#this was literally just an assortment of the thoughts that have been spinning around in my head | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hawkinsindiana · 2 years ago

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okay. deal.

ALMOST PARADISE: PART FOUR - CHAPTER SIX OF NINE

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!reader

word count: 13.5k (THE MOTHERLOAD)

a/n: holy fucking fuck. literally the most ridiculous chapter i have ever written. INSANITY. can’t believe i’m about to say this but... this chapter is rated 18+. while there’s no actual smut, the scene is sexually charged, so for the sake of being safe, that’s why i’m using the ranking and the tags i am. also warning for intense and graphic descriptions of medical treatments and just genuine horrible angst bc you know me. OKAY I THINK THAT’S ENOUGH but huge quick shoutout to ms. ruby for helpin me make this steamy :). y’all know where to find the masterlist! ENJOY HEHEHE.

“Max? I need those bandages!”

“Here, sorry. Didn’t know what size you needed so… I brought all of them.”

Max quickly shoves the collection of bandages into Steve’s hands. He thanks her quickly; he’s trying to run through the check list in his head.

“Do you have, what the hell is it, that peroxide stuff?”

After a moment of thinking, Max’s face scrunches up with regret, “Shit, no I don’t. I ran out a couple weeks ago. Nasty fall off some stairs downtown.”

Steve curses under his breath — that’s what he needs the most. A lightbulb goes off in Max’s head, the idea propelling her through the living room and into the kitchen. She appears a few seconds later with a bottle clasped in her fist, amber liquid sloshing around inside the glass.

“I guess this is the one time Mom’s drinking will be beneficial.”

Steve sighs; it’ll have to do. He extends his free hand and wraps his fingers around the neck of the bottle to take it from her. As soon as his grip is firm, he spins to return to the bathroom — his heart is starting to ache, he’s been away from you for too long. It’s maybe been five minutes, but with you in this state, it feels like it’s been much longer.

Robin is crowded inside the small room with you. The girl is nervously running her palm down your arm, attempting to comfort you until Steve arrives with the rest of the medical supplies. It’s not working too well — Robin’s notoriously bad at reassurance during stressful situations. On the other hand, Robin’s smart enough to know that your brother shouldn’t see too much of you like this. Dustin and Lucas are in the doorway, her body angled just right to prevent either of them from seeing more than a sliver of your face.

Sweat drips down your skin, coating you in a light sheen despite the grime that also sticks to you like glue. Crumpled on the floor, your limbs tremble and shiver without Eddie’s jacket to keep you warm anymore. The second Steve deposited you here, he returned it back to the other boy in preparation. Stabilizing you became his top priority the moment you crossed over into Hawkins once again.

Thankfully, it’s not blood loss that’s got you reacting this way — it’s pain, continuing to radiate from the wounds on your back and shoulder, the pounding in your head worsening now that there’s light surrounding you. The exertion from the back leg of your journey through the Upside Down exhausted what little energy you still had left; the events from the past couple hours all combined into an awful cocktail inside your veins.

Steve pushes past Lucas and Dustin without much thought, his mind purely dedicated to returning to you. Max follows behind and hovers near the other boys in the doorframe.

“Hey sweetheart, I’m back. I’m here, okay?” He speaks quietly, setting the assorted items into the sink before reaching out to you. The skin of your cheek is clammy against the back of his index finger; the soft touch brings you out of your agony, even for just a split second. Steve’s crouched beside you, desperately trying not to let his overwhelming despair show on his face.

He turns away for a moment to snatch the Tylenol off the counter — four pills into his palm before he’s grabbing one of your wrists. Steve doesn’t particularly care what the warning label says, he needs to get a buffer for this pain in your system. Instinctively, you unfurl your fist before he easily passes the painkillers to you; a gulp of lukewarm water from Dustin’s plastic bottle sends it to your stomach.

“I’m gonna move you now, yeah?” Steve mumbles, shifting to weasel an arm around your back, “I know. I know baby, I’m sorry. You gotta- there you go.”

Whimpers spill from you as he scoots your body further from the wall, giving him more space to work with. Your eyes pinch shut until you’re settled, or until Steve can’t stand the pained sounds anymore — it’s hard to tell which comes first.

“Do you, uh, want any help?” Robin offers hesitantly. Not because she thinks she’d be of much use, but because she can already tell that this has taken a toll on Steve — seeing you so weak and desperate for relief. He shouldn’t have to do this on his own.

Steve genuinely considers Robin’s assistance for a moment; having an extra set of hands could make this process significantly easier. But this… this isn’t like you’ve gotten a scratch on your knee; it’ll be painful for anyone who watches. She shouldn’t have to see this.

Besides, Steve’s pretty sure he’s the only one he trusts enough to take proper care of you. He might not be as adept as you at this sort of thing, but that doesn’t mean he’s incapable. He knows what to do, which order to apply everything in; he helped you recover from your gunshot wound last summer. He can do this.

There’s no one else you would want to help you through this. You trust him enough to allow him to hurt you.

“Thanks Robin, but I think it’s best if it’s just me,” Steve finally answers. He makes the mistake of glancing over towards the door, meeting the eyes of three dejected teens. Dustin’s gaze is glued to the small bit of you he can see, face contorted in a mixture of sadness and guilt; he never should have let you get on that boat. It’s a little easier for Lucas and Max to hide their concern, but there’s still a glint of it in their eyes, furrowed brows giving it away. Steve gets a major case of déjà vu.

With a final pat on your arm, Robin gets up from the ground and ushers the teens away from the door. They don’t even try to fight her — that argument’s already been had. Steve would never dare to let any of them help, even though they desperately want to. Dustin takes one last glance before letting Robin lead him away with a comforting hand on his shoulder as even more sadness creeps in.

When she latches the door, Steve gets to work.

He doesn’t think you have the energy or strength to stand, although that’d be ideal, so the floor will have to do. As quickly as he can, he collects everything Max had given to him and begins placing it onto the tile, unpeeling wrappers and loosening caps as he goes. You taught him that — it’s significantly easier to do this sort of work when everything’s already opened. He washes his hands and finally settles on the ground behind you, face to face with your wounds. You can’t sense much of his presence behind you, but knowing he’s there is enough of a comfort.

Steve sighs. He has to resist the urge to bury his face in his palms before he begins. As much as he’d rather attempt to hug you better, or just press an endless number of kisses to your skin, he knows what has to come first. There’s a significant chance that this is the hardest thing he’ll ever have to do — hurt you in order to help you.

Much to Steve’s surprise, you don’t make too much noise as he removes the makeshift bandage. Maybe you’re too far gone to care. The sting doesn’t cross your mind when the true pain lies even deeper beneath your skin — aches that will take more than Tylenol to quell. He reaches up to discard the piece of Robin’s shirt into the sink, desperately trying not to think about how much of your blood has soaked into the fabric.

Steve’s lucky Max has a decent selection of medical supplies to choose from. The problem is that he’s trying to work fast and put you through as little as possible. If you weren’t already reeling from searing pain, he’d take his time and give you as many breaks as he could. He’s more focused on preventing infection than doing a truly thorough job — that can come later.

Cleansing the claw marks earns him nothing more than a few hisses from your lips; it’s uncomfortable but a mere fraction in comparison to what you’re currently feeling or have experienced before. The scratches are the easy part. It’s the bite that’s going to be far, far worse.

Steve can’t help himself — even though it’ll make his job significantly more difficult, he has to offer one of his hands, sliding it through the gap between your arm and waist. A moment passes before you finally take it between yours, like you had to summon the small amount of energy it would take to move. Your grasp is weak, fingers barely clinging to him, but it’s enough. The minuscule comfort calms both of you, the weight of the conjoined hands on the muscle of your thigh serving as a solace.

Max’s dining room is filled with the dread of a hospital, relatives and loved ones crowded together waiting impatiently for a scrap of news. You and Steve do a fairly decent job of keeping your heads in the midst of chaos; an unfortunate skill you’ve had to learn. But seeing how hurt you were, how delicately Steve led you from the gate, and how beside himself he was through it all — the others are left reeling. Steve’s never been this upset. You’ve never been this fragile. The rest of the group almost feels lost. If you two can’t keep it together, how are they supposed to?

Not much sound has echoed from behind the closed door of the bathroom; inflections of Steve’s voice coaxing you or a rare response from you, mixed with an occasional sniffle or two, has been the extent of it. So when you finally cry out in pain, a sign that the worst of it has begun, they’re thankful for Steve’s original stubbornness. The sound makes Robin clasp her hands over her ears. Dustin’s face pinches, cringing intensely at how you immediately begin to cry. Lucas has to get up from his place at the kitchen table and start pacing slowly. Max’s grip on her arms tightens.

Your lip is quivering uncontrollably, tears now rolling down your cheeks in addition to everything else. You didn’t think the pain could get worse, but it exponentially does as Steve dabs the bite with an alcohol soaked cloth. The hold on his hand is of bruising strength despite sweat clinging to your skin, making it tough to keep a firm grip. A sob crawls out of your throat, words deciding to materialize.

“Steve, I can’t… I can’t do it. It hurts too much.”

“I know. I know, baby,” He mumbles back to you, trying to force back the tears at his lash line from the sight of you in such pain, “I gotta clean it, okay? I know it hurts but it’ll get worse if I don’t. Just hold on for me, yeah? A little while longer.”

Heartbreakingly, the semblance of a nod dips your chin down to your chest. You punctuate it with a whisper, “Okay.”

Steve nearly breaks right then and there. He’s taking care of you, he reminds himself. This has to be done.

While he wants to finish this task as soon as possible, he has to pause for a second. A trail of blood has begun to drip from the wound; Steve switches to a clean rag to wipe it away. The whiskey sloshes inside the glass bottle as he takes this opportunity to refresh the alcohol on the other. His hold on your hand remains unwavering.

You let out a particularly agonizing shout when he, as gently as he can, forces the cloth a little bit deeper into the muscle. Your head pounds, fuzzy and ears buzzing, eyes pinched shut as he continues. You’ve probably got two minutes before you black out from the pain.

Steve swallows harshly. His thoughts are scrambled, only thinking of how much he wishes he didn’t have to do this. In a moment of clarity, he stops mumbling assurances and asks you a question instead.

“What’s the apartment like? Tell me about our home. Big windows? The kind that let the sun into the living room during the evenings? C’mon sweetheart, talk to me. Tell me everything.”

Something else to focus on. You squeeze your eyes even tighter, as if you’re trying to visualize it in front of you. It works — the front door, a deep maroon, appears in your mind.

“The a-apartment,” You stutter, huge gasps of air filling your lungs in between your sobs, “The kit-kitchen has a green oven and… and wooden cabinets.”

You stumble over your words, pain forcing its way out your mouth as Steve swiftly continues his work. Faintly you can hear him repeating it from behind you, sharing his thoughts but you don’t have the mind to take it in.

“The bedroom,” You mumble next, trying to hold onto that image in your head. Your bedroom, where you’ll come back to each other every day. Your bed, the first one that will belong to both of you, piled high with pillows and blankets despite always using each other to keep warm. You won’t have to wait to see your love on the weekends, you’ll get to return home to him every single day.

“There’s a balcony. It’s tiny but… but…”

The thought dissolves as your resolve crumbles, your shoulders curling into your chest, your head starting to tip forwards. A terrible whimper sounds from your throat as you feel pain begin to overtake your consciousness, darkness creeping in from your periphery. When Steve feels your grip go slack in his hand, he stops immediately, dropping the cloth to loop his arm across the front of your stomach.

Regretfully he removes his other hand from yours to grasp your bicep, preventing you from falling, “Hey. Hey, stay with me, okay? I’m done, we’re done. No more pain, I promise.”

You nod sluggishly, the relief of knowing it’s over is enough to keep you from completely passing out. Although his work isn’t finished, there’s no way Steve’s putting you through anymore of that. His skin aches as he removes his hands from you — like they were meant to be there — and makes quick work of the large bandage Max provided. You wince slightly as he lays it over the bite wound; exhaustion prevents you from reacting any further. Additionally, Steve dresses you in a dark tank also borrowed from Max. It’s a bit small, but now you get to protect more of your modesty without Steve having to see you in Eddie’s clothes. A necessary step in his mind.

The moment the fabric’s settled over your abdomen, he’s ushering you into his lap, finally able to comfort you in the way he prefers. Your arms loosely wrap around his ribs — even in this haze of pain, you’re still hyper aware of his own injuries, desperate not to touch his bandages. As you slump, falling straight into Steve’s chest, it’s like the sky inside you opens up. You sob.

You’re tired, so fucking tired. Tired of this life you lead, tired of the trauma that haunts your every step, tired that something else has come between you and a normal life once again. You’ve suffered so much more than you deserve, Steve has suffered so much more than he deserves. The apartment, the symbol of domesticity for the pair of you, seems further and further away. You’ll never get it in the same way others do, even if the day finally comes. You and Steve will always be tortured by this and what’s happened to you, no matter how hard you try to forget. That fact feels so ridiculously, absurdly, disgustingly unfair. You two deserve that too.

There’s nothing Steve can do except sit here crumpled on the bathroom floor with you. He whispers assurances, apologies, literally anything he can think of to try and make this better. He understands the feeling far too well to try and stop you from crying; Steve doesn’t dare interrupt.

Once you’ve gone quiet and your hiccups and gasps for air have stopped, he waits for you to move first. When that moment doesn’t come after several minutes, Steve glances down to gauge how you’re feeling. What he finds is far from what he expects — you’re fast asleep.

Steve has a rule never to wake you. With your nightmares and everything in between, he knows how tired your body can grow when you’re forced to neglect your sleep. He’s seen it far too often; you fall asleep when you’re with him half the time. He likes to think that’s because he makes you feel safe. Whether it’s on top of him, beside him, or on the opposite side of the bed, Steve will never rouse you. You’re a rather light sleeper now; the fear of something occurring while you’re dreaming has created this habit in you. A small touch to your skin or a shift beneath you can bring you out of slumber with ease.

So when Steve’s arms instinctively tighten around you and there’s nothing but a flutter of your eyelashes in response, it speaks to the depth of your exhaustion. He runs his thumb along the swell of your cheek; this rest is well deserved.

It’s gone far too quiet. The others have resorted to glancing between each other as they continue to wait; Eddie and Lucas have taken seats next to Dustin on the couch, hoping their presence is enough to comfort your brother. Nancy remains outside, where she retreated after her horrifying experience with Vecna; it’ll take a couple hours to process everything he showed her before sharing with the group. The girls have taken over the dining table — Robin and Erica sat beside each other, Max on the opposite side.

Dustin’s a minute away from throwing the bathroom door open to see what’s happening now, but it swings in on its hinges before he can. A few of their faces go ashy at the sight of you limp in Steve’s arms, one slung across your back with the other tucked under your legs. He quickly reassures them, voice hushed, “S’okay. Just sleeping.”

Heartbroken doesn’t even begin to describe the feeling that washes over the group, but especially the teens. You’ve always been strong, even before Will disappeared; seeing you like this is new.

Dustin and Erica were with you as you led the rescue attempt for Robin and Steve. Not even a bullet wound could slow you down. Then in the fall of ‘84 when a broken hand and a concussion didn’t stop you from helping the others distract the Mind Flayer. Vecna finally broke you.

“Is there, uh, somewhere I can-”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course,” Max interrupts Steve and silently beckons for him to follow to her bedroom. It’s a bit messy, but that doesn’t matter to him; he just wants somewhere quiet for you to rest.

As gingerly as he can, Steve places you onto the mattress laying on your side, praying that you won’t attempt to roll over during your slumber. He pulls up a blanket at the foot of the bed and tucks it around your neck to keep you warm. You don’t move an inch through the whole process, your soft breaths continuing despite the movement.

Before he leaves, Steve brushes a few strands of hair away from your forehead and places a kiss to the skin. It lingers for a moment, like he’s wishing it’ll heal you instantly. Regretfully, an ounce of happiness blooms in him; he never gets to dish out affection while you’re asleep for fear of waking you. Doing something so simple as pressing his lips to your forehead while you dream shouldn’t be something that brings him joy. Especially with these circumstances.

When Steve turns, he’s met with the kids crowded in the doorframe. Well, they’re not kids anymore, but he swears he sees the same puny assholes they used to be, clad in frowns and sad worried eyes. It reminds him how long he’s been doing this — long enough to see them grow up right before his very eyes. His chest aches.

Quietly, he ushers them away and back into the hall. None of them protest, although they want to be with you right now. But before Dustin can move, Steve places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t need to speak for your brother to instantly understand. All Dustin can manage is a nod and a grateful smile in the hopes his tears don’t start again; his eyes are puffy and red around the edges. Silently, he enters Max’s bedroom while Steve briefly returns to the bathroom.

He’s pretty sure he could throw up, just vomit all over the sink. Some of your blood is on his hands, smeared and scarlett against his skin. He hates the sight. With a deep sigh and lips firmly pressed in a line, Steve washes it from his palms; he’s thankful it scrubs off easy. Unfortunately, something tells him this won’t be the last time he’s forced to patch you up. He wishes it didn’t have to be him.

Steve makes quick work of cleaning up after himself, discarding wrappers and soiled cloth into the trash can under the sink. He swallows two of the painkillers for himself — his wounds ache profusely, but he thinks he’ll be alright for a little while. What he wants to do more than anything is rest beside you. His chest burns once again at the thought; it’s been too long.

An absurd amount of worry and adoration sparks inside Steve when he shuts the door to Max’s room; Dustin’s taken the spot beside you on her mattress, sitting up against the headboard. He doesn’t feel like sleeping. Your brother’s face is wrought with concern and a smattering of other emotions, all of which Steve also feels brewing inside him. There’s nothing he thinks he could say to make this better — ‘she’s gonna be okay’ seems condescending and weightless. The truth is that yes, physically you’re probably going to be fine. Your body has healed before. Mentally… this could take quite a toll.

Steve drops to the ground and leans back against the nightstand, his arms balancing on top of his knees. From here, it’s easy for him to spot you out of the corner of his eye; with a slight turn of the head, he can see all of you. Aside from some mutters that echo from the room beyond, it’s completely silent. He can hear his own heartbeat growing slower and slower, adrenaline and shaky hands starting to melt away as he begins to relax; Steve clenches his fists once to steady them.

A rather deep exhale from you has his eyes darting to your sleeping form. As his gaze roves over your face, Demobat blood and dust splotched across your skin, the tempting allure of rest creeps up on him.

—

Steve doesn’t remember falling asleep. One moment he was watching over you and then the next Dustin’s hunched over him, poking him in the arm until he wakes. He blinks a couple times as he gains his bearings, mouth strangely dry, as Dustin informs him of what’s happening — Nancy’s ready to talk.

Under normal circumstances, Steve would let you rest and fill you in later; he has a feeling that whatever it is that’s been keeping Nancy preoccupied for the last few hours is crucial to the next step the group makes. Which unfortunately means he has to wake you.

Steve wants to be gentle so you’re not startled, but you need to get up. He sits down beside you and his hand grips where your hip is beneath the blanket — you haven’t moved since he placed you here. Your body only stirs a bit when he mumbles your name, so regrettably, he has to shake you slightly. A small whine leaves your throat as your eyes peel open; Steve crumbles at the sound. He moves his hand to your face, thumb gliding across your cheekbone as a comfort.

“I know, m’sorry, sweetheart,” He mutters before your irises lock onto him, “Nancy’s ready to tell us what she saw.”

As Steve helps you stand with an arm wrapped firmly around your waist, your focus is brought to the makeshift bandage around his abdomen; blood has started to seep through the fabric — shades of maroon and red nearly stop you in your tracks. The promise you made to him pops into your mind.

“Didn’t get to clean yours.”

He nearly laughs because of course you’re more worried about him than yourself. He opts for a small smile instead, choking back a groan as he straightens, “S’alright. It’s not that bad anymore.”

But Steve was right earlier; cleaning the injury has helped in the long run. While there’s still an ache in your muscles and the wound shoots with sharp pain if you move your shoulder too much, it’s not nearly as bad as it was before. The short nap has helped as well, your body less exhausted although you feel like you could still sleep for hours. You want him to have the same relief, especially as you notice his face pinch as the pair of you begin to move. He’s lying to you. You visibly pout at the thought.

Steve sighs. He does adore how much you love taking care of him. He gives in.

“I’ll let you take a look later, okay? I promise. Let’s hear what Nancy has to say, yeah?”

With arms linked together as you sit on the couch, your hands clasped over the crook in his elbow, you receive the worst news you’ve ever heard.

You’re no longer fighting for your own lives, but for the lives of the entire town. Perhaps the world. Vecna plans to merge Hawkins and the Upside Down — a foreboding and tense feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. This is far more than you ever signed up for. Fighting a monster or two? Fine. Saving the town from complete and total destruction? You’re not even sure how to do that. But you do know one thing; Vecna has to be killed. You have to go back in.

It’s an awful idea — a sure fire way to get yourself and everyone you love slaughtered. But you think you’d hate yourself for the rest of your life if you didn’t try. You and this band of misfits are the only ones who can stop this, which is why you’re now helping Eddie Munson hotwire a Winnebago. Add that to the list of things you never thought you’d do. Sneaking into this poor unsuspecting couple’s trailer is incredibly sobering; with a new burst of adrenaline, you almost feel back to normal.

Eddie could probably do it himself, but considering the time crunch and the soon to be angry hicks outside, a little help wouldn’t hurt. To his surprise, you manage to strip your wire slightly faster than him; all that tinkering with your brother has paid off. It’s enough to impress.

“Shit, you’re pretty good with your hands, Henderson. Is that a uh-”

Eddie clears his throat, smirking since he knows what he’ll be walking into — your boyfriend is looking over both your shoulders. He can’t help himself. Seeing Steve Harrington squirm and bunch up with jealousy is sort of hilarious.

“That a transferable skill or…?”

Before Steve can say anything, you’re laughing as you hand the wire back to him, “Oh I don’t know, why don’t you ask Stevie?”

Steve would be kind of mad that you so openly flirted with Munson in front of him if he wasn’t a bit shocked by the fact that he liked it.

“Stevie, huh? That’s cute,” Eddie immediately answers, forcing Steve’s brow to lift just slightly higher; he liked that more than he was expecting too. Robin watches on in disgust and confusion, her cheeks pinched as her gaze darts between the three of you.

