#this show is so good and I love seeing all the little details I missed when I initially watched it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

skeltnwrites · 2 months ago

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At Least It’s Not the End of the World ♡

After protecting the kids from demodogs and sentient tunnel vines with Steve, a weekend babysitting Holly Wheeler together is supposed to be simple. That is until feelings neither of you expected start to make things way more complicated.

gn!reader, takes place in between seasons two and three, people who fight monsters together to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff 16k

── .✦

It doesn’t take long to remember why Holly is your favorite Wheeler. She’s patient and sweet, amazingly level-headed for a preschooler, and her manners could put some adults to shame. Compared to her siblings, Holly’s a little sweetheart. And a mama’s girl through and through, clinging to Mrs. Wheeler more often than not.

Like now, she wriggles in her mom’s lap, scrunched over a coloring book at the dinner table. She squints at her box of crayons and purses her lips— choosing colors is hard when you’re five. She hasn’t said a peep since you arrived, but in the foyer, she greeted you with a clumsy wave and a sheepish smile.

“It would be Friday afternoon to Monday morning,” Mrs. Wheeler explains, stirring a glass of lemonade with a curly straw. “I’d ask Nance but she’s having a girl's weekend.”

You glance at Steve. You know girl’s weekend is code for spending the night with Jonathan Byers. But if he knows it too, he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t so much as bat an eye at her words. In fact, he’s relaxed under Mrs. Wheeler’s gaze. He’s sitting in a chair he’s sat in dozens of times before, talking to a woman he sees more frequently than his own mother.

You don’t know her as well as he does, but you aren’t strangers by any means.

“And Mike, well, he’s not old enough to watch her for that long. But he’ll be staying over at Joyce’s so you don’t have to worry about him,” she pauses to sip her drink. “I’d pay you, of course. I don’t know what your schedules look like— I know you’re probably busy with the new job, Steve— but I figured since it’s a few days, I’d offer it to you both.”

Steve flashes an honest smile and leans forward. “Are you kidding? I’d hang with this squirt for free. I’m actually off this weekend so it works out.”

Mrs. Wheeler beams, eyes springing to yours.

“Yeah, I could help too,” you shrug. You also happen to be free this weekend and the extra cash would be nice.

“Great! You both are so lovely. Oh, I was so worried, I kept telling Ted– well, it doesn’t matter now.” Her bracelets clink and clash as she reaches across the table to cover your hand with hers. “You’ll have to keep an eye on these two. She becomes quite the riot when her Stevie comes over.”

Steve chuckles and raises his hands in defense. “She owes me a rematch at Candyland so I can’t promise anything.”

Mrs. Wheeler’s fingers retract from yours, landing on the end of Holly’s pigtail. “She’s really missed having you over. Asks about you still.”

Holly ducks her nose into her paper, pink traveling up her ears.

“Is that right?” Steve teases. “I’ll have to swing by more often.”

“Please. You’re welcome anytime, Steve. Whether Nancy’s here or not.” Her attention drifts to you. “And the same goes for you. Mike won’t stop talking about that comic book you gave him.”

A smug grin surfaces. Out of all of the kids, Mike is a tough one to please.

“I’ve never been away from Holly for so long. But I trust you guys.” Mrs. Wheeler pecks Holly’s crown to hide a wobbly smile, her sentence spilling out in a breathy string of words.

She really does trust you both. It would take another set of hands to count the number of times either you or Steve had driven her kids home safely. This is just different. She loves all of her kids equally, but Holly’s her baby.

Holly’s eyes cast up at her mention, bright as a sunlit gem.

Mrs. Wheeler smooths her daughter’s sleeves down her shoulders. “But Holly’s a good girl. Right, Hollybear?”

She turns to bury a toothy smile in her mother’s shirt.

Mrs. Wheeler is meticulous as she presents each and every detail of Holly’s routine. From car seat safety to emergency contacts to allergies, she covers every question you might have before you have it.

Steve’s a good listener but he’s cursed with a very short attention span. Mrs. Wheeler lost him somewhere around Holly’s sudden aversion to mac and cheese, but she doesn’t seem to notice. You’ll fill in the gaps for him later.

This won’t be the first time you’ve babysat with Steve. Dustin roped you both into hunting his pet lizard-turned-alien which very quickly escalated to protecting four children from not one, but several, vicious aliens. Safe to say you two are experienced enough to handle one kid for a couple of nights.

You haven’t seen Steve much since then. It’s summer now. The demodogs and sentient tunnel vines feel much more like a dream than something that actually happened to you these days. Steve works at the Scoops in Starcourt, or so you’ve heard several times– Dustin only reminds you about every time you see him. But despite being as close to death as you’ve ever been beside Steve, visiting him at work feels strangely wrong. Like crossing a line that neither of you ever drew.

You would not consider Steve Harrington your friend. You’re friendly, as you might be with a neighbor or coworker, but you don’t talk much outside of world-ending, portal-to-another-dimension kind of events. He’s family in a weird sort of way, bound by the shared trauma and unspoken loyalty— like someone you only see at family reunions, familiar enough to care about but still a stranger in most ways. High school was a long blur and your circle of friends couldn’t have been farther from his. So you don’t know Steve, not really. But of what little pieces of him you have come to know in the last year, he’s not half bad at babysitting.

ᯓ★

On Friday afternoon, you park your car beside Steve’s shiny BMW in the Wheeler’s driveway. You take the house key that had been slipped from Mrs. Wheeler’s key ring to yours and unlock the front door. And you find that inside, it’s completely silent. Holly’s quiet as a mouse but she’s still a kid and kids make noise.

Your bag drops onto the floor beside Steve’s shoes as you toe off your own. When the kitchen and living room turn up empty you jog upstairs. Alarm sinks in on the last step where you still hear nothing. No shouting, no laughing, no crying, no nothing.

There’s a large window in the hall upstairs, dividing Nancy’s room from Mike's and Holly’s. In your panic, you miss the suspicious lumps in the drapes that frame it.

As you brush by, Steve rips the curtain across the rod and shouts, “Ha! Gotch– Oh.”

Your entire body jerks, fear cinching every nerve. “Christ! Steve!”

“Sorry, sorry!”

Your nostrils flare with hot air as you shove him, “You scared me!”

His open palms hover in between your chests, unsure how to help. “I thought you were Holly. Sorry.” He gives you an apologetic once-over before a breathy chuckle escapes.

“It’s not funny. All the shit we’ve been through. God.” He’s lucky you didn’t punch him. A part of you still wants to.

“Mommy says that’s not a nice word,” Holly says from behind you.

You turn, shoulders sagging in relief. “I didn’t mean to say that. Sorry.”

“Stevie, I was supposed to find you,” she whines incredulously, hands planted on her hips.

“We can go again. I’ll find a new spot.”

Her frown mends as quickly as it appeared and she skips back to her room to count.

“Sorry,” Steve reminds you. “Help me find a spot to hide?”

Soft eyes, a softer smile. It’s hard to stay mad when he looks at you like that. “Okay.”

Twenty seconds isn’t very long to hide. Especially when Holly counts as fast as she does and when you spend half of your time standing in the hall. So you end up crouched in the corner of Mike’s closet, Steve arched over you, trying his hardest not to crush your toes.

“Jesus. Does this kid even wash his clothes?” Steve whisper-shouts. “It smells like something died in here.” His palm snaps to the wall behind your head, the flesh of his arm warming your ear.

“You actually couldn’t have picked a worse place. Oh my God.” You press the neckline of your shirt over your nose. Steve’s wearing enough cologne to drown out the stench of dirty socks, though it’s choking you all the same.

“We had like three seconds. I panicked!”

You’re glaring at him but only a fraction of light filters in from underneath the door so you’d guess he doesn't see.

The closet is the first place Holly checks when she barges into Mike’s room, but you’ve never been happier to be caught so fast.

“My turn!” She glows in victory, pigtails swishing like yellow ribbons as she shouts.

Steve huffs. “Let’s take a break. We’ve been playing for like an hour.”

“Can we play tag?”

“In a little while. I’m tired.” He pinches her neck playfully until she squirms out of reach. “How’d you have all that energy?”

She shrugs with her whole body. “I dunno. I’m a kid.”

A laugh bubbles out of your throat. When your eyes flit to Steve you find him already smiling at you.

“What about something a little more chill,” you suggest. “We could color?”

“Bracelets?”

“You want to make some?”

She nods, “I can’t reach them. The beads are on top of my closet.”

“I’ll get ‘em,” Steve offers. “Come show me where.”

You fan out her multitude of craft containers across the kitchen table. Beads, charms, strings, all neatly filed away. She pops open a lid and plunks down across from you. Steve takes the seat at the end in between.

“What color bracelet are you gonna make?” you ask, raking through the rainbow of options.

“Umm, yellow. No– green!”

“Nice. Here’s a cute little frog charm. Want that?”

“Mmmm. No, thank you.”

“I’ll take it,” Steve says, stretching his hand toward you.

You drop it in the center of his palm where it clinks against a handful of blue beads. They’re pretty and vibrant like the sea. A flicker of an idea pulls you to grab your own handful.

Holly slides four beads onto a string, two lime green and two baby pink. She drags the other end up and they all slip off, bouncing in separate directions across the table. You smack one before it dives onto the floor and Steve catches another two mid-air.

“Can you help me tie it?” Holly asks from under her chair, searching for the fourth.

“Sure.” Steve swaps his bracelet for hers, triple knotting one end. “I like these colors.”

She resurfaces with a grin, voice lilting as she speaks, “Do you like purple?”

“Yeah, purple’s okay. Do you?”

She nods, pinching a lilac gem and examining it.

You slip into a peaceful rhythm. The bead bin rattles as Steve digs his fingers in. He murmurs something about sparkles as he shuffles. Every now and then, you peek up at him. And each time, you find that he’s fully absorbed in this, rubbing his chin or poking his tongue out in concentration. You’d even bet he’s having fun.

“Can you tie it on me,” Holly asks when she finishes.

Steve takes her hand gently, fingers engulfing her tinier ones. “This good?” He tugs the strings across each other at her permission, sealing it with an extra knot for good measure.

Holly starts a second one as you finish your first. You hold it up triumphantly for them to see– red and blue beads between every white pearl.

“Very patriotic,” Steve teases.

“It’s for you. For scoops. These are the colors right?”

He softens, eyes rounding like brown buttons. “Wait, really? Thank you. Wow.” He inspects it fondly where you release it in his palm. “Will you tie it?” His arm shoots over to your side of the table.

You feel his gaze shift from the bracelet to your face as you lace it. And you pretend that it doesn’t make your cheeks burn.

“You don’t have to wear it to Scoops if you don’t want to,” you mumble, releasing his wrist.

“What? Of course, I’m wearing it. No one’s ever made me a bracelet before.”

Your lips bend up into your cheeks as he leans back in his seat. He twists and turns his arm, looking it over again with a similar expression. “Now, it was supposed to be a surprise, but since I’m almost done, I actually made this for you.” He scoops up the piece he’s been working on and waves it in front of you.

You cock an eyebrow and smirk. “You sure you didn’t just decide that since I gave you one.”

“I didn’t! I was planning this the whole time! Right Holly, didn’t I say that?”

“No?”

“Holly, come on now.” He elbows her arm. “Supposed to back me up.”

“But you didn’t,” she giggles.

“Holly doesn’t lie, Steve.”

“Okay, I didn’t say it. But I thought it. I was gonna give it to you I swear.” He jams another couple of beads on his string. “See! Look, it has your favorite color on there.”

“It has every color on there.”

“One of which is your favorite.”

You roll your eyes as he takes your wrist. His hands are warmer than yours, softer than you expect too. He stills as your palm flips face up. A jagged, fleshy ridge runs from the bottom of your pinky to the meat of your thumb. Steve was there when you got the scar. He’s never said it, but you know he blames himself for it. A demodog had you pinned in that damned junkyard school bus so Steve pushed you out of the way but you caught yourself on a broken window.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

His head dips in a silent nod. He isn’t sure whether to believe you or not. Either way, he feels sorry still.

His bracelet is a statement piece for sure. It truly has every color under the sun and a random assortment of charms and shells. But it’s sweet that he gave it to you. Even if he totally did not plan to do so at first.

He makes a second bracelet for Holly with purple string and butterfly pendants. Holly gives her next one to him as thanks, then begins on a third for you.

Steve stands from the table. “I’m hungry. Grilled cheese okay for dinner Holly?” She nods as do you when he asks you the same.

Your focus drifts between him and the necklace you’re starting for Holly. He coasts around the kitchen naturally, like you imagine he would in his own house. But it’s a bizarre sight. Steve Harrington cooking you food, in the Wheeler’s kitchen out of all places.

And he’s about as good as a chef as you expect him to be. He’s clumsy and uncertain, even dropping a spatula on the floor with an, “Oh, shi–ugar…” But he kindly refuses to accept any help or advice when you offer.

He eventually swings around the kitchen island, brimming with pride, one plate in each hand. They’re set in the space you’ve cleared and you quickly see that the sandwiches have been cut adorably into stars. You just as quickly see– and smell– how burnt they are. They aren’t black, they’re edible for sure. But Holly’s five, and polite as she is, most kids would never willingly eat this.

So you aren’t surprised when she looks at it in disgust, borderline horror.

“Look, it’s a star,” Steve beams, oblivious.

Your chest aches with the desire to laugh and an equal pang of sympathy.

Holly shakes her head, visibly toning down her expression for his sake. “Can I have something else?”

“It’s good! I promise, just try it.”

She slowly shakes no again.

“Steve,” a peel of laughter escapes your lips. “It’s burnt.”

He scoffs. “It’s not that burnt.”

Your mouth twitches in a funny little line and your eyes leap between him and the plate. “It’s pretty burnt, Steve.”

After a moment of silence, he sighs and picks both plates back up.

“Wait,” you shout, “I’ll still eat mine! Mine isn’t that bad. You did a good job!”

He sulks at you. “You’re just saying that. I’ll make new ones.”

“No, it’s okay, really. I’ll eat this one. I don’t mind.”

He plants the plate in your grabby hands and spins back toward the stove.

Round two is much better, still star-shaped, and a few shades lighter. Holly thanks him more than once while eating it without you even asking her to. If only Nancy and Mike were as precious as her. And Steve eats the first attempt, now cold, and admits that it tastes, “slightly burnt.”

You take the empty plates to the sink to wash while Steve and Holly lug the jewelry kits back upstairs. You meet them in Holly’s room after. They’re playing house, Steve the dad, and Holly the mom, with four babydolls for children. She appoints you to be the neighbor when you join.

You knock on her bedpost, pretending it’s her front door. “Holly, in one hour you’re gonna take a bath.”

Her head pops out from under the blanket. “Can we watch a movie before bed?”

“Sure, but we have to do bath now if you wanna watch the whole thing.”

“Okay!” She kicks the sheets away, jumping off the bed in a race to the bathroom. Steve winces as she steps on his hand.

“Do you need help?” he asks, sprawled across the bed, socked feet hanging over the edge.

“No, I got it. You can rest in peace now,” you joke, halfway through the door.

Holly is self-sufficient enough to bathe herself so all you have to do is supervise. You find a matching polka dot set of pajamas in her dresser and a towel under the bathroom sink. And she gets dry and dressed all by herself, Miss Independent.

“So there’s The Little Mermaid, E.T., Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory…” Steve trails off, kneeling in front of the entertainment center.

Holly hands him a VHS tape, “This one?”

“Ooh, good pick.” Steve feeds the tape into the player and rewinds it.

You pat the couch cushion beside yours as Holly skips over. Steve hits the light before flopping into the recliner with a satisfied groan. The Jungle Book glows to life on the TV, casting an indigo wash over each of your faces. Holly curls into herself, knees tucked to her chest, arms wrapped tight around them.

“Here,” Steve chucks a blanket from the basket at his side.

“Thanks.” You scoop it off the floor where it missed the couch and billow it out over you and Holly. “Don’t fall asleep, Harrington.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve folds one leg over the other and crosses his arms, eyes glued to the screen. He reminds you of Mr. Wheeler sitting in his recliner like that. It’s alarming how attractive you find it. He’s not even doing anything worth staring at. You force your eyes back on the TV.

The credits scroll up the screen for a whole minute before you realize the movie has ended. You aren’t asleep but you aren’t totally awake either. Steve’s not far off by the looks of it and Holly, on the other hand, was out like a light halfway through. Her head presses into your upper arm, her hand scrunched in the blanket on your thigh. The weight is nice, making it all the harder to pick yourself up and get her to bed.

But thankfully Steve’s there to help. He twists in his chair until his back clicks, smiling when he catches sight of you and Holly. “I’ll carry her up,” he whispers.

You gently work Holly’s stubborn fingers from the blanket as Steve stands. He pushes the rest of the fabric into your lap before bending to scoop Holly up.

“Be right back,” he says, starting toward the stairs.

You tug the blanket higher, seeking lost comfort in its folds, though it doesn’t compare to the warmth Holly provided.

Steve pads back down not a minute later. He stops on the last step, hanging over the railing. “You awake?”

“Barely,” you mumble.

Steve plods up to the front door to check the locks. He orbits into the kitchen and then back around to the living room to turn the TV off. He’s being the responsible one. You aren’t sure why this surprises you.

“Come on,” he opens his hand toward you.

Your arm snakes out from under the blanket, and he lifts you effortlessly. You’ve seen how strong he is, how he fights, but it still surprises you.

“I was gonna suggest another movie but I don’t think either of us’ll make it.”

You catch a yawn from Steve. “I know. I’m so tired. It’s not even late.”

He hums from behind you on the stairs. “Yeah. Who knew this’d be so exhausting.” He’s only being slightly sarcastic. There’s an obvious truth to what he implied, but at the same time, it is so much harder than you realized it would be.

You stop at the landing, sluggishly turning to face Steve. “Well, goodnight, I guess.”

“Goodnight.”

You splinter into opposite ends of the hall. Steve let you have Nancy’s room for obvious reasons, though he wasn’t thrilled about crashing in Mike’s bed. He’s probably better off on the couch after seeing the kid’s closet.

You change into cozier clothes and untuck Nancy’s quilt. Like with Steve, you and Nancy aren’t really friends. It’s strange being in her room, settling into her bed. And it’s almost stranger that Steve is sleeping across the hall. Yet, there’s an odd comfort in it— being surrounded by people who went through the same thing you did.

ᯓ★

There’s thumping in the hall– footsteps, too light to be Steve’s. You fight the urge to go back to sleep. Holly needs a babysitter. But it’s not an easy feat, not when you’re swaddled like a baby in blankets much softer than the ones you have at home. You’re warm and it’s so quiet it feels like a gift; that is, until you remind yourself that kids and quiet don’t usually go hand and hand. She could be answering the door to a stranger, scaling the counters, setting the kitchen on fire, the possibilities are endless.

You force your heavy eyes open and flinch as a much brighter pair come into focus.

Holly bends over you with this innocent endearment you cannot possibly be mad to be woken by. “Told you, Stevie,” she says.

“No, you woke ‘em up, goofball.” Steve lingers at the foot of the bed in a pair of striped pajama pants and a faded Olympics tee. You’ve never seen him in pajamas before, or anything quite like it.

You prop yourself up on your elbows and rub your eyes for a better look.

“Sorry,” he supplies. His voice is still raspy with sleep and his oh-so-perfect hair shoots up in wild peaks. The sight makes your chest buzz. “She said you had to get up to.”

You redirect your attention to Holly, pinching the neckline of your shirt back over your shoulder as you sit up.

“Can we have eggs?” she asks you.

“Sure.”

She traps her lip between her two frontmost baby teeth. “Five?”

“Five eggs!” Steve chides. “Just for you?”

She turns to nod at him, smile blooming.

He wears the same joy, ruffling her already unruly bed-head. “What are you a linebacker?”

She giggles, clueless as to what he’s talking about.

“Let’s start with two and if you’re still hungry you can have more,” you compromise.

You are undeniably a better cook than Steve, but the bar is low after yesterday. You serve scrambled eggs and unburnt toast. Holly looks at her plate like she hasn’t been fed a day in her life and she shovels spoonfuls of it in her mouth like it’s her last meal.

Steve watches her with an anxious frown. “Smaller bites, Holl.”

She nods but doesn’t exactly slow her pace. Steve chases your eyes, knocking your ankle with his when you don’t look. He gives you that funny face parents make. Help me out.

You shrug. “It’s just eggs. Babies eat eggs.”

He cycles through several emotions—frustration that you won’t back him up, disbelief that babies eat eggs, and a lingering fear that she might choke. But he stops himself from asking all the what-ifs, he trusts you.

Holly swallows half of her glass of chocolate milk in one go. Steve looks mildly horrified.

“My God. She’s like a little human vacuum,” he mumbles through a mouthful of toast.

You snort into your glass. If Holly heard him, she’s too preoccupied to care.

After breakfast, Steve sets her up in front of the TV to watch cartoons while you clear the table. He disappears into the basement in search of a board game but comes back with some deflated, plastic thing.

“What happened to the board game?” you ask. “What even is that?”

“It’s a kiddie pool. Let’s go outside. It’s nice out.”

“I didn’t bring a bathing suit.”

“Me neither. Just wear that.”

You wrinkle your nose down at your pajamas. “Go see if she wants to.”

He smiles, retreating back into the living room. Shortly after, he shouts, “She said yes!” Footsteps pound up the stairs, followed by a second shout, “Don’t run!”

Mrs. Wheeler calls the house phone and is pleased to hear your good report. She reminds you several times to apply sunscreen to Holly’s ears and that there’s an extra can in the upstairs bathroom. You wrangle Holly over to put her on and promise to call back before bedtime when she refuses to hang up.

You sift through your bag, changing into the closest thing to swimwear. Steve takes forever in the bathroom, which doesn’t surprise you one bit. He comes out in a crisp white tee, way too expensive-looking for a pool day, and a pair of red gym shorts.

“What are you, the lifeguard?” you joke.

His hands snap to his hips. “Uhh, I’ll have you know I’ve been a certified lifeguard for two years, so yeah, actually.”

You roll your eyes, brushing past him for the extra can of sunscreen. “Are you ready? Holly’s waiting.”

“Yeah. Let me go blow up the pool. I’ll be outside.”

You fix your hair in the mirror and tuck a few towels under your arm before heading downstairs. Holly’s already outside, criss-crossed in a big lawn chair and watching Steve with incredible boredom. He stands barefoot in the grass, the deflated pool pressed against his chest. He pulls away from the air valve when he notices you, quickly capping it with his thumb.

“You okay?” you ask, laughing lightly.

He nods, red-cheeked and breathless. “Think there’s a hole in it. Been blowin’ for like five minutes.”

“Huh,” you drop the towels and take one end of the limp plastic. “Try again.”

He funnels more air inside, it dispurses evenly underneath your palm. You don’t hear any air wheezing out so you turn it over for further inspection.

“Oh, Steve. Here, look.”

He pops his mouth off and follows your pointer finger. A second valve at the bottom, unhinged and releasing his hard work steadily.

“Oh, you’re kidding me. Why’d they put one under there?”

You shrug, plugging it back up. “Holly, let’s get some sunscreen on so your mom doesn’t kill us.”

Holly hops off the chair and skips to your side. You mist her skin in several layers, lathering a generous amount over her ears. When you move onto yourself, she grabs her basket of toys and climbs into the dry inflatable. Steve retrieves the hose and releases a cool stream into the pool, splashing Holly’s feet.

She squeals and scoots back. “Cold!”

Steve’s thumb eclipses the opening so the water bursts out in wide a fan. He trains it at Holly, spraying her until she’s soaked and screaming.

He’s giggling in a way you’ve never heard. Genuine, open-mouthed reels of laughter. You hate to admit it, but it’s really cute. So infectious you can’t help but join.

He glances back for your reaction, pleasantly satisfied. And your smile incites a great idea. He swings the hose around, aiming it straight at you.

“Steve!” Your arms shoot out to block the attack but it’s no use.

“What?” he says, the epitome of innocence.

Your eyes narrow but a smirk prevails. “Oh, you–”

Holly tackles the back of his thigh with a scream. Steve stumbles forward and the hose slips from his grasp.

You lunge for it before he even realizes what happened. And by the time he does, he’s already drenched. “Payback!” You laugh maniacally as he combs his hair out of his eyes.

He’s laughing too, bent at the waist, still shaking his surprise. But only until he catches your gaze– then comes the glint of something playful, almost daring.

Steve barrels straight through the spray like a bull. He chokes your fingers over the nozzle, bending and bending the line until the water pours straight down your head.

Holly dashes behind you to wrangle the wiggly tail of the hose, squealing at every layer of mist she catches.

You and Steve wrestle with it, his hand on your hip, yours pushing his shoulder. He’s gentle but still strong. And his touch sears through the cold water, your skin tingling in his wake.

The second he sticks the end down the back of your shirt you scream. “Okay, okay! I surrender!”

He crimps the hose with one hand, smirking deviously.

“I surrender,” you repeat, heaving through your laughter.

Holly drops her end of the hose, backing up one slow step at a time.

“Truce?”

“Truce,” you nod, stepping up cautiously to shake his hand.

He accepts your hand, using it to yank you closer and blast you again. You chase and dodge and tackle each other under the blazing sun until your legs feel like jelly. But the game eventually slows as exhaustion creeps in.

You and Steve collapse in the lawn chairs while Holly lays belly-down in the pool. Water sloshes over the rim onto your toes as she kicks, a brief reprieve from the sticky heat. You're relaxed, but your mind wanders. You keep hoping the Wheelers won’t notice the sudden increase in their water bill.

“Dustin talks about you all the time.”

You tear your eyes away from Holly, blinking back into reality as you face Steve. “What?”

“Dustin, he talks about you all the time. Kid loves you.”

“Oh. He’s a sweet kid. Talks about you too. Keeps telling me to come see you at Scoops.”

Steve chuckles, more of a half-hearted puff of amusement than a real one.

“Which, I’m sorry I haven’t, by the way,” you confess.

His eyebrows jump, lips parting in soft surprise. “Oh, no. Don’t worry about it. He’s just being Dustin.”

You press a blade of grass flat under your heel, as if the right words might sprout from the dirt. “I dunno. I mean, don’t you think it’s kinda weird that we don’t like talk? After everything?”

The words bounce around Steve’s head for a minute. He fixates on your choice of weird. Weird, like bad? Weird like you want to talk? He can’t decide. And he’s afraid if he opens his mouth, the wrong words will tumble out.

But he tries anyway, “Honestly, I thought you didn’t want to be friends. You were just so… distant after.”

You rub the length of your arm, lips creasing into a frown. “Sorry, I was just. I don’t even know. Rattled, I guess.”

“Yeah, rabid dogs with faces that split open and try to eat you tend to have that effect.”

Your frown melts, little by little.

“But we should’ve been there for you more. It was a hard time for everybody.”

His apology echoes in your mind, the ache like a weight on your chest.

“You could visit if you wanted to. At scoops. I could get you ice cream for free.��

But the ache doesn’t stand a chance against the way he makes you feel.

“Okay.” Your cheeks round with a sincere smile. “I’d like that.”

He turns his head, as if to hide, but you still catch an echo of your own expression. Your eyes flicker across the contours of his profile, following the graceful line from his ear to his collar, before drifting over the sculpted shape of his arms and the long expanse of his thighs. Steve Harrington is objectively attractive. This isn’t the first time you’ve thought so. But it is the first time that fact makes your head spin.

Maybe it’s the heat. The sun feels like it's roasting you alive, and Steve’s attractiveness certainly isn't helping. You’re feeling strange, thinking crazy things– the kind of thoughts that only come when you’re on the verge of heat stroke certainly.

You stand abruptly and the grass sways underneath your feet. But you get your bearings before anyone notices. “Holly, can I come sit in the pool?”

Her eyes pop up, grin distorted underneath the water. She props her elbow up and rests her cheek in the palm of her hand. “What’s the password?”

“Umm, can you give me a hint?”

A high-pitched hum. “Okay. She’s my favorite character.”

“Uhh, Barbie?”

“Nooo.”

“Strawberry Shortcake?”

“Nooo.”

“Hello Kitty?”

