.

Your father has strength in his eyes, but straight backs can be broken as easily as hunched ones.

You hear the sickening crunch of yielding bones and catch the way Graves jerks and twists at his opponent's arm under the hollering jeers of onlookers. The man screams out in pain, and your father's knight releases him. Only to plant his foot against the knight's chest and kick him to the ground.

The priest calls the match, and Graves moseys to fetch his sword from where he threw it. He wears your father's --the monarchy's-- crest on his belt.

You look at your father, his smile proud beside your mother's wide eyed horror. He turns to look at you.

“A late entry,” the king tells you, “but quite impressive, don't you think?”

You don't think. Not on your life would you think your father's pick impressive. Not with the way he saunters towards your stand and leans against the banners. His blue eyes now black, swallowed by his pupils, look you up and down like a hog for slaughter.

“Y'know princess,” he smiles, “I always thought you were a pretty thing. Guess now I'll finally get to see you without the big guy staring me down.”

You shouldn't entertain that with a response. You keep your eyes firmly on the priest as he announces, silently, the next match. Your hearing rolls with the crashing of waves, the thrum of your blood circulating and rushing against your brain, trying to find purchase for some new brilliant plan. Trying to find reason against your faith in Ghost. You find nothing but your own affection.

“You will lose.” You assure Graves. He hums, his smile unwavering. Unnerving. He pushes away from the banner covered fence and pats the knight coming into the area on the shoulder. 

You won't let him or your father's bastard-airs dissuade you. Ghost has fought twenty men and come out unscathed. He's rescued you from far worse than Graves could throw at him. Besides, the only good Graves has done in his life is give you someone to root against in the tournament.

And root against him you do. When you aren't cheering for your Ghost(and Keegan, bless him) you're cheering on whatever poor soul is stuck facing your father's pick.

With each rung the knights climb towards your hand the matches grow bloodier. Men seem less afraid to go against the rules of combat, more willing to darken the dirt with their opponent's blood. You watch Keegan take a nasty blow to the face before managing to disarm his opponent. When he flips the visor of his helm up you're treated to crimson staining his brow, flooding his eye such that he has to call for a cloth to clear it. Your Ghost too, seems to grow harsher, his goal --your goal-- closer with each victory he achieves.

He batters one opponent with his sword still sheathed, beating the other knight into submission with a singular focus that you so rarely see. Still, he seems to be the only one to avoid spilling unnecessary blood on the field. Your sword raised carefully against your subjects, rot excised with surgical precision.

Graves holds none of the same delicacy.

Yet he turns to be sure you're watching with each man he injures. His hand raised to you --to your father more accurately-- as if to more openly show off his ruthlessness. Even the mutt king seems impressed with him.

"Scheiße," König hums, his smile still biting into his fingers, "What is it you English call it?" He asks your father, "Cutting the same clothes?"

"Yes I was rather brash at that age too," Your father agrees, so smug, the bastard.

"Oh no," König's smile, now at least, seems to fill with joy, perhaps he can only do that when faced with someone else's misery, "It is my clothes he cuts from."

It's the first you've seen your father hesitate. His eyes draw to Graves' grin, his helmet tossed and his cheek wearing the blood of his victory. It drags a path over his teeth, and you know you'll see the pink tinge of his spit in your nightmares. It's as if this is the first he's seen his personal guard without the blinders of stopping your betrayal.

And what can your father say? That he hopes Graves isn't? That König is the last kind of king he'd ever want to hand his kingdom over to?

He glances at you.

That he'd want to hand you over to?

He is still your father after all. It's the first time in years you've seen the same concern he held for you as a little girl. The first time you think he's looked at you as something other than a tool for his own political gains. You wonder if he's wondering: Can he really hand his daughter over to a man like König?

To a late entry?

You look away from him, and to the man your father had so cruelly put forth to win you. Not because he thought you were a particularly good match. Not because he had a particular fondness for Graves. But because he hated Ghost. You wonder if his own petty resentment is good enough reason to hand you to a man with blood in his teeth.

All the more reason to cheer for your own men.

You pay little attention to the rest of the matches. You gossip with your lady-in-waiting and do your best to ignore the rest of the world. You only know when Keegan has taken the field again when your friend stops talking. She looks so worried you'd think he was facing the devil himself. Serves you right for ignoring the matches, you suppose. You must have missed the dark lord's summoning.

Turning to the field you do see the problem. He's up against Ghost. If this were any other tournament you might feel bad rooting against the poor fellow, but as it stands you can't find it in yourself to hope Keegan wins. You have neither the desire to marry him, nor the desire to take him from your friend.

It's probably best that he puts up a lackluster fight. His grip is loose when Ghost's sword swings, and much like the knight in the first round Keegan's sword goes flying.

The two men stand facing each other before Keegan lets out a long breath.

"Oh no!" He yells, "Not my sword! God not my sword!" He makes an exaggerated showing of shrugging, "Oh well, I suppose the match is yours."

You snort. It's good that he has his knighthood to fall back on, he certainly has no future in acting if that performance is to be believed. Still, your lady-in-waiting cheers loudly for him as he exits the field. You cheer as well, falling into your friend's laughter even through the nerves that grip your stomach.

You look at the tournament board and watch your crest move to the final round. The tree finally reaching its inevitable conclusion. Ghost is going to win just like you told him to.

Your eyes flick to the other side and land on the royal seal just as Graves is announced in his own semi-final round.

You know in your heart that he'll win with the same understanding that you know fire will burn you and the sea will swallow you whole if you let it. It is a fact that cruelty like his rarely goes punished.

You stand from your seat, you can't watch this match. No matter how short it may be, you can't watch. You can't see that man win again.

You go to find Ghost.

There's a page fussing over him when you make your way to the knight's rest area. You don't recognize them, but you don't spend much time at the training grounds. Ghost spots you immediately and waves off the boy to greet you.

"Go back to your seat," He advises, though there's no push behind his words.

"I wanted to congratulate you." You grin and see his shoulders lower slightly, softening beneath the armor.

"Thank me after, my lady," You can hear the smile in his voice even behind that horrible helm, "I'm only following orders."

"You're following them beautifully." You reach to fix the drape of your banner on his belt, and see him tilt his head in your periphery. His hand raises and he brushes the steel knuckle of his glove against your cheek. Soft despite the cold, unyielding material.

"The other knights think you've fixed the tournament." He mumbles.

"I have," You tip your head back to look at him, trying to find the warm copper of his eyes through the slits in his helm, "I put you in it."

The huff of breath Ghost lets out is as close to laughter as you'll get from him, but it warms you all the same. He turns his head away from you, surveying the field of defeated knights. All men he'll be commanding as king soon, men who must envy and revere him in equal measure. You're sure how it must look to them, but perhaps it's better they think they lost due to some predestination rather than their own inability.

"You should head back," He turns back to you, "No need to hear what your father's man has been saying about you."

Your stomach churns, "What's he saying?"

"Nothing he won't pay for." Again you can hear Ghost's smile, and it settles your nerves. You nod, gathering your strength around you.

"Then I'll be waiting for you," You assure him.

"You'll never have to wait again when this is over."

You push up onto your toes, and press your forehead against his. The bend of his back must be painful under the layers of steel, but you're sure he'd agree it's worth it for a small parting comfort before you turn to hurry to your seat.

You're only too happy to see the field bare when you make it back. Your lady-in-waiting is beaming in a way that makes you think perhaps she paid her own knight a visit.

Your father's crest has been moved to face your own. An inevitability, but one that you find your confidence bolstered on. You have Ghost's assurance, what else could matter?

König leans forward in his seat, his eyes sparking with excitement next to your father. There's a tightness on your father's lips, nerves in his eyes. You've never known him as a man who shows fear, but perhaps that's just because he's never been on the losing side. You're sure to cheer particularly loud when Ghost takes the field once again. Your father doesn't even stand for Graves.

The priest gives his spiel, the knights bow before the king, and you stand to smile at the crowd when the prize is reaffirmed. Your hand in marriage, and the whole kingdom as a result. You're not surprised when the priest nearly runs from the area, not when both knights draw their sword as soon as they raise their heads.

You can't say who swings first, only that the clash of their swords is deafening. Both knights hold the other back before Ghost squares his shoulders and swings again.

Graves deflects.

Ghost swings.

Graves deflects. Swings.

Ghost deflects.

They trade blows that make your ears ring. Their swords swung with such force you can almost see the flex of muscle under their armor. You can see why your father has kept Graves close, he's a talented swordsman, but he isn't Ghost. Graves is fast, following the momentum of his swings. It's flashy compared to Ghost's technical perfection, hollow with wasted movement.

Ghost takes a step back and you watch him switch his grip. In all the years you've known him you've never seen him change hands, but when he twirls the blade you see an ease of movement that seems supernatural. It's enough of a display to make Graves lunge forward.

You remember Ghost telling you once that the only true rule of combat is to win at all costs. That chivalry is for those that can afford a loss. There's no weakness in the way Ghost moves, and you have no doubt in his ability to win.

He side steps Graves' attack, his sword raised to bring the hilt down hard on Graves' shoulder, and stops as his armor's straps pull tight

and snap.

You watch with the rest of the helpless audience as Graves flips his grip and plunges his blade deep into Ghost's side. Slicing the metal clean through through the back of him dark with the sheen of blood spattering onto the dirt like a waterfall.

It's not the cling of swords the rings in your ears as you leap to your feet, but your own shrieking. It follows Ghost to the ground as he settles hard onto one knee. The shouting of the crowd is a deafening cacophony of "Blood! Blood! Blood!"

And your world crumbles into a single point as Ghost's helm tips to stare up at your father's victory.

[violettwrites]

the fence is white. the lawn is dead. 🏹 daryl dixon

a/n: hi guys !! sorry i haven’t been super active lately but this popped into my head tonight and i thought i’d post it for y’all !! i hope you enjoy 🫶🏻

if you enjoyed, please don’t forget to like, reblog, and/or comment !!

this is my masterlist

and my ask box is currently open !

summary: as the greene farm falls, reader reminisces on her time growing up at the farm. a certain southern male comes along to make sure she gets away safely.

pairing: daryl dixon x greene!daughter (middle child)

warnings: angst !!?

word count: 670

— — —

there was nothing more you hated than the apocalypse. because all it did was take. it took the people you loved the most: your mother, step brother, friends, and now, the place you had grown up in, where you called home.

standing there in the distance as you watched the flames take over the barn, reflecting in your eyes. it could be seen for miles— and to you? it looked like the end of the world. you continued to watch, frozen in place as the place you grew up was overrun by walkers.

that’s all this world did now. it took, and took, and took. and it would continue to do so until everything was gone. until there was nothing left but the undead.

you squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, just wishing that you could go down with your family home— but you knew you couldn’t. because you had to survive. keep the memory alive. because once you were all gone? there would be no one to remember the greene family farm.

pulled from your thoughts by a familiar rumble of a motorbike engine, you turned your head to see a headlight pointed at you; the familiar silhouette getting off his bike and making his way over to you. his pace was rushed, but still steady.

you had grown close with the southern male during his group’s stay at your family’s farm— he had taught you how to use his crossbow, and you had taught him how to ride a horse after he had admitted to you that he was scared of them.

”they’re just too big,” he huffed, arms leaning on the fence of the stables as you stood on the other side, hand brushing over the neck of chestnut, a smile on your face.

“they’re gentle giants,” you retorted, shaking your head as you continued to pat the brown gelding, fingers brushing through his mane.

“c’mon, we gotta go,” daryl called out to you as he neared you, arm immediately wrapping around your shoulders in an attempt to lead you back to his bike.

“it’s gone—“ your voice cracked as you spoke, looking over your shoulders as you let him lead you. you knew better than to put up a fight, especially with a horde that big, but it still split your heart in two. seeing the place you and your sisters grew up just taken away.

you could remember every single little detail about growing up there. the grass between your toes during the summer, how you and beth would take turns on the tire swing your father had put up in the tree, and the many, many arguments between all three of you girls, but you wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

“i know,” daryl spoke softly, his voice low as he moved to stand in front of you, fingers brushing your hair off your face. usually, you would blush. but right now you couldn’t even think straight. “‘m sorry, darlin’. but we really gotta go.”

daryl climbed onto his bike, hands on the handle bars as he looked at you. waiting. you took one more look at the place you called home before climbing onto the back of daryl’s bike, arms wrapping around your torso before he sped off down the dirt road— assuming towards the rest of the group.

you watched the barn in the side mirror of daryl’s bike, your heart crumbling in your chest as you pressed your cheek against his shoulder blade, tears slipping down your cheeks. you could feel him move his hand from the handles of the bike, gently placing it over your hands on his stomach, giving you a gentle squeeze. the gesture was small, but it made you feel less alone in the moment.

with his hand back on the handle, you closed your eyes as you let the wind whip around you, memories flooding your mind as you left your home behind, trying to keep every single memory locked in your mind forever.

[amoristt]

anon: can you write a ghost x reader fic about y/n being wrongfully accused of being a spy and she makes a run for it and ghost finds her? YESSSS . LOVE ITTTT

-as always comments/reblogs are appreciated! - wanna tip me? heres my kofi!

The Accused | Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader

- Heavy footsteps, the air thick, the wall in front of you even thicker. Never did you think that beige wallpaper would be such an obstacle in your way as the echoing sound of footsteps gain on you. The door is shut tight, but the room is still under construction and lacks any furniture to help barricade you in. There isn't even a fucking closet for you to hide in. The only thing other than light brown plank flooring and a door with a half-painted white frame, was a window overlooking a yard.

It was roughly a five-story drop- too high to continue your run unscathed, but at this point, you've got some pretty heavy options to weigh. On one hand, potentially cut your life short, on the other, get caught and dragged out fighting.

Not that it would be much of a fight. You didn't even have time to grab your gun or knife before you made your escape.

Your heart aches. This wasn't right. While you weren't sure what dirt Shepherd had on you, what documents had been falsified as evidence of your alleged 'treason', but whatever they were they must have been pretty damn convincing to have Graves up in arms almost instantaneously. Tears bite at your eyes- had been since you first ran, but now they were heavier. Angrier. You wipe them harshly and red blotches bubble at your cheeks.

Shaking, you bring your radio to your lips. You can't hear them, but they can surely hear you, switched to a different station so you couldn't use their chatter to work around them.

"Please," you damn near sob. "Please, there's a mistake. There's been a fucking mistake, I haven't done anything. You really think I'd do this to you guys of all people?"

Grave answers your pleads like a poison, settling deep into your lungs, replacing all the air in its wake.

"Enough running. Come out and no one has to get hurt."

There was no use in arguing, you realized. They would never hear of it- not the people that truly mattered when it came to imprisonment, anyways. Even if you could convince your humble squad of your innocence, it would never hold up in the end. Besides that, by the way Graves spoke to you, the way he had looked at you, like you were a fucking bug that needed squashing, told you all you needed to know when it came to fighting against Shepherd's allegations.

You knew, ultimately, that running wasn't going to exactly help your case, but you didn't know what else to do. It felt like everyone had turned against you in a moment. You hadn't even had time to process anything. One moment you were joking with your crew, and Graves scampered off the take a rather important call.

Shepherd, was all he had said before disappearing.

And god, when he came back, red-faced and tense, the accusations poured.

Soap tried to defend you. Ghost fought to question, to figure out what the fuck was happening, but the supposed 'evidence' was apparently damning enough to convince Graves through and through that you were a spy.

A rat.

Ghost's voice, laced with desperation and confusion, when Graves began to 'explain' your betrayal haunted you. More so than the act of being accused of treason, even. You just stared at him, past that skull mask, into those familiar dark eyes. Even now, as you ran for what could possibly be your life, that half-hidden expression was all you could see.

The moment Graves brought up arresting you, and even moved to try and grab you, your brain damn near malfunctioned. Your body reacted on its own.

You fucking ran.

Though you weren't sure how someone had found you, this was the position you were in now. The curtains blew out with the breeze, soft and inviting, almost like it was beckoning your jump. They unfurl before you like great wings, and you stare down at the green grass below. You'd surely be crippled by this fall. If not that, it could very well kill you.

Your heart seizes, your lungs struggle to take in air as panic begins to sets in like vines creeping over your nerves. For a moment, you freeze. There was no other way out.

But then there's a slam on the door behind you, so great that the frame creaks and sharp chunks of wood launch off and scatter onto the floor around you. You flinch and your body once again takes priority over your mind, tossing your leg over the sill and swallowing hard. You're going to have to make the jump for it.

You heave yourself up and over, planting your feet flat on the sill, your entire body shaking with both fear of the leap and the deeper issue at present. One hand braces against the top of the window, the other covering your mouth.

Behind you, the door bursts open. Wood splints and tears as it slams into the wall.

"Enough!" A voice shouts, thick with accent and heavy breaths. "You're going to break every damn bone in your body."

You can practically feel Ghost's gun pointed straight at you. You cringe.

Would he pull the trigger?

"Might as well do it now before someone else does trying to beat a confession out of me that'll never fucking come." You didn't mean for your voice to carry so sharp, so laced with the pain and hurt of being hunted by your own friends.

By Ghost, of all people.

How could he be so fucking blind after everything you'd been through together? You wanted to reach out and smack him upside the head. You'd patched each other up more times than you could count, you trusted him with your life, he'd trusted you with his.

Or so, you had always thought.

But the way he's looking at you has to second guessing.

But, ultimately, you knew the game at play. He was a good soldier- the best. He was a former lone wolf, distrustful to his core. You'd worked so fucking hard to get close with him and now it was all crumbling down. Even if you stayed and explained yourself, there would be no point. You would be arrested, processed, thrown in jail labeled a traitor to your country and more people than not would be celebrating it. You'd never see the light of day- shackled and stuffed into a prison so far off the map that God himself would struggle to find you.

And you would be damned if you were going to just sit there and accept your fate. Even if it meant you appeared just as guilty as Shepherd had painted you. You just needed to get away for a bit, collect yourself, and have the time to figure out what the hell was going on. But it seemed that was never in the cards for you. 

The ground below looks menacing, but more forgiving than the fate that awaits you.

You can hear Ghost taking heavy steps forward, and you wonder why he hasn't just come up and ripped you from that sill already.

"Get down," He barks, and you shake at the tone, refusing to look back at him. Defiance shines through as you refuse to climb down.

"I'm not going down for something I didn't do!" Exasperated, your knuckles whitening with your iron grip. It takes what feels like eons to prepare for gravity to play its course, but in reality, it's been mere seconds. You try to force down air through the boulder in your throat.

For a moment, everything stills. You knew the outcome that was bound to come to this. You knew, deep down in your heart, that your fate was not a good one at this point. Either you die on impact, or you'd be wheeled into the interrogation room on a stretcher. That alone makes your skin crawl- interrogation. Knowing you had not a single detail to offer despite the amount of 'tactics' that would be used on you... The torture would essentially be never-ending.

You were well and truly fucked.

"I have to do this." You try to keep your voice level, but it betrays you. You hear Ghost suck in a sharp breath, the sound of his gear shifting. At this point, you don't even care if he shot you. At least you'd die with the person you loved.

"You don't." Ghost's voice is quieter, closer. Now you can really hear it- the sadness. The desolation. It wracks you to your very core.

With a hasty glance over your shoulder, you take in the sight of him. Maybe the last sight of him you'll ever get the chance to see. His looming figure stands feet away, gun still fixated on you. He looks defeated. Or, perhaps, torn. Riding that fence and teetering on the edge between believing you or hauling your ass back to Shepherd kicking and screaming.

Tears well in your eyes when realize his finger isn't even on the trigger. You nod at him sadly.

"I do."

And then, you give yourself to gravity. For a split second, you're weightless. Without much family back home, you found yourself thinking about your squad. How would Soap react? Gaz, or Price? Would they try to find your innocence, or would they take your cowardly actions at face value? Would Graves struggle with the weight of your life if he discovered his manhunt had been unwarranted?

Would Ghost be okay after firsthand witnessing such an awful, selfish act?

Would he ever forgive you?

With a sickening crack, your body slams into the brick wall of the building and you're left dangling in place. Your shoulder screams as you hang, and when you snap your attention toward the searing pain, you see two large hands grasped tight at your wrist and elbow.

"Damn it!"

Ghost's voice reaches you like a bullet had been ripped through your chest. He'd caught you, holding fast and unrelenting. You tried to fight, struggling against him, trying to reach up and pry those fingers away but they didn't budge.

It was over. You'd been caught. You were going to fucking prison and forever labeled a traitor to your country and everyone you ever knew. Everyone you ever fought with, and for, would remember you as a rat. A stain on the fabric of the U.S. Army.

"Let go!" You cry, feeling yourself reeling back into that room with Ghost's unwavering grip. "Just let go!"

Ghost grunts a sharp no before you're hauled up, into the room, and held fast by his arms caging you against him. He crushes you to himself, fingers near digging bruises into your skin and he's shaking you realize. Tears well up and flush past your waterlines, disappearing into the cloth of his gear. You haphazardly beat on his chest with a loosely formed fist.

"They're gonna fucking kill me" You sob. "It's not me, I didn't do anything."

You feel Ghost's arms leave you, and you realize now is when you'll have to surrender. You'll have to hang your head low and saunter away and into the clutches of the armies worst. You're crying into your hands now, not caring what you look like. Not caring this was the first time Ghost had ever truly seen you cry. And god, did you cry.

"Simon, please, I didn't do anything. It wasn't me!"

He's silent as he watches you fall apart right in front of him. Though he uncurls his arms from your shaking frame, he doesn't back away, looking down at you, like he's unsure of what to do. Unsure of what to believe anymore. As you press your forehead to his shoulder, your legs threaten to give out from underneath you.

"Why is this happening." Your voice escapes you as a whimper, broken up with sharp, painful breaths. "What could I have done for someone to do this to me of all people? I know I'm not a saint, but,-" Finally you look up at him, babbling. "Fuck, what do I do?"

Ghost's eyes narrow as he watches you, taking in every word. He places his hands on your shoulders, the first familiar gesture you've felt yet.

"You think you've been framed?" He asks, tone cool despite the waves of emotions in his eyes. You nod.

"That's the only explanation I can think of, but why? I would never do this to my country, my home." You flicker your eyes up to his own. "I would never do this to you."

You can see him trying to work it all out in his brain. Weighing the evidence he'd been presented with versus the fact that he fucking knew you. Knew you like the back of his hand, knew you without even having to think about it. He knew you as he knew himself, and he just knew you wouldn't do this.

"So what is it then." He starts harshly, so terribly confused it brings about anger, like he needs the answer right now because he doesn't know what to do next and time is running thin. 

Shaking your head, you shrug. "I don't know. I just-... I know that there's something going on here. Maybe by mistake, maybe intentionally, I don't know. But I didn't fucking do anything."

Ghost digests your words. You continue.

"I just need time to figure it out and I don't have it. I've got 141 and god fucking forbid, the Shadow's coming for this at this point." your face falls. "...Did anyone try to defend me after I left...?"

Ghost stiffens and swallows hard. You nod, laugh hoarsely. Of course.

"It was fast. There wasn't time to think." He offers. It made sense. You wondered what would have happened if anyone found you up here. If it had been Soap, or Gaz. Or Graves.

His eyes are softer now, his breathing leveling. Surely he's made a choice, but you aren't sure of which. You pray it's in your favor, that he realizes that this is you you're talking about. You pray he remembers all the time, the trust. As you watch him, like he's miles away from you, you can't help but notice him staring at you like you're just mere arms reach away.

Like you'd never left his arms at all, actually. Still flush against him a crying mess of pleads and hurt.

"Ghost, how copy?" Grave's voice pipes up from Ghost's radio.

You still. Ghost lingers a moment, like he doesn't want to answer, his eyes dart from his radio and then back to you, and you press your lips into a tight line.

Don't fucking answer it, your mind begs. Don't do this to me.

When Graves repeats himself, urgently this time, Ghost drags the radio begrudgingly up his clothed lips. Mouth running dry, hands shaking, you take a step back.

'Please,' You mouth. Ghost shakes his head and refuses to meet your gaze.

He was going to turn you in, after all.

He was a good soldier.

You, in that moment, recall the moments you spend side by side with this man. This scary, intimidating man, that you'd found comfort in. The person you plucked from the litter and thought to yourself, this one.

And he hadn't wanted you in. You bulldozed your way through until he found himself picking you out in crowds, remembering all those little things about you that no one else seemed to give a damn about. Waiting for you in the morning, sharing his thoughts and time.

You had always hoped, in another world, you two could enjoy life without all the pain together. A life outside of the army. 

Surely, it would have been enough.

Face downcast, you hear him take a breath to speak.

"Clear." He says. "No sign."

There was no stopping the tears that spilled down your cheeks at that moment, mouth covered to muffle yourself, crouching down as your knees shook.

"Sonofa bitch! Regroup back at point A." Graves says with a sigh.

"Copy." Ghost says quickly, shoving his radio back into his belt. He takes a knee in front of you, and his hands cup the side of your wet face. You eye him, babbling thank you over and over again, sick with fear, gratitude, and confusion. A cocktail that left an unnaturally horrendous taste on your lips. He retrieves a hand just long enough to set his knife down o the floor in front of you.

"Now you've got time." He says matter-of-factly, but you can still sense that urgency in his words. He wants you to escape. To figure this out and come back to him his friend and partner.

He takes your discarded radio and switches it to the proper channel so you could keep tabs on their whereabouts and plans. The voices of your squad chatter on the line, Soap's voice above all wondering how the fuck this was even happening. Bless his heart, he even mentioned being worried for you, which was quickly shot down by Graves reminding him of your betrayal.

As Ghost crouches before you, massive, all-powerful it seemed, you watch his eyes. He pats your cheek. His gloved finger points to the window.

"Ever try a stunt like that again, I'll kill you myself." He bites. You nod, struggling to compose yourself. He stands and your mind begs for him to stay, to be with you during this, but you know he can't.

He lingers in the doorway like he's thinking the same thing. 

"I will... Do what I can. Watch your back, soldier."

And then he's gone, and It's silent save for your harsh breaths. You shakily pull yourself up from the floor, grasping the knife he'd given you- his favorite blade entrusted to you. You'd wait for nightfall and make a run for it, find shelter day by day, and hopefully reconnect with him somewhere to go over what the hell was going on.

You prayed he'd find a way to convince them of your innocence, ask the right questions to the right people, and have more players in your court.

It would likely be your only way out of this awful nightmare.

[ddejavvu]

for mvm, could you please write something where reader trips/falls and then james purposefully falls too bc he’s impulsive lol and thinks that’s the best way to listen her embarrassment in the moment and she’s initially confused but then they’re both giggly and helping each other up

The last thing you expect when your foot catches on an overgrown root on the grounds is for James Potter to go tumbling after you. After all, he'd been walking the opposite way with his friends, he'd been about four feet away from the tree root when he'd fallen, and you're fairly certain none of his friends had pushed him.

They're standing around you two now, snickering at their friend's antics as he scrambles for his wayward glasses. They've landed upside-down on the grass, and you blink warily at him as he snatches them up, shoving them onto his nose to grin cheerily at you.

"We took a trip together," He beams, "You alright?"

"Uh- yeah, I think so." You push up against the cool soil beneath you, your hands digging into bright green blades of grass that tickle your skin, "How did you fall too?"

"Dunno." He shrugs, a blade of brown, cut grass stuck to the outer curve of one of the curls that's sticking out over his forehead, "Must be Peeves or something. I've heard he lays out tripwire in the halls."

"Right," You can't help your face breaking into a smile at James's own identical one, and he offers you a hand as you rise to your knees. He's barely upright himself, and you two stumble to your feet in unison, shoulders knocking into each others as you stand.

"You sure you're alright?" He asks, hand still clutching yours even though you're very much stable by now.