The moment’s short lived as Eddie starts up the RV, the engine igniting and shaking your surroundings. Steve is forced to quell the raging blush that’s beginning to rise up his neck and practically throws himself into the driver’s seat; Robin and Eddie retreat back to the others while you take the passenger’s. You have to resist the urge to spit out directions as you speed away from the trailer park, Steve’s foot firmly on the gas.

The panic doesn’t wear off until Steve chuckles in disbelief to your left, head shaking slightly as he drives further from the scene of the crime.

“Now that’s the stupidest thing we’ve ever done.”

You laugh along with him in agreement, nodding profusely, “I can’t believe you’re driving someone’s house right now.”

“Y’know it’s not so different from the BMW, Henderson,” He replies smartly. Knowing it’ll get a reaction out of you, he glances over briefly before he has to refocus on the road; his tone and the mention of his rich boy car earns him a small scoff and a roll of the eyes.

“Well if you ever want a break, I can take over for a bit,” You add after a pause, casting your gaze out the window, “Just let me know.”

Steve’s chest warms at your offer; it’s stupid how much he loves you.

“Thanks baby, but I got it,” He spares another couple seconds to look at you again, fully curled up against the fabric seat with your arms wrapped around your knees. Steve couldn’t dare ask you to unfurl from yourself; you look genuinely relaxed like this.

“I’ve kind of always wanted to drive one of these things around anyways,” He continues immediately, removing one of his hands from the wheel to wave his fingers through the air.

You tilt your head back over towards him, shifting in your seat to turn a bit closer. The sun is streaking through the trees, casting the shadows of leaves onto your cheekbones as he drives. The dark splotches glide over your skin before the RV rolls across a brief patch of pasture; the sun bounces through your irises, now intently focused on him, the color highlighted perfectly.

Steve swallows, forcing his eyes back to the expanse of road in front of him. Fuck.

Your voice is light, a little teasing, “Is it everything you hoped for?”

“Eh, different circumstances, but…” He trails off, his tone matching yours, “It’s not so bad.”

“What do you wanna drive an RV around for? Are we going to a tailgate or something? Camping?”

Your humoring gets a small chuckle out of him, his eyes checking the rear view mirror — he adjusts it momentarily, “Sure, if you want, but I’ve always wanted to go on a road trip.”

Steve sees your face brighten slightly in his periphery, a smile growing at the thought. Touring the states in a Winnebago is so American and cliché it’s adorable. You don’t speak; you can tell he has more to say.

“It’s always been a, uh, dream of mine to do this with…”

He pauses for a second, nearly shrinking in his seat. He’s never told you this before. He doesn’t know why he suddenly finds it a touch embarrassing.

Steve licks his lips, brow furrowed for a moment as he collects himself. His voice is softer than before — nostalgic or sheepish, you can’t tell.

“To do it with a big family or something, I guess. A few kids probably.”

Your face creases a bit in shock. You don’t know why it surprises you, “Really?”

Now smiling at the thought, Steve nods. His excitement picks up with your interest; the words flow out of him much easier.

“Oh yeah, like a whole brood of Harringtons runnin’ around. A few lil’ nuggets, like five or six kids-”

“SIX?” You can’t help but sputter, eyes widening in pure shock. He laughs a bit at your outburst, darting his focus back to you for a second, “What’s so wrong with that?”

“Steve, my uterus hurts just thinking about it! Oh my g-”

You abruptly cut yourself off; you assumed he’d be talking about you.

You and Steve haven’t discussed the future at all, outside maybe a couple of months in advance. With your college education being a factor to consider, the most you two ever discussed were weekend getaways or plans for the holidays. Even with him now moving in with you, it was about getting to spend more time together, not necessarily promising a future. The decision was a natural progression for your relationship — you like it in the city, Steve hates it in Hawkins when you’re not there. Why not come with?

There never seemed to be anything wrong with that. You started dating in high school, when you were teenagers — the big picture wasn’t something to worry about, not when you’re young. You’re not much older now, but your lives are different. There’s more responsibility you have to consider, and in turn it has made both of you more mature. This is uncharted territory.

Early on in your relationship, Steve had decided not to think too far ahead. With Nancy, he had gotten the better of himself and pictured their life together years in advance, wondering what it’d be like when things were allowed to be normal for once. In the end, that was one of the most detrimental aspects of their relationship. Enough so that when it came time for you, Steve forced himself into the present. He forced himself to take everything one day at a time, worried that he’d get carried away again and ruin what you two have. He learned to meet trauma head on instead of hiding from it, which actually wasn’t a difficult change to make — especially when it helps you more than you can articulate.

Suddenly, Steve goes several shades of red. In all the years he’s dreamed of himself having kids, he doesn't know how he never pictured that it’d be with you. You… the mother of his children. That image, the mere thought, has him swallowing harshly.

The way you interact with the teens should’ve been a dead giveaway. You’d be an amazing mom.

His hands tighten around the steering wheel. Of course it’d be you. He doesn’t… he doesn’t think he wants to do it with anyone else.

Steve desperately tries to forget about the flush in his cheeks and the thought of sharing a family with you, but he can’t help but get lost in the daydream for a moment.

They’d have his warm eyes and your brilliant smile, the classic Henderson curiosity lighting a fire beneath their tousled curls. They’d be wicked smart, just like you. Perfect mixtures of you and Steve — the best parts. But most importantly, they’d be protected from all of this, kept so far away from the horrors you two have experienced that it’d be like none of it ever happened at all.

It takes another second for either of you to speak again.

Steve clears his throat, unable to summon the courage to look over at you. His grip on the wheel tightens even further, “But uh, I-I figured all of us Harringtons would rent somethin’ like this and just… go see the country. All of us, just for a couple weeks in the summer.”

“Take them to see the Rockies or that big geyser thing. Or Yellowstone maybe. The Space Needle? I don’t know… whatever they want. We’d go to all of it. End up parked on some beach in California, maybe learn how to surf or something.”

He almost feels guilty imagining doing this with you. He doesn’t even know if you’d want that with him — a family. After all, you’re the one in college. You’re going to be searching for a career in a couple of years. It’s silly to be thinking about something so serious as having kids when you have the rest of your lives ahead of you. Well, granted you survive the next couple of days.

Steve’s right, it is silly. But there’s also a huge chance that you don’t make it out of this alive. You think you want to have something to fight for, something more than just an apartment with him in the city. You’ve never really thought about what would come next, but you suppose-

“That does sound nice.”

The words spill from you before you can think. But it’s not a lie. You think you want a life with him. The idea of you and Steve pouring an abundance of love into some children — your children — living proof of your pure devotion to one another… you should be combusting due to how quickly your face heats.

Steve can’t help it. He has to look over at you. He meets your gaze instantly, drawn to you like moths to a flame, like his soul is tethered to yours. He’s searching your eyes for something, although he’s not quite sure what. Maybe honesty, perhaps excitement. He’s a tad too overwhelmed at the concept of having children with you to think properly.

“You think so?”

You nod — a silent promise. You want to do it with him.

“Yeah, I do.”

Steve blinks. You do too. He feels delicate despite the raging thoughts swarming through his mind. Everything around him seems trivial with your eyes locked like this, two colors that could be passed onto mini versions of yourselves. It’s unfair he has to look away. It’s unfair he can’t reach you from here. It’s unfair that all this could be is just a stupid dream, something to keep you moving until you’re cut down and bleeding out. It’s unfair that it might never happen.

Even though this is something you’ve wanted for only about thirty seconds, your heart aches at the possibility of getting to do it — getting to raise kids with your love and be the family both of you deserved but never got. God, you want it so bad. You didn’t think you could want something this much. You want to give Steve the chance to do something more with himself, be a father and nurture. He’d be so good at it too; it’s almost like he was made for it. Made to give love like it’s easy, like it’s a fierce instinct inside him he’s pushed down for far too long. You never want him to have to do that ever again. Not while you have him.

“Except… maybe two,” You say, shyly breaking the silence that crawled between you. You keep your voice low to ensure it stays between the both of you, “Two kids, I mean.”

Another smile starts to pull at Steve’s lip, far more gentle than anything else as he continues to stare at the highway in front of him, “Two, huh?”

You shrug slightly as you find yourself drifting further into this dream, joy filling your every limb, “Yeah. And maybe a cat or something.”

“What if I want a fish?”

“A fish? Wha-”

You can’t help but laugh in surprise; Steve looks over once again. After a few moments of falsely pondering in thought, as if you wouldn’t give him anything he asked, you answer, “Okay, fine. We can do both.”

We. He doesn’t know if you meant to say it, but it makes his heart do something funny inside his chest.

He exhales as his hands shift on the steering wheel, “Two kids, a cat, and a fish.”

Steve repeats it like he’s speaking it into the universe, manifesting it to occur in a few years — one of these times, something good’s going to happen to you. The idea of your little family indents itself into his brain, tattooed in golden ink. Steve won’t give up until he gets it with you.

You nod in agreement, “Yeah, that sounds…”

Amazing. Perfect, even.

“Reasonable.”

Steve huffs and shakes his head at your word choice, rolling his eyes just enough to get a giggle out of you. His grin grows impossibly wider as he thinks about it for a second. Anything, literally any type of future with you sounds like the best thing he’s ever heard.

He nods too, “Okay. Deal.”

A beaming smile, the kind that’s hard to hide, curves your lips in record time. You have to drop your chin and turn away before you can begin to smother it, the pads of your fingers ghosting over your face as you come to a startling conclusion: you and Steve want a future together.

—

The War Zone parking lot is packed to the brim. You don’t know why you’re surprised — with tensions rising in Hawkins due to Eddie’s disappearance and rumors of a demonic cult, it makes sense that the surrounding citizens would flock to arm themselves. You’re also in rural Indiana, which also means it could be busy just because.

Steve doesn’t like the idea of you staying in the RV with the Hellfire Club members while he goes in with the others — he can’t really stand the thought of leaving you right now. But Dustin’s right; if the basketball team’s looking for him, there’s a decent chance you’re on their list too. It’s not worth the risk.

“Get me some good stuff, yeah?” You say quietly, your fingers dancing across the skin of his forearm. Steve’s crouched beside the passenger seat with his palm smoothing over your calf, your legs still bunched up into your chest. He only lets a hint of his worry show on his face, his brows slightly furrowed with a small frown; he really really doesn’t want to leave you. He’d rather just crawl onto the seat and bury his head into your shoulder.

Steve scoots a bit closer, his hand hooking around the back of your knee as if it’ll keep him near you forever, “I’ll be right back, okay?”

You melt at the desperation in his voice; you can hear how much this pains him, even though you won’t be far for very long. You nod softly, the press of your fingers engraving the texture of your skin onto his. With your free hand, you reach over to brush a chunk of hair away from his cheek, “I know, Steve.”

Steve’s lucky Robin is in the middle of distracting the others with her rambling when he leans over to kiss you; his palms rise to caress your head between his hands, a firm but careful grip. It doesn’t last long, but you’re still breathless when he pulls away — everything the pair of you have been feeling over the last few hours is exchanged between your lips. You spy it in his eyes as well, a familiar intensity blooming in his pupils that’s mirrored in yours as well. Your gaze darts down to his cupid’s bow for a moment, half expecting him to kiss you once more but it never comes. Instead, Steve clenches his jaw as he tries to banish the influx of thoughts and urges that invade his mind.

It’s tough to resist but he’s helped by Robin calling for him; you don’t breathe again until Steve’s touch leaves you. Something about that felt different than it used to, like there’s words still left unsaid and feelings still unprocessed. Maybe you’re just craving the closeness and his skin on yours — it has been a few days since you had time strictly to yourselves. But whatever it is, it makes you feel like you’re burning.

Several minutes after Steve exits with the other girls, Eddie saddles up beside you. Although you’re parked on the side of the building and out of view from most patrons, he makes an effort to stay below the base of the windshield. He tosses an elbow over the armrest connected to the driver’s seat.

Eddie gestures blankly in the air between you, “Are you… alright?”

“Yeah, I’m a bit better now, thanks,” You reply, shifting your focus from out the window to him. His hair’s a little wild — wilder than usual — due to the lake water and from him fiddling with it. A few strands are twisted together, almost like he tried and failed to braid them.

“How about with the, um…”

Eddie doesn’t really know how to bring up the topic, so he’s lucky you’re smart enough to understand what he means; the realization flickers across your face.

“Right, uh, not gonna lie I kind of forgot about that,” You answer with a light laugh in your tone, “Considering what’s happened in the past few hours, that seems like the least important thing I should be worrying about.”

Eddie scoffs to himself — it should be obvious to him that you’re barely thinking about that. You’ve been through a lot since your conversation with him in the woods. He feels a little stupid for bringing it up now.

“Of course, yeah. I just…” He trails off, a clink of his rings echoing through the air as he brings his hands together, “Just wanted to make sure we were cool after that. Pretty sure Harrington wants to kill me now.”

That gets a proper laugh out of you. At the thought of your love, you instantly cast your eyes out to the sprawling concrete like it’ll cause him to appear in front of you. You miss him.

“Steve’s really protective of those he loves,” You smile, feeling beyond overwhelmed that you get to include yourself in that group of people, “Trust me, you’re not the one he’s holding a grudge for.”

Instinctively, you trace your thumb along the back of your left hand. It falls into a small divot below one of your knuckles — a section of your skin that never grew back quite right. There’s not a day that goes by where you don’t regret him. All it brought you was anger and sleepless nights, terrifying dreams and painful memories you still haven’t healed from, like an unclosed tomb that won’t let you mourn what you lost.

Eddie might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but he can read through the lines when he has to. He remembers the brace on your hand and the bruises on Harrington’s face. It was obvious that Billy had been the cause of the boy’s injuries, especially when he practically bragged about it, but he never figured Hargrove could’ve been responsible for yours as well. Suddenly it hits him — Billy Hargrove did a lot more damage to you than spreading a few rumors.

Before either of you has the opportunity to speak again, the door to the RV bursts open and the rest of your group piles in, plastic bags filled to the brim with all manner of supplies. It’s ridiculous how warm you feel when Steve takes his place in the seat beside yours; all he’s able to offer you as a greeting is a loving smile before he’s changing the gears and speeding off in a hurry. He shouts something back to your brother in argument as you start to peek through the bags placed by your side.

There’s a larger selection of medical supplies, meant for use in the event of any more injuries and to tend to those previously sustained. One is filled with bundles of thick clothes, another with a smattering of assorted items to make molotovs — gasoline cans, liquor bottles, and cheap t-shirts to slice up. Bullets knock against each other as you search a fourth bag and you instantly grow tense; you can spot Nancy’s shotgun out of the corner of your eye, making you worried what they could’ve gotten you in your absence.

Steve watches as the anxiety creeps up behind you like a shadow. He runs the back of his hand along his jaw, a light wash of stubble beginning to coat his skin, “Robin has your stuff. She insisted on finding you an outfit.”

Instantly, Robin materializes behind you, as if she was just waiting for someone to bring it up. As bubbly as ever, she pulls out a military green flight suit and a thick protective vest to be worn on top. She also hands you a thigh sheath, already containing a decently sized hunting knife, before passing over a much larger one. It’s a large machete bound in a brown leather sling with a wooden grip; it’s a bit too big for your hand but you’ll manage. As if she already thought of this, Robin finally reveals a set of fingerless gloves to assist with your grip on the weapon.

“Nance wanted to get you a handgun but I… figured this was probably a better idea,” Steve says as Robin returns back to the others. Your eyes dart over to him and you’re now able to properly take in his outfit change. It’s stupid how hazy it makes you feel — the sight of your boyfriend clad in the warm browns and greens of leather and camouflage. He looks strong, tough for the journey ahead. The contrast of his exterior with the soft vulnerability you know lies within has you swallowing harshly; it doesn’t help that Steve understood what you needed and pushed for another way for you to defend yourself. To say you’re overwhelmed would be an understatement.

“Thank you,” You whisper as you outstretch your hand to him with a grateful grin spreading across your face. Steve takes it immediately, his warm fingers curling around the side of your palm. As a response, he smiles too and leans over to press a kiss to the mark on the back of your palm. Your cheeks heat from the gesture.

After nearly thirty minutes of driving, Steve parks the RV off a deserted stretch of highway; the next exit isn't for another few miles, no one should find you all the way out here. As the group begins to stir, grabbing the supplies they’ve acquired, you stop Steve with a hand to his arm.

“Can I patch you up now?”

Right — Steve nearly forgot the promise he made to you. He nods once before lifting the bags he holds, “Yeah, of course. Just lemme drop these off outside.”

You’re taking stock of the contents below the sink when he enters a couple minutes later and shuts the door behind him. You’ve found a half-used roll of paper towels and some spare rags that seem clean enough. As you start to wash your hands, Steve peels off the jacket with ease and drapes it over the small booth.

“Alright, Henderson,” He says before yanking the shirt off by the back of the collar, “Where do you want me?”

You sweat your brain short circuits. Luckily, you gain your thoughts back to reply fairly quickly, but Steve knows you better than he knows himself. The miniscule drop of your jaw, slight pause of your hands beneath the water, and the pass of your eyes across his chest did not go unnoticed.

“The couch is fine,” You answer as you try to forget about the warmth in your stomach. You’re unsuccessful — you have to push out a deep exhale while drying your hands. The tension’s building inside your body with nowhere to go.

You’re almost jealous Steve gets to relax against the back of the cushions while you tend to him, but all you want is for him to be comfortable through this. Using a foldable beach chair Robin found stashed beneath the bench, you situate yourself in front of him, one of his legs between both of yours. You instruct him to grip your knee if he has to, which he does instantly, his fingers a tantalizing pressure as you continue to prepare. Steve watches you patiently.

You sigh and glance up to his eyes, which pinch shut in anticipation as you begin to untie the fabric around his wounds. Steve gulps as the final layer is peeled away, exposing the bites to the air for the first time in hours. You have to push away the instinct to tear up at the sight of his stomach smeared with his blood and littered with injuries. Rather than dwell on it for too long, you get to work.

It doesn’t take long to wipe away the blood on his skin, thankfully — Steve doesn’t react much other than a short grimace when the damp cloth passes over a rather sensitive spot. As you soak a gauze pad in the disinfectant, you finally speak again.

“This is gonna hurt,” You mutter, moving to re-adjust closer to him, your hand hovering over one of the bites, “I should know.”

Steve lets out a noise similar to a strained chuckle, his neck tensing as he anticipates the pain to begin; he realizes you’re waiting for him to give the okay. He nods, “Just do it.”

As soon as the alcohol is pressed to his torn skin, Steve winces, his jaw clenching immediately. You watch his reactions intently, ready to stop at a moment’s notice. Your free hand tapping his leg forces his head up from the back of the couch, “Don’t bite down on your teeth like that, baby. You’ll break ‘em.”

A whimper of pain leaks into his sigh as you continue to dab the gauze around the edge of the wound. Steve runs both his hands over his face in exasperation, trying to remember and focus on your words, “Right, right. Sorry.”

You laugh a bit at his apology. When he lets out a particularly restrained curse, brows tightly creased, you know that it’s time for a break.

Even though you’ve paused, his stomach continues to clench, the waves of pain still rolling through his body. When Steve drops one hand from his face, you grab it instinctively; it’s already warm and sweaty, another indication of the state he’s in.

“We’re gonna take as many breaks as you need, okay?” You assure him, tightening your grip on his hand as if it reinforces your words, “Anytime you need.”

You squeeze his fingers once more before preparing to continue the tedious work in front of you. This time, a choked whimper escapes Steve’s lips at the contact, his hand immediately back on your knee. You’re mumbling praises and comforts, not wanting to keep him in too much silence; Steve cuts you off, face still contorted in pain.

“Can…” He breathes through his gritted teeth, releasing them as he remembers your words, “Tell me about the apartment again. P-Please.”

You can’t help the heat that rises to your cheeks at his request. Given his current condition, you almost feel bad for being so giddy that he wants to know more about it. But you oblige, humming for a second as you think, tossing soiled gauze in the plastic bag.

“The walls in the bathroom are light blue, like the color of the sky today,” You say as you prepare another one, “The shower has a bathtub, which is very exciting and rare to find in the city.”

Steve can feel your words calming him down as he pictures every little detail you tell him. The cleaning goes quicker with your words with him seemingly distracted enough that you can work for longer before he needs a break. You save the details of the apartment for when you’re cleaning, and every break is the same; a rush of kisses to his hand, telling him how well he’s doing.

“There’s big windows, just like you said,” You add, a hint of a smile spreading on your face as you remember your first visit and switch your focus to the other bite, “You can see the park, and the sun comes into the kitchen in the afternoon.”

“The kitchen isn’t the biggest,” Your words continue, chewing your lip as you try to spring all the details back to your brain.

“Gr-green oven?” Steve asks, voice mostly breath.

“That’s the one. There might be room for some dancing maybe,” You grin up at him, referring to the many times Steve has swept you into his arms while waiting for the oven to ding, insisting on a waltz. His hand squeezes your knee — not in pain this time.

Steve can’t tell how long it’s been, his muscles aching from how they’ve been tensed for so long. While you’ve stopped using the disinfectant, you’re still working away at his stomach, fingers setting him alight when you graze his skin; it’s a type of fire he doesn’t mind. He shivers.

“Are you cold?” You speak up as you wrap his abdomen in a fresh layer of gauze. You must have felt his shudder. Steve shakes his head, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He’s having a tough time breathing with you taking care of him like this.

Steve feels his body relax in relief when you tape the bandage down, going a bit limp against the cushions, but the expression you carry stops him; you don’t seem finished.

“What? What is it?”

Your eyes rove over his skin before landing on his neck. You gesture to your own as you reply, “Your throat. I’m just gonna clean it up quickly.”

With the couch as deep as it is, you can’t reach him from here. An idea pops into your head that makes your heart beat a bit harder inside your chest. You sigh in defeat, knowing what you’re getting yourself into by doing this, before getting out of the chair.

Steve’s brow furrows in confusion until you throw one of your legs over his thighs. While you’re planning on hovering over him, his large hands instinctively reach for you and gently tug you down to rest on top of him. Both of you feel flustered by the proximity, regardless of how long you’ve been together. Your breath hitches with his fingers now pressing into your waist. Steve’s jaw slacks — he’s known for getting overwhelmed when you’re above him like this. Regardless, a boyish, proud grin pulls at his lips.

