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separatist-apologist · 1 month

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Violence Against Nature

Summary: After six centuries of living, Eris Vanserra is convinced he's the most dangerous thing prowling the streets of Velaris.

Of course, humanity always finds a way

CW: SO MUCH BLOOD

Read on AO3

“And remember to stay safe when traveling alone at night—”

Arina stepped outside in the inky November evening, silencing the sound of the television from behind her. Velaris was about to be blanketed in snow which ought to have been exciting were it not for the murders.

A serial killer was on the loose—or so the news said. The ninth street killer. Dubbed because three of the seven people found were found on ninth street. Arina wasn’t convinced they needed to be named after that street—after all, ninth street ran the length of Velaris, and all three bodies stretched across the city rather than being heaped in one place.

But the journalists seemed pleased with it, which she supposed was all that mattered. Arina didn’t want to know a lot about it, truthfully. Dead women—because of course the ninth street killer only targeted women—sold papers and kept televisions on. These women were young, beautiful, and always alone. Easy targets, journalists would say, their lips twisting with a grim frown. How often had they practiced it in the mirror?

Arina, like so many others living in Velaris, didn’t have the luxury of calling cabs or a boyfriend picking her up. She’s just broken up with him after one too many late nights at god knew where, reeking of puke as he stumbled in. She was tired of hearing the washing machine going at four am, noisy in her cheap walk-up because she couldn’t afford something nicer and Jack didn’t want her to know he’d been out.

Again.

After finding a pair of earrings in his pocket, Arina had made him leave. It was too insulting to be cheated on again, though she supposed that was what she got for forgiving him the first time. How long, she wondered, before another hey girlie message pinged on her phone? At least this time she could say they weren’t together. She’d deleted all mention of him off her socials hoping no one would track her down.

Jack had left his up. She doubted he even remembered that stupid instagram account—the one she’d made for him two years before when she wanted people to know he was with her. That smiling profile picture, her lips on his cheek, eyes scrunched shut to ward off the blinding sun. The winery, maroon liquid sloshed over his khaki pants while she tilted her head back, laughing silently at the cloudless sky. Christmas, Arina sitting cross legged on the floor in white pajama pants dotted with little christmas presents as she held up tickets to Ireland they never got to take.

Peering through the window of her life, she looked happy. They seemed perfect. But the cracks had formed long before she made that account. The late nights, the perfume staining his skin. Scratches down his back, bite marks on his biceps.

Hey girlie. You don’t me, but—

She kept forgiving. Turning a blind eye. Pretending she didn’t see those long strands of hair in his car, that she couldn’t see the trace of lipstick staining the corner of his mouth. Arina didn’t know what had changed for her. It was like one morning she finally saw beyond Jack’s easy, all American good looks and found the rot beneath. He was no longer handsome and she no longer wanted to look at him, talk to him, touch him.

He’d left without a whole lot of fuss, taking a duffle bag of his things and leaving the rest behind so he could trickle move out while trying to convince her to give him one last chance. Her lease was up in two months, and Arina didn’t intend to stay. She’d leave Jack’s things behind and pick some other crappy, cheap apartment on the opposite end of the city and hope they never ran into each other.

She’d just gotten a good job at the museum and was hoping she’d be able to convince a leasing office to let her move somewhere with a doorman. Somewhere with locks that actually worked and leadless paint.

But that night, all Arina needed to do was get to the underground and get home, which involved crossing the dreaded ninth street. Sliding her fingers through her key ring, Arina turned the music off on her phone though left her earbuds in so it seemed as if she were just another woman walking. No one who wanted to talk to her would bother her but she’d still hear everything going on around her.

No one was around save for the cars flying through rain slicked streets, leaving the overhead traffic lights to twinkle brightly, drowning out any starlight that might be had. She waited at the crosswalk, wondering how a person managed to kill seven people without being noticed. They were messy, brutal kills using knives and in one case, strangulation. A million theories abounded. He picked them up somewhere else before dropping them off, or he waited until the city finally went to sleep. Even the police wouldn’t comment on it.

If they knew anything substantial at all. Arina wasn’t convinced they did, and even though she didn’t like true crime as a genre, she did know that oftentimes, serial killers were caught through sheer luck and not any true detective work or skill. That didn’t make her feel good, even if the odds of her being chosen were so small they might as well be nothing at all.

Arina crossed the street, joining a crowd of people all making their way to the stairs underground. Nothing had happened. She relaxed, slipping her keys into her coat pocket and turned her music back on. She liked to people watch to a soundtrack, picking a seat on the train that gave her a good view of the strangers she was stuck with so she could make up stories about their lives.

It didn’t feel as good as it normally did, she supposed because she was tired after a long day of looking at eighteenth century cloth samples while wearing four inch heels. Arina was desperate to take off the black dress and heels, to wipe the makeup from her face, and eat something that needed no more attention than a couple minutes in the microwave.

She made it to her building, sliding her key into the cracked glass door before slamming it behind her so the lock would stick. It was three flights up, again in heels, lugging her beige tote on one shoulder while gripping the chipped railing for dear life.

The elevator had broken mere days before she moved in and was perpetually having maintenance done. Even if it had worked, though, she probably would have still used the stairs to avoid a tower of terror type situation. Once, in college, Arina had gotten trapped in the elevator on the eleventh floor for four hours and she never wanted to repeat that experience again.

Sliding her key into her front door, Arina noticed the light in the living room was on. Jack had come in, then. He refused to give her back the key she’d given him, and had apparently decided to come for some things and try and seduce her back into bed. It would never work—she’d faked it the whole time because she thought that was what good women did.

She was so dumb, she thought love was enough to make up for an orgasm-less life. Sighing, Arina dropped her bag on the lopsided table just outside the door but didn’t kick off her shoes. She didn’t want to try and relax while also pushing Jack out of the apartment.

“Jack,” she said with a sigh, looking at the strewn about clothes in her tiny living room. “You couldn’t…what happened to you?” He looked disheveled, blonde hair sticking up at odd angles. Dark circles bruised his pale skin beneath his eyes, betraying how little he’d been sleeping.

“Baby,” he breathed, stumbling toward her. Arina stepped back, nearly falling over the coffee table. “Baby, I’ve missed you.” “You’re not supposed to be here,” she reminded him.

“I know you said—” he cut himself off, clearly frustrated as he dragged a hand through his messy hair. “But you’re just—you don’t understand. It was nothing.”

“It’s always nothing,” Arina snapped, frustrated he was here, high or drunk or both, trying to get her to take him back. “I’m tired of living this way.”

“I know. I know you are, but I’m so close…I’m so close to figuring it all out—”

“Please,” she interrupted, pointing at the door, “just go.”

His expression hardened. “I’m not leaving.”

“Don’t make me call the police,” she said, exasperated. Arina turned around, intending to get her bag and call someone—though she didn’t know who. She wasn’t exactly on good terms with her dad, and her best friend was currently dealing with her own messy breakup with a similarly stupid fiance.

She didn’t register something colliding with the back of her head until her face slammed against the floor. A knee pressed against her spine as a hand ripped her hair nearly out of her scalp.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, panic flooding through her.

“Take it back,” he breathed before sinking his teeth into her earlobe. Arina cried out, jerking from the pain which only made it worse. She could feel the blood slip down her neck, saw it drip against the stained gray carpet.

“Get off me!” she screeched, twisting beneath him. It worked a little, and her heeled foot was a decent enough weapon when she kicked him hard in the thigh. Arina scrambled only to be pulled roughly back to the floor. He hit her—twice, and hard enough her vision blurred after the second hit and her mouth filled with blood. What was happening? Jack was a liar, but he wasn’t violent.

Except, he was. Arina was still stunned when she felt the heat slide into her side. It wasn’t painful—not at first.

Her mind couldn’t wrap itself around what she was seeing. Jack was sobbing, snot mixing with his tears as he raised a lethal looking knife.

“Did you stab me?” she whispered.

“This is your fault,” he sobbed, plunging the knife in her chest.

Again.

And again.

She couldn’t breathe. Arina acted on instinct, throwing her hands up only for the knife to cut through the soft flesh undeterred. She tried to fight him, but every new drag of breath was agony. She desperately wanted to close her eyes to escape. The pain eventually subsided, leaving her numb and strangely cold.

The pain returned with a vengeance when Jack lifted up her body, mumbling to himself that people would know what he’d done. He had to cover it up. Maybe they’d think she’d been attacked by the serial killer. Doubtful—Jack was stupid, and he’d never once cleaned up after himself. He’d leave her blood all over the carpet and she had his skin beneath her nails.

“I loved you,” he whispered into her ear. Arina wanted to open her eyes but she couldn’t. She didn’t know where she was, didn’t know what was happening. It felt as if she was falling.

And then she knew nothing at all.

—

Vampires shouldn’t have jobs.

Eris was forever bitter he was forced to work in intelligence just to keep the federal government off his back. Who cared about where his money came from or how he obtained more of it? He was immortal, nearly six centuries old. He’d accumulated it the way everyone did back when he’d first lived a mortal life—by being born into generational wealth. He moved it around, kept it hidden in real estate he’d been passing down to himself like he was his own son for generations. Eris the fourteenth, or whatever his fake birth certificate said.

Still, it was fun to watch humans spin themselves in circles looking for a man in the room with them. They were only half interested in his latest little money laundering scheme given the current state of Velaris.

A serial killer was on the loose, and for once it wasn’t Eris. He’d been careful this time, wiping the memory of his victims or going underground to clubs filled with humans desperate for a glimpse of a vampire. They’d never remember—Eris knew other vampires let some humans remember, and the tales always ended up on reddit.

Eris preferred to keep things private. It was how he’d survived for as long as he had. Others had been outed and staked, and in today’s world Eris was certain he’d be locked away in some lab where they’d do tests on him until he wished he was dead.

Like everyone else in Velaris, Eris was curious about the killer. He’d been tracking the bodies on a map in his home—whoever they were, they were a coward. Overpowering young women, assaulting them, stabbing them to death, and dumping them throughout the city. It was grotesque, even by Eris’s standards. He’d never quite developed a taste for the depravity, and found human cruelty particularly disturbing. They were uncivilized at best, depraved at worst.

Eris kept hoping to come upon him. He wandered the city at night in his expensive suit, flashing a ten thousand dollar watch and pretending to be distracted by his phone.

He’d been held up at gunpoint a few times, but never attacked. He supposed if he was younger and blonder he might have been. Still, he walked, shoes slapping against the wet pavement. He could smell blood in the air, which caught his attention just as he’d been about to think about finding himself a meal.

It could be nothing—sometimes a freshly killed animal smelled faintly human. And sometimes an open wound of someone's menstrual cycle was heavy in the air, confusing his senses. He made his way toward buildings that had seen better days toward the back alley where the dumpsters were.

And a body. Eris’s sighed, frustrated he’d come upon a dead woman. His first thought, based on her sprawled out body, was that she must have jumped from one of the fire escapes overhead. She laid on her stomach, hands above her head as if she’d tried to break her fall. A mass of thick, blonde hair covered her face, leaving just a slim body clad in a bloody black dress and one heeled shoe cracked and broken on her broken foot.

He crouched, unable to help his curiosity. Her blood smelled fresh and he was still a predator. He assumed she was dead as he rolled her over. Eris wasn’t typically surprised by the human capacity for violence, but seeing her cut open dress and the sheer number and brutality of stab wounds on her body took him aback.