"I'm fine," You dust a smear of dirt off of your leg, "Thanks for helping me up. And- uh, thank you for throwing yourself onto the ground."

He hangs his head, bashful grin growing only wider on his face as you call him out, "Anytime, love."

[sleekervae]

The Bride [0.1]

Masterlist

Pairing: billy the kid x fem!reader

Summary: While out riding, Billy is stunned to come upon a young woman in a wedding gown begging for help. Without a second thought he comes to her aid and takes her back to town. Little does he know that rescuing this young bride will bring him more trouble than he bargained for.

Warnings: foul language, mentions of arranged marriage

Word Count: 4,946

The horse's hooves kicked up dust as he traversed the rugged terrain, the only sound breaking the stillness of the evening. Tall grasses swayed gently in the breeze, and the distant call of a lone coyote echoed through the vast expanse.

Billy's gaze swept over the horizon, taking in the breathtaking beauty of the untouched land. The sky was painted in shades of orange and pink, a stark contrast to the deep greens and browns of the earth below.

As boy and horse continued on their journey, the only companion the vastness of the frontier, Billy couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the raw, untamed beauty of the land. The western frontier was a place of mystery and adventure, where danger lurked around every corner, but for now, it was a place of peace and tranquility, a sanctuary in the midst of chaos.

Though perhaps he thought too soon when he caught sight of what at he at first thought was a ghost. But ghosts didn't trip, nor did they cuss between shouts for help. At least, Billy didn't think so. Though the closer he came to the ghost, the more he came to realize there was nothing supernatural about them.

It was a woman, young and fair, her once pristine wedding gown now stained and torn, her face etched with frustration and desperation. She stumbled forward, one hand gripping the layers to her skirt while her other arm frantically waved him down.

"Hey! Hey, can you help me?" despite her appearance, her voice was direct, unshaken.

"What in the hell happened to you?" Billy couldn't help it, the words slipped out before he had a moment to process.

The bride stood before him now and he could have a better look at her. She was slender and small, her figure striking against the backdrop of the tall grass. Her long brown hair, once carefully styled in a bridal updo, now cascaded around her shoulders in a messy tangle, strands framing her face in a wild halo. Despite the disarray, her hair shimmered in the fading light, catching the last rays of the setting sun.

Her wedding gown, once a symbol of joy and celebration, was now stained and torn, the fabric clinging to her form in a way that spoke of hardship and struggle. Despite the wear and tear, the gown still held a sense of elegance, the intricate lace and delicate embroidery standing out against the rugged backdrop of the wilderness.

Her gaze locked with the Billy's, though oddly enough the resilience he saw in her face struck him anew. She didn't appear as a desperate, lost and helpless bride.

"It's a long, fuckin' story," she grumbled, dropping her skirt in a huff, "Where you comin' from?"

"Santa Fe,"

"Mind if I ride back with you?"

Billy took a look around, in the back of his mind he was worried that this girl may be luring him into some sort of trap. But he was out in the open, if someone was going to come out and ambush him, they would've done it by now. And something about the dirt and cuts on this girl told him she wasn't faking it.

"Look, if I had any money to offer, I would --"

"Sure thing," he offered her his hand, to which she took gratefully. She hooked her heeled boot into the stirrup and pulled herself up behind Billy. The horse snuffled and shifted to regain her balance under the added weight, and with a hard crack of the reigns, Billy and the bride clung on as the horse galloped through the tall grass.

Dusk began to close in, casting long shadows across the landscape as they rode back to Santa Fe. The fading light painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, a stark contrast to the deepening shadows that enveloped the land.

The bride remained silent most of the way, making a couple grunts and huffs when they'd hit rougher terrain. Billy was ever the more curious.

"So, what did he do?" he asked.

"Excuse me?" the bride lifted her head.

"Your fella? Your husband or whatever. What did he do for you to ditch 'im at the altar?" he craned his head as best he could, meeting her gaze, "Or did you just get cold feet and bolt?"

The bride scoffed and gave her head a simple shake, "Call me crazy, but I'm not exactly eager to marry a man I barely met a month ago," she replied.

"I think that's pretty justified," he nodded, "So you left 'im?"

"Yes sir," she confirmed.

"Where did you run from?" he asked.

"Rosario,"

Billy paused in disbelief, " -- you... you came all the way from Rosario?"

"You sound surprised," she simpered.

Billy shook his head, "I don't mean to offend, ma'am, but how in the hell did you wander all the way here from Rosario in that fuckin' dress?"

"Simple answer is I had a horse," she replied casually, "Until he got spooked and ran off. But I knew there was a town this way so I was just sort of... praying for refuge. And I'm not even a catholic woman,"

"Well, I'm happy to oblige you," he turned back to her again, "What's your name?"

"... Eleanor," she drawled, "And what about you?"

"William. But friends and family call me Billy,"

Eleanor smirked, "So what would you rather I call you?"

"Whatever you feel like, Miss Eleanor," he grinned back.

"You can drop the 'miss'. Don't feel like much of a lady right now," she sighed.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" he asked.

"Depends who you ask," she replied simply.

Billy shrugged, "Well, if you ask me -- I reckon you're a very beautiful lady, Eleanor"

Eleanor scoffed back, never the less her smile remained on her lips, "Thank you... Billy," He noticed the slight drawl in her tone, a thread of a southern accent that he found quite charming.

They soon trotted into town. Shops were just closing up for the day, camaraderie and chatter could be heard from within saloons and oil lamps were coming to life as dusk fell. A few stragglers turned and stared peculiarly at the pair, at Eleanor particularly. She knew she had to get changed, she stuck out like a sore thumb in that dress.

"My ma runs a boarding house here, you're more than welcome to stay if you like," Billy told her, "We'll get you fed, into some new clothes,"

Eleanor grinned sheepishly, "That's very kind of you, Billy, but I couldn't. I don't have money on me at the moment," she replied.

"Don't worry about the money right now, my ma will understand," and he turned to her, "We'll just get you back on your feet for the moment," he had such kind eyes, warm and soulful despite their crystalline shade of blue. He equally found her to be quite sweet in spite of her sharp tongue.

"Alright. I appreciate that," she nodded, "Sooner I can get out of this dress, the better I reckon,"

Billy smiled at her, "It's a might shame, it looks stunning on you,"

She stifled a chuckle, "Try not to cry too hard when you see me out of it,"

Billy brought Eleanor to the boarding house, where Kathleen welcomed her with open arms. Kathleen, ever the caretaker, was more than happy to assist the poor girl in her time of need. She offered Eleanor a blouse and a skirt to replace her tattered wedding dress, which was gently tucked away. Eleanor considered the dress; perhaps she could clean it up and sell it, a small act of independence in the midst of her turmoil.

"Have you got any money on you?" Kathleen asked.

Eleanor shook her head, "No ma'am, I'm very sorry," she replied.

Kathleen nodded, shooting a dubious look Billy's way. While she didn't mind helping, she was just making ends meet with her business and couldn't quite afford charity. Billy knew that. But she wasn't totally heartless, either.

"Can you clean?" she then asked.

"And cook," Eleanor volunteered.

Kathleen cracked a smile, "Well, I think we can have you work off your wages for a while,"

"I'd appreciate that very much," Eleanor smiled gratefully.

"Think nothing of it," Kathleen took her by the arm and started for the hall, "I'll show you where you'll be sleeping,"

Billy watched Eleanor vanish into the darkness with Kathleen, a smile playing on his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes. Her fleeting, grateful look lingered in his mind, stirring a mix of emotions. Yet, as he pondered her sudden departure, a nagging inkling tugged at him, whispering doubts about her intentions. Rosario was a half a day's journey at least, and Billy couldn't help but wonder about Eleanor's lack of provisions. How desperate was she to leave, and was her escape merely temporary? Or was there something more nefarious she was running from?

In the early afternoon sun of Santa Fe, the bustling streets came alive with activity, the air filled with the sounds of hooves clattering against the dusty ground and the chatter of locals going about their day. The rickety, wooden buildings that lined the streets cast long shadows, providing a welcome respite from the intense heat. The scent of woodwork and cooking wafted through the streets, mingling with the earthy aroma of the desert.

Billy stepped into the kitchen of the boarding house, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and cornmeal mush filling the air. His eyes immediately sought out Eleanor, who stood at the stove, a look of concentration on her face as she mixed her batter with practiced ease. She looked happy and calm, a far cry from the distressed bride he had found not twenty-four hours ago.

Relief washed over him at the sight of her. Despite his lingering mistrust, he couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort in her presence. He approached her cautiously, keeping his guard up.

"Mornin'," he said, his voice soft but cautious.

She turned to him, a warm smile lighting up her face, "Good morning," she then glanced at the stove, "There's coffee made, if you'd like some,"

"Thank you," he went to fetch a cup off of the counter, "How did you sleep?"

"As well as expected, I suppose," she poured her batter into a pot, "Your mother's been awful kind to me, I hope to repay you all in kind soon,"

Billy studied her for a moment, searching for any hint of deception in her eyes. Finding none, he nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"You helping my ma is enough," he assured her, "It's hard to keep help around sometimes, so most days it's me and my brother helping out,"

Eleanor simpered, "I met Joe this morning, sweet kid. Your mother's very lucky to have you both," she said.

"Yeah," he leaned over the counter, the cup still clenched in his hand, "She's a good woman, I do everything I can to look after her,"

She cocked her head, "How old are you, Billy?"

"Seventeen,"

"Seventeen..." Eleanor echoed in awe, her voice soft with understanding, "And already you feel responsible for her, am I right?"

Billy was at first perplexed by her statement, but as he pondered her words, he began to recognize the weight of her insight.

"I suppose so," he replied with a shrug, his expression reflecting a mix of resignation and determination, "My... step-dad... hasn't been pulling in the money lately, so I do what I can to help. I don't want to let her down."

"I don't blame you," Eleanor nodded, her gaze thoughtful. "I wish my mother was like yours."

"What's your mother like?" Billy inquired.

Eleanor sighed deeply, her movements slow and deliberate as she stirred her cornmeal batter, "She was... there when she needed to be," she replied, her voice tinged with sadness, "Most times, though, she wasn't. She died about two years ago,"

Billy felt a pang of empathy. "I'm very sorry to hear that... My father died when I was twelve,"

Eleanor glanced at him, her eyes catching a glimpse of the vulnerability beneath his stoic exterior, "I'm so sorry. What happened to him?"

"He wasn't too well... up here," Billy tapped the side of his head lightly. "What about your mother?"

"Syphilis. Plain awful," Eleanor muttered bitterly. "How was your mother when he died?"

"She was heartsick, we all were. But she's strong, we pushed on because of her," Billy explained. "What about your father?"

"My father... wasn't the same. He never really recovered," she replied, her voice trailing off, "Suppose that's why he stuck me in that dress not a minute after I was eighteen," she added with a bitter laugh, though her eyes betrayed a mix of spite and sorrow.

Billy approached her slowly, "Well, must bring you some peace to get away. You don't have to go back to Rosario," he assured her.

Eleanor's bitter glare melted away, her soft smile slipping across her face again, "It does. And I appreciate all the help and kindness you've given me,"

Billy's gaze softened as he studied Eleanor, a flicker of something new and unexpected stirring within him. He had been wary of her, guarded against the possibility of deception. Yet, as he looked into her deep brown eyes, he saw only sincerity and a genuine desire to move forward.

"I'm glad to hear that, Eleanor. Truly," he said, his voice warm with sincerity. The smile that tugged at his lips was genuine, a reflection of the newfound respect and admiration he felt for her.

Eleanor was a bit rusty with the chores, but she was giving it her all. Billy didn't mind pitching in, whether it was collecting and folding bedsheets, chopping firewood, or even cleaning dishes alongside her.

Their time together was anything but dull. Billy learned a lot about Eleanor; her family was originally from France but came to America over seventy years ago. They lived in South Carolina for a while until the work dried up and they too decided to start over again in the West. It was tough trying to get more information about her family, how she grew up. Billy got the sense she didn't want to talk much about her childhood, so he eventually dropped it altogether.

Eleanor was equally curious about Billy—how he ended up in Santa Fe, his favorite foods, his card-playing skills. She mentioned her desire to learn poker, so Billy took it upon himself to teach her. With an old deck of cards, he patiently explained the game's ins and outs. Though Eleanor struggled with the rules at first, she improved with each hand, even if she did keep losing her peanuts to Billy.

Joe, despite his young age, joined in the card games, offering Eleanor pointers on improving her strategy. Whenever Billy scolded his brother, Joe would playfully stick out his tongue, which never failed to amuse Eleanor. She found herself growing fond of these boys, feeling comfortable and at ease in their company.

Their leisure time eventually gave way to preparing supper for the boarders. While their meal options were limited, Eleanor managed to whip up a simple yet tasty stew. Billy assisted, chopping vegetables carefully to avoid any mishaps. Despite his best efforts, he did slip once, cutting his finger. Eleanor immediately called for Joe to fetch bandages, insisting on wrapping Billy's wound to prevent any blood from getting into the stew.

"Ain't no way in hell you're getting any blood in my stew, Billy Antrim," Eleanor said, her sass bringing out her southern accent, which only added to her charm in Billy's eyes. He found himself increasingly drawn to her, finding her both amusing and captivating.

The day melted into evening, painting the sky in shades of indigo. Bright stars dotted the darkness, casting a serene backdrop for Billy and Eleanor. They sat on the roof outside his window, their conversation flowing effortlessly as if they were old friends. Eleanor felt a deep connection to Billy, as if she had known him forever. His gentle nature and warm charm were like a balm to her soul, familiar and comforting. She couldn't shake the feeling that she must've known him in another life.

"Up there's the Orion's Belt," Billy pointed to a cluster of stars above. Eleanor cocked a brow.

"That don't look like any belt to me," she simpered.

Billy chuckled back, "You can't look at it too critically. It's those three dots up there," he pointed again, "Orion was a great hunter who was eventually placed in the stars by Zeus after his death. And those three stars that make up his belt are called Alnitak, Alnilam, and Mintaka,"

She looked to him, surprised yet intrigued at his knowledge of the cosmos, "How do you know all that?" she asked.

"An old man told me the stories, long ago," he shrugged back, "Stayed with me, I guess,"

Eleanor nodded, her gaze reluctantly leaving his captivating eyes to focus on the sky, "It's kind of romantic, isn't it? When we die, we become stars. Our stories live on forever," she mused.

"Yeah," Billy agreed, casting another glance her way, "It's pretty romantic."

She was sad when she realized the time, knew they both had to be up in the morning to do the day all over again. However, Eleanor couldn't find herself to be lethargic or annoyed. She was excited for what tomorrow would bring, a feeling she hadn't enjoyed in quite some time.

The next day was just like any other. Though this time Billy felt different; he had a little pep in his step. Sure, it wouldn't be noticeable if you didn't know him, or if you weren't paying attention. But Billy felt different, a good type of different. He could've chalked it down to the actual good night's sleep he got, the lack of commotion in the street this morning, or simply him noting how pretty Eleanor looked in the radiant morning sun while she was taking down the laundry.

Billy suddenly felt an arm fly around his shoulders, catching him off guard as he made his way to the saloon. It was his friend Carlos, his face lit up with mischief.

"Aye, Billy!" Carlos exclaimed, his voice merry, "You didn't tell me you were getting married! Felicidades!"

Billy chuckled, shaking his head as he removed Carlos' arm, "The hell are you going on about?" he asked, amused.

"The bride! Everyone's talking about her!" Carlos replied matter-of-factly, "Where did you pick her up?"

Billy sighed, rubbing his temples. "Out in the plains," he explained. "She wandered out from Rosario,"

Carlos stopped in his tracks, a look of bewilderment crossing his face, "You're kiddin'. That's half a day's trek!"

"That's what she told me, anyway," Billy said with a shrug, "I thought she was bait for a gang of rustlers or something, but she seems alright so far,"

"Right…" Carlos nodded slowly, falling back into step with Billy, "And how lucky for you, she's staying in your boarding house?"

Billy stifled a laugh. "Don't go around telling tall tales about me, now,"

"Me? Pfft, never," Carlos retorted, holding his head high.

As they continued down the street, the atmosphere of camaraderie began to fade as the sound of hooves thundered into town. The locals turned to see a group of men on horseback, dressed in infantry uniforms with shiny rifles slung across their backs. They were members of the U.S Army, and their arrival drew a curious and apprehensive gaze from the townspeople.

The town's sheriff stepped forward, hands plastered to his hips as he greeted the captain.

"Gentlemen, can I help you?" the sheriff asked.

"Why, yes you can," the captain drawled, dawning a thicker southern accent, "My boys and I have been riding since yesterday, we're looking for a young woman. She would have been wearing a wedding dress," he raised his hand to his knee, "'Bout five and a half feet tall, pretty brown eyes,"

"I see," the sheriff nodded, "This girl is your daughter?"

"My wife. Or... she was supposed to be," he chuckled bitterly, "Plain up and left me at the altar,"

Billy felt a lump in his throat, disbelief and disdain growing within him. This army captain was probably older then Henry Antrim. He sported a neatly trimmed mustache, reminiscent of those European settlers who often passed through, adding a touch of character to his otherwise disciplined appearance. His attire was completed with polished boots and a well-placed insignia on his cap, signifying his rank and authority.

There was no way, absolutely no way, that Eleanor was meant to marry this man. It was no wonder she had run away.

Carlos didn't need a second glance at Billy to understand his thoughts; he placed a calming hand on his shoulder. Billy stood with clenched fists, his rugged fingernails digging into his palms, his expression unwavering.

The sheriff adjusted his hat, scanning the crowd of locals, "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, Captain, but I think I would've noticed a woman in a wedding dress running around in my town," he stated.

Billy started to relax slightly. Perhaps the captain hadn't seen him ride in with Eleanor? Perhaps he hadn't heard the gossip from the townspeople?

But luck was not on Billy's side. An older man approached, wiping sweat from his greying whiskers. "Hold on, Sheriff! I saw the older Antrim kid ride in with a girl in white the other day!" he exclaimed. "All dolled up and everything. She was kinda dirty, though."

"Is that so, Angus?" the sheriff inquired.

"Plum right! Old Taylor saw her too!" Angus affirmed, pointing to another old man on a storefront stoop, who nodded in agreement.

The sheriff gave a thoughtful hum, glancing back at the captain, who maintained a stiff, expectant smile. Turning to face Billy and Carlos under another awning, the sheriff's gaze was piercing, "Where's this girl, Billy?" he asked.

Billy was speechless, struggling to find the right words. He may not have been the best judge of character, but he liked Eleanor. And there was something about this captain that didn't sit right with him, the significant age gap being just one concern.

As Billy tried to form a response, a cry rang out from behind them. "Hey! Thief!" another local shouted, rushing into the street with a pitchfork in hand, "Sheriff! Some girl up and took off with my horse!"

"Which way did she go?"

"Towards the lake!"

In that moment, Billy knew he had to seize the opportunity. He made a quick decision and darted off to retrieve his own horse.

The moment that she heard the thundering horses ride into town, Eleanor knew she had to get out and get out fast. She didn't want to, but she had no other option than take the first horse she saw. She cracked the reigns hard, keeping her head down and focus sharp as she rode away under the blazing sun. She wasn't going back to her settlement, and she certainly wasn't going to be married.

Little did she know she had Billy hot on her trail. It didn't take long for him to catch up to her, spotting her as just a speck in the distance. He pushed his horse as hard as he could, at the same time trying to put together some sort of plan. He didn't want to let the captain have Eleanor, but he also felt she couldn't leave. Not at least without an explanation.

Billy was gaining fast, but not fast enough. On his hip he had his gun holster. He didn't shoot it very often, more often he used it as an intimidation tactic for when the boys at the saloon got a little out of hand. And by no means did he want to shoot Eleanor either, but he needed her to stop, just for a minute. He drew his gun and took aim, popping a shot off of her right. The bullet sliced through the earth and dirt ricocheted across the galloping horse. It stopped and reared up, nearly throwing the frightened Eleanor off its back.

When the horse came down Eleanor turned around, frantic and furious to find Billy was the one who shot at her.

"What the fuck!? Are you fucking crazy!?" she hollered as he approached, "You could've killed me!"

"Why didn't you say something?" he asked, not even caring to acknowledge his stunt.

"And what was I supposed to say, Billy?" she scoffed.

"That the U.S fucking army was going to be coming after you!" he snapped.

"Because you wouldn't have helped me!" she shouted back, "And don't pretend like you would've. Nobody wants to get in the way of the infantry!"

Billy shook his head, "Well, it might've been nice to know! We could've taken off this morning!"

"To where? Where could we go, Billy?" Eleanor asked, "We're barely fucking adults, and your mother needs you!"

"We can figure something out," he said, "Maybe I can talk to the sheriff? Maybe he can get the captain to see reason!"

Eleanor scoffed, "You know what I did in Rosario, Billy? I ran my father's books. When my mother died, and he lost his mind, I ran the whole damn ranch. I kept everything in top condition from the pay to the fucking cow feed!" she snapped, "And how do I get rewarded? With my father selling my dowry to the captain for protection from the Apache! I'm not gonna' watch a whole army decimate a people for no good reason, and I'm certainly not some little woman who's gonna sit around and be a good little wife!" she explained frantically.

"But Eleanor --"

"That man came all the way up here looking for me, he's not gonna' leave until he gets me. And it's safer for everyone in town if I disappear as quickly as I can. I'm sorry if you can't understand!"

Billy huffed, as much as it annoyed him he knew she was right. Having gone with her would paint a large target on both of their backs, and Billy couldn't bare to cause his mother any heartbreak like that. At the same time, he was scared for Eleanor, God only knew what she would face if she went out into the frontier by herself.

"I understand, Eleanor. I do," he nodded, "I just wish I could help you,"

Eleanor pulled her horse up beside his, coming to sit next to him, "You have done so much to help me, already. I'm so grateful to you, and your family. And I will repay you some day," she promised, "Hell, take that ugly old dress to the tailor, you might get something for it,"

Billy gave her a once over glance. She was still in the blouse and skirt Kathleen gave her, a single canteen of water was tied to the saddle. She wouldn't make it out there for long on her own, not with what she had. Without a second thought he shed his linen coat and dug into his pockets for whatever money he had on him.

"Take this," he placed the coat over her shoulders, "And this," and he handed her the money.

"Oh my God, I can't. Billy --" she tried to give the money back.

"Just take it," he assured her, "I don't know when you'll find the next town, but that should get you some food at least,"

Her chest began to ache, he'd shown her more kindness in the last two days than any man had in her lifetime. And she had a feeling he was just too stubborn to let her go without the money and coat. She looked to him reluctantly.

"... Are you absolutely sure?"

"I'm positive," he nodded, "You gotta' go. They're gonna be coming out here looking for the both of us, soon enough,"

Eleanor nodded, slipping the coat on properly and placing the money in the pocket, "Thank you, Billy -- for everything,"

He put on a brave smile, "Think nothing of it, Eleanor,"

She swore his smile was something she'd keep imprinted in her brain, a shred of comfort and happiness on the days where she may not find such. Without a word, she reached up, gently cupped his face, and pressed her lips to his in a kiss that was urgent yet tender, filled with gratitude and unspoken emotions. Billy was momentarily taken by surprise but responded instinctively, his hand cupping around her neck as he deepened the kiss, matching her intensity. He could feel the steady beat of her pulsing heart beneath his touch. For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves their moment.

When they finally parted, Billy was momentarily taken aback by her actions. He held her gaze for a moment longer, silently conveying everything he couldn't put into words.

She took the reins again, and she gave him one last coy smile, "Try not to look so sad, Billy. I'll see you around," with that, she snapped the reigns and took off South.

Billy was conflicted, on the one hand he figured he could go after her. Go with her, see what kind of adventures they could find... maybe even kiss her again?

On the other hand he knew he couldn't never leave his mother and brother at the hands of Henry. So with a heavy heart, he waited until she was a speck in the distance before he started back for town.

As he approached, the infantry began to ride out. The captain approached him, his posture stiff and upright. "Well? Did you find her?" he asked.

Billy shook his head, masking his disdain, "She had too much of a head start," he replied.

"Dammit!" the captain cursed, scanning the horizon, "Well, which way did she go?"

Billy met his gaze, a steely resolve in his eyes, "North," he told him, "She was heading up North,"

"She's prolly' headin' to Colorado, Capt'n!" one the soldiers piped in.

The captain scoffed, "Well, that's where we're going. Let's move, boys!" and in a hurried stampede, they took off North. Billy let out a small sigh of relief, but the ache in his chest didn't cease. He could only pray to high heaven that Eleanor would be safe, and that maybe he'd see her again one day.

[hannieween]

closing night | backstage series | l.sm

He felt like home. Like coming home after a tiring day, you can finally relax and unwind. The comfort of his affectionate embrace is everything you've been longing for in the last few days.

♡︎ pairing: lee seokmin x afab!reader ♡︎ genre: fluff, smut mdni you'll get blocked ♡︎ aus: theatre performer seokmin, fake dating with benefits ♡︎ word count: 12.8k

↣ part 1, part 2, part 3, navi post

₊🎧: show me - devita | slow dance - shownu x hyungwon

₊ tagging: @aaniag @madein97line @cottoncheol ty ty ty ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ♡︎ ₊ nsfw tags under the cut

♡︎ warnings: swearing, pet names: noodle, baby (hers), smut with plot, soft dom seokmin, big dick seokmin, dirty talk, making out, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (m, f), swallowing, a bit of praise kink (f), a bit of hand kink. | again, this is not proofread so i apologise for any mistakes or inconsistencies

part 4

Three years before.

The gentle sounds of the nearby river flowing lulled you into a peaceful nap.

As you slowly woke up again, confused as to why you were in a park, you felt gentle fingers brush your hair. A warm voice singing a tune over and over again.

You were lying on the grass, your head resting on Seokmin's lap. Then you remembered that you were on the park with your friends to wind down after a long practice session for a course that was important to you.

There was a small mark on Seokmin's jeans where your drool had landed. Ashamed, you reincorporated in the grass, the back of your hand wiping away the drool on the corner of your mouth.

"I drooled on you," you muttered, feeling a bit groggy still.

"I know, I felt it. Disgusting," you heard him say with a chuckle.

You turned to see him. His dark brown hair was hiding beneath a green cap.

"Sorry," you mustered a shy smile.

"I'm only joking, noodle," he reassured.

You noticed that Soonyoung and Seungkwan were nowhere to be seen. And the sun was no longer at its highest point in the sky.

"How long did I sleep for?" you asked, fumbling on the grass for your phone.

"I don't know. You have a very deep sleep, though," he commented with a chuckle. "Some kids came here with loud speakers to do a dance challenge and you didn't even budge. Was funny."

Embarrassed, you found your phone in your backpack. "Haven't been sleeping lately. I've been pulling an all-nighter this week for finals."

You saw that it was already 4PM. So you had slept in Seokmin's lap for about 3 to 4 hours. You felt your heart drop.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" you asked, horrified that you had slept for hours on his lap.

His lips pressed in a small smile, he shrugged. "I thought you'd needed it," he went to grab his things, and stood up. "Hungry? D'you wanna go grab something to eat with me? I'm buying."

"I uh... thank you," he held out a hand to help you stand. "But I should go home. I have to keep studying," you muttered shyly, brushing the dirt and grass off your clothes.

Seokmin had been a very attentive friend lately. After months of you being in their friend group, you had grown really close to him. And besides letting you sleep on his lap for hours, he'd been making sure you eat, that you get home safe and sometimes he brings you coffee when he knows he'll find you in the library.

His usual response was that you had helped him a lot with homework and assessments at university, and that he felt the need to pay you back all the time. As much of his explanation was correct, you did not want to dig any further.

"That's okay," he shrugged again. "But you've been pushing yourself too hard lately. I don't want our noodle having a burn out for being an overachiever," he cooed, dropping an arm on your shoulders as you walked through the park, beside the river.