“You’re really bad at this,” she giggles. It would be really cute if you weren’t possibly dying right now.

“It’s Care Bears,” Steve interjects, snapping his fingers. “Uhh, the yellow one. Umm, Funshine!”

“Yes!” Holly glows like the sun on Funshine herself. “Stevie can come in.”

Steve stands but he doesn’t get in. “Come on, Holl. It’s hot.”

“There’s a new password.”

“Okay, okay. Can I have another hint?” you ask.

Her tongue curls out to lick the sweat off her lip. “My favorite color.”

“Purple?”

“Yes,” she nods and sits up. “But I really like yellow and blue and pink too.”

You sink into the water, unsure if there was ever a wrong answer. It’s shallow and lukewarm, barely grazing the tops of your thighs, but it’s enough to cool the sun off your skin. Steve follows, and the space tightens awkwardly— the inflatable wasn’t built for three. His knee brushes yours while Holly’s toes nudge your foot, but neither of them seems to mind.

You cup water up to your cheeks and pour it down your arms.

“Better?” Steve asks, a droll little pinch to his features.

He’s staring at you which is definitely not helping but you nod anyway.

“Why don’t we move to the shade?” He stands before you or Holly agrees, offering his hand to pull you up.

She races Steve to the nearest tree, though he doesn't stand much of a chance dragging the pool behind him. He refills it with fresh water and encourages Holly to splash you gently while he runs inside to make lunch. By the time he returns, you’re feeling much more yourself.

“Bon Appétit,” Steve announces, lowering himself slowly onto a towel. He carries three animal-shaped plates stocked with fruit and PB&Js, one in each hand, another balanced on his forearm.

Holly scrambles out of the water, plopping onto the other end of his towel. You get out too, shaking a second one out to lay beside theirs.

“Lion or hippo?” he asks Holly.

She hums for a long time, inspecting each plate meticulously before pointing to the lion.

“Good choice.” He sets the plate in front of her crossed legs and passes you the hippo. Steve takes the polar bear for himself, which notably only has half a sandwich.

“Where’s the other half?” you ask.

He takes a large bite, pressing his hand to his mouth to reply, “Ran out of bread.”

“Here.” You rip one of your halves in half.

“Thanks,” he says, syllables tangling as he chews.

Holly watches the interaction fondly before pulling apart her own sandwich. It splits in a jagged line, mostly crust on one half. But happily, she thrusts the bigger piece toward Steve, jelly dribbling down her little fist.

He tilts his head, a growing smile mirroring yours. “You eat it. I have enough now.”

She crinkles her nose. “You eat it!”

“No, you!” He squeezes her slim bicep. “You need to get big and strong.”

“What about you?”

“I’m already big and strong.”

She considers this, giving him an obvious once-over that makes you laugh. “Trade?”

“Okay, trade.” Steve chuckles, exchanging one of his halves for hers. He licks a stripe across his knuckle where her sticky fingers brushed his. It’s as innocent as the gesture can be but something about it has your cheeks burning in a way the sun couldn’t.

Conversation tapers off, replaced with an easy quiet. Your stomach is satisfied with the food, but it’s your heart that feels the most nourished, steeped in the comfort of good company. You hadn’t expected to enjoy hanging out with Steve or Holly this much.

Holly slouches into your arm, stretching her legs across the grass like a bridge between the towels. Her heels push into the pudge of Steve’s thigh, the faintest smirk crossing her lips.

He squeezes her ankle until it darts away.

Gradually, she presses again and in turn, he squeezes, but this time he doesn’t let go. She squeals as he drags her down your side. But all hell breaks loose when he starts tickling the bottom of her foot.

She shrieks, thrashing and squirming against his hold, giggling in between gasps. “Ste–vie!” she cries.

Her laugh is too pure of a sound to be real, Steve thinks. His resolve crumbles, grip faltering. And Holly’s heel slams smack into his jaw. Steve winces, bending away to cradle his cheek.

You straighten up. “You okay? Let me see.”

Holly’s legs go limp in the grass, her shoulders tense in your lap.

Steve’s hand slackens unveiling a red splotch not much darker than his sunburnt cheeks. He meets your eyes with a dismissive shake, “It’s okay.”

You believe him. It doesn’t look nearly awful enough to make your concern stick. And his face has been through worse. Billy Hargrove painting his fists red with Steve’s blood is one of the things you remember most about that night.

His attention dips down to Holly. She sniffles, eyes glistening in the sunlight with a frown nearly reaching her chin.

“It’s okay. I’m okay, Holl.”

Holly putters, whimpers drowning the edges of her words. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay! I promise! It doesn’t even hurt,” he reassures, cupping her kneecap.

You tug her off the ground and she sinks into your arms naturally. Hot tears pave a path down your neck only to dissolve in the fabric of your shirt. You coax her sobs out, one back rub at a time.

Steve waits until she settles with this pitiful look on his face. “I know you didn’t mean to Hollybear. Just an accident. Hmm?”

She nods against your chin.

He strokes the back of her arm, fingers grazing yours where they work. “Please don’t cry.”

Holly sniffles.

“You know what might help me feel better?” She lifts a sweaty cheek off your chest as Steve opens his arms. “A hug.”

She pushes out of your hands into his. He holds her tight, providing one loving squeeze after another.

This is not how you pictured Steve to be under normal babysitting circumstances. A voice like sweet honey, eyes warm like the sun. He’s very soft, and so undeniably kind. And not just to Holly, but also you.

Steve hooks the spare towel closer, draping it across her back. “Lean back,” he tells her.

She avoids his gaze as she does, tears melting away under his touch.

“You know what I think?” He cinches the towel at her collar like a cloak.

She hums.

“I think we should have popsicles for dessert.”

Holly meets his eyes then, excitement glimmering underneath the droop of lingering guilt.

“How does that sound?”

“Good,” she admits meekly.

A smirk thins his lips. “I dunno though. What if we get a tummy ache?” He pokes her belly through the towel. “Maybe it’s not–”

“No– I want one!”

“I dunnooo,” he sings.

“Please, Stevie! You already said.”

“How bad do you want it? Like this much?” He pinches his fingers together, leaving the slightest gap between them.

“No, no!” She shakes her head, casting her arms out as far as they’ll go. “This much!”

He sighs loudly, shoulders sagging for the dramatic touch. “Okay.”

Holly’s arms curl around his neck as he stands. He’s more than happy to carry her, but the added weight makes him groan.

You trail behind automatically, half enjoying the show and just as excited for a treat. Steve pins the back door open with his foot, returning a smile you hadn’t realized you were sharing. Your cheeks are starting to protest, sore with overwhelming happiness.

“What color do you want?”

“Pink! Pink!” Holly shouts in his ear, loud enough to make you wince. But Steve doesn’t react in the slightest to her volume. You’d all taken a piece of the Upside Down with you after El sealed it up. And just when you seemed to forget it, you’d be reminded in the form of scars, nightmares, headaches, and in Steve’s case, hearing loss.

He opens the freezer, Holly propped on his hip. She’s far too big to be carried like that comfortably but he does it anyway.

“Pink for Holly. Red for Steve.” He leans back to find your face. “For you?”

You purse your lips, “Surprise me.”

Steve stows Holly on the countertop so he can snip the plastic tips. She receives her popsicle first, then you, and finally Steve.

“Matching,” Holly observes as you sit beside them on the couch.

Steve crosses his popsicle over your identically red one when you raise an eyebrow. “Look at that,” he says.

She hums, gnawing on the plastic wrapper. Steve pushes the ice up for her and thumbs away the dribble at the corner of her mouth. She doesn’t seem to notice, but it catches you off guard. Steve’s such a natural at this you almost can’t believe he’s an only child.

You turn the TV on to an episode of Care Bears as Holly slumps into Steve’s chest, slurping the last of her slush loudly.

“Sleepy?” you ask when she kneads her eyes.

“No.”

You chuckle, combing her frizz back. “Okay.”

“You know, it’s okay if you are sleepy,” Steve mentions, equally amused.

“I know. I’m not.” Her tone is casual, a portrait of nonchalance, despite the yawn that slips out afterward.

You and Steve exchange a look of mutual fondness.

“I’m pretty tired,” Steve declares, reclining into the cushions with a fake yawn. “I think I’ll take a nap.”

Holly twists against him to watch. It doesn’t take long for her little fingers to poke and prod his lashline.

He peels one eye open, playfully cocking an eyebrow.

She giggles and pinches the skin closed.

You’re trapped between nervously supervising she doesn’t poke his eye out and leaving to get a baby wipe for her hands which you imagine are very sticky with popsicle juice. Either way, you’ll be surprised if Steve doesn’t have pink eye by morning.

“I’m sleeping,” he whines and headbutts her palm gently.

“Nooo,” she whines back, wedging her hand across his mouth. Delirium is setting in, a nap is imminent.

Steve opens his eyes, giddy just the same. “Okay. You got me.”

Holly frees his mouth to swipe a streak of red from his chin. Her tongue pokes out in prime concentration.

A staggered laugh of disbelief is shaken from Steve’s chest. He hadn’t expected Holly to be difficult, but she’s been nothing short of delightful. She’s sweeter than Mike and Nancy combined and smarter than he thought kids her age could be. For a self-indulgent second, he hopes that his kids will turn out something like her.

Holly reels back around to lay on her side, eyelids sagging with an inevitable heaviness. Steve draws the towel up to her chin, fixing his palm to her back. You watch her drift off, eyes slipping up every so often.

When you’re positive she’s out, you cautiously dislodge the popsicle wrapper from her fingers. Steve passes his as you stand.

One of the many hard things about kids is all the cleaning. Holly’s as neat as a five-year-old gets, and still, every moment of peace is an opportunity spent putting things back where they belong. You head outside to tip the pool over and collect stray towels and toys that didn’t make it back in.

By the time you return, Steve’s passed out, mouth ajar, head craned back against the couch. It’s not a particularly attractive expression– he’d probably be embarrassed to wake to your staring– but you can’t find anything other than endearment in yourself.

You shower and change into fresh clothes and end up on the opposite couch to watch TV. But Care Bears isn’t all that entertaining anymore so you rest your eyes for just a second.

A second turns to several and when you reopen your eyes you discover the clock is two hours ahead of where it was before.��

The silence is only comforting for a fleeting moment before anxiety creeps in. Your eyes flick from the TV, now powered off, to the other couch where Steve and Holly are not where you left them. Nor are they in the dining room, kitchen, basement, or backyard. You take the stairs two steps at a time and nearly trip over a blanket strewn across the banister when Holly screams.

You’d have kicked her door off the hinges if it came to it but are thankful it’s already open. Holly is perfectly safe, bent over the remnants of what you assume was a pillow fort.

You release a breath caught in your throat and sag against the doorframe. Steve offers an apologetic smile when he notices.

Holly glances over but quickly returns to their game. “You’ve destroyed my kingdom!” she shouts, drilling a finger into Steve’s chest. “Off with your head!”

You’re too stunned to laugh, but a noise of confusion skips out. Steve gawks at Holly in pretend despair, scrubbing any seeping amusement off his lips with the back of his hand. He’s dressed in sweats, Holly in a princess dress. But more importantly, his face has been caked in makeup and his hair twisted into two fluffy knots.

“You!” Holly yells with a scowl aimed at you. “Hold him down!”

Steve pleads at your ankles, pressing his forehead to the carpet in prayer. It takes every ounce of you not to break character and laugh. There’s something so surreal about Steve Harrington, former King of Hawkins High, in sparkly eyeshadow, kneeling before a little girl to beg for his life. It’s hilarious as it is heartwarming.

“If I may propose a suggestion!” You counter, equally dramatic. “A trade! For this silly man’s life, we will help rebuild your kingdom twice as big! Princess I–”

“Queen!”

Steve snorts but she must miss it.

“My apologies. Queen Holly, I can assure you this new Kingdom will have all of the finest luxuries that royalty like yourself might desire.”

She takes a second to process the big words. “Fine!” She sneers, diving onto her mattress which is absent of all its sheets and blankets. “Chop! Chop!”

You bite your lip, chasing the fervent smile away. Steve gets right to work, sorting pillows from most to least sturdy. You steal another chair from Nancy’s desk and help Steve double-knot the roof to it. It’s no mansion, but it is long enough for Steve to lie down in, which is a job well done in your book. Especially when you’re under strict supervision and listening to a thread of loud critiques.

You lift the door flap for Holly to crawl through. “Your quarters, Your Grace.”

She glances over her shoulder with a wicked, but mostly adorable, expression. “My name is not Grace! It’s Holly! Queen Holly to you!”

The explanation dies on your tongue because how can you possibly argue with that? You’re just grateful to still have your head.

After the grand tour, Queen Holly disappears into one of the tent’s offshoots with a handful of stuffed animals she's referring to as her royal guards.

Steve scoots closer, whispering behind his hand, “I think we need to stage a coup.”

You lean into his good ear, affection spilling off your tone, “I didn’t know she could be so mean.”

“Me neither! She must be hanging out with Mike.”

“Must be.” You grin for what feels like the millionth time today.

You’re sitting knee to knee, close enough to catch the heat of Steve’s breath on your cheek. You drag the pad of your finger across his cheekbone where teal eyeshadow has been caked on in several layers. “I like this,” you compliment.

I kinda forgot she put that on.” He ducks his head bashfully, peeking up through his eyelashes. “Do I look pretty?”

“The prettiest.”

He receives it as teasing, but it’s true, you do think Steve is pretty. A strong nose, kind eyes, and sure, maybe the hair. But now that you’re inches apart, you notice twin smile lines, a series of freckles down his cheek, and a faded scar across his forehead. You linger there more than anywhere else, under the guise of judging Holly’s makeup job, of course.

But the silence twists into something less comfortable with each passing second. A brief twitch of emotion flickers across Steve’s face, gone before you can name it. “So… pizza for dinner?” he blurts out.

Before you’ve processed what happened, Holly shouts, “Cheese please!”

Steve splinters from your gaze, calling back, “Yes, My Queen.”

Dinner is pleasantly easy. The pizza’s delivered and paper plates save you from the hassle of dishes after. You eat at the kitchen table, sharing stories and smiles, strangely like a family.

And after dinner, Holly has a bath; and after bath, Steve whisks her off to bed. You’re left to your own devices for once, a benevolent bout of peace, but still, you can’t seem to relax.

The spray of the bathroom light paves the hall leading to Holly’s room. You tiptoe up to the door and peek inside.

Steve’s on the floor, slouched against the side of the bed cradling Holly to his chest. He flinches as your shadow veers across the moonlit wall.

“Sorry,” you whisper, dropping onto your knees beside them.

Holly picks her head up, tear tracks shimmering as she turns. Her lip wobbles through a whimper.

You soften like wax near a flame, eyes flitting to Steve who looks equally at a loss.

She curls her knees into his tummy in a way that probably hurts. The poor thing dissolves into fresh tears, spilling out faster than Steve can chase away.

“Holls, it’s okay, honey. Me and Stevie are here, okay?”

She strains to speak through a chain of gasps, “I want my Mommy!”

“I know, I know. She’ll be back before you know it, I promise,” you steer sweat-slick hair behind her ear.

“I want her now.”

“We’ve got ya, Holl,” Steve chimes in.

“We’re right here.”

“No– Mommy!”

It goes like this for a while, soothing reassurances met with unyielding resolve. Holly’s not one to be stubborn for no reason. She’s so exhausted and upset it breaks your heart. You try reading and music and back rubs but there seems to be no end to her sobbing.

Steve strokes her ankle where it’s now tucked underneath her in your lap. He looks exhausted– hair draped over his forehead like a claw, extra weight embedded in each of his eyelids. You’re both at your breaking point. “You wanna sleep with me tonight Hollybear?” he says in a tone gentler than you’ve ever heard.

“No. Mommy,” she persists.

“You can sleep with her when she gets back. But tonight you get to have a sleepover with Steve. Or you can even sleep with me in Nancy’s bed, okay?”

Red-rimmed eyes flick between you and Steve. Neither option is as good as Mom.

“Both,” Holly whines.

“Wanna lay with both of us?”

She nods. “In the middle.”

“Okay,” you turn to Steve. “We can do that.” Your words are colored like a question but he’s already nodding his answer.

He shovels Holly from your lap, cheek pressing into hers in an unspoken exchange of relief. “Alright, munchkin. Let’s go steal Nancy’s big bed. Sound good?”

She hums her approval into his ear.

Steve pokes Nancy’s door open with his foot, swinging around to the tucked side of the bed. You crawl across your end as Holly slides off his chest. She molds herself against your shoulder, tugging Steve closer when he settles.

“Goodnight, Hollybear,” he says.

She steals your hand from underneath the comforter, then his where it lies on the sheet. Your knuckles brush Steve’s where they are stapled to her chest. “Goodnight,” she sighs.

Steve strokes up and down the back of her hand, his touch a quiet catalyst. She’s asleep in mere minutes, snoring softly, fingers limp against yours.

Steve nudges your hand where it’s already pressed to his, whispering when you turn, “Am I crazy that I find all of this kinda fun?”

You shake your head, a smile working its way across your lips. “Guess that would make me crazy too.”

“I know I always complain about driving those little shits around but Holly’s actually really fun to babysit.”

“Yeah, she is. At least it’s not the end of the world this time, right?”

“Yeah, that probably helps, huh?” Amusement ebbs into a sigh. “I’m kinda dreading going home, to be honest.”

“Why don’t we put Mike in a wig? Kidnap Holly for ourselves.”

He snorts into his pillow. “Oh, yeah. That’ll work. ‘Yeah, I dunno Mrs. Wheeler, she had a crazy growth spurt while you were gone.’”

“We’d take good care of her.”

“We would,” he nods. “You’re really good with her.”

“So are you. Kinda surprised me actually.”

“Really? Cause Dustin tells me weekly I’d make a good mother.”

“Yeah, but they’re different. Older. And don’t get me wrong, you’re great with them and they love hanging out with you. Holly’s just little. You’re so much gentler with her, and like, you always seem to know what to do.”

“For the record, I have no clue what I’m doing.”

“Me neither. I don't know what Mrs. Wheeler was thinking asking us to do this.”

Intertwined laughter fades, but something else— something similar— lingers. An almost tangible buzz of energy, as if the silence itself is alive with unspoken words. You entertain the idea that the feeling’s not exclusive to just you. That Steve hears the same jitter in his pulse and feels the same flutter against his ribs. That you aren’t alone to be feeling such a way.

“Is it–”

“Are we–”

“Sorry, you go,” he jabbers out.

The words trickle back down your throat, too thick to cross your tongue again. “You can probably go now,” you decide.

His gaze jumps to Holly’s chest where his hand is still coupled with one of hers.

“If you want,” you amend. “You don’t have to.”

“You don't mind? If I stayed?”

You shake your head.

“Just worried she’ll wake up if I move.”

You try to flatten your excitement as you reply, “You can stay.”

His gaze swims with yours across Nancy's room, skimming over the cluttered dresser, the desk strewn with books and pens, to the shuttered closet doors.

“Sorry about– you know– I heard Nancy… dumped you,” you say, immediately regretting the awkward phrasing.

“Harsh,” he squints and casts you a bittersweet grin. “But true.”

“Is it… weird? To be in here?”

“A little. But not as much as I thought it would be. Hell of a lot better than Mike’s room.”

You hum, watching the gentle shift in his brows.

“Is it weird for you?”

“Me?” you ask. “In what way?”

“You and Nance. You don’t always see eye to eye.”

“I mean, yeah. When our decisions involve risking our lives– or the kids– she’s pretty damn impulsive. And she can be real stubborn and selfish sometimes too. But I dunno, I still love her. She’s been sort of like a sister since everything started. I think that’s why we argue.”

“What does that make me? Your brother?”

You roll your eyes. “No, you’re the stray dog we adopted.”

“Okay. That’s just mean.”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Your laugh laps out louder than you intend, but Holly remains still. “I dunno who you’d be. The love interest?”

“I can work with that, sexy love interest–”

You scoff. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Harrington.”

“Okay, okay. But love interest because…”

“Cause you dated Nance.”

“Oh,” he exhales.

“You don’t agree? Should we go back to stray dog?”

“Oh, shut up. I’m going to bed.” Steve rolls onto his side with a sigh.

“Keep your snoring to a minimum, please.”

He grumbles, narrowing his eyes at your smirk. “I don’t snore.”

“You do. I could hear it from here last night.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did,” you argue. “It definitely wasn’t Holly.”

“Whatever. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Only when your eyes are closed does his smile finally emerge. It’s silly how quickly you can pull it out of him. It throws him for a loop every time. But with you at his side, maybe he’ll dream of happier things for once. Either way, it’s easier to fall asleep, just knowing you’re there falling asleep too.

ᯓ★

“Shhhh!”

“No, you shhhh,” a lighter voice giggles.

“Holly,” Steve scolds, mirth buttering his tone. You know he’s smiling by the sound alone.

Holly’s laughter triples in volume but then is abruptly muffled.

“Ew– did you just lick me?”

And this all just sounds way too cute to miss out on. You pry your lashes apart, still sticky with sleep, and flip on your side to face them.

They freeze, eyes widening adorably in sync. Steve is reclined against the headboard, an arm bent behind his neck. Holly is sprawled halfway across his tummy, toes tickling your side.

“Sorry,” he offers like you’d be mad. But how could you possibly be anything but enamored waking up to their giggly little voices? If you could be woken up like this every day, you would.

You shake your head, scratching underneath your eyes. The walls are bathed in muted colors, waiting to be warmed by the sunrise. It’s still early.

Holly rolls off of Steve onto the floor and barrels out of the room.

“Where are you going?” he shouts.

“Potty!”

Steve turns to you, eyes roving across your bedhead for an embarrassingly long amount of time. “Good morning.”

“Morning.”

“Did she kick you last night?”

You rake your fingers through your hair, quickly moving them to your lips to stifle a yawn. “Not that I remember.”

“Oh, you’d remember. Trust me. She was on top of me the whole night.” He’s smiling like an idiot. He couldn’t sound annoyed about it if he tried.

“Aww, she loves you,” you coo.

“Yeah,” he agrees, pink dusting his cheeks, “I can’t wait to do this.”

“Hmm?”

“Settle down. Have a family. I wasn’t, like, a hundred percent sure before, but I am now.”

“You’ll be a good dad.”

He beams at you like he’s just won the lottery. “You think?”

“For sure.” And he really would. You’re sure of it after last night.

He opens his mouth to speak but your stomach cuts him off with an obnoxious growl. “Hungry?” Steve chuckles.

“Shut up.” You swipe your pillow and smack him.

He smacks you back, pulling it to his chest before you can steal it. “Wanna go out for breakfast?”

Your brain short circuits. You forget you’re babysitting and not just laying in bed with Steve Harrington for fun. He is not asking you on a date like your heart assumes.

“Oh, yeah. Sure. For sure,” you sputter out, heat licking up the back of your neck.

“I’ll go see what she wants,” he slides onto the floor and shakes his legs awake.

Steve’s tall, even sluggishly slumped over. But even more so as he stretches– arms rising with his shirt, revealing a fraction of golden skin above his waistband. A long, lazy moan climbs out of his chest.

You push the comforter off before you burst into flames.

Holly determines she wants IHOP because they put chocolate chips and sprinkles on the pancakes. Steve supplies her with an outfit and wrestles her hair into pigtails with bows to match her skirt. It’s surprisingly coordinated and admittedly cute, but maybe you’re wrong to be so surprised– he knows his way around a comb and a closet.

“Can I get pancakes?” she asks Steve, perched on the bottom step of the stairs.

He’s cross-legged on the floor, hunched over to lace her sneakers. “I already told you yes, silly goose.”

“Can I get extra sprinkles?”

“Uhh, does your mom let you?”

She thinks about it before answering. “Yes, I think so.”

“Sure, then.” He grins, clapping her tied shoes together before standing.

You shoulder Holly’s bag, stuffed with books and toys and a jacket in case it rains, courtesy of Steve who insisted she might need it. “Ready?” you ask him.

Steve races Holly to the car while you lock up. Mrs. Wheeler installed Holly’s car seat in Steve’s beamer before she left but you’ve yet to use it.

“It’s too tight,” Holly whines from the car, loud enough to hear from the top of the driveway.

“I know, ‘m working on it,” Steve assures, working his fingers under the straps. “Just gotta figure it out.”

“Hurry!”

“I’m hurrying, Holl. Give me a sec’.”

You open the passenger door and peek around the headrest to view her. The belts are buckled but not tight enough to spark concern. “He’s going as fast as he can, Holly. Be patient.”

She squirms under his hands, exhaling sharply. And like her, Steve’s frustration mounts, jaw tightening, brow furrowing. His fingers keep slipping and he’s not totally sure which button or strap is for loosening.

You swing around to Holly’s door and cup Steve’s shoulder. “Let me try.”

He knocks his head on the roof as he pulls out.

You wince, “Okay?”

He softens as you reach for his neck, though your fingers never land. Still, the tender look you offer is enough to cure any bumps or bruises he might’ve gotten.

It’s an unfortunate amount of trial and error before Holly is fastened in properly. Steve cranks the AC on full blast when you finally settle into your seats and circles through radio stations after he backs out. He finds the kid’s station, playing a Muppet’s song that Steve apparently knows every word to. He sings unapologetically loud, a stupid grin sewn to his face.

When you arrive, Holly happily holds your hand through the parking lot, still clutching tightly as you wait to be seated. She climbs onto your lap to make room on the waiting bench for a woman looking ready to pop out a baby any minute. Steve stands at your other side, arm braced behind your neck.

“How old is she?” the woman asks you fondly.

“She’s five,” you return her smile, bouncing your knee. “Right, Holly?”

Holly twists to hide in your neck, nodding.

“She’s very cute,” she says with such love you already believe her baby is in good hands. “Your sister?” Her eyes flick from yours to Steve who is mostly oblivious to the conversation.

“No, just babysitting.”

“Oh, well, you’ll make good parents one day.”

The comment renders you speechless. It’s not that you hadn’t considered children before, but you hadn’t pictured them with Steve. With his smile, his eyes, his nose. It’s that this woman who doesn’t even know you imagined it before you had. You blink at her stupidly through a forced smile.

Steve squeezes your shoulder, ripping you from your thoughts. “You okay? Table’s ready.”

You get seated in a booth overlooking the parking lot.

Holly bends across Steve’s lap to point through the window. “I see our car!”

“Yeah, that’s her.”

Holly’s face contorts with confusion. “Her? Your car’s a girl?”

“Yep–”

The waitress swings over with a handful of menus and a hasty introduction. Steve already knows what he wants and he places Holly’s order after his, making sure to clarify the extra sprinkles when she calls his name repeatedly to remind him. As soon as you decide, the waitress bustles off with the pair of menus to another table.

Holly slides her paper menu closer, examining each activity.

Steve picks open the box of crayons, revealing a stingy three– red, green, and blue. “You know, for a multi-million dollar company, you’d think they could afford more than three crayons.”

“And more staff,” you add, eyes tailing another waitress zipping from one table to another.

Holly points at herself, Steve, and then you, counting, “One, two three. Three crayons for three people.”

“Yeah, good point,” Steve pats her thigh. “Always the optimist.”

“Op-ta-nist?”

“Op-ta-mist,” he clarifies.

She snags the green crayon and presses it to the paper. “What’s that?”

Steve opens and closes his mouth. “Well, it’s like– it’s when you– you’re happy a lot. Grass is always greener on the other side, you know?”

Steve lost her at the metaphor but she’s too focused on staying inside the lines to care about the definition of optimist anymore.

“You got there eventually. Sort of,” you tease.

His foot stabs your ankle under the table. “Shut up.”

Steve lets Holly win every single round of tic-tac-toe while showering her with praise, convincing her she's a tactical mastermind. You can’t quite tell if she’s onto him, but she’s too busy grinning to say otherwise.

The waitress plants your and Steve’s plates on the table first, reaching behind to scoop Holly’s off her tray next. “And, chocolate chip pancakes with extra sprinkles for the little one.”

“Thank you,” you manage to say before she leaves to tend to another table flagging her down. “Holly, want syrup?”

“Yes, please.”