Whoever had done it hated her. He looked up again, wondering if he’d stumbled upon another victim of the human killer. Were they still up there? Eris started to rise to his feet when soft, cold fingers reached for his hand. Looking down, he found himself lost in the greenest pair of eyes he’d ever seen in his life.

They reminded him of home, back when it had been more forest than urban sprawl. Eris was hit with a yearning so strong it nearly toppled him.

“Please,” she whispered through blue lips. Frozen, Eris didn’t move. She ought to be dead. If he called for help, she’d be dead before they arrived. The sound of her heart was faint, a murmur as it fought valiantly against her rapidly dying body. She wasn’t long for the world. Eris thought the least he could do was witness her last words.

“Please?” he repeated.

Her eyes focused on him again. She was a fighter, he’d give her that.

“I don’t want to die,” she told him. Did she know what crouched beside her? Had she guessed? Eris had seen more dying humans than he cared to count. For a time, he’d fought in every war he could get himself into, obsessed with all the blood and carnage. It didn’t interest him now.

“You are dying,” he told her, brushing a strand of blood stained hair from her face. She really was beautiful. Eris couldn’t remember the last time he’d been struck by the appearance of a human.

“I don’t want to,” she told him, a lone tear sliding down her cheek.

Leave her to it. Humans died every day, he couldn’t save them all. But right then, Eris felt reckless. He felt impulsive.

He felt stupid.

Bringing his wrist to his mouth, his teeth ripped through the delicate flesh before opening the vein beneath. It wasn’t elegant, but it was efficient. Sitting himself against the wet, filthy ground, one wrist bleeding against his lips, he cradled her head in his free hand while trying to ignore how fleshy it felt.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered.

Her lashes fluttered shut.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he muttered, thumb sliding along her soft lips to push apart her blunt teeth. He wasn’t turning her—he wasn’t. He was merely sparing her a death he didn’t think she deserved.

It was only after he felt her tongue slide against his skin that it occurred to him that she could tell him who’d attacked her. They’d make an even exchange. She’d tell him everything she remembered, he’d wipe her memory of her vampire savior, and they’d both part ways having gotten something for the other.

She groaned, the sound settling in his chest.

“That’s enough,” he murmured, pulling away from her as his skin began to knit itself back together. It would take her far longer to piece herself back together, but she wouldn’t die. Sliding his arms beneath her body, Eris hoisted them both into the air. She wasn’t heavy enough to burden him and with a little maneuvering, he managed to tuck her neatly against his chest.

“Are you an angel?” she whispered, cheek pressed to his chest.

“Of death, maybe,” he replied, genuinely taken aback.

“Who am I to be choosy?” she murmured, blinking her eyes. “Everything hurts.”

“Well, you were stabbed,” he informed her, stepping back into the city holding a half dead woman. No one would see them, perks of his long, long life and the magic imbued in his blood. Eris could blend into the night if he wished, could change his form simply by projecting the image into the minds of every human near him. He didn’t want them to see him, and so they wouldn’t.

It was almost invisibility.

She fell asleep against him, heart picking up with each step he took. She ought to be afraid of him. She was stupid not to be and for reasons he didn’t understand, Eris was grateful she wasn’t. That she’d seen a monster and decided he might be her savior.

Eris wasn’t—and it was foolish to think otherwise. But as they made their way through the quiet night, he let himself pretend. Just until they reached his penthouse, so high up the clouds obscured the view below.

There was no good place to set her—she was going to ruin the sheets. With that in mind, Eris reluctantly took her to a guest bedroom he’d never used, given the only person he knew was his younger brother, turned at the same time he had. They were friends, he supposed—Lucien was back in France, or maybe Greece. Eris stopped paying attention long ago. Lucien would swan in when he felt like it, but not that night.

It had been a long time since Eris had felt genuine human emotion. Surprise, pity…and now shame as he began peeling her ruined dress from her body. Eris had never cared what he saw or what he did. Humans were immaterial—the way he imagined they thought of dogs.

Though, humans didn’t feel ashamed of themselves when they shaved dogs down, or whatever the equivalent was to what he was doing. It had started innocent enough—he wanted to get the clothing out of her wounds and make sure they healed correctly. Too much blood and he’d overwhelm her system, producing similar effects that narcotics might have. Too little and she’d succumb, only slower and more agonizing.

It had been centuries since he’d done it.

He hadn’t even considered he’d be looking at the naked body of a woman until he had her utterly naked. It was then, drinking in the sight of her form, that Eris felt that punch of shame and the familiar swell of guilt. He shouldn’t be looking.

But he wanted to.

She was unfairly beautiful. Did she make the other humans jealous? She’d make immortal women jealous. Eris knew of a few who would have killed for her kind of beauty. Even hanging by a thread, death hovering over her shoulder, it was hard to deny what was staring him in the face.

He wanted to touch her.

He didn’t.

It was simply the lack of blood—that was what Eris told himself, anyway, as he made his way to his kitchen which was more decorative than functional. He kept reserves from the blood bank, a cliche if he’d ever seen it. Sometimes a vampire had to make due, and it was better to drink cold blood than no blood.

A vampire without blood was dangerous, likely to sink into a frenzy that could get him caught, captured, and killed. He didn’t bother with niceties, ripping the plastic corner with his teeth before he downed it.

He drank another just for good measure. It wasn’t as satisfying as blood from the vein, but Eris felt like he could relax again. He felt like himself.

He stayed away from the human, all the same.

—-

Arina was cold.

She must have passed out when she arrived home—naked, which seemed strange given how much she loved to wear pajamas—and immediately fell asleep without bothering to pull the blanket over her.

Her head throbbed and her mouth was so dry it prompted her to open her eyes. For a moment, she thought she might be dreaming given the room she was in did not belong to her. It was bigger than her bedroom and living room combined. She wasn’t covered in a blanket because there was no blanket.

On a chair by one of the huge windows overlooking a dark city, Arina saw a shapeless black shirt dress she assumed was meant for her. Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she intended to go and put it on. She didn’t remember how she ended up here…not exactly. She remembered the sky, cloudy and cold as it covered her. Arina had been outside.

Someone had come for her. She’d thought it was death given the face attached to the man who’d peered down at her. He’d been so beautiful and she’d just assumed…Arina swallowed, looking once against the cream walls and neutral furniture that graced the room.

So he’d been real, then.

She didn’t remember how she’d ended up on the ground, but she did remember the taste of blood on her mouth—warm and wet and dripping from a wrist pressed firmly against her lips while a hand cupped the back of her head.

Which…probably meant nothing.

She collapsed the minute her feet hit the wood, the weight of her body collapsing beneath her. Her limbs shook, though nothing seemed to be broken. Looking at herself as best she could, she saw faint bruises that seemed at the end stages of healing given the yellowed edges. There were streaks of blood from where she’d been injured, but no wounds.

Which probably meant nothing as well.

It took herculean effort to get herself back on her feet and pull that shirt over her head. Arina was panting, out of breath and wiped out. She wanted water and the thought of walking through this house to try and find it scared her a little, given the flashes of memory creeping back into her awareness.

A strange man had poured his blood into her mouth and now she wasn’t dying. He’d clearly taken her home. He’d removed her clothes. She wasn’t stupid. She could piece two and two together. Men didn’t bring women back to their homes out of the goodness of their hearts and he’d taken her clothes off. Which felt exceptionally fucked up, and was the only thing she could really focus on.

Falling back asleep seemed like asking to be murdered, so Arina ignored the way her body screamed in protest and stumbled out of the bedroom into the dark hall. There were stairs leading both up and down, but she went straight ahead, praying she wouldn’t have to scoot herself down the steps like a toddler learning to walk.

The lights in the main rooms were on. Arina stepped in just in time to watch the man from her memory rip open a bag of blood, and drink it. Their eyes locked and she was certain she must have looked terrified.

He didn’t stop, though his eyes crinkled at the corners, betraying his exasperation. “So it wasn’t a dream,” she breathed, reaching for the countertop to keep herself on her feet.

It was disgusting to watch him crumple up that plastic, sucking out as much as he could before tossing it in a trashcan. His lips were stained red, though he did wipe the corner of his mouth with his fingers.

“What lie would you find believable right now?” he questioned.

“Don’t patronize me,” she snapped. “You’re a—a, what? Vampire, then?”

“Correct.”

Arina put her head in her hands, suddenly overwhelmingly dizzy. “I’m going to throw up.”

The vampire sighed. Vampire. Arina looked back up at him in his armani suit and expensive watch, eyes narrowed. She didn’t know a lot about vampires, but she was certain he was some kind of cliche.

“You need to eat,” he said, opening his fridge to reveal more bags of blood and a stack of lunchables. He pulled a pizza one out and slid it across the counter to Arina, who gingerly climbed into one of the stiff bar chairs.

“This is for children.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t know what humans eat. It’s food, is it not?”

“Barely,” she grumbled, peeling open the plastic top. “Where is the capri sun?”

He muttered something that sounded distinctly like oh for fucks sake, before turning back to his fridge for a cold bottle of water. Arina sucked it down faster than he’d drank the blood, gesturing for another one before she’d finished the first.

“Now eat,” he ordered, leaning his elbow against the same counter to watch. There was unmistakable curiosity on this face.

“Do you not understand?” she questioned, thinking the whole situation was absurd. It was practically comedy. He looked like another other man, albeit a lot more attractive, but his amber eyes were tracking her movements avidly and his eyes were bright with interest.

“Put it together,” he urged. She did, spreading the sauce over the little circular piece of bread before placing three pepperonis and some cheese atop it.

His whole face crumpled with disgust when she took a bite. “Does it taste good?”

“Not really,” she admitted, though right then it was the best thing she’d ever put in her mouth. She was starving.

“I have nachos—”

“This is fine,” she swore, feeling a bit like an animal in the zoo. “So you’re…a vampire.”

He sighed, straightening himself. “You won’t remember this in the morning, so I suppose it’s fine to discuss—”

“What do you mean?” she demanded, dropping her food back into the little plastic container. “What do you mean I won’t remember?”

“There’s no need for—”

“You’re going to steal my memories?” Why did she feel so outraged over it?

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t need a human telling everyone she meets that there is a vampire—”

“Who would believe me?” she interrupted. “Don’t you dare take my memories from me. After…after everything…” Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, and though Arina tried to blink them away, a few escaped anyway.

He seemed alarmed. “Don’t cry. Please, I—fine. But if I see one post on Reddit, I’ll come back and wipe every memory and I won’t feel badly about it.”

Arina exhaled a breath, wiping her eyes. “I’m just tired.”

“You were thrown from a window,” he informed her, causing Arina’s stomach to drop. “You’re more than tired. What happened?”

His interest was back, sharp and gleaming and so predatory that she wanted to get away from him. Whatever instinct governed her subconscious was awake and it was nervous. She didn’t want him to see it, though.

“What’s your name?”

“Eris Vanserra,” he replied. That name was familiar to Arina the way it was familiar to anyone living in the United States. He sighed when he caught the recognition on her face.

“You’re like, a Kennedy.”

“If the Kennedy’s were vampires,” he agreed before narrowing his eyes. “Which some of them are, to be fair.”

“Are…are there a lot of vampires?” she asked. He nodded toward her food and Arina took another bite so he’d answer her.

“No,” he replied, satisfied. “There have never been many of us, but fewer now. It’s…harder to live the way we do. Exhausting, too.”

“How old are you?”

“Old.”

“How old?”

He sighed. “Six centuries…give or take?”