"It's this stupid art history final 'm worried about," you mumbled, trying not to think too much of his arm draped in your shoulders.

"Don't worry, noodle. It's just a test. It won't matter in a year, or in a month," he chanted carelessly.

"But–maybe you're right. But it matters to me now," you mentioned.

"I can help you study," he suggested, dropping his arm from your shoulders.

"The last time you helped me study you fell asleep in the library," you reminded him, but couldn't help but smile at the memory.

"And you let Soonyoung paint my face with your markers," he pouted. "You're right, I shouldn't help you."

You laughed, remembering the pictures of him asleep on the library with doodles on his face.

"We can grab milkshakes and you help me study for a bit. Fair trade?" you suggested.

"Or, I can help you study today and you come with me for the job fair next week," he countered.

"I'll go with you to the job fair either way, we don't have to trade that," you said.

Seokmin has been anxious about that job fair for weeks now. Apparently some theatre companies and different acting agencies will be there and he wanted to make some good impressions, but he couldn't do it alone.

"Promise you'll come with me?" he asked.

You suppressed a smile. "Sure."

He held up his pinky finger out to you and you scoffed, he held it closer between you, insisting. "You've been standing me up lately, don't wanna risk it."

You intertwined your pinky with his. "I promise."

"Good. Now, milkshakes..."

Your chuckle was interrupted by your phone buzzing in your pocket, pulling it out from your pocket you went to check it.

[4:19 PM] youngho ♡: bbgirl [4:19 PM] youngho ♡: wya? [4:20 PM] youngho ♡: i'm outside your building

"Oh, crap," you muttered, and Seokmin leaned to peek at your screen. "Sorry, can we move our study sesh to tomorrow? I totally forgot I had a date with Youngho."

Seokmin coughed, masking his chuckle. "Sure, I'm free tomorrow," he muttered awkwardly. "I thought you said you called it off with Youngho 'cause he was a mess."

"He is," you muttered. "I decided to give him a second chance."

"Why?" Seokmin's frown deepened.

You shrugged. "He's kinda cute. I don't know."

Seokmin snorted.

"What?" you asked, a shy smile appearing on your lips.

"Nothing, nothing," his smile faded as he looked at the ground while he walked beside you. "Can I ask you something?"

You were taken aback for a minute, seeing that Seokmin got serious all of a sudden. "Sure, what is it?"

He was biting his lower lip, looking at the sidewalk as you continued walking toward the bus stop. "Do you see this thing with Youngho going somewhere?"

"Oof. Don't know. Don't think so," you shrugged. "Maybe it's just a fling. Why?"

He bit his lower lip, looking a bit lost in thought. "Dunno. I was just thinking that's kind of difficult for me to date lately."

"That reminds me," you mentioned before crossing the street with him at your side. "Didn't you tell me you were going to ask Seoyeon out?"

"Who?" he muttered, his mouth pouting. He shook his head slightly. "Ah, yeah. I didn't."

"Why not?" you frowned. His face looked deep in thought.

"I forgot," he muttered.

You narrowed your eyes as you both waited for the bus for you. "Did you chicken out, Lee Seokmin?"

He smiled sheepishly. "No," he mumbled. "I just forgot."

"She thinks you're cute! You should get to know her," you landed soft slap on his shoulder. "She is nice. I like her."

"Maybe you should ask her out," he muttered, the tips of his ears bright red.

"That's not what I meant!" you whined. "Come on, Dk!"

"What if I don't like her at all? I want to ask someone I know I like," he murmured shyly.

The bus was approaching the stop. The screech of the brakes almost drowned out his voice, but you managed to catch his words.

"Then you should go ahead and do it," you replied simply with a smile. "That's me. I'll see you later, Dk!"

You waved goodbye as you boarded the bus, choosing a seat where you could still catch a glimpse of him. He smiled back at you, a bittersweet smile.

Present day.

It has been just a few days since you last saw Seokmin. But he's been living in your mind every day, making you miss him with every second that passed.

You attempted to maintain your daily routine, and keeping yourself occupied proved effective, for the most part. However, there were days when you felt terrible, and Seungkwan couldn't help but notice, persistently badgering you about it until your shift at the coffee shop concluded.

It was the last week of your season before the last night of show. It's been six weeks since you and Seokmin started fake dating. And four days since he called it off, confessing that he had broken the promise he made to you.

That promise meant that your fake relationship would be only just for fun. No real feelings.

You tried to keep your mind off the memory of him. You were in the middle of brewing coffee, since you haven't been sleeping well for the past few days.

The buzzing of your phone snapped you out of your train of thought.

[10:21 AM] soonie: i got the role [10:21 AM] soonie: ╥﹏╥ [10:22 AM] soonie: did u get the role too [10:27 AM] soonie: don't leave me on read

Those were the messages you had already read. Ignoring him was not always easy, given his insistence. However, his rapid-fire texts sometimes gave you a headache.

[10:40 AM] soonie: sigh [10:40 AM] you: i got the role too soonie [10:41 AM] soonie: we're kissing ig 🤮🤮 [10:41 AM] you: it's just 1 night every week, chill [10:41 AM] soonie: FOR 7 WEEKS [10:41 AM] you: it's just a simple kiss soonie [11:42 AM] soonie: WHAT WILL I SAY AT YOUR WEDDING FEAST [10:42 AM] soonie: scratch that [10:42 AM] soonie: how will i be able to look at dk in the eye after i kiss his girl ? [10:42 AM] soonie: 🤮

Soonyoung obviously didn't know that you and Seokmin weren't in a relationship, he didn't even know that it was all completely fake. You didn't know how he'd react. But you decided not to tell Soonyoung anything yet.

You got an email confirming you had gotten the role earlier in the morning. So you'll be Satine for 7 weeks. And not only that, you'll have to extensively prepare for the shows.

Now that the company recently acquired a bigger production team and acquired the permissions and rights to adapt more popular works into theatre, you had the opportunity to get bigger roles.

This was a big opportunity for you. It meant bigger audiences, larger shows, larger runs. Training, classes, reading, learning scripts, work, work, work.

But it was okay, you needed to be busy.

The reason why Soonyoung was freaking out was because you'll have to kiss him for one particular scene. From what you knew, it was a passionate kiss. But you two were actors, kissing people for a scene was normal.

When you kissed Seokmin for the first time, you were acting. You were pretending to be his girl for a night to make your friends see that you were over your ex.

But even going back to the memory, it wasn't like acting on a stage. You felt something. Whenever Seokmin touched you, kissed you, you felt things that you usually didn't feel on stage.

Did he feel the same things you did when you first kissed?

The mere recollection of him caused your body to ache, and you physically recoiled from the memory. This same feeling had been happening ever since Seokmin left your apartment that night he confessed his feelings for you.

Pain. Fear. Regret.

But you couldn't quite put your finger on why.

Seokmin was your best friend. He has been for years now and you were in the brink of losing him to your bad choices. You knew that having sex with him blurred the lines of your friendship with every encounter you had. But you didn't seem to care in that moment, now you regret it.

You never intended for this to go so far. In the beginning of it all, you just thought it was a fun little secret you had with Seokmin. A fake relationship between two friends who like to fuck. The first time you had sex with Seokmin, it was purely that. Just sex.

All because you wanted people to shut up about your cheating ex. You didn't even feel something for your ex anymore, so you didn't think that you were using Seokmin as a rebound. But it felt wrong.

So, it was a particular shitty day for you. You didn't even felt like celebrating the news of your new important role.

Later that day you had your shift. You dragged yourself to the coffee shop, when you arrived fifteen minutes late, you knew what would happen.

"There you are," Seungkwan said, putting his phone in his pocket. "I've been calling you. Are you okay?"

Your brow furrowed. "I'm fine, Boo," you searched your pockets. "I think I left my phone back in my apartment. Sorry."

He eyed you up and down for a second, a worried look on his face. "You look like shit."

You scoffed. "Thanks, man."

"I mean it. Are you sure you're okay?"

You rubbed your face with two hands. "I'm just tired, that's all."

He pursed his lips for a second. But decided to continue his task for the moment. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

"Boo, I'm fine," you insisted.

"I'm worried!" he exclaimed, annoyed now.

"Don't be," you muttered, taking your position at the cash machine. "'m fine."

You heard him scoff, but didn't say anything else anymore.

The shift was difficult. You didn't think of Seokmin for hours, but you felt the echoes of your worries affect you in other ways. You'd forget simple things, mix orders and make minor mistakes that cost you time.

It was starting to annoy you. This failure in your mind due to your stress from the idea of losing your best friend. He told you he wouldn't go anywhere. But what if he did? What if he backs out seeing your apparent indecisiveness?

The shift ended after long hours of you fucking up. Luckily no one told you anything, in fact, you felt a bit annoyed that no one said anything. Instead, your co-workers seemed to be giving you the pity treatment again. But now for a new reason unbeknownst to them since you weren't saying anything.

You just looked like you're close to breaking. You looked like you were holding back tears and you might as well be.

Keeping secrets could be like that–weighing heavy on the heart. You realized that there was nothing wrong with opening up about what had been tormenting you for days.

And you just needed to let it all out.

"Seungkwan," you muttered as you were closing the shop.

"Yes?" he lifted his gaze from his phone almost instantly.

"Can we talk?" you asked and your voice sounded small.

He put his phone in the pocket of his jacket. "What's wrong?" the tone of his voice was soft. So soft that you felt like breaking into tears.

The pavement where you were standing was empty and the streets equally desolate, except for the occasional passing car that interrupted the silence with the sound of tyres on the wet pavement. The night was still, as if it had fallen silent to listen to the words you were about to say.

"I fucked up," you muttered in a shaky tone. "With Seokmin."

His gaze softened and he gently pulled you into a warm embrace, his hand resting on your shoulder. It was at that moment that you could no longer contain your emotions. You broke down in tears for the first time since Seokmin left, tears ran down your face in his comforting embrace. It was an abrupt release, and the intensity of your tears took you by surprise, as if it was proof of the depth of your emotions and the relief of finally sharing your burden with your best friend.

Broken sobs were muffled in Seungkwan's shoulder as his hands caressed your back, soothing you. "That's it, let it all out," he hushed.

"I– I'm sorry Boo," you sobbed.

"Why? What happened?" he asked, still in a soft tone.

"I lied to you. We never had a relationship. It was all fake," you mumbled, trying to get the words out as fast as you could, cringing with every single one of them.

"What?" his hands on your shoulders pulled you from the embrace. "Why?"

You wiped your face off your tears. "It was a stupid thing we came up with on the opening night. We pretended to be a thing, but we messed it up."

His eyes unfocused from yours, his mouth parting a bit. "Ah, I see. I knew there was something off," his brow furrowed, eyes locking on yours again. "But why lie? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was tired of people asking me about Youngho, I just wanted to make it stop," you sobbed.

"Why not just tell me to stop asking?" he shook his head and blinked rapidly. "Fuck, I know you did tell me, forget I asked that. But, why did you say you fucked it up?"

"We had sex," you mumbled shyly. "A lot."

He cringed visibly. "Right. That I did know," his brow furrowed. "But you made it seem like it was normal."

"We promised it would only be that, a no strings attached thing. No feelings, we would remain as friends only."

Seungkwan listened intently, but you saw something in his face that he could tell where the story was going.

You inhaled deeply, trying to calm yourself down but the tears wouldn't stop coming. "Seokmin called it off last saturday," you mumbled.

"Let me guess, he's looking for something serious," he inferred, nodding at your reaction. "And you don't want that?"

"That's what I don't know," you sighed. "I can't deny my feelings for him, but I'm not sure if I'm ready for that step."

"Why's that?" he ask, a genuine curiosity in his voice. "Didn't you just said you had moved on from your ex?"

"I have moved on," you insisted. You paused, your thoughts gathering as you considered your response. "It's not about my ex. It's about me. I don't know if I'm truly ready for something more with Seokmin."

He nodded, seeming understanding. "I get it. It's important to be sure of what you want. But I thought you really liked him. You seemed really happy with Seokmin."

Your heart twinged with pain. "I do like him, Kwannie. I really do and it drives me crazy," you shuddered. "What if I fuck this up again? I don't want to lose him."

Seungkwan rolled his eyes. "You're annoying. You won't fuck this up, you know why?"

Your best friend wasn't really annoyed, but he looked like he wanted to whack you in the head.

"Why?" your voice still sounded small.

"Because you love him. You won't fuck it up. You're just scared and that's completely okay. It's human," he shrugged and patted you in the back.

You didn't stop at the word again, but it did had an effect on you. Love.

"God, I hate when you're right," you sniffed, wiping your face with the sleeve of your sweater.

"You're not off the hook yet. You did lie to me, for weeks," he pointed a finger to your face. "There will be repercussions."

You laughed at his fake-serious expression. "I wouldn't expect any less from you, Kwannie."

"Are we going home now?" he asked, motioning to walk toward the street.

"I'm taking a detour, is that okay?" you turned to the other direction from where Seungkwan was motioning.

To where Seokmin lives.

His shoulders slumped down a bit. "Right. Keep me updated!" he said, pulling you into a last hug. "For real this time."

"Yeah, for real this time," you hugged him tightly and pulled away.

You knew where Seokmin lived, since you all had a group chat where you shared your address, so you had learned your best friends' addresses and you all lived within a 6km radius.

Seokmin lived in a building that was the farthest, and the fanciest. He apparently had found a great deal with one of his closest friends. This 'deal' was that the building was directly across a large LED Samsung billboard that pointed directly to his and his roommate's bedroom windows.

You got in to his apartment door, a strange reassuring feeling filled you as you rang his doorbell.

For a moment you thought you might've rung the wrong door. You glanced at the number before the door and then the man that was opening the door.

"Oh, hi. You must be Seokmin's roommate?"

A tall man of deep black hair nodded, flashing a polite smile at you. "I'm Joshua. You're looking for him?"

You nodded once, then you started feeling really nervous.

"Sorry. He flew to visit his family a couple of days ago. Might come back on friday," his brow furrowed. "Do you want me to tell him you stopped by?"

Your heartbeat faltered for a second. "Uh, no, it's okay. I just wanted to tell him something."

Joshua grinned, one of his eyebrows–which was pierced, arched up. "You could've texted him. Save you the walk all the way here."

"Didn't bring a phone," you mumbled, feeling deeply embarrassed.

You felt like you could use a hug. You were feeling a bit like something's missing, like you're not entirely alone but you were. And a hug would help.

His big curious eyes studied you for a second, his grin vanished and his hand moved from the doorframe. "You okay there? D'you need to come inside? I can get him on the phone if you want."

"'m fine," you brushed off. "Thank you, though."

There followed a quiet moment between Seokmin's roommate and you. It was really brief, but it gave you time to eye behind him, toward the interior of the apartment where you caught a glimpse of Seokmin's denim jacket.

You might be going insane, because the first thought you had was to ask Joshua if he could give you Seokmin's jacket. Anything close to him would work.

Joshua gave you a knowing look. "You're her, right? The girl Dk's been seeing lately."

You shook your head. "Not anymore, at least."

He rolled his big eyes. "You theatre kids can be dramatic," he smiled. "If it's any comfort, Dk's been a soppy mess too."

"Oof, that is really comforting," you chuckled ironically. "I'll be going now. Thank you for the comforting words, though."

Joshua smirked playfully. "Anytime," he nodded with his head once. "Get home safe!"

"Thanks," you waved at him and walked towards the elevator.

The closing night of a show can stir up a lot of emotions. After performing for five weeks straight, you had grown fond of your newfound routine.

And you were excited for the next show, too. But right now you couldn't focus on anything else but this night. It marked something special in you.

You had started this season feeling lost. Wandering in the dark not knowing how to navigate in your own body after your life was changed upside down.

A lot of things happened during this season.

Even now, you still didn't know how to deal with the pre-show jitters, as you called them. You were bouncing on your feet, pacing back and forth in a hallway that led to the emergency exit. Your makeup and hair were already done, after weeks of doing it yourself, you had mastered doing them in under ten minutes now.

So you were just dealing with the emotions before the show, listening the chaos that happened every time before a show. Some dancers were late, and apparently there was something wrong with the sound system but those problems usually would be solved the moment the show started.

All you needed to do was relax. You knew your lines, you knew your queues. Why were you so nervous?

You knew it had something to do with your mood lately. You weren't as bad as when you started this season, you felt different. But still, you felt like you still needed a hug.

The side of hallway you were hiding at was deserted, you actually had to take a turn to the right to return to the dressing rooms so no one really knew you were here. You leaned back in the wall of the hallway and looked at the ceiling for a moment, you felt a bit dazed.

You sighed heavily.

Your phone buzzed in the pocket of your dress. Reluctant, you fished it out and at glancing at it, immediately your attention was caught.

It was Seokmin.

[7:41 PM] seokminnie: noodle where r u [7:41 PM] you: working. u? [7:41 PM] seokminnie: i know you're working [7:41 PM] seokminnie: i'm here [7:42 PM] seokminnie: you're not backstage?

He's here. Your heart stopped.

[7:42 PM] you: why r u here? [7:43 PM] you: ??

No reply. You stared at your phone screen for what felt like forever, but Seokmin went offline.

You thought of searching for him and just as you were raising your head from your phone, you saw Seokmin turning on the hallway, as if knowing already that he'd find you here.

Your heart raced so fast you lost the ability to speak for a second. You hated it. Hated that you felt so much that you couldn't even utter a single word.

The first thing you noticed about him was that he had dyed his hair again. His hair was now styled in a rich, deep shade of black that matched his sweet chocolate brown eyes.

He smiled softly, the dimples beneath his mouth showed and you knew you were done for.

"Hi, noodle," he mumbled.

A shudder went down your spine. "Hi, Seokmin," you swallowed hard, trying not to cry.

Then you practically leaped into his arms, and he welcomed you right in. His arms encircled your body as a sigh was muffled in the crook of your neck, your feet left the ground for a second before he put you back in the floor.

"You're okay?" he muttered, still hugging you tightly.

"'m better now," you sighed, your voice sounded shaky and that made him break away from your embrace.

"No you're not," he countered, his hands cupping your face, looking at you intently. "What's wrong?"

You sniffed and looked up to try and control your tears. "Nothing. I just missed you," you laughed sheepishly.

"I know, noodle," he replied in a soft tone, pulling you back to his warm arms. "I miss you too. Everyday."

Seokmin's scent triggered a flood of emotions, bringing back memories. The fear and pain you have felt these past few days were long gone.

Seokmin felt like home. Like coming home after a tiring day, you can finally relax and unwind. The comfort of his affectionate embrace is everything you've been longing for in the last few days.

"Why are you here?" you asked, and pulled away to see him.

He was all dressed in black, all except for his white t-shirt, which you had already ruined with your tears and make up.

"Sorry," you whispered, trying to clean off the pink make up from his shirt.

"Don't worry about it," he brushed it off. "I'm here to see you."

You blinked. "You are?"

He rolled his eyes, yet he flashed a smile that tugged at your heartstrings sharply. "It's your closing night, noodle. I wouldn't miss it."

You felt your body relax under the wave of warmth his words caused. "And how did you know I'd be here?"

He shrugged, putting his hands on the pockets of his jeans. "A hunch," he laughed with a resigned sigh. "Soonyoung told me."

He heard you chuckle and a glint of joy appeared in his eyes.

"I was dealing with some pre-show jitters," you explained, trying to get your undereye to dry without smudging your makeup further.

"I imagined. Do you still feel nervous?"

You inhaled deeply. "A bit," you said. "But for a different reason now."

He cocked his head, pursing his lips slightly, showing the dimple beneath the corner of his mouth. "What's that?"

Suddenly your mouth went dry. You were drawn to him so much you couldn't keep your hands to yourself. You pulled him into a hug again but this time you didn't hide your face on his shoulder, you faced him and he didn't pull away.

Seokmin swallowed thickly, his eyes locked on yours briefly before resting his forehead on yours, his eyelids fluttering a bit as he sighed weakly. His hands found your waist, pulling you even closer to his frame.

"We need to talk," you whispered, your hands found his face, fingers touching his jawline gingerly.

"Right now?" you felt his brow furrow.

"After the show?" you asked, your voice sounded shaky.

"Let's talk tomorrow. Would you like that?"

You shook your head slightly and you heard him smile.

"We'll talk tomorrow," he insisted. "Tonight is yours, baby."

You shuddered again, him calling you baby would never feel old.

"But–," you started.

"I told you I'd be patient," he mumbled softly as he moved his hands from your waist and cupped your face.

"But I can't be patient," you whined, seeing his face again after he pulled back.

"I know," he smiled, his thumbs caressed your cheeks softly, seeming to shudder when your hands fell from his face and found the sides of his neck. "Try to enjoy tonight. Do that for me, will you?"

You nodded, giving him a reassuring smile.

He returned the smile. "That's my good girl," he sighed and angled your face so that he could press a loving kiss on your forehead.

The shiver running through your body made your eyelids flutter and sigh.

Then you heard commotion back in backstage that usually let you know that you needed to be stage ready soon. You looked up at Seokmin's sweet brown eyes, and he seemed to know too.

"Go. You got this, baby," he whispered with a nod of his head pointing toward the hallway.

You saw his eyes and his mouth for a brief minute, resisting the urge to kiss him. Seokmin saw you hesitate and sighed under a soft smile, using his hands on your face he kissed your forehead once and then your cheek sweetly.

"Go. I'll see you right after," he giggled.

You gently released yourself from his embrace and, just before you pulled away, you slyly kissed his cheek, eliciting another soft chuckle from him. With a quick step, you made your way back to the dressing room. Quickly, you touched up your makeup and prepared for your show.

You got this, you repeated to yourself.

As the stage lights come up, the murmur of the room died down. Taking a deep breath, you braced yourself for the start of the show, where the voices of your fellow cast members got ready for their cue too.

Everything in your head, every worry and anxiety quickly died down when you entered your scene on a dimly lit stage, your chest rose and fell with each controlled breath. As the orchestra's crescendo rose, your body became fluid and controlled at the same time, ready to reflect the passion of the character you have been portraying for weeks.

Your voice carries the weight of the character's struggles, resonating across the stage. The power and freedom you experience when projecting your voice makes you feel truly alive.

As your last scene came to its end, your voice rose, filling the space with a powerful resonance that reverberates throughout the room, the lights on you died out, the curtain fell.

And then a standing ovation erupted for you and your fellow cast members and the rest of the crew.

After regaining your composure, your chest heaving with pure adrenaline, the curtain rose again, showing you standing hand in hand with your cast and crew.

With a shared smile, you raise your clasped hands and take a deep bow, expressing your sincere thanks for the overwhelming support you received.

The staff crew swept in, you were clapping your hands together with the crowd at the same time that someone from the crew thrusted a bouquet of fresh flowers into your grasp.

You looked at the flowers. They were not roses. You didn't exactly like roses and someone was aware of that. Your fingers reached for the card tucked among the yellow and white daisies and you looked out into the crowd.

Seokmin was in the front rows, clapping proudly with a big smile. When you saw him, he waved at you with a sweet smile.

For my noodle. Let's cherish this beautiful night as you return fully on the stage again. From Seokmin.

Your eyes filled with tears and you felt yourself breaking down in a sob that was quickly muffled by the commotion in the theatre. You smiled and waved at Seokmin as a form of thanks.

But you wanted to do more. Your body urged to feel his embrace again.

What ensued next was a session for the press. It was something you have definitely done before, but it was your first as a lead. It felt long and arduous, as you were trying to get it done as quickly as possible without coming off as rude or indifferent.

You wanted to go back off stage, remove all your makeup and costume to find Seokmin again.

The flashes from the cameras blinded you briefly as you spoke, answering the questions from the press and other few people who had the opportunity for a quick commentary or feedback.

When you rushed off stage, everything was a blur. You just had finished your first season run in what felt like an eternity. It was your first season since you and your ex broke up. And it felt just so good to come back.

The jitters you had felt before were yesterday's worries. Now, you continue onwards.

There was no big after party on closing night. And you were okay with that. Some people from cast and crew were gathering at a bar afterwards but it wasn't something special or out of the ordinary, just like every friday night.

So the clothes you brought with you before the show were just comfy. Leggings, a tank top, sweater, hoodie and sneakers. Your outfit was just mean to keep you warm and comfy after the show. And you felt totally unprepared for a night out.

Seokmin was waiting for you outside the dressing rooms. Some guys from your cast were crowding around him, as it usually happened. Seokmin was a particularly shy guy, but had a lot of friends. A lot of people seemed to know him so, a small crowd followed him whenever he went.

He was chatting with a guy, looking interested but you knew it was a façade. He'd nod with his head and go 'yeah, yeah' and smile politely.

When you appeared in the hallway, flower bouquet in hand, his face lit up, apparently pulling him out from his trance. He seemed to excuse himself from the his friend group and strolled toward you, extending his arms in his way.

"You killed it, noodle," he muttered once he hugged you, his arms lifting you from the floor again, effortlessly.

"Thank you for the flowers," you mumbled in his shoulder.

"You liked them?" he asked, putting you back on the floor.

"They're beautiful," you nodded, smiling up to him. "How did you know I like yellow daisies?"

He blinked, looking back to the flowers and then your eyes. "I think you mentioned it. A while ago, I don't remember," he explained, scratching the back of his head shyly.

"I did?" you asked, feeling confused and then shrugged.

He nodded with his head, smiling softly at you. "D'you want to go where everyone's going after this?"

"Uh... no. Not really. I wanna go home," you muttered.

"Can I... walk you there?" he asked, and the look in his eye made you think that he was feeling shy.

You nodded eagerly and that made him smile broadly.

"Let's get you home then," he muttered, grabbed your duffel bag from your shoulder and threw it on his.

You kept your free hand in the pocket of your hoodie for two reasons. The first one being that it was starting to get really cold already, as the autumn died out day by day. The other reason was so that you kept your hands to yourself.

You wanted to touch Seokmin. To hold his hand as you walked on the side walk in direction to your apartment. But you knew that you had to wait until you two talked, you didn't want to cross a line again.

"I got the role," you told him after a minute of silence. You had started to feel tension in your walk, as if Seokmin were thinking what you were thinking too.

"You'll be Satine?" he looked at you with a proud smile on his face. "That's awesome, congrats."

Your fingers caressed a soft petal of one daisy. "Thanks. Soonyoung will play Christian, though. He's mortified."

Seokmin's brow furrowed. "Why? I thought he wanted this role. Something about proving himself that he can sing on a lower register."

"He's worried that we'll have to share some kissing scenes," you mumbled, and then you started to get why Soonyoung was worried, because an uneasy warmth crept up your cheeks.

"I see," he pressed his lips into a smile. "And how do you feel?"

"I'm annoyed," you replied. "I don't care that I'll have to kiss him. I'm annoyed that he's making such a fuss about it and we haven't even started script readings."

"Yeah, he can be a bit dramatic," he chuckled. "But I'm glad you got the role, though."

Seokmin stopped walking and you almost felt confused until it dawned on you that you were already outside your building. Your heart faltered a little, seeing that you'd probably had to return to your apartment alone after spending your closing night with him.

"You're sure you don't want to come in?" you asked sheepishly, pointing a thumb towards the building.

Seokmin glanced up at the building briefly, appearing to be reconsidering it. "I'm sure, noodle," he muttered with a low tone.

Your shoulders slumped down a little. "Okie dokie," you whispered, still grabbing your bouquet of flowers with one hand.

"But we'll talk tomorrow, remember?" he asked, seeing your reaction.

You made a small pout, aware of your own childishness, but going with it all the same. Seokmin responded with a soft laugh, wrapping you in a comforting embrace.

"Don't make it more difficult for me," he hummed, his head resting beside yours gently. "If I go to your apartment with you right now, I might not come out. We need to talk first. And you know it."