You pour a spiral of maple syrup over Holly’s pancakes. The amount of sugar on her plate might qualify it more as candy than breakfast. And she’s ogling the food like it’ll grow legs and run away.

“Steve, will you cut them up for her?”

He nods, swallowing a mouthful of scrambled eggs and trading his fork for a knife. As soon as he slides her meal back over, Holly ravages the pancakes, spooning another bite in her mouth before she’s swallowed the last.

The waitress whisks by with drink refills, joy driving her to a smile at the sight of Holly and her half-empty plate.

“I swear we feed her at home,” Steve chuckles through his own joke. What a dad thing to say. “Can we get some more napkins?”

And it’s like he knows what’s going to happen. Holly stretches across the table for the syrup bottle, drawing back with an open-mouthed grimace.

“Uh-oh.” She presses her chin to her chest. There’s a patch of syrup turning the hem of her pink shirt brown.

“What?” Steve throws a pigtail behind her shoulder so he can see. “Oh. It’s okay.”

“It was an accident,” Holly explains.

“I know. It’s okay.”

“It’s sticky.”

“It’ll wash off.” Steve dunks a clean napkin in his cup of water and dabs it across the stain.

“It’s too cold,” she complains, pinching the fabric away from her skin.

“Sorry. It’ll dry. Have to get the syrup out, though.”

You deliver another wad of napkins to Steve’s hand. He pushes them against her belly, soaking up any excess water. His patience never frays.

Holly looks up, worry etched into her voice, “Will it stain?”

“I dunno,” you supply truthfully. “We’ll throw it in the wash when we get home.”

Steve pays the bill with the cash the Wheelers left and scrapes his wallet for change, stacking two quarters on the table when he finds them. “Since you’ve been such a good listener. There’s a sticker machine up front,” he tells Holly.

Steve might as well have slapped a ticket to Disney World on the table. Holly literally jumps for joy, right out of her seat. She buys a random Lisa Frank sticker and pockets the second coin for her piggy bank.

It’s Steve’s idea to go to the playground afterward. The park is teeming with life, the kind of chaos that only a weekend morning can bring. Swings creak under the weight of eager kids, and the monkey bars have their own traffic jam. Parents wrap the playground like a barricade, their chatter drowned out by laughter and shouts. But the heat presses down ruthlessly, making every step feel like you’re wading through a sauna.

Holly tears away from Steve’s hand as soon as her shoes hit the mulch, rejoicing in her newfound freedom with a little skip. She races up a set of stairs to wait for a turn on the tallest slide.

“Should’ve brought sunscreen,” Steve says, eyes following Holly down the slide. She flashes you both a prideful smile from the bottom.

“She’ll survive. We won’t stay long. It’s too hot.” You pull your shirt out to fan your chest, dabbing the sweat beading at your sternum.

“Careful!” he shouts as she hops from one platform to the next. She continues to bounce along the path, one wobbly leap at a time. A particularly long jump has Steve cringing. He’s trying really hard not to be overanxious and it’s as sweet as it is amusing.

He side-eyes your grin with an opposing frown. You don’t even have to say anything for him to know you’re teasing him. “What?”

You shrug, smile doubling. “You.”

“What about me?”

“You’re just funny.”

“My concern is funny to you?” he accuses.

“She’s fine, Steve.”

He makes a noise of disagreement, arms crossed and a hip popped out dramatically far. You see why Dustin teases him for being motherly.

Holly struggles with the monkey bars. She makes it halfway across before her arms start to shake and her hands slip. Steve lunges forward as he watches her plummet to the ground. But before he can swoop in, Holly pops up, dusts the dirt from her skirt with a nonchalant shrug, and marches on, completely unfazed.

“See. She’s fine,” you reassure.

“Whatever,” Steve grumbles, strolling away to sulk in private.

He makes a slow lap around the playground, hands planted firmly on his hips, casting a critical eye over the chaos. Meanwhile, you snag a spot on a bench, where most parents are engrossed in magazines or gossip, blissfully detached. You watch Steve get roped into playing a monster, though you can tell he secretly loves it.

It doesn’t take long for him to start stomping around, roaring and growling, chasing the kids as they shriek and scatter. And when they finally tire him out, he collapses beside you, his shirt clinging to his sweaty back, and his breath coming in ragged bursts.

“I told her five more minutes,” he says, stretching an arm across the back of the bench behind you. His curls shine honeycomb gold in the spray of sunlight and his skin echoes the warmth of desert sand, softened pink like the blush of sunset. He looks strikingly gorgeous sprawled out beside you.

Holly trots over not much later, alarmingly upset.

You sit up, urgently shaking Steve’s thigh to grab his attention. “What happened, honey?”

“I– I was,” she sucks in a staggered breath, “I was climbing the stairs and– and a boy, he pushed me.” Twin rivulets of tears are unleashed with a blink, converging at the curve of her chin.

You scan her from head to toe. Nothing looks broken or bloody. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she strains.

You drag her into your chest, pressing a loving cheek to her ear. “Did it scare you?”

She nods, hiccuping into your neck.

“I’m sorry, Holly. That wasn’t nice at all.”

Steve’s gaze shifts between Holly and the playground to search for guilty suspects. He finds none, thankfully, though he’s still itching to wring out whatever parent it is not watching their kid– which is unfortunately most of them.

“Let me see,” he coaxes Holly over for his own checkup. He picks a piece of mulch from her hair and flicks off another stamped into her calf. “Think you’ll make it? Should we call an ambulance?”

She doesn’t smile at his joke like you hope.

“Ready to go home?” you ask.

She sniffs into her sleeve. “Yeah.”

“Alright.” Steve hoists her up as he stands. Holly's long legs wrap around his waist, feet swaying against his thighs as he walks.

Holly naps on the way home, not by choice but by sheer exhaustion. She convinces herself she didn’t actually fall asleep when she wakes up in the driveway, swearing, “I just closed my eyes.”

But it’s quickly apparent that twenty minutes was not enough. She cries because her leftover pizza for lunch is cold in the middle and again when she rubs the sauce in her eye. You turn on a movie, hoping to induce another nap, but The Aristocats is just too good to sleep through. Thankfully, her grumpiness wanes into a more manageable pout, her arms uncrossing to snuggle closer to you on the couch.

When the movie ends, she slinks up, her departure leaving your lap cold. After a long-winded debate about what to do, you all finally agree on playing a board game. Steve steers Holly downstairs to pick one out and she returns with a rekindled excitement, dropping the game Twister at your feet.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with Twister, but you were expecting something easier. Candy Land or Chutes and Ladders. So you let Steve and Holly go first. The round ends in a heap of tangled limbs and giggles, a winner unclear. But Holly wins the match against you, admittedly fair and square. And it’s all fun and games until she insists you and Steve must compete.

“Ehh, Holly. My arms are tired,” you reason.

“But I wanna be the referee too,” she whines. “Pleaseee!”

Steve shrugs at you, a playful little curve to his lips. If you say no, that makes only you the bad guy. And you just can’t bring yourself to break Holly’s heart over something so simple.

“Okay,” you sigh, ignoring the nervous tick in your chest.

Holly pushes you by the hips onto the mat to stand opposite Steve. She gets situated on the floor and excitedly flicks the spinner, calling, “Left foot. Blue!”

You each step toward a blue dot. Easy.

“Right foot on green.”

Right foot, green. You’re shoulder to shoulder now, hips angled toward his.

“Right hand… yellow!”

“Here we go,” you mumble, bending down to reach yellow. “Okay.”

Steve chuckles and follows suit, free hand hovering awkwardly behind your shoulder.

You twist your head until you can’t, just to see the stupid look on his face. “You know, your long legs really give you an unfair advantage here.”

“Don’t be a sore loser,” he chides, hot breath fanning the back of your already hot neck.

“Don’t speak so soon, Harrington. You’re the one who’s gonna lose.”

“Right hand, red,” Holly announces.

You lean back toward red, headbutting Steve’s side so you don’t fall. He curls into position next, swaying until his back pocket is inches from your nose.

“Oh my God, Steve. Get your butt out of my face!” You’d shove him if you had an extra hand.

Holly giggles in that contagious way kids laugh, automatically pulling one from Steve.

“Don’t make me laugh. If I go down, so are you,” he reminds you.

“Umm, left foot green,” Holly says.

Steve groans dramatically, whining. “What! Holly, that’s impossible. Spin again.”

She cackles, reminiscent of Queen Holly. “Nope, you have to! That’s the rules!”

And somehow, you both make it to green without knocking each other over. But you’re getting distracted– Steve’s hand has brushed your calf three times now and his shirt is loose, hanging off his chest in a way that gives you a clear view of his tummy. This might as well be sabotage. You tear your eyes away. You must focus. You didn’t care much for winning before, but something about Steve brings out your competitive side.

“Right hand, green.”

You bow your knee until it’s wedged uncomfortably into your ribcage so you can reach the green. Your thighs quickly begin to ache. You won’t last much longer in this position. Especially not when Steve arches over you like a human bridge, the zipper of his jeans tickling your back where your shirt has scrunched up.

He shakes his hair out of the way so he can see you, albeit upside down. His smile stretches wide, radiating pure, unfiltered joy. He’s having the time of his life, and admittedly, so are you.

Your elbow juts out, nearly giving under the weight of his gaze alone. But you snap it back in place and practically beg Holly, “Spin.”

“Left foot blue!”

You and Steve lunge for the same blue circle. His sock slides against the tarp, leg extending much farther than he’s prepared for. His arm buckles, chest slamming down against your back. Your elbows give out immediately under the force of his weight, jaw slamming into the floor.

“Shit, sorry! You okay?”

A burst of laughter tumbles out of your mouth before you can answer. But maybe it’s an answer in itself. Your chin stings but you're fine. Better than fine, even.

As soon as Steve scrambles off of you, you flip onto your back. His eyes trickle down you in assessment, eyebrows knitting together, mouth twitching like it can’t decide whether to frown or smile.

“I’m okay,” you manage, smiley and breathless.

“Did you hit your face?”

“Just my chin.”

He reaches for your face with hesitant fingers. “Sorry.”

You shake your head, bolstering his wrist as he cups your chin. “I definitely won.”

And just like that, all his worry washes away. He pries your hand from his wrist, wrenching you up to sit. “Technically, you hit the floor first.”

You glance over to Holly for her professional referee’s opinion but find she’s no longer there. “Where’s–”

“I found it!” she yells from the upstairs. What exactly she found, you’ve no idea. But she comes stomping down the stairs not a minute later with a little box in her hands. Bandaids, you realize, as she dumps the contents on the twister mat beside you. “They’re Hello Kitty,” she says, stripping the paper backing off of one.

You let her little fingers stamp it to the curve of your chin. It’s not bleeding, nor does it really hurt that bad, but the gesture is sweet enough to melt your heart. “Thank you, Holly. You’re so gentle. You should be a candy striper.”

“I don’t think I’m old enough.”

“When you’re older then.”

Steve decides Twister is far too dangerous to keep playing, but Holly demands a game of Mouse Trap so it works out. Steve wins, despite you and Holly’s strategic alliance halfway through. And by then, she’s asked about dinner twice so you shelve the rest of the games and head up to the kitchen to decide together.

Holly hums into the freezer, “Chicken nuggets… pizza rolls– oh! Eggos, can we have Eggos?”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek, peering over her, “Why don’t we cook something? We could have a fancy dinner. Like a dinner party.”

“Can we dress up?”

“Sure,” he shrugs, flipping a pack of ground beef over.

“Pasta?” you call from the pantry.

“Ooh, yeah. Let’s do that.”

Holly sprints upstairs for a costume, much more interested in the party than the dinner. You pull a box of noodles and an unopened jar of sauce from the shelf while Steve grabs a pot from the cabinet and sticks it under the faucet.

“Careful. Stove’s on,” you announce, flicking the dial on high.

Steve backs up from the sink slowly, water sloshing over the side of the pot when he bumps the table.

“Steve,” you chuckle, pulling a dish towel from the oven handle, “It doesn’t need to be that full.”

“No?”

“No, dump like, half of that out.”

He nods, pouring some out and depositing the rest over the stove. “I’m gonna be honest, I’ve never made pasta before.”

“Yeah, I could’ve guessed,” you quip, elbowing his side with the box of noodles in hand. “Pour these in?”

He takes the box and gives it a good shake. “How much?”

“Maybe half? Little more?”

He tips it over the water, snapping it back up when much more than half slides out. “Oops.”

“It’s okay.” You chuck a few stray pieces from the counter into the pot. “Everyone’s getting seconds tonight. What do you like in your pasta?”

“Sauce?”

The laugh fizzles out in your throat as you realize he’s not making a joke. “Besides sauce. Cheese? Meat? Spices?”

“Oh, uhh, I’m not sure.” Steve scratches the back of his neck, hand retracting to fidget with the hem of his shirt. He’s antsy, clearly nervous. Maybe embarrassed of his cooking knowledge, or rather, lack of it. Or perhaps afraid the pasta will end up something like the first set of grilled cheeses.

“We’ll keep it simple then. Holly probably won’t like it too fancy anyway.”

Steve nervously watches the water bubble, foam climbing up the sides. “Do you like garlic bread? Saw some in the freezer.”

You fish the box out and line a pan with three pieces. And with bread in the oven and the pasta starting to boil, you hop on the counter to wait.

“How long does it take?” Steve asks.

“Not long.”

You open the drawer beside your legs and find a big wooden spoon. Lucky guess. “Here. Stir.”

His eyes follow the ladle, stirring with steady hands. It’s a peaceful quiet, his focus unusually soft. Not the urgent, fate of his life kind of determination you’re used to seeing.

When it’s ready, you pinch the spoon’s neck, fingertips sweeping his for the half a second before he lets go. “Now we strain the water. Then we can add the sauce.”

You find a strainer and plant it in the sink while Steve carries the pot over and pours. He sets it back on the stove, per your orders, and offers a hand when you struggle with the sauce lid.

He pins the jar against his chest, knuckles straining white in several attempts to twist the cap. But it pops off after a good shake, spraying sauce across your cheek, and spinning to the floor like a frisbee.

Steve freezes, gawking at your face with a stupid smile.

“Steve!” You scoop up a dish towel and smack his arm.

He throws his hands up and turns a shoulder to you. “I didn’t mean to,” he snickers.

“Don’t laugh! I’ll pour that whole jar over your head.”

He doesn’t buy your threat one bit, still laughing as he sets the jar down and steals the towel from your hands. “I’ll get it. Sit still.”

You summon the most menacing glare you can manage while suppressing a smile. He presses the towel to your cheek, thumb gliding across your skin as he wipes the sauce in one languid motion. His eyes flick down to your lips and you’re positive you aren’t imagining it.

But you’re sweating and your stomach is churning and– “The pasta!” You ram into Steve’s shoulder trying to get by, rushing to turn the stove temperature down.

Steve whisks up behind you to see the food. “Is it burnt?”

“No, no. It should be fine.” You scrape the ladle under the bottom layer of noodles. “Pass me the sauce?”

You avoid his eyes as you take it. Was he going to kiss you? Maybe just thinking about it? Or perhaps there was just sauce near your mouth and you’re spiraling over absolutely nothing.

You toss the food in sauce and divide it into three plates silently.

“Holly! Food’s ready,” Steve shouts as he fixes the table with napkins and silverware.

She clambers down the steps in a tutu and a cardigan that you’re pretty sure is Nancy’s. Her smile drops. “Where are your clothes?”

Steve looks down at his sweats. “Holly, I think we’ll just–”

“Please, Stevie. It’s a dinner party, remember?”

His eyes dart to you, though you still can’t bring yourself to look at him. “One sec.”

He swings back into the kitchen wearing a tweed suit jacket, a silky, black one draped over his arm. His is a few sizes too big, shoulder pads drooping down his biceps, and the sleeves swallowing his hands. He pushes the fabric up his elbows to hand you the other jacket. “For you.”

“Thanks,” you deadpan. It comes off less sarcastic than you aim for.

Holly and Steve adopt similar grins as you slip the jacket on. “You look dashing,” she compliments.

“Very,” Steve agrees, taking a seat beside you.

You spend the rest of dinner internally debating whether he’s flirting or just indulging in Holly’s playful antics. The uncertainty makes your stomach flip, and suddenly you aren’t so hungry anymore.

After the dinner party concludes, it’s Holly’s suggestion to go for a walk. She wheels her bike out of the garage, fitted with a set of training wheels and a handlebar bursting with tinsel. A yawn rolls off her tongue as she launches down the driveway. It raises your hopes for a smoother bedtime tonight.

Even as the horizon melts into the Earth, the summer heat clings like a heavy hand. Trees project long shadows along the road, eating what’s left of the sunlight. Bugs buzz and birds chirp, but a sleepy stillness is ubiquitous.

“What?” you ask suddenly, whipping your head to face Steve. He’s drenched in gold, pale wisps of hair riding the breeze as he strolls.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re staring at me. I feel it.”

“I wasn’t,” he assures.

You blink at him. You can’t decide whether to be annoyed at such an obvious lie or embarrassed by the truth.

He jogs ahead before you’ve come up with something to say. Halfway to Holly, he shouts, “Come on, slowpoke!”

It only takes one loop around the block for the heat to catch up. Holly complains incessantly about her helmet strap being too tight even after Steve fixes it and you’re itchy from sweat and mosquito bites. Steve’s, well, he might be the only content one. Happy even, guiding you home with a subtle bend to his lips and a soft glow tinting his cheeks.

Holly whines about having to take a bath, and while you might negotiate it another night, you can see the damp line down her back. But like you suspect, all grievances are forgotten the second she gets in. She likes playing in the bath, even if she forgets it. It’s where she keeps her mermaid Barbie and her collection of rubber ducks, coincidentally all named Bob.

And while bath time might tend to feel like more of a chore as a babysitter, tonight is different. It’s your last night at the Wheelers, and while that’s not new information, it is startlingly sad. You aren’t irritated when she splashes water in your eye or when she leaves a trail of it down the hall for you to clean. You can’t be, not when you know you’ll miss it.

Steve helps you tuck Holly into Nancy’s bed. After pinky swearing that you’ll both return at your own bedtime, she drifts off easily. You’re thankful, of course, but a piece of you secretly hoped to be needed longer.

“Must’ve been tired,” Steve whispers, pushing slowly off the bed. “You okay?”

You nod, tearing your eyes from Holly to meet Steve’s. “Kinda sad.” You shrug, murmuring, “Stupid.”

“It’s not.” He cups your shoulder and runs a warm hand up and down your arm. “Come on.”

You take his hand and let him lead you across the hall and down the stairs. He pulls you onto the couch so you land pressed into the same cushion he’s on. “Y’know, babysitting Holly’s a breeze compared to the usual shitheads. We don’t have to worry about her taking my car keys or fighting interdimensional monsters or summoning a gate to hell,” he says.

A soft laugh parts your lips. “Think Holly will put in a good word for us with her parents?”

“You kidding? She loves us. Especially me,” he jokes. “Hate to break it to you but I’m definitely her favorite.”

“No, you are not. Shut up.”

He catches your fist mid-punch, cradling your hand like it’s made of wet sand. His thumb crosses each divot between your fingers, stroking up and down your knuckle slowly. “I’m sure they’ll ask us to babysit her again at some point.”

You hum in agreement.

“Besides, we could expand our horizons. There’s like a million other children in Hawkins that need babysitting.”

Your smile spills into your cheeks. “We?”

“Yeah, I think we make a pretty damn good team. Don’t you?”

“I do, but… we don’t have to limit our interactions to just babysitting, you know?”

“What are you thinking? Dinner and a movie? Next weekend?” His eyes flick from your fingers to your face– to each eye, sweeping down the center of your nose, stopping right at your lips.

You turn away in an attempt to soothe your heart as it pounds up to your ears. “Smooth, Harrington.”

He reels you back in gently by the arm, confidence shining through his smile.“What? Did I read this wrong?” He knows he didn’t, he’s teasing you.

“No,” you mumble, “You didn’t.”

He leans in to whisper, “Can I kiss you then?”

You nod, pushing into the soft press of his lips with your own. He’s not hesitant, nor is he harsh. Steve knows how to kiss, that much is clear. He trades your hand for your cheek, gently tilting your face to the side as he pulls away.

Your eyes flutter open to a doting gaze. One that travels down the lines and slopes of your neck like they’re made of candy. Steve plants a second kiss on your lips, though fleeting in comparison to the first. But he plants several more to make up for it, working his way in a Z down your cheek, across your jaw, and back down your neck. They’re quick, ticklish little pecks of affection. A sweetness if you ever knew it.

“Steve,” you admonish, though giggles betray your tone. The hands that frame his face glide gently down to his throat, your thumbs meeting at his Adam's apple. “We’re babysitting.”

“I know,” he says, kissing your lips for a third time. “Just had to get a few extra in there. For all the times I thought about kissing you this weekend.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why?” He laughs, bubbly like you’ve surprised him. “It’s true. I thought about it all weekend.”

You don’t know why you ask– why you even thought of it at a time like this– but you question him, “What about Nance?”

“What about her?”

“You don’t…” you trail off, afraid to even speak the possibility into existence.

“We’re done. We have been. For a lot longer than I was willing to admit,” he admits honestly.

“Yeah, but do you–”

“I don’t. Still have feelings for her. Not like that, anyway.”

You meet his eyes, feeling a strange blend of emotions you can’t quite name.

“If you don’t believe me, you’ll just have to let me prove it to you,” he holds your gaze, warm with a sincerity that makes it hard to doubt him.

“I believe you.”

You let Steve kiss you several more times on that couch. He’s patient, deliberate, and more kind than you ever imagined he’d be. It’s hard to understand why Nancy would ever let someone like that go.

ᯓ★

On Monday morning, you blink awake first, the comforting weight of a hand that’s not yours across your hip and another, much lighter one, at your belly. You turn over slowly, finding Steve and Holly wrapped around each other like ivy on trellis. You don’t imagine many people look this pretty asleep. The comb of long lashes kissing the soft flush in his cheeks. The golden lather of sunrise in each wild swoop of hair. The way his lips part for a sigh cuter than you knew one could be.

He mumbles something unintelligible, sleep talk perhaps.

You whisper back anyway, “What?”

Steve sighs, smearing his cheek against the pillow. “Being a creeper.”

“Me?”

“Mhmm.” One eye slowly unbinds itself from sleep. Steve adores the tight-lipped smile on your face, broad with an infatuation he forgot could be aimed at him. His hand twitches at your side.

“You just look so pretty when you sleep,” you admit. Is it too soon to say such things?

His eye closes as he smiles, nosing into Holly’s hair, selfishly keeping it to himself. You reach across her body to find it, swiping a loving finger across his lips when you do.

You stay in bed for as long as Holly will allow– which is not very long after she wakes up– but you don’t mind. You watch fondly as Steve helps her brush her teeth and as she helps Steve toast and butter the Eggos. Like Steve, Holly’s a good kid. They’re both helpers at heart.

And you’re sure to remind Mrs. Wheeler of that when she rings the house to let you know they’re almost home. Holly’s excitement quickly dwindles into sadness the moment she realizes you won’t be staying. But she uses it to bargain one final game of hide and seek before you go.

“Come on.” Steve drags you by the wrist, bustling upstairs to the bathroom. He throws the shower curtain aside and jumps in, offering his hand to help you after. You sit scrunched together, knee to knee on the porcelain floor, giggling like children.

“Shhh,” you squeeze his kneecap. “You’re gonna get us found.”

He jostles your shoulder, mouth agape. “You’re the one who’s laughing!”

“No,” you insist, though the light in your eyes suggests otherwise. Curiosity sparks and the irrepressible urge to act on it wins. You lean in for a kiss, confirming that’s all it takes to shut Steve up.

He tastes like maple syrup, loving with his lips as much as his hands. He pulls back for breath and returns for another peck, pressing into the corner of your mouth where your smile keeps drawing higher and higher.

“Hard to kiss you when you're smiling.”

“Can’t help it,” you defend. “Never been so happy.”

He softens like warm icing, a sweet and gooey mess in your arms. But the shake of the front door closing stiffens him.

“Mommy!” you hear quickly after.

Steve scrambles up and over the lip of the tub, tugging you out with him. You follow him downstairs where Mrs. Wheeler swings Holly in her arms like she’s much smaller than she really is. Mr. Wheeler steers a suitcase silently through the entryway.

“Did you have so much fun?” she asks Holly, peppering kisses across her temple. “Ohh, I missed you!”

Holly revels in the affection overload, bending backward to giggle at you and Steve.

Mrs. Wheeler grins. “How was she?”

“Great, as always,” Steve assures. His cheeks are flushed, his hair mussed— though you could chalk that up to bedhead, not the aftermath of your short-lived makeout session.

You nod, adding, “We went swimming and to the park and–”

“IHOP!” Holly yells. “I got pancakes with chocolate chips and extra sprinkles!”

“Did you? Sounds like you had a lot of fun.” Mrs. Wheeler plants Holly on her feet. “Can you give hugs? Say thank you for being such good babysitters?”

Holly launches herself at Steve. He sends you a smirk over her shoulder, rocking her side to side in his embrace. You can just hear him say, I told you so.

But she offers the same enthusiasm and more for you, dragging you onto the floor for a proper goodbye hug. “I don’t want you to go,” she pouts in your ear.

“We’ll come back. We can have playdates?”

“Can’t you just live in Nancy’s room? She’s never here anyway.”

You can’t help but laugh. “I wish I could,” you admit honestly.

She reluctantly loosens her grip on your shirt when you peel away.

Mrs. Wheeler sees you and Steve off with a warm smile. Holly darts through her mother’s legs for one final hug on the porch. You wave goodbye, the moment slipping into something bittersweet before Steve bumps his shoulder into yours, a playful grin softening the farewell.

You dawdle up to your car, wringing your hands together when you reach the door. “So.”

“So,” he parrots.

“This weekend, right?”

His smirk blooms into a full smile. “Friday? Pick you up at seven?”

“Okay,” you nod.

“Okay,” he chuckles, clipping a hand around your jaw and leaning in.

You turn away so the kiss skips across the softest stretch of your cheek. “Steve.”

His eyes never leave your face as he assures you, “They’re not looking.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

Holly waves at you through the living room window, a smile as wide as her face. Steve’s hand falls down to his side and he takes a platonic step back. You both return her goodbye, but Holly stays, her little hand pressed to the glass.

“Think she’ll tell?” Steve asks, not an ounce of worry in his tone.

You shrug, tugging him back in by the waist for a proper kiss. “I guess it wouldn't be the end of the world.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington #holly wheeler #stranger things fic #stranger things #skeltnwrites #eotw

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k-hotchoisan · 7 months ago

Text

missing piece

Building legos is important business and Seonghwa knows that very well when he realises he’s missing a piece.

So who would’ve thought two people attempting to search for one Lego piece would lead to other things?

genres/warnings: smut, pwp, softdom!seonghwa, missing Lego piece (don’t worry it’ll get found later), dirty talk, it’s legit teeth rotting fluff and smut, unprotected sex, breeding kink, established relationship, mild choking, clit stimulation

a/n: another fic exchange with @bro-atz 😎👊🏻 it’s a competition of who can kill each other faster and we both LOSING. love u bro <3 and also finally serving you all the softdom! Seonghwa you all deserve 😛 enjoy my loves 🩷

read bro’s one here 💘

wc: 1.9K

‘A couple activity idea’—apparently the amount of countless generic couple websites would list this idea.

Yeah, this would qualify for a couple activity idea casually, not when it seemed like a big business deal when it came to Park Seonghwa.

Seonghwa had the ambiance set, his station ready—the Animal Crossing Soundtrack Playlist with Rain playing through the speakers, his desk clean and white—only stacked with the Animal Crossing Lego sets prepared to to be unboxed, in his favourite oversized shirt, and not forgetting you, who he dragged into his room to watch him build his little building block empire—comfortably seated across him on his bed.

You didn’t mind watching your partner build the latest Animal Crossing Lego set he just easily blew a couple of hundred on hours before. You watched his inner child take form when he made you sit down with him to watch him unbox the first set he was gonna build, his eyes large and twinkling, just like his Animal Crossing character in-game.