“You’re blushing.”

You scoff as the alcohol soaked gauze makes contact with the skin above his collarbone. You shake your head slightly as you tease, “Yeah, yeah. Be quiet.”

The way you’re taking care of him — almost in a controlling way — absolutely wrecks the man beneath you. He’s got no say in the matter, forced to let you tend to his wounds with nothing but love and care. God, if Steve doesn’t adore knowing how much you love him. But then again, you’re also nervous at the closeness, displaying the softer and shyer feelings you hold for him. He gets both from you at the same time?

“Stop that,” You mumble.

“What?”

When you glance down to him, you’re met with his loving eyes, the same ones you know you can never refuse. You have to swallow harshly to try and keep yourself in check.

“Stop looking at me like that,” You respond, remembering to swipe the gauze across his neck, “You’re distracting me.”

Steve’s brows raise, his grin growing once again, “Oh, I’m distracting? You got on top of me, y’know.”

You decide to bite your tongue, opting to continue working with nothing but a small smirk tossed his way. Steve doesn’t have the same thought — he clamps down on his lip for a moment before speaking, his voice low.

“Could use a distraction.”

His fingers move to the sides of your hips before dipping under your shirt to graze your skin. His chest burns delightfully as your expression falters, but you do your best to stay focused. The hand on his neck has paused, just for a moment before you steady yourself and continue despite his teasing touches.

Steve is glad the bruises on his neck don’t hurt nearly as much, but he was right — you provide the perfect distraction either way. His hands skim up, his nails scratching your ribcage. You inhale sharply.

“Steve…”

It’s supposed to be a warning. From the slight widening of his eyes, it definitely doesn’t come off that way.

The air is thick. It’s almost like you’re suffocating, throat closing up the longer you and Steve spend teasing each other with no crescendo. You’re not as strong as you thought — you drop your head a bit, your nose dangerously close to brushing against his. You need to kiss him, your eyes drifting closed.

After the day you’ve had, you feel this intense draw to each other, unlike any you have had before. Something’s different now, like your relationship’s shifted somehow. Maybe it’s the thought of making him the father of your children. Maybe it’s desperation after nothing more than a kiss or two for the last few days. Or even maybe it’s the fact you crawled out of an alternate dimension together, a place you could’ve lost each other to.

You’re both hesitating, no matter how badly you want this. If you start something… it could be difficult to stop.

Steve’s brain reminds him of something. His pupils are almost fully blown out as he stares up at you, “I locked the door behind you.”

The dam breaks — your lips are on Steve’s in a millisecond; he’s almost caught off guard by how quickly it happens. He snaps just as quickly and is kissing you back instantly. You’re discarding the paper towel, or cotton swab, or… whatever it was you previously held; your mind is far, far too fuzzy to remember. Your top priority is freeing both your hands, which settle down onto his bare shoulders.

Your breaths swirl together as one of his palms is removed from your back to cradle the nape of your neck. In a moment of courage, you tug slightly on his skin, a silent signal that you’d like to pull him up. He immediately understands, following you into a sitting position. The pain in his stomach doesn’t even cross his mind.

No, the only thing on Steve’s mind is your lips on his and your greedy hands, fingers digging into his shoulders in an attempt to bring him closer. He feels feverish — these kisses are hot and fast as opposed to the soft and slow ones that you usually share together. Both of you are spurring each other on, but not an ounce of passion is lost.

Steve’s hand on your waist grips you tighter, pulls you closer, and it forces another breath from you. The beginning of a whimper forms in your throat, your cheeks blazing as the sound escapes. His fingers slide into the hair at the base of your scalp as he moves his lips south, the warm press of his mouth finding its way under your jaw.

Anger surges beneath the desire that pools in his stomach. Steve thinks that he finally understands the foreign, sudden jealousy he’s been experiencing. As he sits here with your chest arching into him and his lips on your neck, the thought of literally anyone else, but especially Eddie Munson, getting to touch you the way he does makes him feel incredibly possessive.

To be quite honest, Steve’s not entirely sure how he feels about Eddie right now — there’s a lot of confusing thoughts running through his mind regarding that topic. But there’s one thing that he does know for certain.

You’re his. Steve only wants to be yours.

He only wants your wandering hands gliding across his skin, gripping tightly onto him when he pulls those beautiful sounds from you night after night. He only wants to hear your laugh in response to his terrible jokes, head thrown back in pure joy. He only wants your eyes to meet his from across the kitchen table, fully enamored with the domesticity of sharing a home-cooked meal together. He only wants your voice calming him from his horrific nightmares, tone full of understanding as you mumble gentle assurances. He only wants your lips brushing against his, smiling into his loving kiss.

Steve only wants you.

Instinctively, you tilt your head back for him; he knows where to go, which places to run his tongue and teeth along to earn those delicious mewls from your throat. Your hold on Steve tightens even further, hanging onto him as his mouth finds the spot on the side of your neck, almost close enough to reach your collarbone.

He mumbles something incoherent to you against your skin, his fingers on your head supporting you as you whine, Steve beginning to leave his mark on the expansive skin of your throat. Your hands grasp at his shoulders even more, fingernails embedding themselves in the muscles there. It’s getting to be too much.

Steve thinks he could do this all day, just to listen to the sounds you make when he brushes his tongue and teeth along your skin. Your entire neck is flushed, warm to the touch and he relishes in the darkening mark he’s left behind as he finally pulls back.

You’re his.

Your chest rises as you pant to get in some oxygen, head a little dizzy from the sensations you just experienced. Steve observes you with a proud grin, lips wet and eyes shining as he plants another kiss on your neck, then your jaw. You meet him in the middle, mouths melting into each other.

You still can’t get enough, drinking in the curve of his chapped bottom lip, the heat of his tongue — you pull back, trying to restrain from kissing him again when Steve chases your mouth.

“S’my turn,” You breathe, tilting your chin to gesture to his neck before you start littering your kisses along his jaw instead.

Steve swallows harshly as your lips descend further, his breaths beginning to quicken and you’ve barely begun. This — your teeth and mouth on his throat — is one of his favorite things. There’s no particular spot you have to search for because Steve likes everything. Wherever gets you the prettiest sound is where you’ll go to work. His hands are flexing and clenching in an attempt to control himself as you kiss along his neck, carefully avoiding any injuries.

It’s not until you reach a spot beneath his ear that you get the first groan, low and husky, and you can’t help but grin against him. A flare of pride sets you alight. You begin to suck on the skin, lips hot and soft. Steve curses, trying to restrain the noises building in his throat — there are some that could overhear after all. You’ll have to settle for whispers.

“Don’t stop,” He pleads, his palms sliding up the middle of your back; your shirt is caught on his wrists now, almost exposing your entire spine to the cooler air that surrounds you. It’s hard to tell if the goosebumps that litter your skin are from his touch or the sudden shift in temperature. He feels his skin growing hotter each second, desperate to envelop your lips in more searing kisses, but he’d be an idiot if he pulled you off him.

As Steve relaxes further into the sensation of your kiss-swollen lips on his throat, he finds it difficult to focus on one specific thing you’re doing; you’re all consuming. It’d be a disservice to you to only keep his attention on one element of your relentless teasing for so long.

Your hands have drifted from his shoulders, one firmly grasping his bicep and the other deeply twisting your fingers into the hair on the back of his head. His grip on your waist falters when you tug lightly at the strands in your fist, earning you another restrained whimper from him. The added pressure of your body on top of his doesn’t make this any easier; his head spins, especially when you shift your hips a bit to elongate your posture and continue biting at the determined spot.

Your nose bumps the shell of his ear every time you open your mouth; the light skimming is driving him insane in the best way. The light stubble that coats his jaw from the past couple days rubs against your soft cheek, further spurring you on in a way you can’t describe. Your fingers tighten in his hair.

His head finally falls backwards, completely giving in to your ministrations when your teeth not only pinch some of his red skin between them, but pull it away from his body. A full, unsuppressed groan vibrates his throat and fills the air; it goes straight to your abdomen in a pulse of electricity.

Steve barely recognizes the sound that you pulled from him, not particularly caring anymore if someone overheard. What’s the worst that could happen — he gets chewed out by Robin? He’d take that any day if it meant this happened prior.

Another curse spills from Steve; he shivers, a stream of cool air hits the growing mark, your lips pursed as you blow a small amount of your exhale onto it. You’re finally satisfied with the work you’ve done, pressing one more feather light kiss to the bruising skin before dragging your attention back up to him.

Steve’s eyes are still pinched shut, brow furrowed out of bliss; his face relaxes when your lips make contact with his chin, signaling your desire for further attention. He tilts his head back down, peeling open his eyes to see a smirk curling the corner of your mouth.

“How’d I do?”

You’re preening, still high off the sounds you were able to earn from him, glad to know that you did a good job in pleasing him. He can’t understand how you’re able to switch from some minx, leaving dark marks scattered across his skin, hips shifting dangerously in his lap to this: a bright gaze, cheeks flushed, begging for his praise.

He’s yours.

Steve actually manages to gather his thoughts enough to respond. His fingers splay out over your back as he quips, “I still don’t understand where you even learned how to do that.”

“That good, huh?” Your voice is laced with a chuckle, your eyes darting over his face as you brush a few strands of hair behind his ear. The moment is much softer than he was expecting, making his chest ache out of pure admiration for you. His voice is breathless, words mumbled as he cups the back of your head again, pulling you closer, “It was fucking fantastic.”

The kiss becomes heated immediately. There’s still this strong urge from your built up emotions, continuing to cloud your every judgment, especially as you continue to crave Steve’s skin on yours. He goes to whine in frustration when you pull your lips and touch away from him, only for you to grab the hem of your tank and tug it over your head.

Steve doesn’t know where to look as his hands frame the delicate lines of your ribcage. He’s nearly overstimulated by you — a common occurrence in situations like this.

In traditional fashion, he decides to make a joke. It’s an attempt to playfully bruise your ego a bit and give himself the high ground; you’re gorgeous, you’re perched on his lap, you just gave him the best hickey of his life, and now you’re topless.

He doesn’t know how he got so lucky.

“Y’know, this is a little less exciting now that Munson knows your bra color,” Steve pouts, lightly tracing his middle finger up the strip of your sternum before his palm settles at the base of your neck. Goosebumps erupt over your skin as he continues, his hand sliding across your collarbone to fiddle with the strap of your bra, “Thought that was supposed to be a reserved boyfriend privilege.”

You know he’s only joking; you can tell by the type of smile that toys at the end of his lips. The look in his eyes, those full blown pupils — you know how he really feels. Regardless, you can’t help the teasing scoff that his comment pulls from you, an attempt to try and rile him up as you play coy, “So? Robin saw it too.”

Steve pushes out a really deep exhale, trying to pretend like that doesn’t mean anything. He knows Robin would never try anything on you (for a multitude of reasons). But he couldn’t help but notice the nervous swearing that accompanied her quickly darting her eyes away from you, not before they widened slightly at the sight.

You return your hands to him, fingers skimming over his arms, “Besides, you took your shirt off too, Stevie. I think we’re even.”

His jaw tightens at the nickname, hands clutching you a bit firmer in a foolish effort to suppress the shiver that rolled up his spine with your tone. He clears his throat, “Well, it’s not a show every time I do it, is it sweetheart?”

You hum, winding your arms as loosely as you can around his neck, “I would beg to differ.”

Steve can’t help himself, crashing his lips onto yours once again. Your fingers thread into his hair, twirling the dark strands as you feel yourself growing more restless. When you shift again, hoisting yourself up higher, Steve stops abruptly. His hand, moving to re-adjust on your body, drifted over the bandage covering your skin — his throat goes dry.

With hooded eyes, Steve stares at your face, grimacing at the feeling of the bandage beneath his fingertips. It’s a cold shock, a terrible reminder of what nearly took you from him. You understand, the same worry mirrored in your expression as you meet his gaze, now soft and full of concern. You can’t help but run your hand along his chest until you reach his own wounds, swallowing harshly as you glance down at the sight of them almost resting against your stomach.

These pieces of your bodies are never going to feel the same. A part of you aches — you wish you had known there would be a final time the skin of his abdomen would be smooth and untouched; you would’ve spent hours worshiping the skin, saying good-bye to the familiar feeling beneath your hands. Steve would’ve done the same. Your back will never be the soft, delicate slope under his touch he’s learned over the last fifteen months.

Someday soon, the skin on your bodies will be marred and twisted. The pair of you will be marked by this for the rest of your lives. The realization settles within you both: you and Steve are forever bonded, with souls fused together and equipped with the matching scars to prove it.

No one will ever understand your pain like he does. No one will ever understand his pain like you do.

“Are you…” You start but the words get caught in your throat, eyes still intensely focused on his wounds, fingers brushing around the edge of the gauze you placed there; Steve’s stomach clenches under your gentle touch, “Are you okay to keep going?”

Steve takes another second to think — he’s more worried about you than himself. Your screams of pain are still rattling around inside his head, twisting his gut even now as he holds you close. He thinks he needs to be even closer to accept that you’re okay, that you’re still here with him.

“Are you?”

You drag your focus back up, taking the time to rove your gaze over his skin before landing on his face once more — the face of your protector.

Steve’s recounted his nightmares to you, at least the ones where he can collect himself enough to speak. You’re not surprised he’s so torn up about your injuries; it’s pretty damn close to the horrors his mind has previously concocted to haunt him.

He’s had numerous dreams about you dying — that tends to be what terrifies him the most. The difference between your nightmares and Steve’s is the intensity. You used to get nightmares almost every single night, your anxious mind swirling about anything and everything, concocting a mix of the worst moments of your life to torture you with.

When Steve gets his, one every couple months, they’re destructive. He’s always a step behind, a split second away from saving you when you’re taken from him. He’s shown images of you being swallowed whole by one of those creatures, or torn apart by a pack of demodogs, or beaten until your face is unrecognizable. It takes him hours to be able to fall back asleep, if he even does it at all.

But you’re here this time. You’re alive.

You swipe your thumbs across his cheekbones before cupping his jaw. Instinctively, Steve nuzzles further into your touch, turning his cheek to your palm and shutting his eyes for a moment. As he lets himself relish in the warmth you emit, he presses a firm kiss to the heel of your hand, sliding his nose along the side of your thumb.

The burn in your torso grows even more with Steve’s gentle affections; this is the man you love. The careful, passionate, amorous lover. He’s not a fighter, he never has been. But god, would he fight for you. He’d do anything for you.

You confirm your answer with a kiss, which Steve graciously returns. His hands slide to the slope of your waist, with his left curling around to press into the small of your back and arch you even closer. With your thumb, you pull down on his chin to deepen the kiss; a sigh escapes you at the hot glide of his tongue.

Your mind is going fuzzy again. You can’t focus on anything other than Steve’s soft groans and the slow drag of your lips against his until his fingers dip below the waistband of your bottoms.

The RV shakes — someone’s trying to open the door. They do it so aggressively that it shocks both of you back to your bleak reality. Thank god the door was actually locked.

You’d probably fall backwards in surprise if it weren’t for Steve’s hands already on you, moving quickly to support your back before you can tumble. You grip his shoulders tightly to steady yourself. Eddie’s voice just barely pierces through your Steve-induced haze, eyes blinking as you try to adjust to the sudden change in atmosphere, “Open up in there, Henderson. Gotta grab something, it’ll be quick.”

You lock eyes with Steve and neither of you can help it — you share a breathless laugh, faces scrunching up in bright smiles, knowing how close you were to being interrupted far more dramatically. Steve can’t stop himself from kissing you through it, humming as you arch into him once more. A knock on the door has him sighing in frustration.

“Fuckin’ Munson,” Steve mumbles before you press one final kiss to his lips before you have to start removing yourself from him, leaving your fingers on him the longest to draw it out. He passes you your shirt as you stand, watching with hooded eyes as you put it back on with a wink.

His jaw clenches as you make your way to the door, twisting the lock and pulling it only part way open. Your annoyance leaks into your tone, but you try to sound pleasant.

“What do you need, Eddie?”

Eddie shifts his weight, gesturing to the interior of the RV, voice slightly muffled by the cigarette between his lips, “My lighter is in there.”

You roll your eyes. This is what you stopped for?

“Alright, where is it?” You ask between clenched teeth, pointing for him to stay there when he tries to enter.

He brings his hands up in a silent apology as you disappear, shouting the answer to your question, “Should be in my vest on the booth!”

Steve laughs slightly, watching you flash a frustrated glance in his direction as he, unfortunately, tugs his shirt on over his head. The door’s shut as soon as you toss the small metal rectangle outside — Eddie just barely catches it.

“Nice hickey, by the way!” He calls through the door. You’re tempted to open the door again just to slam it. Your cheeks are glowing hotly as you sigh, turning on your heel to return to where Steve is.

Steve himself seems to recall the gravity of the situation, and how far off track the two of you had stumbled in your little endeavor. His eyes track up and down over your figure as you pad back over, collapsing next to him on the couch, gaze eventually catching on the mark on your throat. He has no doubt that there’s a matching one on his skin, feeling it pulse in time with his heartbeat as the blood rushes beneath it.

“Rain check?” Steve offers weakly. You roll your head to grin at him, an unexpected laugh passing your lips. It feels silly to be stealing these moments when the world is going to shit but grazing your eyes along the expanse of his skin, lips pinker than normal, you can’t find it in yourself to have any regret.

“Definitely.”

You don’t want your little bubble to end, but you suppose it has to eventually. You hate the thought that spills into your mind — this could be the last time you have him alone like this. Regretfully, you get up from the couch, but extend your hand for Steve to take. He waves it off, a sheepish smile pulling at his lips.

“I’m gonna need a minute.”

—

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrinton smut #almost paradise

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shurisneakers · 4 years ago

Text

harmless (iv)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, guns, mention of war, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: good evening i’ve never been to any of the places i mention in this series so dont come @ me

if you have any ideas for future inventions/evil plans, lemme know! i might actually end up using them

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

He spends the weekend doing nothing. It’s supposed to be relaxing. He finds it nauseatingly boring.

“No mini mission this week?” Steve asks him from across the couch.

They’re supposed to be catching up on Star Wars but two prequels in and Bucky could feel himself lose his sanity. Anyone could present him with a random assortment of alphabets, call it a Star Wars species and he would have no reason not to believe them.

It’s not like he doesn’t like space. It’s just that he’s had enough of it and everything and everyone who came from it for the foreseeable future.

“No. Someone else is taking care of it.”

“Didn’t you volunteer for this?”

“I pulled myself out of the case.”

“I thought you were having fun.”

Bucky’s head slowly turns to look at him. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” Steve shrugged. “Looked like you were.”

Well, he wasn’t. He likes it here at home, glued to the TV. Popcorn beside him, sweatpants on. Refreshing, calming, slow, mundane, and Jesus Christ, so fucking boring-

His spiralling is interrupted by the dinging of the elevator to the common floor. No one was allowed up there unless it was extremely urgent. Guests were barely allowed into the Tower as it was.

It reveals the receptionist from downstairs, Marie. She’s always a little reserved, a little shy. But Bucky had seen her chew and spit out trespassers or anyone who dared to get on her nerve. He adores her.

“Hey, Marie,” Steve says while Bucky sends her a friendly wave in greeting. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s a hostage situation downtown,” she informs them.

“Okay...” Steve drawls, waiting for a reason why this was an Avengers level threat.

“They’ve asked for Mr. Barnes by name.” She makes a mention towards him.

Bucky sits up straight. Bits of popcorn fall off his chest.

“What?”

“They said, and I quote-” she looks down at her notepad. “‘Tell that grumpy motherfucker that I’m waiting for him and that he’s not getting out of this so easily because we have come too far.’ End quote. They’ve also told me to include a kissing emoji. And a skull.”

Steve and he look at each other.

“Well?” Steve prods.

Bucky sighs and gets up to go get ready.

The entrance of Chuck E. Cheese is more crowded than he’d ever seen. He wasn’t even sure he’d seen people in the store before. If there were, they probably only came up till his waist.

There are a few journalists, a few policemen standing together outside. Whispers of confusion and curiosity reigned free.

Bucky gently pushes his way to the front. He gets a nod from a police officer who opens the door for him after a quick briefing.

The place is darker than it usually would be. A trademark, it seemed. The blinds are drawn shut and most of the light is coming through whatever sneaks in through the crack.

“Hey, Barnes.” Your voice is muffled by a mask that looks suspiciously like it was made out of classroom craft supplies.

There’s a person in a loose chokehold in your hand with a gun pressed against his head. Once again it looks straight out of a cartoon, purple with round disks lining its barrel.

“What’s all this now?” He gestures around monotonously.

“A hostage situation. Didn’t you get the memo?”

“Got that part down, genius,” he bites back. “But why?”

“Fucker kept harassing me when I was walkin’ down the street.”

The guy’s helpless gaze met Bucky.

“Catcalling me, stalking me.” You tighten the grip you have on him. “Call me darlin’ one more time, you son of a bitch. I dare you.”

He wasn’t impressed with his pleading eyes. He kinda felt like he deserved it.

“Why’d you do it here?” The bright colours were starting to give him a heading. “And where are the staff?”

“It’s symbolic, Bucky,” you emphasise, “He deserves to be among other rat bastards.”

Of course.

“The staff?” he asks again.

“Gave them thirty bucks and told them to leave. I’m not a monster.”

“Right.” He doesn’t bother refuting you. “Why’d you call me here?”

“Dunno.” You shrug. “Thought it’d be fun. You having fun yet?”

You shake the guy you’re holding. He gives a small whimper.

Bucky doesn’t want to stop you. He had chugged enough Respect Juice in his lifetime to know that this guy probably deserved a threat or two.

Hell, he’d even help but you were more than capable of handling this on your own.

“Listen,” he sighed. “As much as I’m sure he deserves it, this is technically illegal and I’m required to stop you.”

“Sorry sarge, I thought you weren’t interested in playing this stupid game with me,” you mock, voice dropping to imitate him.

“I’m not.” It wasn’t entirely true. One Saturday with Jar Jar Binks had convinced him otherwise.

“Okay, so before you leave, do me a favour and call Hawkeye. I hear he looks mighty fine when he’s annoyed.”