Arina choked. “Aren’t you tired?”

A strange shadow passed over his face. “No one has ever asked me that. A little, I suppose. Life remains interesting, though. Enough about me. I want to know about you.”

Arina fidgeted. “Me?” There was nothing interesting to say. She worked, she ate, she slept. She had one friend who probably didn’t even know she’d been missing and a parent who definitely didn’t. “I’m not interesting.”

“Who attacked you?”

Oh.

Arina frowned. Who had attacked her. She combed her memory while the vampire watched, amber eyes hungry for information. Was that why he’d spared her? He wanted to know who her attacker was so he could, what? Enact some vigilante justice? She supposed that was better than him being obsessed with her, even if it annoyed her.

“I don’t remember.”

His face fell. “You remember nothing?”

She shrugged. “I remember going to work…and then I remember you.”

He stood up, running a hand over his face. “So it was all for nothing.”

That stung. “Can I go home?” she asked, pushing away the rest of the lunchable. Her stomach was cramping either from his careless words or simply too much food and liquid all at once. He glanced over, eyes narrowed.

“You’re not a prisoner. You can leave whenever you like.”

“I don’t have shoes. Or underwear,” she reminded him, pulling at the long shirt covering her body. “I can’t walk home like this.”

He sighed, exasperated. “Fine. Give me a moment to call the car around.”

“Fancy,” she mumbled, rising from her chair. Eris vanished down a hall, phone in hand to talk to whoever handled that for him which left Arina time to snoop. Her legs still trembled with each step, and though it was tempting to collapse against his leather sofa, she kept going until she found a cracked door leading to a study.

It was more library than anything. A heavy, wooden desk facing the window held a closed laptop and some documents obscured beneath a manilla folder. The walls, painted a dark green, were covered in shelves of books. Some were old, with spines cracked and worn. Arina brushed her fingers over the material, noting it was leather rather than paper. Old, old, then.

Would he be mad if she opened one? Maybe, but he’d already demonstrated he had no interest in killing her, so perhaps he’d simply scold her before sending her away. When would she ever have this chance again?

The writings were in Greek—she recognized some of the letters, though Arina wasn’t fluent. Was the vampire? Six centuries old…they still taught greek and latin to the nobility back then. She was pretty sure, anyway. He’d have been born in the middle ages and she wondered where he came from. Vanserra was a modernized version of some very, very old surname. Was it more Germanic or Italian?

In her hands lay the earliest writings of Plato, starting with Apology. Arina recognized enough of the letters to piece it together, though not so much she could do much more with it. The letters had been hand written and illustrated in the style that had been popular at the time.

She was transfixed, running her fingers over the fragile paper the same way she might with cloth. The stitching was in near new condition, worn from time itself rather than overuse.

“Are you a fan?”

Arina jumped, slamming the book shut so a cloud of dust wafted up into her face. Eris stood in the doorway, half framed in darkness though his amber eyes shone the same way a cats might.

Her body reacted with fear once again, causing her to stumble backward so she wasn’t so near him.

“I…” she breathed, heart racing with adrenaline. “Where did you get this?”

“My father,” he replied, cocking his head. “He had an impressive library when I was a boy. I inherited his estate when he passed as I was the oldest. Can you read it?”

“A little,” she admitted, embarrassed she didn’t know half as much as him. She felt inadequate and undereducated and to this old creature, she probably seemed childish. “I studied Latin in college.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “I thought I’d be reading a lot more historical texts than I actually did.”

“What other languages do you speak?”

“Italian and French,” she said quickly. “I uh…I work with fashion and textiles at the Velaris Museum of Art and History, and it’s helpful to know.”

“You like history?” It was the most interest he’d shown in her since she’d woken up and Arina wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

She nodded. “Yeah, I…clothing can tell us a lot about a culture, you know? What materials were used, the stitching, the dyes, the patterns…all of it tells a story about the time and place and people, and I find it all really interesting.”

“What’s your specialization?”

“Seventeenth century Western Europe,” she mumbled.

“I might have something,” he admitted, a smile gracing his handsome face. “I could dig it out…send it over as a gift? From an ancestor, of course.”

“Oh? Where did you live in the seventeenth century?”

“I believe I was in Venice,” he admitted with a roguish smile. “For parts, anyway. Time blurs, but I did love Italy back then. A lot of us did.”

“If you have anything from back then, I’d love to see it.”

He nodded, eyes tracking her as she gently slid his book back onto the shelf, careful not to damage it. “There are more books in storage. Thousands of them, if I’m honest. Before television and smartphones, books were all we had.”

“You should open a library,” she told him, afraid to invite herself further into his life. He smiled, stepping aside so she could slip past him. Was he cold like a corpse, she wondered? Or was there life to him. How did it all work, biologically?

She didn’t ask.

“Maybe I will,” he murmured, and she swore she felt his fingers ghost over her spine. She was too scared to look. He walked her to a door that wasn’t a door, but an elevator that would take them down before shrugging out of his suit jacket and draping it across her shoulders. The fabric felt cool, silky on the inside as though it had been hanging in a closet.

She reached out for his hand, gripping it in her fingers while he stilled, eyes wide.

“I thought you’d be frigid.”

“Blood keeps me warm,” he replied, not moving until she took her fingers off his skin. “I run about ninety six.”

“That’s enough to kill a person,” she said, though truthfully Arina didn’t know if that was factual. Everything she knew about the human body came from medical dramas. He didn’t dispute it, though he did slide his hands into his pant pockets to keep her from reaching for him again.

“Where do you live?”

Arina rattled off her address, catching the way his mouth dropped into a deep frown. “That’s where I found you.”

“I thought you found me outside?”

“Yes. In an alley. I thought you jumped,” he said, an unspoken question lacing his words.

“I didn’t,” she whispered, certain she hadn’t. She was tired but not suicidal. Everything was working out for her. She was making money, she was two months from a new apartment, and she’d finally ended things with her boyfriend. Life still felt positive.

“I assumed…” he frowned. “Who would want to harm you?”

“You assumed what?” she demanded just as she noticed he had no reflection in the mirrors surrounding them. Arina turned to look at herself, wide eyed and pale, eyes rimmed red from either fear or exhaustion and her body strangely angular and skinny beneath the massive shirt. She looked deeply unwell and close to death herself.

Eris turned, too, unmoved by what he saw—or didn’t see. “That you were merely another victim of the ninth street killer.”

She’d been right about vigilante justice, then. “Maybe I was.”

“Is there someone in your life who would want to harm you?” he repeated. He didn’t think so.

She shook her head. “There’s barely anyone in my life to start. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe–”

“You’d been stabbed twenty eight times,” Eris told her softly, eyes pinning her in place. “I’d believe one stabbing was an accident.”

She only shrugged. “There’s no one capable of that,” she insisted just as the doors opened. No one noticed them as they stepped out, eyes sliding over the pair in the large, open lobby. Arina peered up at the ivory colored archways that made the sleek building seem older than it was—it had a distinct, mediterranean feel.

“I’ve found the opposite to be true. Even the mildest among you are capable of brutality that makes the gods weep,” Eris murmured as he pressed three fingers against her elbow, guiding her out of the lobby. A valet waited, seeing them for the first time—or, Eris, anyway. He didn’t acknowledge Arina at all as he handed over the keys in exchange for a crisp bill Eris placed firmly in his palm.

“How do you do that?” she whispered when he opened the door so she could slide in.

He winked. The stupid vampire winked at her before closing the door, leaving her alone for a moment in the dark, leather interior. He must have been amused given how easily he slid into the car, a half smile on his handsome face.

“Tell me?”

He shrugged. “I can make my will the will of others. I thought you would prefer not to be stared at so they don’t see you.”

“That’s…strangely thoughtful.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw, as if he, too, was realizing the same thing. “I want you to invite me into your home.”

“Is that real?”

His jaw tightened again. “No, it’s simply called manners. I could break in while you’re sleeping if you’d prefer.”

“Oh, I’ll bet you’d love that,” she taunted. “Will you strip me of all my clothes again?”

His eyes cut in her direction. “I’d do far, far worse and you wouldn’t even remember.”

“You’re disgusting.”

He shrugged. “I never said you wouldn’t enjoy it.”

Arina faced him in her seat, restrained by the belt. “Something tells me grandpa isn’t as talented in the bedroom as he thinks he is.”

Eris snorted, a strangled laugh escaping him. “I’ve had six centuries to practice.”

“How many of them remember the experience?” she retorted in a singsong voice? “I want three historical references.”

“Catherine de’Medici certainly never complained,” he grumbled.

“You’re such a liar,” she replied, her words breathless with disbelief.

Eris grinned. “Look at my face—”

“It’s the face of a liar—”

“It’s the face of a man who fucked Catherine de’Medici, among others.”

“Prove it.”

He barked out a laugh. “If I possessed the power to take you back in time, I certainly would. You would have enjoyed the fashion…the french court a little less.”

“You don’t think I would have survived?” she demanded.

“I barely survived,” he replied with a snort. “I had to hide up in Sweden for fifty years before I could show my face back in France.”

“Is this why you think humans are cruel?”

“I don’t think that, I know that. My kind could rule yours. With ease. Pleasure, too, I suspect. And yet we keep to ourselves because we’re afraid of what humans would do should they ever realize there are predators above them.”

Eris had turned the heat on in his car, warming her chilly skin. Unsure what to say to his declaration that vampires could take over humanity, Arina turned to look out the foggy window. Droplets covered the glass, creating a kaleidoscope of blurry colors. It was so much easier to focus on what was before her rather than what had happened.

Stabbed.

Thrown from a window.

Fear gripped her, nearly prompting her to turn to him and confide that she didn’t want to go home. It wasn’t as if he owed her anything—and besides, he was likely to tell her to get a grip which was humiliating after everything else she’d experienced. Arina said nothing, and Eris allowed it, until they pulled just outside her building.

It had never felt like home, but right then it loomed over her like a haunted house, the glowing windows staring down like eyes. It knew. The secrets of what had happened to her were somewhere in that building. The walls whispered when she let Eris in, grateful someone had forgotten to lock the front door.

Had she forgotten, too? Had she let her attacker come in behind her? She probably had her headphones in, daydreaming about someone interesting she’d seen on the train and hadn’t noticed she’d been followed.

“You live here?” Eris questioned, refusing to touch the railing.

“Well, I’m only twenty six,” she reminded him, not bothering to mention that her father did have money—money she could have accessed if she’d wanted to. She wanted to do it on her own, to prove she could. Maybe that was foolish, now. “I haven’t had centuries to accumulate wealth.” He wrinkled his nose, but otherwise said nothing.

Her apartment looked exactly as it always did. A little messy given how small it was for all the things she’d accumulated. No blood. No broken glass. Even Eris frowned when they paused in the doorway.

“I smell blood,” he whispered, shimmying past her. Arina didn’t, though. The gray carpet looked dirty and stained—it had always been dirty and stained, to be fair. There was nothing on the white walls, no blood on her furniture, no bloody rags on the kitchen floor. It was only when Eris pushed aside her living room chair to reveal a dried blood stain that Arina believed she’d been attacked in her apartment.

“They tried to clean it up,” he commented, crouching beside it. She remained rooted in place, terrified. “Probably not ninth street, then.”

“Well, I feel much safer now,” she hissed, curling her fingers into fists in an attempt to make herself feel better.

He turned his head, looking up at her. “Is there somewhere you can stay?”