Your whole body burned with anticipation and your arms clung to him, pulling him close to your body. You couldn't think of what to say and it seemed words were inadequate. You simply longed for his presence beside you.

He pulled his head back, a hand cupping the side of your face. "Baby, you're killing me," he muttered, a tortuous smile creeping on his face. "Can't you wait until tomorrow?"

"Not when you call me that," you muttered, still pouting.

His gaze softened. "My bad," he sighed under a small smile that looked content on his face, even though you were pressuring him. "Let's talk tomorrow, alright? Get some rest. I'll text you."

"Fine," you mumbled, and the hand cupping your face pinched your pouting lip gently, making you smile in response.

"C'mere," he whispered, pulling you closer to kiss your forehead, his lips pressing kisses gingerly on your face.

His forehead rested on yours, the proximity of his face to yours made you close your eyes briefly and you heard him sigh deeply.

"Text me when you get home?" you asked, feeling that you just needed to get anything he'd give you.

He chuckled. "Sure thing," he muttered, not quite making a gesture to leave. "Anything else?"

"Mmm, dunno. Let me think about it," you pretended to ponder over it, only to cling to his body for a while longer.

After a brief moment, you pulled away from his embrace reluctantly. His arms relaxed around you and his sweet brown eyes found yours.

He was right. As much as you wanted to drag him into your apartment, you needed to talk first. It was necessary for you to have some order in your friendship before you could do something with him again.

It was the right thing to do. You hated it. But he was right.

"Alright," you muttered. "See you tomorrow, then."

He handed you your duffel bag back. It wasn't heavy, but being the gentleman that he was, Seokmin always offered to carry it himself.

"Thank you for the flowers," you repeated with a shy smile.

Seokmin shrugged, putting his hands on his jean pockets and eyed you up and down. He blinked slowly, his lips pursing a little.

"They look good on you," he said warmly, a predilect glint on his eyes.

A small sigh escaped you. He was just so fucking beautiful. You had to resist the urge of pulling him into a kiss right there and then. He was also making it difficult for you by just existing.

"Thanks," you whispered, feeling yourself blush a little.

"See you tomorrow, noodle," he pulled you into a last bear hug, patting your head playfully before walking away.

When you got home, the first thing you did was look for a flower vase, or something remotely useful to put the bouquet in. In view that you didn't have a flower vase, you found a jar and decided that it was good enough in the mean time until you bought an actual vase.

You found yourself smiling as you looked for a place to put your flower bouquet, deciding that the little coffee table in your living room was perfect for it.

Your phone buzzed a little while after.

[11:44 PM] seokminnie: i'm home [11:44 PM] seokminnie: gnight noodle

A smile crept on your face, feeling a tight warmth fill you in.

[11:44 PM] you: goodnight seokmin :)⁠♡

The day seemed pale and gloomy, as autumn slowly reached its peak with a frosty air. The pavements were covered with fallen leaves as you approached the park. Despite the chill, the atmosphere was pleasant.

You dug your hands deep in the pockets of your jacket. Having a but of fun with the puff that your breath created in the cold winds as you drew closer to where you and Seokmin had agreed to meet up.

It was the park you used to visit to wind down after exams when you were in university. The same park you had taken a long nap in Seokmin's lap years ago.

Did Seokmin remember that same event? You weren't entirely certain, but it seemed plausible that he chose this location because it was strategic, being a midpoint for both of you.

You were just arriving to the park when you realised that you had forgotten your phone yet again. But now it was something that made you panic a little. The park was so large that you didn't know where Seokmin might be arriving through and if he relied on his phone to find you, he could think that you had stood him up.

You looked around, thinking fast. Despite the cold weather, people were gathering at the park to walk, do exercise or just socialise. So it was a bit crowded, a bit difficult to stand out.

But then, you decided to trust, and walked toward that same tree you use to gather with your friends. The same tree Seokmin sat at when you fell asleep in his lap. You didn't think he remembered, but you had no other choice.

The walk over there gave you a chance to look around, to see if you spotted his familiar frame.

Until you saw that tree in the distance, it was located close to the lane you were walking, and it had a clearing of leaf covered grass surrounding it. It stood alone.

You caught sight of Seokmin, strolling with one hand in his pocket, the other clutching his phone, his brow furrowed in concentration as he seemed absorbed in whatever was on the screen, his steps aimless.

He had his dark hair tussled carelessly and wore a cosy looking oversized navy blue sweater, jeans and red converse. You took a second to breathe again, looked so cute, almost threw you back to your university days.

He was so absorbed in looking at his phone screen that he almost bumped into you. "Oh, I'm so sorry–," he said startled as he looked from his screen to you. "I was looking for you," he gasped. "I tried calling you and texting–"

"I forgot my phone," you mumbled shyly.

He sighed, and then smiled warmly. "Noodle, you scared me for a minute," he circled your body with his arms. "I thought you wouldn't come."

"I wouldn't do that," you said, catching a small whiff from the smell of his sweater.

He hugged you tightly for a second, rocking his body from side to side gently and taking you with him.

"Do you remember when we'd come here?" you heard him mumble and felt him rest his cheek on the crown of your head.

"Of course I do," you whispered. "I once slept on your lap for hours."

"You did?" he asked and you felt your heartbeat falter a little.

"And drooled on your leg," you giggled.

"Mmyeah I think I'm starting to remember. Disgusting," he chuckled, but he sounded fond of the memory.

He stopped rocking your bodies, pulling his head back to cup your face in his hands.

"Joshua told me that you were looking for me a few days ago," his brow furrowed a little.

You sighed. "I told him not to tell you," you whined a little.

"Why? What happened? Why didn't you call me?" his eyes searched yours.

You swallowed thickly and breathed in deeply as if gathering strength. "I needed to talk to you," your voice was shaky. "I needed to tell you how much I... missed you."

"But why didn't you tell me anything?" his hands dropped from your face, as if giving you space to talk freely.

"I... think I was scared," you mumbled feeling like you'd soon start to shake from the chill air. "I needed time to think and reflect about what I wanted but my own feelings scared me."

He listened attentively, his gaze shifting from your eyes to your mouth, a habit you had noticed he used whenever you spoke to him.

"I went to find you because I needed to tell you that I feel the same way about you," his eyes widened slightly as he took your words in, and you could almost sense the shift in his breathing. "I want to be with you too, but I've been scared to fuck this up because..."

You swallowed thickly again, the knot in your throat making it impossible to utter a word without your voice breaking.

"...because you mean a lot to me," you continued despite feeling vulnerable. "I don't want to fuck up what we have. You're my best friend, our friendship is too important to me."

His gaze softened and he tilted his head to one side, a gentle, affectionate gesture. "Why would you fuck this up? There's nothing you could ever do that would drive me away, you know that."

Your eyes filled with hot tears, and you felt your lower lip quiver under the wave of emotions commanding your body. "I know. I panicked. I–just, I want us to work."

His sweet brown eyes seemed to glint with emotion. "You do?" he mumbled.

You nodded, wiping your tears with your sleeves. "I looked for you because I couldn't stand keeping this to myself any longer," you admitted, your voice trembling. "I… I also want to see where this could go."

Seokmin looked at you with a mixture of surprise and relief, and his initial tension slowly faded into a warm smile. "I'm glad you found the strength to tell me," he said, his voice full of affection and warmth. "I also felt scared. I didn't want to rush it, I didn't want to rush you because I know you. I knew you'd need some time to think."

Your body shook with cold and nervousness. It took a lot from you to speak your feelings, let alone to confess something as important as this to Seokmin. But you felt alright, as it dawned on you that you had finally taken that step, and it felt so right.

"Can you..." you mumbled, choking with emotion, "can you forgive me for panicking?"

He blinked, perplexed. "What?" he smiled sweetly, his warm hands cupping your cold cheeks again. "Don't be silly. I have nothing to forgive."

Your hands grabbed his wrists, thumbs caressing his skin as Seokmin rested his forehead on yours. "I didn't mean to hurt you. It was never my intention to mess with you," you explained, pondering over what he said on that dark alley last saturday.

"I know, and I understand," he whispered. "You have nothing to apologise for, baby."

A shiver ran down your spine, and you closed your eyelids, savouring the moment and his comforting warmth.

You heard Seokmin sigh softly, his hands cupping your face and tilting your face slightly before his lips locked onto yours and you swore you might have melted into the kiss. You felt your whole body shudder under a wave of joy and affection as his lips pressed over yours sweetly, kissing your lower lip and cheek with such predilection that your eyes began to water a little.

As you stood there, hands intertwined, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving you and Seokmin alone, wrapped in this new reality.

"Are you cold, baby?" he asked, his tone wrapped in a gentle warmth.

"A bit, yeah," you replied.

"Mm, I can get you somewhere warm," he muttered, pulling away and you saw his face beaming with joy. "Would you like to go on a date with me?"

You smiled and felt his thumb brush the tears from your face. "I'd love that."

"Right now?"

The smile turned into a giggle. "Of course."

You started walking to the opposite direction of the park to which you got in. Seokmin grabbed your hand, locking his fingers with yours and with that brought you hand to kiss your knuckles with a smile that made his eyes beam.

The day was cloudy, with a gentle drizzle lightly sprinkling you with drops of water. The rain was gentle and intermittent, not enough to be bothersome, so you both paid little attention to it, immersed in the moment and in each other's company.

"Are you hungry? We could go to a restaurant that's not far from here," he said, as you walked hand in hand with him through the park where you used to walk as uni students.

"Sure," you said, feeling like it didn't really mattered where he took you, as long as you were together.

"Or we could go to watch a movie, if you're not hungry," he suggested, eyeing you with a smile still plastered on his face.

You laughed and that drew his attention back to your face. "You call the shots, mister."

"Would'you like to go to the aquarium sometime?" he asked, speaking so fast that you had to take a second to process what he said. "I've heard they have aquarium nights."

He spoke so fast that his thoughts seemed to be racing, a revealing sign of his excitement. This image made your heart flutter in your chest. Happiness sweeps over you, a joy so deep that you can't contain the broad smile that spreads across your face.

Droplets of water splashed in your forehead and shoulders, so icy cold that they made you flinch. Then the rain started to pour on you, washing over the park and river so sudden that took you by surprise. You had been ignoring the soft drizzling, not thinking that it was a warning of the upcoming downpour.

"Or we could run to cover," he suggested, chuckling a little. His nose wrinkled a little as the rain fell on his face.

Seokmin held your hand tight as you ran through the park and into the city streets, trying to find somewhere to cover as you quickly found a tall building that offered some roof for you to cover yourselves from the downpour.

"We could go to mine and wait," Seokmin said, his chest heaving from running, pointed a finger to the next corner of the street from where you stood. "It's the closest."

It was true. Since you both ran the other way to which you got here from yours. You nodded, your body starting to shiver from the cold water that already had your hair all wet.

"We have to run again," he said, surveying you.

"I'm okay with that," you nodded.

"Okay," he breathed and took your hand again, leading the way through the downpour toward his building.

Amidst the downpour drenching your entire body, a sudden thought struck you. "Wait!" you called out, your voice barely audible over the sound of the rain.

You tugged at his hand, making him stop, and turned to face you, concern shown on his burrowed brow.

He stared at you as you pulled him close, fingers cupping his face and a smile slowly crept across his lips. He took you by the waist, understanding your and your gazes met.

Your noses bumped lightly and you noticed Seokmin's soft chuckle, his warm brown eyes shifting from your gaze to your lips. Then he leaned towards you and his lips met yours in a gentle kiss, as your hands pulled him even closer.

The kiss was brief, but you tried to savour every second of it. You saw his eyes again when you pulled away, his hands on your waist not quite letting you go, his heavy lidded eyes looking at you with so much love that made you shudder.

"Let's go," he muttered softly, leaning to press a loving kiss on your forehead before walking to the lobby of his building.

It was really hard to keep your hands off him. When you were on the elevator, you had to settle for just kissing his face softly, eliciting some sweet chuckles from him.

His apartment was dark and empty when you got there. Seokmin turned the lights on, realising that his roommate wasn't in.

"You want to take a shower? I can lend you some clothes and dry yours on the dryer," he said as he removed his shoes.

You could only nod, feeling so cold that your whole body trembled. Seokmin saw you and gave you a soft smile, taking your hand to swiftly lead you to the bathroom, he got the shower ready as soon as he got you in.

"I'll bring a towel for you," he said, exiting from the bathroom and probably leaving you to have some privacy to remove your heavy soaking wet clothes.

You heard him return when you were already beneath the warm water from the shower.

"I left you dry clothes and a towel here, noodle," he announced quickly before going out again.

The clothes were his, a wide black t-shirt and grey sweatpants. The sweatpants were too baggy for your frame, but you could adjust the waist to fit.

He laughed a little when he saw you coming out of the bathroom. "You look tiny," he chuckled. "Are you okay with those? I can lend you other things if you want."

"I'm okay with these," you assured him, looking at your body with his baggy clothes. Your legs did look shorter.

"Okay," he said and then he removed his sweater in a swift movement, revealing his lean torso. "You can wait in my bedroom if you like," he suggested.

"Okie dokie," you muttered, without taking your eyes off him.

He sighed under a cheeky smile, bending down to give you a chaste kiss on your mouth. "I'll be there shortly, baby."

You found his room intuitively, since the two doors down the hall from the bathroom were facing each other, one was closed and the one opened revealed Seokmin's things.

His curtains remained open, allowing the bright city lights to cast a range of colours on her bed and the nearby bedside table. The bedside table held a small, softly glowing lamp and a book, which made you think of his reading habit before sleeping.

The window offered a glimpse of the source of the light illuminating his room. The building opposite his window was of a shorter height, revealing the rooftop within view. Perched atop it was a broad LED billboard displaying various advertisements in vibrant hues.

There was a dresser that had a bunch of clutter on top of it, caps, hats, fun glasses, sunglasses, fake glasses, and a pile of screenplays from past roles he had.

But a certain object caught your eye, and your heart fluttered a little when you saw something that once belonged to you. It was a black and yellow bracelet, the yellow beads were painted with smiley faces by you.

You thought you had lost it a long time ago. It just turned out Seokmin had it all along.

After that, you took the liberty of lying on his bed. His creamy white duvet was soft and you could smell the detergent on the pillows. You closed your eyes, hearing the soft cacophony of the rain patter on the windows.

When Seokmin returned, he was draped in a navy blue bathrobe and was using another smaller towel to dry his dark hair. He saw you lying in his bed a soft smile tugged his lips.

"I forgot to tell you," you muttered, sitting up on the edge of his bed, "I like your new hair."

He hummed with a smirk. "You do?" he asked as he closed his bedroom door.

"Mmyeah, you look good," you smirked too.

His fingers tugged at the knot of his bathrobe but he stopped. "Close your eyes, noodle," he chuckled, making a gesture with his hand.

You rolled your eyes. "Nothing I haven't seen before," you muttered while smiling at him.

"But what if I'm shy?" he said while pouting cutely and you noticed that he was joking.

He tugged at the knot of the bathrobe, undoing it at the same time that Seokmin smiled at your eager eyes. The robe parted and a shudder shook you slightly when you saw his body completely naked as he removed the robe from his shoulders and hanged it on a hook on his door.

"You don't close your curtains?" you asked, seeing his body covered by the vibrant colours that the billboard projected.

"What for? No one else is watching," he smirked, turning to look for something on his drawers.

You bit your lip, still watching his body move, every muscle of his legs that tugged with his walk as he pretended to search his drawers. He looked at you through the corner of his eye, letting out a soft laugh.

"Baby, stop eye fucking me," he muttered shyly. "It's making me hard."

You bit your lip harder, trying to suppress a smile, but your core was already throbbing at the sight of him–his large cock was stirring up, stretching up slowly.

"Can I help you with that?" you asked eagerly, practically drooling at the sight of his cock getting harder by the second.

Seokmin turned to face you, still some steps far from where you were sitting on his bed. "Mm, I was thinking of waiting until we actually started having dates and stuff," he confessed, but the tip of his cock was already darkened in a reddish pink.

You smiled sweetly at him, looking riddled with the dilemma he came up with himself. "We can start dating tomorrow," you suggested innocently.

He chuckled softly, moving from his drawers to you. "That bad you want me, baby?" he asked, closing the distance until his knees where brushing with yours. His cock so fucking hard that was pointing upward and inclining to the side a little.

You couldn't resist any further. Your hand grabbed his cock, which was completely hard now and pumped it a few times, making him sigh shakily. You saw his face, as he tilted his head to one side when you used a hand to rub the tip of his cock that dripped in his precum, smearing it all over his soft and warm skin.

"Yeah, that bad," you replied before guiding his cock to your lips.

You slid your tongue around his cockhead, tasting his precum before you took him inside your mouth, your tongue gliding across his length as you tried to take him to the hilt. But you decided to take it slowly, your hand pumped at the length you couldn't reach with your mouth, starting to move your head back and forth slowly.

"Fuck," he whispered, grabbing your hair at your scalp his hands, tugging gently. "You take me so well. So fucking good."

The sound of his voice made your core pulsate a little, and you hummed on his cock as you pulled your head back, hollowing your cheeks before swirling your tongue on his tip and pushing your head as far as you could, until you felt the tip of your nose touch with his pubic hair.

Your darted a look at his face, he was looking at you, his throat bobbed and moaned softly when you pulled back again while hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around his cockhead before pushing in again.

"Mmmfuck. Keep doing that, baby," he muttered, one of his hands moved from your hair to clean drool from the corner of your mouth, his other hand worked on grabbing your hair as efficiently as he could.

You complied, but you started doing the same movements faster. The sounds coming from your mouth as you sucked him off resounded on his bedroom, mixing with the soft sounds coming from Seokmin.

"That feels so good, baby," he hummed and you could sense that it was taking all his strength not to move and start thrusting his cock in your mouth himself.

You kind of wanted him to. To grab your head and start fucking your mouth hard and fast but you knew you weren't ready for that. Each time his cockhead reached your throat you had to breathe in through your nose, his cock so big that you could barely work your mouth on it without gagging.

He cleaned more drool from your chin, using that same hand to get some tears from your eyes. "Can you swallow, baby?" he asked in a strangled tone.

"Mmm-mmph," that was all you could make out in agreement while you still had his cock stuffed in your mouth.

His hand moved from your chin to join the other one grasping your hair and you knew he was about to cum from the taut look on his face. His breath hitched and his mouth parted a little, letting out a groan, blinking slowly as he dumped hot spurs of cum on your throat and you swallowed every single drop of it.

"Good girl," he whispered, gathering more tears from your cheeks with one hand. He let go of your hair gently to cup your face and slowly pull out from your mouth.

He bent down and sealed your lips with a kiss. You moaned in response, thinking that he would taste himself in your tongue as his slid in your mouth. But he didn't seem to care and moaned softly, pushing his body on top of yours, making you lay in his bed.

"Your turn, baby," he groaned, taking the shirt you were wearing on his hands and you arched your back for him.

He removed it and quickly went to get the sweatpants he lent you, which were already ruined in your own arousal. Seokmin saw the glistening streak smeared all over the crotch of the inside of his sweatpants and smiled before throwing them on the floor.

He got up from the bed and knelt before it, your body shuddered with a warm eagerness when you knew what that meant. He yanked you down on his bed, grabbing you by your thighs and you placed him on his shoulder, earning a proud look on his face when he saw you anticipate him.

His hands pressed gently on your lower belly before he dipped his head down between your thighs, licking a stripe on your wet pussy. You moaned loudly and took his head with your hands, your fingers tangling on his wet hair.

Seokmin immediately knew how to work his tongue on your cunt, so he wasted no time and started lapped his tongue in your folds, wet sounds coming from the interaction of his tongue on your core, licking your arousal as if it were his favourite meal.

You cried out, arching your back on his bed. Your legs were already shaking, your body building up towards your release. The tip of his tongue made its way to your clit, teasing it and nibbling at it with his lips until he got it to swell before he expertly started sucking at it, pressing his tongue on it and moving his head up and down lightly.

"Seokmin–," you called in a high keen whimper, "f-fuck, don't stop. Please, baby, don't stop."

He hummed gently, complying as if it were the only thing that mattered. Your body started trembling more as your orgasm shook you, washing over you in warm waves of pleasure that had you arching your back and calling his name loudly.

You breathed hard, body twitching on his bed uncontrollably as his mouth worked on you until he felt your limbs relax. He planted sweet kisses on your thighs and removed his hands from your lower belly.

Panting, you opened your eyes, feeling your lashes wet in tears and blinked until you saw Seokmin's body hovering on top of you.

"You're okay?" he asked and you nodded. He dipped his head again and kissed you softly. You hummed in his mouth, tasting your taste on his tongue as it lapped your lower lip and tongue, dominating the kiss.

"Seokmin," you mumbled in his lips.

He pulled away with a wet sound from breaking the kiss.

"I want you," you whispered, using a hand to push his wet bangs away from his forehead.

He smirked. "How do you want me, baby?"

You rolled your eyes, a smile spreading on your face. "Fuck me, Seokmin. Make love to me," you mumbled, searching his face.

"In that order?" he asked with a breathy laugh.

"In whatever order you want," you muttered as he bent to plant open mouthed kisses on your mouth, then down on your jaw. "I just need you inside me, please."

"Mmm," he hummed as his mouth reached your collarbones. "My pretty girl, so impatient as always," he muttered as he reached your tits.

His hand and mouth teased your nipples, kissing and tugging at them softly. You moaned, your hands finding his wet hair again.

"Please, baby," you whispered. "Jus'need you."

He chuckled, moving his mouth to the crook of your neck. "Keep calling me that and I might give you what you want."

You were still placed in one side of the bed, your ass almost hanging at the edge of the mattress, your legs wrapped around him. Seokmin had one of his knees placed on the bed and one foot down on the floor for support. It seemed an odd position but, you decided not to budge.

Then his lips pressed a wet kiss on your sensitive spot, gentle kisses trailed from the crook of your neck to your ear lobe. He heard you moan and sigh as his lips travelled back down to the crook of your neck, kissing your tender skin gently.

"I want you to mark me too, baby," you whimpered, grabbing the back of his neck as he licked your neck swiftly.

He hummed and complied almost instantly, his lips starting to suck at your soft skin, making you moan in pleasure and approval that you'd have his mark on you.

Seokmin marked you on both sides of your neck, just in the points he knew you liked the most and then you felt his hips come down and rest the lower half of your body on top of yours and between your thighs. Then he pushed his hips on yours, his cock sliding between your pussy lips, practically gliding in your arousal.

You bit back a moan at the feeling of his hard cock smearing your pussy in your own slick as his lips marked your neck.

"Seokmin, please," you whimpered when his cockhead pushed at your entrance briefly, sloppily before resuming to slide between your pussy lips, teasing your clit too.

He smirked, you could feel his lips on your neck as he hummed, again, as if he were actually considering your pleas. He pulled his head back, placing an open mouthed kiss on your chin.

"Please, baby. Fuck–fuck me. Make love to me. I need you so fucking much," you pleaded, thinking that you might sound dumb in your high keen whimpers and sobs.

But his cockhead stopped at your entrance again and pushed in slowly. You were so wet that he practically eased himself in, stretching your gummy walls and making you moan in the process of sheathing his cock inside you to the hilt.

His mouth parted a bit, looking at your face attentively as you cried out in pleasure, the feeling of him inside you was so good that it made your eyes water. Then he took both of your legs, and you knowingly helped him place them on each of his shoulders.

Seokmin stroked one of your legs as he eased himself in again shallow thrusts. "You take me so well, baby," he said, pulling his hips back and thrusting in with more depth.

You could only utter a half moan in agreement as his hips rutted against yours, then he pushed his body forward, pressing your legs against your chest as he thrusted his cock inside you, filling you up so deliciously that you couldn't help but cry out in pleasure.

"You feel so good," Seokmin whispered through gritted teeth.

He took one of your legs and rested it on his shoulder, pushing inside you again so deeply that you felt your body melt in a wave of pleasure. "Mmm, you too, baby," you whimpered. "So fucking good."

Then he started to pick up his pace, plunging his cock in so hard and fast that you felt your breath escape from your lungs. You cried out, your hands holding on his duvet in fists, feeling his cockhead hit a spot within you so deep, so deliciously that your eyes welled up in tears.

"F-fuck. Seokmin–," your voice came out in a broken moan. "Right there, baby! Don't stop, please."

You heard him groan and your eyes found his sweet ones. The plunging of him inside you felt so good and so controlling that your sanity started to slip from your mind. The pressure from your orgasm taking over you so hard and so unannounced that you didn't have a chance to warn him.

But he could tell from the loud cries that left your mouth, and the clasping of your walls around his cock, so erratic and tight around his girth that had him groaning your name with a raspy voice.

Through teary eyes, you watched him blink slowly, the tip of his tongue hung slightly on the corner of his mouth as he cursed and moaned softly before cumming inside you. His cockhead buried in the glorious spot inside you as his hot spurs of cum coated your gummy walls.

But he was still on a mission.

He eased your legs back down. "Scoot back, baby," he commanded and you obliged, moving your body to the centre of the bed for him.

You used the movement of your bodies to look at his body. Painted under the lights of the billboard in front of the building, you could see that his cock was still hard, glistening wet in both your cream and his cum.

You swallowed hard at the sight of him as he placed his knees on the bed, his tall body standing in front of you.

"You're so fucking beautiful," you muttered, still feeling like you were coming down from your high.

Seokmin chuckled breathily. "You too, baby. So fucking beautiful," he muttered as he slot himself between your thighs, pressing loving kisses on your face.

He slid himself back inside you, eliciting a moan from you that was muffled by his mouth on yours. Your hands were down on his lower back, feeling his hips rutting on yours slowly, almost lazily but it still felt so good, so perfect.

"You're okay there?" he asked softly when he pulled back from your lips.

"Mmmyeah, 'm okay baby," you muttered, moving one hand to cup the side of his face as your eyes absorbed his soft features under the pretty lights from outside.

You bit back a moan, hearing the squelching noises created by his cock pushing deep inside your cunt, the wet noises of your juices and his cum inside you sounded so good that you felt the need to see it too. Seokmin heard your low whimpers and the movement of his hips stuttered a bit.

Seokmin took your hand from his cheek, intertwining your fingers in his and placing it beside your head. The thrusts of his hips against yours were methodical, and almost like clockwork he started to rut on you faster.

You wrapped your legs around him, your other hand found the back of his head, caressing his soft dark hair before pulling his face to yours.

Seokmin rested his forehead on yours gently, his breath brushing on your lips. "I can't get enough of you," he muttered in between hot kisses he planted on your face. "M-might never do."

A moan escaped you, feeling a wave of both pleasure and warmth flood inside you. Your lips crashed with his, kissing him fervently as he made love to you. Passionately, hard and fast.

"I feel the same way," you sobbed. "I need you so much. It drives me crazy."

He moaned in a mixture of pleasure and agreement, a soft smile spread on your lips, feeling your breath hitch before Seokmin pulled his chest from yours, letting go of your hand to grab your hips without stopping his ministrations on you. "Cum with me, baby," he muttered, moving his hips against yours lazily.

Your hand slid where your bodies were still connected, your two middle fingers found your clit that was so covered in your slick that it was almost hard to rub it without your fingers slipping. But you pressed hard on it, your walls clenching hard on his cock as you let out a long moan.

You succumbed to a sweet, long orgasm, crying out loudly as his cock kept pushing in, riding your high and causing his. Seokmin also groaned loudly, thrusting hard and deep as he dumped his load inside your walls for a second time, his face and collarbones covered in a faint layer of sweat, chest heaving heavily.

You felt your body pulsate with his as you came down of your high. You too were breathing hard, your body slumped on his soft duvet, feeling also covered in both your and his sweat. You watched Seokmin still on his knees before you, slotted between your thighs.