His face involuntarily scrunched up. You were going to replace him with Clint? Clint?

He probably took it more as an insult than he should have.

“I’m not doing that.” Bless his foul mouthed friend, but he was a little shit who was too sarcastic for his own good. At least twice a week he’d say something stupid to Bucky and then take out his hearing aids when he tried to argue back.

“You’re leavin’ me with no options here,” you groaned, using your thumb to flip a switch. The gun looks like it powered up, lights along the side turning red.

If he let you have this, it’d be a bad look for the Avengers.

New York man dies in Chuck E. Cheese lone hostage situation, unable to be saved by same superhero who tried to fight Thanos with a machine gun.

“Tell ya what,” he says instead, “If you kill him, there won’t even be a slight chance that you’ll see me again.”

Your grip on the gun falters.

“If I let him go...”

“I might consider coming back next week.” He’s trying to spin it, make it look like he’s the one with the upper hand here. “But you gotta let him go.”

You search his face for any signs of dishonesty.

“Let him go or you’ll never see me again.” It sounds too much like Clint’s arguments with his dog who brought a live squirrel into the house.

“Fine,” you relent, a glint in your eye. “but say goodbye to this fuckface.”

Before Bucky can open his mouth to shout in protest, you pull the trigger. The man clenches his eyes shut, face red.

He expects blood to be splatter across his face.

Nothing happens.

A barrage of bubbles floats into the room.

“I meant it literally,” you say, pushing him off you. “Say goodbye. He’s leaving.”

The man stumbles to the ground and Bucky doesn’t make any attempt to catch him. He scrambles to his knees, picking himself up and scurrying out the door to a hoard of reporters.

The door shuts behind him with the chime of a bell.

“You’re annoying,” Bucky states, giving a small sigh.

“I’m well aware of that.” You pull off the mask, wiping the sweat off your brow.

“Where is the agent assigned to your case?”

“Dunno. Last I saw he was crying on the driveway of my lair. I just figured he’d pick himself up later so I left him there.”

Bucky’s nose twitches.

“You weren’t actually going to kill him, were you.” He shrugs with his shoulder towards the door. It wasn’t a question, more a statement. He knew you wouldn’t.

“I could have.”

“But you weren’t going to,” he repeats.

“No,” you admit. “I wasn’t. But I’m glad to see you showed up.”

“You held someone hostage as leverage.”

“No, no. I held someone hostage and then asked to see you. They were completely unrelated.”

“You’re evil.”

“You jumped to conclusions,” you point out. “Would you like a trampoline next time? Maybe a pogo stick, you clown?”

He has a very real gun in his holster. His very real metal death arm aches to use it.

“No one else agreed to come,” he deflects.

“We both know that’s a lie. You were going to come back anyway.” You stuff the bubble gun back into the bag. “I’m deliciously irresistible.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Then beg.” You give him a smirk and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, you win this round, sarge.”

He doesn’t say anything. He watches you remove your heist gear, revealing normal civilian clothes underneath.

You walk casually to the kitchen, intending to leave through the back door.

“But I can’t say I lost either.” You send him a wink before swiftly pushing open the door and leaving him behind.

He only watches you leave.

It doesn’t hit him until a few seconds later that he let a criminal out of his hands when there were several policemen and journalists outside.

He entertains the idea of chasing you down and handing you over.

It takes him only a few seconds to decide that if they wanted you, they’d have to try themselves.

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

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davidmann95 · 3 years ago

Note

What Are Your Dream Supermythos Projects?

* Put Fraction on that Webtoon thing for a Superman strip. He was talking about conversations with DC for post-Jimmy Olsen projects, this would need real talent behind it to not immediately die on the vine, and his formalist kick means he'd probably have the best chance of anybody in DC's rolodex at adapting to scripting for the vertical scrolling format.

* Have Yang and Reis continue their momentum with a The Life & Times Of The Son Of Superman miniseries. Someday somebody's gonna do 'here's Jon's whole journey in one book', they have the pedigree, and Yang's the best DC has in terms of who could nail the obvious central concept of Jon as a second-gen immigrant learning about his background, the forces he'll face in the world, and growing up to make different decisions from his dad about how to be a part of that world and how to help it.

* A proper Lois Lane ongoing, or at least her fronting a Daily Planet book.

* An anthology mini for Jon; I'm sure you could get plenty of creators interested in doing a few pages with their spin on Lois and Clark's kid across the assorted stages of his life.

* Okay so I just now started reading On A Sunbeam and yeah let Tillie Walden do literally whatever she wants with Superman if that would happen to be something she would care to do.

* An ongoing anthology for the Superman family ala Batman: Urban Legends.

* A Lois and Clark romance book from McKenna Jean Harris.

* Superman and Superboy meet All-Might and Midoriya.

* If Morrison is in fact consulting on the Superman books beyond doing the bare minimum to line up Authority, given PKJ is using the House of El already a big Superman Squad story based on the abandoned All-Star spinoff, since the ideas for the other two became Morrison's Action Comics and The Just.

* Once the current runs are done, give Action to Brandon Thomas and Son of Kal-El to Dan Watters.

* Sarah Leuver did some DC work so hey, give her a book to play with.

* Publish Superman & Lois: Ignition.

* I wouldn't have thought of Dan Schkade when thinking naturals for Superman, but after David Lynch's Superboy give him something stat.

* Someone somewhere do something interesting for once ever with Conner Kent.

* Give Maggin a Black Label book to do whatever he wants with.

* We're talking pure dream books, let Marguerite Bennett do a full Superman of Remnant spinoff mini or oneshot from RWBY/Justice League.

* An all-ages ongoing, good lord how long has it been

* Absolute Action Comics, with the assorted artists coming back to redraw the armor as the real suit.

* T-shirt Superman is out there wandering the multiverse, do a mini or oneshot or something with that guy.

* Mandatory 'whatever Doc Shaner, Al Ewing, Dan Mora, Jamal Campbell, Bilquis Evely, Christian Ward, Garth Ennis, Mike Huddleston, Tula Lotay, Chris Samnee, Jonathan Hickman, Fiona Staples, or Juan Ferrara would want to do with him'.

* In terms of pals nowhere near the big two I'd love to see get their shot anyway, Deniz Camp and Charlotte Finn.

* The heck with the AAA studios, do The Lego Superman Game.

* We're about to have Hoechlin, Jordan, Calle, Routh, Cavill, and whoever'll be in the Coates movie operating at around the same time, do a Superman Beyond movie.

* A big animated movie to go with Spider-Verse and Lego Batman. Maybe an anthology thing.

* Superman & Lois but moved to HBO Max and with Todd Helbing removed as showrunner. Really any prestigey ongoing Superman show, but I'd trade the prestige for keeping Hoechlin and Tulloch.

* An Adult Swim Jon Kent series aimed at older teens.

* Do the Tartakovsky short.

* More Superman novels! It's Superman! shouldn't have been a one-off in swinging for the fences there.

* Someone dig up/restore The Multipath Adventures of Superman.

#Superman #Opinion

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yandere-sins · 4 years ago

Note

this isn't from the alphabet thingy (so if youre only doing requests for that rn feel free to ignore this!!) but could u maybe write something for a reader who spends the entire academy phase pining for dimitri and then after the timeskip when they've maybe already buried their feelings, dimitri goes yandere for them maybe?

Thanks for requesting! :3 Let’s go!

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

This much should be okay, right?

Even though you had this nagging feeling in the back of your mind, it wasn’t like you two were doing anything especially strange. Dimitri just... held you. A little too awkward and a little too tight, sure, but after all, he went through, could you blame him? Five years ago, this would have been a dream for you, and even though the world around you turned into rubble and dust, you couldn’t ignore the soft flutters in your stomach now that your wish was fulfilled.

You, too, needed comfort after all that happened.

Back at your time in the monastery, you had only ever dared to glance at the prince. Admired his diligent and firm way of thinking and talking, but also the soft smile and tender laugh falling off his lips. Every day you swore it would be the day you’d approach him, reach out to him. Yet, every day you hesitate, watching the chances you had, dwindle away and so did Dimitri. More and more did he start to distance himself from you and everyone else, for that matter. He may had his struggles - and you, for one, would have loved to be his confidant back then - but he never let them on, even if they were written on his face in pain. Only as things started to become more and more convoluted did something inside him break, vanishing all the light from his eyes and cladding him in somberness and hatred.

Dimitri was nothing like his former self anymore. If he spoke - and he did so rarely - it was hard listening to him, painful even. Before you stood a broken man, someone whose heart had been ripped out and trampled on before reviving him. You didn’t want to be the one pointing out his flaws, not when he was so important in the upcoming battles, and you were thankful for his presence. But he also wasn’t the man you fell in love with anymore, that much you had to realize for yourself.

And yet, who’d have thought that of all people, you were the one he’d let close. Dimitri had stopped talking to so many of your comrades. Stopped eating and moving, spending hours inside the cathedral, and not rarely did you wonder what his mind did in times he stood dead still.

Perhaps, something about the lost reality Dimitri embodied at this time was what made you take extra care of him. You, who got back so much strength from seeing the Blue Lions reunite, have both the prince and Byleth back from the presumed dead, just couldn’t abandon the boy- or rather, man you once loved. Even when he hissed and screamed about you at first whenever you approached him, it soon made space for more silence, and you calmed down, knowing you weren’t one of his victims-to-be.

All you did was bring him food and told him about the news around the monastery. When you took heart and approached him more closely to get his cloak, carefully pulling it off his shoulders with only an exasperate sigh falling off his lips, you almost jumped for joy, even though the garment was stinking abominably and washing it was more challenging than fighting in battle. But it was all worth it for the moment when you returned it, Dimitri adjusting it with daggers shooting from his eyes at you, only for him to mutter a quiet ‘Thanks’ as you left again. To you, this was the highest praise you could have received all your life.

So now that he decided to hold you, you couldn’t refuse. In the end, you didn’t know what happened to him or what he truly was thinking. But in these uncertain times, everyone could need someone to hold and rest their head on. Even a presumed monster like Dimitri, or maybe, especially Dimitri, needed it. You didn’t want to assume anything or think too highly of yourself, but perhaps your dedication of not letting him decay like he did before was the reason he chose you for a change of mind.

Nothing would ever be the same as it was, and you weren’t the naive teenager anymore you had been before. The teenager who still believed that nothing bad could happen in this world and Dimitri was a literal saint sent from the goddess. But your body wasn’t lying either, hands shaking as you returned his embrace, putting them on his back carefully, scared you’d make him disappear if you touched him.

Of course, nothing like that would happen just from your touch, and you took a deep breath to calm yourself. The happenings of the days... they still weighed heavily on your mind too. But how hard must it have been for Dimitri if you were already suffering? Another fight, another important soul perishing from the world. The head of house Fraldarius may not have died in vain, as his last breath was used to put some soul back into the empty, murderous shell Dimitri had been. So how much must the former prince be suffering right now that he’d chose to trust in your company instead of anyone else?

“Thank you,” he whispered quietly. It was only you and him and the wind howling around you two on the balcony you two had retreated to, but he still spoke as if his words were only meant for your ears and no one else.

At first, it had surprised you greatly when he approached you himself, smiling nonetheless. You were almost convinced you died; otherwise, how could you explain the change of heart he had gone through?

“For not giving up on me. I am thankful that you were there,” his voice sighed into your ear, and you felt the heat rise into your face. Luckily, the armor you two wore for protection also protected your heartbeat from giving away how fast your pulse was racing right now. “N-No problem,” you managed to croak out, scolding yourself for the ordinary answer you gave. It could have been your moment to say something epic! Something groundbreaking! But no, it was humble at best.

“I’m glad Your Highness is finally looking up again, even if what happened had been a tragedy too.”

Biting your lip, you thought to have overstepped with your words as Dimitri pulled back. But in the moonlight shining down on you two, you felt it rather than saw, as his hand cupped your cheek, the leather of his glove warm and soft. “Yes, I can finally see clearly again. I know now what’s important and where my priorities are. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for showing me.”

The kiss that followed was timid at first but changed into unreserved and unstoppable quickly. Part of your brain knew that leaning in and accommodating Dimitri was a mistake, something a teenager might have done, but it had been five years since you felt this way for him. The war wasn’t over, and a love story like this was only true in books, so there was always a chance for it to end in tragedy rather than joy.

But right at this moment, it felt like the world was restored to normality. As if his kiss could defeat all the evils and banish them away. Even if your love had laid dormant for so long, Dimitri was poking at the embers, stoking the fire inside of you. Perhaps, you hadn’t been over him as much as you thought five years ago when he was captured and vanished not long after. Maybe you had just ignored your heart, hoping that one day it would stop aching, but never abandoned your love for him.

“Please don’t leave me.” Opening your eyes faintly, you could see the reflection of the moonlight shining from his. His gaze was wide and adoring, but in it laid so much more than what you could hope for. In fact, you weren’t sure if those feelings you noticed in Dimitri’s eyes were feelings you wanted him to experience when he looked at you. “Not tonight,” he continued, “Never.”

Fear, desperation, desire. It all flicked through his gaze, his lips continuing to play with yours roughly. He sucked and pulled, his tongue slipping in the first moment your lips opened in a gasp for air. It was an amazing experience, yet, a part of you felt like he was devouring you. All these things began to make your head spin uncontrollably, his words being questioned over and over. What did he mean? What did he want? You didn’t want to confront him with wrong assumptions, but you also didn’t want to let him down. It was all so much - too much - to bear, and yet you simply didn’t want him to stop and go away.

“Of course!” you sighed into the kiss. “Anything you wish for, Your Highness.”

“Ah,” he whispered back, pulling you into an even deeper kiss. “The Goddess is merciful with me today. I’m so happy! I am so--”

Your body noticed it before your mind could register what happened, a harsh flinch jerking through every muscle. It shook you awake, slapped away the clouds that had fogged your brain, as you felt the pain coming from your lip. The taste of iron spread over your tongue, and you cocked your head away, reaching up at your lip only to find something hot and wet coating your fingers. Too thick to be saliva. Too red in the moonlight to not be blood.

As you went to question what happened, Dimitri’s lips crashed back down onto yours. An assortment of stings made you close your eyes tightly, drumming your free hands against his breastplate. You wanted to like his kisses, but not if you were bleeding and put in a tight spot with his harsh movements.

But you didn’t need to voice your uncomfortableness nor fight him as he quickly pulled away again. With a sense of horror, you noticed your blood on his lips, his tongue flicking out without ever looking away from you, to lick off the red color decorating him. “--happy! We’ll be together forever, right?”

You had no answer for him as he waited for your reply. This much, it should have been fine. It should have been fine to follow him into battle, to fight for him, and to celebrate his success. Even after all these years and the heartache you experienced before, it should have been fine to fall in love all over again, to care for him and accept him closer, right? Right?

Then why did it feel so dangerous to be in his arms, your lips trembling as they tried to heal the wound he just marked you with?

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maplecornia · 3 years ago

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chapter 29

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 1.44K

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: this one is kind of lighthearted, but a very much needed interatction eheheh

Why is this so annoying?

Glancing at his reflection in the mirror, at the luminescent lights surrounding it, as though he were preparing for a show, a concert, he can feel a cold icy feeling begin to creep around his heart.

Funny to think about.

A concert after all this time.

Will he be able to dance the same? Perform the same? After years without practice will he be able to meet their expectations?

Or will he disappoint them all over again?

Now, now Jimin, we promised we wouldn't do this.

Right?

Sighing, he runs his hands through his hair, the slight crunch of hairspray and dye that comes with it making him wince.

It's not that easy to forget, is it?

So then why does he want to do it?

Sighing, glances up at the far corner of his mirror, spying Tae in the background.

How long has it been since there was empty air between the two of them? When was the last time Jimin had struggled for something to say? He bites his bottom lip before glancing away.

Why did things have to change?

"Come on, I'm sure we can find you something." At the sound of the door opening, and an erratic Jin bursting through, Jimin jumps, his eyes flashing to the top of his mirror once more. Jin's smiling over his shoulder at someone, and Jimin can't help but smile himself.

How is it that with Jin, nothing changes? How is it that he's able to pretend that everything is fine, even when it isn't? Always a smile on his face even when he doesn't feel like it.

How is that possible?

Jimin can't help but wonder if one day...

...he might break.

When the girl comes into his line of vision, however, his thoughts are broken and he jumps up, spinning around to catch a good glimpse of her.

Yen.

As she raises her eyes, she catches sight of Taehyung, who just so happens to have his shirt off at the moment. His clothes are forgotten in a pile on the desk, and she blushes at the sight, frantically looking away.

Jimin tries to be amused, he really does.

But a strange feeling erupts in his chest at the sight, something that makes him cold and numb.

Glancing towards Taehyung, he notices his ears are a bright pink and he has gone still. Rolling his eyes, Jimin tries to ignore the feeling that's swirling in his gut.

What concern is their relationship to him?

"Oh, I didn't know you guys were in here." Jin smiles before stepping forward, and stunned, Yen holds him back. Shocked, he stumbles before turning to her and raising an eyebrow.

"What are you doing? I'm trying to find you an outfit to change into."

"Outfit?" When Jin turns to Jimin and your eyes raise to his, he wonders why he opened his mouth. It was a lapse of curiosity, but now he can't tear his eyes away from your large ones. They remind him of eyes he's seen before...perhaps in a dream.

Large and full of life, sparkling green eyes with soft eyelashes at the corners, eyes that touched his heart and helped him move on.

Not quite unlike yours, but not the same either.

"Yeah, she spilled coffee on herself." Jin begins to explain in answer to Jimin's question before another newcomer interrupts.

"Again?"

Startled, the room turns to the door, looking beyond you and Jin to find Jungkook standing at the entrance with an amused smile on his face.

With wide eyes you stare at him, wondering if this whole thing is a dream.

He smiles softly before stepping forward into the room.

At the silence, he rolls his eyes before finding a shirt on a table and throwing it Taehyung's way.

"Get dressed will you?" he scoffs, and Tae, as though waking up from a dream, starts and immediately pulls the shirt over his head. You make sure that your gaze is expertly averted, your cheeks heating up.

It's one thing to watch his chest be exposed at concerts or performances.

Quite another to see it in real life.

Jungkook notices your not-so-subtle attempt to hide your face behind an oblivious Jin, who has since made it his job to personally make sure Taehyung is humiliated.

Jimin, growing distracted from their futile bickering, turns to you once more and watches as Jungkook steps a bit closer.

With tenderness, Jungkook brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear, startling you. You flinch away from his touch, turning to him. If he's hurt by the act of distance, he doesn't show, just smiles down at you.

"Yen, I know where I can find a new shirt for you."

"Oh, so you're Yen!" a voice at the door breaks the contact between you two, and you turn to the newcomer, surprised to find J-Hope standing there, Namjoon not too far behind.

Hoseok nearly bounces into the room, pausing a little too close for comfort in front of you, inspecting your face.

"I knew I recognized you!" He exclaims, his face breaking into that smile that melts hearts worldwide, and you fumble for words to say. Leaning back, he places his hand on his chin as though he were a painter preparing for his next project. "I must say, you look cuter this way."

You furrow your brow, about to ask what he means, but he boops your nose before you can say much else.

"Hoseok," Namjoon says behind him, a bit preoccupied with a conversation on his phone. "What did we say about personal space?"

J-Hope rolls his eyes before dancing away, claiming one of the seats at the mirror. When Namjoon reaches you, he lowers his phone, giving you a slight smile and a moment of reprieve.

"Strange to see you here, Yen. Did you need something?" You open your mouth to give him a response, but Jin interrupts you using your head as an armrest.

"She needs a new shirt, she spilled coffee on herself." He explains. Namjoon narrows his eyes at Jin, brushing his elbow off of your head before pocketing his phone and turning to you, concern clear in his eyes.

"Are you alright? Did you get burned anywhere?" He leans forward, inspecting the spill, and you blush, crossing your arms over your midsection. Confused, he stands, and you chuckle nervously.

"No, I'm fine, thank you." You murmur, avoiding eye contact as much as possible.

"Let the girl breathe for heaven's sakes." Jimin snaps from his perch in the back, and J-Hope clucks his tongue.

"Grumpy?"

Jimin snarls his way, and J-Hope makes a face before laughing and continuing to inspect the multiple assortments of makeup at his mirror.

"Jin, I don't think you'll be able to find a shirt her size in our dressing room." Namjoon begins, inspecting you as though he could guess your size just by looking at you. You don't know why but the stare makes you feel just a tad bit exposed, and you narrow your eyes his way.

"So what if it's oversized? She'll be fine, it's only for a day anyway." Jin scoffs, glancing around the room for a worthy specimen. "I'm sure we have something to spare."

"How about one of Jimin's shirts? He's already changed and is closest to her size." Jungkook suggests, but Jimin literally throws himself over his discarded clothes. He narrows his eyes Jungkook's way and nearly hisses.

"Don't even think about it." Jungkook holds his hands up in mock surrender and you have to look away, hiding a smile.

However, that proves to be difficult as the room erupts into a chaotic mess of people trying to find some form of clothing to exchange for your soiled ones.

You can't help but smile at the way they interact, their brotherhood, and their friendship. Wherever they are, the place becomes warm and welcoming, and you can't help but feel a tinge of nostalgia.

Seeing them together reminds you of a time where you were dedicated to watching them on your TV screen. A time where they were the reason you smiled, the reason you were able to continue.

It's a bit different now, but it doesn't change the impact they've had on your life.

The impact they will have for an eternity to come.

You would have stayed there like that for a while if it weren’t for the cold icy voice that cuts through the joyous energy in the room like a knife.

"What the hell."

Your smile vanishes as you catch sight of who's at the door.

Min Yoongi.

And he doesn't look too happy.

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: we finally got interactions with all of BTS! ehehehe i'm so excited for NO REASON

chapter 30 here

check the Infinite Stars masterlist for more chapters

check my BTS masterlist for other BTS content

check out my masterlist for other kpop fanfics

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refinedbuffoonery · 4 years ago

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Looking Through A Window (2)

macriley married undercover au

masterlist.

Oh man. My dudes. I received so much love and support and excited feedback on the first chapter that I thought my heart was going to explode. Y’all are so wonderful. Keep it up. <3

*****

Luckily, Matty lets them take the Phoenix jet to Houston. Flying commercial would make today even more tortuous than it already promises to be, albeit for a different reason.