“I’m fine,” she lied. Arina wasn’t fine, and she wasn’t about to say otherwise to a vampire. “I just…I need to go to sleep, I think.”

He rose to his feet. “Right. I…will leave you to it.”

Arina didn’t let him out, rooted in place in the middle of her living room. “What’s your name?” he whispered when he reached the door.

“Arina,” she told him, wondering if that was smart or not.

“Arina,” he repeated.

And then he was gone.

—-

Eris wasn’t sure why he lingered.

He could see in her apartment from his perch on the fire escape. He watched as she furiously scrubbed the bloodstain until she’d turned it a faint pink. She cried more often than she didn’t, though she never stopped scrubbing.

He could smell her fear even with a wall and window separating them. She was such a liar, and he strangely liked her for it. She could have asked him for help, and maybe she realized he would have been reluctant to provide it.

Unlike so many others he’d met across the centuries, she didn’t immediately offer herself up as a meal, nor did she ask him to make her immortal. She was curious and afraid in equal measure, which was the only appropriate response to a creature like him.

And he was a cliche, because the distance she kept between them had caused fascination to bloom. Eris couldn’t help himself, watching her even when she went to the shower where he lost sight of her while she screamed the lyrics to a Taylor Swift album he’d never heard.

“...were you sent by someone who wanted me dead?”

That seemed too personal for someone who swore she had no mortal enemies. Eris wasn’t stupid. Perhaps she was connected to the killer and simply didn’t know it. Perhaps she was merely a coincidence…though, Eris had long stopped believing in those. The stab wounds, her general age and appearance, the fact that she was alone…Eris didn’t believe she’d been randomly hit.

He was workshopping two theories.

The killer saw her on the way to work, followed her, and attacked her before dumping her in the street and cleaning up his mess. Which could be what he did for everyone given what Eris knew about the killer. The homes of the victims were always cleaned—untouched. Perhaps he cleaned them up. Stalked them for days, memorized their layouts, made sure to leave no trace.

The second was simpler. She simply knew the killer and didn’t realize it and had stumbled upon something that had scared her so badly her mind had walled it off to protect her from it. A father, a brother, a boyfriend…someone close to her. They’d attacked her, dumped her, and then cleaned up their mess in an attempt to throw the police off the trail.

If it was the former, the killer was unlikely to look for her again. And if it was the latter, they’d inevitably realize she was alive and come back for her. Was it wrong to hope they would? Eris was contemplating what he’d do should it happen, creating an absurd scenario in which he got to break through a window like a horrifying creature of the night, when Arina appeared.

Soaking wet.

Entirely naked.

He’d seen her naked before and had only felt shame, an emotion so foreign to him that he was still grappling with the sensation. Now, though, he only felt lust. There were still faint bruises dotted over her warm, brown skin—Eris expected they’d be gone in a day or so. He could have offered her a little more blood if he wanted to speed that up, but she thought he’d left her.

She certainly didn’t seem interested in receiving anything more from him. Eris was interested, though. He could see the fluttering pulse in her neck and if she’d walked to the window and offered him her neck, he would have sunk his teeth into her gratefully.

It wouldn’t have been like before. She would like it. The venom that silenced the pain was an aphrodisiac for humans. Eris thought he might like it, too. Attraction was a less foreign emotion—he’d felt it from time to time. He still had needs, still had mostly hot blood in his body. He typically felt it while feeding, usually from a willing host sliding their hand up his thigh. For the first time in a long time, Eris felt alive. He didn’t move from his spot, watching as she bent this way and that, sliding underwear over her hips, followed by a pair of pink shorts and a white tank top.

That was a shame.

A good man wouldn’t have watched, though in all fairness, Eris wasn’t a man and hadn’t been for a good six centuries. He was a monster, and monsters menaced. They looked. They hovered outside of windows with lust in their hearts as they plotted to get the things they wanted. He was a fool, though he didn’t realize to what extent until he felt something sharp explode against his back.

Eris Vanserra could die. His head could be severed from his body—the most foolproof way to end a creature like him. That was rare in this day and age given no one used swords. A bullet wasn’t enough unless it was both pure silver, though they could incapacitate him long enough to then behead him.

He could also die from silver straight to the heart, which was even more difficult to achieve, though not impossible. Humans had once known these things, had taken up silver weapons to hunt his kind to near extinction. And then books had begun to circulate—written by vampires far more clever than him.

Written by Rhysand, though no one knew him under that name. The old truths were twisted into legends. Holy water and garlic, crosses and wooden stakes were popularized in pamphlets and then novels, and finally movies. Oh, how the world would rage if they knew Bram Stoker was really just Rhysand, a particularly theatrical vampire tired of having mobs of humans turn up outside his estate every few decades.

Their numbers had swelled, but they’d kept themselves better hidden—if garlic bulbs were strung outside doors, they avoided them, if they were staked with wood, they played dead and slipped off later. All a ruse that was protective—that kept them alive.

Whatever hit him—the bullet—wasn’t silver. It still hurt like a bitch. Eris pitched forward, breaking the glass just like he’d imagined, though without any of the theatricality he’d hoped for. The bullet in his neck wasn’t meant for him—it was obviously meant for Arina. The humans couldn’t see him. He turned, noting a figure on a balcony next door vanished, likely thinking he’d hit his mark.

He would have if Eris had just left.

Arina screamed when he thudded to her floor, dropping beside him. “What happened?”

“Someone hates you,” he managed, rolling from his back to his stomach. “Dig it out.”

“What?”

“Dig. It. Out,” he ordered, gritting his teeth against the pain.

“I can’t,” she said, tears coating her words. Eris reached for her knee, squeezing hard.

“You can, and you will,” he managed. He’d already lost his advantage—the would-be assassin was likely long gone, thinking he’d gotten Arina. Who the fuck was this woman? “What kind of bullet is it?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” she said, fingers sliding into the open wound. “Oh, god.”

“You’re doing so well,” he lied, trying to make his words soft and soothing. “Look at me, sweetheart.”

She did, those green eyes filling something vacuous in his chest. It was wrong to do this, but he needed her to calm down.

“You’re doing so well,” he practically purred, holding her as he willed her to believe his hypnotic words. Eris didn’t understand how it worked on humans. Perhaps they were weak minded—some vampires believed that. Perhaps he simply had some kind of magic they couldn’t sense. Whatever it was, Arina’s shoulders relaxed.

“What do I do?” she asked him.

“Pull the bullet out,” he said, not bothering to mention that he was going to need blood after this. If he could just get back to his apartment, he could…he could what? Stale, week old blood was nothing. He needed something fresh, something warm.

Something living.

Hypnotize her and take her memories, his traitorous mind ordered. Eris swallowed the urge, focusing instead on the horrible sensation of her digging around in his flesh.

“That’s it,” he murmured, trying not to cry out. Just because he couldn’t die didn’t mean he couldn’t experience pain. He was doomed, apparently, to feel the full range of human emotions around this woman. “Pull it out.”

A couple minutes later—one wasted while she scrambled up for eyebrow tweezers that did nothing but make Eris’s whole body run hot and cold with pain—and the bullet lay intact on the ground.

He exhaled while Arina sat beside him, knees drawn to her chin. He released her from his thrall, watching that pretty face drain of color all over again. What did she look like when she smiled, he wondered? When she was happy? He wanted to know.

“Was that for me?” she whispered.

“Yes.” There was no point in lying to her.

She said nothing, eyes so vacant and empty that Eris, miserable, half alive, and in desperate need of blood, heard himself say, “I want you to stay with me.”

“That’s not necessary,” she replied, apparently determined to end up in a casket. For reasons Eris didn’t care to examine, he was determined to see the opposite.

“It is,” he gritted out, his vision blurred and bloody. “Let's go. Now.”

“What's wrong?”

“Get up,” he demanded, not bothering to make his tone nice. Swaying on his feet, Eris held on to the wall while Arina grabbed a bag and frantically began throwing things she would need into it. He didn’t notice until she came closer, warm hands cupping his face. She smelled good.

He wanted to taste her.

“Are you dying?”

“Not yet,” he replied, pulling out of her grasp before he did something stupid. Something like shoving her to the bed right beside them and sinking his fangs into her neck. No. Eris would drop her off at his apartment and make his way to one of the familiar underground clubs and feed there, come back clearer, and go from there.

They did make it to his car, though Arina wrestled the keys from his fingers and drove them herself while he gave vague directions.

The energy it took to keep anyone from looking at them nearly overwhelmed him, causing Arina to literally hold him up as they made their way to the elevator. Eris made it inside, stumbling forward when she let him go to race for the kitchen.

“It’s blood, right?” she asked, trailing after him with two frigid bags in her hands. Eris wanted to lay down in his own bed, collapsing against the red sheets with a groan.

“Not that,” he said, eyes fluttering shut. “I’ll deal with it.”

Go.

He should have said so, but he didn’t and so Arina lingered, blood staining the clothes he’d once watched her put on.

“Were you…were you guarding me?”

Stalking, more like. Eris looked over at her, standing in the doorway of his bedroom looking like the very angel she’d once assumed he was. “Yes.”

She crept closer. “So this is my fault?”

Yes. Make the offer. “No,” he replied, swallowing hard as a bolt of lust lashed against his hunger. “Someone wants you dead.”

“You’ve saved me twice now,” she continued, creeping even closer still. No shoes, he realized. Hair still wet from the shower. Blood racing—he could hear her frantic little heart. Run while you still can.

“You don’t owe me.”

Her knee touched the bed. “You need blood.” It wasn’t a question.

“I do.”

“I have a lot of it in my body,” she continued, coming to kneel on the bed beside him.

“Arina—”

“What would it hurt?” she asked him, sliding her hair to one side of her neck. Eris was shaking his head, though not out of some misplaced sense of chivalry, but because he didn’t want it from her neck.

He wanted it from her thigh. Gods, but Eris wanted her to get naked so badly it was making him stupid. “I might drain you.”

“I don’t think you will.”

“I might fuck you,” he heard himself say, the word coming out so vehemently it seemed more of a threat. Arina merely scooted closer, flirting with death.

“I don’t think you will.”

Eris was up quicker than she could track, flipping her to her back before pulling her by her legs until they hung off the edge of the bed. “Don’t mistake me for a gentleman,” he murmured, sliding one hand up her shin. “I’m not a man—I’m a monster.”

“I think it's a man who’s hunting me,” she told him breathlessly. “And a monster who saved me.”

Eris shook his head again, thinking her response was so very human. “What do you know about frenzied monsters?”

Her breath caught, though perhaps it was because he sank to his knees while parting her legs. He was absolutely going to fuck her.

“Frenzy?” she whispered.

“Oh yes,” he murmured, pressing his mouth to the inside of her knee while she watched. Their eyes locked and there, stained on her pretty, golden cheeks, he saw the tell-tale signs of desire.

Flushed pink, dilated eyes…sweet, sweet thing. “Once we start, we don’t stop.”

He didn’t bother mentioning that frenzies were typically bloody—a frenzied vampire might kill a whole room of humans out of desperation that turned to bloodlust. It was rarely sexual. But right then, it certainly felt that way. Whatever lust typically infected humans seemed to be writhing in his own veins, demanding satisfaction.

Eris slid her shorts as far up her body as he could get them, revealing the uppermost part of her thigh and the vein beneath. He couldn’t help himself, running his nose along her skin as he gripped her hips, pulling her closer.

“Will it hurt?” she whispered.