Seonghwa hums softly, and it’s definitely his favourite soundtrack from the game. From time to time, Seonghwa would make the little critter noises his animal villagers would make while he fixes the animal villagers and you can’t help but giggle whenever he does the impressions. He’s finished a cherry tree, making sure he flailed his wrists to get your attention. Your lips pull to a smile when your eyes land on the pretty cherry tree he built, reflecting his satisfaction with his plump lips too.

Then he’s back to his workstation, and you’re absorbed back into playing your switch.

“This set is pretty easy”, you hear him comment.

“Is it?” You reply, your attention focused on trying to slay the beast.

“Yeah. I think I could finish this in another half an hour.” He sounds confident.

“Good luck with that sweetheart”, you respond, your eyes trailing back to your game.

Then midway through, Seonghwa demands your attention again, and this time you watch the way his eyes light up the whole damn room when he shows you the way the little Lego letter fits into its little Lego mailbox. Not gonna lie, it was a very adorable detail. He yaps about it for a good seven minutes before he sinks back into his building block world.

“Now here’s the million dollar question—pink or brown for the door?” He asks, loosely fitting both coloured doors after one another

“Pink, obviously”, you pick. Seonghwa seems satisfied with your answer, and you swear you see the little musical notes float out of him when he fixes the door onto the house.

A couple more minutes later, you glance over at the messy pieces of Lego strewn all over Seonghwa’s table, below his half-completed Animal Crossing cottage.

He has his cheeks puffed out, and his eyebrows knitted together while he’s carefully scanning over the table.

“Are you missing a piece?” You ask, setting your console on the bed.

“Yeah, I think I am”, Seonghwa mutters, his index finger pointing over each piece on the table, in hopes of finding it.

You take the instruction booklet from his hands, skimming through the pictures before you settle it down onto the desk, your eyes laser-focused onto the mess too.

“Do you wanna come over to my side instead? Maybe you can spot it better from this view”, you suggest, which Seonghwa takes, so he shuffles over to the bed, and moves to sit right where you are—and now you’re on his lap, with his chest pressing right against your back as he towers over you, arms hugging you from behind. He continues to search for the missing Lego piece.

You take part in the search too, the game completely forgotten by then. You realise it’s nice just having Seonghwa sitting close to you like this. Maybe this was what they meant by building Lego as “a couple activity”.

“Did you drop it or something?” You ask, shifting slightly to have a better view of the floor. You hear Seonghwa grunt behind you, but you pay no attention, focusing on finding the piece.

Seonghwa swears he’s focused on looking for the missing piece too—he really wants to complete the set, but at the same time, he’s watching and feeling you move against him on top of the way he’s able to wrap his arms around you easily, smelling his scent on you—it’s not helping his case. He bites his bottom lip, trying to manage himself.

Obviously, it does nothing, considering he’s having you in such close proximity, and every movement you’re brushing against him is starting to make him grow sensitive.

His hand snakes down to your thighs, drawing circles, his other hand sifting through the endless pieces of Lego.

He forces himself to concentrate, and it works for a split second, that is, until you absentmindedly shift his free arm on under your loose shirt, and he snaps.

“If this is your way of breaking my concentration, you’re doing a good job”, you hear his deep voice ringing in your ears. He’s letting his hands roam all over your body hidden underneath your shirt, his fingers grazing against your nipples teasingly, and it draws gasps out of you.

“Focus on finding the block, Park Seonghwa”, you tease, readjusting yourself, making sure you press against his growing erection underneath his loose shorts.

It’s Seonghwa’s turn to draw a shaky breath every time your clothed ass comes into contact with his erection.

You pretend to ignore him, but you can’t ignore the way he’s massaging your tits, and you find yourself sighing and growing hotter through each passing moment.

You think he’s finally giving you a break, but you’re proven wrong when his hands are sliding down the waistband of your shorts.

“You’re not finding the block, Angel”, Seonghwa points out, and you pout at his words. Your hand slips under the large opening of his shorts and fuck—his erection is only growing thicker.

You hear him groan behind you when you let your hands wander to stroke his cock through his underwear. So he retaliates with his finger sliding past your panties, cursing when he realises your pussy is growing wetter by the second.

“We’re supposed to be looking for the Lego piece, Hwa”, you mutter, mind growing hazy as his fingers get drenched from your slick, circling your clit gently.

“Mmhm. We are, baby. You’re just not focusing”, Seonghwa replies, his index and middle finger spreading your folds open letting his index finger find your clit more easily, and it’s driving you fucking crazy.

Your legs push open automatically, your hands pausing stroking him off, well, not that Seonghwa minded.

“That feels so good”, you sigh. Seonghwa’s other hand cups your jaw, and you turn to face him, feeling the way his hands slide down your throat while Seonghwa has your lips on his, eating up your whines and moans before letting you catch your breath.

“So fuckin wet for me, Angel. You like it that much?” He teases.

“Mmhm, your fingers feel so good Hwa”, you nod, your grip around his arm tightening as the pleasure builds in your stomach every time his finger strokes against your clit. At this point, you can’t even pretend.

His lips are pressed against your ear, his voice deep yet you sense traces of whining in his tone when he says, “Sit on my dick. I need you on my fucking dick now, Angel.”

Of course, you comply, despite your legs trembling slightly, letting Seonghwa slip out of his bottoms. His arm is wrapped around your waist, pulling you impossibly close to him, his lips making a whole garden of bites down your neck before he has both his hands lift your hips.

Seonghwa lines himself against your fluttering cunt and he pushes himself into your pussy hole, his moans of relief sending you into a spiral on top of his cock sinking into you.

Fuck, he’s filling you up so fucking good.

“Fuck. That’s it, babe. You’re so fucking good”, he groans when you squeeze against him.

“Hwa, oh my fucking god, you’re so full in me”, you sob, trying to adjust to his length.

“Do you think we can find the piece better like this?” He jokes while peppering kisses down your neck to distract himself so he doesn’t fucking just burst in you just yet.

Even in your pleasured haze, you still manage to laugh while you try to keep your eyes open.

“I think we can”, you reply with a giggle, before squealing when you feel him twitch in you. You shift forward slightly, feeling his cock shift in you, dragging along your walls, a small whine escaping past your lips.

With the last of your sanity remaining, you glance over the desk one more time, biting your lip to stay grounded, obviously to no avail, especially not with Seonghwa and his little movement behind you.

“I really think it’s-fuck-not here”, Seonghwa mutters behind you, forcing himself not to thrust into you, his fingers slithering down to your wet clit once more.

“I’m pretty sure it d-dropped. We haven’t checked the floor yet-ngh-right?” you manage to ask.

“Mmmm nope”, Seonghwa responds, mesmerised at the way your slick growing thicker on your clit and on his cock as he continues to rub your clit. “I guess we can do that later ‘cause I really need to fuck your pussy right now, Angel.”

He doesn’t give you much time to answer because you’re a complete goner when Seonghwa is making you bounce off his cock while he gets you off with his fingers.

You’re trembling from the sheer pleasure, your vision slowly growing hazy, the knot tightening in your abdomen more quickly than you thought.

“H-Hwa! Gonna cum-Oh fuckkkk”, you draw out, white clouding your vision. Your cunt flutters around his cock, dopamine shooting up your body while you completely let go on his cock as Seonghwa fucks you through your orgasm.

“Fuck, you’re such a good fucking girl. “That’s it. Be a good girl and cum on my dick like that, Angel”, Seonghwa groans into your ear, his gaze traveling down at the way your thick cream streaks down his cock when he pulls out. He shuts his eyes, sighing into the nape of your neck while he listens to the way your cunt is just so loud and wet for him while he fucks your cream out of you, thrusting his hips upwards.

“God, your pussy feels so fucking perfect. Fuck. I’m gonna cum. Gonna fill you up so good baby”, he pants before his hips thrust and press against yours, filling you up with his warm and thick cum accompanied by his low groans.

You feel Seonghwa’s hands run down your body, soothing you after emptying his fucking load into you before he slowly pulls out of your cum-filled pussy.

“I’ll get you a towel, Angel”, Seonghwa tells you, pressing his lips on your temple before leaving the bed.

He retrieves a spare towel from the bathroom and cleans you up, before releasing you to wash up in the bathroom.

When you renter his room, Seonghwa is switching gazes between his half-completed set and the instruction manual.

He looks up at you with a grin that’s making you feel uneasy.

“Babe, turns out I wasn’t missing a piece—I already had it in all along!”

Taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @pre1ttyies @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess @mylovelymito @softwsan @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee @ywtf @jeon-ify @miss-fallon @bunnyluvr25 @eggyboy5 @hourswithoutyou @iwishiwasthemoontonight @yunhogrippers @watermelon2319 @vampiregirl215 @kibs-and-bits @s-h-y-a @luvt0kki @httpseungmxn @vic0921 @sanhwajoong @bitejoongie @no1likevie @woojirang @jjoongstar @yuyusgirl

#ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez smut #smut #ateez fic #kpop smut #aubs <3 bro #y/n x seonghwa #seonghwa ateez #seonghwa smut #ateez seonghwa #park seonghwa #seonghwa #SoundCloud

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sushiyuzu · 3 months ago

Text

fainted

warning: fluff + comfort — soft!sylus taking care of you after you fainted 💫🫶🏻 [ x mc，x reader ]

a/n: thank you for the lovely request, anon! are you feeling better now? i’m concerned :c pls take care of yourself, okay? <3

anon’s request / link: click here

- second acc: @blushpawss

“you know… i don’t think i’ve ever seen a night like this,” you said softly, looking up at the stars shining in the dark sky.

the air was cool and fresh, wrapping around you like a gentle breeze as you and sylus walked down the almost empty street. it was quiet, with only the distant sound of crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves.

you and sylus had discussed and planned this night out a few days ago, even though he lived far away in a place called onychinus. it was a big dangerous city far from linkon, where you lived. getting to linkon from onychinus took him hours, but he didn’t seem to mind.

never to him at all, when it comes to you.

“distance isn’t a problem,” he had told you over the phone, his voice calm and steady. “i’ll be there. all you have to do is say yes.”

of course, you had agreed. the thought of him driving all that way just to spend time with you made your heart race. you could almost hear him smile through the phone when you said yes.

“then it’s a plan,” he replied, as if the long drive was nothing.

now, as you strolled outside together under the night sky, you felt grateful. he had come all this way just to be with you. when he arrived, you felt a thrill seeing him step out of his sleek black car, his eyes finding yours as he walked toward you.

sylus looked at you from the side, his expression hard to read as always, but there was a slight smile at the corner of his mouth. “guess it’s not often you’re out this late,” he said, his voice low and smooth, with a bit of his usual confidence. even though he was usually serious, you had learned to see the small ways he showed his softer side—mostly when he was with you.

and you find that adorable, however.

“maybe not,” you replied, a lighthearted tone in your voice. “but i like it… it’s peaceful.”

you had been walking together for a while, enjoying the cool night air. he had suggested this place earlier—a quiet little park just outside the city, away from the bright lights and noise. with the moon low in the sky, shining soft silver light on the path, it felt like a different world, one where time slowed down, and it was just the two of you.

you felt a small warmth in your chest that grew stronger when you were with him. the way he walked a bit closer to you tonight, his hand sometimes brushing against yours, made your heart beat a little faster. there was something calm and charming about him that made you feel safe, even when you felt a strange dizziness you couldn’t shake off. you had been feeling a bit off since earlier, but the moment felt too perfect to ruin with your worries. maybe it was nothing—a little tiredness or a chill in the air.

maybe.

“are you sure you’re alright?” he asked suddenly, his eyes focused on you as he noticed you swaying a bit. sylus had a way of noticing things that others might miss, and his attention to detail was almost surprising.

“yeah… i’m good, really,” you assured him, managing a small smile. “just a little lightheaded.” you laughed softly, trying to brush it off, though you could feel his gaze linger, a crease forming on his brow.

he didn’t buy it; you could tell by how he slowed his steps and focused completely on you. “we don’t have to keep walking,” he said, stopping and looking down at you with a mix of concern and determination. “we can go back to the car if you need to rest for a bit.”

“no, no… i’m fine, really,” you insisted, trying to sound convincing, but even to yourself, it felt weak. you wanted to stay and enjoy just a few more moments of this rare peace with him.

but that’s when it happened.

you felt the world tilt, the stars above becoming blurry and slipping away. your knees felt weak, and your vision faded to a soft blur. before you realized it, the ground seemed to disappear beneath you.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

when you opened your eyes, everything felt different. the cool night air was still there, but it felt warmer now, and you understood why—it was sylus. he was holding you in his arms, his strong grip supporting you. his expression was unusually soft, showing a rare vulnerability in his normally steady gaze. his voice was quiet, but it felt like a warm blanket around you.

“hey… you’re awake,” he said, relief laced in his tone. “just take it easy.”

you blinked, still feeling a bit confused, trying to understand what was happening. “what… what happened?” you asked softly, your voice shaking. it was a strange feeling to be so vulnerable, and the look in his eyes—something like worry—made it feel even more real.

“you fainted,” he said, his voice softer than you had ever heard. one of his hands was gently on your back, holding you close, while his other hand held yours, making you feel secure. “just breathe, okay? you’re safe.”

a wave of embarrassment washed over you as you realized what had happened. “i… i’m sorry,” you mumbled, feeling a flush rise to your cheeks. “i didn’t mean to scare you…”

“don’t apologize,” he said, his voice strong but soft with unexpected kindness. “it’s not your fault. if anything, i should have noticed sooner.” he changed his grip a little, gently brushing his thumb along your shoulder in a way that felt almost unreal.

you took a shaky breath, feeling a little more steady, but still shaken by everything that happened. fainting was something you had never experienced before, and how sudden it was made you feel vulnerable, like you were on unsteady ground. “it… it’s never happened before,” you whispered, looking up at him, trying to hide the fear still in your eyes. “i didn’t know what to do…”

his gaze softened even more, which was rare to see. “you don’t have to know what to do. that’s what i’m here for,” he said quietly, his fingers tracing gentle circles on your shoulder, his touch comforting. “it’s okay to lean on me, you know? you don’t always have to be so strong.”

his words wrapped around you, calming the panic in your chest. sylus was always a loving presence, and even in moments like this, his affection shone through. every gentle touch and soft word felt like a promise that he would always be there for you. he helped you sit up, keeping his arm around your shoulders to steady you, his grip strong and reassuring.

“still dizzy?” he asked, his voice soft but full of quiet concern that made your heart ache in a good way.

“just a little,” you admitted, feeling a bit more stable now but still grateful for the warmth of his arm around you. “thank you, sylus… really. i don’t know what i would have done without you.”

he let out a soft laugh, shaking his head a little. “you think i’d let you faint without doing something?” his lips turned up into a small smile, a hint of his usual bold confidence coming back. “besides, if it’s you who needs me, i don’t mind being a little less… myself.”

his words made your heart skip a beat, and their meaning settled over you. for someone like sylus, who was so confident and calm, it meant a lot to know he would let his guard down just for you. he wasn’t just saying it—he was showing it with every careful movement and every gentle touch.

after a while, he helped you get back up, guiding you carefully to a nearby bench under the trees, where the moonlight filtered softly through the leaves. you both sat there in comfortable silence, your small hand still held tightly in his large hands, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your skin.

“just promise me something,” he murmured, breaking the silence, his voice barely above a whisper.

“anything,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

“next time, don’t hide it. i’d rather know you’re not okay than find out like this,” he said, his eyes serious and filled with so much unspoken care.

you nodded, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “i promise.” then, you leaned your head against his shoulder, letting the quietness of the night surround you both. you knew that as long as he was beside you, you’d never have to face anything alone again. as you sat there, sylus kept his arm draped around your shoulders, steadying you with every gentle movement. he didn’t let go, as if to reassure you that he wasn’t going anywhere. a soft breeze rustled through the trees, bringing the scent of night-blooming flowers. even though the air felt cool against your skin, his presence kept you warm.

“let’s get you some water,” he said, his voice a smooth murmur, laced with concern. “i parked a little ways back. can you stand?”

you nodded slowly, still feeling a bit shaky, but his hand on your back gave you strength. he helped you rise from the bench, his touch careful yet firm. as you swayed slightly, he immediately moved closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. “easy now,” he said, his voice low but steady. “i’ll take you.”

with surprising ease, he lifted you off the ground, cradling you against him. the warmth of his body enveloped you, and you instinctively relaxed in his hold. it felt both comforting and safe, easing the fear that had been building in your chest. you caught the glances of a few passersby, but in that moment, all you could focus on was sylus.

“hold on tight,” he said with a hint of a smirk, though you could hear the seriousness beneath it. “i promise i won’t drop you.”

as he carried you toward his car, the world around you began to blur, the sounds of the night fading into the background. the soft crunch of gravel beneath his shoes was the only noise as he approached the sleek vehicle parked a few meters away. when you reached the car, he gently opened the passenger door and carefully placed you inside.

“there you go,” he said, his tone lightening as he made sure you were settled in comfortably. “now, just relax for a moment. i’ll be right back.”

you watched him as he closed the door and walked toward a nearby convenience store. he moved with a smoothness that always caught your attention, even in a rush. his broad shoulders were strong and made his waist look smaller. you could see his biceps flexing slightly as he walked, showing off the muscles under his fitted shirt. his abs were well-defined, tightening a little with each step he took.

when he turned to look back at you, the streetlights lit up his strong jaw and the light stubble on his face, making him look even more charming. you leaned back in the soft leather seat, still feeling a bit dizzy but thankful he was there. the cool air from the car’s air conditioning felt nice against your skin.

as he went into the store, you admired how he carried himself, a mix of confidence and grace. it was always nice to see him move like that, reminding you how strong and supportive he was, especially in moments like this. you felt warmth inside, not just from his presence but from how much he cared for you.

after a few moments, you took a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering light-headedness. sylus returned quickly, a water bottle in one hand and a small bag in the other. he climbed back into the car, his expression a mix of relief and determination.

“i got you water and some snacks,” he said, handing you the bottle first. “you need to stay hydrated.”

you unscrewed the cap, taking a few small sips, the coolness refreshing against your dry throat. sylus watched you carefully, his gaze never leaving your face as if he was making sure you were okay. once you finished drinking, he handed you a small pack of crackers.

“here, eat these,” he urged, his voice low and steady. “it’ll help with your energy.” you took a cracker, nibbling at it while he kept his eyes on you, his presence calming you.

“thank you for coming back so quickly,” you said, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his care.

“wouldn’t dream of leaving you alone after that,” he replied, his tone casual yet sincere. “not a chance.” he settled back in his seat, his body angled toward you, ready to offer support at a moment’s notice.

as you continued to nibble on the crackers, he leaned closer, his hand finding yours, fingers intertwining in a comforting grip. “you scared me, you know,” he admitted quietly. “when i saw you sway like that, it felt like the world stopped for a moment. i just... i couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

the weight of his words settled between you, his usual confident facade dropping just enough for you to see the worry behind it. you felt a swell of emotion in your chest, and you squeezed his hand tighter.

“i’m sorry,” you said softly, feeling guilty for causing him concern. “i thought i could handle it.”

“it doesn’t matter,” he replied, shaking his head slightly. “just promise me that if you ever feel off again, you’ll tell me right away. no hiding it.” his voice held a firm yet gentle tone, as though he was reminding you once more, giving you a silent promise that he would always be there to help.

“i promise,” you said, feeling reassured by his care. the way he was looking at you made you feel safe, like nothing could hurt you as long as he was by your side.

after a while, you started to feel more like yourself, the snack helping to ease the light-headedness. as you leaned back in your seat, you took a moment to appreciate the night sky outside the window, the stars twinkling brightly against the dark backdrop.

“do you want to stay here for a little while longer?” he asked, noticing your gaze. “i can turn the car on for a bit if it gets too warm.”

“i think i’d like that,” you replied, feeling a sense of calm wash over you.

he nodded and turned on the car, filling the interior with a soft hum. he shifted in his seat to face you fully, resting his arm casually against the back of the passenger seat. “tell me more about what you want to do when you feel better,” he said, a teasing glint in his eyes. “i’m all ears. and i’ll always be right by your side, even if it means facing any challenges.”

as his warm words wrapped around you, you realized that what happened earlier was behind you. in this moment, with sylus next to you and the stars shining bright above, everything felt right again.

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chaninfused · 1 year ago

Text

EVER READ SOMETHING SO SDHFGJSKDGFBSDJKFSDF

Worn-Out Soles [1] | b.c

pairing: Chan x fem!reader genre: fluff, angst, fantasy, royalty!au warnings: kidnapping, injury, death word count: 10.1k notes: — this is a retelling of the 12 dancing princesses :) inspiration taken from the original fairy tale, the Barbie movie, and the retelling by Jessica Day George, Princess of the Midnight Ball. — mc in this story has multiple sisters as befitting the original fairy tale, but they are not blood-related for inclusivity reasons. In a world where magic lies in the arts, you are a princess of Terpsichani, the kingdom whose power comes from dance. Loved by many, you care for your country deeply, though in truth your heart only belongs to the palace's royal cobbler, Chan, who holds equal affection for you in return. It's a love that could never be, you both know, though it doesn't stop you from pining. But then you go missing on the final night of your kingdom's Moonlight Festival, leaving behind nothing but the memories of a final dance. When your sister brings news of your disappearance to Chan's doorstep, there's only one thing he can do. Follow you into the depths of hell to bring you back—or die trying. Part 1 >> Part 2

To Spin a Yarn | Stray Kids Masterlist

When the soft rap of your lady in waiting sounds at the door, you barely look up before calling her in. Out of the corner of your eye, Chaeyoung curtsies in the doorway. “Your Highness.”

You continue scribbling at the papers strewn around your desk. “Yes?”

“The royal cobbler has arrived.”

The pen in your hand stops midair.

Slowly, slowly, so as to keep the smile twitching on your lips from taking up your entire face, you raise your head to see Chaeyoung standing in the doorway. “Have my sisters been informed?”

Her eyes glint with mischief and the knowledge that you haven’t managed to fool her at all. “Of course.”

“Well.” You stand up, placing the pen carefully down. Steadfastly ignoring Chaeyoung’s grin, you step around the desk. “I suppose we will all just have to go and meet him, then.”

. . . . .

Yuna’s sharp squeal hits Chan’s ears even before he steps foot into the pavilion, which is all the warning he needs before five princesses accost him at the entrance, bouncing on their toes. “Chan!”

“Hello, Your Highnesses,” he laughs, maneuvering his heavy box around them. “What makes you so excited today?”

“Did you bring our shoes?” Ryujin asks eagerly.

Chan frowns, but not before letting them see the glint in his eye. “Was I supposed to bring shoes, now?”

Amidst the chorus of whines from the youngest and giggles from the older girls, one voice joins the fray. “Well, my sisters would be dearly disappointed if you hadn’t.”

Chan’s heart skips a beat in his chest as he turns around to meet your smile. You stand in the pavilion’s entrance from where he just came, the flower-wreathed arch framing your image perfectly under the sun shining bright in the sky.

A sharp elbow jabs him from behind. “Say something,” Jisung hisses. “You’re staring.”

Chan can feel his ears going red. “Would you be disappointed too, Your Highness?” he asks, making a mental note to flick his apprentice’s forehead later.

“I believe I would.” You step forward with that warm smile still on your face, and for not the first time in his life, Chan wonders what good he must have done in a past life to deserve standing in your presence like this, a sunflower forever basking under the light of your grin. “You know we all look forward to your shoes, Chan.”

Chaeyoung, your lady in waiting, mutters something under her breath. Chan doesn’t quite hear it, but from the giggles of your sisters and the glare you flash at her, it can’t have been anything good.

Chan’s ears must be flaming by now. Putting down the box, he musters his most natural smile. “Well, good thing I won’t have to disappoint any of you,” he says, undoing the latch. “Come closer, Your Highnesses—I hope you are pleased with these.”

Oohs and aahs and squeals of excitement slowly begin to fill the pavilion as Chan and his apprentices begin to hand out the shoes. It’s with no small pride that he takes in the cries of delight from each of the princesses—with each pair made of the finest quality material, hand stitched and sewed with sparkling thread in intricate designs, there is a reason Chan trusts very few people to help with his handiwork. He grins as the five young princesses begin to spin around the pavilion, joyous grace evident in every one of their movements…

You step forward shyly, and Chan snaps back to earth. “Anything for me?” you ask.

“Are you kidding?” Jisung snorts before Chan has the chance to respond. “He spent days on yours!”

“By all the stars—I spend days on all of them,” Chan hisses, praying his hair covers his ears.

“You don’t usually spend two entire weeks trying to get each design right, though.”

Chan stares at his second freckled apprentice, who only stares back with an innocent expression. Jisung he can understand being a pain in the neck, but Felix?

Your shy laugh sounds like bells. “Am I that demanding a customer?”

“Oh—oh, stars, no.” Chan swallows hard, ducking into the box for the last pair of shoes. “I just—” he holds out the box and tries not to react when your fingers brush his as you take it, eyes focused intently on his face—“I just wanted to make them… right.”

Right? Right? Seriously, that was the only word you could come up with?

You start to untie the box, completely oblivious to Chan’s inner imminent mental breakdown. Slowly, too slowly, you lift the shoes from their cushioned spot inside, Chaeyoung taking the box from your hands. For a moment, you don’t react.

Chan starts to lose it.

You don’t like them. You hate them. The design isn’t what you wanted, there are flaws in the fabric, something is terribly wrong with the shoes despite all the time he spent on them—he’s messed it up this time like he always feared, seriouslymessed up—

Your eyes meet his once more, sparkling brighter than the sun and the stars. “I—Chan.” You step forward, holding the shoes to your heart. “Chan, they’re beautiful. Thank you so much.”

Chan’s knees nearly give out right then and there. Thank all the stars.

“You’re—I—” You look down at the shoes and back at him, as though you’ve lost your own words. Chan’s heart soars with the shine in your expression. “You do this every time,” you say, almost laughing. “Words can’t describe how much talent you possess, how hard you must have worked for this. These are truly…a work of art.”

He swallows down the overwhelming smile itching to reveal itself on his face, forces it into something smaller, more manageable, and infinitely less manic than it would have been. “I’m glad you like them, Your Highness.”

“Chan! Chan!” Ryujin and Chaeryeong come running up, Yeji following behind with a half annoyed, half apologetic glance that she flashes at you. Chan watches as you turn to them, smiling first at Yeji with something in your eyes that immediately wipes the worry and annoyance from your sister’s face, then at the younger girls clamoring for your attention. “Play us music, please! Like you did before!”

You shoot an apologetic look at him. “Girls, don’t demand things from Chan,” you admonish before turning back. “You don’t have to.”

“No, I want to. It would be my honor.” He smiles at the young princesses. “Give me a moment to tune, yes?”

The two of them cheer before skipping away, Yeji corralling them towards the center of the pavilion. You look at him, expression soft. “You really don’t have to, you know.”

“I know,” Chan says, pulling out his small flute. “But I enjoy it, and I have some time before my next appointment.” You still don’t look convinced, so he speaks again. “Truly, Your Highness. Your sisters are adorable. I like playing my flute, and I like watching you all dance. It’s a pleasure.”

Finally, you relent. “All right then, Chan. Although—” You stop for a moment, then seem to set your jaw with determination. “May I ask, will you be at the festival?”

Chan blinks. The Moonlight Festival, only the most important festival of the year, the festival that sees the most foreign royalty and dignitaries traveling to your kingdom to partake in the celebrations? “…Yes, I suppose I will.”

“Right.” Your lips curl in light embarrassment. “I…if you happen to be by the palace that night…”

Behind you, Chaeyoung looks extremely amused. So do Jisung and Felix.

That does not bode well for either Chan or you.

“I know the chances are not large, but if we see each other…” You swallow hard, but your eyes don’t stray from his even as your younger sisters run up to try and drag your attention away. “Only if you can, since I’m sure you’ll be quite in demand, please save a dance for me.”

Ryujin and Chaeryeong pull you off, then, eagerly shouting for you to put on your shoes and spin with them in a dance. And as Chan watches you laugh with them, beginning to whirl across the pavilion with graceful steps as light as air, joy spilling from your fingertips into the flowers and grasses and leaves…

All he can think of is his answer, which is of course.