No matter how hard he tries to distract himself, Mac cannot stop staring at the diamond ring on Riley’s finger. The princess cut gem is stunning and ridiculously large, but it suits her cover as a lucrative arms dealer. A white gold wedding band sits below it. Riley left her usual assortment of rings at home, and Mac can’t help but think her long, delicate fingers look bare without them.

He tears his eyes away from the rings again and again, both on the plane and while driving to the safe house. Riley drives with just her left hand, her right elbow resting on the center console. Mac likes driving, but there’s something relaxing about riding shotgun while Riley drives instead. He’s never been able to put a finger on it, but the sense of ease washes over him all the same. Admiring the way sunlight illuminates her engagement ring is simply a bonus.

He doesn’t let himself imagine what he might give her, in an alternate future where she reciprocates his feelings and one day wants to marry him.

Harley obediently lays in the backseat, staring out the windshield. She's been on her best behavior the entire twenty four hours Mac's known her, ever the professional.

Which puts her completely at odds with Mac and Riley's shenanigans—cracking jokes, dancing on the plane and in the car, doing purposefully bad impersonations of Russ. These are the best parts of going on ops alone with Riley. They can let loose in a way they just couldn’t when anyone else other than Bozer was around. Everyone else is professional all the time; Mac and Riley are only professional when they have to be.

Riley taps the steering wheel in time to the classic rock song on the radio. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Dinner? We haven’t even had lunch yet!”

“True.” Riley chuckles. “Can you tell I’m hungry?”

Mac gives her a sly look. “Not at all.”

They settle on Texas barbecue for lunch on their way to the safe house, because that’s what Jack would choose if he was here. If only the old man could see them now, all grown up and getting sent to take down terrorists unsupervised.

Seated in a booth in the far corner of the restaurant, Mac raises his brisket sandwich in a toast to Jack, in whatever afterlife he found himself in. Hopefully it’s the one with an endless supply of good barbecue.

“Oh man, Jack would’ve loved this,” Riley says through a mouthful of food. She sneaks Harley a piece of brisket.

Mac smiles. “Yeah, he would’ve.”

It’s easier, now, to talk about him. At first, Mac hadn’t been sure he could ever get to a point where talking about Jack didn’t make him want to hit something or just curl up and sob.

But here he is, on the other side. Him and Riley both.

Their safe house is another twenty minutes away from the restaurant, in a nice neighborhood full of trees and children playing on the sidewalks. It’s so much greener than a California neighborhood could ever dream of being. There’s even a park across the street from their apartment complex. It’s exactly the sort of place a young, affluent couple would want to live.

Riley parks in their designated space, and the pair ascend the stairs to apartment number 202. Outside of the car, they don’t dare use each other’s real names until they’re sure the apartment is free of bugs. The place was furnished earlier that week by other Phoenix agents, but Mac and Riley do a thorough sweep of every room just in case.

It’s a nice apartment. Wood flooring, granite countertops, matching cabinets throughout. There are pictures on the walls, but Mac doesn’t bother to stop and check what they are.

Riley clears the space from back to front, so Mac does the opposite. He clears the kitchen first, frowning at the absence of any sort of food, before moving on to the living room.

Mac stops dead in his tracks when he enters the bedroom. The singular bedroom. With a singular, queen-sized bed.

Oh no. This is not happening.

Mac shakes his head and rubs his eyes, hoping his mind is just playing tricks on him and that there’s actually two beds. Or a whole other room he missed before.

The one and only bed seems to mock him.

He walks back out, finding Riley already sitting at the kitchen table, turning on her laptop. “Uhh, Riles? There’s only—”

“One bed,” she finishes, not bothering to look up. “I know.”

Oh god. He can’t do this. He can’t. Not with his dignity still intact. Mac stammers, “I’ll, uhh, sleep on the couch. You can have it.”

That gets Riley’s attention. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re going to be here for weeks. You’ll hurt your back sleeping on the couch that long. Just sleep with me.” Riley’s eyes widen as she realizes what she just said. “In the bed,” she quickly adds.

Mac ducks his head to hide his blush.

“What are you working on?” he asks in a feeble attempt to distract himself from their sleeping situation. Because it will definitely be a situation if Mac’s not careful.

“Connecting to the Wi-Fi,” Riley says in a slow, “What else would I be doing?” sort of way.

“Right.” Mac silently curses himself. Of course that’s what she’s doing. “Anyway, I’m assuming you already know this, since you probably opened the fridge too, but we have no food.”

“I saw.” She’s multitasking again, manicured fingers flying faster across her keyboard than Mac can keep track of. “Why don’t you unload our bags while I finish this, and then we can go.”

Unable to help feeling like he’s been dismissed, Mac complies without protest.

Soon they’re back in the car, headed to the grocery store, and the whole thing feels ridiculously domestic. Mac’s never been a fan of grocery shopping, but Riley makes it almost...fun. For starters, she’s not methodical about it the way Bozer and Desi are. But more than that, getting to spend time with her doing mundane, non-work stuff is a nice reminder that their relationship is more than just the job. They’re friends too.

Mac wishes there is a way to tell her all that without it sounding weird.

They come home, unload the groceries, and take Harley for a long walk, and that feels easy too. It feels normal, even though literally nothing about this situation is normal, and Mac already knows he’ll miss this when the op is over.

But normalcy ends when Riley beckons Mac to sit beside her at the kitchen table, and together they write an advertisement for their arms dealing business. Once they’re satisfied with it, Riley sends it off into the dark web, and there’s nothing to do but wait, like a spider after spinning her web.

The waiting is the worst part.

Mac is contemplating taking Harley for a second walk when Riley asks, “Want to help me make dinner?” He takes one look at her hands on her hips and the “you don’t actually have a choice” look on her face and knows he’ll be left to fend for himself if he doesn’t help now. Mac learned that the hard way back when he and Riley lived together.

“Sure.”

They work in comfortable silence. Mac chops vegetables and grates cheese for their quesadillas while Riley does the actual cooking part. Even though they are doing separate tasks, Mac is acutely aware of every move Riley makes, no matter how insignificant. Flexing her long, thin fingers around a knife. Itching the back of her calf with her foot. Dancing in place, spatula in hand, while she waits to flip the quesadillas sizzling in the pan.

Mac smiles softly. Her random little dances are cute. He’s noticed them more and more since realizing he has feelings for her, but if Mac is being honest, he’s always thought the dances are cute.

Riley hisses as she peeks under the tortilla, checking to see if it’s browned yet.

“You good?” Mac asks, frowning.

“Yeah, I touched the pan by accident.” Riley runs her thumb under cold water.

Her laptop dings while they eat. Wide-eyed, Mac glances at Riley. That was fast. She grimaces before sliding the laptop closer and checking the notification.

“Is it them?” he asks tentatively. That’s the hard part about this; in order for their business to look more legit, they had to just put an ad out and hope for a response, rather than target the terrorist organization directly.

Riley exhales. “No, it’s not them. It’s someone else.”

Swallowing another bite of quesadilla, Mac says, “I don’t know whether I’m relieved or if that’s worse.”

“Same.”

There are no more responses that night.

*****

Mac wakes up in the same position he fell asleep in—on his side, facing outward, with as much space between him and Riley as possible. When they crawled into bed the night before, Riley did the same.

Harley spent the night on the couch.

She’s a very guarded dog, Mac is slowly realizing. Tolerating, but not trusting. Mac supposes he would be like that too if he was a dog and he got stuck with a bunch of strangers after his human suddenly disappeared one day.

He makes coffee, feeds Harley breakfast, and takes a shower, all before Riley loses her battle with the snooze button and finally gets out of bed. While she showers, Mac takes Harley for a walk in hopes that the cool, spring air will ease the anxiety that took root the moment Riley released their ad into the void.

It doesn’t.

Dark, puffy clouds loom on the horizon, and the few birds Mac hears shriek at each other in warning. It looks like a storm is coming.

When Mac returns, he’s met with a grim expression, one he understands without Riley uttering a single word. “They answered,” she confirms.

“What did they say?” Unclipping Harley’s leash, Mac moves to stand behind Riley, resting his hands on the back of her chair. The scent of her shampoo tickles his nose, and he forces himself to ignore it and focus on what Riley’s saying.

“They want to meet. Today.”

“Time or place?”

Riley points at a small box on her screen. “Just an address.”

“What’s there?”

“A warehouse,” Riley says. “Owned by the same shell corporation other Phoenix techs already tied to the organization.”

“Not very clandestine, are they?”

“No, they’re not.” Riley looks up at him, her head bumping his sternum, and butterflies ricochet inside Mac’s rib cage. There’s something soft in Riley’s expression that makes Mac want to kiss her. “Are you ready for this?”

Mac sighs. “As ready as I ever am. Are you?”

“Yeah,” she says, but her confidence falters. Without thinking, Mac squeezes her shoulders in reassurance before walking away to change.

*****

The warehouse is located on the edge of the city, in an industrial area that has certainly seen better days. Even from a distance, Mac can see cobwebs decorating the warehouse windows and rust creeping up the roller doors. Aside from Riley, there’s not another soul in sight.

As per the directions the organization sent after Riley confirmed the meeting, Mac parks on the south side of the building, near the only functional-looking door. He doesn’t look at Riley as they get out of the car, instead desperately trying not to cringe at the cold, heavy weight of the gun holstered at his side, hidden beneath his jacket.

High-end arms dealers couldn’t walk around unarmed, unfortunately.

Although her hands are occupied with holding Harley’s leash, there’s a gun hidden beneath Riley’s suit jacket as well. Mac’s stomach churns. The second Riley emerged from their bedroom earlier wearing that jet black suit, she was a different person. She was wholly Genevieve Turner, and no matter how hard Mac tried, he couldn’t find even a single trace of his best friend beneath the icy exterior.

Locking their SUV, Mac smooths the lapels of his own black suit and slips into character as well.

The dark clouds Mac noticed earlier are directly overhead now. Mac has never believed in omens the way Jack did, but he can’t help hearing Jack’s voice in his head, warning him that black clouds are a sign of certain doom. Or something like that.

There’s no one inside the warehouse, at least as far as Mac can see. “Hello?” he calls, the word echoing slightly in the open space. Aside from a few random wooden crates, the room is empty.

A door slams, and then an older man comes into view. He’s probably in his late fifties, with graying hair and a beer belly his shirt doesn’t quite cover. The man swaggers like he owns the place, although Mac doubts the leader of a terrorist cell would deign to play tour guide.

No doubt there’s a quip on the edge of Riley’s tongue about entitled white men, but she doesn’t share it.

The man extends a hand to Mac in introduction. “Conrad.” His sneer doesn’t reach his eyes.

Mac frowns, keeping his hands at his sides. “Last name?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

What he’s about to say might screw everything up before it even starts, but Mac says it anyway. In his gut, he knows it’s the right call. “If it doesn’t matter, then we’re done here. My wife and I have no interest in entering a business relationship with someone too inexperienced to understand that trust is integral to any transaction.” Mac spins on his heel and strides toward the door, Riley falling into step beside him.

“Wait!” the man calls. They pause, turning around slowly. “Deacon. Conrad Deacon.” The man seems to know he’s already lost. Good. “Welcome to the cause.” He gestures for Mac and Riley to follow him.

Mac stands his ground. In his peripheral, Riley stands utterly still, the perfect mask of cool, collected neutrality. Almost bored, even. It’s scary how easily she becomes her cover.

“Come on now,” Conrad says, taking a single step forward. “We have much to discuss.”

That’s enough of the power play, Mac thinks, but just as he’s about to give in and follow Conrad, Riley utters a single, sharp command that rings through the room. “Sit.”

Harley obeys.

Riley’s lips curve in a cruel, taunting smile. “Then enlighten us.” Mac suppresses a shiver; he’s seen this side of Riley plenty of times before, watched her hone it over the years, but it’s still unnerving. Admittedly, it’s also kind of hot.

Conrad ignores her entirely. He croons, “Why don’t we start with your names?” It’s phrased like a question. It sounds like a question, but Mac sees the demand for what it really is.

Mac gestures to Riley. “This is my wife, Genevieve Turner. And my name is James.” His father’s name tastes like ash on Mac’s tongue.

“And the dog?”

“Killer,” Riley sneers. Mac isn’t sure if she’s kidding or not.

Again, Conrad doesn’t acknowledge her. “James, why don’t I give you the tour and explain what we do here.”

“We’ll go on the tour, but we are not here to join your cause.” It takes every ounce of Mac’s willpower to maintain his neutral tone. “All we care about is what you’d like us to provide and how much you’ll pay for it.”

Conrad doesn’t hide his displeasure. “Fine. Follow me.”

Mac and Riley are led through the open warehouse. The layout is straightforward and nearly impossible to get lost in. But after Conrad shows them a room full of rifles—countless hung on the walls, floor to ceiling, the rest in half-open crates—Mac finds himself counting the number of wooden shipping crates scattered around the building.

He doesn’t like his final number.

Arming terrorists doesn’t sit well with Mac, even if it serves a purpose. It makes him sick, knowing he will likely be indirectly responsible for their next attack.

Especially because those crates are no doubt full of the kind of rifles designed to kill people most effectively. The ones hanging on the wall are military grade, probably cutting-edge. Desi would know exactly what they are and how they work.

Trusting Riley is paying close attention, Mac only half listens to Conrad babble about the cause. But then the older man says something that stops Mac in his tracks. “Our country is being run into the ground by whiny do-nothings,” Conrad asserts, “who waste our money and spew garbage that some people matter more than others. Well, you know what? Hardworking, everyday Americans matter. But no,” he scoffs, “those damn liberals don’t like it when we remind them of the truth. Once we’re rid of them and the insufferables who elected them, this country will be better off.”

The ground sways under Mac’s feet. He knows these people believe this, read it in Matty’s extensive briefing notes. But it’s another thing entirely to hear someone say it to his face.

He can only imagine what Riley must be thinking.

Clearing his throat, Mac tries to redirect the conversation. “Like I said, we don’t care about your cause. Just tell us what you’re looking for, and we’ll be on our way.”

Conrad eyes him suspiciously, but complies. “We’re looking for something a little more than what you can get at the store, you know?”

Mac doesn’t, not exactly. He’ll have to ask Desi later. “I do,” he lies.

“Good. Here’s what we’re willing to pay for it.” He hands Mac a folded piece of paper, and Mac does a double take when he reads the number. There are a lot of zeroes. “And as a show of good faith, we’d like it delivered tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Riley splutters. Mac feels it then, the broiling rage slipping through a crack in her persona. He needs to get her out of there. Now. Not just to preserve the op, but for Riley’s wellbeing. Some audacity Matty has making Riley play nice with men like this.

Mac slides his hands into his pockets, using the movement as a cover to brush his knuckles against Riley’s fist. I know. I’m here. I’m sorry.

For the first time, Conrad addresses Riley directly. “Yes. Tomorrow. Unless that’s something you can’t do?”

“We can do that,” she replies calmly, and the difference between her reactions is like night and day. As quickly as that crack appeared, it was gone.

“Excellent.” Conrad takes another step toward Riley, offering to shake hands, but Harley’s low, menacing growl keeps him at bay. Rewarding the dog with a quick scratch on the head, Riley closes the gap and shakes Conrad’s still-outstretched hand.

“It’s a deal,” she says. Following suit, Mac shakes Conrad’s hand as well and follows Riley out the door, neither of them uttering another word.

Mac drives. One look at Riley’s trembling fist decides for him.

By the time the warehouse disappears from the rearview mirror, he can’t take the silence anymore. “Hey,” Mac starts, but Riley cuts him off with a hand.

“Not until we’re inside.”

They hit every single red light between the warehouse and the apartment, and Mac anxiously taps the steering wheel. Raindrops land on the windshield. They’re small at first, but soon the drops are large and numerous enough to refract the streetlights, and Mac struggles to see where he’s going. He adjusts the windshield wipers over and over, never landing on the right speed.

Too slow. Too fast. Too slow. Too fast.

Mac settles on a setting that’s slightly too fast, and the squeak of rubber on glass nearly matches his heart thudding in his chest.

Riley stares straight ahead, unmoving, unblinking. Mac wants to reach out, to let a gentle touch say what he verbally can’t, but the road is slick enough to make him keep two hands on the wheel. We’re almost there, he reassures himself.

By the time he parks, it’s pouring hard enough that the ten second walk from the car to the door soaks them to the bone. Riley’s hands shake as she unlocks the apartment door.

Once they’re inside and Mac unclips Harley’s leash, Riley turns to him with pained, pleading eyes. His heart breaking all over again, Mac draws her in for a long, tight hug. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to.

Mac just cradles the back of her head and sways gently, wishing he could fix the world for her.

Neither pulls away, even when Riley suddenly says, “If Conrad was smart, he would’ve had someone bug our car while he paraded us around the warehouse. I don’t think he’s actually smart enough to do that, but we should check first, just in case.”

Mac curses himself for not thinking of that. “Good call.” He rubs Riley’s back, hoping the gesture is soothing. “I hate the way he treated you,” he snarls. “Like you weren’t even worth acknowledging.”

“Welcome to being a woman.”

It was more than that. They both know it. But neither say it.

*****

“You need what?” Matty shrieks over the phone.

Mac winces. “Sorry.” He’d called Desi first, to ask what kind of guns Conrad meant with his innuendo, and received a verbal lashing for not asking any follow-up questions. But she made her best guess anyway. Now on the phone with Matty, it doesn’t take even a single brain cell to know that her reaction will be much, much worse.

“He wants us to prove ourselves,” Riley adds. “As a show of good faith.” The words come out dripping in venom, but their boss doesn’t comment. Mac takes a second to study her; Riley changed into leggings and an oversized flannel shirt, and there are still remnants of dark makeup smudges under her eyes. Now, she’s sitting on the kitchen counter with her knees tucked into her chest. It’s weird to see her take up so little space.

Matty sighs, deeply and loudly in a way conveys her annoyance more than words ever could. “Fine. A few weeks ago, Border Control confiscated a huge shipment of smuggled guns near El Paso, so I’ll see if we can borrow those. But next time, Blondie, don’t make promises you can’t keep.” He doesn’t correct Matty in that it was Riley who made the deal. That would only add fuel to the fire.

“Thank you,” he says, and Matty hangs up. Mac runs a hand through his damp hair. “That went well.” Riley’s lips twitch, but it’s not the amused reaction he hopes for. He’s at a complete loss regarding what to say to her, so Mac gently asks, “What can I do?”

Riley slides off the counter, and Mac reaches for her automatically, although he doesn’t actually touch her; his hand hovers just beside Riley’s elbow. She doesn’t shrink away, but she makes no move to touch him either.

“Help me put him and everyone like him in a deep, dark hole where they can’t hurt anybody. And then just…” she trails off, taking a deep breath. “Keep being you.”

With that, she walks away, leaving Mac alone in the kitchen, racking his brain to figure out what that last part means.

*****

Later that night, Mac tosses and turns, replaying Conrad’s words. Once we’re rid of them and the insufferables who elected them, this country will be better off. They seem off-kilter, like what the man said and what he really meant are misaligned. Mac sighs, rubbing his face.

Another bolt of lightning illuminates the bedroom, and Mac automatically counts the seconds until he hears thunder rumbling in the distance. The storm is moving closer.

Beside him, Riley lies on her back with her eyes closed, although her breathing is too light for her to be asleep. Mac wonders if her mind is just as loud and chaotic as his.

For Riley’s sake, he hopes it’s not.

*****

Sleep never finds Mac.

The storm rages all through the night, but by the time dawn arrives, the thunder and wind dissipate, leaving just the steady downpour. The clouds are dark enough that Mac can hardly tell the sun even bothered to rise this morning.

When Riley’s alarm goes off, it’s like the shrill tone is mocking Mac for being awake. Riley groans as she shuts it off.

“Morning,” he mumbles. His throat hurts. He needs water. “Did you sleep well?”

Another groan. “No.”

“At least you slept,” Mac mutters.

Riley rolls onto her side, drawing one of the extra pillows into her chest. “Do you always toss and turn that much?”

It was his fault, he realizes, that she didn’t sleep. Mac suddenly feels guilty. “Sorry. And no.”

He expects Riley to be upset at being kept awake, but she isn’t. With a look that just might be understanding, she softly asks, “What were you thinking about?”

Mac can’t say that his thoughts whip around his mind like raindrops in last night’s storm. Not without sounding crazy, at least. So instead he says, “I don’t even know. I just have a bad feeling about this.”

“Me too,” Riley admits. “It feels off.” Her eyes are heavy, and Mac’s had enough early mornings with Riley to know it’s not just the lack of sleep weighing her down.

“Go back to sleep. I can handle the delivery.”

Riley rolls her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not letting you do that by yourself.”

He doesn’t argue. “Okay.”

A moment passes between them. It’s been happening more and more lately—holding eye contact a little too long, sharing smirks when no one else is looking, stealing moments where it’s just the two of them and nothing else matters. Each one gives him hope that there’s not a wall between them, but instead, a door. Someone just has to be brave enough to open it.

Sitting up, Riley quipps, “Just don’t make me regret letting you sleep in the bed with me.” Mac snorts.

“No promises.”

~ Tag List ~ Want to be added? Send me an ask.