“For just a moment,” he replied. That was the only warning he gave her before his fangs sank through soft, pliable flesh. Her warm blood pooled in his mouth, filling just as quickly as he drank it down. Overhead, he heard her gasp before she sighed, the venom in his fangs working the same magic on her that it had already begun with him. Perhaps, he thought stupidly, it had dripped down his throat.

Or perhaps he simply wasn’t immune to this woman the way he thought he was. Had it been venom that convinced him to spare her the night before? Venom that kept him on her fire escape, unaware she was being stalked because he was so struck by the sight of her?

Eris groaned, his grip on her tightening as her fingers found his hair. Soft nails scraped over his skin, drawing another groan as arousal pooled low against his spine. He was erect, the thought floating through his awareness before he shoved it down to continue to drink.

He could hear her heart, racing from a mixture of fear and excitement—he knew how much he could take before she only felt cold dread, before his venom stopped making her want him and merely made her lay there still while he drained the life out of her body.

Just a little more. A few more drags and then he pulled back, wild and desperate. Eris ripped open his own skin, dripping a few drops of his own blood against her wound before he merely ripped her shorts into pieces. Why bother any other way, he thought savagely? He rather liked the sight of them half hanging off her body, besides.

“Eris—” He didn’t care. Eris felt like an animal, desperate for a taste of all of her. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever done, licking up her pussy with her blood still staining the back of his throat. He wanted a mix of the two bottled like fine wine so he could drink it every night.

She gripped his hair again, pulling roughly as she arched her hips into his mouth.

“Yes,” he breathed, dragging them both to the floor so she was straddling his face. “This is what I need.”

“Eris,” she panted, rolling her hips against his face until he could see nothing, taste nothing, smell nothing but her body. He jerked her the rest of the way down, annoyed she was trying to brace her slight weight against her knees. He was already dead—it wasn’t as if she could kill him. Eris wasn’t even sure he needed oxygen to survive, though he’d never tested the theory. He would now, though. Eris held her tight, one hand sliding up her tank top to fondle her breast as his tongue found her clit. She liked that, given the way she gripped his hair to hold him tighter.

He wished he could push his thoughts into her mind so she could hear all the fucked up, disgusting, filthy things he wanted to do to her.

Eris had never been more aroused in his life. It wasn’t enough—he need to eat her pussy and fuck her at the same time, and it was crime humanity hadn’t figured that conundrum out. They could invent nuclear weapons, but he couldn’t fuck his human in all the ways he wanted to at the exact same time?

Bullshit.

“Eris, please,” she moaned, riding his face shamelessly. The nervous woman who’d tiptoed to the bed was gone, replaced by whatever creature that now inhabited her skin. He was obsessed—addicted.

Eris sucked, delighted when she screamed, coating his face in her release. That was easy, he thought with a relish, pushing her off him so quickly she gasped.

“I’m not done,” he told her, hauling her up only to toss her to the bed so he could crawl over her. Why was he wearing so much clothing? It was a nightmare, divesting himself of a belt and pants, and by the time he found his buttoned shirt, he merely treated it like her shorts and ripped it off him, unconcerned by the scattered objects he’d be stepping on all morning.

She leaned upward, licking a path from his chest to his neck before she kissed him. She wasn’t used to his long canines, still retracted from the blood he could taste, could smell. They pierced her bottom lip, flooding the pair of them with more blood that made Eris half insane.

He was not in his right mind.

Reaching for her thigh, tongue in her mouth, he pushed upward until his cock was lined up with her body. He didn’t ask, didn’t let her know—he simply intruded, sinking himself fully in her wet, inviting body with one powerful stroke.

She gasped, arching her back off the bed.

“I warned you,” he told her, scraping his fangs over her throat. “I told you.”

“Don’t stop,” she panted in response. As if he could. Eris was drunk on blood and the woman beneath him and desperate to feel her come against his cock. He bit her, fangs sinking into her throat even as his mind warned him she couldn’t take much more. She needed her blood, too. It was an inherently selfish act, one she allowed as she yielded, clenching her pussy tight around him.

Eris took a long drag before pulling himself away, licking a trail of blood over her jaw before kissing her. Taste yourself, he demanded silently. Taste all of you. She kissed him back, arms winding around his own neck as she wrapped her legs around his hips to allow him to thrust rougher, deeper. He was chasing the pleasure that had begun building moments before, his arousal burning a wildfire path down his spine.

“Come,” he whispered, so close he ought to be embarrassed. “I want to feel it.”

She was close, whimpering softly as she buried her face against his bicep. Eris inclined his head, eyes closed as he reveled in the softness of her body. He felt alive for the first time in centuries, drowning in emotion he’d once walled off. It felt good.

Better when her own teeth sank into his arm, biting him just hard enough he might have bruised him were he not a monster. Eris couldn’t stop himself—he came a mere second before she did, relieved to feel her tighten against him. The noise that escaped him was hardly dignified, though he wasn’t embarrassed, either.

He was floating, weightless and suspended above his body as wave after wave of pleasure crested through him. He was hungry—not for blood, though. Blinking, he came back to himself to find her peering up at him, wide-eyed and a little unsure.

Don’t look at me like that.

Eris collapsed atop her, gathering her against his body even as he knew he was leeching the warmth from her.

“That was…” he didn’t know how to describe it properly.

He felt her kiss his shoulder. “Did you mean to?”

He could lie. Could tell her it was simply bloodlust that made him act and he hadn’t been in his right mind.

“Yes,” he said. “And I mean to do so again.”

She pushed against his chest so she could look at him. “That’s awfully presumptuous.”

He only shrugged, pulling himself regretfully from her body. “You should eat. And sleep. Here,” he added, just in case that wasn’t clear.

“Another lunchable?” she asked, a mocking note in her voice. Eris had watched a child beg for a lunchable, though. He knew humans loved it.

“Yes. Eat your lunchable.”

“And then…you’ll eat me?”

Eris grinned. “If I’m lucky.”

#vampserra for your consideration

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honkytonk-hangman · 1 year

Text

What You Want

Summary: Rooster is aware that despite working together for a little over six months now, he doesn't really know you all that well. One late night walk to your car later, he thinks he'd like that to change.

Notes: just a little drabble for an idea i've been having for a while!!! let me know if you'd be interested in more! <3

Masterlist

“Wait! Hold the door!” a voice calls out, making Rooster jump, but he still manages to throw his arm out just in time, catching the elevator doors before they close. You come jogging into sight then, panting a little, your duffle bag hanging precariously from your shoulder as you hurry to reach him.

You thank him as you step inside, but do a small double-take when you realise that you recognise him. Rooster waves off your thanks, and shifts to one side so that he isn’t taking up so much space.

“I didn’t see you in there,” he says, jerking his thumb in the direction of the on-base gym. Granted, he knows the place was pretty damn big, and that there was a section reserved for women if they felt more comfortable there, but he’d really thought he’d be all alone at this time of night.

You look at him blankly for a second, before your eyes seem to travel over his attire, and realisation registers on your face.

“Oh! Ha, I didn’t see you either…” you tell him, just as the elevator at last closes its doors and begins its descent. “I don’t usually come so late,” you add after a moment, having hiked your bag higher on your shoulder. Rooster nods, but looks away from you as you seem to start nervously adjusting your workout shorts, too, pulling them lower from where they’ve clearly ridden up slightly.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he hears himself ask, keeping his eyes on the elevator panel ahead of him as it slowly counts down the floors. You’re quiet for a few seconds before humming softly and he can’t help but look back over at you at the almost sad ring in your voice.

“Something like that,” you reply with a small shrug, looking at your shoes.

“Everything alright?” he prods a little, sure now that you sounded down, but immediately feeling a little out of place for asking.

Sure, you’d been working together now for almost six months, and sure he’d met you once or twice before that, but if he’s honest, Rooster didn’t really know you that well outside of what he knows you can do in the sky. Up in the air he wouldn’t hesitate to trust you with his life, but on the ground, he wouldn’t even know what beer you drank at the hard Deck.

If you drank beer, at all, for that matter.

You shift uncomfortably for a moment, eyes dancing between his face and the floor before you give another little shrug and look away from him entirely, staring at metal doors ahead of you.

“I uh, told my boyfriend about being stationed here permanently now,” you begin, pausing to bite at your lip like you weren’t sure whether or not to keep going. There had been some back and forth in recent months over where Dagger squad would be stationed, but at last a few days ago the decision had been made to keep the squad on North Island.

“He broke up with me,” you finish, swallowing nervously, but shooting him a tight smile that Rooster does his best to return.

“I’m sorry…” he says, unsure if he should say more, or if it would even be welcomed. He hadn’t even known until just now that you actually had a boyfriend, but he finds that he likes that you’re choosing to confide in him. You shrug for a third time and shake your head.

“I don’t know. Things weren’t awful or anything, but they weren’t exactly great, either…” you chew on your lip again and scrunch up your nose briefly. “He never really liked me being away much.”

Rooster snorts at that.

“S’kinda part of the job description,” he says, receiving a wry smile from you.

“I know.”

Quiet pervades for a while until the elevator comes to a stop at last, and Rooster gestures for you to go ahead of him. You step out, but pause, waiting for him to join you again before you begin walking, and Rooster finds he likes that as well.

“Still, I’m sorry,” he offers sincerely, looking over at you as you let out a soft sigh. He’s almost embarrassed when you turn back to find him already looking at you, but you only smile sweetly.

“Thanks.” You say, beginning to pull a jangling set of keys out of your duffle bag. Rooster realises then that you must have driven here, and weren’t currently living on base, as he’d just assumed you were.

“Where are you parked?” he asks, gesturing to your keys when you look up at him.

“Oh, not too far, just over near the Services building,” you tell him, causing his brows to knit together. It wasn’t exactly far, but it wasn’t really near, either.

“I’ll walk you.” he says, making the decision out loud. You look back at him in what looks like surprise, already starting to shake your head.

“Oh, you don’t have to–”

“–I’d feel a lot better if I did,” he cuts you off, but speaks truthfully, and he’s glad when you don’t argue further, simply nodding as he now starts following your lead.

You both remain in comfortable quiet while you walk, and Rooster consciously takes note of how dark this particular path through the base really was, feeling glad that you’d let him walk you back, but at the same time unable to stop from overthinking his insistence on the matter.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he blurts all of a sudden, causing you to blink up at him blankly for a moment. “I didn’t really give you much of a choice about walking with you,” he explains, not unaware of why a woman might actually feel safer going alone than with a man she barely knew. You jerk then, as realisation floods your features, but let out a chuckle as you shake your head at him.

“No, no, it’s really okay!” you assure him. Rooster lets out a relieved breath. “I appreciate not having to walk by myself. I know I’m far safer on base than if I wasn’t, but you know…” you tell him, trailing off. “I’m sorry if you didn’t actually want to, but that’s your fault,” you add, chortling playfully. Rooster laughs too, your words catching him slightly off-guard, your joke and general cheek entirely unexpected to him.

“It’s a good thing I did want to, in that case,” he says, laughter still in his voice. You look up at him sweetly, and he notices for the first time how your eyes crinkle slightly in the corners when you smile.

“I don’t get why people– Mostly men– offer things like that if they don’t actually want to do them… Why offer to pay for dinner if you’re really actually wanting me to insist otherwise, you know?” you roll your eyes and wave a hand, your voice light but he can sense the real underlying annoyance.

“I didn’t realise that was a thing men actually did…” he admits curiously, and watches as you give an even heavier roll of your eyes.