It was so fucking hard to tear your eyes from him. Hell, the mere experience of being apart from him for even a few days was unbearable. Also, the care and consideration he demonstrated showed the depth of his feelings for you, too. So, maybe he was just as crazy about you too.

The lights of the billboard outside painted Seokmin's face in shifting shades of blue and pink. As you watched him, his lazy eyes, his sweet smile spread and the dimples under his mouth became more pronounced.

He was so fucking beautiful that it made your chest ache.

"God," you uttered in a broken sob. "I love you so much."

♡︎ a/n: waaaa i love seokmin sm i wanna hug him heheh. hi everyone! this one took me a couple of days to write cause i had to move but i hope you guys like it. i'm sorry if there's any mistakes, i posted this as soon as i finished it u-u

if u like this, show it sum love? pls pls i'd appreciate it ♡ and stay tuned for next part!!

btw thanks to all that have sent messages and comments, i love u all. ty ty ty

also, this fic belongs to a shared au so i'll be posting more fics with the rest of the boys soon stay tuned!

my taglist is open! just send me an ask and tell me if u want to be tagged in the other fics too and i'll add u :) toodles

[yearningaces]

Hear me out: What if. Nyx being hunted is how him and his partner met. Eh? Ehhhhh???

You. I like you

~

Labored breaths, racing hearts, adrenaline pushing both creatures on as they raced through the dense forest.

Nyx was certain this was the fastest he'd ever run before, and with his life on the line he wasn't thinking about much else.

The fox hybrid lunged and snapped at the air where Nyx's brown and white furred ears had only just been.

The bunny boy could feel his heart lurching out of his chest as he leaped over a fallen tree, hoping to take a higher ground to deter the fox from following.

But with a harsh sound of the tree being jumped on, and then the cracking of something lunging forward off of the tree, Nyx was running out of ideas.

His ears briefly perked, hearing the sound of wind from how fast he was running, but in the distance, a voice. One that sent a chill through him

Whatever was making noise was a human, and humans are the riskiest predators to tamper with. Some are kind and might take a picture, some try and offer food, some have small contraptions that explode in fire and metal, a quick death but a death none the less.

With the fox gaining on Nyx, he could either be worn down and face an early death, or take that risk and hope whatever human he was running straight towards would be merciful in any capacity.

Nyx sprang towards the treeline- mentally cheering when he caught wind of the foxes sudden hesitation.

Any victory was stalled as the bunny boy landed in the clearing, feeling the sun on his skin as he landed on the ground, hunched slightly for his body to absorb the shock of the landing and he simply froze

Because you were now staring directly at him, tall and proud and human. Looking tense as if preparing for anything.

You stare at each other for a few moments, analyzing.

If Nyx wasn't overwhelmed with seeing a human for the first time and being chased to become a fox hybrids supper, he might notice just how handsome you appear. How strong and capable you are, and how unnervingly focused your gaze is directly on him.

But with a snap of a branch behind the bunny boy, the moment is over and his small form darts towards you- off all things! He easily drifts through the dirt and grass to position himself hunkered low to the ground and directly behind your legs. His ears perked and staring towards the treeline. Tensed like a coiled spring ready to bolt in an instant but taking a breath while it's granted to him.

"What-" Your voice starts to ring out- to question this rabbit hybrid that's just jumped out of nowhere and is hiding behind you, but you don't get a chance. Another hybrid arrives, this one slightly larger and far more noticable than the last.

A fox.

Springing into the open field and skidding to a stop, staring up at you with a haunted expression. But he must be desperate or dumb enough to attempt to get closer with a smooth and charming tone. "Excuse me, traveler. I believe you have something that belongs to me?" The fox points to the bunny boy hiding behind you, brown and white fur, matching hair, and absolutely frozen in place.

You glance down slightly, catching sight of the bunny boy once more. After a moment your gaze rises to the fox. "Doesn't look like he's yours. Matter of fact, it looks like he's mine."

Nyx feels his heart racing as he's hunkered low in the far too open field for his comfort. His ears perk and he feels a shiver creeping up his spine at just how easily you've denied a predator anything. As casually as if you were saying the sky is blue, or the grass is green, the rabbit is yours.

The fox however, hesitates, his charming grin fading slightly.

Nyx can feel the tension from your form, the foxes own muscles tightening as if he's prepared to lunge. Two predators ready to fight for the sake of one rabbit. One wants to eat him, and Nyx isn't quite sure what you're wanting- but he's certainly willing to take the chances.

When the fox lunges, it's too quick for Nyx to think to spring away- and all he can do is watch the moment pass by like a speeding bullet.

The fox lunges, you cross an arm over your chest, something in hand, and when the fox is just close enough your hand swiped towards its head, the motion sending the fox flying sideways into a far too silent and still heep of red fur and skin and bones.

Nyx is frozen, wide eyed as he catches the scent of blood, and peers up to spot what was in your hand. A jagged stone, flecks of blood on it and your fingertips.

The bunny boy tenses even further- wondering if now is the best time to spring away if you were fast enough to strike down such a tricky fox.

He decides against everything when you turn to peer down at him. Nyx can feel a chill seeping into his very bones at how calm you appeared.

Your entire demeanor seemed to drop once the stone dropped from your hand, and you're crouching down in front of him, intentionally lowering yourself to be closer to his height. "Hey, hey, it's over now. Are you alright? He didn't get a hold of you did he?"

Nyx spies your extended hand, palm open to him. His eyes never leave yours as he places his hand in your blood stained one. And his mind is reeling, because you're a human. And you went from the epitomy of an apex predator who'd just killed another predator, to an almost harmless, gentle, and softened demeanor. "He didn't get me. We were just talking, and I thought he was nice, and then he tried to bite me." Poor Nyx can't keep the temple out of his tone.

The predator he thought was safe wanted nothing more than to eat him, and this one that appeared terrifying and sent chills up his spine was choosing to be gentle, choosing to be kind. "I... I thought he was gonna eat me-" it's a pitiful sob the bunny boy lets out and the next thing he knows, this predator kneeling with him has him wrapped up and held close.

Your voice is soft and quiet, trying to ease his nerves as best you can. "Shh, it's all over now. You're safe. I've got you, bunny." Your hand smoothes down the unkempt fur of his floppy ears, and his wild hair. And all Nyx can do is nuzzle his face into your chest, clinging to this unexpected comfort.

Humans are predators. Horrifying, powerful, dangerous predators.

But some humans are also kind and gentle, you are.

And that's everything Nyx could have hoped for, and more.

[storiesbyrhi]

Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, spiders/bugs, grief/mourning; warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: We speak to those beyond. 3668 words.

1986

Time was not linear. Nor was it circular. It was an overlapping collage of everything that had ever happened. A compressed murder board. A grimoire swallowed whole. Eddie remembered it all.

A century of Eptesicus fuscus, a shell of consciousness. Hawkins. A sickness. A witch’s healing hand. Before that, the flatlands. A coven. You. Oh, you, his little witch.

“Those are not your apples.” Cleansing crystals by moonlight. Amabel, little witch. Lonely vampire. Collecting flowers and berries. Green milkweed. Unconditional good. A forest gate. “Bloodline magic, far and wide.” A bet, a kiss, and a name.  “I envy your world of absolutes. And I love you so.” Marguerite du Bruyeres’ letters to Guillaume du Bruyeres. Unmistakably vampire carnage. Blood of my blood.

Eddie let you slip onto the pillow, then escaped out of the trailer and into the early morning. The sun would rise soon but he needed to move. Run. Scream.

The sisters – Sally and Gillian. Penelope, the spellcaster. “By your hand he is taken and I die on this night, or you let us go and free yourself of this burden.” Transformation. Walking through the grass. Black-eyed Susan, tansy, elecampane, yellow carnation, cyclamen. Blood of my blood.

He remembered who he was before you. And before Roanoke. His accent and gait may have changed, but he was the same sad, doomed soul he’d been then. Still a monster.

Eddie sobbed. He went to the forest gate on the outskirts of town and laid in the grass, looking up at the starry sky, letting the shame and horror and regret drown him.

What was he to do? How would he tell you? Should he tell you? Would you be able to see it on his face?

He waited until the very last minutes of night to return to Forest Hills. Eddie moved slowly through the town; slowly, at least, for him. He could picture it all now, how it used to be. The dirt roads. The vacuum of quiet that proceeded the era of constant electrical white noise.

You slept well into the morning, but roused yourself before midday. Eddie was watching Star Wars: Episode IV – A New Hope. He seemed immersed, so you went about making breakfast. Assam tea with cocoa husks. Oatmeal with sultanas and brown sugar.

There was an awkwardness to Eddie when you sat next to him, curling up close enough to touch. Your mind cycled through possibilities with rapid fire speed. The notion it kept circling back to was – did he regret kissing you?

“Chewie reminds me of the creatures that live in the woods. Have you seen them? Over in the north-west?” you asked, trying to break the ice.

Eddie nodded. “They are shy,”

“Yeah. The humans don’t know about them. Well. They do, but most of them think it’s a hoax. They’re considered cryptids… Which is like, an animal or creature that may or may not exist…” You were rambling. “When they see one, they call it Bigfoot… But Chewie definitely looks like one.”

Eddie didn’t answer. You hadn’t appeared to notice the significance of him remembering something, even something innocuous like the existence of things in the woods.

You finished eating, washed your dishes, and returned to the couch. Star Wars ended and you had no real choice but to address the atmosphere.

“Are you okay?” you asked Eddie.

He looked at you, something in his expression you couldn’t quite place. He nodded. “Yes… Perhaps on edge regarding what your Witches will tell,”

“Yeah… Well then, let’s not put it off any longer.”

Directing Eddie to sit across the room, you knelt at your altar and lit two candles. A pale blue candle for truth. A darker indigo candle for intuition and breaking through illusion. With paper in front of you and a pen in hand, you closed your eyes.

The Witches Who Came Before were always with you, so you needn’t call for them. Instead, you spoke to them with clear intention.

“It is not my place to question you. But it is your place to guide me. To offer truth. Long ago, you foretold of us leaving the flatlands. Then, you warned me of returning. What would have happened if I had heeded that warning?”

The temperature of the room dropped and the air grew thick. Eddie felt his skin tingle and prickle, a frisson of fear and excitement running through him.

“I know you see him for what he is. Without him, Vecna would not have been defeated. Can you say without doubt that he would have been without my intervention?”

It was a challenge to them. If you and Eddie hadn’t destroyed Vecna, could your coven have stopped him? Could all the witches in the world have stop him? Maybe, sure. However, somewhere deep down you knew the answer. Vecna did not belong to this plane of existence. He wasn’t even of the world he inhabited. And a witch can only fight within the boundaries of the natural world.

If you had not come to Hawkins, if you had not found the bat and restored Eddie to his vampire form, Vecna would have taken the town, then the world.

The Witches were silent. It told you that you were right.

“You said that not all callings are sanctified, but that the voice calling me was coming into focus for you. Do you know what brought me here?”

The flames flickered and your hand picked up the signal. The words scrawled along the paper faster than you could read.

“Life and Death have no voice… They do not come calling in the night,” The Witches said. “Their siblings are to follow suit, yet they are wayward in their youth,”

“Which of their siblings called to me?” you asked.

“Destiny was formed in shattered ruins.”

The letters were so unfamiliar, you weren’t sure which witch was speaking to you. It didn’t matter. You had an answer. Destiny had broken free of the rules and reached out to you, urging you to come to Hawkins.

“If I was fated to return to Hawkins, then I was fated to find him?”

Y. E. S. was written over and over, the word tracing itself again and again.

“Why me?”

“Like calls to like. Fate to fate. Love to love,” they said. “History will not repeat itself,”

“A history I do not remember.”

For a moment, quiet. “Lore must be rewritten. You must remember.”

You looked over at Eddie, who could not see any of the words on the page. He was watching you intently, something so human behind his eyes.

“How?” you asked The Witches. “How can I remember?”

“By definition. Blood for blood. Magic for magic.”

You didn’t understand but it felt like enough information that you could figure it out. There was one more thing you needed to know. “The coven… Did I betray them or have they betrayed me?”

“Knowledge is… a creator’s prerogative.”

The pen dropped and the flames were snuffed by an unseen power. You breathed out and read the pages again. Eddie came to sit opposite you. He took the paper.

“Destiny is… a sentient thing?” Eddie asked.

“It’s not meant to be. Forces like fate and life and death shouldn’t… proactively… change the course of what happens on Earth. Not for good reason,”

“I assume we will not hear this reason from Destiny,”

“No… But… It’s an answer. I was called here to find you so we could kill Vecna.”

It was a hypothesis you had both considered. It should have felt satisfying to have it confirmed, yet it was a shallow kind of resolution.

“And, it had to be you,” Eddie said. He knew why it had to be you. No other witch would have saved a vampire. It pained him to see you confused and lost.

“When I get my memories back, I’ll know why it had to be me,”

“By definition. Blood for blood. Magic for magic,” Eddie read off the page. You nodded. “By definition, you are a witch, you are magic. Therefore, it is through magic that you will find your memories,” he reasoned.

It clicked into place in your mind. “And by definition, you are a vampire… blood… so… Through blood you’ll get yours back?” you guessed.

When you looked up at Eddie, you expected to see your own excited expression mirrored. Instead, there was restraint. He broke eye contact almost immediately and began to nod, standing up and walking away.

“Yes. Although I don’t-” he began.

“Stop,” you whispered.

You got up and followed him across the room, he took a step to move away from you but you grabbed him by the wrist. Eddie was helpless as you squinted your eyes and studied his face. When you figured it out, a small gasp slipped from your lips and you let go of him.

As you went to speak, your voice cracked and you had to start again. “How long?”

Eddie said your name with too much softness.

“No. No. Don’t… Don’t do that. How long have you remembered? Do you remember everything? When… When did you remember?” You felt like you were going to throw up.

It hurt.

Not the nausea or the sudden headache, but the deceit. You had thought you and Eddie were a united front. A team. But he had lied to you.

“Only last night, but-”

“Last night?! Was that before or after we…” You couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Now that your face was contorted with fear and sadness, Eddie’s mirror yours.

“Please, let me tell you. I’ll tell you everything,” he begged. His hand reached out; he wanted to brush the tears from your cheeks.

You flinched and Eddie moved back in response.

Had you been stupid to trust a vampire? Was everything you felt about Eddie misguided? Were all your bad decisions going to lead to a reckoning, where excommunication was the best outcome you could hope for?

Eddie wanted desperately to spill it all out. To tell you everything that had happened in 1836. To warn you against trusting your coven. To help you find your memories, and maybe Kelsey’s too. But the more he pushed, the more you pulled away. He’d never had faith in anything, but he demanded it of himself in that moment. Have faith in fate. Have faith in his little witch.

Your mind was having trouble holding any one thought. Normally, you’d be cycling through them all, but it felt like your brain was empty. Long hallways leading to unfurnished rooms. Cavernous spaces. Haunted. You were frozen on the spot, watching Eddie watch you. Then, everything came into sharp focus at the sound of a knock on the trailer’s front door.

The tension was popped and you choked back a half-sob. Eddie hid himself in the bedroom, closing the door behind him, as you answered. He climbed onto the bed and curled up, regret washing over him as he closed his eyes and listened.

Sunlight poured in as the door swung open, Robin and Nancy’s shadows casting long across the trailer’s carpet. You frowned, at first, confused by their appearance. The grief was so intense that it was almost an entity standing beside them. You understood then.

“Hey,” Nancy greeted weakly.

“Hi,” you replied.

It felt strange following a normal social script with them. Yet, you all persisted.

“This is Dustin,” she introduced, taking a step to reveal a child standing behind her.

You knew who he was and nodded politely in his direction. He was already crying. Sighing, you looked away from them, out at Forest Hills. Life was returning to it, but you had been too busy with your own shit to notice.

“It might be too early for this,” you told them.

“It’s past midday,” Robin countered.

“No, I mean, too early in the grieving process. It’s only been a couple days,” you explained.

“Are you saying that… He won’t… Answer us… yet? Or that we aren’t ready to talk to him?” Nancy asked. “Because, no offense, but you don’t know us well enough to tell us if we’re ready,”

“We’re ready,” Robin added.

You sucked your bottom lip in, forgetting the split. You winced at the pain, tasted the blood. The blood. Was that how Eddie got his memory back? Had he kissed blood from your mouth and found history in it?

“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” Dustin squeaked. The boy’s face was pure misery. His nose was red from rubbing it with tissues. His eyes were bloodshot. He was clenching his jaw.

Stepping aside, you nodded. “Okay. Come in.”

Eddie stayed where he was, knowing it was not his place to intrude on such a private event.

You cleared the altar in the middle of the lounge room and directed the teens to sit around it. They watched as you gathered items from around the place and mumbled to yourself while scribbling into a notebook.

“Where there is death, there have always been attempts to commune with the dead. It is not a practice that belongs strictly to witches. Since the beginning of time, humans have sought out methods to speak to those they’ve lost. Where connection has been made, it is usually more to do with the dead than the methods of the living, but nonetheless, it has happened.”

Nancy was listening intently, ever the student. Robin and Dustin both looked at each other, sharing inpatient expressions.

“It’s important to understand history. If you want to participate in the craft, you owe it at least that,” you told them. “Our way of bridging us and them is dependent on the dead. How they appear is dictated by them entirely,”

“What does that mean?” Nancy asked.

“It means, I can send them a message and open the doorway, but if and how they walk through it has nothing to do with me. They could send a single message back. Just an echo I hear. Their form may appear, ready to hold conversation. Alternatively, they may close the door and lock it. You need to be prepared for any of these outcomes,”

“He’ll want to talk to us,” Dustin said. “I know he will.”

You hoped he was right.

If the altar was at the center of an invisible pentagram, you placed an object at each point. A small plate of chunks of cedarwood, burning slowly. Black onyx. Sprigs of vervain. A bowl of moon water. Finally, a white candle burning at where the top of the pentagram would be.

You sat at the altar and used a pin to open a tiny wound in your finger. Closing your eyes and letting the blood roll down your hand, you spoke. “I offer my blood, the blood of a born witch, in payment of passage into the ether.” You opened your eyes and looked at the teens. “You can call to him,” you instructed.

They looked between themselves, silently figuring out who would go first. Naturally, Nancy took a deep breath in. Her eyes glazed over with tears. Her voice was small. “Steve? Are you there?”

She looked to you for guidance; you nodded for her to continue.

“Steve… It’s Nancy… Robin and Dustin are here too… We…” She had to stop to steel her nerves. “We miss you. And. Um. We… we wanted…” It was suddenly impossible for her to say the words ‘to say goodbye.’ Nancy started to cry.

“Hey- hey, dingus,” Robin took over. “Are you there? You’re probably busy… hitting on ghost chicks already… But, um, if you could just… just tune in for a minute…”

Everyone’s attention snapped to the bowl of water as it shook and spilled. You felt him first. Warmth. Steve Harrington felt warm.

“He’s here,” you told them. “He’s listening.”

They all focused, trying to sense what you did. Slowly, his outline was becoming visible to you. He was behind his friends, leaning against the trailer’s wall, by the door. Steve’s arms were crossed against his chest and one leg was folded, foot flat against the wall. He appeared casual, already at peace with his death.

“Your friends wanted to say goodbye to you,” you said to him.

“Are you like…” Steve waved his hands in the air. “Like a witch?”

You nodded.

“All this is… Are you a- a good witch?”

“Was that a genuine question or are you quoting The Wizard of Oz?” you asked him.

Robin covered her face with her hands as Dustin rolled his eyes.

“I thought dying, might, you know, level him up?” Dustin whispered through his tears.

“I can hear you,” Steve said.

“Does he know we tried… we…” Nancy cut through the comedy with her grief, getting stuck on her words again.

Steve nodded. He moved through the trailer, his form semi-transparent and snapping with residual energy. He sat next to you, looking over at his friends. 

“He knows you tried to save him. He knows you didn’t want to leave him there,” you told them.

“Tell Dustin that he doesn’t need to feel guilty. I’m glad he wasn’t there,” Steve said.

“It’s good you weren’t there, Dustin. Steve is thankful you were safe and that you didn’t have to see him in the end,”

“And tell him that he’s the coolest kid I ever knew. That I figured that out on the train tracks. He’s cool and he’s so smart. Twice as smart as me. More, probably. He’s gonna grow up and be the kind of man I wish I was.”

You watched Steve as he spoke. The way he looked at Dustin with admiration in his eyes. Like this kid who probably worshipped him was actually the hero of the group.

You relayed Steve’s message word-for-word. Dustin whimpered and let Nancy wrap an arm around him.

“Thanks, man,” Dustin managed to get out. “I love you.”

Steve looked to Robin next. “I don’t know how to explain it to her,” he told you.

“It’s okay. I think she’ll understand,”

“Yeah… That’s it though. She gets me. And I get her. Like… I feel normal around her. I can just be… me. She’s my best friend… I have a shit load of regrets but not knowing Robin sooner is right at the top of that list. Tell her… that she’s so much braver than she thinks she is. And that she’s smart in a way nobody else is… And that she totally deserves to be loved. And not by some girl who keeps it a secret. Nothing like that. She deserves the whole love story movie thing… romantic comedy with the happy ending. Can you tell her that?”

You could and you did.

Robin nodded to herself in a self-soothing action, then pulled her knees up to her chest and started to rock. Steve frowned at her.

“Tell her that she should still go on the trip we were thinking about,”

“He says you should still go on the trip,” you said to her.

Robin barked out a broken laugh. “Sunshine, beers, and babes,” she said.

“Oh! And tell her if someone pauses Fast Times at Ridgemont High at 53 minutes and 5 seconds, she knows what it means.”

Robin laughed again and nodded. “Noted.”

Steve nodded along with her. “Maybe she should take Nancy on the trip. They’d actually make really good friends if they got to know each other,”

“I think they’re doing that,” you told him.

“That’s good…” He looked at Nancy. “I had the chance to tell her everything, near the end. Got some of it… Tell her… Shit. I don’t know how to say it without sounding like I’m blowing smoke up her ass,”

“You’re up Nancy. He needs a second. Says he doesn’t know how to tell you what he needs to without sounding like he’s blowing smoke up your ass.”

Everyone laughed. Except Steve. He held his hands up in question. “What the hell, man? You said you were a good witch!”

You liked Steve.

“Okay… She needs to really believe what I told her. About how she really helped me stop being such an asshole. And that it’s okay how it ended between us. I was stuck in the present but Nancy sees the future. Big plans, you know? She should know that’s a good thing.”

As soon as you started to give Nancy the message, she burst into tears again.

“Tell her that I love that she always trusts her gut. And that she’ll always look so hot with a shotgun… And tell her that I’ll say hi to Barb for her.”

The room fell into silence after the last of Nancy’s goodbye was said. Nobody was ready to move on just yet. After a few minutes of reflection, Steve’s form began to flicker. He knew what it meant. When you sat up straight, the others all looked at you.

“I gotta go,” Steve said.

“Yeah,” you replied softly. “Here. Hold my hand.”

Steve frowned, unsure of what would happen. Still, he thought it best to do what a good witch said. He took your hand and felt a zap of electricity or something magic.

“Any last words?” you asked him.

“Uh, yeah,” he said. The others all gasped. Steve looked to them then back to you. “They can hear me?”

Robin started to sob again. Dustin nodded.

“Oh, shit, okay. Shit… Hi… Shit…”

“It’s okay,” you told him, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah… Uh… Just… It’s okay, you know? It… it had to be this way. There’s already plenty of Steves in the world, you know? But there’s only one Dustin Henderson. One Robin Buckley. One Nancy Wheeler. The world needs you guys. So, it’s okay. I’m okay. I love you.”

The others cried and said goodbye. They held each other and let themselves feel it all.

Steve’s hand slowly faded out of yours, until there was nothing left but his warmth and the memory of him etched into his friends' minds like love letters swiped through wet concrete.

End Note: This chapter was written very much in collab with @dr-aculaaa, my resident Steve expert. Thank you so much! I hope you like how the scene turned out.

Chapter seventeen is a little bit of an interlude, it's an ode to both Steve and to the magic that runs through this story. But also... now she knows Eddie knows... yikes.

Grimoire updated!

Fic Taglist:  @paranoidmunson  @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog @goth-cowgirl-03

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes  @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob  @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel

[happyk44]

Percy walks through the forest at camp after the whole Labyrinth battle. Someone said Nico had disappeared into the trees a while ago. He hasn't emerged since. Percy is worried, of course he is. The kid has a habit of vanishing on him, and he just wants...

He wants Nico to be okay. To have a plan. A place to go. He doesn't have to stay if he doesn't want to, although Percy would much prefer his little cousin stay where he's easily accessible and Annabeth and Grover's eyes can watch him while Percy lives life in the city. But if he doesn't want to stay at camp, Percy wants him to know that he can always come to Percy if he needs help. Or really for anything.

As he walks through the trees, over torn grass and shattered rubble, it reminds him of nearly six months ago. The first time he looked for him. The realization of who he was. What he was.

The words Percy spoke that night. The promise he made.

He stills in the silence of the stars and bristling trees. The ground is solid, the air is chill, but something... Something is wrong. He can feel it like the pull of a tide. He pulls Riptide of his pocket, uncaps the pen, and steadies the sword in his hand. Another monster, still lurking?

The ground bursts beneath him. He jolted back as muddy hands claw their way out from the earth. Seconds later, Nico's head emerges with a quiet gasp. Percy's heart freezes in his chest.

Nico's face is smeared with dirt. It sits in clumps across his hair. There's a jagged cut, small and healing, just about his left brow. And there are tear-stained tracks across his cheeks that glisten in the moonlight.

He digs himself out a little further, then quietly grunts as he struggles to push himself out of the hole. Percy's heart beats again. Riptide slid into his pocket as he walks the two, three long strides back to Nico, and pulls him out with both hands.

He hiccups a little cry, but nothing else comes from his mouth. Percy lifts the edges of his shirt and cleans Nico's face off. He doesn't complain. But he does flinch at the start and Percy's heart crumbles rapidly.

"What happened?" he whispers when Nico's face is finally clean. His cut has fully healed by now, but Percy can't stop staring at the space where it once sat. It was too small, too delicate, for a monster's touch.

Nico sniffs. He won't look at Percy. "I'm the son of Hades." His voice is a cracking whisper. Like crumbling sand. "I belong underground."

They're words Percy knows Nico believes. He is made of darkness and death and dirt the same way Percy is made of salt water and floods and a chilling cold as you sink, sink, sink. But his tone is too flat. His voice is montone. He is reciting words spoken to him. Not words he thinks.

"Nico."

He flinches, curls his arms around himself. His jacket is a little torn. He fiddles with the ring on his finger. Then, with a shaky breath, "This isn't the first time campers have tried to bury my father's children, Percy."

He states it like a fact, something meaningless to him, but his voice hitches on "bury", and blinding rage as strong as the crash of waves against rocks courses through Percy's veins without hesitation.

"Someone tried to kill you."

Nico tugs at his ring. "I-"

"Someone," Percy repeats, "tried to kill you. Yes or no, Nico." Weakly, Nico nods. Percy bites back to the urge to punch the nearest object. "Look at me." Nico hesitates, then slowly brown eyes meet green. His eyes are wet and wide, desperate and miserable and resigned to fate. "Do you know who?"

He shakes his head. "I don't- I don't know their names."

Names. That cuts through Percy like a knife. He grits his teeth. "Would you recognize them?"

"I-" Nico swallows. Looks away. "Yes. But. Only one by face." He twitches nervously. "I would. I would know the others by their souls."

"That's a really cool power." Percy smiles, but he knows it doesn't quite reach his eyes. The rage is boiling, threatening to spill over the top of the pot. But Nico is shaking, and Percy needs him to know that there's nothing wrong with who he is. "What does my soul look like?"