@angelinanao

@annmariestuff

@dreambelievergeek

@emilyscotson

@fangirlfreak08

@hellishrose

@i-cant-think-of-a-name-15

@justaghostmonument

@losingitovermacriley

@macrileyedits

@multi-fandomshipper101

@mylifequotesshowallofthem

@nikki-1607

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@whatsabex

#beth writes #macriley #macgyver #macgyver fanfiction #angus macgyver #riley davis #looking through a window au

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lilbabycee · 5 years ago

Text

groceries // chris evans

↳ request: If requests are open, can I have a bratty reader who openly flirts with another man in front of Chris (with some condescension and degrading calling her a whore etc)

↳ relationship: chris evans x reader

↳ word count: 1.6k

↳ author’s note: requests are open but other than that, i am still a whore thank you and goodnight x

oh here we go i’m excited:

you and chris both enjoy the domesticity of grocery shopping a little more than you’d like to admit

your pouty lips are like sugar and voice like honey when you beg him to get that candy or those cookies you love so much

he likes to pretend that he won’t cave into your pretty eyes and longing gaze by telling you “no, sweetheart” and walking right past it

but he knows he can’t resist you for long, your glassy eyes threatening tears and he can’t bear the thought of seeing you cry

(although he knows that you’re just being a brat)

and so there’s nothing sweeter than his acquiescence: “okay, baby, go back and grab it”

and you won’t ever act like it, but any public outing provides you with the prime opportunity to mess with your boyfriend

your arms are overflowing with an assortment of fruits that chris sent you ahead to get while he was looking at the wide assortment of vegetables two aisles behind you

and although you cockily insisted that you didn’t need the cart or a basket, you’re definitely regretting your unnecessary stubbornness right about now

the strawberries and the grapes fall from the bottom and your eyes fall shut as you groan loudly, ready to have to go back and get new ones when the heat of a body crowds yours and you don’t hear the telltale sound of plastic against the linoleum

you assume that it’s chris coming to save you from yourself but instead, a mop of curly black hair almost tickles your nose and a pair of pretty lips curve into a smile

he’s got these light brown eyes that come close to knocking the breath out of you and you think that he’s gorgeous

(but still not as attractive as your man)

“i think you dropped these,” he teases, lifting a thick eyebrow as his eyes flit over your face appreciatively

“yeah”, the word comes out breathless because you can’t stop looking at his face but you still manage to smile shyly

and so he tells you his name and you tell him yours and he can’t stop talking about how pretty you are

before you know it, it’s been a full fifteen minutes and chris - who told you to come back when you were done - thinks that you’ve been gone for a suspiciously long time and comes looking for you

he’s expecting to find you with your arms crossed over your chest pensively or your face between your hands because you can’t decide what you want

(either way he thinks you’re the cutest thing he’s ever seen)

but then he rounds the corner and almost trips over the cart because you’re standing at the end of the aisle next to some guy that he’s never seen before holding an armful of what he assumes is your fruit, and he can’t help the way that his brow furrows and his mouth sets in a hard line

he can’t describe the incensed feeling that grows in his chest but he knows that it’s more that jealousy because you’re letting this man stand so close to you and touch your arm like that

a part of him knows that it’s the lingering insecurity that lives deep within the pit of his stomach but instead of letting it cripple him, he allows it to fuel his anger, virtually stomping down the row of shelves towards you

you reluctantly turn your head at the noise of feet walking in your direction, a lingering smile still on your face that immediately drops when you meet the eyes of your furious boyfriend

trepidation seeps into your bones, a poison that corrodes at the marrow and causes your limbs to go completely slack

it’s when all of your produce drops to the floor that the handsome stranger finally stops staring at you, spinning around only for that same stare to land on the very angry brunette coming your way

“chris,” you can’t help but cower slightly when his thundercloud of rage looms over you.

he says nothing but he shoots you a murderous glare before pulling you into his side roughly, hand immediately coming to rest on your butt

you expected this but not the searing kiss that he bruises onto your lips, leaving you breathless as he squeezes the flesh of your ass in his palms

“hi, i’m chris,” he sticks his hand out with a raised brow, the warning look in his eyes a complete contrast to the warm smile on his face

he’s glowing with pride and he’s so hot but you can’t stop staring at the discarded fruit on the floor so as to not have to meet the eyes of the curly-haired man in front of you

“oh, i didn’t realize-”

“that’s okay, buddy,” chris smiles tightly. “thanks for helpin’ my girl out.”

and that’s all he says before snatching up the fruit from james? jonathan? jonah?’s arms and strolling cockily back to your abandoned cart

you walk quickly behind him, gnawing on your lower lip and refusing to acknowledge josiah? jamie? jared?’s parting remark

“i guess i’ll see you around-”

“no you won’t,” chris calls over his shoulder, grabbing you round the waist again after putting the fruit down and pushing the cart around the corner

the rest of the shopping trip goes off pretty much without a hitch

(save from a small disagreement over milk)

but you don’t prepare for what happens when you’re finished loading groceries into the car and sitting quietly in the passenger’s seat, staring out of the window contently because you’re so sure that you’ve gotten away with it

it’s when chris slides into the car and doesn’t say anything that you look over at your boyfriend, audibly gasping at how blown his pupils are

“is my little whore ready to go home?” he says nonchalantly, looking away from you to turn the key in the ignition

“what?!” you exclaim indignantly (except you’re not mad because a thrill runs through you at what you know is coming next). “i-i was a good girl-”

“don’t lie to me, baby,” he coos, engine on but he evidently has no intention of going anywhere just yet. “i saw how much you liked talking to that boy. being a little slut right in front of daddy- what, you tryna make me jealous, babygirl?”

“no- he was my friend-”

“okay, honey,” he says, still not moving and looking deep into your darting eyes

“really?” you ask, confused and a little disappointed because is he just going to drop it?

but you should know by now that your man isn’t like that

“of course not,” he sneers and the butterflies in your stomach come alive all over again. “stupid little slut - think i’m gonna let you get off with bein’ a whore in public? hmm, baby?”

“no, sir,” you reply, licking your lips and shifting in your seat, heat pooling in your core as you try to hide a smile by squeezing your lips together

“my bad little girl,” a large hand falls on your thigh and you shiver, placing your hand over his as he rubs tenderly at the skin there. “such a dumb baby, huh?”

you nod eagerly, attempting to school your features into an expression that projects innocence and repentance because you know you’re going to get the punishment of a lifetime when you get home

“maybe i should fuck you right here,” he muses, hand absent-mindedly trailing to the inside of your thighs to press the heel of his palm to your clit

your legs automatically fall further open and you arch your back into the pressure while he runs a sole finger over the seam of your cunt

(no, you’re not wearing panties under your dress because he told you not to and you always listen to your boyfriend)

“so eager, sweetheart,” he hums, eyes focused exclusively on the task at hand. “did you wanna show that boy what an eager little slut you are?”

you plan to answer - you really do - but his finger dips into your pussy and your brain forgets how to function

almost directly after, another finger joins the first and your boyfriend is casually finger-fucking you in a semi-crowded grocery store parking lot

(the jury’s still out on whether or not this makes you even more horny)

“oh, baby,” chris laughs, eyes now locked on yours that are staring right back at him. “you’re so close already - i didn’t realize how much of a whore you were for that boy... or is this all for me? are you making a mess all over my car seats because you like getting fucked in the parking lot of a grocery store?”

(you decide that yes, this is absolutely why chris is going to need to thoroughly clean his car when you get home)

but you can’t articulate any of that so you just nod again, making chris laugh and causing a combination of pleasure and shame to wash over you

he leans over the console, attaching his lips to your neck and continuing his assault on your pussy - he’s sucking a trail of dark bruises into your skin and you love it, eyelashes fluttering rapidly as his lips move to your jaw and then your ear

“go on, baby,” chris smiles against your cheek. “cum for me, it’s okay. i won’t make you beg this time - i know that once anything gets in this tight little pussy, you don’t know how to act... that’s okay, honey. you can cum, it’s okay.”

and so you do, his voice coaxing you over the edge and the moment you do, chris gasps right into your ear and then chuckles deeply

“look, sweetheart, there’s your little friend - say hi!”

you meet those brown eyes and your entire body heats up in shame - the look on his face would be hilarious in literally any other situation but it makes you feel a little sick and slightly aroused (?)

once you’ve finally come down from your high and jules? jake? jasper? manages to tear his eyes away from the two of you (chris waves at him and you smack him on the arm because what the fuck)

your boyfriend promptly sticks his fingers into his mouth as you peel your sticky body from the leather seat beneath you - you’re panting and unsure if you’ll even be able to walk when you get out of the car

meanwhile, chris adjusts the mirror and his hands land on the wheel before he shoots you a disapproving glance

“seatbelt, baby.”

tagged: @literaturefeen @donutloverxo

#chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans blurb #chris evans blurbs #chris evans headcanon #chris evans headcanons #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fanfic #chris evans smut #request

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teacupfulofstarshine · 4 years ago

Text

in little ways

summary: "a single act of love makes the soul return to life." - saint maximillian kolbe (OR: soft moments in the relationship of patton, remus, and virgil, as a birthday gift for the lovely @bumblebeekitten)

a/n: HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY BEE!!! i give you intrumoxiety being soft little shits

CW: shedding of skin (akin to a snake), nightmare mention, bones, one (1) innuendo, nonsexual nudity

wordcount: 2.7k

ao3 link

“Babe? What - are you doing?”

Virgil, who is busy trying to plan out the best way to strategically approach a nest of wild sirens in the middle of molt to gather their discarded feathers, opens their mouth to reply, and then the low rumbling baritone of their newest lover hits their ears.

“I . . . you’ll laugh at me if I tell you.”

Virgil’s one-of-my-loves-is-on-some-self-deprecating-bullshit-and-requires-reassurance, which they take pride in having almost as fine-tuned as Patton’s, begins klaxon-blaring in their mind. They mark their page and carefully untangle themselves from the web of work they’ve been doing and head into the other room.

Patton is sitting on the kitchen table, swinging (Virgil narrows his eyes at the colored orb charm hanging around Patton’s neck) her legs back and forth, and Remus is standing in front of her, blushing. She has a small wreath of white things in her hair - are those bones? - with a bright jewel studded over her forehead. Remus is holding more small white things in his hands, claw-tipped fingers curled so delicately to avoid shattering them.

“You - I just -”

“Honey, I promise I’m not gonna laugh at you, no matter what,” Patton says. She reaches forward, assortment of rings glinting and clinking as she touches Remus’s face. He lets out a soft rumbly noise and turns his cheek to press into the touch more, gently rubbing his nose against her palm. “We all do stuff that other people think is weird. You don’t have to worry about it.”

Remus flicks his eyes up to look at Virgil, who slow-blinks at him in the clearest nonverbal communication of I love you, you massive idiot they can give. “I . . . uh . . . it’s a weird dragon thing.”

“Re, we’re not gonna be species-ist towards you, that would be super mean and also stupid, considering that no one in this house is human or cisgender,” Virgil says. Remus smiles, hesitant, and then exhales out a puff of gray-black smoke.

“It’s . . . a claiming thing. When dragons get serious about courtships, they . . . combine hoards a little? They’ll pick out choice pieces from their hoards and exchange them. So, by me putting pieces of my bone hoard on you, it’s like . . . me saying that I’m serious about this, and I want it to last.” Virgil reaches out and takes Remus’s hand, not reacting at all when their skin hisses and steams against his. The benefits of having a partner who’s half ice nymph and half selkie, they suppose.

“Don’t I get any bones?” they tease. Remus waggles his eyebrows at them; they promptly drop his hand and smack his shoulder. “Not like that, dirty dragon.”

“Yeah, it’s not fair for only one of us to get fancy bones!” Patton says. “Although I certainly do appreciate this . . . tiara? I’m gonna go ahead and say it’s a tiara.”

“It was supposed to be,” Remus says, kicking the floor. “I got Ro to help me with pickin’ out the gems and stuff. That’s part of what he hoards, so we went and looked for them together. He told me that one’s a moonstone, and I thought, y’know, werewolf, perfect, right? And - and I’m working on something for you, Virge, I just didn’t wanna find anything that screamed VEE to me on that trip, y’know?”

“Well, I absolutely love it,” Patton coos, leaning forward to kiss Remus. “Thank you for the tiara, sweetie!” She pauses. “You cleaned these, right?”

Remus laughs, deep and echoing, and something inside of Virgil uncoils.

*~*~*~*~*

Their skin itches and burns, and someone in front of them is setting their sealskin on fire, and they can hear Patton screaming high and frantic and Remus roaring deep and feral but they can’t move, they’re screaming, convulsing as they burn up with their sealskin and then then then then then -

“Virgil!”

They sit upright, ice flooding around them, and a dark shape looms in the distance and they fling their hand out to cast a massive shard of ice through the heart of their night terror, but the night terror opens its mouth and green fire rolls out like a current, licking along the ice and dissolving it into water without burning anything else. “Virgil,” the night terrors says, and why does Virgil know that voice?

“Virgil,” the voice repeats, lower, and then again, and every time it repeats their name it drops lower and lower until they aren’t so much hearing their name as they are feeling it reverberate in their heaving chest.

The night terror tips its head back and exhales a jet of flames towards the ceiling. It catches on a saucer of oil, spreading down troughs to ignite other saucers spread around the ceiling, and the night terror looks down with fire licking around its teeth and oh, that’s not a night terror at all, it’s Remus. His leathery wings are awkwardly stuck together behind him like he’d just woken up, his hands are up like he’s warding off an attack.

“R - Rem?”

BELOVED, he rumbles, mouth barely moving. Virgil sways a little under the force, blinking as Remus thumps at his chest a little with one hand. ARE YOU WELL?

“I . . . nightmare,” they manage. “Hunters. Hurt you, hurt Patty, stole my skin . . .”

Remus takes a step forward, then another. MAY I APPROACH? Virgil is pretty sure he’s actually speaking Dracon, which would explain the oddly formal address and grammar. They nod, too out of it to speak more, and Remus carefully climbs onto the ice-covered bed. He opens his arms, and they collapse into his chest, shaking.

“Patty?”

ON A NIGHT HUNT WITH HIS PACK, BELOVED. HE WILL RETURN ON THE MORN.

“Oh . . . did I hurt you?”

NO, BELOVED. HOW ELSE MAY I COMFORT YOU?

“My . . . my skin?”

Remus scoops them up into his arms, easily navigating the iced-over bedroom floor and taking them down into the basement. He exhales a plume of blue-green fire into the magical lock, and Virgil leans forward as the door spins and swirls open. The hoard room is full of perfectly-articulated skeletons, bones in cleaning vats, and the other treasures that Remus collects. He navigates through the piles skillfully until he reaches a dark wooden chest with an intricate sapphire-and-golden inlay on the top.

YOUR KEY, BELOVED?

Virgil traces a sigil across the chest, and it glows under their touch. The array lights up with a brilliant violet aura, and the chest pops open. They reach into the chest hurriedly, panic when they don’t feel fur, and then slide their fingers across to the latch that opens the false bottom. They flip open the false bottom and pull out their sealskin, pressing their face into the softness.

Their sealskin is beautiful. It’s black as pitch, studded with flecks of silver and white. Remus hugs them against his chest as they rub their cheek against the fur and inhale the scent of the sea. Remus rumbles underneath them, gently rubbing his face along their hair and neck to gently scent him.

“Thanks,” Virgil says, nearly twenty minutes later, sealskin draped around them like a blanket. “I . . . sorry I woke you.”

“It’s alright,” Remus says, voice hoarse and growly. “I don’t mind. It’s kinda hot when you go batshit, even though I wish you hadn’t had a nightmare.” Virgil snorts, shoving at his chest.

“I can’t believe you slipped into Dracon.” Remus ducks his head in embarrassment.

“Yeah . . . it . . . lots of dragon moms do it to try and soothe rowdy hatchlings back to sleep. I didn’t realize I was doing it until my larynx dropped, and once it goes that far down it takes a while to relax my muscles enough to release it back to normal.”

“I like it,” Virgil murmurs, leaning up to kiss him. “It’s . . . nice.”

Remus rumbles with pleasure and kisses them back.

*~*~*~*~*

“Patton, what are you doing?”

Patton is staring out the window, eyes narrowed, mouth set in a thin line of displeasure. Virgil pauses, arms full of books and random spell components. “I don’t trust that woman.”

“What? What woman?”

Virgil follows their gaze down to the end of the walkway leading up to their cottage, all the way to the woman at their mailbox. “Patton, what -”

“I don’t trust her,” they mutter, ears pinning back in their fluffy hair.

“Patton, she’s the mailwoman. Debra’s been coming here every day for the past seven years.”

“Suspicious.”

“It is literally the opposite of suspicious, you ridiculous werewolf.”

*~*~*~*~*

“Poor baby,” Patton croons, pulling on thick rubber gloves and tying her hair up out of the way. Remus whines, rolling around the kitchen buck-naked. His body is almost completely covered in thick, glistening scales, with few patches of human skin peeking through.

“Why are you naked?” Virgil asks.

“Shedding season,” Remus moans, swiping irritably at his torso. A thick sheet of scales flakes to the ground, and Virgil picks it up. “You can have whatever scales come off if you help me, it itches so baaaaaad!”

Virgil looks at Patton, who’s carrying a bucket of magic salts and a scrub brush towards the bathroom. “You got a spare brush and gloves, Patty?”

“Under the sink!” Virgil is quick to grab the supplies. When they return, Remus is still rolling around the kitchen floor, and Patton is prodding him with her foot.

“Babe, if you don’t get into the tub, I can’t help you feel better. Your dad sent the special salts that your family uses during sheds from the sea caves near your family home.”

“Papa sent them?” Remus’s eyes are wide and liquid, and he almost looks like a hatchling. Virgil bends down and brushes his sweaty hair off his forehead.

“Yeah, Reem. We asked him for the salts and the lotion so that you’d be more comfortable the next time you shed your scales. We know how much you hate the feeling, and we want you to be comfor - mmph!”

Remus grabs the front of their shirt and drags them down into a kiss, brief and passionate. Virgil leans back, mussed and flustered, and Patton leans down and drops a kiss into their hair. “Let’s get you into the bath, mister.”

They finally manage to get Remus into the hot bath, and the moan he lets out when Patton tips the salt into the water is positively lewd. Virgil tugs on the thick gloves and picks up their scrub brush. “I’ll take the left, you take the right?” Patton nods, picking up her rough sponge, and they get to work.

Virgil puts their back into the scrubbing, careful around Remus’s newly healed top surgery scars. They create a transport sigil next to them and pass any large sheets of scales that flake off of Remus through it, sending them to their work desk. Remus wriggles around in the hot water, making it difficult to scrub, but finally his skin is clear and red-pink from scrubbing and the heat.

Remus flops gracefully onto the bed, sighing in relief as he rolls around the soft comforter. Patton pulls off her gloves and picks up a tub of thick, pink goop. “Alright, buddy, it’s time for the lotion.”

“You guys don’t have to do all this,” Remus mumbles, sleepy from his bath. “I know it’s kinda gross.”

“We love you, Remus. It’s no trouble,” Patton says, gently stroking his hair.

“Of course it’s not,” Virgil adds. Remus lets out a low, pleased rumble, and Virgil kisses Patton softly.

*~*~*~*~*

“VIRGIL! Virgil, Virgil, Virgil Virgil VirgilVirgil VirgilVirgil VIRGIL!!!!!”

Virgil, whose name is sounding more and more like gibberish, even to their own ears, looks up from the sigil they’re constructing to see Remus bouncing eagerly in front of them. “Learn something new?”

“Yeah! Patton’s at the grocery store, can I infodump to you?”

Virgil looks down at the array they’re working on. “Give me two minutes to make sure this sigil won’t explode if I leave it alone, okay? Then you can talk all you want.” Remus nods, sitting down next to them. He’s practically vibrating with happy energy - flapping his hand, tapping his feet, snapping his fingers, rocking and humming. Virgil quickly changes a few of the components of their array, pulls their power out of it, and writes down where they were so they can pick their work up later. “Okay, Remus. Go ahead.”

Remus jumps to his feet and begins pacing around the living room, telling Virgil all about the new deadly creature he’s discovered, and Virgil watches him fondly, smiling.

*~*~*~*~*

“You know how Pat has his bone tiara?”

“Yeah?”

Remus reaches into the pouch at his waist and offers something to Virgil. “For you!” Virgil takes the token from his hands, gasping when it comes into view. It’s a necklace with a braided leather cord and a dangling pendant. The pendant is painstakingly constructed of dozens of tiny bones, all arranged and articulated to form an ornate snowflake. In the very center is a gleaming piece of icy pale blue-green topaz, carved into a hexagonal facet.

“You . . . you made this?”

“Yep! I - do you not like it?”

Virgil stares at the necklace, running their fingers over the edges of the snowflake and the ice-cold smoothness of the gem. They slip the pendant over their head with trembling fingers before dragging Remus into a kiss. “Bedroom, now.”

“As you wish,” Remus purrs, scooping them into his arms.

*~*~*~*~*

Virgil tightens their grip on the strap of their messenger bag as the gates swing open, revealing a tall, imposing figure. Half of his face is covered in glittering golden-green scales, and one eye is a golden brown with a slitted pupil; the other is dark brown, almost black. He wears a long-sleeved golden dress that falls to the floor, intricately embroidered with dragons and flames along the hem, and his wings are fanned loosely around him.

“Papa!” Remus crows, sprinting up and leaping towards the figure. He catches him, managing to make it look elegant as he hugs Remus close and rubs his back with a small smile. Remus and his father press their foreheads together, rumbling softly, before Remus hops down. “Virgey, Patton, this is my papa! Papa, these are my loves!”

Virgil flushes, seeing Patton go pale pink beside them, as Remus’s father comes forward and extends a hand. “You may call me Janus. It is a pleasure to formally meet you. My son speaks quite highly of you.”

Virgil shakes his hand. “The pleasure is all ours, sir. Thank you for letting us use the private beach on your estate.” Janus smiles as he shakes Patton’s hand.

“Anyone so highly beloved of my son is always welcome on our family’s ancestral home.” His eyes linger on the bone tiara and pendant before turning to Remus and asking him a low, rapidfire question in a tongue Virgil doesn’t speak. Remus turns redder than Virgil’s ever seen him and spits back a swift response, and Janus laughs.

“The path to the beach is that way. When you are done, I will have a meal prepared in the house. Take your time. The weather will be favorable today.”

Remus grabs their hands and drags them down towards the sea. “What did your dad say to you?”

“He’s just being embarrassing,” Remus mutters.

“Must have been serious if it embarrassed you,” Patton teases.

“Shut up!”

They crest the cliff and spot the sea, and all of Virgil’s teasing leaves them in one breath. It’s beautiful, and the longer they stare at it and smell the salt water, the stronger the call of the ocean in their bones.

Remus goes flying down the stairs, dropping his bag in the sand and shedding all of his clothes to reveal a lime green speedo. Patton takes a little more care, spreading out the towels and setting up the umbrella, before carefully taking off their tiara and clothes and transforming into a wolf with a fluid, rippling motion. They leap into the water as Virgil descends to the beach. They set down their bag, strip down, and carefully tuck their pendant in a pocket of their bag before reaching in and pulling out their sealskin. They take a moment to watch the way the sun glitters on the ocean’s surface, listening to the crash of the waves and the call of the gulls and the shrieking laughter of Remus and Patton’s joyful barks.