“Well, good. That means you’ve never done it,” you say, shooting him a wry grin. “My boyfriend… ex-boyfriend… He used to do it a lot at the start of our relationship. He’d always end up telling me later how he hadn’t expected me to accept whatever it was. I guess he learnt to stop after a while.”

Rooster stares down at you slack jawed and momentarily speechless, taken completely aback that your ex would admit to such a thing, but that he’d not want to do things sincerely for you in the first place.

“... And that wasn’t a red flag?” he finds his voice enough to ask you, not bothering to hide the disapproval in his voice. You look away, but hum.

“I guess it should have been,” you say softly, pursing your lips as you seem to think for a moment.

“When I was younger I found it really hard to accept people doing things for me. If a man offered to pay for dinner, I’d feel so guilty that I’d insist he didn’t, and we’d end up splitting the bill instead. I’d go home feeling so disappointed, even though it was my fault…” you tell him, shaking your head at your own past actions. “A couple years ago, I started trying to be more honest with myself about what I wanted when it came to dating, and men… not just what I was willing to accept.”

Rooster nods as you speak, finding himself genuinely interested in your outlook on these things, wanting to hear more about them. You take his silent agreement as permission to go on.

“If flowers, or paying for dinner, or whatever, if it was something that I valued, made me feel valued, I shouldn't feel guilty about that,” you continue, sparing an almost nervous glance up at him, but Rooster is still nodding, agreeing with you completely.

“Good,” he tells you firmly. “And like you said; if they didn’t really want to, that’s their problem,” he states matter-of-factly, feeling an undue sense of pride when you laugh.

“Exactly!” you giggle a little more before eventually you both sober.

You were at the Services building now, the car park laid out in front of you, only a handful of vehicles still scattered around the lot.

“I guess that’s something I’m going to have to put into practise again at some point…” you think aloud, and Rooster only realises that he’s started to frown slightly when you look back at him.

“I guess it is…” he replies, unsure of why he suddenly feels so bothered at the thought of you dating someone like your ex again.

“Don’t ever accept anything less than what you want,” he feels the need to stress himself. “If he’s worth your time, he won’t accept giving you anything else.”

You smile at him softly, almost looking shy for a moment, before you finally come to a stop by your car. Rooster watches quietly as you toss your bag on the backseat.

“Thank you for walking me,” you say once you’ve turned back to him.

“Thank you for letting me,” he replies, stepping closer when you open your door to climb in, closing it for you once he can see that you’ve settled inside. You give him another soft smile as you roll your window down to say goodbye.

“See you on Monday, Rooster.”

“Drive safe.”

#rooster bradshaw x you #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x oc #top gun fanfiction #top gun fanfic

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hamsterlondon · 7 months

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HL Hampton Duffle Bag Pink

#travel duffle bags for women #duffle bags for women #women's duffle bag

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sluttywonwoo · 1 year

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instead of you [part twenty-two] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, mentions of sex (mdni)

word count: 3.8k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

series masterlist | early access to the next chapter on ko-fi

Shanghai was only an hour behind Tokyo so you were able to hit the ground running as soon as you landed. Unlike Japan, the itinerary didn’t allow for a day to rest and reset. Check-in at the new hotel wasn’t until later in the afternoon, but they let you drop off your luggage with them so you wouldn’t have to lug it around the city with you.

You passed your bags off to a woman who promised you they’d be safe in the closet behind the desk- not that you were too worried about your collection of t-shirts and Vera Bradley duffle bag that was nearly two decades old- before joining the Hans by the seating area a few paces away. The lobby was dressed with dark woods and jade tiles, accented with plush white furniture and expensive-looking plants. It was easily the most sophisticated place you’d ever been, and that was saying something considering you’d been on a fucking yacht a few weeks ago.

You felt extremely out of place in your travel sweats and beat-up sneakers. Even looking at the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling made you feel like you didn’t belong. You knew the Hans had a reservation under their names, you knew that you were being paid for, but you still felt like you could get kicked out for loitering at any minute.

“First things first we need to find a currency exchange place and then we can grab a bite to eat,” Dom explained. You tried not to wince as his voice echoed around the room. You were still getting used to these ‘family meetings’. “Are you guys hungry?”

There was a collective nod and then you all followed Mr. Han out of the hotel onto the bustling street. He used his phone’s GPS to navigate through the twists and turns of the city. Jisung grabbed your hand instinctively, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles like he always did.

Guilt bubbled up in your chest as soon as the warmth from his palm spread to yours. You hated the way you couldn’t even enjoy a simple gesture, something that was so commonplace for your friendship, without feeling like your stomach was turning itself inside out.

Jisung noticed, of course he did, your hand tensed as soon as he took it and even if it was barely perceptible he was too observant, too in tune with you to miss it.

“You okay?” he asked, eyebrows creasing together in worry.

“Just feeling a little sick is all,” you replied. It wasn’t a lie, you did feel nauseous. You just hoped Jisung couldn’t tell there was something else you were holding back.

“Do you need to sit? We can stop for a bit and meet the others later.”

“No, I’ll be fine,” you assured him. “I don’t want to get lost.”

“We have our phones, we won’t lose them,” he pressed.

“I probably just need something to eat, and we’re stopping for lunch soon. I’m ok, I promise.”

He looked like he didn’t quite believe you, but dropped it anyway.

You waited in line behind the rest of Jisung’s family at the currency exchange place where you traded your yen for yuan. You didn’t have much on you, since most travel sites warned against carrying a lot of cash on your person when in a new place. The Hans always insisted on paying for you too so it wasn’t like you needed it either.

After everyone had gone through the queue, you stopped for lunch in a square with about a dozen street vendors peddling different kinds of food. They were all swamped with customers, businessmen and women dressed in suits waiting to get their meals before inevitably having to return to the office. There were families wandering around too. Mothers struggled to wrangle their small children in strollers or their arms as they stood in line at the various stalls, calling for the older kids who were playing in the fountain.

You and Jisung chose a kabob cart to try while the other members of his family split off to get their own thing. You let your best friend order for the both of you as always while you scouted a spot to sit. The square was full of tables and benches scattered about. Some were shaded by trees, others offered unobstructed views of the skyline across the water. You opted for one that was surrounded by a couple of other close tables so everyone could sit somewhat together.

“Thanks for finding a place to sit, y/n!” Dom exclaimed as he approached you with Minho right on his heels. “Perfect amount of shade and sun.”

“I had to fight off some pigeons for it,” you joked, earning a laugh from the older man.

“I commend you for your bravery, pigeons can be quite brutal.”

“Especially city pigeons,” Minho added, coughing awkwardly when you made eye contact with him.

“Minho was attacked by pigeons once,” Dom said suddenly. You didn’t have time to ask any further questions before Jisung was returning with your food, giving you an apologetic look.

“You weren’t boring her, were you?” He shot an accusatory glance at his father.

“No more than you usually do,” Minho answered smugly.

“Minho, please don’t start. We just got here, and since we’ll all be staying together I’d rather not have to listen to the three of you bickering all week.”

“What do you mean we’ll be staying together?” your best friend asked worriedly, voicing exactly what you were thinking. “Did you mess up the reservations again?”

Minho’s smile had also fallen and he was wearing an expression of concern similar to his brother’s. Dom sighed, running a hand across his forehead.

“I was going to wait until your mother returned with Felix to explain, but no. We’re all staying together in the penthouse of the hotel for the week. You all will get your own rooms and such, but we figured that since we’re on a family vacation we should spend time together as a family. We can have meals together, we can cook- or rather, Jisung can cook for us, and we’ll all be sleeping under the same roof.”

The two boys nodded in understanding, though neither looked thrilled. You knew that if Felix were around he’d have some smart comment to make, but since he wasn’t, there was just silence.

“Don’t look so thrilled,” Dom chided. “Minho, you’ll get your own room and so will Felix. That should be exciting to you at the very least.”

“Wait, really?” he asked, eyes much brighter than they had been a moment earlier.

His father nodded with a hum, just as Felix walked back up to your group with Nikki trailing a few paces behind him. Both of them had their hands full of food that they dumped on one of the empty tables and started dividing between each other.

Felix looked up when he noticed the silence and tilted his head in confusion. “What’d I miss?”

After lunch, you traveled together to the Oriental Pearl Tower. The number of fucking landmark towers in the world was… too goddamn many in your opinion. There seemed to be one in every city you’d been to, and you thought it was a little excessive.

You debated going to the top of this one just so you wouldn’t be a downer, but both Jisung and Minho were quick to shut it down.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Minho grumbled under his breath, still loud enough for everyone to hear.

“He’s right,” Jisung agreed. “It’s not worth it to make yourself miserable. I’ll stay down here with you, baby.”

You pouted, but didn’t put up much of a fight. You knew Jisung didn’t give a fuck about the tower so you let him keep you company at the bottom.

“We should stay in tonight,” he suggested, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger. “Since you’re not feeling well and everything. I can cook you dinner back at the apartment and we can watch a movie or something.”

“Do we not have plans tonight?”

“Do you ever look at the itinerary?”

“I think you already know the answer to that,” you replied, rolling your eyes.

Jisung just chuckled. “Brat. But no, we don’t really have plans. They’re kind of up in the air. Everyone can do their own thing if they want to. I think I heard Felix and Minho talk about going out, but I don’t think we should.”

“If you want to, you should!” you urged. “Don’t stay in because of me.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I’d much rather spend time with you than those idiots?”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Ji...”

“I’m just being honest! We can go out with them tomorrow night, or the night after that! I just don’t want you to overdo it. Especially since we’re going to be out all day tomorrow.”

“Fine, you win,” you gave in. “Promise you’re not just staying in because you feel like you have to?”

“I promise.” He held out his pinky as if to seal it. You looped your own pinky with his despite the gesture being a dramatic formality and grinned. “I don’t really feel like being a wingman anyway.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, they’re trying to pick up girls tonight?”

“Emphasis on the word ‘trying’,” Jisung scoffed.

“Come on, they’re handsome guys,” you said, though you didn’t quite know why you were defending them.

“Sure, but it’s their personalities that are their downfalls.”

“You’re so mean!”

“You’ve met them!”

You opened your mouth to respond but came up short. Jisung smirked knowingly and you both burst into laughter.

“Well, what are your parents doing tonight?” you asked once you caught your breath. “Are they also going out on the town?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I can cook dinner for the four of us if they decide to stay in.”

“That sounds nice,” you mused, leaning to rest your head on his shoulder.

“It could be… my mom would love the opportunity to get us alone. I’m sure she has loads of questions for you.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing!”

“It is a bad thing! It’s embarrassing.”

“No, it’s not. My mom would do the same thing if the roles were switched.”

“Okay, but that’d be easy. Your mum already knows me and she loves me.”

“She wouldn’t if we were dating.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because she knows you’re a whore.”

“What the fuck? No, I’m not.” You gave him a look. “Okay, well does she know her own daughter is a whore too? Arguably a bigger one than me.”

“Weird way to say I get more bitches than you, but alright.” Jisung rolled his eyes at you and gave you the finger, but you just laughed. “I don’t think she knows that I’m a little slutty-”

“A little!?”

You ignored him. “But even if she did, she still wouldn’t like me dating you. She’s very protective of me.”

Your best friend stuck his bottom lip out in a pout. “I feel kind of betrayed. I thought your mom and I were pals.”

“You are. As long as you keep it in your pants around me.”