. . . . .

“…Your Highness?”

You jerk up with a start. Immediately you tear your eyes from the magnificent pair of shoes sitting by your doorway, but it's too late. When you turn your head, Chaeyoung’s face is staring right into yours.

“Stars, Chaeyoung!” You jump again. “What are you doing?”

“I should be asking you that, Your Highness.” She pulls back, one eyebrow raised in an arch. “You’ve been zoned out for the past five minutes.”

It’s the shoes. It’s the damn shoes. You groan, letting your face fall into your hands. Why must Chan’s handiwork distract you so much? Can’t he make them a little less ogle-worthy, less intricate and delicate and graceful and just—a type of beautiful that words can’t describe—

“Are you sure it’s just the shoes you like?” Chaeyoung asks, the other eyebrow rising to join the first. You don’t even need to lift your face to see the smirk on her lips, you can hear it just fine. “Or perhaps the cobbler who made them?”

“Stop it,” you mutter, dragging yourself up once more. You can’t resist the urge to let your gaze wander over the shoes again, though, imagining the care and devotion that must have gone into every stitch, every design. It almost pains you to think about dancing in them, dirtying the silk and ruining Chan’s handiwork as you wear them out.

Chan. You just manage to catch yourself before you sigh. His face dances before you in your memories, his bashful smile, his dark hair that always seems to be ruffled by the wind, his sweet eyes crinkling as he laughs. He’s lovely—beautiful—and you can’t fight the heat crawling up your cheeks whenever his strong, calloused fingers brush yours every time he hands you his latest masterpiece.

He’s beautiful, to be sure. Handsome in the most attractive way to you. But far more attractive is the love he brings to everything and everyone he touches, as though every person he meets couldn’t help but fall in love with his soft kindness, his quiet joy, his gentle earnestness that comes with everything he does. You see it in every delicate golden stitch on the white satin slippers he made you for the upcoming festival. You see it in every seam he sews on all of the other slippers he’s made for your sisters. You feel it in every scant touch you share, see it in his eyes whenever you manage to meet his gaze.

Stars above, all you can think of is the dance you might share with him on the final night of the festival. If you see him, and if he sees you.

With a sigh, you finally look back at your lady in waiting, apologies already on your lips. “I’m sorry, Chaeyoung. I must seem a mess.”

“You kind of do.” Chaeyoung’s blunt tone lifts the corners of your lips. “But it’s the festival. The preparations always drive everyone mad. And combined with your little star-crossed romance—” she easily dodges the swipe of your hand, giggling all the way—“I’m sure you’re very overwhelmed.”

The word stop finds its way onto your tongue once more, but you don’t let it fall because it would be useless. And besides, Chaeyoung’s right—you are overwhelmed. You love the Moonlight Festival, really you do, but being one of those in charge of organizing the largest event of the kingdom every year makes you want to scream to the heavens sometimes.

Maybe you should try that. It sounds like it would relieve some stress.

“Well.” You look down at the piece of paper you were scribbling on before Chan’s craft distracted you (as well as thoughts of his dark hair and smiling eyes as he handed you the shoes). “At least the guest list is finalized. I think.”

“Oh?” Chaeyoung cocks her head. “Who’s coming?”

“An assortment of foreign royals—Joshua and his entourage will be here, thank the stars—and some of the ambassadors whom we sent overseas will return for the occasion.” You flip through a few more sheets. “Of course we also had to account for all the nobility who will be staying at or near the palace during the week.”

“Are Jun and Jeongyeon coming back?”

A real smile spreads across your face at the mention of two of your best friends. “Yes, they are,” you say. “With Minghao and Sana.”

Chaeyoung grins. “It will be wonderful to see them.”

“Surely it will.” You heave yourself up from behind the desk, clutching the sheaf of papers in hand. “Come with me to drop these off with my father?”

. . .

The king’s quarters are in the wing completely opposite from yours and your sisters’. You have no actual idea why this is the case, but you like to joke deprecatingly to Chaeyoung (when no one else is around) that it’s because he has no intention of seeing any of you more than he must. Which is a fair assumption, in your opinion. He doesn’t even show up to dinner these days, just takes his meal with his advisors or foreign dignitaries alone. Unless he decides he also needs you.

The guards part ways upon your entrance into the west wing, bowing respectfully as you pass. You give them a brief nod before stopping in front of your father’s door, knocking twice on the wood.

“Who is it?”

“Y/N.”

“Come in.”

Any trace of your previous smiles falls away as you step into the cold room. Your father hardly looks up from his desk even as you approach. “What is it?”

“I have the finalized guest list, as well as the other preparation details you asked for today.” You place the papers in front of him. “That is all. Please let me know if there are any issues.”

All you get is a hum in response.

Only years of having dealt with this behavior keep you from doing much more than press your lips into a thin, thin line. “I will be off, then.”

You’re opening the door when he speaks again. “Y/N.”

There’s enough time to exchange one bemused glance with Chaeyoung before you turn around. “Yes, Father?”

He’s actually looking at you this time. In his eyes swims some sort of emotion—if you didn’t know better you’d say it was something like regret or worry, but why would he feel anything like that?—as he scrutinizes your face. His throat bobs as though he swallowed something. As though he has something he wants to say, but can’t. Or won’t.

“Father?”

All the emotion falls off his face as soon as the word hits the air. “Don’t forget that you will take dinner with me tonight,” he says, eyes dropping back to the papers on his desk. “The convoy from Ourania will have arrived by then.”

You frown. Since when have you ever forgotten an appointment and needed him to remind you? There was no reason for him to have said that, none at all. In fact, you almost feel offended, but then you look at him again.

A bobbing throat. A surreptitious swallow.

Maybe he did really have something to say, but decided against it at the last minute.

Whatever. You shake off the lingering discomfort. If what he wanted to say was truly important, he would have spoken. Your king may be an absent father, but he doesn’t generally shirk his duties. “Yes, Father,” you say, then shut the door behind you.

. . . . .

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s moping, Lix.”

“Well, he should stop.”

“I am not moping,” Chan says loudly as he dumps scraps of leather into a pile in the far back of the shop.

A beat of silence follows. Then Jisung snorts. “That’s exactly what someone who’s moping would say.”

“Or, it could be that I’m not moping, and you’re misunderstanding things completely.” Chan turns to his two apprentices, both staring owl-eyed at him and his probably very red ears. “Did neither of you hear me ask if one of you could go out and get something for us to start dinner?”

Jisung’s shit-eating grin turns sheepish. “I forgot.”

Chan tries to hide an exasperated smile with a sigh. “It’s fine, just go now.”

Without missing a beat, Jisung grabs Felix, and with a shouted farewell, the two of them go crashing out the door.

Chan returns to cleaning the mess in his workshop, putting away tools, tossing leather scraps into the scrap bag as they emerge from corners he didn’t even know existed. He is not moping. If anything, he’s—daydreaming. Of something. Moping implies that he is upset. He is anything but.

“If we see each other…please save a dance for me.”

He snorts a little. As if the answer would be anything but yes. Which you probably know, because over the years he’s learned that despite his attempts to hide his affections he is still extremely obvious. And if Jisung and Felix are to be believed—which, unfortunately, they often are, because even if they’re loud and obnoxious and love to tease him at any point in time, they’re very observant and usually right—

You hold a similar affection for him, too.

The knowledge doesn’t do much, though. Because for all Chan loves you and prays that his love is returned, it wouldn’t matter if it was. In fact, it might even be for the worse. You are a princess and he is but a cobbler, a commoner without magic, which means he could never be yours. If this were one-sided, at least you might still have a chance at happiness elsewhere. But if you truly do love him back…

Chan swallows down a wave of guilt. It’s not his fault, he knows logically. He doesn’t control your feelings any more than he controls his. But in moments like this, he wishes more than anything that things could be different. That he might have magic, that he might have been born a noble, that he might have even the tiniest of chances with you.

Hm. Maybe he is moping. Chan sighs. He should stop. He should focus on something better—namely the fact that he might finally have the chance to dance with you in just a couple of weeks. A smile begins to lift his lips at the thought as he exits the workroom to wait for his apprentices to return.

As if on cue, the door opens with a loud bang. Two pairs of feet tramp indoors, and then there’s the sound of something thumping onto the table.

It’s suspiciously quiet. Especially for his loudmouth apprentices.

Someone shushes the other. Probably Jisung hushing Felix. Silence ensues.

“…Is he still moping?”

“Obviously, Lix.”

Chan sighs.

. . . . .

The week before the festival brings with it flowers, paintings, gifts from envoys from countries near and far, foreign royalty settling into the palace with their entourage or sending ambassadors if, for some terrible reason, they can’t make it this year. Two days before the full moon, you’re pretty sure you haven’t sat down in over twelve hours—you ate your lunch standing in a corner of the kitchen, and only because Yeji dragged you there under threat of knocking you out for several hours so you could take a break.

Beloved sister, even if not by blood. Also a royal (literally) pain in your behind sometimes. But a needed one.

The palace bustles with controlled chaos, servants in your country’s colors and those of so many foreign lands mingling in the halls as they scurry from room to room carrying linens and luggage and trays of food. They’ve nearly crashed into you more than once, but who can fault them for trying to do their job? It’s all you’re trying to do, too.

(“Chaeyoung, tell me something that will get me through this,” you ask on the third day of this mess, head in your hands as you squat on the floor.

“Well, Your Highness, on the final night of the festival I believe your beloved cobbler may save you a dance.”

She dodges the swipe of your hand with a cackle, but despite what you would have your lady in waiting believe, her words do lift the burden on your heart and make it a little easier to smile.)

Finally, the week before the full moon arrives. You stand with your father in the throne room, looking out into a sea of seated royalty all gazing back, solemn excitement dancing in their eyes.

This is what you’ve been waiting for. What you’ve been planning this festival for—the celebration of the full moon, yes, but also the hum of excitement in this room, what your very country is so known for. Pride swells in your chest and you stand taller on the dais, smoothing the folds of your ceremonial robes—glowing white, accented with curves of darkness for the still not quite full moon. As each day passes, the darkness will fade from your clothes until you and most of the other festivalgoers are clothed only in white, to honor the moon and the night.

Your father finishes his little speech to a smattering of applause through the room. He turns to you and nods curtly.

Dipping your head in reply, you step to the center of the stage, bowing to the audience. “As my father, king of our land and holder of our magic, just said, I first welcome you to our kingdom once more.” Another polite round of applause. Smiling, you begin to relax, letting your mouth move in the words of welcome you’ve practiced so many times that you could say them in your sleep.

That is, until the throne room door opens with an ominous creak, cutting you off mid-sentence.

Confusion rustles through the crowd as people turn their heads to see who dared interrupt such a time-honored tradition. You yourself let your words fade from your lips, eyes narrowing towards the door in time to catch a glimpse of bright, fiery red.

The emblem takes you a moment to place at first. It looks familiar but not in the same way of so many other royal insignias, in the way that you’ve seen it emblazoned on the clothing and jewelry of real, breathing, living people. You have only ever seen this emblem, fire curling around a spiked rose dripping blood, in textbooks. Because this emblem belongs to a kingdom only ever described to you as having risen from the depths of hell itself. Born of death and flames and blood, nothing the pure magic of your land would ever dare to touch—

“His Majesty, the king of Kereseia.”

Your butler bows low, but even from here you can see that he’s trembling. Your eyebrows furrow further—you have questions, many of which will no doubt be directed at him later when this is over and you have a chance to try and figure out just what in the world is happening—but then—

The king himself steps through the doors, flanked by an armored entourage.

Red and black drape his body, gold hung in chains around his shoulders and chest. A crown of blackest metal rests on his forehead, studded with glowing rubies and amethysts, and a matching necklace hangs around his neck. He’s handsome—ridiculously handsome, as though he were carved from stone by the finest sculptors the land of Apollon had to offer—but the haughty curve of his lips sends walls thrusting up around your heart, hardening your mind to his beauty.

He stalks up through the center aisle, coming to a stop level with the first row of seats. His boots click together on the hard floor, a sound that echoes through the now-silent hall.

One dangerously curved eyebrow raises, and a vision comes to you of a curved blade sparkling under the moon, arcing down in a silver flash before it buries itself in someone’s flesh.

“Good evening, Your Majesty.” That haughty smile plays cruelly on his lips, sending a shudder up your spine. “I trust you know why I am here.”

Your eyes turn to your father. Outwardly, he doesn’t look as though anything has gone amiss. His fingers, however, clench the arms of his throne with such force they’ve turned almost as pale as the marble itself.

He doesn’t say anything.

“No? Then perhaps I must jog your memory.” The smile disappears, revealing eyes cold as ice despite the fire burning within them. Those sitting the nearest to the king flinch. You gulp, despite yourself. “I believe I was promised an invitation to your famed festival.”

Your father’s jaw twitches.

“Imagine my surprise as these past months came and went, with not a word from Your Majesty’s hand.” The prince’s theatrical sigh echoes throughout the room. “I thought it only fair, then, that I come to receive an explanation of this misunderstanding.” He tilts his head, revealing a jawline as sharp as the imaginary blade still curving in your mind. “One does know, of course, that a promise made to a Kereseian will never be broken.”

You look straight at your father, the king, who sits wordless on his throne. Why isn’t he saying anything?

Are these claims true? you demand through your eyes. Why did you make the promise? Why didn’t you honor it?

What in the world is going on?

Silence stretches in the throne room, echoing off the stone walls and floors. With every second that passes, your fingers clench more tightly in your skirts, itching to say something, anything to rectify this mess even as your heart pounds in fear, but words won’t come to your lips because your mind is still spinning as it tries to understand the prince’s words and the implications they have on your family—

Your father’s voice cuts through the silence. “I am well aware of this.”

Your own eyes widen in shock as gasps fill the room, but he continues. “There must have been a mistake when the invitations were sent.”

The second dangerous eyebrow rises, fire burning sinister in dark eyes. “A mistake.”

For a moment, you really think that fire might come to life and burn this entire room to the ground.

Your father’s eyes don’t waver. “Yes.”

Everyone’s eyes are riveted on the two men, one high on the throne, one standing tall below. Neither of them looks like they will give in anytime soon.

Which means you might all be dead in a matter of minutes, if what you’ve read of Kereseia is true.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” Your heart nearly pounds out of your chest as the eyes of the hall come to rest on you, including those of your father and the bloodred king. Surprisingly, your voice doesn’t shake. “Allow me to clarify one thing. It is true, then, that the king had been promised a place in our celebration, and that therefore he should be allowed to participate in our festivities tomorrow.”

The entire hall seems to hold its breath as they await your father’s reply. You’re not sure whether you want him to say yes or no.

“Yes.”

Gods and stars above.

You swallow hard amidst the gasps and whispers, turning back to the king. “Then I must apologize, Your Majesty,” you say as steadily as your thudding heart will allow—anger or fear, which is it? Perhaps some of both. “I was in charge of the festival’s guest list and many of its preparations, and yet I was never made aware of this…promise. I can only suppose that as your family has not…graced ours with your presence in many years, the knowledge of this promise was perhaps misplaced or miscommunicated. For that, I do apologize, and take full responsibility.”

The Kereseian king holds your gaze for one, two, three long seconds. You swallow hard, refusing to look away, but you can feel yourself trembling all over.

Then that deadly, knife-blade smile begins to curve his lips once more, and you have the sudden feeling that you have just made a very, very grave mistake.

“…No,” he finally says slowly, eyes traveling over every inch of your face. “No, you would not have been made aware.”

Even though there is still a healthy distance between you two, the oil in his voice, the deadly beauty of his face, the lascivious sweep of his gaze makes you want to take a step back. As though instead of just looking at you with his own eyes, he’d…licked you, or something, instead.

And beyond that—what does he mean? That you wouldn’t have been made aware? Of course you didn’t realize he was coming—your kingdom has never invited his, as far as you know—and your father never said anything, but his words imply that someone knew and should have told you but that he knew they never would—

A bobbing throat. A surreptitious swallow.

You picture your father behind his desk, that moment of strange emotion you saw in the thin press of his lips to each other. Something he wanted to say on the tip of his tongue, perhaps. But something he never did.

Out of the corner of your eye, you glance at your father. His king’s crown stands high and haughty on his head, his hands placed on the golden armrests of his throne, but the skin of his face has drawn tight around his skull, fingers gripping his seat with undue force. You recall the readiness with which he gave his assent to the prince’s demands, the slightest shake in his voice that only a few of you could have heard. As though he knew the prince’s words had been spoken true.

What deal did he make with the kingdom of hell that could have resulted in this?

“Accommodations for you and your entourage will be prepared as soon as possible, Your Majesty.” You try for a smile. “Until then, please feel free to partake in the evening’s activities. I’m sure you will find something to make your journey worthwhile.”

The prince’s handsome smile curls white, sharp. Like a curved dagger’s blade held up to the light, right before it plunges into your eye.

“Yes.” He seems to lean in closer, that knife-blade grin never once faltering from his lips. “I’m sure that I will.”

. . . . .

Year after year, the Moonlight Festival has never failed to bring joy to Chan’s life. When he was young and his parents were alive, they always took him to the night markets, bought him all the sweets their money could spare, and danced with him in the crowded streets, their three giggles echoing off the laughs of everyone else around them. The royal family has never spared expense on these annual celebrations, meant to honor the entity from which Terpsichore, the kingdom’s patron deity, draws her power. All of the most famous dancers in the kingdom swear up and down that they dance better under the full moon, and as Chan laughs and spins from one person to another, joining hands with a woman and her husband before whirling off to yet another joyous stranger, he agrees. The nearly-full moon above glows pale and bright in the dark night sky, lending energy to all those who celebrate on the earth below.

Yet this year, the celebrations are dampened. By no fault of the royal family, of course—even if Chan didn’t know you were the one behind almost all of the planning for this festival, he could say beyond a doubt that this year’s festivities were fantastic, maybe even more dramatic than last year’s. But whispers permeate the dancing, rumors of a kingdom long cut off that has come to Terpsichani for the first time in decades, maybe even centuries.

Kereseia.

Chan doesn’t like to speak ill of anyone, but his parents told him tales of the Kereseians as a child to scare him into behaving. All children are told the same stories, of fire curling around thorny roses and a kingdom eager to kill.

And now they aren’t just stories. The kingdom is actually here, in Chan’s homeland of Terpsichani, allegedly by invitation of the current king.

They haven’t made an appearance in his area, not yet at least. Chan doesn’t expect that they will. He more or less expects them to be like some of the haughtier royalty from other kingdoms, rarely straying from the immediate vicinity of the palace—and for that he is thankful. He’s not sure he wants to come face to face with any member of that entourage.

Though anxiety twists his stomach every time he thinks of you near them, being forced to entertain them throughout this weeklong stay.

It’s not as though he could do much about it, though. He’s just a cobbler in love with a princess, and no matter how he may fancy himself an acquaintance of your family, a friend if he’s being generous, his shoemaking privileges extend about as far as conversation with you. Which is privilege enough. He won’t be greedy. But thinking about you in that palace, being forced to speak with the Kereseian king himself…

Maybe the Kereseians are nicer than he gives them credit for. Chan doesn’t know. But though he hopes that’s true, something tells him that it's probably not.

Whispers still seem to permeate the excitement of the crowds as Chan fights his way to the palace on the final night of the celebrations, though nothing can fully mute his eagerness when he finally muscles his way as close as he can get to the stage. An enclosed area meant for nobility and visiting royalty blocks his full view of the stage, but no matter. The moon will be full tonight, shining from above to illuminate the loveliest spectacle of the entire festival—the Terpsichorean dance.

Named for the goddess of dance, Terpsichore herself, it is the ultimate homage to the moon. Chan knows the dance itself varies by region, but all serve the same purpose and bring the same honor. And of course, in the capital city itself, who would perform the dance but the daughters of the royal family themselves?

Chan just manages to keep himself from blushing. He watched you dance last year and the two years before wearing white and gold slippers he’d crafted himself, and it had only made him fall even more in love with you. Perhaps it’s shallow, but Chan finds it hard to believe anyone in the crowd could feel anything else if they’d seen you spinning about so gracefully in your white robes edged with gold, a dancing ray of the moon herself.

More and more people crowd in as the sun sets further, until the front of the palace is packed with spectators and the sun only just peeks over the horizon. For all the teasing he had to endure from his apprentices when he left early, Chan feels endlessly grateful that he was able to secure a spot near the stage.

Familiar melodies begin to filter in from the musicians around the stage. The crowd begins to settle, eager whispers turning into cheers as the introduction begins for your piece. By the time the musicians have finished, the crowd is cheering and the sun has finally set, the full, pale moon beginning to hover in the sky.

The music pauses. Changes. Everyone falls silent and Chan finds himself holding his breath as he waits for what he knows will come next—

Your lovely figure draped head to toe in white silk edged in gold that just catches the moonlight, a ray of the moon sent specially to bless the kingdom now.

Chan’s breath lodges in his throat. His chest aches. You’re always lovely, always so lovely, but as you begin to dance, he wonders if the word lovely even begins to capture the mystery, the beauty of your existence. No, not a single word could. But that is what his kingdom’s art is for—dance. A way to express what words cannot.

Just as your performance does now.

It’s no ordinary dance, the way you flit through the air. No. Throughout the kingdom there are those blessed by the goddess herself with magical abilities that come with dancing talent—painting memories through the air through a well-placed movement, calling on rain or sun to bathe the earth. Chan himself has no magic though he loves to dance, but his mother was blessed with the ability to recreate memories through her movement.

But those of the noble and royal lines may be blessed with a different ability, one that marks their special honor by the goddess Terpischore herself. They can weave emotion as they dance.

Just as you do now.

The crowd gasps, sighs, cries as one as you whirl across the stage, painting sorrow, joy, hope—all emotions Terpsichore felt through her journey to godhood, to patronage of this kingdom, to her ultimate tie to the moon. For all Chan watches, almost refusing to blink for fear of missing a single moment, he knows he could never hope to describe the sight before him, for words could never capture the beauty of your movement.

The song ends. You flutter your way to the front of the stage amidst cheers and shouts for an encore, and you bow once, twice, five more times before the crowd quiets enough for you to disappear behind the stage, leaving everyone to disperse under the rising moon.

Chan allows himself to be swept away with the crowd, filtering into the streets as musicians take up their instruments and begin filling the roads with cheer. He tries to stay by the palace, though, remembering your request.

“I know the chances are not large, but if we see each other…please save a dance for me.”

Ordinarily, he would never presume to take a dance from your hand. But you requested.

And never would he even think of saying no.

The minutes tick past, though, the moon rising steadily in the sky, bathing the streets in cool, lovely light. Chan laughs, dances, even catches a glimpse of his apprentices as they spin through the crowds shouting things he can’t hear, but though he keeps a hopeful eye out, not once does he see you until—

Someone taps his shoulder, and he spins around to see a very familiar face.

“Your—” Just in time, he sees the finger you have on your lips and cuts himself off before revealing your location to everyone in his vicinity.

“Sorry,” you say, smiling sheepishly. “I snuck away, I don’t want to be found out so quickly.”

You’ve changed out of the filmy white robes you danced in. You still wear white, just like the rest of the crowd, but your clothes are certainly sturdier and more serviceable than your dance garments were. Even then, though, your beauty still shines beneath the moon, and Chan has to remind himself to breathe.

“You were beautiful,” he says, all in a rush. Then he blushes. “I mean—you’re always beautiful.” His blush deepens as you giggle behind a hand. “But your performance…it was beyond words.”

“Thank you, Chan,” you reply sincerely, eyes shining. “I’m glad you were there to see it.”

“How did you feel about it?” he asks. “Were you happy?”

You nod immediately. “I think it was probably the best I’ve ever danced in my life,” you laugh, pulling him clear of someone whirling past. “I was nervous, for certain. But I love this piece, and I’ve practiced it so much. I’m very happy with how I did.”

Chan’s heart seems to burst under the brightness of your smile. “I’m incredibly happy you feel that way, Your Highness.”

“Well, I must thank you for it, too.” You hike up your skirts slightly, waggling a very familiar pair of slippers at him—white satin embroidered with gold accents, every stitch done by his own fingers. “Your shoes are incredibly comfortable, Chan. And so beautiful. I say this all the time, but I almost feel bad dancing in them, they’re such works of art.”

“Well, that is what they are made for.” Your smile gives Chan the courage to continue. “And I will always be happy to make you more, whenever you’ve worn a pair out.”

You look truly moved, your smile growing softer, shyer under the pale light of the moon. Chan himself can feel the redness of his cheeks creeping up his ears. You reach out and take his hands. “Thank you, Chan. I hope this does not come across as…too much, but you are very precious to me.” Your voice takes on a serious note that wasn’t there before, but your eyes shine brighter. “Not just your shoes. You are a wonderful person, and I am happy to have known you, even for the brief duration of our lives.”

Chan’s heart thuds in his chest, his ears echoing with your words. “You—you are very precious to me too, Your Highness,” he gets out, voice trembling. “I will forever be endlessly grateful that we have met.”

For a moment, you only stand, staring into each other’s eyes. Chan forces himself to breathe, to take in the moment—he will never be as close to you again as he is now.

“I do recall asking that you save me a dance,” you finally say, eyes sparkling. Chan’s heart leaps as you continue. “Do you have the time to indulge me, just this once?”

“Of course,” he breathes, squeezing your hand lightly. “Your Highness.”

He doesn’t say the words that ached to come after, though.

For you—I have all the time in the world.

. . . . .

In the end, you’re not sure how long you dance with Chan. It started as one dance, but even when the crowd separated the two of you, sending you off to other partners as the crowd laughed and cheered and spun, you always came back together, over and over again, like…

Like it was meant to be.

A sudden ache races through your heart, and in response, you hold Chan tighter. Not enough to hurt, hopefully not enough for him to even notice. Because as right as this feels, as right as you know this is, so many others would tell you in a heartbeat that this is not your place—would even go so far as to physically pull the two of you apart, if they could.

You love Chan. Have known it for a long time, actually, ever since the day you watched him place Yuna’s first pair of slippers on her feet with the softest smile on his face and every confusing feeling you’d been trying to figure out hit you with the force of a thousand suns. It’s been years since then and the love you have for him has never lessened, only grown.

And, you’re almost sure, it wouldn’t be a stretch to believe that Chan loves you too.

Which makes it all the worse. Because if this was one-sided, at least you could comfort yourself with the cold knowledge that you’d be the only one suffering in this love that no one would accept. But if Chan loves you too, then what is this, this something-but-nothing that the two of you have now? Something that won’t just hurt you, but will also hurt him. The best thing you could do would be to end things cleanly on your end, and pray Chan will move on.

Only you can’t. Selfishness, you suppose. The knowledge of how it feels to have Chan’s arms wrapped around you like this only makes it harder—safe, warm, peaceful, even in this chaos of dancers under the full moon. Even this simple frame for partner dancing, closer than you’ve ever dreamed but still leaving some distance that closes every so often as he pulls you out of reach of another laughing couple, is enough to make you feel lightheaded. You’re in too deep. You couldn’t try to drag yourself out of this if you tried.

This is the closest you’ve ever been to Chan, wrapped in each other’s arms as you spin about the roads in front of the palace, cheeks warm with sweat and laughter. Perhaps only your oldest sisters and Chaeyoung know how much courage it took for you to ask him for a dance, how nervous you were for this one little tryst to work out—but it was worth it. Because this is likely the closest you’ll ever be. The closest you’ll ever allow yourself to be.

You’ll never tell him how you feel, after all. Even if you know, and he knows, and everyone knows. Because even though it’s meant to be, it isn’t. And that hurts.

Chan seems to be oblivious to your thoughts as the music begins winding to a close, which you’re forever grateful for as you smile at him. His dark curls stick to his forehead with sweat. His eyes shine almost brighter than the moon itself.

Dancing stars, you love him. You love this gentle man who holds you with so much care, who looks at you like you hung the full moon in the sky. You love him so much.

“Your Highness?”

You blink at Chan, whose expression has turned worried. Damn. You let yourself slip. “Are you tired?” he asks, already guiding you to the edge of the fray, away from the brunt of the music and noise. “I’m sorry, I lost track of time. You must need to return soon.”