Then, they wrap their sealskin around their shoulders and join their loves in the sea.

#starshinewrites #ts remus #intrumoxiety #wife squad tag!#bee tag!#ts virgil #ts patton

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muchadoaboutbucky · 4 years ago

Text

Red Carpet Man (oneshot)

Red carpets are definitely not Bucky’s thing… but this one’s a little more rewarding than usual.

PAIRING: Bucky x Native American!Reader

WARNINGS: anxiety (public situation), smut

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Bucky doesn’t know how you do it. Walking in front of the cameras, flashing lights, screaming fans and reporters—you do it like it’s nothing, but he can barely bring himself to force a smile and maybe stutter a few rambling sentences to the recording devices stuck in his face.

He can already hear the bustle of people outside, car horns honking impatiently for people crowding the street to get out of the way, the beat of helicopter blades soaring overhead, news outlets desperate to be the first to catch glimpses of the famed Avengers...

He’s only been in Los Angeles for a day and he already doesn’t like it.

You’re at the mirror, applying a favorite lipstick that always gets him riled up. He doesn’t know why he likes the color red on you so much, but this little splash of red against creamy olive skin goes perfectly with the floor-length dress, all ruby chiffon and satin, a split in the skirt of it that goes all the way up your thigh. Bucky eyes it hungrily as you turn away from the mirror and tuck your lipstick back into your little red clutch.

He’d rather stay here and mess around than go out and have to deal with… people.

Three sharp raps on your hotel door signal that it’s nearly time for you to go downstairs and join the others in the lobby. You barely acknowledge it, instead filtering through your little collection of necklaces. Bucky watches you compare pendants, assorted jewels and pearls, until you finally settle on a small silver chain with a diamond pendant.

“Babe?”

He stands when you hold the necklace out for him. He takes the nimble clasp and lets you adjust your hair so he can clasp it around your neck. It’s too easy to take advantage of your position, and he presses a kiss to the juncture of your shoulder and neck. You smell real good, like jasmine and vanilla, and it makes his heart skip a beat as blood decides to try and rush elsewhere—

“Mmm, nice try, mister.” You turn in his arms, winding your arms around his shoulders. “We have to go downstairs.”

Bucky grumbles. “Let’s just stay here. Say we got food poisoning from that sushi Stark got last night.”

“Definitely not.” You shake your head and press a light kiss to his lips that leaves a little red print. “You need to get used to these press events, baby. You can only miss so many before people start wondering where the famous Sergeant James Barnes has gone off to.”

“Sergeant James Barnes,” Bucky clarifies, running his hands down the back of your dress, “is busy trying to make some love to his girlfriend and it’s nobody else’s business.”

“It will be someone’s business if we turn up late. Again.”

“What can I say? I don’t like to rush things.”

You giggle and rub away the lipstick left behind on his lower lip. “When this event is all over, I promise I will make it very worth your while.” When he tenses, refusing to let you out of his arms, your eyes fill with sympathy. He really doesn’t want to go out there. “I’m not gonna leave your side,” you murmur, “I’ll stay where you can see me, we won’t be out there longer than an hour. I promise.”

He groans, letting you pull out of his embrace. “I hate reporters.”

“You don’t have to comment on anything,” you explain, “just stick by me, pose for the cameras, and then we’ll be onto the Q&A. And trust me, if I know Tony, he’ll be doing most of the talking.”

***

Bucky has to fight to shield his eyes from the glare of the setting sun reflecting off the buildings across the street. You loop your arm through his, walking at his pace as you trail behind Steve and Tony. Nat’s close behind, your reinforcement to make sure Bucky doesn’t turn and bolt back inside.

The instant clamoring swells up in a deafening wave the second they step outside. The rapid clicking of camera shutters, shouts from reporters, screams from excited fans… oh, God, fans. Nobody here is gonna like him, not after everything he’d done as the Winter Soldier has officially been made public…

“Calm,” you whisper in his ear, “they know we’re together, baby. It’s okay.”

Bucky flinches as several shouts of his name resound from twenty feet away, mixes of “James” and “Sergeant” and “Barnes” that make his head spin. He ignores them, offering tight smiles and hanging back with his hands tucked in his pockets when you decide to approach the reporters. He watches closely, eyeing the way you smile and practice your little flirty routine as you answer the questions thrown in your face.

A flash of silver and red catches his eye. He turns his head and spies a gaggle of people huddled beside one of the metal barricades, some with their phones out—the red had apparently come from a phone case. They’re cheering and waving, and he raises his hand in a curious wave before turning his gaze away. You’re finishing up with the reporters, and you blow a little kiss to one of the cameras before sauntering back to him, leaving Natasha to fend for herself.

“Looks like those people over there really like you.” You let Bucky wind an arm around your waist. “Wanna go say hi?”

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Baby, c’mon,” you plead, “it’s good to let the public get to know you. Besides, having fans is a good thing.”

He eyes the group suspiciously. They’re mostly women, some teenagers sprinkled in, cheeks flushed with excitement at the prospect of seeing him… not Tony, not Steve… him.

“You’re in their history books,” you murmur, “they get to meet a hero.”

Bucky swallows thickly. “How, uh… how do I talk to them?”

A little smirk crosses your face. “Remember the first time you flirted with me? Bring all that sweet charm right back up and they’ll love you forever.”

He blushes hard when you rub your hand up his arm. “Are you sure?”

“Well, you got me to stick around,” you reply, “pretty sure a couple of idolizing teens is way easier.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and glances over at where Tony’s scribbling frantically on posters and pictures held out by what look like hundreds of fans. “And what if they want me to sign stuff?”

You reach into your clutch and pull out a metallic gold Sharpie. “Do that cute loopy thing you sign all your things with.”

His shoulders roll back, and he adjusts the button of his jacket—subconsciously, most likely—and you rise up on the toes of your four-inch heels to nuzzle his cheek before giving him a stealthy pat on the ass and sending him on his way. Bucky swallows any nerves that creep up into his throat as each step takes him closer to the group of excited girls, who only bounce and whisper excitedly as he approaches.

“Hi, ladies,” he says, trying to keep the nervous flutter in his voice under control. The chorus of “hi!” and “ohmygod!” that fills his ears in reply makes his cheeks burn, and he uncaps the pen, reaching out to sign a handmade poster that reads TEAM BARNES.

It’s a full five minutes of signing his initials, JBB, over and over again. He manages to engage better than he thought he would, even managing a few quick seconds of eye contact with several young women who bat their eyelashes and blush furiously as he delivers winks and lopsided smiles. The sudden appearance of an infant named after him literally takes the words out of his mouth, and with the mother’s permission he reaches over to let the curious baby grip onto his right index finger. It’s quite touching, considering he’s been wanting to talk with you about babies for a while.

By the time he’s done, you’ve moved a long ways down the red carpet to occupy yourself with a one-on-one camera interview. He feels surprisingly light and happy, and he waits patiently for you to take notice of his presence and invite him in. The reporter talking to you blushes, apparently excited to get him in as well.

“And we’re joined by Sergeant James Barnes,” she says, as the cameraman turns to bring her into the frame, “so, Sergeant, it’s been a while since you’ve made a public appearance like this. How are you finding it?”

Bucky’s brain struggles to find the right words quick enough. “Took some getting used to, I’m still, uh…” he shoots you a quick glance, as if to make sure what he’s sharing is okay. When you give him an encouraging smile, he continues. “I’m still adjusting to this kind of life. Fortunately, I got this one—” he loops his arm around your waist, fingers splaying out against your hip, “to help me out. She’s been real good to me.”

***

“Goddamn.”

Bucky slumps back against the mattress, tipping his head back as you drape yourself next to him, a sweaty thigh slung over his hips. You’re panting hard, muscles still tensing and trembling from the last near-hour of enthusiastic lovemaking.

“I’ll say,” you reply, running a palm over his bare chest. “So, you had fun?”

He grins, looping an arm around your shoulders. “It’s always fun with you.”

“I meant the press.” You laugh and squirm a little closer. “You look like you had fun with those people.”

He smiles, cheeks flushing. “Someone named their baby after me.”

“Aww, that’s sweet.” You press a kiss to the side of his neck. “I wish I’d seen that… imagining you with a baby does things to me.”

Bucky chuckles. “I’ve been meaning to ask if you wanted one.”

“What, a baby?” You sigh and trail the tip of your finger over his lower lip. “I was thinking about it, but with what we do… are you sure you’d wanna have a baby?”

In response, he rolls on top of you, nudging your thighs apart to make room for him. “I want to,” he confesses in a whisper, lips brushing against yours. “Besides, even if it takes a while, it’s fun to try.”

Your arms wind around his neck, pulling him down into a deeper kiss. “I guess you’re thinking of trying right now?”

Bucky glances at the digital clock on the nightstand. “It’s only ten,” he says, “I’m willing to try all night.”

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cali-holland · 5 years ago

Text

Wanna Play a Game?- Harrison Osterfield One Shot

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield

Prompt: You and Harrison pass by the time in quarantine by playing games

Word Count: 2000

Warnings: might be some swearing, making out a lil, harry & tom being dumb but we love them

Masterlist Harrison Osterfield Masterlist

*Gif is not mine*

~~~

“Hey, lovebirds, what do you want for lunch?” Harry called out to you and Harrison as he walked outside onto the back porch, where you and your boyfriend were currently hunched over an intense game of chess. You and Harrison had been dating for a little over a year and, with quarantine, decided now was a good time for you to move in with him, which meant with him, Harry, Tom, and Tuwaine. Now on week five- maybe six or seven, you stopped counting- of quarantine, you and Harrison resorted to playing different board and card games, such as chess.

“I’m fine with anything.” You shrugged, moving your pawn a space forward.

“Sandwiches?” Harrison asked with a hopeful smile as he moved his bishop a few spaces.

“Why’d you do that?” Harry raised an eyebrow at his friend, “You just left your knight open for attack.”

“I didn’t see it.” He replied.

“Well, thanks, Harry, for giving me my next move.” You laughed, taking Harrison’s knight with your pawn. It was then that Harry looked at the disproportionate amount of pieces on the board; you were absolutely crushing Harrison.

“I thought you were good at this game, Haz.” Harry pondered. Last time he played against Harrison, he lost without even getting to take any of his opponent’s pieces.

“No, you just suck.” Harrison snickered. He moved one of his pawn’s this time. “Go make us sandwiches.”

“I’m surprised I’m winning too. Last time, you beat me so easily.” You said.

“I don’t know.” Your boyfriend shrugged, leaning over the board to distract you with a kiss.

~~~

A few days later, you and Harrison were playing the Game of Life with Tom, who had insisted on being included this time. Harrison was the banker, claiming he was best at keeping track of the money, and you and Tom weren’t about to protest.

“Get married, hey!” Harrison cheered as his car landed on the chapel space. You gave him a quick kiss, making Tom jokingly gag.

“Ok, next time, I don’t play this with a couple.” He told himself, acknowledging his place as the third wheel in the room.

“Get yourself a girlfriend then.” Harrison joked, pecking your cheek.

“Yeah, yeah, just go.” Tom waved off the comment as the blue eyed boy put the small pink ‘person’ in his red car before spinning again.

As you kept playing in the living room, Harry eventually wandered in, wanting to see an update on the game. He watched the three of you go around the board a few times, until he noticed Harrison’s.

“Your salary’s 80,000, Harrison.” Harry said as if it was obvious.

“And?” Harrison replied, picking up a few bills for his pay day.

“You’re only giving yourself 60. Can you not count, mate?” He laughed.

“My bad. I thought I had Y/N’s salary for a moment there.” Your boyfriend played off his mistake, grabbing another $20,000 from the bank.

“Haz, you said you could handle being banker!” You playfully slapped his arm.

“And I thought I was shit at math.” Tom laughed.

“Hey, I haven’t been shorting you two, just myself.” Harrison said, trying to hide his embarrassed blush, before adding, “Accidentally.”

“Oh sure.” You teased.

“I’ll just be banker then, god.” Harry took the bank from Harrison and sat it down in front of him.

“You tried.” You laughed as Harrison shifted to wrap an arm around your waist. Now that he didn’t have to take care of the bank, he was free to cuddle up to you while playing, and you were not complaining about it one bit.

~~~

“What’s the game today?” Tuwaine asked as you and Harrison sat down at the table on the back patio with a board game box in hand.

“Scrabble.” Harrison answered, helping you set it up.

“You don’t want to play with them.” Tom said, messing about with the chickens, before Tueaine could even ask to join.

“Why not?” You asked, in faux offense.

“Too coupley.”

“Oh like this?” Harrison teased, cupping your face then proceeding to dip his tongue into your mouth before properly kissing you. You laughed into the kiss at his overdramatic attempt to make it sloppy and gross.

“Yeah, no, I’m good.” Tuwaine said as his interest returned to his laptop in front of him.

“Gross.” Tom whined, making you and Harrison laugh.

You and Harrison started your game, filling up the board with easy enough words. You argued here and there over if words like “thor” counted as actual words- and yes, you caved and let him play that as a real word. The game started to get harder as more spaces were filled up on the board. Harry, Tom, and Tuwaine all eventually made their way over to watch the two of you play, since there was literally nothing better to do.

“Zebra.” Harry said, looking over your boyfriend’s shoulder.

“What?” Harrison asked, looking back at his friend.

“Zebra, right there.” Harry pointed to the open space hanging off your ‘squeeze’ from two rounds ago.

“Yeah, you’ve had those letters this whole time.” Tuwaine laughed.

“Piss off.” Harrison swatted his friends away.

“How the hell can you guys see that?” Tom questioned, looking at the scrambled ‘b r e z a’ on Harrison’s side along with a couple more letters.

“You’ve had a good word this whole time? Why the hell have you been playing just three letters?” You looked at Harrison in disbelief. He’d been acting like he was struggling for the past ten minutes, but he’d been sitting on legitimate words.

“I didn’t realize it, I swear.” Harrison chuckled almost uncomfortably, placing the letters. You could tell by his laugh that he had definitely realized it, but didn’t want to play it.

“Well, I can’t do anything.” You sighed, defeated. Harry and Tuwaine looked over at your tiles- Tom didn’t even give it a chance.

“Yeah, you got nothing.” Harry admitted, looking at the useless letters in front of you. Agreeing with him, Tom and Tuwaine wandered back inside with Harry following them.

“Good game, darling.” Harrison said, starting to clean up the board. He’d won just based off his last word, placing it on a triple score. “Do I get anything for winning?”

“Come here.” You smiled, leaning in to kiss him. Harrison’s hands found your waist and shifted you into his lap with ease, needless to say the other three boys were glad they were gone.

~~~

As the week continued with more games between you and Harrison, you started to grow suspicious of his gameplay. It seemed like mostly every single game you would either be tied or he would be losing, which was fairly odd since you normally were the one losing.

“But you always win at Uno.” Tom whined when Harrison suggested the five of you playing Uno, as if being locked in a house together wasn’t straining enough. Despite his complaint, he still sat with you, Harrison, Harry, and Tuwaine at the dining room table, ready to play.

“It’s the only game we haven’t played yet.” He insisted.

“Are we stacking?” Harry asked.

“Of course.” Tom replied, shuffling the cards before handing them off to Tuwaine to deal them out. Harrison reached over and grabbed the edge of your seat, pulling your chair closer to him. He rested his arm around your shoulder and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“No cheating. We’re watching you two.” Tuwaine warned, pointing at you and Harrison.

“He can’t see my cards.” You said, taking your cards and holding them in such a way so that your boyfriend definitely could not look at your hand.

The game went on as well as any Uno game could go- as in, Tom complaining about ending up on the receiving end of the draw fours, Harry continuously playing reverse cards, Tuwaine somehow consistently having just three cards, Harrison picking up at least one card every round because he “didn’t have any cards to play”, and you having decent luck with a fairly good hand.

“Haz, you really have no cards?” You questioned as he went to pick up a card again on his turn.

“I don’t! Harry changes it to yellow right before my turn every time.” He reasoned, continuing to draw a couple more before finally placing down a yellow card.

“Did you-“ you looked at him in disbelief as you realized the card he put down was not one of the four he had picked up. “Let me see you cards.”

“What? No, that’s cheating.” He defended, his ears turning red.

“What are you hiding?” You inquired, leaning closer to him.

“Nothing, it’s your turn.” Harrison stated, brushing off the subject.

“Mate, you did just put down a yellow that was already in your hand.” Tom acknowledged.

“Are you reverse cheating?” Harry questioned, looking at the fat stack of cards Harrison had- well, the second largest compared to Tom’s.

“Haz, show me your cards.” You insisted, trying to peer over to look at his hand.

“Stop it, just go, darling.” He replied with a smile. You eyed him suspiciously, but continued your turn anyway.

A few more rounds carried on until you and Harry both had Uno. When it was finally Harrison’s turn to go, you couldn’t help yourself from spotting his deck as he picked up another card from the middle- more specifically you spotted the assortment of cards, including the numerous black wild cards.

“You’re cheating.” You accused him instantly.

“No, I’m not.” Harrison let out a whine at the repeated argument.

“You have four wild cards and you’re still picking up cards.”

“Four wild cards?” Tom exclaimed.

“God, Harrison, you’re messing up the game.” Tuwaine laughed.

“And you have each color.” Harry pointed out, peering over to see Harrison’s hand. He quickly put his cards down, only increasing everyone’s suspicions, “Why the hell are you still picking up cards?”

“I’m trying to help you win.” He mumbled in defeat, displaying his array of cards. Really, he should’ve won already; after all, he was the reigning Uno champ of the household.

“Haz, you didn’t-“ You were cut off by Harry connecting the dots suddenly between games.

“Is that why you were shit at chess and scrabble? And shorting yourself in Life?” He asked. Frustrated, Harrison wordlessly got up and left the room. An uncomfortable silence filled the dining room and you winced hearing Harrison slam his bedroom door.

“I’ll go talk to him. You guys continue without us.” You said, excusing yourself from the game and table, and hurrying off after Harrison.

“Haz,” You knocked softly on the door. When there was no answer, you only spoke up louder, “Harrison.” With still no reply, you opened the door to see your boyfriend sprawled out on the bed with a clenched jaw and a deep frown on his face. You let out a small sigh, silently laying down beside him. Harrison wrapped his arms around your waist and you entangled your legs with him.

“You look pretty sexy with your jaw clenched like that.” You teased, running a hand along his jaw before moving it up to his hair. His eyes found yours and he smiled appreciatively at the soft touches. “You know, you didn’t have to let me win.”

“But you suck at chess and Scrabble and Uno- Life is more luck, but still. I just didn’t want to keep winning.” He admitted quietly, his face intimately close to yours as he spoke.

“Then help me win. Don’t reverse cheat.”

“I just wanted to help.”

“And I love that about you. Your heart’s always in the right place.” You kissed him gently before pulling away, “I’ll win on my own terms, alright?”

“Alright,” He let out a sigh of relief that you weren’t upset with him over purposefully losing. He kissed you again, “I love you too.”

“Should we go play another round?” You asked, and Harrison hummed, thinking about it for a moment. He smirked at you, leaning in some more so that your lips were barely touching.

“I think I know a game we can play for a few rounds, where we both win.”

#harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield x you #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield one shot #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield fic

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

Text

Galactica, Chapter 55 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Thanksgiving went on for 17 million years. (AKA 5 Chapters) We laughed, we cried (did we cry? I don’t think we cried – except for Adore maybe), we fucked on some stairs until our knees gave out...

This Chapter: Pearl makes a getaway, Raven carbs up, and Violet returns to work with help from a very special assistant.

***

“Pearl! Pearl, wake up!”

Pearl stirred, a hand shaking her, and opened her eyes. Fame was leaning over her, a sleep mask pushed up on her forehead, a frantic expression in her eyes.

It had been a long night. When Pearl arrived at the townhouse, they’d at down and had a long heart to heart, Pearl tearfully confessing the whole sordid tale of her and Adore over tea and leftover cranberry apple crisp, Fame even going the extra mile and topping it with an uncharacteristic scoop of ice cream--she must really have seemed pathetic. Pearl told her everything, and while Fame was understanding, she didn’t hold back or let her off the hook either, pointing out where she thought she’d fucked up, how she could have done better, and why Adore was justified in her hurt and anger. It was difficult to hear at times, but Pearl appreciated her honesty. Most of all, she appreciated that Fame stayed to listen, giving her the space to talk it out, sometimes resting a hand on her thigh just to let her know that she was still there.

After that, cried out and emotionally exhausted, they’d climbed into Fame’s bed to snuggle and watch TV, Pearl’s eyelids soon drooping heavily. When Patrick got home, Pearl had offered to leave, of course, but he saw how tired she was and insisted she stay, Fame sleeping in the middle of the bed.

Now, it was morning and Fame was apparently in a tizzy over something. Pearl rubbed her eyes.

“What’s going on?”

“The chef’s idiot assistant let in my in-laws without asking. I have no idea why they’re here so early, we clearly said brunch was at noon!” Fame fretted, Patrick buttoning his shirt in the background.

Pearl tried to catch up. “The chef?”

“Oh my god, what are we going to do?!” Fame explained, hands pressed to her cheeks.

“She could go out the window…” Patrick joked.

“Yes!” Fame turned back to Pearl. “Get dressed, you’re going out the window.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Pearl asked. “That’s dangerous!”

“Use the trellis!”

“Darling, I was kidding,” Patrick said gently.

“Well, I’m not!” Fame snapped her fingers. “Where are her pants?”

Patrick handed over Pearl’s skinny jeans, shaking his head. “Can’t we just say that one of your employees came for an early meeting?”

“Oh yeah Patrick, an early meeting on the Saturday after Thanksgiving. Here in our bedroom. Sounds totally respectable. I can’t believe this, we’re never using chef John again! Pearl, hurry up.” She got up and walked to the window that overlooked the backyard, unlocking it and opening it wide.

“Was he supposed to let them just wait on the front stoop?”

“Patrick,” Fame said sternly, in that tone that told them both that she was not fucking around. “If you’re not going to offer any other solutions, you can just go downstairs and entertain your stupid family.”