Nico falters. Surprise sits in his eyes as he turns back to Percy. He watches Percy's face for a second or two. Then, "Green usually. Like a soft green. Feels like..." He closes his eyes. "A sea breeze on a warm day. The sand on your feet. Comfortable. But when you're fighting, it's like a storm. Harsh. Tastes bitter. Angry. Turns dark blue. Sort of gray." His eyes open and he whispers hoarsely, "Feels like a tsunami right now."

Percy gets it. He does feel like a tsunami. He's hit his crest and he's just waiting to fall, to inflict damage, to break, to shatter, to drown.

He doesn't fall though. Not yet.

"Can you take me to them?" he asks slowly.

Nico tugs at his fingers so hard Percy's surprised they don't dislocate. He wraps his hands around Nico's. Nico jerks and shakes. He opens his mouth but there's no sound. Percy squeezes his hands.

"I promised Bianca that I would make sure you were safe. And I told the fucking Fates that I would be the prophecy child so I could uphold that promise," he says and Nico's eyes go wider. He tries to speak but Percy cuts him off. "So tell me who tried to kill you, so I can make sure they never do that again. To you, or anyone else they deem unworthy of being here."

The ocean is not fair. That sits in Percy's gut like a curse. The ocean will swallow anyone whole. There is no worthiness. There is no separation. Everyone is the same.

Everyone can drown.

Nico stares for a while. Then slowly nods, and let's Percy pull him to his feet. They walk hand-in-hand out of the forest, Nico's steps timid and slow the closer they get to the light.

Percy gets it in a way. There were moments he would sink as far as he could go, and look up only to see darkness. And he would be comforted by it. The swimming towards the light, the sky, was always a little sad. It meant breaking out of his element. Meant leaving the ocean behind to stand on land and breathe in air.

Sometimes he wishes he could just drag the people he loves to the bottom of the ocean and never deal with anyone else again. He wonders if Nico wishes the same. He didn't die being buried alive. He is made of the underground. It doesn't kill him.

That's where those idiots went wrong.

Nico points them out with subtle fingers. They're separated from the other campers, milling about before the bonfire, before the sing-along. They're laughing and smiling. They are not ashamed of what they've done.

Percy grits his teeth and thinks bitterly, They will be.

[gaia-bb]

werewolf!eren x black reader

↺ warnings: none :) ↺ drabble. this is hella indulgent idc i NEEDED to see more werewolf eren content so i took matters into my own hands >:)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

werewolf!eren who lives inside a cabin, smack in the forest thats right next to your little village, a small, close-knit community that prefers to live in harmony with nature than to conquer it to build concrete skyscrapers

werewolf!eren who is like a great myth to those who in live in your village. every child has heard his tale by the time they reach 5. no one has seem him in years, but the knowledge of his whereabouts looms like a word about to be spoken. he is both revered and feared.

werewolf!eren who doesn't like humans, like at all. he hates living anywhere in close proximity to them, but his home is all he has left of his mother. so he's made a pact with the village leaders: as long as no human crosses into his part of the forest, there won't be a problem

werewolf!eren who, while going out for a hunt one day, sees a human in his part of the forest. cream-colored frills, and lightweight fabric billow over the grass as you walk. smooth, dark arms glow in the sunlight as you bend down to pluck various flowers, placing them into a woven basket on the ground next to you. his ears perk up at the sounds of soft humming drifting in the breeze. he can't help but feel disgust flooding his chest.

werewolf!eren who appears suddenly in his human form - warns this entitled human with a growl. "get out of my forest and get out now". dirt smears on your dress as you scramble suddenly. warm, deep brown eyes flit around his frame hurriedly. you take him in, his rough, ragged appearance, wild brown hair and fierce eyes. werewolf!eren who, when greeted by a pleading, stumbling apology, starts to inspect the young girl more closely in turn. green eyes roam over hair that is neatly tucked away in fluffy rows on your scalp, nimble hands are gripping the woven basket deathly tight, and those eyes. those brown eyes of yours. they hold nothing but awe and regret.

werewolf!eren who is decreasingly miffed at this girl's presence, asks you what you're doing in his forest. a soft, shaky voice reaches his ears, and messy, unorganized explanations about "missing the scent markings" and "needing poppies for a hat i'm weaving" are given.

werewolf!eren, who is now hesitant to be appreciative of your earnest, is caught off guard at the request for his name. no one has asked him anything about himself or cared to see him other than a monster. it doesn't seem right. this encounter is taking too long.

werewolf!eren, who isn't fooled by your tricks, tells you to get out of his sight. if you think that you can sway him with a quiet demeanor and innocent act, then you're not very clever. he's lived a long life and knows all too well about the cunning ways of your kind.

werewolf!eren is once again responded to with an apology, and this time, a promise: that it will never happen again. you bid him goodbye, thank him for sparing you, and rush back along the dirt pathway, taking a quick glance back at him before disappearing between the bushes and branches.

werewolf!eren, can't seem to shake the encounter he had with that girl. days later, he is....looking for you. he still remembers the song he heard when he saw you. he frequents that spot, by the cluster of poppies, near the dirt pathway.

werewolf!eren who, while hunting one day, is engulfed by nostalgia as a new, fresh wave of your scent floods his nose. he runs to the spot where you two first met. he sees a patch of new, neatly planted poppy seeds in the spot you had plucked.

werewolf!eren can't help but smile at the quiet gesture. maybe you had some manners after all.

werewolf!eren who decides that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't mind if that odd stranger wandered back into his part of the forest again. perhaps he had some extra poppies he could give you for your hat.

[sardonic-the-writer]

—the great potato war

SUMMARY | nobody cared about potatoes. nobody at all. well, except for you and your neighbor, who's pink hair and pig skull never failed to catch your attention. it was about time you approached him

PAIRING | technoblade x reader

REQUESTED | no

WORD COUNT | 1.8k+

WARNINGS | none

AUTHORS NOTES | some nice healthy platonic fun times with our boy techno. ive been binging his channel as of late

🥔 Masterlist 🥔 Navigation 🥔 Rules 🥔

Sitting on his knees in an uncomfortable kneeling position, Technoblade felt a trickle of cold sweat work its way down the back of his neck. He could feel the sun beating down from above, its relentless rays doing nothing for his sweaty skin.

Wiping a gloved hand along his forehead line, Techno looked up from his work. The man's fingers and palms were stained with dirt splotches and grass marks. His pink hair had been tied back and tossed in between the back of his shoulder blades with ease, a sturdy hair band keeping it in one bunch.

Technoblade stood up to his full height. He could practically feel his spine elongating already; a few sharp pops even rang out from his tired joints to audibly show how hard he had been working. Although, as he looked out upon the sight in front of him, Techno couldn't help but think that it was all worth it.

Hundreds and hundreds of harvested potato lines laid in front of him with a barren look. Remnants and scraps of the former vegetation littered the scorched ground. Brown spots and dried up greens were what were left of the hybrid's hours of heavy work.

With a haughty grin, Techno walked off his elaborate plot of land. It took a minute too, seeing as he had a ginormous five acres to show for it.

“That’ll put me ahead.” He grinned, taking off the worn leather gloves he had been wearing to garden. In an almost comical manor, he rubbed his hands together like a film villain painted in black and white, smiling.

From the comfort of his secluded property, getting to the hub was easy enough. Just a small stroll on an obscure dirt path and he was in a familiar looking village.

Each time he passed the threshold from lush forest to dusty village, Techno could always feel the strain in his muscles as he tightened them, a feeling of discomfort washing over him in small waves. It wasn't as if he didn't ever like visiting the place. The collection of small wooden houses and abundancy of vendor stands were more than useful in tasks such as expanding his farm and gathering materials. It was the stares he was less than partial to.

Eyes filled with fear and wonder alike followed Techno as he walked stiffly around the place. He should have been used to this by now, more than aware of the titles he had collected over the years. Blood God, the Blade, even the occasional call of potato man was tossed in his direction. The last one made him want to laugh the most, if he was being honest.

The pinkette didn't blame people for staring. He was more or less a myth taken form to them. A pink haired warrior hiding behind a pigs skull, often seen buying the materials needed to reap all kinds of vegetables. In all his years living just a few miles away from the public, the only locals he had ever spoken to were the sellers. Maybe an occasional traveler, interested in what the rest of the world was doing now that he had left it—despite the fact he had vowed he would never return to the life he had been leading before. No. He was much more content growing crops than watering the fields of battle with blood. So yeah, not exactly the type people around here were used to seeing.

"Alright. It was about time I met the asshole that insist on making my life a living hell."

Techno's swift movements stopped in the middle of the sidewalk he had been steadily moving along; an admirable feat from whoever had just caught his attention—something that didn't happen often.

His sharp gaze was hidden behind the bone white skull he insisted on wearing so much, sweeping around until it eventually landed on the source of his brief pause.

It was someone short. Well, at least shorter than him, which was normal for about everyone he had ever met—save for a teenage enderman hybrid he had used to know.

Skimming over the height difference, the second thing that caught his attention were their hands. They were almost as dirty as his, if not dirtier. Even through the grit and grime he could see a few hardened callouses dotting their skin. A detail that almost made Techno tilt his head with mild curiosity. Almost.

Thirdly was their stare. It was scarily memorable of the very same one he saw each time he looked in the mirror. Determined, with layers and layers of vast emotions underneath it.

The stranger approached him, hands in pockets as they bit at the inside of their cheek. Looking far more comfortable than anyone else would have in approaching the infamous piglin hybrid.

"Do I know you." Techno's voice was monotone. Flat. Less than a question, and more of a not so subtle way of getting them to leave him alone. It didn't work.

"Nope! Pretty rude of you, considering we've been neighbors for about half a year now. But I'll let it slide." The carefree tone and amused smile contradicted what should have been the hostility in their words. Their sentences were certainty set up to be directed at him with a different emotion if they so much as pleased. But Techno knew how to read people, be it common folk or kings sitting high above him on a throne as they lied about their sins. And this person before him certainty had no intent to do anything beyond chat.

For some reason that confused him more than anything else.

"I don' have any neighbors." His voice was clear. Slightly raising it for the sake of the people around them doing a poor job of eavesdropping; a silent call to get moving. To which the small crowd immediately did.

"Maybe so you think. But tell that to me and my house I've been living in for six months. If you ever bothered to visit anywhere other than this shithole or your huge ass garden you would know that."

They knew about his garden, along with his traveling habits. If they were telling the truth about being his neighbor, that would be less of a concern to hear. But Techno decided to play it safe, straightening up to his full height and curling his fists as if to insinuate a threat. He didn't feel like scaring off anyone more than he usually did, although this time it would be with intent, but he'd rather continue on his way with a bit of guilt rather than with the possibility that someone from his past had finally caught up with him.

"Oh relax tough guy. I'm just here to talk potatoes."

He stirred at that.

"..what?"

"Potatoes. You know, the thing you spend all your time farming." The person who had still yet to introduce themself carried on with hand motions, blowing out a slight sigh. "I really didn't think the second after I moved some crazy guy would be setting up shop with the same idea as me. I mean come on, how many people in the world have even considered going into potato farming as a hobby. You and your—your incredibly overpowered gardening tools."

It took a second before all of the dots began to connect in Techno's head. The way they had approached him with a competitive tone (albeit it playful), how they only seemed interested in talking about vegetation, the roughness of their hands—

"(Y/n) right?" In spite of himself, Techno found a small quirk in his lips forming. Not quite a smile, but something similar to it all the same. He was rewarded with a joyous nod of confirmation.

"Bingo."

So this was the person who had been after his number one potato these past couple months. Why the hub had such a thing as a leaderboard for who could sow the most vegetables, he had no idea. But it proved a successful way to pass his time. A task that included beating out the only other person on that board who was a threat to his number one title—the very same person who was currently standing across from him.

"Technoblade. Nice to metcha." He held out a hand, surely baffling a few of the people who were still staring at him and (Y/n). It was expected later there would be whispers of the interaction between the infamous man towering over an unassuming civilian, but he didn't mind.

"I know who you are." They took his hand with a snort, laughing. "I've been burning holes through your name on that stupid leaderboard ever since last summer. Your mental, you know, for farming a million potatoes a day."

"So I've been told." A brief memory of an old competitor made its way to the front of his mind, the word squid leaving as soon as it had came.

"I suppose asking you to stop farming would be a waste of time?"

He almost laughed.

"I'll take that as a no." (Y/n) tightened the grip on his hand with a fervent determination before letting go. A silent challenge. The first one that had interested Techno in a long time.

"How about we make a game out of this?" His ears perked up, blood red eyes capturing (Y/n)'s as they proceeded. "If we're to continue in this great potato war, how about we settle around a five hundred million goal. First person to it gets bragging rights. As well as, I dunno, something of the others. We can work that part out later."

"You're going down nerd." He grinned, sharp canines showing excitedly.

"Oh please." You rolled your eyes with the same sort of smile. "his'll be a cake walk for me. Or a potato walk for me, you could say."

"Bruhh."

"Like that one aye? How about, by the time I'm done with you, you'll be mashed potatoes!"

"Anyone else want to be my competitor? Anyone?" Techno pretended to call out to a crowd, scaring the nearby foot traffic as they scurried around the little bubble they had both created in the street.

"Alright fine fine you've made your point. My humors simply too good for the likes of you." (Y/n) returned to stuffing their hands in their pockets now, body weight shifting from foot to foot.

Techno took one more long look at them. Sweeping their figure with a feeling he hadn't encountered in a long time.

He was having fun.

"May th' best farmer win."

"Oh I will."

And with that, he set off in the opposite direction of you, determined to get back to his farm before you did yours.

[valoisfulcanellideux]

This is such a classic juxtaposition. I had to preserve it xD

Etho: "I put together the block palette here. I'm actually very excited about this. I think it's going to look pretty cool, so let's run through it real quick. We're going to use packed mud for pathing, probably mix in some brown mushrooms and dirt and stuff with that as well, and then probably some moss blocks at the ground level. Maybe these pink flowers and y'know, leaves and other vegetation too, I'm sure. I'm trying something new here I've never done. We're going to use this green copper stuff for a foundation. I think it goes pretty nicely with the moss and grass and stuff. And then as we go upward towards our framing we're going to use dark oak and jungle logs for framing - outlining things - and then this is like a transition; this reddish copper between this and the wood, get that little bit of a colour transition, y'know? We're going to do a lot of patios and decks and stuff in this build; this is the plan, so I want to use those beehives for that, mostly. It's one of my favourite blocks in the game. And then for the walls we'll have probably just one block of this red mangrove at the bottom for a little bit of a pop of colour and then the walls will be this pink terracotta. We're going to mix in a lot of leaves and vegetation as well, to get that bright green pop of colour into the build; a lot of contrasting colours, right? We want greens, blues, reds, you know, maybe some yellows. And then more framing. And then we'll have the shingles at the top using the blue warped wood. That's the plan. Let's see how this goes!"

(He even set up the block palette like a tokonoma, to complement the build style he appears to be going with.)

Scar: "Is … that an abstract sculpture of Grian?"

xD

[small-sinclair]

Roadside Angel

Lester x y/n

Tw: reader survives a car wreck, watched someone die, glass, injured reader, blood, character deaths, being referred as property for a moment

Part two | Part 3

When you woke up this morning, you didnlt think you would be in a car wreck on the country road in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere. Jace's car flipped three times, and you heard Britney's neck snap, killing her in seconds. You remembered holding on to your seat belt so hard until the car stopped, and your friend's glazed eyes met yours. Jace was going nearly 100 down the road even though you told him to slow down, but he had to impress his now dead girlfriend. You were just along for the trip to the lake, and he graced you with the permission to have you come along. He was going to ask her to marry him, but you guess that love dies within a snap... ha, terrible joke, y/n.

When you came back, your brother and William, who was in the backseat, dragged you out of the car. Black smoke raised above the car as the fire in the front of the car was sandwiched between a pine tree and a large rock. Your brother's face had small glass peeking out of the skin, and William's face was pale from shock and panic. You looked back at the car, seeing Brittney's eyes in the flames, and you saw Martin's head smashed and broken in the backseat. You forgot he was there because he was sleeping. Going out in your sleep was a good gift; that's what your grandfather told you two days before he died in his sleep. Irony is like a skillet cooking an eggs.

"You okay, y/n?" Your brother asked, looked at you up and down. "Oh, shit. You're bleeding!"

"Jace, I see a car!"

"Flag them down, Will!" Your brother took off his green flannel and held in over your arm, careful not to touch the big chunk of glass sticking out of shoulder and upper arm. "You're going to be okay, y/n."

"Jace, what about you?" You asked in a whisper. You didn't realize that you were shaking, your eyes dead and numb. Every time you blink, all you see is Britney's eyes. "You good?"

"Forget me, okay?" He asked as the truck came into view, slowing down. "Keep pressure on your arm. I'll talk to the driver."

You knew you were in shock, that's why you weren't screaming in pain yet, but you knew that it'll come soon. You knew that once it hits you, you won't stop screaming and crying. You remembered that the closest hospital was 30 miles from here, and that's not enough time for you. On the other hand, you were just happy your brother lived. If anything, you were nervous how William was feeling about it all along with how he was going to pin this on you.

The driver got out of his truck in a hurry when he saw you sitting in the grass with blood running down your arm. He was short and looked like he needed two sandwiches. His face was covered in grim and dirt, and he still had the morning's shadow on his cheeks and chin. His faded red work shirt was unbutton and tucked in his pants to show his dirtied and torn white shirt. Around his neck, you thought he was wearing dog tags, but they were small bones once he got closer. His bright brown hair was greasy and curled up to the southern heat under his green hat. He looked worried as he stopped in front of your brother, but you couldn't hear a thing. Your ears started ringing as your eyes clouded and laced over the evening sky. This was the most prettiest sunset you've seen in a long time.

Soon, the stranger was in front of you, snapping his fingers to wake you from your fog. His voice was muffled as your body swayed side to side slightly. You could feel the earth lift up then back down like a roller coaster you once rode at the State Fair when you were a kid.

"...can ya 'ere me?" His voice was so sweet in your ears once you felt yourself grounded again. "Sweetpea? Hey," he snaps his fingers again, "com' back t' me. Don't go too far, 'kay? Com' back." Once he felt your eyes on him, he gave you a smile as sweet as honey, showing his rotten and blacken teeth. His lips were cracked and showed a healing cut. " 'At's it. Good. Hey there, beautiful," he cooed, his eyes looked over your upper body to make sure you weren't bleeding anywhere else. "C'n ya tell me yer name, sugar?"

"You have pretty eyes," you answered instead. His brown eyes were so soft and gentle. He shot you a confused looked, his cheeks a soft pink. "Real pretty eyes."

"Darlin'," he whispered as he looked at your arm. "I need ya to tel'me yer name."

"Y/n," you answered, your head getting dizzy again.

"It's real good t'meetcha," he said with a grin, worried pressed over his eyes. "C'n ya stan', sugar?"

You winced when you shrugged. "Catch... me?"

You felt the weight of the world crushing on you as you leaned to the side, closing your eyes. You expected your head to hit the dirt, but he caught you. His hands were rough but gentle to the touch. The smell of death came from his body, but you cared less. His hands were strong and warm as he lifted you up, cradling you. For someone so small looking, he was strong. When your eyes parted, you were being placed in the truck with your brother's help. William was getting into the back of the truck once the door slammed.

"C'n get ya to Ambrose in ten," the driver promised as he slammed his door. "It'll be bumpy, so hang on t'em." Then his eyes fell on you. He looked so scared as he started the truck and gunned it down the road. "Keep yer eyes open, y/n, yeah?" He asked, turning on a dirt road sharply. "Tel'me yer favorite color. Flower. Anythin'."

Your eyes looked up at your brother, seeing a stream of tears falling down fast. You looked up at the ceiling, seeing different antlers hanging. You wanted to touch one, hold it close, and ask its spirit for its name. Imagine asking that? You are really losing it, aren't you?

"F/c," you answered, your hands now tracing the gator skin on the radio. "It matches my eyes."

"Ya know? 'i a good color," the driver agreed, driving over the dirt road and river rocks. Luckily, it hasn't rained in a couple of days, so the road wasn't washed out. "I lik' green an' yeller."

The way he talked made you giggle. The sunset poked through his hair and trees, making the shadows cast over him, giving him a pair of angel wings. He was your roadside angel at this point. "Bet it looks good... good on you?" You found it harder to stay awake. The pain started kicking in. "What's your name?"

He looked at you then back at your brother. Guess you didn't hear him the first time, huh, y/n? "Lester," he answered. "Lester Sinclair."

"Pretty name," you breathed. The pain in your shoulder finally got to you, but you didn't have the strength to scream or cry. You didn't feel like doing anything besides sleeping. "I'm tired, Jace."

"Stay awake," your brother ordered. "See? We're here!" The truck stopped as soon as he said it. "Stay awake, y/n."

The car door opened on your brother's side as Lester hopped out of the seat, sliding over the hood of the car. William's hand slipped under you roughly, and his hand squeezed hard enough to leave a bruise. Soon, you felt yourself being lifted up in Lester's arms and hurried steps towards a house on a hill.

You heard the house door open as a taller man in a blue worker's jumper stepped out. "The hell's this, Les?" The older man barked. "What the fuck--?"

"They're hurt," Lester said, going up two steps. "Really hurt, Bo!"

"Like I care--"

"You betta care," Lester snapped. He never gets angry with his brothers, but seeing you like this was enough to make his chest ache. What were you doing to him, y/n? What is this? "Y/n needs help." He was careful with your hurt shoulder and arm as he held you closer. "Please, Bo? Get Vincent for help?"

Bo hates it when Lester flashes his puppy eyes. How could he say "no" to that look? Bo looked past Lester towards Jace and William before sighing in defeat. "Fine," he stepped aside. "Pa's office. I'll get Vinny."

Are all southern men this hot? They weren't kidding when they say men grew in southern soil.

Everything was a blur from there.

You were placed on a cold and hard bed? Table? What the hell is this? But you were there as Lester left the room to come back with a big bowl and a first-aid. you felt yourself weave in and out as his voice became muffled again...

When your eyes opened, you were met by a lifeless and blank face looking down at you, raven hair tucked behind his ear, and hands working over your shoulder. You felt numb on your left side. He noticed you were a wake, but he didn't say anything or gave you the motion that he wanted to talk to you. You didn't feel pain as you drifted back to sleep, hearing your brother screaming your name before his dying screamed left. Oddly, you felt safe here...

************

"Don't kill 'em," Lester begged on his knees in front of Bo and Vincent. "Please, don't kill 'em."

In the kitchen, the twins sit in their chairs as they looked down at their brother, scared and shaking. Bo's boots were covered in y/n's brother's blood while Vincent's waxed face was covered in small spatters of William's. Their blue eyes looked at each other then down at Lester.

Bo shook his head, clicking his tongue. "Ya know t'rules."

Lester shook his head huriedly. "But they lived fer a reason!"

"Yeah," Bo nodded towards Vincent, "so he could dump them in wax." He almost laughed but... "It's sad how they gotta go."

"Then why didn't ya use t'whole thin' on 'em, Vince?" He looked up at his brother. "Why not t'whole numbin' thin'?"

Truth to be told, he didn't know why. Maybe it's because he heard you whispering a "thank you" to him after he was done working on you? Was it your sleepy grin?

"Can't keep 'em--"

"But ya keep pretty girls all th' time!" Lester argued back at Bo. "Bet if ya had yer hands on 'em, ya would lock 'em up down stairs!"

Bo's eye twitched. "Watch it."

"Am I wrong?" Lester asked, standing up, opening his arms. "When ya find someone, ya keep 'em and expect us t'be okay wit' it! But when I find someone, it's wrong?"

"Lester, I said..." Bo stopped himself and sighed. His little brother does have a fair point. "Damnit."

"An' ya promised I could hav' th' next one!" Lester added, his voice cracking. "Ya goin' back on it?"

Bo bit his lower lip, settling down his anger. The last thing he wants is that little thing in Pa's office to wake up to this. But why was he worried about that, too? Why was he worried that y/n would wake to this? Was he afrid of killing them? No, Bo Sinclair never gets scared! But... They looked so tired when Lester brought them in. He almost felt sorry for you... almost.

Giving in, Bo rubbed his face. "Fine," he breathed out. "But ya hav' two months wit'em 'fore I kil' 'em."

Vincent cut off Bo, signing, 'Unless you can get them to say 'I love you'.'

Bo shot a look at Vincent and was about to protest, but he looked back at his brother. Big Mistake. His brother's bright brown eyes were filled with hope and happiness. Who was he to kill his brother's joy? It's not fair, he knows this, but Bo didn't want his brothers to get too attached to y/n. If Lester can't get them to love them, then Bo will kill them.

That's a fair trade.

Bo stood up and held up two fingers when he said, "Two months. If y/n doesn't say they love ya," he picked up the hunting knife. "I'll kil' em with 'is, an' ya hav'ta watch." He lifted a brow. "Deal?"

Something inside Lester exploded with happiness and joy. "Deal."

And what a deal it was.

[ultralightpoe]

Pinky Promises - Prologue

Authors Note: The prologue to my story. Please enjoy! This story will update with 2 chapters every friday!

Word Count: 9,668

My Main Masterlist

Pinky Promises Masterlist

Next Chapter - Will be out soon!

Song of the Chapter : Bad Bad Leroy Brown

x Enjoy x

The summer of 1973 is spent mostly alone, in his driveway with the basketball he got for his last birthday, pretending not to stare down the street at the witch’ house. 

It was the first rule his mother gave him whenever he played outside, the house at the end of the street was off limits. Under absolutely no circumstances as he was allowed to go near that house, let alone near the sidewalk in front of it. His mother often told him about the old woman that lived within it, how she ate the meat off of kids bones after sneaking them in. 

It gave him nightmares for months. 

And by the time he forgot about it he had overheard his mother telling her tuesday book club about the woman, talking about how she was an ‘alien bitch’ and Steve lost his mind. There was an actual alien living down the street, and he wanted to know where her UFO was. 

He saw the old woman here and there, she often limped around her front yard with her face scrunched in pain as she did her best to pull the hose around and water the plants. Whenever she spot his staring she would always wave her arms which would send him running back inside to the safety of his mothers arms. 

But no matter how scared he was of that house, he could not pull his eyes away from it. 

He was once again staring at that house the day everything changed. Sitting in the grass, sweaty and out of breath from playing basketball by himself, digging out the grass as he did nothing but stare and stare and stare. 

Maybe if he squinted enough he would be able to peer into her windows from this spot and see her intergalactic ufo hidden in her house. 

He stares hard enough that for a second he thinks he opened the garage with his mind, sitting up straighter in shock as the older woman comes into view, limping quite a bit as she walks to the driveway. 

She surveys the street with an excited smile, and when she spots him she once again pulls her hand up to wave, he doesn’t wave back. Too nervous that his mother might be watching from the windows. 

But then he hears brakes squeal like the school bus he usually rides and he turns to watch a large green moving truck slide down the street. The driver, whose left arm was sticking out the window, smiles at him and waves his hand easily. And Steve can’t stop himself from lifting his own hand, eyes wide as he waves back before the truck drives off and makes it to the house at the end of the street. 

He can’t tear his eyes away as the moving truck parks, the tall man hopping out smoothly and rushing over to the witch quickly. “Ma! What are you doing?!”

“Oh, don’t you start.” The woman laughs, letting him hug her gently before helping her shuffle to the porch as another car catches Steve's attention from down the street, his eyes following a red pickup truck blasting music as a blonde woman sings loudly to it. She doesn’t wave at Steve like the truck driver had, too busy leaning into whoever is in the passenger seat, still singing. 

And he can’t stop staring as the truck makes it to the same house and everyone starts hopping out. The blonde that had been driving and the passenger side door swings to reveal a short brunette in a yellow sundress hopping out and screaming happily. 