“No, I—it’s all right.” You try to cheer up, but reviving your fallen smile proves harder than you thought it would. Fumbling for an excuse that isn’t I was thinking about our hopeless love story and made myself upset, you say, “It’s…a lot of things. With the festival.”

Chan’s eyes narrow slightly. “Was it…”

Your heart drops in your chest, and suddenly all the previous lightheartedness of the night has gone, replaced by a curtain of dread. “Kereseia,” you finish quietly.

A short silence punctuates the air between you two. In the whirl of your performance, the final day of celebration, and the ecstasy of dancing in Chan’s arms for the first time in your life, you’d forgotten about the problems that sprouted in your life, fully formed, just a week ago.

The hand holding yours tightens its grip. You welcome the added pressure, squeezing harder as you try to ground yourself against the anxiety beginning to seep back into your chest. “So it’s true,” Chan says lowly, his eyes turning dark. “They’re here.”

You nod slightly. It’s not surprising that he’s heard something already. Rumors spread quickly, and it would only take one whisper about a kingdom as notorious as Kereseia to spark a wildfire. Really, you wish that was it. That it was just a strange delegation from a kingdom never before seen, come to demand that you include them in your celebrations once more.

But the king. He…

“Your Highness!”

Your eyes snap open. You hadn’t realized you even closed them. Chan is gripping your arms now, almost like he’s holding you upright, and you realize you must have been falling, and he caught you.

“I’m sorry,” you manage, trying to breathe. After the first gasp, breath comes more easily. “I just—this week has been—I love the festival, and I love planning it, but—”

Against your will, unwanted memories of the past week come flashing into your mind. The first time you spoke with the Kereseian king, when he interrupted the opening ceremony for nobility with his grand entrance. Those many times—too many to be coincidence—when you ran into him in the hallways and he begged so graciously for a moment of your time, only for you to feel dirty all over after he spoke to you, his eyes wandering over your figure all the while. When you were trying to speak with your sister and he suddenly appeared, somehow snatched you away, and by the time you realized he was holding your wrist it already felt like snakes had been wiggling up your arm.

“He’s terrible,” you whisper.

Chan sucks in a breath and immediately you regret speaking. “Who?” he asks, voice quiet. Dangerous, maybe. “The Kereseian king?”

Well, there’s no denying it now. Even if you tried, he would know, anyway. “Yes,” you reply miserably.

Chan’s eyes, worried and concerned, despite their hardness. Nothing like the sickly sweet, oily looks the Kereseian king had for you every time you spoke. “What did he do?”

“Nothing.” Yet. You pray Chan didn’t hear the word you left out, though something tells you he did. “It’s just—the circumstances surrounding their visit. My father won’t tell me anything.” Not for lack of trying, too. You stormed into his office the minute you had time, seething with embarrassment at having to take responsibility for the whole mess of “missing” the invites for the Kereseian delegation, and beyond his trite apology for not telling you earlier, you couldn’t get a word out of him beyond it will be cleared up soon and don’t anger them.

You’ve seen him four times since then. Each time, though you tried, he wouldn’t tell you a thing.

“It’s nothing, Chan,” you say again, as though repeating it will make it true. You attempt a smile. “Really. The festival will soon be over, and this Kereseian business will…go away.” Hopefully. Chan doesn’t look convinced, so you curve your lips wider even though you know this smile is far from reaching your eyes. You try for a joke. “At least, it won’t be my problem to deal with. It’ll be my father’s.”

Chan looks at you closely, and in that moment, you want nothing more than to sink into his arms and cry and tell him everything. Instead, though, you bolster that smile, and though by the end you’re sure Chan hasn’t been convinced of anything, he doesn’t continue to pry. “All right,” he says, worry still on his face, but the concern melting into a small smile instead. “But in any case, it’s late. Maybe—”

“Maybe, Your Highness, it’s time for you to return.”

. . .

For a moment, you think that this is just a bad dream. That you’ll pinch yourself and wake up, and when you do you’ll be back in bed. Safe. Away from the voice.

But you slowly turn around, coming face to face with the Kereseian king himself.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

“Your Highness.” He tilts his head in what looks like an attempt at respect, the little smirk that makes your skin crawl never leaving his handsome face. “Your family is looking for you.”

“Your Majesty.” You take a small step in front of Chan, who seems to be frozen to the spot, and give a slight curtsy. “My sisters knew where I was. Did they send you?”

There’s no way they did.

“Not exactly.” His smile widens. “I heard your father ask where you were, and volunteered my services to find you.”

Behind you, Chan shifts. You raise a foot beneath your skirts and step slightly on his toes. He’s smart. He’ll understand that that means please don’t get involved.

“Who’s this?” The king peers past you and you actually feel your throat close up. Not Chan, not Chan, not Chan! “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“I don’t believe we have either,” Chan replies, voice polite but cold. You’ve heard that tone before. It usually comes out when one of the more aloof nobles doesn’t plan to give him the time of day or the proper respect due to a human being. “Your Majesty…?”

For all the situation, Chan’s blatantly fake confusion almost makes you want to laugh. “Chan, allow me to introduce His Majesty, the king of Kereseia.” You realize then that you don’t know the king’s name and that almost makes you laugh for real, especially as Chan dips into a stiff bow that looks anything but natural. “Your Majesty, my good friend, Chan.”

“Your good friend,” the king repeats, slowly, like he’s testing out those words on his tongue. You can almost feel Chan stiffen next to you, and you pray you won’t have to step on his foot again to keep him from trying to interject. “Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Chan. I do have a duty to escort Her Highness back to her family, however, so I fear we must part.”

“Do not worry,” you reply quickly, as smoothly as you can before Chan can retort. “I was going to return soon, anyway. Please, Chan, have fun at the festival.” Your smile turns real, if only for a moment, as you meet his gaze. “It’s the final night. You should enjoy it.”

Chan’s eyes flicker to the side, where you know the Kereseian king stands. “So should you.”

“And I did, thanks to you.” You take his hand, squeeze it for a minute—far longer than you should, with the king’s gaze boring into your shoulder, but you ignore it until you have to let Chan go. “I will be all right,” you add in a whisper that hopefully only he can hear. “Really.”

He doesn’t look happy. His lips press together almost into a line, his eyes dark and serious like you’ve never seen before. But he must sense it when you want this to end, so he only nods, curves his lips slightly, and bows. “In that case, have a good night, Your Highness.” When he rises, his smile is wider. “I had a wonderful time.” With that, Chan disappears into the crowd, leaving you with a man you don’t trust at all.

Without another word, you turn back towards the palace and begin walking. If it’s a little quicker than your usual pace, you try not to let that on.

Unfortunately, the king keeps up. “I didn’t know that princesses of Terpsichani were allowed dalliances outside of nobility.”

You laugh a little, trying not to let the edge in your voice sound. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, you’ve only been here a week. There is a lot of you don’t know about us.” Annoyance creeps into your tone, despite your efforts to keep it out. “And Chan isn’t a dalliance.”

“Well, he seems quite taken with you.”

Anger fizzles in your chest, threatening to spill into your words. “We’re friends,” is all you say.

“Good, then.”

Frowning, you turn toward him. “Good?”

“I wanted to ask you something.” The king’s eyes seem to glow under the moonlight, pulsing pools of shadow. You almost fear drowning in them. “Do you know why I have come here, to your kingdom?”

Nothing about this feels right. “I was under the impression it was for the Moonlight Festival, Your Majesty.” You turn to continue on to the palace, but his cold hand catches your wrist. Pulls you back.

“So your father really told you nothing,” he murmurs, almost as though to himself. Before you can digest that, though, he continues. “It was for the festival, Your Highness. Partially. But that was not the promise your father gave me, you know.” His lips curve and you can only think of the cruel blade of a knife, silver under the moonlight before it sinks into your flesh. “He promised me you.”

He promised me you.

“…What?”

“He promised your mother, first.” The king laughs as though you aren’t reeling, about to fall if not for his wrist still grasping yours. “And to my father, not to me. But the poor woman was so sickly after your birth, and ill. My father wouldn’t want a weak woman to bear his own child.” He peers into your eyes and you can do nothing to pull away. “This my father said, and so yours bargained a second time. One of his daughters for my father’s son.” White teeth glint as he grins. “Me.”

Disgust roils in your stomach and gives you the courage to speak. “But why?” you cry out. “Why would my father make such a bargain in the first place?”

“Don’t you know how much trouble your father and mother had, conceiving you?” He smirks. “I suppose, at some point, your father had to take matters into his own hands. And my own father wasn’t going to say no to a princess with magic as strong as yours.”

Your throat feels like it’s closing up. In a horrible way, it makes sense—you know your mother had trouble with your birth and had always wanted more children even after you were born, which is why she adopted your sisters before she died—but this can’t be true. It can’t be. “I don’t believe you,” you snap, ripping your arm out of his. “I don’t believe you!”

“It doesn’t matter whether or not you believe me.” Suddenly he has both of your wrists clamped between his fingers, his skin seeping cold into yours. “I will have you, a darling queen to dance with me and entertain my court day and night, and you will have my child. And with your blood, that child will be able to walk in the sun, as so many of us Kereseians cannot.”

Vaguely, you realize you’ve never seen one of the Kereseian delegation under daylight—always in a room with no windows during the day, or milling about at night. You didn’t know they couldn’t walk in the sunlight.

You’re learning so much tonight, and none of it is good.

“So we can do this one of two ways.” His face is so close to yours, so handsome but so cold and so repulsive when his breath hits your skin. “You can come willingly, and we will announce our engagement tonight to your father. It will be wonderful news to crown the final night of the Moonlight Festival, will it not? Our marriage two weeks from now on the new moon, as befits Kereseian royalty.”

A shaky breath leaves your lips. Engagement. As if—as if you would ever—

“Over my dead body,” you snap.

The king isn’t even fazed. “I thought you might say that,” he says with flippant ease, though if you didn’t know better you’d think you heard a ripple of a snarl in his tone. “But think wisely, Your Highness. Your father signed a contract with our kingdom of hell. We did not coerce him. He came to us. We delivered on our end, and now he must deliver on his.” He laughs. “Will you try to resist fate?”

Despair claws its way into your heart, ripping open your throat as you try to think. Try to speak. Your head is spinning and everything is wrong—your father, who you trusted, your mother, who is dead—

Against your will you wish you had never told Chan to leave. That he was still here with you. That you could draw from his strength in this moment where you feel so powerless. But he shouldn’t be caught in this, though. You’d never want him injured. Never want him hurt.

Not in the way you’re sure the Kereseian king could manage.

His memory lends you courage, though. Fate. This is no fate—it will not be your fate. You will not go willingly into the kingdom of hell, and you will not sign your life quietly away to this monster who dares claim you so.

“Over. My. Dead. Body.”

The king’s eyes darken. “Very well, then,” he says, and just for a second his grip loosens. You try to snatch the moment to break free but then it tightens and you gasp against the pain as he brings you even closer. “I should make this clear now, though, Your Highness.”

Flames whirl up from the ground. Heat flares at your skin. And then you’re falling, falling, falling into the earth and the blistering wind is tearing your body apart piece by piece and there’s a horrible noise in your ears that you have a terrible suspicion is your own scream—

Your feet slam into a hard floor. You nearly buckle where you stand, knees shaking, only held up by the painful grip the king still has on your hands. Everything around you is dark, lit up by strange, curling flames, and it is cold. So cold.

He smiles down at you now. Knife blades. Weapons to kill you as his mouth comes closer to whisper in your ear.

“You don’t have a choice."

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

#HI HELLO i'll be randomly reading these parts when i have time so im SORRY LINA !!! but i am here now #my knowledge of the 12 dancing princesses is very minimal btw so be warned i couldve missed a detail or a reference 😭😭#ANYWAY the beginning of this WAS SO CUTEGFHSDJFSDHFJSDF #LOOK AT THEM CRUSHING OVER ONE ANOTHER NOOO IM WEAK HEARTED OKAY #like actually their dynamic their relationship was SO CUTE its like im the one w a crush w the way im gushing over it #and i love the banter w chaeryeong and jisung teasing mc and chan #AND DUDE I FELT ITTTT I KNEW !!!! when the father started acting suspicious my marriage radar went off #KNEW SOMETHING WAS UP I COULD TELL and then when the hell kingdom people showed up i was like 🤨📝 aha mhm exactly #esp w the way that gross king was behaving he was def up to no good #AND WHATS W THE DAD ???? GET REMOVED #but yes anyway i love how you set this whole thing up im genuinely so so excited to resume reading the rest #as usual your writing is phenomenal lina and i missed it <33 #loved the way you described their emotions and the CONFLICT like theyre both upset by the fact that the other probs reciprocates and ;-;-;#⚠ hold on dont step on the shattered pieces of my heart fr ⚠#i just think its very interesting and cant wait to see how it all unfolds #ALSO YEAH I FORGOT BUT WHAT DID THE CRUSTY KING DO TO MC #the way u described him btw made me genuinely creeped out like EWEWEGEHGWJHEW jail !!! (to him)#he better not do anything istg 🤨 creep #furat's little library

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 6 months ago

Note

Ooo you’re doing Pressure!!

May I request an artist reader who, throughout the journey found some paper, pencil and made a little makeshift sketchbook and when later bought Sebastian’s document decided to try and draw him? Like maybe both when human and current (and maybe the monsters)?

Perhaps he saw them sketching, got curious and decided to look through it when reader left it somewhere or just straight up snatched it and held it out of their reach and sees those sketches of him. Could be hurt/comfort or angst/fluff.

Of course you’re free to change any of the details but please keep it platonic TwT

Aw love this idea! And it works considering all the paper and notebooks in the drawers of the blacksite.

............

"Great, [y/n]. One moment, you're doing some harmless graffiti on a brick wall nobody cares about. And the next, you're risking your life for a stupid crystal in hopes you'll get a federal pardon.."

Sighing, you held onto the overhead handles within the sleek black submarine, feeling it shake and rumble as it breached the water's surface. And after hearing the chime, the door hissed and opened up, the platform extending out onto the dock of a place already familiar to you: Hadal Blacksite.

'No place like home..' As you stepped out of the submarine, you could hear HQ over the PDA system informing you of your objective in reaching the crystal and collecting any "loose assets" you find along the way...

As if you needed any reminders of what you were doing here.

Immediately, you unlocked the first door with the keycard and began your journey to room 100. Along the way, you found a good handful of research data. Nothing too special aside from folders, USB drives, and a couple blue DNA vials.

Then after narrowly dodging the Angler in one area and avoiding Eyefestation's gaze in the next, you reached a room requiring yet another keycard to exit. You checked the nearby office cubicle, finding it in the first drawer you opened.

But that isn't what made your eyes light up. Rather, it's what was right next to the card that did:

A brand new pencil to go with the sketchbook you've been carrying with you.

Because you weren't given the luxury of doodling while sitting in jail for over 90 days, you felt your creativity flames being snuffed out, leaving you itching to draw something again.

Before all of this, you had a decent following on social media with your art skills, and you could imagine that they're worried sick over your sudden absence. But you hoped that, if you survive and succeed in this mission, you'll be able to come back and reassure them that you're very much alive.

And perhaps show them what Urbanshade has been hiding from the public...that is to say the sea monsters that have taken up residence in the Blacksite since its lockdown, freely roaming and haunting nearly every room you step into.

With the makeshift sketchbook you had (and somehow kept even after death), you've filled its pages with simple and detailed sketches of each creature you encountered.

But you doubt that they would let you leave with physical evidence of entities nobody else in the world should know about...unless you somehow convinced the guards that they were "original characters" that so-happened to look like them, but you had a feeling that excuse wouldn't fly.

Regardless, they've given you tons of artistic inspiration, despite your many close-calls with them in pursuit of studying their features from afar.

Thanks to the files Sebastian Solace has shown you, you've learned how to safely observe the Angler from a distance and better remember their details. They were merely a grotesque face surrounded by smoke, so you didn't have to worry about drawing any limbs or tails (assuming they had those).

You encountered their variants so many times that you could recall the little things that made each them unique--like how Pinkie had four pupils, how Blitz was missing pupils in one socket completely, how Froger was..well..a big frog with lots of needle-shaped teeth, and Chainsmoker was a sluggish blobfish through all that smoke.

Making eye contact with Pandemonium was a death sentence..as you've already learned after trying (and failing) to safely observe him through a glass window. So you draw him as you see him in his file.

The Squiddles' "intimidating" faces were scary in the dark when you least expected them, but they served as amazing inspiration. You even had a page full of what faces you'd think they make up to frighten others. It's too bad you couldn't show them, however, as that required you getting in their personal space.

Eyefestation, Good People, and the Wall Dwellers were quite..risky to observe, as they had ways of quickly and painfully sending you back to square one if you weren't careful. Even so, you made some pretty damn good sketches..and you wish you could show them off to them, too, especially to the shark who'd probably appreciate a human's drawing of herself.

Even the DiVine, who were always frozen in poses for some reason, joined your ever-growing list of muses. The oxygen gardens were a nice place for you to rest and appreciate the flora for a few moments--before an Angler came along, of course.

Then there was Sebastian.

While he was fully aware of your artistic passions, in the beginning he seemed a bit annoyed whenever you came into his shop just to sketch.....or if you took an unusually long time to reach him. He just assumes you've stopped to "doodle" and wonders if you really care about getting out of this place alive.

He'd remind you that HQ could get suspicious if you're off their radar for too long, but you've stayed in his shop for 10-20 minutes at a time and not once did your diving gear beep. So you reassured him not to fret.

It was kinda sweet that he worried over you, an expendable, although maybe that's because you actually treat him with decency..and don't take his snarky comments to heart whenever you died.

Aside from the occasional eyeroll whenever you brought out your sketchbook, he did inquire about some of the things you've drawn, and you'd show him, bearing a little pride in your work.

All you'd get in response was a "neato" or "wowie, that's how you see them?" and nothing more.

It wasn't insulting, so...you'll take that.

Obviously he was more concerned about how much research data you were willing to fork over in exchange for supplies, and how far that equipment will carry you before your next demise. So you'd eventually close the book and barter with him for whatever wares were on his tail.

Unbeknownst to him, you've actually started sketching him as of late. Now that you've met him dozens of times, it was easy for you to recall his features without needing to stare at him for reference every five seconds.

That would not only be rude, but very creepy.

Then one day, you showed up to Sebastian's shop with enough data to be able to afford his document, which described him as Z-13, "The Saboteur" who the company wanted "dead on sight" if he was spotted or trying to escape.

When you had time to read the file on your own, you learned some..pretty shocking things about how he caused the lockdown, went through torturous experiments, and was falsely accused of nine murders and was proven innocent far too late.

The most upsetting part was that he was never informed of this.

He learned that after presumably stealing his own document.

It made you feel sick to your stomach, knowing he's the reason you're being terrorized by those beasts, but you couldn't find it in your heart to be angry at him.

If anything you were angry at Urbanshade for their "guilty until proven innocent" system--or in his case, being proven innocent didn't matter.

His human mugshot was also included in the file, and even with the black censor bar covering his eyes, he still looked like quite a handsome fellow. You could make out some details, and ended up drawing him on a separate page, too, although part of you wishes you never started.

You doubt he would kill you or rip apart your book for drawing him, but considering how volatile and rude he could be at a moment's notice..you did your best to conceal the sketches when you visited his shop.

You didn't want him to be offended or reminded of his past..and make him resent the one person who he almost considered a genuine friend.

Unfortunately, you'd soon come to realize that your actions were only heightening his suspicions.

And that it was going to come to a head next time you entered his shop.

...............

"Okay, I'm going to bite...what're you really hiding in that little book?"

"Pardon?" Pausing mid-sketch, you looked up at Sebastian, wondering why he appeared so disgruntled. "I'm..uh...just doodling like I always-"

"No, don't give me that "like always" crap." He huffed, flicking the end of his tail as he crossed his two arms over his chest, staring down at you. "Last time, you couldn't stop showing me a stupid face you'd think one of those S-Qs would make...and now you won't even let me have a sneak peak of your next "masterpiece"." He spat the last word, voice dripping with disdain. "Are you really drawing something...or are you secretly writing intel to give to Urbanshade?"

"...wha.." You blinked in disbelief, wondering where he'd get that assumption from. "Why would I ever do that?"

"Oh I dunno, maaaybe because you have access to my file and know my location? I bet you're gonna sell me out to those scumbags once you reach the crystal." He gnashed his teeth. "Did they say you'd get extra cash for leaving tips on my whereabouts, huh?"

"Sebastian, there's no reason for this hostility. I'm not giving any intel to anyone-"

"Then you wouldn't mind me taking a look at this, would you? Yyyyyyoink!" His third arm was quick to snatch your sketchbook away, holding it out of your reach as you jumped up in panic.

You were already dreading his reaction.

This could very well be the end for you.

"Please give that back! You'll tear it!"

"You look frightened. So maybe I should, considering you're writing secrets about.....about...." But as Sebastian finally looked at the page, all he saw were sketches of his current self, and you began to see a shift in his expression.

It went from pure anger, to surprise and confusion, and then to....something unreadable.

"These are...all of me?" His voice became quieter as he flipped the page, only for his breath to hitch upon finding the drawings of his human form.

And for once, he was completely speechless.

The details were immaculate, everything from his hair style to the scar he used to have across his face--given to him from an angry cellmate who thought he really did kill those people and tried giving him a "taste of his own medicine".

But the way you made him look was...incredible.

That's him.

That's really him.

The man--the human--he was before...

Before...

"Yes." Your face was burning with embarrassment, and your heart was pounding with fear of both death and ridicule, now knowing that your fate laid in his hands now. "I-I'm sorry. I should've asked for your permission and I know the details aren't perfect but you didn't let me........huh?"

Ceasing your ramblings, you noticed the tears welling in his eyes, and you were stunned. Then his shaking hands closed the sketchbook and returned it to you. "Um..are you okay? I'm really sorry if-"

"I...a-almost forgot what I looked like before all of this.." He raised a claw to wipe at his watery eyes, sniffling. "They're...good drawings, friend. I'm sorry..I...I-I didn't mean to..." His voice cracked, and he forced himself to stop, bringing his hands to his face. "Why am I crying over something like..t-this..?"

He hated looking so weak in front of you, yet he couldn't help the tears that kept slipping down his cheeks. A certain sadness was weighing heavily on his heart, yet at the same time he felt...honored that you wanted to draw him, putting your heart and soul into every sketch--with him getting the most effort.

You didn't overexaggerate him as the hideous beast he and everyone else was convinced he was, but just him as, well, himself. His smiles when he realizes it's you coming through the vent again, his cheeky grins when you buy up all his supplies, and even the one time he pouted when you died to Pandemonium because you risked it all trying to draw the moldy fish-creature.

The human ones, as you could tell from the way he broke down, especially hit home for him. Just from a mugshot alone, you were able to create a near-accurate depiction of him.

It made him wonder if you two have met before any of this happened.

Sebastian sniffled, struggling to stop the tears and expecting you to make fun of him as he finally uncovered his face. But instead he saw you standing there with your arms opened up. "I feel like you could use one of these. It's okay. I know you miss being human."

".........."

"C'mon, big guy. My arms are kinda hurting--oh!"

Without warning, he accepted your embrace and squeezed you tightly in his hold. Of course he was careful not to crush your diving tanks, and you smiled in appreciation and patted his back. "It's okay, it's alright..I got you. I didn't mean to make you cry."

He sniffled a few times, but otherwise said nothing and tried making sure you weren't supporting all of his upper body weight.

Curse his size. He wishes he could experience a normal hug again.

This one will do, though.

"I-It's...it's fine. Don't worry.." He finally spoke after a few moments, calming down. "As long as you don't tell anyone about this."

"I'll take it to my grave." You chuckled, letting go and stepping away so he could straighten his back out. While he did that, you gently tore a few pages from your book, to which he blinked in confusion.

"What are you doing with-?"

"Keep them." You insisted. "In case this sketchbook falls into a pit or gets waterlogged, I want you to hold onto these. Besides, I can tell you appreciate them a lot. So...consider it a gift."

"Why..thank you." A smile appeared on his face as he took the pages carefully. "Rest assured, they'll be safe and sound." He gazed at them both one more time, feeling a tug on his heart.

But it wasn't as heavy as before.

After neatly folding and stowing them away into his pockets, he saw you already sitting in one of the chairs, your sketchbook opened to a brand new blank page.

"Sooooooo what are you going to draw this time?" He tilted his head, ear fins twitching with curiosity.

"Hm...I did see a vision of a white glowing man a few rooms back. I think he was from...the Mindscape? There was a file talking about him and some floating gears and a white ball."

"Ohh yeah, he's an interesting guy. I'd love to see your interpretation of him." Now Sebastian was 100% invested, as he curled his tail around himself, resting his upper body on it so he could see your book better. "But y'know you won't be able to leave this place with sketches of-"

"I'm well aware of that...I could always change a few things and turn them into OCs."

"Hah. You should."

"Maybe I will." You snickered, grateful that you didn't have anything to fear.

At least somebody in the Blacksite appreciated your art.

#this one was fun to write <3 #clanask #anonymous #roblox x reader #roblox pressure x reader #pressure x reader #sebastian solace #sebastian solace x reader #hurt/comfort #artist reader #fluff/angst

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rafesproperty · 7 months ago

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Rafe Cameron x Reader smut

Family dinner with the Camerons sucks… he needs to take his frustration out somehow. Luckily his pretty girl is right there.

Warnings: Ward Cameron ewww, fingering, dirty talk

Very ashamed to admit I thought of this when I was in a car with my family 😔

» masterlist

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

You were actually pretty excited for this. Not particularly excited to see Ward or Rose. But Sarah was okay and Wheezie was amazing. Plus a dinner with the Camerons meant dressing up nicely, taking time to do your makeup, making sure your hair looked perfect, wearing a silver necklace with Rafes initial that he got for you. You felt good about yourself.

It also meant your boyfriend was gonna dress up. Wear a nice black shirt, wear his expensive rings, he’d smell so damn good. God you couldn’t wait for him to pick you up.

Rafe was almost at your house. He always tip-toed around the idea whether to invite you to their family dinners or not. Because… what if you wouldn’t like it? What if dragging you into their family business hurt you in some kind of way? What if it revealed to you what kind of a person he really is? That one scared him the most. But the image of you beside him kinda drew every worry away.

All of the remaining worries disappeared once you opened your door for him and flashed him a smile, hugging him tightly without even giving him a chance to take a proper look at you. “Hey there beautiful, hey let me get a look at you,” he mumbled and pulled away, his eyes scanning your figure head to toe.

You looked so fucking hot to him. In that figure hugging black dress with your hair up, revealing your pretty neck and the necklace that sat there, letting everyone know that you were his.

He gave it to you a while ago when he was just about to pick you up to take you to dinner. Rafe pulled up and saw you through your window, pacing around in excitement, checking if you have everything and debating over something with yourself. He just sat there for a minute, just eyes on you you, admiring you in peace (he didn’t feel at peace often… but always with you). Your own eyes looked out the window and you smiled at him.

He was at your door immediately, “Hi,” you threw your arms around his neck, pulling him close to you.

“Hey,” he murmured and burried his nose into your hair and neck as you leaned into him. “You smell so good,” he whispered, squeezing you tightly. “‘That what you were debatin’ about in the window? My, my…”

You chuckled and he got enamoured by that sound instantly, he allowed you to drag him inside, his lips softly kissing your neck the second he closed the door of your room, and while he was at it, he searched for a little fancy bag in his pocket. He gave you a little bite to let you know he really missed you.

You pulled on his hair and he let out a groan, biting right under your ear before he stopped completely. “Close your eyes for me baby.”

You did, all giggly and it made him chuckle as well.

He opened the silk bag and pulled out the thing. It was a bit fancier but honestly he didn’t need an occasion… he just wanted to get it for you. So he did. It was a necklace made from silver and really dark red ruby detailing with the initial “R”.

You opened your eyes and took a look at it, “Oh.” You smiled, showing your teeth, leaning in to kiss him. “Thank you, baby, I love it.”