The penthouse at the hotel you were staying at was even bigger than you imagined it would be. There were four bedrooms, the primary and three guest rooms on the other side of the apartment. Your luggage was already waiting for you in the foyer along with some toiletries and towels.

“Y/n and Jisung should have to stay in the middle room,” Felix had exclaimed as he claimed the room at the very end of the hallway.

“What, why?” Jisung demanded.

“Because it wouldn’t be fair if only one of us had to share a wall with the two of you, that’s why.”

Jisung clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. His parents were right across the living room and they could probably hear every word. Not for the first time, you were mortified by Felix’s inability to keep his mouth shut.

“What the fuck, bro,” Jisung muttered.

“You asked.”

You and Jisung did end up taking the middle room. It turned out to be the biggest of the three so you lucked out. You’d still have to share a bathroom between the four of you, but it was nice to have your own space to get away. It wouldn’t be like Tokyo where you could never let your guard down.

Jisung took you with him to the market to shop for ingredients for dinner. The market was overwhelming but beautiful. It was full of life and vibrant color. The stalls were pushed so closely together under an array of tents that it was difficult to tell who was selling what, but somehow Jisung figured it out. He led you by the hand through the crowd, being sure not to lose you. Watching him speak to the vendors, asking questions about the cuts of the meats and getting advice on what was in season… watching his fingers linger over the different fruits and vegetables, trying to gauge which was the ripest and best for the dish he was planning in his head. It was refreshing to see your best friend in his element. He hadn’t had the chance to cook in forever, and you could tell he was excited to.

It was a chance to show off in front of his parents too, you realized. You could tell he wanted to impress them. He’d cooked for you at least a hundred times, but this was an opportunity to show his parents everything he’d learned in school and prove to them that the degree they were paying for was worth it.

By the time you got back to the hotel, Minho and Felix had already gone out for the night. You had no idea when they’d be back, but that was the least of your worries right now. You were much more concerned about the questions from Nikki that Jisung had warned you about.

Should you study? You still had the stack of flashcards in your backpack. You might be able to squeeze in some last-minute cramming before dinner.

“She’s not going to quiz you,” Jisung said in the elevator on the way up to the room as if he could read your mind.

“How’d you-”

“You’re biting your lip like you do when you get nervous.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

You shrugged. “I just don’t want you to be worrying about me when you’re trying to focus on dinner.”

“I always worry about you,” he said casually. “But I know how to multitask.”

You helped Jisung carry the groceries inside and put them away. He’d gotten a lot of food for the rest of the week in addition to what he needed for the night.

“Do you need help cooking?” you asked, suppressing a smile.

Jisung whipped his head in your direction, panic in his eyes, before realizing you were joking. “Hilarious.”

“Who said I wasn’t serious? I could be your sous chef!”

Aware of his parents in the next room over, Jisung smiled weakly and shook his head at you. “You’re very cute, but we both know you’d set this kitchen on fire.”

“Whatever, I’ll just sit over here and watch.”

You seated yourself at one of the barstools tucked underneath the island and rested your head in your palms, watching Jisung do his thing.

He finished sorting the groceries and then washed his hands before searching the kitchen for a cutting board and various cooking utensils that he’d need. Back at home, your best friend had a collection of ridiculous aprons that he’d don as he cooked. Your favorite was one that you’d gotten him for his birthday one year. It had your face on it and said “she loves my meat”. One of his roommates had spit his drink all over their rug when Jisung opened it at his party, and you considered that a job well done. It was the apron Jisung wore the most, and you knew it was secretly his favorite, even though he’d never admit it.

He hadn’t packed any aprons for this trip, though, so he was stuck with the t-shirt he was wearing with nothing to protect it- not that he’d need one. He wasn’t very messy in the kitchen. The aprons were more for show than anything else.

Jisung filled a pot with water and set it on the stove to boil while he chopped vegetables. He was so fast that you could barely see the blade moving.

He’d whipped up a meal in under an hour and served it to you and his parents like you were in a restaurant. He circled the table with a bottle of wine, offering it to each of you as if he were your server.

“How about a nice red for you, miss,” he suggested, holding the bottle out to you so that you could read the label.

You giggled. “Do you recommend it?”

“I’ve never had it,” he admitted, not breaking character. “But the chef says that it pairs perfectly with beef.”

“The chef that looks just like you?”

Jisung winked. “That’s the one.”

“Well, in that case, I trust his judgment. I’ll take a glass.”

“Excellent choice.”

“I’ll have what she’s having,” Nikki said once he’d poured you a glass. She was smiling warmly at her son, completely enamored with you and Jisung’s little display. Your heart swelled with pride at the realization. Maybe you weren’t so bad at acting.

“Excellent choice,” Jisung repeated as he filled his mother’s glass. “And for you, sir?” he asked, addressing his father.

“Do you have whiskey?”

“I believe I do,” he answered thoughtfully. “Let me go check.”

You already knew he did. He’d stopped in a liquor store on the way back to pick some bourbons that he thought his dad and brother would like.

You watched him disappear back into the kitchen and went back to your meal, smiling to yourself in satisfaction.

“I know I’ve mentioned this before,” Nikki whispered quietly, “but I’m so glad you were able to join us on this trip. It’s been so lovely to get to know you, and I’ve never seen Jisung so happy.”

Your cheeks grew warm at her comment. The feeling of pride in your chest threatened to be replaced with guilt as it bubbled up in your stomach, but you pushed it down.

“Thank you for inviting me,” was all you could muster.

“We’re happy to have you,” she assured you, grabbing your hand firmly.

“What are we talking about?” Jisung asked loudly as he reentered the room, handing his father a glass of whiskey, neat.

He shot you a look that asked if you were ok and you nodded minutely.

“We were just talking about your wonderful girlfriend,” Nikki explained, “and how happy we are to have her with us on vacation!”

“Mom,” Jisung groaned.

“She didn’t embarrass you entirely,” Dom interjected, coming to the defense of his wife. “She didn’t even mention airplane stickers!”

“Wha- airplane stickers?” You looked to your best friend for an explanation, but he had his head in his hands.

“I cook you all a nice dinner and this is how you repay me!” he cried.

“I’m sorry, I’m confused. What are airplane stickers?”

“They’re what Jisung thought menstrual pads were when he was little.” Dom clapped his son on the back affectionately as Jisung groaned even louder.

You brought your hand to your mouth. “You didn’t.”

“I’d never seen one before!”

“We came home and there were ‘airplane stickers’ all over our windows,” his father continued.

“Aw, babe,” you rubbed his thigh comfortingly, but you knew he didn’t miss the devilish glint in your eye that told him you’d never be letting this go. “That’s kind of cute.”

“It’s kind of humiliating,” he corrected you.

“That too, but you didn’t know any better. I’m sure lots of kids do that.”

Jisung ignored you and stood from the table, collecting your plate along with his. “Anyway, I’m going to start the dishes. Does anyone have any for me to take?”

Jisung’s parents invited you to watch a movie with them after dinner, but you politely declined, retiring to your bedroom instead. Jisung flopped on the bed as soon as the door was shut behind you and screamed into a pillow.

You chuckled as you unclipped your bra and pulled it off from beneath your shirt, joining him on the bed moments later.

“And they wonder why I never bring anyone home!” he hissed.

You rubbed his back soothingly. “It could’ve been worse.”

“How?”

You paused. “I don’t know.”

“Oh my god.”

“Come on, it’s not so bad. I could’ve told one of my stories about you.”

“Half of those are illegal.”

“Exactly.”

You managed to coax your fake boyfriend out of sulking and took turns getting ready for bed and showering in the bathroom before settling in your room together for the night. You flipped through channels on the tv together, but nothing good was on, so you decided to spend time reading your books instead.

You didn’t even realize how late it had gotten until you heard the front door open, signaling Minho and Felix’s return. You traded looks with Jisung who then checked the time on his phone and showed you that it was past one a.m.

His parents had likely gone to bed hours ago, but you could still hear them talking like everyone wasn’t trying to sleep.

They’re drunk, you and Jisung mouthed at each other at the same time. He rolled his eyes but you just smirked.

“That’s gonna bite them in the ass come morning.”

“Yeah, and we’re going to have to be the ones to deal with it,” he muttered.

He had a point. You hadn’t thought about that. And you didn’t think a hungover Minho or Felix would be pleasant to deal with.

You tried going back to the page you were on in your book, but were distracted again when you heard their voices approaching. They were in the hallway now, saying goodnight to each other.

Then, you finally thought it had gone quiet when you heard a third voice. A female voice. You couldn’t make out what she was saying but you could tell immediately who responded.

“Yeah, this is my room.”

It was Minho. He’d brought a girl home with him.

“No fucking way,” Jisung whispered, verbalizing what you both had to be thinking. “He actually did it.”

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

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subwaysurf45 · 2 years

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Meeting the Family

Summary: Bucky was having his family’s annual birthday celebration because seeminly everyone was born in Feburary. you were invited which meant you had to meet the large family Bucky comes from, and with your luck it didn’t go as smooth as you wanted it to.

Words: 5k

Warnings: panic attack, spitting, mention of stress hives, protective/clingy Bucky, mentions of poverty (if you squint really hard)

Spring reading week was definitely needed already, you sat in your tutorial while you managed to stay on top of the practice questions rather than doze off like the guy beside you. It was rapping up and people were already starting to pack up and some had already left.

The moment the lecture ended you raced out the door, not before saying goodbye to your TA and wishing him a nice week off because you - though you hate to admit it - like to suck up sometimes. Once you were walking with Bucky on campus and saw one of your profs, Bucky stood for five minutes as you pitched up your voice and asked about her kids. He never let you live it down that sometimes you were a teacher’s pet.

Natasha was standing at the bus stop with your duffle bag in hand, you had packed it last night and begged her to bring it to you so you could catch this bus rather than the next one that comes in an hour. She had a smirk on her face as you jogged up, taking the bag with a smile.

“I can bring your backpack back to the house, if you want?” Nat offered, her hand already outstretched to take it.

“No,” you caught your breath, “thank you though,” you smiled and pulled her in for a hug, “have a nice reading week, I’ll be back Thursday.”

“I still can’t believe you’re up there for six days,” she laughed, “throwback to when you thought he hated you.”

“Shut up,” you rolled your eyes, “and yes, I’m up there for a week, apparently there’s some birthday thing because seemingly everyone is born in February.”

The bus driver honked and you hugged Natasha goodbye, quickly tapping your card and found a spot. You were by yourself which was great, you needed to put your duffle bag somewhere. This would be a full day of travelling instead of the ride you could have got yesterday, Bucky’s parents have some cabin that’s three hours away but this day would take double the time due to a bus and then train ride.

You had two important tutorials today that you couldn’t miss, it also helped that Friday had a discount for student bussing, there was always a brightside. You shot a quick text to Bucky to let him know you were on transport number one and super happy to see him.

You had met Bucky’s parents before you two started dating because Bucky invited the entire group up to the cabin but forgot to let his parents know and they had the same idea. You then spent the weekend with ten people; half were in college and the other were retired.

It definitely was an important night for you.

“James,” Ernie slapped Bucky’s shoulder, “I need you to understand that you don’t meet those kinds of women everyday, that girl is perfect for you, you have to sweep her off her feet.”

“She’s dating someone, Ern,” Bucky whispered, rolling his eyes and leaning back in his camp chair, “this weekend blows.”

“No it doesn’t,” you looked over your shoulder and paused your manicure for Ernie’s wife, “I think Melissa would disagree, would you not?” Melissa nodded and held out her nails, “see?” you looked at Bucky and smiled, but you could see something was actually wrong.