“NANA! NANA NANA!”

“Steven Harrington! Dinner in 30 minutes!” His mother snaps from the porch, pulling his attention away from the house finally, making him blink and nod. “You hear me? You better wash up before we eat. No dirt under your fingernails baby.”

She casts him a smile when he nods, making a kissy face before going back inside, leaving him by himself on the lawn of his house once more. This time there is a yellow blur dashing to him though. 

He barely stands, swiping the dirt from the back of his pants with wide eyes, as the young girl from the red truck comes bounding in. Her smile is wide, her cheeks red, and Steve can do nothing but blink. 

“Can we be friends?” She asks loudly, tripping up a little but keeping the pace as she finally hits the grass of his lawn and stops before him. “Do you live here? Can I see inside? Do you play basketball? Can we be friends?” 

“I have friends.” Steve blurts, feeling his cheeks heat up as he risks a look to his front door before looking back at her. “I have a lot of friends.”

It was a lie, the truth was Steve struggled to make friends, it was something his father often lectured him about.  Then he would yell at his mom about it, claiming she was babying him too much. 

“My mom says you can never have too many friends. Can we play basketball?”

“You know how to play basketball?”

“No. Can you teach me?” A minute passes, both of them blinking slowly before he shrugs. 

“I’m Steve.”

“I’m Olivia. But everyone calls me Ollie. We just moved in with my Nana. She lives down the street.” She points and turns to look at the house, and Steve takes a moment to take her all in. The bright yellow sundress and the sunflower headband paired with the yellow sandals. Her toes and fingernails were painted a nice pink, the very same his mother gets professionally painted on every week. 

“Is that Ballet pink?” He blurts, and she nods. 

“I want to be a ballerina when I grow up.”

“Steven Harrington. Get in here and wash up for dinner!” His mother calls and Steve feels an odd sinking in his stomach when he turns back to Olivia. 

“You wanna play tomorrow?” He asks, smiling from ear to ear when she nods before dashing up the street to where the taller guy in the plaid waits for her patiently with a large smile on his face. 

- 

Ollie caught on to basketball fast….. Well she caught on to trying to dribble the ball as fast as she could. But Steve didn’t mind, he found that he absolutely loved being around her all the time. 

She spent every day playing in his yard. They did everything from playing basketball to hunting for worms after a rainstorm, until his mom came rushing out to snatch him before he got a cold. 

Soon enough the girl that had just moved down the street became his best friend, and his favorite party was that she never seemed to care or judge him for anything. He broke an arm on one of her Barbie’s? Suddenly the game shifts to surgery. He accidently trips her during basketball and she hurts her knee? She drags him home to get some pity candy from her grandma. She catches his father screaming in his face? She acts like nothing happens but lets him pick the game that day. 

O llie seemed exceptionally talented at reading Steve like a book, every emotion and fear, and she seemed to know how to handle everything. 

“Some people are just natural with that, baby.” His mom tells him at dinner one night, pinching his cheek. She had some slow music playing from the kitchen that would not be allowed if his dad were in town, but when he was gone Steve found his mother was the happiest. He loved it for her. “And I quite like your little friend….. when she’s not tracking mud in…..” 

His mother liked his friend so much she took him to grab a gift for Ollie’s little brother, and even helped him wrap it in some bright paper the kid was sure to love. 

He carried that very gift in shaking hands the day of Wiley’s birthday dinner, casting a quick smile to his mom who waited at the end of the driveway to make sure he walked there safely before knocking on the door. 

There was no reason to be nervous, the Fraser family was as nice as they came, yet Steve couldn’t stop himself from shuffling around and trying to fix his hair in the way his father always wanted him to before the door swung open to reveal the tall man in the plaid shirt from that first day. Today he wore a nice clean button up. 

“Stevie! How ya doin’?” Philip Fraser greets, opening the screen door to him with a large smile. “Come on in. I was just about to throw some food on the grill. Ollie is upstairs.” 

The man pats him on the back happily, passing the  boy and giving his wife a quick kiss on the way out the back door as Charlotte Fraser shuffles close. 

“Stevie! How are you today sweetie? Is your mom coming for dinner?” She asks sweetly, the blonde hair swaying with her movements as she leans to grab the gift softly. 

“N-no. She has her book club.” He mutters quietly, swiping his sweaty palms on his slacks. “Are there more kids coming?” 

“Not today. Wiley is only turning 2 so he doesn’t have anyone to invite but Ollie wanted you to come.” Charlotte smiles and then sets his gift on the table to switch it out for a plate of mini sandwiches. “You want a snack?” 

“C-can I take one to Ollie?” 

“Of course.” And Steve didn’t understand why his spine loosened up at her easy smile, or why he felt so comfortable grabbing the sandwiches when he would never at his own house. 

He waited for her to scream at him as he dashed up the steps, telling him no food upstairs or he’ll be punished, but it never came and soon enough he was down the hall to the open door which he heard Ollie dancing around in. 

“STEVIE!” She yells, smiling widely as he offers her a sandwich. She pulls him into a heavy hug that has his cheeks warming before pulling back and grabbing the sandwich.  “Im so glad you came. Wiley is too. Isn’t that right Wye?” 

The two year old standing up in his crib giggles while trying to bounce on the mattress and Steve blinks slowly. “You share a room with your brother?” 

“Yeah silly.” Ollie laughs, moving to bounce on her bed after she finishes her mini sandwich. “Why not?” 

“Why don’t you have your own room?” 

“Because there are no more rooms. We live with nana cause she’s not feeling good but soon enough we’re gonna buy a house here and I’ll get my own room!” Ollie giggles. “But until then Wy and I have sleepovers!” 

Steve, for some unknown reason, feels an odd sense of jealousy creeping up. He had a large room by himself that always seemed so…. Empty. And yet here these two were giggling and bouncing in their shared room as close as ever. 

But the feeling doesn’t last, soon enough dinner starts and he is sat between Mr. Fraser and Ollie at the table, laughing loudly at all the jokes. Unlike his house they all seem to enjoy talking over each other with jokes, mocking each others silly moments. Music is played in the back and everything is just so warm. 

Mrs. Fraser makes sure all the kids plates are piled up with food before the adults and Mr. Fraser helps both him and Ollie cut into their steak. 

“Mrs. Fraser?” Steve asks after some silence, looking to the oldest one at the table, Ollie’s nana. She merely smiles widely and shakes her head. 

“Call me nana. And my last name is Rubin not Fraser sweetie.” She corrects softly, Steve feels his ears go pink. 

“Nana?” He tries again, sitting up straighter. “Do you eat kids?” 

Mr. Fraser spits some of his lemonade across the table from laughing so hard which sends baby Wiley into a fit of laughter as everyone blinks. 

“Breakfast, lunch and dinner. I gnaw on their bones when I find myself peckish. Ollie here is lucky to have survived this long.” Nana teases, reaching to pinch at Ollie which makes the girl laugh loudly and scoot closer to Steve for protection. 

“Don’t tell him that. You’ll scare him and Ollie won’t have a friend.” Mrs. Fraser laughs, swatting the older woman's arm lightly. 

It’s then that Steve notices the similarities. Ollie looks like charlotte. And Charlotte looks like Nana. Spitting images as his own father would say. 

So he peers at Mr. Fraser quickly. “Do you have any family?” 

“I do. I have a sister who lives on the edge of Hawkins with her….. guy.” He clears his throat and Steve narrows his eyes. 

“Guy?” 

“She has a son-“ Nana starts. 

“COUSIN EDDIE!” Ollie laughs. 

“Yes. Cousin Eddie. We just don’t go out to visit very often.” Mrs. Fraser finishes. “Now how about some dessert. Stevie brought Wye a present cause he’s so thoughtful!” 

The rest of the night follows that easy pattern, laughing and having fun. 

Steve is ashamed to admit he has never felt so welcome. 

- 

Nana had the best records as he would come to find out, and she always played them on rainy afternoons when Steve and Ollie weren’t allowed to play outside. She sat in her rocking chair, letting them both dance around the living room as she worked on her knitting, smiling softly as they both belted the lyrics. 

“BAD BAD LEROY BROWN!” Steve yells, slightly out of breath from all the jumping around, but as happy as ever as he spins with Ollie. 

The Fraser’s never yelled about noise, and it was often enough that the adults joined in on the noise just for some light fun. The first day Mr. Fraser, Flip as Steve learned he likes to be called, came home he had shut up instantly and sat on the floor to fast that Nana thought he was getting sick. 

He waited for Flip to come in and yell, maybe slap them for the noise, but the man nearly sang off key to the song and then asked what everyone wanted for dinner. 

Steve had no clue what to do after that. 

Now, after weeks with this family, he was so used to it he barely bat an eye when Flip came in and picked both him and Ollie up smoothly to carry them to the table. 

“Sit down dorks. Nana has to take her medicine with mom and I’m making dinner.” Flip huffs, flicking both of their ears before moving about the kitchen easily. “Would your mom like to join us tonight Stevie?” 

“She’s in Vegas with her friends.” Steve shrugs which makes Flip stop quickly. 

“I thought your dad was out of town?” 

“He is. Nevada for the next week.” 

“So…. Who is watching you bud?” Even though he kept his voice light everyone knew Flip was mad, the hands on his hips the indicator for it. 

“My mom made sure I had tv dinners for the weekend. I'm good on my own.” Steve shrugs, reaching to steal some cards from Ollie which has her groaning out and starting an argument. 

That night Charlotte tucks Steve in on the couch, making sure he is comfortable before shuffling down the stairs where Flip was doing laundry. Neither of them realized their voices traveled unfortunately. 

“Leavin a boy his age. Damn bastards.” Flip murmurs, slamming the lid to the wash machine. 

“We could call cps.” Lottie murmurs softly. 

“Cause they help with everythin’ else?! How many times have we called for Edward? They are useless and it would just start a big fight with the Harringtons.” He sighs back. “Not worth it. He can stay here when they are gone. I'm sure it doesn’t happen often.” 

Steve didn’t want to admit he was crying into the couch. 

And he didn’t bother to tell them how often it happens. 

- 

The rest of that summer followed the same pattern, dance sessions in their living room. Basketball, though Ollie still couldn’t quite get it. Worm hunting, which ended the second he put a worm in his mouth on her dare. 

They only got in trouble once, when they woke Wiley up from a nap due to a fight over a broken sandal. They were put in timeout for 10 minutes until they apologized to each other and to Wiley. 

Steve spent a lot of nights over at their house, and he knew that was a tense subject for Ollie’s parents but they never got mad at him. 

When school started Flip made sure to give him a ride since he went to the same school as Ollie, both of them buckled in the truck with the windows down as Flip played their favorite tracks over and over. 

“BAD BAD LEROY BROWN!” Ollie sings, in her iconic handmade yellow sundress. 

“The MEANEST MAN IN THE WHOLE DARN TOWN!” Steve sings back in his new outfit bought last week. 

Flip laughs at the two of them, and when he pulls up to the school he actually walks them to the door. 

“Alright. Get together and let me get a picture.” The two of them are quick to hug each other, smiling from ear to ear as Flip takes the picture before kissing both their heads and making sure they get into the school safely. 

When they are forced to split up at the middle hallway he feels Ollie squeeze the hand that had been holding his tightly and finds her crying. “What if I don’t make friends?” 

“You’ll make friends.” He soothes. 

“But i'll miss you.” She cries. 

“I’ll meet you here right after school okay? And we’ll play barbie surgery again. You’re my best friend.” 

“Promise?” 

“Pinky promise.” He smiles, holding his empty hand for her to link pinkies. “Right here. After school.” 

“Right here. After school.” She nods, and they split up. 

During his recess hour he sneaks back into the lunch room to give her a hug before heading back out, just to prove he could. 

And at the end of school they meet up right where they promised so Nana could drive them home, both talking each others ears off about school. 

- 

The year follows the same pattern, and when Steves birthday rolls around his entire class is invited but not Ollie. 

He hears his parents arguing about it one night, listening to them yell back and forth. 

“That’s his friend! He’ll be upset!” His mother. 

“He has friends in his class! I don’t want those freaks in my home!” His father. 

“Stop thinking about yourself and think about your son for once-“ there is a heavy sound of skin slapping against skin and a thunk that Steve recognizes all too well, making him stand up and dash to his own room before his dad catches him eavesdropping. 

As upset as he is he doesn’t ask for Ollie at his party, too afraid to get hit. 

The Fraser’s have a birthday dinner for him the next weekend. Nana makes her famous pudding and Ollie gives him a new basketball, one she painted herself for him. 

Although she is upset Ollie never brings up the party, he’s sure her parents told her not to. 

- 

Ollie’s birthday is close to Halloween so she throws a costume party every year. 

Her parents invite her class as well as him and Steve is nervous about the party. 

His mom shows up with him, and Charlotte does a good job of hiding her shock when his mom tells them she will be staying. And everyone but Nana does a good job of pretending there isn’t a bruise on his moms cheek. 

The backyard is crowded with goblins and ghouls and at first Steve feels lame in his pirate costume before Ollie shows him her detective costume and they rush to play Barbie’s in her room with the party downstairs. Wiley does a good job of not swallowing anything and Nana doesn’t snitch when she finds them hiding from the party. 

- 

Things follow that same pattern. 

Summer passes again, and the family learns that Wiley hates firecrackers more than life itself when they throw him a Fourth of July birthday party since his birthday is on the 3rd. 

The school year starts again and Flip gives them rides. 

Ollie remains his best friend throughout it all. 

  Nana gets really sick the beginning of his 6th grade year and Ollie’s 5th grade. And though they all try to play happy Steve knows the family is upset. 

The first day of school he walks to their house, just as he does every year, in the newest outfit his mother bought him. 

Ollie wears a homemade sundress, just like every year before that, this one purple with polka dots. And Wiley is dressed in his own handmade outfit. 

Both are posing for pictures together, Wiley complaining about being late for 2nd grade loudly until Steve shows up and he is thrown into the pictures too. 

When nana comes out to wish them off she kisses all their heads, including Steves. 

Flip makes sure they all get in the building and all three of them hold hands until that damned hallway. 

“Here. After school. Just like every other year.” Steve smiles, holding out his pinkie. 

Ollie links them, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “Promise.” 

He then holds his pinky out for Wiley, who links it slowly. “And you’re gonna make friends this year. I know it Wye.” 

They split up after that. At lunch Steve isn’t able to sneak off to see Ollie since her lunch hour isn’t until later. But he does see Wiley sitting by himself at the park during recess, rushing to say hi to the boy before his teacher catches him. 

That afternoon they meet up, Wiley silent as ever. And when they see that Charlotte is there to pick them up instead of Nana, Steve just knows that things are gonna be different. 

- 

It’s halfway through that year that Nana ends up hospitalized. It was a rough night for the Fraser’s. 

Nana had been a little nauseous at dinner and had gone to bed early, kissing everyone goodnight. 

And after Lottie had tucked everyone in, Steve on the couch since his own parents were on their anniversary trip, she went to check on her mom once more before bed. 

The scream that followed scared Steve so much that he was sobbing before he even knew what was going on. Ollie and Wiley came rushing down the stairs to cry with him on the couch as Flip called 911 and soon enough Nana was being rushed out by the paramedics. 

They were all in their pajamas in the waiting room of the hospital. Wiley sitting in Charlottes lap sleeping while Flip sat in between Steve and Ollie so they could both lay their heads on his shoulders to try and sleep. 

It isn’t until 3am when the nurse comes out. 

“She just woke up if your family wants to go say hi. She’ll be a little out of it and you won’t have long because we have to get her in a room.” She explains. “Family only.” 

So the Fraser’s all shuffle up, Charlotte passing Wiley to Flip so he could carry him as she grabs Ollie’s hand. Steve stays on the chair, watching them all way away until Ollie turns around. “Stevie? Come on.” 

He has never moved faster in his life. 

Nana hums lightly as they all kiss her cheek, seeming content. 

“Is she dying?” Wiley sobs on the car ride home. 

“No baby.” Charlotte answers, turning around to rub his cheek. “She’s just sick. She needs to start chemo is all.” 

The tears in her own eyes tell Steve enough. 

For the rest of the week the Fraser’s are pulled out of school since they were carting back and forth from the hospital. 

Steve takes the bus since Flip can’t give him a ride and he walks home. 

- 

His dad hits him in the summer between 6th grade and 7th grade. 

With Nana back home the Fraser’s were on a new schedule to make sure she made it to chemo every week. Which meant Steve was left home on Wednesdays much to his father’s disappointment. 

On this Wednesday his father had tripped over a shoe by the front door that Steve had left there in his rush to get in the shower, and it was met with screaming and slamming. 

His first instinct was to shut his door and wait it out, his father had moods like this a lot and this was the best thing to do. Stay out of the way. Mom will calm him down when she gets home from the store. 

It isn’t until he hears the feet stomping up the stairs that he knows this time is going to be different, his throat tightening up as his hands begin to shake. 

The second the door slams open he is already crying, yelling out an “I’M SORRY!” As his father lifts the shoe over his head and slams it on Steves cheek, the boy curling in a ball as hit after hit comes. 

He screams for Flip, and he screams for Ollie when his father kicks his stomach. When his dad storms out and slams the door Steve crawls under his bed and cries for Charlotte and Nana, wanting nothing more than to be sitting with them. 

He wanted to be with Ollie and Wiley. 

Anywhere but here. 

His mom cries when she sees Steve's bruised and swollen cheek, excusing herself from the room immediately and leaving Steve to suffer through a silent dinner with his father, afraid of every sound he made. The cutlery is too loud against the plate, not chewing quiet enough. Maybe he ate too much and his father would get mad, or maybe is he didn’t clean the plate his dad would get mad about the waste. 

The next day he is embarrassed when Ollie comes over to play. She dashes to him with a large smile that falls the second she sees his face. 

“Stevie-“ 

“I can’t play today.” He mutters, not wanting to move his lip too much. 

“Are you okay-“ 

“I can’t play today, Ollie. Go away.” He snaps, turning to make sure his dad can’t see her. “Seriously. Fuck off.” 

He had never cussed before, and he was terrified to do it in the first place. His palms were sweating and stomach sinking as he said it. 

Ollie’s eyes widened at his language before she nods, leaning forward to kiss his cheek and then dashing up the street before his dad saw her.

- 

The first day of school that year was a bit weird, mostly because Steve didn’t really know if he should wait for the bus or go with the Fraser’s. 

He would be in middle school now while Ollie still had another year at the elementary school so rides weren’t really going to be given but he had never missed a first day since they moved in. His questions were answered when Flip whistles loudly down the street and waves his hand to call him over. 

Pictures were taken, Wiley complaining, this time with a heavy stutter that made Steve's stomach sink at the thought of what the other kids were going to say to him. 

Charlotte kisses their heads as she passes, Nana doing the same before they are heading off to the older woman’s doctors appointment and Flip ushered everyone in his truck. 

Now that they were older it was a bit of a tighter fit, all of them laughing as they teased eachother. 

“Why’d you grow so much Harrington? Your elbow is digging into my side.” Flip teases. 

“Only cause Ollie is taking up all the space….. with her EGO.” Steve jokes back which makes the girl gasp. 

“No! It’s Wiley! I swear!” 

And when the laughing subsides Flip puts on the track of favorites he always used to play the first year they moved in. And once again everyone was singing the same old classic lyrics. 

Bad bad Leroy brown. 

When he pulls up to the elementary school Ollie holds out her pinky. 

“See you later?” 

“Promise.” Steve smiles, linking pinkies. 

“After school?” 

“I have basketball tryouts. Dinner?” 

“Deal.” She waits for Wiley to hop out before jumping out herself and fixing her homemade dress, kissing the air for her dad as Wiley turns and stutters out a “by-bye ste-eve.” 

Steve smiles and says bye and the two hold hands into the school as Flip takes Steve to his new school. 

“You don’t have to take me.” He mutters, feeling guilty. “I know it’ll make you late for work.” 

“Nah. I already told my boss I had to change my clock in time for ya. Can't leave Stevie behind.” Flip laughs, shrugging like it was no big deal. 

But it was a big deal, and Steve didn’t know how to tell him that. So when Flip pulled up to the school and smiles at him the boy merely smiles back and mutters out a quick “thank you.” 

But before he closes the door he turns and makes eye contact. “You’re the best.” 

Flips' smile eases all of Steves anxiety as he makes his way into the new school, missing Ollie. 

- 

Steve makes the basketball team since the word tryouts in middle school is very very very loose. It’s more of a “you showed up. Great. Let’s play” but he still brags to his dad that he made it. 

“Good. You might actually be worth a damn at something.” His dad scoffs. His mother kisses his face with an excited smile and talks about going out and buying him new tennis shoes to play in. 

When his dad goes out of town for his birthday he’s a little upset, until his mom reminds him that Ollie can come to the party so he makes sure everything is perfect. 

When she gets there he introduces her to all his friends, Tommy H and Kyle S both make snippy comments and drag Steve away. 

The party is a little awkward and he knows Ollie struggles to make friends with the older kids. 

Charlotte calls her in early, a tense look on her face as she wishes Steve a happy birthday and tells him they left his gift on the table, she keeps a hand on Ollie’s shoulder as they leave. 

Later that night he hears his mom in the dining room gossiping with her friends over wine. “Did you see that ratty dress? Oh my god. That poor girl walks around in those things all the time. Her mom thinks she can sew.” 

“And the way Charlotte kept talking to you. What a tramp. Got pregnant right out of highschool and acts like we would forget it.” 

Steve rushes up the stairs for an early bedtime. 

He never thanks Charlotte or Ollie for coming. 

- 

He meets ‘Cousin Eddie’ after school in the middle of the year. 

The boy has a buzzcut and a very large bruise on his face that has other kids whispering as they pass. He keeps his eyes casted away and his hands in his jacket. 

Steve would have avoided him if his basketball hadn’t rolled right up to him, the other kid bending slowly to pick it up like it hurt to do so. 

“Sorry man.” Steve mutters, coming to grab the ball. “Nice jacket.” 

And for a second the snippy remark surprises him, he never thought he would say something like that so easily. The kid in front of him blinks slowly, his eyes widening as he blushes heavily. To his credit he didn’t look down at the jacket. 

Truth was it was a crap jacket, there were too many holes and a stain on the front that looks purple. But since the jacket was green Steve knew that it was a giant blood stain. 

“You’re new right. In 8th grade?” Steve starts again, feeling a little guilty about his comment. 

“Y….. yeah.” The kid nods. 

Before Steve can respond a laugh is heard from the side, turning to see Tommy H walking up. “What happened to your face?!” 

“My dad.” He answers truthfully, shrugging like it didn’t matter. That makes Steves stomach tighten. 

“Well mommy should have bought you some makeup to cover it up freak.” Tommy sneers, bumping his elbow against Steve which is cue for laughter, against his better judgment Steve laughs too. 

They walk away after that, leaving the kid waiting on the sidewalk again. 

Later that evening Steve goes up the street and knocks on the door. It’s nana that opens it. 

“Stevie. Come on in.” She smiles, and all her movements are slow as she opens the door, letting him in. “Ollie’s down in her room.” 

So he gives Nana a kiss on the cheek before heading downstairs where they set up Ollie’s room over the summer. She has paint in her hair when he gets there, and he takes a second to look at what she’s painting. 

“What. Is. That?”  He laughs and soon enough she is proudly showing him the painting. 

“Bob ross silly! Nana got me his paint set. Isn’t it pretty?” 

It was. Not that Steve was shocked since Ollie always had a talent with art. 

“Where are your mom and dad?” 

“Mom stayed late at work for more hours. Dad is over picking up my cousin for dinner tonight.” She explains, watching as he falls onto her bed before going back to the painting. 

“Your cousin?” 

“Yeah. My aunt just passed in an accident. And things got pretty bad with his dad so his dads brother is taking him in.” She shrugs. “Just while Uncle Allen is gone.” 

“Where’s he gone to?” 

“Prison. Child abuse.” 

“I didn’t know your aunt died.” Steve blurts, blinking. 

“We had her funeral last week.” Ollie mutters, focusing on a tree. And they continue to hang out in comfortable silence before Flip gets home and starts dinner. 

By the time he calls down the stairs Ollie is dragging Steve up, meeting Wiley halfway to give him a fist bump before making their way to the table. 

Ollie hugs the new guest tightly, followed by Wiley and when both siblings pull away Steve can only blink. 

Cousin Eddie, Eddie , was the new kid from earlier. 

They blink at each other, both blushing heavily. Eddie from embarrassment and Steve from guilt. 

Charlotte makes them sit and eat. 

Both are silent during dinner. 

- 

Eddie, unfortunately, became a constant. 

A constant at school, the 8th grader being teased by ALL of Steves friends and though Steve never did any of the teasing he never did anything to stop it. 

And that always left him feeling guilty because Eddie was also a constant at home too. 

Ollie’s cousin made weekly appearances, once a week he would hang out with the Fraser’s. Eat dinner with them and hang out with his cousins. 

It’s not like Steve minded this, he was just always a little aggravated. He never really got to hang out with them anymore, between basketball and his new friends he found that he saw less and less of his best friend so when he did get to hang out he didn’t really want Eddie ruining it. 

Not to mention he didn’t want Eddie telling Ollie about his behavior. It was an embarrassing fact. 

Like today, during lunch Steve had cackled loudly when someone tripped Eddie, and he hadn’t thought much of it until he made it to the Fraser’s home where Eddie and Ollie were both at the table drawing while Wiley was on the couch reading. 

“What’s up?” Steve asks, feeling uncomfortable at the fact that no one greeted him. Did Eddie tell? Was Ollie mad? 

“Nana is at the hospital.” Ollie sighs, not looking up from her sketch. “Mom and dad with her.” 

And suddenly it makes sense, so Steve sits at the table, making eye contact with Eddie before quickly looking away to grab a paper and sketch with them both. 

Feeling nothing but guilt.

- 

He breaks his first sin a week before summer starts, and is left reeling. 

He had always been a….. bystander to Eddie’s bullying, now he was more. The second the words left his mouth he knew there was no going back. 

It starts in the hallway, Steve and Tommy on their way to class as Eddie digs around his locker. 

“Look at that mess.” Tommy scoffs, stopping the group from walking and looking to Eddie’s locker. “Clean your room freak.” 

Eddie looks over, confused as Tommy blinks. “You are living in the locker aren’t you? Homeless and stuff.” 

The friends around them “ooo” and “ohhhhhh” but Eddie seems to blink before standing straighter. 

“You know your mom sticks her tits out for the guy at the deli counter to get a discount?” And just like that everything turns, because Eddie Munson had snapped back. Everyone gasps and laughs and Tommy whirls to Steve with a mad look. 

“The fuck you say freak?” Tommy snaps and Eddie shrugs, casting a look to Steve. 

“Tell Ollie I say hello.” And Steve gets the threat laced in his words, his spine tensing and his fists clenching. 

“Funny you should talk about Tommy’s mom when yours wrapped her car around a tree.” 

Low. Blow. 

Eddie slams his locker, turning quickly and Steve is sure he’s about to get decked before Eddie blinks and walks down the hall without another word, everyone laughing. 

And Steve knows that he’s made the wrong choice. 

- 

Eddie stops hanging out after that, in fact Ollie stops talking about her cousin all together and there’s a put off look in her eyes whenever he is brought up. 

Steve asks one day, trying to seem casual as he pretends to do homework, “what’s going on with your cousin?” 

Ollie doesn’t look at him when she answers. “He actually….. uh…..well he asked me not to talk to you about him.” 

“Oh.” Was all Steve could say. “But we’re best friends. You tell me everything. We tell eachother everything.”

“Then maybe you’ll tell me why he asked that.” Ollie states, finally looking at him. 

Steve doesn’t answer, but they both knew. 