“I’m gonna let that one slide,” Patrick said as he walked to the door. “And Pearl, godspeed. Try to avoid the rose bushes if you fall.”

“So, is this your way of telling me that I’m not staying for brunch with the fam?” Pearl asked, putting on her jacket and slinging her messenger bag over her shoulder.

“Pearl.” That same tone again, entirely unamused.

Pearl stepped up to her at the window, looking out. The good news was, there was a high cement wall that would likely break her fall before the ground. Worst case scenario, she’d break a bone...or two.

“This is the first time I’ve done anything like this since high school,” she giggled, then reached out and touched Fame’s hand. “Thanks for last night.”

“Of course,” Fame replied, softening for a moment, leaning in to give her a gentle kiss on the mouth. “Anytime.”

“Anytime except right now, you mean?”

“Exactly,” Fame said, helping her climb onto the window ledge and over to the trellis. “Once you get down to the garden, make sure to go around that way,” she pointed, “And duck when you pass the windows.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

***

“Now,” Juju took the dinosaur tray from the counter, handing it to her son, his pancakes carefully cut up, “take it slow when-” Juju was cut off as Owen grabbed the tray, practically spinning around in his haste to make it back to the family room. “Hey! I said take it slow young man!”

It was a Sanderson family tradition to spend the Saturday after Thanksgiving with pajamas, pancakes and TV, and even though Kelly had gotten too old to join, their teenager leaving the house almost as soon as they had made it back from Boston, Juju knew with absolute certainty that she’d find a toddler under each of her husband's arms, time with dad something the twins valued above anything else.

“They grow up so fast.” Raven smiled, her best friend sitting at the kitchen counter in a set of soft pink silk pajamas, twirling a bit of hair around her finger.

“Don’t even say it,” Juju sighed, cutting up the last of the fruit so she could make Raven a plate too. “It feels like we just left the hospital.”

“You’ll have another little one soon.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” Juju smirked, and Raven laughed, taking the offered assortment of fruit that Juju handed her, but then, something crazy happened. Raven grabbed two pancakes too, putting them on her plate.

“Hey girly, what’re you doing?” Juju didn’t normally care about Raven’s diets--actually, she tried not to be involved in them at all whenever she could, but she had already spotted her best friend putting creamer in her coffee. Juju worked in fashion as well, several houses and magazines using her on shoots, but she didn’t think she’d ever really understand the sacrifices models went through. Sure, it was part of their job to go to the gym, but she didn’t think she’d ever be able to do it, even though Raja had made it seem effortlessly easy when she had been in her prime. “I know Sutan isn’t here, but I don’t believe the warden has relaxed the rules that much.”

“Well.” Raven looked uncharacteristically insecure for a moment, crossing her arms. “I’ve decided I’m done doing swimwear.”

“Oh?” Juju knew Raven had campaigns coming up in December, her friend complaining about it the last time they saw each other.

“Yes.” Raven nodded. “I’m done. It’s not worth the money, when it’s killing me to stay in runway shape year round.”

“Okay.” Juju nodded, sort of understanding where Raven was coming from. When she wasn’t walking fashion weeks where everyone had to fit sample sizes, the industry loved her curves, Raven smoking hot when she allowed herself to get to a size 4 or even a 6, which was a much more accurate representation of what her body actually looked like. “And Tan is cool with it?”

Somehow, it worked for Raven to have her fiancée’s brother as a manager, but Juju knew without a shadow of a doubt that she would have killed Detox if he ever tried to make decisions on her career, even the idea of Raja, Fame, heck, even Bianca moving in on her turf making her genuinely uncomfortable.

“I…” Raven clicked her tongue. “Might not have told him yet.”

***

“Urgh,” Sutan groaned as he flopped on the couch, face first, a white t-shirt clinging to his chest. “Fuck.”

“Hello,” Violet was biting her lip in an effort not to smile, her boyfriend absolutely exhausted, his duffle bag thrown somewhere on the floor. “Did you have a nice time at the gym?”

They had been in the middle of breakfast, Violet making her way through a coconut yogurt when Sutan had gotten a call, his eyes widening to an almost comical size when he recognized the number, the horror on his face telling the clear story of how he had completely forgotten.

“My trainer is an absolute sadist.”

“Mmh?” Violet had never seen him move so fast, Sutan drowning his coffee in one big gulp, barely pressing a kiss against her temple before he had rushed out the door, grabbing what was apparently an emergency gym bag from the hallway closet.

“He made me do 25 extra sets of everything for being late. Can you believe I’m paying someone to torture me?” Sutan toed his shoes off, winching at the movement as he got on his back, putting his head on her thigh, his hair still slightly damp. “I thought I was going to die.”

Violet had wondered why Sutan had never let her be around when he went to the gym, the man only going on nights or mornings when they weren’t spending time together.

Now, it seemed like she had her answer.

“Poor you.” Violet smiled, running her fingers over his forehead, the TV playing quietly in the background.

“I know you don’t mean that,” Sutan looked up at her, “but I’ll take it.”

“You know,” Violet bit her lip not to yawn, the smallest of efforts almost taking her out, putting their breakfast away and getting to the couch feeling like enormous tasks. “I’m going to be so jealous once I’m off my pain killers.”

Violet tried not to think too hard about what a broken bone actually meant, not being able to run or even do yoga to manage her emotions a complete nightmare.

“Seriously?” Sutan lifted an eyebrow, and Violet ran a finger over it. “When I was 23, you couldn’t force me to go to the gym.” Sutan smiled. “Not that Raja’s model diet made it necessary.”

“You were on a model diet?”

“Beat having to cook for myself.” Sutan grinned, and Violet could totally imagine it, the Amrull twins chugging their way through green smoothies side by side.

“How long did you actually live with Raja?”

“Literal decades,” Sutan snorted. “God I’m ancient.”

“I like to think of you as finely aged wine.”

“HA!” Sutan laughed, and Violet couldn’t help but smile. She loved watching him laugh, loved seeing his face scrunch up with happiness. “For that lovely eyes,” Sutan pointed up at her. “You get to stay another week.”

“Oh…” Violet paused, “I, umh, I didn’t…” She had felt so happy just moments before, but now, she could feel the uncertainty crawl up her spine. “We never actually talked about… You don’t have to do-”

It wasn’t like her at all, but Violet had simply not considered the week to come, hadn’t even thought about where she would be staying, what she would be wearing, what she’d be doing with herself beyond believing Sutan when he said he’d get her to work Monday.

“Violet.” Sutan reached up, grabbing her neck, his fingers easily holding her. “You live on the 5th floor with no elevator.”

“And I appreciate your help, but I’d never want to-”

“You’re staying here. No argument. I’d be a terrible boyfriend, fuck, I’d be a terrible friend, if I wasn’t cool with you staying here.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” Sutan nodded. “Besides,” He pulled on Violet’s neck, forcing her down so he could press a kiss against her lips. “I like having you around.”

Sutan smirked, and Violet couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks.”

***

“Where do you think you’re going?” Katya was whispering as she looked over at her fiancé. She and Trixie were in the movies, Annabelle playing on the screen.

“I have to pee, I had an extra large soda.”

Katya placed her hand on Trixie’s chest, pushing him down into the seat, keeping him in place. “No.”

“What?!” Trixie hissed.

“I said no.”

And in that moment Trixie saw how Katya was smiling, and he felt a surge of arousal go through him.

“Okay…”

Trixie leaned back in his chair, Katya’s hand on his chest ending up on his stomach where it rested, keeping him in place.

Trixie couldn’t help but squirm, arousal and the need to pee getting mixed up in his head, a heavy sensation settling over his entire body, his fingers drumming on the seat, restless energy filling him as the movie continued.

“Katya, please…” Tixie hissed, the stupid movie not even halfway done. “I’m about to explode.”

“No.”

Katya smiled, picking up her drink, her lips closing around the straw as she oh so slowly drank the rest of her own small soda, the sound causing chills to run over Trixie’s spine.

Katya held him in seat through the credits, and Trixie had tears in his eyes, he had to pee so badly, but Katya had told him he couldn’t, so he wouldn’t, because he was her good boy.

The very last name ran over the screen, and Katya removed her hand, Trixie shooting up from his seat, his jacket and even his bag forgotten as he ran to the bathroom, a sense of euphoria rushing over him as he could finally, finally, finally pee, his entire body shivering in delight.

***

When Bob heard the design floor door open, he instantly perked up, whirling around in his chair.

“Well well well!” he exclaimed, yelling out to the floor, his oversized coffee mug in hand, a pencil tucked behind her ear. “Look who’s back!”

“Hi everyone,” Violet came through the door, a happy but unsure smile on her face. It was clear that she wanted to wave, but she was stuck with her crutches, a bulgy cast on her ankle.

Violet looked over her shoulder, and Bob felt his eyes bulge out as none other than silver fox of the year, Sutan Amrull, came through the door in an impeccable suit, Violet’s purse and what had to be both of their jackets on his arm.

“I knew it!” Bob cried out, slapping his desk with his hand. “I knew those two were dating! No lipstick my ass!”

He looked around triumphantly, everyone's attention now divided between Bob and the pair at the door, Sutan looking on with a raised eyebrow and a smile on his lips, while Violet seemed like she was wishing that the floor would open up and swallow her whole.

“Good work, Sherlock.” Jovan drawled, his head in his hand as he was sitting backwards on his chair. “How’d you figure that one out?”

“Well you see-” Bob grinned, just about to go on a tangent, when he was cut off by his boyfriend, Maxwell leaning against his desk.

“I literally told you they were dating a fucking week ago.”

“Right.” Bob huffed. “But you’re always wrong about this stuff.”

Sure. Max had told him that about the whole Violet falling thing, the drama with Aiden the talk of the department, but he hadn’t actually believed it when Max had said he had seen Sutan Amrull press a kiss against Violet’s temple, the two of them apparently leaving together.

“Are your coworkers always this much fun?”

Bob’s head whipped at the sound of Sutan’s voice, the man smiling as he looked down at Violet, one of his hands in his suit pocket.

“Don’t answer that Chachki!” Jovan yelled out, making everyone laugh. “Just come on over here!”

Violet looked extremely relieved to be called for, and Sutan followed behind her as she swung herself across the room on her crutches-- No hobbling for that bitch.

“Man, look at you go!” Bob grinned, walking over to Jovan and Violet’s desks, his own work completely abandoned. “It’s like you’ve been using those things all your life!”

“Thanks Bob,” Violet replied drily, even though she was smiling. She looked a lot better than he expected, her hair and makeup done to her usual perfect standards, curls cascading down her back. She was wearing a long sleeved black dress with a high-waisted skirt, and even a heel on her good foot, Violet Chachki as always picture perfect.

“I cannot believe you’re wearing heels with crutches. You’re an icon, and we should all aspire to your standards.”

“You’d fail.”

“Ha!” Jovan snorted, the man giving Violet’s shoulder a quick squeeze before he returned to his computer.

“Besides.” Violet pulled out her chair, sitting down with as much grace as she could muster, shaking her head disdainfully. “It’s only 2 inches.”

“I promise you,” Sutan smiled, putting Violet’s bag down on the table. “I tried to tell her it was a terrible idea.”

“Good to know.” Bob bit his cheek not to give too much away, but on the inside, he was dancing with delight at all the delicious gossip he was gobbling up. “Hi, Bob Caldwell.” Bob held his hand out, nearly shrinking on the inside when Sutan took it. “Design Project Manager.”

“Sutan Amrull,” Sutan smiled, shaking it firmly. “Elite Model Management, though around here I’m probably better known as Raja’s brother. I assume you know her very well.”

“We sure do.” If Bob was honest, he had forgotten that Maxwell had followed him over, but what he wouldn’t forget was the ridiculous grin on his boyfriend's face as he shook hands with Sutan. “I’m Maxwell Heller. Designer.”

“I’m familiar with your work.” Sutan grinned, pulling back to take a seat on the edge of Violet’s desk and Bob wiggled his eyebrows at Max, who nudged his elbow into his side.

“What do you have there, lovely eyes?”

Bob’s eyes widened in delight as Violet looked up like she had fully forgotten they were all still there, her embroidery frame already in hand, the massive skirt she was working on tethered to it.

“The dress.” Violet smiled, the worry Bob had seen on her face when she first walked in all gone now that her work was safely back in her hands. “The couture one.”

“This is your couture dress? Let me see.” Sutan reached into his jacket pocket, taking out a pair of glasses that he quickly slipped on before he carefully picked at the skirt, taking a section that was already done, examining the work. “This is very impressive.”

“Did you hear she’s closing the Spring runway?” Bob grinned, the morning only getting better and better.

“Well,” Sutan pushed his glasses into his hair, a big smile on his face, “with a gown like this, how could she not?”

“And that’s enough for you!” Violet reached out, her cheeks pink as she took the dress from his hands, her tone stern even though she was smiling. “Thank you for fulfilling your duties as a full time boyfriend by carrying my stuff. You can leave now.”

“Boyfriend?” Maxwell squeaked, and this time, it was Bob’s turn to nudge him.

“Am I a little too old for that title?” Sutan smirked, looking between them.

“Well,” Violet interjected, her tone completely dry. “You can be my man friend if you’d prefer?”

“Ha!” Sutan snorted, a grin on his face. “And I think that’s my cue to go. I’ll text you.” He leaned over the desk, giving Violet a quick peck on the lips before standing up, shaking hands with Max and Bob and waving to Jovan as he grabbed his jacket and left.

“Damn Chachki,” Bob watched as Sutan left, his arms crossed over his chest. “We gotta hand it to you. That is one sexy fucking man.”

“Umh…” Violet paused, looking up at them, her embroidery needle already in hand. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.”

***

“Morning, Jackie!” Sutan waved, stopping in the assistant bullpen to check if he had gotten any physical mail. Jackie was a new girl, had originally only started out as a temp, but she had done a shockingly good job, so Elite had officially hired her a few weeks ago.

Sutan didn’t have his own personal assistant, and had never had one even though he was sure Tamisha would give him one if he asked.

“How was your Thanksgiving?”

“Great, thanks.” Jackie smiled, her brown bang swept across her forehead. She was wearing a green and yellow sweater, her nails painted in a deep orange.

Sutan loved Jackie's style, the woman always dressed like she was living in the 60s, but his favorite thing was that she was cool, calm and collected under pressure, and unlike the baby temps, she was a woman in her late 30s who hadn’t just taken the job in the hopes of becoming a model.

“Also,” Jackie lowered her voice, leaning over the desk. “Ms. Petruschin is waiting for you in your office.”

“Hmm?” Sutan raised an eyebrow. He had an open door policy, and everyone was always welcome, but usually, they were welcome when he was actually there. He hadn’t stopped for coffee after dropping Violet off at work, and now, he couldn’t help but wonder if he had made a mistake.

“She didn’t want to wait at reception, so I let her in.”

“Ah.” Sutan nodded. That sounded just about right for Raven. “Don’t worry about it. You did the right thing.”

Sutan walked over to his office, not even trying his key in the door since he knew it’d be unlocked.

“Raven!” Sutan put on his best game face, his voice light and happy. “To what do we owe the honor of your presence?”

Raven looked up from where she was sitting-- not sprawled on the couch where she’d normally be, but at a chair in front of his desk, spine ramrod straight, her Birkin carefully placed on the floor.

“... Everything okay?” Sutan shut the door behind him, quickly flicking the lock. Normally when he had his models come by, he’d take a seat behind his desk, but today, that didn’t seem like the right option, so instead, he sat on the corner of the table, looking down at his sister in law. “Raven?”

“I,” Raven bit her lip, her white teeth sinking into it. “I have something to tell you.”

“Okay?” Sutan kept his voice level, doing everything he could not to let his worry show on his face. The last time Raven had come to him like this, it had been with an absolute disaster involving several talks with a lawyer, but Raja hadn’t said anything, hadn’t given him any hints or sent a single text, so it couldn’t be that bad.

“So,” Raven took a deep breath, lifting her chin as she looked directly at him. “I don’t want to do swimwear anymore.”

“.... Okay?”

“It’s not worth it, and I hate it.”

Out of everything Sutan had dreaded. Of all the things that had flashed through his mind. This was not what he had expected at all.

“Well, that’s not a problem.”

“You’re not mad?” Raven’s eyes widened, surprise and anxiety painted on her beautiful face.

It was clear that Raven had expected him to be disappointed, or even upset, and Sutan couldn’t help but remember the inexperienced young girl he’d signed at only 17 years old.

It had been a long time since he’d been reminded of that, the Raven of today much more likely to slam a door or yell in his face, but the tough act had always been and would always be a facade to hide her obvious vulnerability.

Other agents had sometimes asked how he dealt with her, how he could remain calm in the storm of Raven’s emotions, but he had always felt responsible for her well being, and had always felt protective of her.

“Raven.” Sutan crossed his arms. “It’s your career. Your body. Your decisions. How I feel, and how the brand feels doesn’t matter if you hating it is your genuine emotion.”

Raven nodded, swallowing, and Sutan could see that it wasn’t an easy decision for her.

“As your agent, it’s my responsibility to make sure that you stick to your commitments, but cancellation fees exist for a reason.”

At that, Raven winced, two cancellation fees taking a hefty chunk out of her next paycheck, half of the money going to the brand while the other would end up in Sutan’s pocket but she didn’t protest, sticking to her decision, and that was when he knew she was serious, that she had thought it through.

“Rave,” Sutan reached out, touching her shoulder. “We’re okay.”

At that, a smile finally cracked through, a relieved sigh coming from her. “Good.”

“You know,” Sutan pushed up from the desk, walking around it. “We just got the potential for a Clinique campaign.” Sutan picked up the sales pitch he had received, Clinique sending over a courier with the products they wanted to focus on, Raven being one of their top five picks for the campaign.

“Clinique?”

“I wasn’t going to offer it to you because it conflicted with your December shoots, so I’ve been pulling alts for them, but now, it seems like we can say yes.”

“They pay well, don’t they?”

“That they do,” Sutan had to hide a smile at Raven’s obvious enthusiasm. “You haven’t filmed any commercials in a while, and I know you generally avoid speaking.”

To say that would be an understatement, a director once telling teenage Raven that he couldn’t understand her because of her Russian accent. Raven had gone directly to a speech therapist after that, even though Sutan had found it completely unnecessary, the director just a bigoted jerk.

“Consider it.” Sutan handed her the pitch. “You’d be absolutely fabulous.”

“Maybe,” Raven smirked, “if the offers are lucrative enough to be worth my time.” She tossed her long dark hair over one shoulder, and Sutan grinned.

That was the girl he knew and loved.

“Only the very best, top tier gigs for you.”

“Exactly,” Raven laughed, standing up, the pitch still in hand as she cleared her throat. “Well, guess I’m off.”

“Off to celebrate with some bonus desserts?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Nothing.” Sutan smirked. “Just remember that you’re still a model.”

“Yeah, yeah yeah, stop yapping,” Raven said, her sass fully back as she sailed out the door with a flurry of air kisses.

“Leave it open!” Sutan sat down at his desk, his plans for the day suddenly shifted around. First of all, he’d have to call up the magazine who had booked the shoots and break the news that Raven wouldn’t be available.

It’d require some smooth talk, but it was what he did best.

The real challenge of the day was convincing them to switch to another model, and hopefully, a model that resided under his own wing.

Sutan pressed the button that called for Jackie, the woman showing up before he had even opened his computer. She really was incredible at the job.

“You called?”

“I need the best possible portfolio we can make for Symone, and I need it stat.”

***

“Oh dear god…” Fame covered her eyes with her hands. “Please tell me that this has been handled, Raja, I cannot-”

“Of course it’s been handled. Trixie let Aiden go on Tuesday, and Rita took care of everything with the hospital. We’re making an attorney available to Violet if she wants to press charges.”

“Do you think she will?” Fame asked, concern creasing her brow. “That’s the last thing we-”

“Listen. We obviously can’t do anything to dissuade her, or we face an even bigger liability.”

“I know that, Raja,” Fame snapped.

“-But, my guess is that she’ll want to wash her hands of the whole thing, certainly not become embroiled in a lawsuit.”

“Right. Right…” Fame sighed. “And we’ve covering all medical costs, taxis, whatever she needs right?”

“Of course. It’s a worker’s comp thing now, so everything’s covered by insurance.”

“Good. I should probably send her something, too. Flowers, maybe. Or a little spa treatment?”

“That would be nice, I’m sure she’d appreciate it. She’s staying with Tan if you want to-”

“Courtney!” Fame called out, pausing for a few moments before shaking her head. “I swear, that girl left her head at home today. Courtney!”

***

Courtney was obsessing again, reading her last text exchange with Bianca for about the 75th time since Friday.

COURTNEY: Have a good flight! <3

BIANCA: Thx! See you next week. XX

It was so mundane, so trite, and Courtney found herself cringing inwardly every time she looked at it, wishing she’d said something deeper or smarter or more sophisticated. And the “see you next week” - did that imply that Bianca didn’t want to talk to her while she was away? It certainly sounded like it. But Courtney wanted to send her another message, wanted desperately to let her know that she was still thinking about her.

She’d been racking her brain for something, anything, to say. She could ask her a question about their upcoming meeting at Marie Claire on Friday, but something told Courtney that would be transparent and dumb, and in no way sexy anyway. What she was really thinking about, nearly constantly, was if she’d ever get to feel Bianca’s hands on her again, the heat of her mouth, the press of her perfect body. That she was ready to sell her soul for one more night together, one more exhilarating night...

But she couldn’t very well say that. She didn’t want to appear needy or crazy, even if that’s how she felt. What she’d said to Adore was tragically true: the ball was entirely in Bianca’s court. And if she was done, if she didn’t intend to see her again except at work-related events or casual encounters, then that was something Courtney would just have to live with.

The one source of hope that Courtney had, maybe a false one, was the way Bianca had kissed her goodbye. Soft and tender, cradling her face, a kiss that promised more.

Even if she’d made no such promise out loud.

Even if Courtney was an absolute idiot for thinking that’s what it meant.

“Courtney!”

Her head snapped up, realizing with a sinking feeling that Miss Fame had called her name multiple times. Shit. She grabbed her notepad and jumped up.

“Coming Miss!”

***

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