“I love you,” He returned the quick kiss. It looked so damn good on you. He sighed once he finished putting it on you, admiring you, his fingers roaming your body.

“I love you,” you gasped for air as you felt him squeeze your hips.

“Okay,” he kissed your lips properly this time, “we still have some time,” Rafe mumbled between kisses and gave your lower lip a bite, “God…”

You had to redo your whole makeup that day…

He chuckled when he thought of that memory. Unfortunately he couldn’t afford the luxury of dragging you inside and showing you who you belong to, show you how much he loves you or cover your entire body in markings today. His dad was waiting for him. And Rafe couldn’t let him down.

The drive there was nice, you kept on rambling about your day and Rafe listened and kept playing with the hem of your dress with his free hand. When he tried to go higher you lightly smacked his fingers and he rolled his eyes and just kept massaging your thigh.

“I can’t wait to see Wheezie,” you’d say, and he knew what you were doing, mentioning his little sister on purpose to throw his mind off dirty thoughts about you. It definitely worked. For about a minute.

Ward was waiting for you. He said hi to Rafe and welcomed you with the fakest smile you’ve ever seen. You fake smiled right back at him. Rose never really treated you like someone important enough to even look at, she just considered you Rafes hook up of the month (even tho you’d been together for a while), and said a quick hi and ignored your presence for the rest of the evening. And you were glad she did.

Sarah was nice, smiled at you here and there as you two helped out with decorating the table — Ward insisted that neither of you had to do any work but you both genuinely enjoyed it. She was making small talk, and you knew she didn’t really trust you enough to open up. But she was being polite and she chuckled at your jokes so you appreciated her presence.

Sarah didn’t mind you at all. You were nice to her, funny, and she felt like she often clicked with you right away and like you might even become friends. But you were dating Rafe. So there must’ve been something sketchy about you and she’d rather not know. The idea of anyone finding him appealing genuinely confused the hell out of her.

And then there was Wheezie, running to you the second she saw you (ignoring Wards comments about being polite and not running around the garden), she immediately welcomed you, gave you a colorful bracelet she made and shared her thoughts about the events of a tv show you were both watching.

“And Jimmy cheated on her?! Come on!”

“Oh my God, I know right?! I really felt like he would never…”

Rafe watched you two with softened eyes, the image of you wearing his necklace made his pants feel tight but you laughing with Wheezie while wearing a bracelet she made you made his heart melt. He didn’t even notice Ward tried to call him over. Until he did. He straightened and made his way over to dad, feeling the sudden cold surround him.

“Yeah, dad?” He asked, not missing how irritated Ward was already. Ward explained another guest will be joining today — an important man, potentially a new business partner. He’d join with his two kids as well. Rafe wasn’t happy about it. If he knew it was just going to be a business meeting he wouldn’t have dragged you along.

“Be at your best behavior, son.” Ward said with a cold face and went over to Rose.

Rafe wasn’t very talkative for the rest of the evening. You could tell he wanted to impress his dad. He sat straight, he laughed politely at jokes that were not fucking funny at all, and you could not be more irritated by the kid that sat next to you.

Ward forgot to mention that these two kids were absolute fucking spoiled brats. And they both got a seat next to you. The kid closer to you would constantly hit his spoon, making the food spray everywhere, he’d occasionally kick you under the table, he spilled his drink and a little bit of it got on your dress. The kid sitting next to his brother was not any better, constantly making loud noises. God you were fuming.

Rafe noticed all of it but he was surprisingly better at hiding his anger than you were. He really was so different around his dad. When the kid kicked you again you were ready to throw hands, but Rafe touched your leg under the table and squeezed your thigh firmly, trying to tell you to stay calm. He looked at you with soft, sad eyes and you hated his father so much in that moment.

You locked eyes with him, your anger only getting worse as you raised your eyebrows, clearly irritated and ready to stand up for yourself, but he just kept pleading for you to stay calm with his own eyes so you rolled yours and grabbed his hand with your own, forcing him to squeeze your thigh a lot more. You moved his hand up, and squeezed again, signaling for him to keep it there.

He stopped eating for a second, his body freezing as he did exactly as you asked, grip so firm it’s definitely gonna leave a mark, his cold rings sending shivers through your legs and his fingers dangerously close to your pussy, spreding warmth through your belly. He kept squeezing and massaging, trying to ease your tension.

“… Well, what does your son think about that?” The man suddenly asked and Rafe’s gaze shot up, feeling panic tug at his nerves.

“Um… sorry, could you repeat it?” He asked, Ward was killing him with his eyes, anger and frustration so evident. And Rafe was cursing himself as well. He was listening the whole time, only allowed himself to get distracted for a few seconds. But Ward didn’t know that. Now it looked like Rafe didn’t know how to be professional at all and like he wasn’t paying attention the whole time. It looked bad for business. He embarassed his father and—

You felt his hand loosing it’s grip on your skin, his fingers running cold and begin to shake. You grabbed his big hand into your own, connecting your fingers with his and running soothing circles over his fingers with your thumb.

He was so glad he had you.

Rafe actually gave a thought-out answer, trying to focus on details and benefits of the deal but the man didn’t pay him much mind anymore.

“Hm,” was all he said.

Ward chuckled. “Don’t bother asking him any more questions.”

Rafe was like a statue in these moments. Unreadable, still, and so cold. But you knew him. You saw the way his eyelids became heavy and his eyes empty.

Fuck Ward Cameron.

Fuck that man. And his stupid brats.

The dinner dragged on, you ate some of the food and Rafe did too, but you could tell he didn’t want to eat at all. You kept holding his hand in your lap under the table. His fingers sometimes brushed against the inner side of your thigh again, but his mind was elsewhere.

Everything escalated so quickly when the kid grabbed a piece of meat off his plate and slapped your arm with it. Rafe fucking snapped.

“Hey, dipshit, quit it!” He yelled at the boy, his protectivness over you blinding him.

“Rafe.” Ward warned but that was the fucking line right there.

“Do some stupid shit one more fucking time to her and I—“

“Rafe!”

“— and I swear I’ll—“

“RAFE!” Ward yellet and slammed the table, standing up. “Leave.”

Rafe looked at him, anger seething from him, he was breathing heavily and standing up too. “Seriously?” He spat and you swore you’ve never heard him talk to Ward this way. So angry, so careless what his father’s gonna think. And it was over you. To protect you. Even now he was standing in front of you, shielding you, protecting you from all this bullshit.

“Leave, Rafe, now!”

“Alright!” He grabbed your wrist, dragging you with him, his grip too rough and sharp. You followed, not even getting the chance to thank them for the food but you honestly didn’t know if you’d even manage to say thank you to Ward ever again for anything.

“Rafe—“

“What?!” He snapped at you as well as he led you out of the gate towards his suv. He realised that he was hurting you immediately after and let go of your wrist. “Fuck, sorry.” He said, much softer.

“‘s okay.” You rubbed your hands together.

“I can’t fucking believe this shit,” Rafe mumbled, still seething, his steps so fast you almost couldn’t keep up now that he let go of you.

You knew better than to try to comfort him in this state. It was so easy for you to offer comfort whenever he was sad, you knew your way around his sadness so well by now. But not his anger. He needed space. He needed to groan angrily and hit his steering wheel a few times and then once he stopped breathing so heavily you reached your hand to his, running your fingers over his knuckles.

“Thank you.”

“What?” He mumbled, mind still a bit hazy.

“For standing up for me like that.” He kept quiet and you weren’t sure if it was okay to joke around already but you added that it was really hot anyway.

He chuckled and you grinned as well, getting through to him.

“Whatever, kid.” He mumbled and started the car.

He was tense the whole ride, and you missed when he joked around with you earlier and kept rubbing the hem of your dress between his fingers. You missed his touch as well.

“Rafey.”

“Hm?”

“Hand?” You tried simply, reaching for his hand, leaving it up to him to decide if he wants to give it to you or not right now. He listened immediately, offering it to you, using his other hand to drive.

You smiled and brought his knuckles to your lips, kissing them gently. “What would I do without you?” You mumbled, and kept kissing his hand softly, you felt him tense up and smirked.

“You always protect me so well. Make me feel safe.” You keep going and you know it’s pulling at his heart. That’s all he ever wanted to do, keep his close ones safe. You keep kissing his index finger until you reach it’s tip, gently sucking on it, and biting down.

“Fuck,” Rafe groans and immediately reacts, inserting his middle finger into your mouth as well, pushing down on your tongue, going deeper and then out, and back in. You keep twirling your tongue around his fingers and biting down gently.

He stops at a red light and takes his fingers out of your mouth, you don’t even really have a chance to say anything, he leans over to you and grabs your necklace and pulls you in as if it were a collar. With so much force you’re surprised it doesn’t snap.

“Think you can fucking do that, huh?” He says in a low voice, kissing you rough, his teeth clashing with yours and his tongue exploring your mouth. He tugs at the necklace, pulling you closer, earning a whimper from you.

He keeps kissing you and biting your lower lip until a green light illuminates your face. He pushes you back with force and starts driving again. His hand finds your thigh and he shamelessly squeezes it, making yet another sound escape your lips.

He smirked and ran his middle finger over your already coated panties, rubbing you over the fabric, only making it more and more soaked. “Desperate much?” He mumbled.

You gave a quick nod and rocked your hips against his fingers, wanting more, needing more. “Shit, alright baby, here,” he pulled your panties to the side and brought his fingers to your mouth again.

“Get ‘em nice and wet for me, would you?”

You immediately obliged, taking his fingers in, moaning when he moved them in and out a few times again. Rafe collected your saliva and brought them to your aching pussy, revealed to the night air.

“Words, princess,” he mumbled and kept teasing you with light touches.

“Fuck, Rafe please,” you arched your back, trying to reach his hand with your hips again.

“Words.”

“Fuck me with your fingers, please.”

“Atta girl,” he almost moaned himself, inserting his middle finger in, stretching you out good for him, feeling the slick around him, he pumped in and out of you a few times before adding another finger, making you moan and grip his wrist, making sure his hand would stay there and using it to support yourself as you moved your hips against his hand a few times, desperate.

He ran into another red light and the second the car stopped his lips were swallowing your again, his now free hand gripping your hair, pulling your head back with force, revealing your pretty, pretty neck to him. His long fingers pumped in and out of you quickly, his rings sending cold shivers through your entire body and his teeth now marking your neck, leaving purple bruises.

“Fucking love you, y’know that?” He mumbled and you whimpered a quick mhm, leaving a wet pool on his seats. Rafe groaned when a car honked at him and he had to drive again. He stopped moving his fingers and you desperately moved your hips but he almost pulled them out.

“Nuh-uh, baby. Only on red lights, alright? Be good.”

“No, Rafe, please,” you whined and he pulled his fingers out of you, suddenly leaving you feeling empty.

“What was that?”

“Nothin’,” you mumbled. He smiled and inserted them back into you, but didn’t move. “Good baby. Such a good baby for me, hm?”

“Y-yeah,” you whined, the urge to move against him too strong. He knew that. He felt bad for you so he rubbed his thumb over your clit. Real slow, making you even more desperate.

You saw a red light and your eyes sparkled with excitement but it flashed green right before he stopped the car.

“Fuck,” you whispered and Rafe laughed and fucked you with his fingers for a bit, feeling bad for you. But then he stopped again.

“Rafey I can’t—“

“Shhhh,” he cooed, rubbing your clit with his thumb gently, “you can.”

You kept whining and begging but he didn’t give in until a red light. Finally. You were the one to pull him in this time, biting his lip and kissing him roughly, mixing your salivas and rocking your hips so desperately against his hand. He groaned against your lips, having you so worked up sending shivers through his own body.

“Fuck, like that?” He asked between the messy kisses, hitting a spot he knew all too well, and you closed your eyes and breathed weakly, nodding.

“Words or I’ll stop, princess.”

“Yeah, right there. Shit, fuck— right there Rafey,”

He sped up his movements, fingering you so fast and so deep and so good. A green light illuminated your fucked out face but he didn’t care. There were no other cars on the road and so he just didn’t go.

“Rafey—“ you arched your back, covering his fingers in slick, his rubbing on your clit sending vibrations of pleasure through you.

“Mhm? Gon’ cum for me, princess?” His voice was hoarse, rough, he was breathing just as heavily as you, kissing and biting your neck.

Finally a wave of pleasure ran through you as you reached your climax, shaking from how good it felt. A green light illuminated you again and he wished he could just stay there and stare at you, admire you. But this time he had to go, so he used his free hand to drive again, fingers still inside you until you stopped shaking and throbbing around him.

“There you go,” he chuckled, collecting some of the slick you left on his seat, “made such a mess,” he mumbled and brought his fingers to your lips again. You obediently opened up, licking and sucking and tasting yourself off him so lazily all of a sudden.

“Can’t even clean after yourself, baby,” he scolded you but in reality he didn’t mind at all, collecting the rest and sucking it off his fingers himself, getting drunk from the taste of you.

He kept his hand on your knee for the rest of the ride, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb, knowing you felt sore. You were falling asleep, eyelids heavy and mind foggy. You didn’t even notice it when the car stopped. Rafe got out of the car and walked over to your side.

“C’me here,” he mumbled and picked you up, carrying you, “let’s get you to bed, alright?” He whispered and you mumbled a quiet mhm, clinging to him.

At this point he forgot about the disaster at the dinner, his mind focusing on you only.

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nayaesworld · 29 days ago

Text

My favorite Dork

A/N: something short because this idea was stuck in my head for a complete week straight 😭..I hope yall enjoy🤭

“You’re such a dork!”

“Mmcht..you said you liked it when I explained these things to you?” Terry turned and laid between your legs with his back turned to you as you stroked the short curls on his head. You loved listening to him blab to his heart's content about his favorite nerdy shows and topics. It made your coochie drip like a faucet when his sea green eyes lit up and that boyish grin found his face, it was so sexy and you had it all to yourself.

“I do, you're MY nerd. And if you said Eren Yeager had a right to let all those people die…I believe you bubby.” Terry had been hell bent on explaining Attack on Titans from beginning to end, making sure you understood every detail minor and large. He had a cute obsession with the show and the shelves in his room were lined with figurines, his closet had hoodies with his other favorite animes on them, and his watchlist on his tv was filled with new and old shows.

“All you gotta understand is that Eren is that nigga, and he was destined for this shit…end of story.” His voice elevated with excitement and his shirtless body was warm against your legs. You tapped his shoulder signaling him to lean up. Your sticky arousal was becoming uncomfortable in your panties and you needed to catch your breath to try and settle your horny thoughts.

“I need to go to the restroom bubby I’ll be right back.” You stood up from the bed pulling the pink sleep romper from between your heavy cheeks. A heavy smack on your right cheek had you spinning around quickly to face your best friend, a silly smirk on his mischievous face.

“I don't know why you walk around in this…why are you tempting me when you know you can’t handle this dick?” A tiny gasp left your mouth and your mouth sat open for a while thinking of a comeback.

“Me tempting you, Terry you tempt me often trust me…plus it’s not that I couldn’t handle it, you’re just so big. I’ve never tried to take anything that big before and I’ll admit I chickened out so what.” You rolled your chocolate eyes at him and crossed your arms. You were more than down for the dick at the time but seeing it and taking it was two complete different things.

“You know I had to jerk off to your panties that night…I was so horny that night when you left. And your panties were still so soaked I-I couldn’t let all that juice go to waste so I used it.” Your head was spinning at this point and you could barely stare him in his face after his confession.

His tall body sat on the edge of the bed, bulky arms reaching for her waist and pulling her into his open legs.

“Remember those FaceTime calls we used to do..I miss those, I wish we never stopped them.” You sighed and looked down at him. When the two of you were separate from each other masturbating on FaceTime was the go to…you’d get all wet and leak all over your bed from his deep velvet voice and moans.

“Terry I was in a relationship at the time, that’s why we stopped them… I thought he was a good guy and I didn’t want to risk what we were building.” He snorted at that and rubbed along the backside of her thighs.

“Yeah and that ended with me whooping his ass…y/n you’ll always have me I need you to understand that. I'm not going anywhere until you tell me to.”

“And I’ll always thank you for beating his ass, he was a dick and you protected me regardless of how you felt about our relationship..I love you bubby.” You leaned down to trail kisses across his face trailing them eagerly to his ear.

“When you nerd out and get all excited it makes me so wet. Do you know how many nights I had to go home and stuff my pussy because of you..and you were just so oblivious to it all, how I’d encourage you to keep talking.”

“All these years I’ve been sitting here yapping and you were turned on by it…you’re a tease you know that right?”

“It was my dirty little secret..it was innocent on your end but I was just being a freak. I wanna try something new, if you’re up for it.” His pretty green eyes held hers in a suspicious glare.

“What you trying to get into peaches?” Oh he was not playing fair.

“Oh now I’m peaches again, boy you are so sneaky. Now listen up..I’ve always had this fantasy I wanted to act out with you. I always wanted to jerk off a nerd and listen to him blab about his interests, I’ve wanted that nerd to be you for a long time.”

“You know you my peaches when you get nasty, and I’ll fulfill whatever fantasy you want…there’s lube in my top drawer.” You shook with excitement and bounded to his sleek black dresser to retrieve the bottle of pineapple flavored lube.

Your hands worked to unbutton the top of your romper. Double D titties bouncing as you positioned yourself on your knees in front of Terry to give him a perfect view of your plentiful breast. Your hands ran over his black netted basketball shorts, his heavy bulge making a tent in them. Eager to get your hands on the monster you motioned for him to pull them down just enough for you to work your magic. Your heavy breast kept him occupied as you squeezed a hefty amount of lube into your hands.

“Is there something new that you’ve been interested in bubby?” Your hands saturated his shaft in the flavored lube as you stared up at him expectantly.

His fingers twirled a taut nipple before he answered. “Mhmh…a show on Netflix based on a book I read. It-It’s about a mutant’s journey to protect his child surprise…fuck squeeze my tip. Yesss.” One hand sat firmly at his base, the other tightly wrapped around the leaking head.

“I like how you’re two different colors…prettiest dick I’ve ever seen. Keep talking, I wanna know more.” Lips now placing kisses lightly to the pulsing appendage.

“He tries to help her uncover her powers and hone them while building her trust…creating a bond with her. Fuckkk peaches hmm…suck it harder uh huh, now open wider let me fuck this throat.”

Mouth wide and tongue out, you welcomed nine inches of pineapple flavored dick down your throat. His toes ground into the carpet as he found his footing to serve mouth watering strokes to your mouth. Saliva dripped down your chin to your breast as his balls slapped your chin.

“I want this pussy next and I don’t want no excuses…shake your head yess.” your greedy hands tugged softly on his heavy sack and you shook your head up and down.

“If you can throat it you can take it right?” This time he nodded your head for you, too impatient to wait for your response.

“Y/N is scared of dick…but not peaches huh? Peaches takes dick she don’t run from it, ain't that right?” You were beyond turned on, freaked out, and now you were letting him hype you into taking nine inches of pulsating dick. No more running from the dick.

“If you nut before me you owe me a trip to Sephora…you better hold out big boy.”

Nerdy dick was the best dick…that point you couldn’t argue

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dollyichi · 1 month ago

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MAD PUP

kaminari denki x f ! reader ᯓ★ 2.7k words. m—dni. established relationship / both are pro-heroes / m-rec. oral / mentions of injury / c^m in pant!es / not proofread

an entry to my “ milk and cookies “ event with the prompt #6 “no don’t take it off, i want it just like this.” requested by an anon!

your boyfriend’s sulky and playing hard to get because of a little misunderstanding. that’s fine, you always know how to get your way in the end.

“denki… please don’t ignore me!” you’re on your knees beside him on the couch, tugging on his sleeves. “are you mad at me?” as if he could resist those doe eyes—but right now, he has to.

you got home late today because you passed out during a mission and was only brought home when you were given the clear after waking up. he wasn’t mad about that—he was more relieved you were alright. but since you’re finally home, he was mainly mad with the ‘fact’ that you left him early in the morning without even telling him where you’re headed off to. shutting the front door so quickly, him trying to run down the stairs to catch up to wish you good luck, then you’re suddenly gone the whole day—not even leaving a note, no texts, no calls—just pure silence.

very out of character compared to the you that he knows—sweet, loving, actually giving him actual attention? (maybe a bit of an overreaction.)

you’ve been dating for three years and you’ve never done that, not once, neither did he. besides, he can’t recall anything that could’ve gotten you upset at him.

then there goes the overthinking: are you cheating? are you sick of him? not even a little kiss before you go?

if you can’t even say a simple ‘goodbye,’ then he shouldn’t have to greet you with a ‘welcome home.’

when the bells start to chime and you’re going inside the house, your lover isn’t there looking at you like an excited puppy. it makes you raise a brow but it wasn’t that much of a bother. you figured he was probably asleep and resting.

you use this time to take a shower, hoping to spend time with him after—this had his eye twitching from how calm you’re being as he watched from behind the wall that connects to the hallway. “didn’t even bother to find me.” he mutters with a whimper.

the best attack is showing you that he is definitely ignoring you. and thus, when you finish your shower and you catch him in the living room, you get on the couch to hug him immediately. “denki! i really missed you so much today!” yet he doesn’t move, doesn’t look, doesn’t even talk, and refuses to let you cuddle up to him.

confused and oblivious, you place a hand on the side of his neck, “you got no fever though.” he shakes your hand away, “huh? you got hit with a quirk or something?” you say with puffed cheeks.

he’s leaning on the edge of the couch, turning his body slightly to the side, glaring away. somewhat amused with how you’re deliberately trying to get him to look.

‘that’ll give you the taste of your own medicine!’ he reassures himself, but it’s so. damn. hard.

you’re so pretty right now—as always—but especially, now.

you don’t usually have to beg him for anything, you hardly do. you rarely ever fight and it was always easy to make up when you argue. today was just the worst of it. and he wanted a little bit of revenge for feeling left out of your day but he feels like he’s being beaten to a pulp in this silent battle he’s made.

you’re batting your eyelashes, pressing your thighs together. ass so plump against the tiny shorts you always liked to wear at home. hair a little bit damp, probably rushed drying it, towel around your neck, tight shirt. listing all these little details in his head since now was the only time he got to see you properly for today—this was torture for him too you know!

the cherry on top was definitely the lip balm that’s on your lips that you use before going to bed. he’s internally groaning because he always kisses you when you get home—no! you deserve at least this much.

‘ahhh! don’t get hard. don’t get hard. you’re supposed to teach her a lesson!’ he’s doing his best to distract himself and not let the blood flow directly get down to his pants.

you’re so confused why he wouldn’t even look at you. maybe he’s lost it? or was the injury he got yesterday getting to him?

“tch. you don’t wanna look at me, huh, denki?” ‘you’re so cute.’ “then i’ll make you look dummy.” ‘god, you’re really fucking cute.’

the next movements you make has him frozen in his seat, for real this time. watching you move down to the carpet in front of him and tugging his sweatpants down alongside his boxers. already kissing the tip of his dick’s that slightly hard, hands dragging on his body, resting on the back of his thighs, then sensually rubbing up and down.

you suck on it experimentally, and he almost chokes on his own spit. you’re so naughty and dirty, immediately targeting his most sensitive part at the get go.

he never expected you to fight back this hard. he rarely even lets you suck him off cause he knows he’s going to cum just from seeing you take him in your mouth. almost forgetting that ‘lesson’ he wants to teach you.

so he doesn’t look. he doesn’t look but he’s already shaking. gripping onto wherever he could while you’re licking him. doing his best not to buck his hips, letting you have your way but he refuses to let you win… at least not this fast.

maybe a little peek wouldn’t hurt- no he can feel your eyes on him.

and he’s not wrong. you’re making sure your pretty eyes are on him at all times while you’re jerking him off with your hand. using your tongue to lick along his head that’s twitching every time he feels it flick. he’s breathing hard so hard, chest heaving, face contorting—he’s definitely feeling it.

his breath hitched suddenly. feeling your lips sucking around him so softly. he exhaled slowly from the warm, moist feel of your tongue. he’s getting stiffer and harder each second.

if you keep teasing him like this he’d give in. you chuckle against him, which gets him to finally look, a little shocked from the vibrations. as stubborn as he is, he’s still not saying anything, still refusing to touch you—what’s wrong with him?

you take him in deeper. wrapping your hand around the shaft of his cock while your lips inched further. letting his dick slide against your tongue. you’re doing your best to see his every reaction was you looked up through your eyelashes. when your eyes meet he’s already averting his gaze—he’d cum immediately.

it’s crazy how the shine of your balm is mixed with his pre, coating your lips prettily while it’s wrapped around him. bobbing your head up and down so, so slow. he’s already melting. mouth slightly parted while his eyes narrowed down on you.

his fingers are twitching wanting to touch you but he’s still so stubborn. you pull away, continuing to kiss him all over. taking your hand to spread his legs even further that’s getting him embarrassed.

he’s got that face, when you’re trying hard not to be mad but it’s not working in the slightest—you already know you got him.

‘a bit more.’ you think to yourself.

“f-fuck i’m gonna cum.” he says in a whisper, unfortunately you didn’t hear it properly.

denki knows it’s a crime to not be able to fuck you or touch you but he wants to keep up his ‘pride.’ even though it’s definitely tempting while you stared at him all wide-eyed with a guileless expression.

eventually he takes your hands, intertwining them with his as he rests them on top of his thighs.

0 - denki 1 - you

if he wasn’t so cute right now you would’ve stopped right there, when he’s so close and you suddenly deny him of it—but there was a possibility of you being in the wrong.

no matter, this is your win, he at least admits that whole heartedly. he promises to himself that he’ll never challenge you again (as if you knew that.)

“mmph~ baby i wanna cum with your pussy…” he manages to croak out. pushing the strands of hair away from your face.

he’s so close he knows if you go even faster he’s going to burst. you let him go with a pop, licking your lips. you’re smiling to yourself, ‘maybe this strategy isn’t too bad actually.’

his lips quiver as he looked at you.

suddenly, he’s pulling you up from under your arms, seating you on in his lap. “you ignored me today baby.”

“i’m sorry i did my best to get home as quick as possible.” you huff.

“then why didn’t you at least kiss me goodbye?”

you tilt your head, “because you might wake up. and i didn’t want you to get too startled in the morning. you’re still recovering you know?”

“then why didn’t you at least leave a note?”

“i did!” you pout, “i even saw it on the floor when i got here.” he did accidentally hit the fridge while he tried to ‘run’ (wobble) towards you. that explains why didn’t couldn’t see it.

you did say you worked your best today especially with the unusual high rates of villains suddenly showing up in the area.

he lets out an exasperated sigh, you stay quiet for a bit.

“you’re not mad at me?”

“so you’re not mad at me?”

you both say at the same time. you both stop to look at each other, finally taking a proper look. it was obvious from the glimmer of both your eyes that you missed each other, especially from the scare you both got yesterday when he got hit.

“i was hoping to get a kiss on my head you know… it might heal me even faster!”

“you got tons just now though?”

he snorts, “pfft! well not exactly that… but i’m not complaining.”

he pulls you closer, but you make sure not to bump his head. “you still wanna cum?” he nods.

you take your shorts off with a swift motion. you bow your head towards his cock, letting spit trickle down to his head and he’s whimpering at the sight, spreading it on his shaft with each pump of your hand. he’s watching you with an excited grin from your shoulders.

you tilt your head to face him with half-lidded eyes and your hand tight around him, flicking up and down, a trail of spit is still hanging from your lips, visibly connecting a the tip of his cock on your mouth—exactly how it was a few minutes ago.

his hand wrapped around yours that’s pumping him, slowing you down. “h-hahh baby~ just go steady this way.” he’s suddenly so close again before he stopped you.

“n-not fair, at least let me play with your pussy…” he’s so cute. aside from the bandage on his head that has you frowning, the visible tears forming at the corners of his eyes and his cute little pout has you relieved. he’s finally acting like his indulgent self.

his other hand’s trying to tug on your shorts. eventually pushing down the fabric finally exposing your clothed cunt. cooing at the sight of the very visible damp spot at the center of it all. “nice panties baby, real cute.” he chuckles. it’s as he describes it, cute. a pikachu tail patterned pair that matches him, isn’t that convenient.