- 

His dad sends him to basketball camp that summer, for 3 weeks. When he gets back the Fraser’s go on vacation and don’t get back until the last day of summer. 

When the first day rolls around there is something different in the air. 

Maybe it’s the fact that Wiley doesn’t talk at all, too scared of the speech impediment. Maybe it’s the way Flip seems a bit off, not really smiling all that much, lost in the grief of his little sister being gone. Or Charlotte staring at her own mom who was too tired to leave the porch. 

But nonetheless the three kids pose for a picture, smiling as much as they can. 

And when Flip drops Wiley off the kid doesn’t say anything, he just tries a smile and heads in. Flip makes sure he makes it in the doors before heading to the middle school. 

“Have a good day.” He tries to smile, but it doesn’t hit the way it normally does. And when they make it to the doors Steve sees Tommy and the others waiting for him so he merely waved at Ollie before walking away. No pinky promise. 

-

She joins the art club, and somehow manages to stay out of direct fire of Tommy and the rest. 

Basketball takes all his time, and now that Ollie is in another club that meets on different days they rarely hang out. 

But it’s fine, he tells himself. It’ll go back to normal soon. 

- 

That summer Eddie is sent to juvenile detention camp, having been caught with weed, and Steve gets to hang out with Ollie all summer. 

No guilt, no basketball crap since Tommy is on a cruise with his parents. Just like how things used to be. 

They spend afternoons on the back porch with Nana, painting and hanging out under the shade and sun. Wiley joins them after his speech therapy and they all laugh and giggle like they used to. 

Ollie breaks her toes over a sprinkler head during a water fight one day, which makes everyone laugh in the hospital room when they see the x-rays and they start calling her ‘pirate’ since the boot they gave her clunks around like a peg leg. 

Steve spends the night on their couch when his parents are gone, which at this point is every other day. 

During a bad week with his dad he takes a pretty good beating over a snappy comment and Ollie cleans up the cut in his cheek, using a coke cam from her fridge to press against the swelling as they sat huddled together by the very same fridge to fight the heat. 

“It’s just the heat wave.” Steve lies. “He’s cranky cause of it.” 

“Yeah.” She lies back, pressing the cold can to the blistered lip for a second. “Just the heat wave.” 

He liked that she let him lie in that moment, he liked that he knew she wasn’t judging him for needing to lie either. 

- 

The first day of his Freshman year Steve is once again decked out in new clothes from the nicest store, his mother kisses his cheek on the way out and reminds him about basketball tryouts. 

He doesn’t go to to the Fraser house, since the car taking him to school had already pulled up, and he misses the way Nana waves at the end of the driveway. 

-

He manages to convince his mom not to throw a themed birthday party that year, already knowing his friends would make fun of him for it. She settles on a pool party and lets him invite whoever he wants. 

“Dads not gonna be in town.” She reminds him. “How about Ollie?” 

“We’re used to doing the weekend after, already.” He lies. “Why change plans? It didn’t work last time.” 

She laughs at the memory and heads off to find something to do as he suffers in his own guilt. 

The party is fun, fun enough that he forgets about Ollie for a few hours. 

And when the next weekend rolls around and the phone rings he is surprised to find that an upperclassman had dialed him asking to bring friends over. 

His mother, having left early that morning for vegas, left the house to him and before he knew it there was a high schooler in every surface of the home. The pool party was packed. 

“Someone’s at the door for you.” Carol giggles, rolling her eyes. “Some girl in a sundress.” 

And he already knows Ollie is at the door, excitement and dread filling him in one go. 

When he opens the door he sees an excited grin break across her face. “Stevie! Hey!” 

“Hey, Ollie.” He grunts, shutting the front door behind him quickly. “It’s just Steve.”

“Right. Sorry. Steve.” She nods, blushing a bit before holding out a bowl with a lid. “Nanas favorite pudding.” 

“Oh. Thank you.” He tries to smile. “I could have gotten it after dinner-“ 

“It’s already 6 and nana went to bed.” Ollie shrugs. “Not feeling well. We ate already….. I tried to call.” 

“Sorry. Guess the party is a bit carried away.” He tries to laugh before clearing his throat. “What’s that?” 

She blinks before looking down to the painting leaning against her calf, covered in a sheet. “Oh. I painted your birthday gift this year. If that’s okay?” 

“Of course.” He smiles, a genuine one this time. “Let’s see it.” 

And she smiles back, lifting the canvas and showing him the oil painting. It was a bob ross painting, except she ended up adding two smaller figures that looked like them walking along the lakes edge. They were insanely detailed. 

“This is amazing Ollie.” He sighs, holding it. 

“It’s nothing. I…,  I gotta go.” She mumbles, stepping away from the porch with a small wave. “Goodnight.” 

“You’re leaving?” 

“I have a curfew.” She shrugs, walking off quickly. 

He sets the painting and pudding down on the counter. By the time he wakes up in the morning he sees that the pudding had been eaten with the bowl shattered in his living room.  

It takes him a bit to find the painting, finding it outside broken in half. 

He only has half of it, torn and splintered, but never finds the second half. 

Guilt gnaws at him as he hides his half of it in the closet. 

- 

He tries to call on October 13th, her birthday, but the phone rings and rings and rings. He waits, foot tapping impatiently before his coach yells for him to get his ass to practice. Then after practice he tries calling again, this time someone picks up. 

“H-hel-hello?” 

“Wiley, hey it’s Steve. Is your sister around?” He mumbles out, stomach clenching at the kids stutter that he tries to ignore. There is shuffling, sound of footsteps on the stairs before the phone is picked up again. 

“This is Via.” She mumbles into the phone. 

“Via? When did you start going by Via?” Steve teases, something tightened in his chest that he couldn’t quite explain. “I just called to say happy birthday.” 

“Thanks Steve. I gotta go.” She mutters before the line goes dead, leaving Steve standing in the school hallway with a tight pain in his chest and no one in sight. 

- 

He takes her gift to her the weekend after the call, it’s some weird paint set thing he saw at the store, and just like the very first time he carried a gift over to the house his palms are sweaty. 

When he gets there he is taken aback, because on the porch there is a brunette with long hair that reaches her lower back watching him walk up with narrowed eyes. 

“Hello?” He calls, reaching the porch. 

“Hello?” She parrots, a hiss to her tone. 

The door freaks open and the screen door budges after that, Ollie comes out a little too focused on carrying a pizza box and not spilling the two drinks she was carrying on top of it. The brunette dashes to help, grabbing the drinks and shuffling back to the haven of blankets they had set on the porch. 

“Ollie, hey.” Steve clears his throat, catching her attention finally. “I just brought over your birthday gift.” 

“Oh, thanks.” She attempts a smile, and he attempts to ignore that painful feeling in his chest as her tear streaked face. 

“Have you been crying? What happened?” He asks quickly, stepping closer. She steps back, keeping the pizza box between them. 

“Nothing. I’m good.” Ollie shrugs. “Cece and I are having a girls night though. So-“ 

“Are your parents home?” 

“No. With nan at the hospital-“ 

“Is she okay?” 

“Eddie is on his way Steve. You should go.” 

“I thought it was a girls night?” He didn’t know why he was doing this, but that feeling in his chest was growing tighter and tighter, panic clawing up his throat. 

“You gonna mock him for that too?” It’s Ollie’s new friend Cece that sneers it, and Steve blinks at her. “Like your friends mock Via at school?” 

“People are making fun of you?” Steve mumbles, sounding completely gutted which isn’t far off from how he was feeling. 

“Goodnight Steve.” Ollie sighs, dismissing him. 

“Goodnight.” Steve mumbles back, setting his gift on the edge of the porch and moving to walk away. The screen door opens one more time and he turns to see Wiley coming out carrying two more cups full of orange soda, smiling as he shuffles to the blankets. Cece smiles and scoots over to welcome him in as a van parks in front of the house, the driver hopping out in a sleek leather jacket that Steve has to blink at before he recognizes Eddie. 

He doesn’t turn back after that, merely rubs his chest as he heads home. 

-

That summer is….. an odd one. 

His dad takes a pretty good swing at him the first day, popping him in the cheek hard enough to send him falling to the floor of the kitchen. His mom cries out, having to excuse herself because she didn’t want to cry in front of him and his dad storms out soon after. 

He goes to the only place he could think, Ollie’s house, tears clogging his eyesight. She sits with him on the kitchen floor once more, this time a pack of peas on his cheek as he tries to catch his breath. He holds her hand, the only thing really helping, and she murmurs soft words to try and get him to calm down. 

She calls it a panic attack 40 minutes later when he’s calmer and the peas are melted. 

He asks where her family is and she shrugs and says “out.” 

She lets him sleep on the couch that day. 

He wakes up a couple hours later to Flip smiling at him, mumbling something about “long time no see stranger.” 

And he is brought to the dinner table where he sits my Wiley with Charlotte across from her younger son and Flip by her at the end of the table. The other end of the table stays empty, but the plate is still set up for Nana. And Ollie’s seat across from him is covered in dried paint but she’s nowhere in sight. 

“She and her friend Cece are over there. It’s there only night Ceces mom is off work so Ollie….via likes going over there.” Flip smiles, catching the half glare Charlotte sends him when he nearly calls her Ollie. 

Wiley sends him an amused glance and Steve smiles in excitement at the fact that the boy did so, and he eats dinner with half the Fraser family for the first time in forever. 

-

The first day of his sophomore year Steve Harrington drives to school, picking up Tommy and his new girlfriend Carol on the way. They play music on the radio, Carol laughing at how cheesy the songs are as Tommy yells loudly at every car they pass on the way there. 

They take up their usual spot at the lunch table outside the front doors, summoning their friends and bothering people they don’t like. 

Eddie Munson passes, glaring at Tommy enough to have the shorter haired boy stand down for once as he walks in. The second the doors shut behind him the group all turns to each other to snicker about him though. 

Cowards, Steve thinks to himself. Blinking slowly when he realizes he is a coward as well. 

“Hey Nancy, Hey Barbara.” Carol coos as the two girls pass, the obvious mockery in her voice making the girls blanche and rush to the doors quickly. 

“You both realize that we do want at least…. Some friends. Right?” Steve laughs, tossing a raisin at Tommy. 

“Not a lot to pick from here. Aw look here. This one has her daddy pull up front.” Carol sneers, and Steve looks up just in time to see Ollie hop from the truck, giving her dad a smile before closing the door. He nods once before driving off and Ollie walks up the path in a shirt and skirt outfit. 

The skirt goes past her knees, and though Steve saw what the vision for the outfit was he knew Carol would only see one thing. “What are you? A Mormon freak?” 

Ollie doesn’t bother looking up, she merely walks past and meets with the brunette at the side of the door who wears a short skirt and a wide smile. 

“Oh I see. The slut and the Mormon. Cute couple.” Tommy calls after them making kissy sounds that have the brunette, Cece, rolling her eyes and dragging Ollie inside. 

Steve drags his eyes away, blinking slowly as reality hits. This was going to be a long year. 

- 

After a pretty good fight with his dad Steve finds himself sitting on the Fraser porch, bleeding from his eyebrow and lip and not really knowing what to do. 

There were no cars in the driveway, so there truly was no point in being here, no one’s home. Or at least that’s what he thought, because before he knows it the door is opening slowly and drawing his attention. 

For a second he thinks it’s Ollie and he struggles to find a proper excuse as to why he is here, since he is sure he wouldn’t be welcome after the way his friends have treated her. 

But then he sees Nana, looking sick and tired, but she smiles when she sees him. ��Stevie? Come on in.” 

“I can’t stay.” He lies, eyes welling with tears. 

“Oh come on Stevie. I just made some tea.” And with that he shuffles in after her, keeping an arm out to help her across the floor, making sure she doesn't fall. She limps quite a bit, grunting under her breath from the pain, but tries not to show it as she makes it to her sitting chair and slides into it. 

He sits on the couch, watching her closely as she watches him. 

“I should have grabbed you some ice. Hold on Stevie….” When she goes to get back up he is quick to stand and shake his own head, going to grab something himself before she can. 

“I made you something for your birthday.” She mumbles when he gets back, leaning by her chair to grab it and toss it over to him. The green fabric is soft in his hands and he spreads it between his fingers to admire the sweater, something tight pulling in his chest as he merely just looks at it. 

“You knit this?” He asks in amazement, moving to put it on immediately. 

“I have a lot of time with the chemo.” She hums, closing her eyes quickly and gripping the sides of her chair. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. Just nauseous.” Nana hums again, breathing in. “Tell me what you have been up to, distract an old lady.”

So he spends the rest of the day telling her about everything, and asks as many questions as possible and he makes her lunch. When he leaves in the afternoon she walks him to the door and kisses his forehead. 

“You take care, okay?”

“Will do.”

“And you take care of my Ollie too.” And shame coats him the entire way home. 

- 

The pool party was a terrible idea, this much Steve knew as he stumbled his way across his living room.  With his parents gone for the week, pretending to be celebrating their anniversary together, Steve told his friends at school that the house would be all his. And so kicked off the first event of summer, everyone had shown up with bottles of liquor and bags of chips. 

And now, with it being late in the afternoon, all Steve wanted to do was sleep. 

“Steve!” Someone calls, laughing as a body is thrown into his. He only registers it as Tommy when the bad breath hits his nose. “The mormon freak is outside your house!”

What? What Mormon freak?

He must ask as much because Tommy is shoving him to the door with a cackle. He stumbles at the door, using the frame to catch himself as Ollie comes into view, tears streaming down her face while Steve blinks. 

His first reaction is to push forward and grab her, but then he realizes that all his friends are behind him and that is not an option. It would ruin everything, his reputation would be the first to go. 

“Are you crying?” He slurs, trying to blink away the dizziness. 

“I….” Ollie starts, stopping short when Tommy cackles from behind Steve. 

“Dude, what is she wearing? A potato sack?” He jokes and the group that had built up all laughs as well, he watches Ollie cast her eyes around and come to terms with the fact that they had an audience. 

She doesn’t say anything, instead she turns quickly and runs off. 

- 

He spends the next week debating if he had imagined that whole thing. 

He spends the days deep cleaning the house before his parents get back, trying not to gag with every pile of mysterious fluid he mops up. And once he is sure that his father would walk in without any suspicion of what went down he finally relaxes and takes a breath. 

And for the first time in a week he walks outside, taking in a breath of fresh air as she shuffles to sit on his lawn just as he used to growing up, bathing in the heat of the sun as he relaxes. That is until the sound of a truck pulls his attention from down the street, making him snap his head to the house he knew too well. The house he had all but grown up in. 

The moving truck was yellow this time, the same color of Ollies dress the day they moved in. 

Steve watches, picking himself up quickly as the Fraser family piles into the trucks. Flip gets into the moving truck, wearing an old flannel and a sad look. Wiley struggles to hop into the passenger side but manages all the same. 

They start up the truck and without another second start heading down the street, and Steve watches from the sidewalk as Wiley waves out the window slowly. Steve waves back. 

The red truck follows with Charlotte in the driver seat. Her cheeks are red and puffy and she plays no music for the drive out, she lifts a single hand to Steve. 

Nanas blue car follows next, Ollie driving it. 

She does not wave. 

{ Next Chapter }

[the-name-is-z]

SKELETONS | ch. 15

daryl dixon x f!oc

masterlist

a03 link

Summary: After the incident at the barn, the group is left in a state of sorrow and disrepair. Iris takes it upon herself to fix it, though not without a little trouble. Warnings/Information: AMC's The Walking Dead OC Insert | 18+ Advised | strangers to lovers; the slowest of slow burns; gore; angst; horror; humour; m/f; group conflict, grieving family members, car accident, injuries sustained in car accident, no deer were harmed in the making of this chapter, daryl is pissed, alpha male bullshit and it shows

Chapter 15 - Saviour

Carl ran back to the house, Beth sobbing in Jimmy’s arms. She pulled from her boyfriend, collapsing down to her knees at her mother’s side.

“Ma…” She whispered, pushing another body from her mother’s corpse and turning her to face the sky. Beth screamed as the walker snarled, grabbing and yanking at her hair. Iris’s reflexes acted before she could think, and the knife whispered past her fingers and into the walker’s skull. Beth sobbed as she scurried back in the dirt, Jimmy and Patricia pulling her away. Iris stepped forward, pulling the knife from its skull.

The Greene family started the slow walk back to their house, not bothering with any words.

“We’ve been out, combing these woods for how long, and she was in there all along?” Shane asked, walking after them. Rick jogged to catch up, to keep him behind, but Shane was nothing if not a complete pain in the ass. “You knew!”

“Leave us alone!” Maggie yelled.

“Shane, just stop, man.” Glenn called.

“Get your hands off me.” Shane hissed, ripping from Rick’s grip. “You knew and you kept it from us!”

“I— I didn’t know.” Hershel croaked.

“That’s bullshit. I think y’all knew.”

“We didn’t know!” Maggie insisted.

“Why was she there?” Shane asked, following them all the way to the porch. Hershel turned around while the others went inside.

“Otis put those people in the barn. Maybe he found her and put her in there before he was killed.” Hershel offered.

“You expect me to believe that? What do I look like, an idiot?” Shane asked. Iris couldn’t handle it, turning around and walking back to the camp. She grabbed a bottle of water, downing the whole thing in one go. She looked down, seeing her knife in her hand, still dripping with brown, rotten blood. She wiped it on the grass before placing it back in it’s sheath.

She just kept thinking about the noise. All those gunshots. They’d have drawn every walker out for miles. Iris glanced over, seeing Andrea covering Sophia’s body with a blanket. She turned back, making for the RV, where Carol was sitting at the table by herself. Iris knocked before she went in, Carol glancing to her before facing out the window again. She took that as permission to come in, sitting herself down across the table, following her gaze. 

After a few hours, Daryl came and knocked on the door, looking up at Iris. She pressed her lips together.

“They’re ready.” He said softly. Carol shook her head just slightly. “C’mon.”

“Why?” She murmured, looking up at Iris.

“‘Cause that’s your little girl.” Daryl replied. She shook her head firmly this time.

“That’s not my little girl. That’s some other… thing.” She hissed. There was a long beat of silence. “My Sophia was alone in the woods. All this time, I thought… she didn’t cry herself to sleep. She didn’t go hungry. She didn’t try to find her way back. Sophia… Sophia died a long time ago.”

Daryl didn’t like that answer. He exhaled sharply through his nose and went back outside. After a few minutes, Iris extended her hand across the table, palm up. And after a few more minutes, what felt like an eternity, Carol took it.

-

When it was time to say goodbye, after they all had been buried, Carol sat outside in a field, sitting in front of the blooms of a Cherokee Rose. Iris joined the others and said goodbye, even though she and Sophia had never spoken. Daryl was taking it particularly hard.

Dale, Andrea, and T-Dog started to load the other walker’s bodies into the bed of Jimmy’s truck, to be taken to be burned. Daryl had disappeared, but Iris spotted him against the ruins of an old stone building, whittling sticks. But the world moved on, and so must they.

“Iris? Iris?” Lori called, running out of the farmhouse. Iris looked up from cleaning her knives. “Beth’s in some kind of catatonic shock. We need Hershel.”

“He’s gone?” Iris asked, frowning.

“Rick and Glenn went to look for him. I… would you go into town to bring them back? Please?” Lori pleaded. Iris sighed, looking over at Daryl and his angry whittling. It would be stupid to go alone, and most everyone was otherwise occupied. And there was no way she’d venture over to ask Shane.

“Alright.” She breathed. Lori thanked her profusely, running back inside the house to check on Beth. Iris huffed as she pulled herself to her feet, trudging across the field toward Daryl.

“Daryl?” She called. He grunted and she made a face, walking closer. “You sharpening your pitchforks?”

“What?” He asked sharply.

“I’m going into town to get Rick, Glenn and Hershel. Apparently Beth’s in some kind of catatonic state.” She explained. He grunted again. Iris huffed. “Will you come with me?” She asked pointedly.

“The bitch went window shopping. If Lori wants him she should go fetch him herself. We got better things to do.” He grumbled.

“Oh, do we?” Iris scoffed. “I don’t. We’ve been in decision limbo for the past week or so. Nobody’s doing anything about anything, and I’m tired of it.”

“Listen to me, Iris, we were out looking for that little girl every single day. I took a bullet and an arrow in the process. Don’t you tell me I’m not doing nothing. You want to kill yourself for someone else, have a nice ride. I’m done looking for people.” He hissed. Iris stuck her tongue in her cheek, trying to keep herself from chewing him out and making him angrier.

“Lori’s pregnant, Daryl. She can’t go looking for him in case something happens.” She explained lowly.

“So that means I should? Olive Oyl should learn to do something for herself once in a while. Just ‘cause she’s pregnant don’t mean her life’s worth more than anyone else’s.” Iris snorted at the nickname.

“Don’t do this, please? We’ve lost enough people, Daryl, we don’t need to lose you—“

“That ain’t my problem neither.” He snapped. “Lookin’ after you ain’t my responsibility.”

“Cute.” She stated simply, spinning on her heel to head back to the camp and gather her things. Dangerous or not, she’d find them. Hell, she’d been living on her own in Atlanta for months. If Daryl didn’t want to help her, that’s fine. She’d do it her damn self.

Iris found a car a little ways down the road and hot-wired it, happy to see enough gas to get her from town and back without trouble. She had a map on her, eyes flicking upward every so often to keep her from doing something stupid. Yet when she was about halfway there, a deer jumped out into the road anyways. She inhaled sharply in surprise, jerking the wheel to the side in order not to hit it. 

The car spun off of the road and flipped, landing upside down with a loud crunch.

-

Iris awoke again in the dark, to the sound of someone scratching at the car door. She opened one eye, wincing at the throbbing pain in her skull. She was incredibly irritated. At the car wreck, sure, but more-so at the fact that now she’d have to tell Daryl that he was right. And she hated being wrong. She reached up, feeling her head for wounds and bringing her hand away covered in blood. Head wounds were the fucking worst. In the past, she’d just tied on her bandana and that seemed to stop the flow, but that wasn’t much of an option at this point.

“Fuck.” She hissed. The walker in front of her started to press his face through the broken windshield, the edges of the glass catching on his skin and peeling it back from his skull. She recoiled, unbuckling the seat belt and pulling herself into the backseat. She pushed the opposite door open, kicking the door out when it got stuck, and pulled herself through.

Her boots hit the ground and she checked her belt for her knives. All present and accounted for. This situation was exactly why you strapped knives all over you. They wouldn’t move, even in a car accident. A pair of arms wrapped around her and she shrieked in surprise, shoving the walker backward. It peeled her jacket from her shoulders but she slid one arm out, managing to grab a knife and jam it into the walker’s eye. She pulled her jacket from his hands and slipped it back on, the sleeve now ripped.

-

Daryl watched the members of the group exit Hershel’s farmhouse after they finished dinner. He noted Iris’ absence and walked to her tent, grumbling to himself. He was trying to apologize and she didn’t have the damn courtesy to be there at all?

“Iris?” He asked lowly, standing outside her tent. He waited for a moment, hearing no movement or shuffling from the inside. “‘m comin’ in.” He mumbled, pulling the zipper down. He frowned when he saw that the tent was empty, standing back to his full height.

“Hey, Shane, you seen Iris?” Daryl called as Shane stalked across the campsite.

“Nope.” He called back shortly, shuffling into his own tent without turning back.

“Where could she have gone?” Lori asked, frowning down at her son, who was looking around for her. Daryl then realized that Iris probably decided that she was more than capable of going on her own, even if he had told her to get lost. Especially if Lori had asked her to do it.

“Damn it.” Daryl mumbled. “Dumbass.” He jogged over to his own tent, grabbing his crossbow and hooking it over his shoulder. “Went off looking for Rick.”

“On her own?” Lori asked, horrified. Carl scowled, adjusting his hat on his head as he turned toward the road.

“Yeah, ain’t that what you asked her to do?” Daryl growled in annoyance. He moved over to his bike, starting the engine and revving the motorcycle loudly. The tires skidded across the dirt as he pulled away from the farm, leaving the rest of the camp standing and watching in shock.

He drove faster along the road than he usually would, enjoying the excuse of open roads and no laws. It wasn’t long before he found the flipped car in the ditch, with a few dead walkers laid across the road. He left the bike running but stepped off, pulling out his crossbow as he kicked the walkers, ensuring they were dead. She wasn’t inside the car, and she was nowhere around the road or in the immediate vicinity. She could have ducked into the trees, but it was harder to see in the dark in the forest. More dangerous, too.

“Iris!” He whispered sharply, not wanting to draw any more walkers than he already would. He paused, listening to the cicadas in the hot summer heat. In the distance, he heard the far rumble of gunshots and his frown deepened.

Daryl got back on his bike, continuing down the road. She couldn’t have gotten far on foot, even if she wasn’t injured. The car looked like it had been flipped for a bit, but there was no telling how long she stayed there for. Good thing he was a damn good tracker. It was another five minutes before he noticed a silhouette walking along the side of the road, a ridiculous amount of knives strapped to her legs and hips. He pulled the bike to a stop in front of her, scowling as she stopped, folding her arms.

“You good?” He asked.

“Think so.” She replied simply. 

“You sure? Pretty nasty wreck.” He pulled out a flashlight, shining it in her face, over her limbs. Either than maybe a mild concussion, she seemed okay. There was dried blood on her forehead, but the wound had already clotted. “C’mon. Get you back to camp.”

“No. I told Lori I was gonna find Rick and Hershel, so I’m gonna find them.” Iris refused, pulling away from him. He reached out, taking her elbow in a firm grip.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed out here, doing shit for other people.”

“If we don’t do shit for each other, there’s no difference between us and them.” Iris hissed, gesturing to their greater surroundings. “I know you’re pissed about Sophia, and so am I, but there’s nothing we can do about it now, except make sure nobody else from our group dies.”

“Yet you’re out here, making me come get you—“

“You wouldn’t have had to if you’d come with me in the first place!”

“Sounds like some blackmail bullshit.” He grumbled. Iris scoffed, folding her arms. “Look, I don’t know what’s your problem, I’m out here saving your life!”

“Oh, god, my hero!” Iris cried sarcastically, mimicking… well, Olive Oyl. “I didn’t ask you to come save me! I have been on my own for months. I am perfectly happy being alone.”

“You don’t know what to do with yourself. You said it yourself, you’re just itching for something to happen.” He replied, huffing in frustration. “Well, here it is. Somethin’ happened, and now you’re needin’ my help! You’re not my responsibility!” Iris said nothing, sticking her tongue in her cheek while he yelled. He scoffed, throwing his arms up in the air, but he didn’t miss the way Iris flinched as he raised his hands. Yet, she stared him down fearlessly, the wrath of God behind her eyes, and heard whatever he had to say. Hard as nails, she was.

“I never said I was. Go back, Daryl. If it means that much, you should have left me to rot.” Iris hissed. She made to turn on her heel, to continue on the way to town. Maybe she could hot-wire another car— Daryl stopped her, his hand on her elbow again. 

They stared at one another, one glaring at the other and vice versa, for about five minutes before either of them broke away. Daryl’s gaze shifted as a walker shuffled out from between the trees at the edge of the forest, quick reflexes and a bolt from the crossbow and it was on the ground. He turned back to find her still staring at him.

“C’mon.” He mumbled, jerking his chin at the bike. She stared at him for a moment more before he got onto the bike, shifting forward a little and sat, simply waiting. Wasting gas, making noise, idling in a world facing the threat of— well, global warming wasn’t really an issue anymore, was it? There were barely any humans left to do anything.

For some reason, it felt like Iris was admitting defeat as she succumbed to her headache, getting on the back of Daryl’s bike. She kept as separated from him as she could, holding onto the back of the seat as he pulled off down the road, back to the farm.

-

TAGLIST:

@heidiland05

@ryoujoking

@catlalice

@maxinehufflepuffprincess

@lowkeyhottho