“d-don’t tease me! you got this for me after all…” you say, already raising your hips to take it off but he stops you. “no don’t take it off, i want it just like this.” he whines, wasting no time to slip them to the side just enough to get him to slide his cock along your slit.

gently pressing the tip against your hole, he ran it back to the front, rubbed it against your clit. it’s just rubbing against you however already making so much noise. you didn’t think you were so turned on from your boyfriend who’s spoiled you rotten suddenly so cold, stubborn, and playing hard to get.

“i love you… denki…” your clit’s so swollen and sensitive from the friction as you grind on each other. “but i-i d-don’t want you to do too much right now though…” you tell him.

“i love you more. so don’t underestimate me baby. just a little hit on the head wont stop me from making you feel good.”

‘as if it was actually little,’ you think to yourself.

he slowly moves your underwear downward, not removing it entirely. letting him slip both his hand and cock from underneath.

he places his tip against your clit, as if he’s kissing it himself. you cried, not caring about the unintelligible sounds coming out of your mouth. feeling his middle and ring finger enter into your pussy from behind, giving you the extra sensation. it’s crazy, feeling so much from the front and inside.

with a shaky hand you reach down to cup his cock. pressing a little harder to help him get there faster. most of your senses were muffled, like grain and static—all hazy.

his fingers constantly pump into you, your walls taking them so deeply he barely even pulled them out. it sent shockwaves through you every time his tip circled your puffy bundle of nerves.

your legs start to tremble from how good he’s making you feel. nothing but choking sobs and his name in broken whimpers left your lips. your walls slightly trembling around his finger made him know you were getting close. he peppers the side of your mouth with kisses easing you into your own peak.

getting dizzy from the sounds of the lewd squelching of your sexes and the way yours and his hand get sloppier by the second. that little knot in your stomach getting tighter with every motion.

before you know it your entire body twitches in time with your intense climax hitting you so suddenly. still, denki’s fingers doesn’t still inside you, letting you ride out your orgasm on his fingers while your walls constantly spasm around them.

fingers curled deep inside you while he continued to jerk himself with his other hand, tip hitting your sensitive clit that has you hissing from the slightest touch.

his breathing was labored, sticking out his tongue against your neck while trying to reach his own high. he’s so sexy when he desperately wants to cum.

you pull his fingers out, while your other hand fixed your panties, letting it hit against his tip that’s leaking so much, wetting the spot even more. “h-hah… so close baby… so close… gonna cum in your panties- mmhh~ gonna make a m-mess just like you.”

he inhaled through his teeth, repeating your name in a chant-like way, making choked sounds as he reached his climax. feeling every shot of his load onto your inner thighs, feeling every drop of warmth to drip down and pool at the bottom of your underwear. you tremble when feel it trickle down against your cunt.

denki places gentle, moist kisses on your shoulder, finally both calming down from your high from how intense session you both had. your bodies to gradually sink deeper against each other and on the couch.

it was all loving and tender till you see your boyfriend make that face of his when he overdoes it. “stupid! look what happened.”

you immediately stand up to get an ice pack to cool him down, however the post-clarity hits you and the uncomfortable feeling of your juices and his slick collected in your cotton panties was not the best sensation.

it’s as if denki’s vision focuses immediately on your inner thighs, seeing the fluids flow down. it gets him to almost sit up slightly with his cock getting hard again—almost gaining complete and proper consciousness out of sheer arousal alone.

with the towel on your neck you try to wipe it off. you can hear him whine under his breath, not liking what you’re doing at all.

“holy shit… something really hurt your brain this time!”

“one m-more time?” he asks weakly.

you profusely shake your head, crossing your arms. “shut up!”

you take a mental note to be stricter this time. no more sex till he’s properly recovered, and to buy better refrigerator magnets.

do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost my works

note : HAPPY NEW YEAR! lmk what you think of this fic and ghe dynamic!! i am so bad at male rec i took everything i had in me (that i have right now) to think of this… i love denki so bad btw

#bnha smut #mha smut #denki smut #kaminari smut #denki kaminari smut #kaminari denki smut #kaminari x reader #denki x reader #kaminari denki x reader #denki kaminari x reader #my hero academia smut #ᦾִ⁠❤︎ by cola #milk&cookies

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honeyryewhiskey · 5 days ago

Text

when dean falls in love

or, all the little details that run through dean's mind when he's falling in love. and all the fears and self-doubt that come crashing down on him. warnings ! a pinch of angst | mostly feel good | kissing | confessions | dean admiring reader | dean's internal struggles | reader being patient | sam third wheeling j's note ! this is my apology for that sad one i posted last night. also, i had little baby 26-year-old dean in mind for this one. enjoy <3 5k words

Few rules exist in Dean’s life—most are made to be bent, broken, or ignored altogether. But you?

You’re the exception. You’re the rule he refuses to cross.

You are entirely off-limits.

Not that you seem to care. You crashed into the Winchesters' world like a wildfire, all sharp eyes and steady hands, showing up guns blazing in the middle of a nasty hunt. There was no slow introduction, no time for cautious trust. One minute, it was just another night, another hunt—then suddenly, there you were, standing in the wreckage, breathing heavily, covered in blood that wasn’t yours.

Dean should’ve known to let go right then and there—you were too good to be true. But he didn’t. Instead, you stuck to the corners of his mind like sugar between his teeth, sweet and relentless. Your energy, raw and electric, burned through everything around you. You invaded his thoughts, wrapped around his mind like a constant hum.

You were the kind of girl who made a man forget his own damn rules.

At first, Dean tells himself this newfound trio is temporary.

You’re a lone wolf, and the Winchesters don’t do long-term attachments. But somehow, you weave yourself into their lives like you’ve always belonged.

You slip into the passenger seat of the Impala without waiting for an invitation, kicking your feet up on the dash just to piss him off. You steal fries off his plate like it’s second nature, smirking when he glares at you but never stopping. You roll your eyes at his bravado, call him out when he’s being an ass, and yet—when it matters—you’re always there. Ready to fight. Ready to bleed for this life, for them.

For him.

Dean tells himself he doesn’t notice the little things. The way you hum along to his rock tapes like you’ve known them forever, how your hands—so much softer than he deserves—patch him up without hesitation. The way you meet his teasing with just as much fire, never backing down.

None of it means anything.

Because it can’t.

Not when he’s always been too rough, too jagged around the edges to hold onto something as good as you. Somewhere around his twentieth birthday, he made peace with the fact that he was cursed—fated to be nothing more than a soldier, a brother, a blade meant for war.

Being anything else, wanting anything more—wanting you—would only end in tragedy.

But then he catches Sam talking to you in hushed voices over coffee in the morning, like you’re family. As if every diner table and wobbly motel kitchenette was always meant to sit the three of you. He watches you clean his gun without being asked, like it’s second nature now. He hears your voice on the other end of his phone at 3 a.m., always answering when he calls, asking if he’s okay after a rough hunt.

And just like that, you’re in. You’re a part of them.

A part of him.

And that? That’s the most dangerous thing of all.

Dean doesn’t know when it happened—when the lines started to blur, when the rule he swore by turned into something fragile, something breakable.

Maybe it’s the way you slip so effortlessly into their lives, settling into the spaces he didn’t even realize were empty—mediating brotherly arguments like you were always meant to be their missing piece. Maybe it’s the sound of your laughter, bright and unshaken, slicing through the heaviness of a bad hunt. Or maybe it’s the way you look at him, like he’s something more than the scars, more than the sharp edges—like he’s worth seeing at all.

Or maybe it’s the small moments like this.

The diner is warm, buzzing with the quiet hum of conversation, the clatter of silverware against plates. Sam’s focus is his laptop, half-listening to whatever you’re saying as you flip through the menu, sitting beside Dean, debating tonight’s meal. Dean’s trying to keep up, trying to ground himself in the normalcy of it all.

And then, without a second thought, you reach for his jacket.

It’s been draped over the back of the booth since he sat down, familiar and worn, carrying the weight of long nights and too many miles. And you just take it, slipping your arms through the sleeves, tugging the collar up like it belongs to you.

Dean’s fingers tighten around the menu.

It’s nothing new—he’s handed it over a dozen times before, thrown it around your shoulders without a second thought on cold nights. But this? This is different. You didn’t ask. Didn’t even hesitate. You just did it, like it was instinct, like it was yours.

He clears his throat, trying to force down the feeling clawing its way up his chest. “Comfy?”

You hum, settling into the fabric, your fingers curling into the sleeves. “Mmhmm.” Your voice is light, easy. “You always run so warm. Thought I’d steal a little of that.”

Dean swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry. Prying his eyes off of you, he tries again to look like he’s reading the menu. Scanning the small font, even though he’s already decided on a burger and fries like he always gets.

Across from him, Sam sighs, clicking at his keyboard. “You guys do realize you act like a couple, right?”

Dean shoots him a glare. “Shut up.”

Your laugh falls out sweet and quiet, the sound pressing against his heart with a persistence to make it move faster. Your boot nudges Dean’s under the table, and he takes it as an excuse to look at you again. “You jealous, Sammy? Want me to steal your jacket next?”

Dean barely hears the response. He watches as you burrow further into his jacket, your nose dipping beneath the collar. Then, with that same mischievous glint in your eye that always spells trouble for him, you lift the collar to make a show of taking a slow, exaggerated sniff.

His brows press down, lashes forming a tight squint around his eyes as he braces himself, “What the hell are you doing?”

Your lips twitch like you’re holding back a laugh. “One thing about this old jacket, though,” you muse, taking another thoughtful inhale. “There’s this metallicy smell… buried under all that cologne you drown this poor leather in.”

Dean scoffs, shifting in his seat and turning his head to save himself from letting you see the pink creeping up his cheeks. “I do not drown it in cologne.”

Sam doesn’t even look up from his laptop, but his chuckle doesn’t help ease Dean’s embarrassment. “You kinda do.”

Dean’s head shoots up, tilting slightly as he glares at his brother. You’re already grinning, undeterred, your fingers lazily tracing the worn seam of the sleeve. “It’s faint, but it’s there. Like… gunpowder. And whiskey, I would assume. And maybe a little bit of blood?” Your teasing gaze flicks up to meet his, “What have you been getting into, Winchester?”

Dean should play it cool. Shrug it off. But he can feel his ears burning red and hot from that little teasing smile on your lips and his brain is a few steps behind, caught somewhere between you’re too damn close and when did this get so hard to ignore?

He leans back, arms crossing over his chest. His mind makes quick work to steady buzzing nerves, “Dunno what to tell ya, sweetheart,” he sighs, jaw popping as he finds his barings, “That jacket’s seen more action than you have.”

You feign offense, pressing a hand to your chest. “Wow. First, you over-season your leather, and now you’re just slinging insults?” You shake your head, dramatic as ever. “I thought we had something special, D.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “Yeah, yeah. You done sniffin’ my jacket, or should I be concerned?”

You huff, settling back against the booth so that your arms brush against each other when you shrug. “I dunno. Might need another whiff.”

Dean points a warning finger at you, his smile breaks his attempt at stoicism, and all it does is make you grin wider.

Sam lets out another long-suffering sigh, shutting his laptop with a little more force than necessary. “I’m concerned. And I’m officially done with this conversation.”

You smirk, smug as ever, but Dean? Dean’s just trying to pretend he’s not completely, stupidly gone for you.

The rest of dinner passes in easy conversation—at least, for you. Dean is quieter than usual, letting you and Sam fill the space between bites of food and stolen fries. He tries to focus on anything else—the chipped laminate of the table, the hum of the old diner lights, the way his fingers tap absently against the side of his glass.

Mostly, he tries not to look at you.

Not when you lean forward, chin propped in your palm, laughing at something Sam says. Not when you nudge his boot under the table, stealing the last bite of his pie with a satisfied little smirk. Not when you adjust the lapels of his leather jacket like it’s yours now, like it belongs to you the way he does.

By the time the check hits the table, he’s still got too many thoughts in his head, and none of them are ones he should be having.

Outside, the night air is crisp, the motel’s flickering vacancy sign glowing just across the lot. Sam mutters something about research and trudges off toward their shared room, leaving the two of you lingering by the diner’s door.

Dean shoves his hands into his pockets, suddenly hyper-aware of how quiet it is. You shift on your feet, then tilt your head toward the motel.

“What’s it gonna be tonight, D?” Your voice is soft, slipping into the quiet like it belongs there. “You sticking around for a bit, or heading to bed?”

Dean exhales, shaking his head. “Gotta make sure you get in safe.”

Your laugh rings through the empty parking lot, light and easy, curling around him like warmth against the cool night air. And despite only wearing a flannel, despite the late hour and the breeze whispering through the lot, he feels nothing but warm.

“Ah, yes,” you tease between giggles, nudging his arm. “My knight in shining armor, always keeping me safe.”

The short walk across the lot is quiet but never empty—the kind of silence that lingers in the spaces between you, comfortable and charged all at once.

At your door, you unlock it with a flick of your wrist, pushing it open before leaning lazily against the frame. The dim motel light catches the amusement in your eyes as you glance back at him.

“See?” You gesture to the empty room with a grin. “All’s quiet on the western front.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves you off, stepping inside without a second thought, the door clicking shut behind him.

You move past him with easy familiarity, shuffling through your things while Dean leans against the dresser, arms crossed over his chest. He watches as you slip into your usual routine—kicking off your shoes, pulling your hair back, stifling a yawn with the sleeve of your sweater. His jacket, draped over the chair beside your bed, stays untouched. He doesn’t move to take it. If he’s honest, he kind of hopes you’ll sleep in it. Let it take on your scent instead of his.

When you return from the bathroom, fresh-faced and sighing contentedly, you crawl onto the bed and sit cross-legged, flipping absentmindedly through an old paperback—the one you grabbed from the library when you were supposed to be researching.

“You gonna tell me what’s got you so deep in thought tonight?” you break into the silence without looking up, voice soft but knowing.

Dean huffs, tipping his head back. He’s trying to find something other than you to look at, he’s gotta stop watching you so often. “I’m always deep in thought.”

You snort, “yeah, okay. Sure.”

Your eyes flicker over him, he’s always following you into your room like a stray pup, like he doesn’t know where else to go. He lingers in your space, but is careful to maintain a set distance. At first you thought he was trying to claim you as another notch on his bedpost, but all that ever happened on these nights were quiet talks until your eyes grew too heavy to keep open. And by morning, you’d be alone, tucked beneath the blankets like someone made sure they were pulled around you just right.

You watch him for a beat, noting the familiar tension winding through his shoulders. “Seriously, though. You were kinda out of it at dinner.”

Dean hesitates, glancing away like he can pretend he didn’t hear you. His eyes settle on the peeling motel wallpaper, tracing the cracks like they hold some kind of answer. He hadn’t planned on sticking around this late—not when his head is already full of you. Not when it’s dangerous for the sanctity his carefully drawn lines to be near you like this, feeling the way he does.

But neither of you move. You, cross-legged on the bed, book in hand. Him, still leaning against the dresser, pretending he has somewhere else to be.

He should make an excuse, crack a joke, steer this conversation somewhere safer. But your voice, soft and steady, tugs at something in him. And instead of fighting it, he lets himself lean in.

“You ever think about what happens when we stop?”

Your fingers still against the worn pages of your book. “Stop what?”

“This.” He gestures vaguely, like that explains everything. “The hunting, the moving around. All of it.”

Your brows furrow slightly as you consider his words, the weight of them pressing down in a way you don’t want to acknowledge. This life—it’s far from glamorous, but it’s all you’ve got. Stepping away from it is a thought you buried long ago, a fantasy that never had a chance. You shrug, pushing the thought aside. “I don’t know,” you say quietly. “Never really let myself think about it too much.”

Dean exhales a heavy breath, eyes dropping to the floor like the weight of your words is sinking in. “Yeah.”

A beat of quiet settles between you. It’s not uncomfortable, but there’s a weight to it that presses against Dean’s chest, making the space feel tighter than it is. You can feel his tension, like he’s holding something back, but he doesn’t look up.

Then, you shift, breaking the silence with an easy gesture—a pat to the empty space beside you on the bed. “Don’t just trail off on me, D. Sit down. Tell me more.”

Dean hesitates for a split second. This is a bad idea. It’s an invisible line he’s been toeing for too damn long, one he’s tried not to cross—never sit on the bed, never get too close when we’re alone. But then again, it’s you. You’re looking at him like you care, soft and patient, as if whatever’s inside his head actually matters.

And just like that, he gives in. One little exception, just for tonight.

With a quiet sigh, he pushes off the dresser, settling beside you on the bed. He stretches his legs out, but the small mattress makes it impossible to keep any real distance. His legs brush against yours, and his arm brushes yours too. He hopes to hell you don’t see the flush creeping up his neck.

If you notice, you don’t mention it. There’s no teasing, no playful smile—just the quiet comfort of your presence beside him. You don’t push, don’t pry. You just sit there, calm and steady, waiting for him to speak.

“I dunno,” he mutters, “just been thinkin’ lately. About what it all looks like when it’s over. If it ever is.”

You tilt your head, studying him. “And?”

Dean swallows, debating how much to say. How much to admit.

“And… I don’t see much of anything.” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Spent my whole life doing this, I don’t see an ending where I’m not dying at the hands of this. Y’know, going down in the fight.”

You’re quiet for a moment, then—so softly he almost doesn’t notice—you shift closer, your arm snaking its way around his. You’re snuggled right up next to him, watching with careful eyes.

“There will always be monsters to hunt,” you murmur, your voice soft yet steady in the dim room. “But you don’t have to be a warrior forever, D. There will always be hunters, too. Doesn’t mean you have to be one.”

Dean chuckles, but it’s a hollow sound, more an exhale than a laugh. His gaze drifts toward the bedspread, unable to meet yours. "Yeah, well... I don't know if I could just walk away." His words come out quieter, like he’s unsure if he’s talking to you or to himself.

You turn slightly toward him, noticing the tension still coiled in his shoulders. The quiet settles deeper now, heavier with each passing moment, but he doesn’t seem to notice the distance between your words.

“What’s got you thinking about all of this?” you keep your voice light, though there’s a weight to it.

Dean rubs the back of his neck, his thoughts at war with the words he wants to say. "I can’t have the things I want, not really," he finally admits, the confession slipping out before he can second-guess it. His gaze drifts to the side, and his fingertips come up almost absentmindedly, dragging across your temple, pushing stray hairs back into their place.

“This life," he continues, barely above a whisper, "it consumes all the good things in my life."

“Not true,” your voice is firm but gentle, like you’re trying to remind him of something he can’t see.

He doesn’t answer immediately, just quirks a skeptical brow at you.

“You have your brother,” you continue, “and you’ve got me. Nothing in this universe can take us from you.”

Dean’s breath catches, and for the briefest moment, he wonders if you understand just how much weight those words hold. He swallows, trying to hold it together, but he can’t ignore the ache that creeps up his spine. He gives a small, almost rueful chuckle, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "What makes you so sure?"

You meet his gaze with a steady confidence. "Because I know you wouldn’t let it."

His hand lingers by your face, his thumb brushing softly against the warmth of your cheek. There’s an electricity in the touch, something that feels too close and yet too natural. He can feel the way his pulse quickens, how much his body wants to close that last inch of space between you. But he doesn’t.

You don’t push him. You just watch him, like you’re waiting for him to decide whether to take the step—or to retreat.

Dean’s breath catches in his throat, and his eyes drop to your lips for a moment before meeting yours again, like he’s trying to reconcile the gravity of what he’s feeling. His voice drops to almost a whisper, his words thick with something raw. “You have no idea how right you are, little miss.”

Your hand comes up, curling over his with a quiet, deliberate touch. The softness of your skin against his makes it almost impossible for him to remember the times he’s watched you move through the world—handling a gun with precision or a blade like it’s second nature. Most of you makes him forget, really, about everything that doesn’t involve you in this moment.

Your warmth, your softness, it makes him lose himself in daydreams of a version of you—one that doesn’t belong to this life. A version where you’d lean into that gentleness, the part of you that exists outside the hunts and the danger, in a life far away from the chaos that haunts him.

You shift, sitting up, still keeping your gaze on him, and it makes something in his chest tighten. The determined strain in your features catches his attention immediately. It’s the same look you get when you're deep into a lore book, your brow furrowed with that little scowl—like something has piqued your interest, and you won’t rest until you’ve unraveled it completely.

“Dean, there’s more to this than you’re letting on.”

He shakes his head, trying to brush it off with a quick, dismissive shrug, his lips pouting up into his best attempt at nonchalance. “Nope. That’s pretty much it.”

You let out an exasperated huff, and Dean can tell you’re seeing straight through him. It’s not enough to deflect you. What he doesn’t expect, though, is the rough shove to his shoulder. It makes him blink in surprise, but before he can recover, your fingers press right back into the tension of his muscles he’s been trying to ignore all night.

“You’re as stiff as a board,” you point out, your fingers digging in a little harder. “Something’s bothering you.”

His breath comes out shakier now, and for a moment, his whole body feels like it’s been wound too tight. You can feel it, he knows you can. There’s no denying it now, but the words feel too heavy in his throat. He wants to argue, to brush it off again, but something in the way you’re watching him shifts. It’s not just curiosity anymore—it’s concern. And maybe, just maybe, a part of him wants to let you in.

But damn if it doesn’t feel like a risk.

Dean shifts uncomfortably, trying to pull away, but the pressure of your fingers is a subtle anchor, keeping him there. His gaze flits to the floor, anywhere but your eyes, because once he looks at you, he knows he won’t be able to hide.

"I told you, it's nothing," he mutters, his voice rougher than usual, the words escaping before he can stop them. He tries to push himself up, but the weight of your stare presses him back down.

You don’t buy it. You never do.

"No, Dean," you start softly, the concern clear in your voice, "I know you better than that. Something’s been eating at you for a while, and you’re not gonna keep dodging it."

His chest tightens, his heart racing in his ribcage. Every part of him wants to throw up some wall, some excuse. Something to keep you from seeing the rawness of what’s inside. The vulnerability he’s been running from his entire life.

But still, you watch him, waiting, your eyes steady and unwavering.

"Come on, just let it out," you press, your hand moving to his shoulder again, your touch gentle now but insistent. “You don’t have to carry it all by yourself, you know?”

He swallows hard, his jaw tightening, hands suddenly restless at his sides. The fight inside him is crumbling, piece by piece, until he's barely holding on to whatever's left. His voice comes out strained, almost desperate.

“Please, just drop it,” he grinds out, his eyes briefly meeting yours before flicking away again, helplessly. “I’m fine. You don’t... you don’t need to know all of it.”

You sit forward, leaning in just a little, your hand still gently gripping his arm as you search his face. The determination in your gaze doesn’t waver, but there’s something softer there now, almost like a plea. “Dean—”

He jerks back slightly, suddenly standing up with a bit too much force, the air between you thickening with a tension that’s making it harder for him to breathe. He takes a few steps away, running a hand through his hair, his back turned to you as he tries to calm the storm rising inside.

"I can’t do this," he mutters, his voice low, rougher now, like it’s been dragged over gravel. His shoulders still tense with the weight of the world pressing down on him.

You’re silent for a beat, and he knows it’s because you’re giving him space. But he also knows you won’t stop until you get him to say what he’s been holding back.

He exhales sharply, his hands trembling as he clenches them into fists, his back still turned, fighting a battle he knows he’s losing. "God, I don’t want to talk about this." His voice cracks slightly as he says it, and he hates how much it betrays him.

His eyes flick to you then, and there's a crack in the armor—a vulnerability that’s almost painful to see. He looks at you, but he’s not sure he can bear the weight of your gaze anymore. Not when all he wants to do is keep you safe from the wreckage inside him.

His body is coiled tight, but his chest feels like it’s going to implode. He wants to walk away. He wants to escape from the weight of this conversation, from the way you're looking at him like you’re waiting for him to finally crack open and spill it all out.

But when he finally turns back to face you fully, all he sees is that unflinching patience, that quiet insistence that you’re not going to let him go until he finally says what he’s been hiding for so long. It makes him want to burn every rule he’s built for himself.

"You don't get it," he spats roughly, eyes flicking to the floor. "I can’t just... say it. It’s part of me, it’s who I am, this thing that I can’t get away from."

You rise to your feet, crossing the room in one smooth motion. There’s no anger in your steps—just a calm resolve that cuts through the tension between you like a knife.

"I'm not an idiot, Dean," you peek up at him, unfamilarly timid as you cross this uncharted territory. "I see the way you look at me. Hell, at first I thought I was imagining things but I can see it’s eating you alive. And I—” your words cut off in your own shock at the confession, the sincerity in your expression making his knees weak, “I can’t bear to see you like this.”

Your hands reach up tentatively, like you’re scared he’ll tear himself away again. But he stills, letting your warm hands press into either side of his jaw, “you’re my rock, alright?” your words trail into a soft laugh, easing the tension of your own truth. “I don’t wanna live in a world where I’m not by your side, because you make life worth the fight to stay alive. But you can’t just keep me in the dark, I have to know what you’re feeling.”

His breath catches in his throat, the weight of your words hitting him harder than he expected. The realization that you know, that you’ve seen through all his defenses, makes everything inside him ache.

"I don’t know what you want from me," it comes out sounding like a plea, still looking for an excuse to retreat into himself.

"I want you to stop hiding from me." Your words are simple, but they strike right at the heart of the matter. "I want you to stop pretending like you can’t have the one thing you want most."

His throat tightens, and he shakes his head, trying to dismiss it. "I don’t get it," he mumbles, though his eyes are locked on yours, searching for the reprieve he still doesn’t believe he’ll find. "I don’t... I’m not fit for this."

"I’m not either, D. I’m just asking you to let it happen." You’re so close now, he can feel the warmth of your body, the soft pressure of your fingers against his jaw. Your gaze doesn’t break, it never wavers.

And that’s when it hits him. He’s been afraid of this—afraid of the way you make him feel like he can finally breathe, like all of his pain and avoidance can cease in your presence. he’s been holding himself together with tattered shreds for so long, and you’re the only thing that’s strong enough to pull him out of the mess he’s made of himself.

And letting that security live in someone else terrifies him more than any monster he’s faced.

“I’m not perfect,” he admits quietly, his words like gravel in his throat. “I’m broken, and I’m scared as hell, but god, if you only knew how much I want—”

You stop him with a soft kiss, the sweetest touch of your lips to his. It's gentle, almost hesitant, but it shatters something inside him, enough to freeze him in place. The weight of everything unspoken presses in, and for the first time, it feels like the walls he's built around himself might finally crumble in your hands.

The chains of his tightly kept composure snap at the delicate pressure of your lips, and without thinking, his arms wrap around you, pulling you closer. His hands find purchase at your waist, holding you as if you were the only thing that kept him grounded. The kiss deepens, desperate, as if he's trying to kiss away the years of holding back, the silent fear of letting you see the real him, the uncertainty of if you’d stay with him in the wreckage.

When you finally pull back, your lips linger just above his, breaths mingling. Your voice is a soft whisper, but it cuts through the tension like a thread being pulled taut. “Then say it, Dean. Tell me what you want.”

His heart beats in his chest, loud and frantic, as his walls come crashing down, piece by piece. He can’t think straight with you in his arms, all of his steely armor melts at your touch. And for the first time in what feels like forever, he lets go of some of those fears.

His eyes are nearly consumed by his pupils as he takes in the sight of you slightly out of breath, lips wet and a little more pink. From his doing, from his touch—it makes every broken rule worth the trouble.

“I've fallen for you, Sweetheart,” he breathes, his voice is raw, shaky, but it's honest, every word carrying the weight of what he’s been holding back. “I want to keep falling for you, love and all that crap. And I’m terrified of it, but I can’t keep hiding this from you.”

Your thumb brushes over his cheek, the gesture soft, but nevertheless, grounding. A quiet smile tugs at the corner of your lips, and your eyes hold nothing but certainty. “You’ll never have to hide any part of yourself, Dean. I’ve been here all along, with nothing but love. Just been waiting for you to see that.”

tags <3 @titsout4jackles @floralscented @deansbeer @snowluvvie @dulcescorderitas @bluemerakis

#dean winchester #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fluff

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