“I’m going to bed,” it was rare for Bucky to leave the party first, he normally started it. He threw open the patio door and you watched as you stomped upstairs.

Ernie looked at you, “are you seeing anyone?”

“It’s complicated,” you sighed and put down Melissa’s hand to grab the other, “he’s…” you groaned, “I know he’s not right for me but…sometimes proximity and being in a relationship for as long as I have is comfortable, y’know?”

“I don’t,” Ernie said bluntly, “If my lady was away from me for three months I’d write her letters, I’d keep that love alive-” he cleared his throat, “tell me, has this boyfriend made sure you got here okay? Sent you a whatever those are called…texts yet?”

You purse your lips together, it seemed everyone’s conversations had ended and they were all looking at you. You looked over at Nat who nodded sadly, knowing the answer already because you had already told her.

“No,” you whispered, “he…he didn’t want me coming because he doesn’t like me around my friends ‘cause…” you looked up at Nat again, not wanting to air out everything in front of these people you barely know, there’s layers to these things and you didn’t want ruin this weekend by talking about your shitty boyfriend again.

Ernie sighed, “take it from me,” he tipped his bottle towards you, “a lot of people say life is short but when you’re aware you’re in a mistake it feels like a million lifetimes,” he took a long swig, “slowly withering away.”

You took a shaky breath and stood up, “I’m also going to hit the hay, see you all tomorrow.”

Half an hour later you were sitting on the corner of your bed, sobbing into your hands as you tried to keep quiet. You could feel this weight from your chest release but also it felt like a heavy blanket was weighing you down, you could barely sit up straight or breathe.

Five years of a high school sweetheart wasted, all because you told him you didn’t like that he didn’t check up on you. The things he called you, the names. Those names pressed harder on your chest, squishing you down until you were gasping for air while tears streamed down your face. All of your senses were becoming distorted, your vision was slowly losing focus and you couldn’t see out of your peripheral vision, the feeling of your fingers scratching down your neck felt like TV static, everything sounded like you were underwater.

“y/n?” The door burst open and you could only hear your name being called from underwater, from his long brown hair tied up being the only thing you could register, you knew it was Bucky. He took your hand that was tugging down your throat to try and create air hole and placed it on his own chest, he took your other hand and held with his, after making sure you could keep your hand on his chest by yourself he cupped your cheek, “breathe, honey, you have to breathe,” he could feel his rapid heartbeat, it wasn’t helping like it normally does.

“I-” you managed to hack out, trying so hard to gain control. He gently tapped your face to try and bring you back, you couldn’t hear him talking over the pounding in your ears but you knew he was trying. Thrashing out, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him close, feeling things begin to settle when he held you tightly.

“You are very safe,” he spoke directly into your ear as he held you close, “you are safe with me, alright?”

“Okay,” you whimpered, balling up his t-shirt as you breathed in his scent which lowered your heart rate. “We broke up,” you gritted your teeth, “I called him a while ago.”

Bucky pulled out of the hug but kept his hands on you, “how did that happen?”

“I didn’t like how he didn’t check in on me,” you looked down at your lap, “and I…and he bit back and called me names and I just had enough, so I broke up with him and he screamed at me,” you let out a wet laugh, “I froze and his voice sounded so crisp it was like he was standing in front of me so I didn’t hang up, he just kept going until I snapped out of it.”

“Do you want to come sleep in my bed?” Bucky brushed away your tears, “just so you’re not alone?”

“Okay,” you timidly stood up.

“We will be stopping for five minutes at the Main Station, please take your time getting off and remember to take all your personal belongings with you, have a nice rest of your day, thank you.”

You sat up straight and got off the bus, heading out into the main area and looking up at the screens to try and find your train platform number. You walked around for a while and noticed it was number 14 but you had time, so you got yourself a snack while you waited beside the tracks with a few other people. After sending Bucky another text you looked down the tracks and snacked on your cream cheese bagel, patiently waiting for the light to appear in the distance.

********

The house was already buzzing with family members, they were all asking about if you were going to be there. Apparently your mother had told them about you, you had met Bucky’s immediate family but no cousins or grandparents yet; this would be the big day.

“So you’re making her take a train and a bus to get here when you could have stayed back one more day?” Bucky’s uncle was already tipsy, for some reason getting upset and the situation.

“y/n and I both talked and we agreed this was best for the both of us,” Bucky sighed in annoyance as you took another sip of his beer, “I’m driving her home next week and picking her up form the station today, so…” Bucky rolled his eyes and headed into the kitchen to find his mom plating all the appetizers.

Winnie looked up and smiled, “could you be a doll and bring this out?” she nudged the spinach dip, Bucky nodded and picked it up. “Is everything alright?”

Bucky looked around to make sure no one was in earshot, “can people just stay out of my relationship?” he whispered while he walked around the island to get near his mom, “I mean, my God, we aren’t going to crash and burn just because she wanted to go to two very important classes which makes her have to come up today,” Bucky placed his beer down, “it's just everyone is on my ass about it and it’s starting to piss me off.”

Winnie nodded, “you’re the oldest out of this generation in the family Bucky, all your cousins are younger than you and you’re the first to introduce a girl,” Winnie cupped his face, “people are just excited there’s fresh meat, I bet you any money they’ll swarm her when she shows up.”

“That is the exact opposite of what I want to happen,” Bucky leaned against the counter and crossed his arm, Winnie stepped in front of him. “Have you mentioned in the e-mail about-”

“Yes, I have,” she scrunched her nose, “no one will make a single comment about what or how much y/n eats, no one will mention anything of the sort.”

Bucky let out a deep breath and rolled his shoulders back, “I want this to be enjoyable for her,” Bucky looked at his mom who was nodding, “y’know, I want her to like my family but I also know the sheer number of Barnes’ can make anyone feel cornered, and when she feels cornered she…” Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, “and the last time she was here she broke up with her previous boyfriend,” Winnie placed her hand on his clenched jaw - making him relax it.

Her eyes flicked between Bucky’s, “you get protective and this anxious when she does, you hear?” Bucky nodded again, “right now, you are going to put that bowl on the coffee table and then come back for the chips as well as the pigs in the blanket and then you will go pick up your lovely girlfriend,” Winnie spoke softly and Bucky closed his eyes, “and you won’t crawl all over her with information and you won’t be glued to her hip all day, you can’t be the one to corner her, alright?”

Bucky bit his bottom lip, “I love you, Ma.” he pulled her in for a hug, “I got really lucky with you, didn’t I?”

Winnie chuckled, “I'm speaking from experience of meeting your father’s parents back then,” she sassed, “now go run all that stuff,” she waved him away.

After putting everything out and finding George, his dad, Bucky got the keys to the truck and headed out. He brought a blanket for the passenger seat as the window in the old truck didn’t fully close and the heaters didn’t work. Bucky kept one hidden in the truck for himself when he was driving his dad's car.

********

It had been five minutes since you got off the bus, you were shaking as you stood in the parking lot. Your arms folded over one another and you bounced in spot to keep from freezing solid, nothing helped with the outfit you were wearing. The train had the nicer bathrooms so you changed there, pulling on black tights to go under and a chunky wool dress that seemed like an oversized sweater; something Bucky would wear.

The cabin was in the woods and a little more North, making it colder than campus even though the winter was not completely gone yet. Spring break was more like the end of winter break for where you lived, but a break was a break.

A truck pulled in and flashed its headlights, you ran up and opened the door. Bucky looked nice with his dark green flannel, black shirt complimenting his hair and eyes. You lunged over the center console and hugged him, his hands pulling you as tight as he could.

“You look so pretty,” he whispered, “you’re going to have my eight year old cousin wrapped around your finger,” he laughed as he took your duffle bag and threw it in the back seat. After you got settled in, Bucky drove away, taking one hand off the wheel to place on your thigh.

“So,” you sighed, “what do I need to know?”

Bucky laughed, “you’ll find out soon enough,” he briefly looked over at you, “just-...” Bucky scratched his stubble that was growing in, “I have a lot of family members and I was talking to my mom about this,” Bucky looked over once he stopped at the red light, “you’re the first person someone has brought home, I’m the first to have a girlfriend and bring her to a family thing so…”

“Go on,” you cupped his cheek.

“They are going to be all over you,” he admitted, “they already are and you weren’t there yet,” he pushed out a laugh, “so I’m not trying to scare you or anything, I just want to to be prepared and if you start feeling anxious just tell me, we’ll take a second outside, okay?”

You nodded, “that’s lovely Bucky,” you smiled wide, “you talked to Winnie for advice about me,” you cooed and scratched his cheek when he got extremely red, “I love that, baby, thank you.”

“And…” Bucky swallowed hard, “I just want full disclosure with this,” he turned down a dirt path, “I ask them to keep comments about food to a minimum, I just want you to know that.”

Your lips parted with a gasp, “really?” he looked over like he was in trouble but was met with you melt into your seat, “I really appreciate that, lovey, thank you.”

The moment you stepped foot in the cabin you were greeted with loud chatter coming from another room, Bucky called out and you heard Winnie call back. Bucky took your bags from you and also hung up your jacket, smiling as he gave you suggestive eyebrows when he saw your full look, it was becoming a running joke between the two of you.

Winnie ran over with her apron on, she held her arms out for a hug and you gladly fell into it. You had met George and Winnie a few times before, it was easy to find out that Bucky was a copy and paste of Winnie, everything about him was the same. She took your arm and stole you away from Bucky, taking you into the kitchen with her.

“So,” she opened the fridge, “I picked up those ingredients you sent me, they are all over in their little corner,” she pointed to the top right, “dinner is going to be early so whenever you need to start just go ahead, alright?”

“Sounds good,” you nodded. Before heading into the busy living room you were pouring yourself a glass of white wine, “George, nice to see you!” you reached out for a hug and he gladly accepted.

“You got your work all done?” He asked as he took out another beer for himself, “Bucky told us you two two tutorials?”

“Yep,” you took a small sip, “I was confused about the lesson and I didn’t want to be thinking about it this entire week so I thought I would clear it up for the big celebration,” you giggled until you quickly realized something, “has it arrived, by the way?”

George couldn’t contain his smile, “it has, it’s going to be in your spare room under the bed.”

“Perfect,” you raised your eyebrows, took your glass, and headed into the loudest room in the house.

********

Repeating the same conversations over and over bored you like crazy, you didn’t know how many times you had to go over your entire life story until the entire room was on the same page. It was the same thing every time.

You were standing by yourself with your second glass in your hand, what looked like an uncle had locked eyes with you and was coming over. You smoothed down your dress and smiled back, when he walked up he shook your hand and then faced the group before the both of you.

“How are you liking the family so far?” simply from the way he talked you started to figure out who his kids were, you could also tell he was on Bucky’s dad’s side. His posture was almost perfect, a sweater tied around his neck and hanging off his back like a cape.

“I’ve met some of you guys before, just in passing, but seeing everyone together is very sweet,” you giggled and looked over at Bucky who was showing his eldest grandpa something on his phone.

“What are you studying?” he asked and took a sip of what looked like whiskey, it was odd because almost everyone else was drinking wine or a beer from the bottle.

“Psychology,” you said for the ninth time, “but I’m definitely going back to school after, to specify.”

“Huh,” he poked his tongue against his cheek, looking around the room again. He seemed to be waiting for something, he fixed his posture and you tried to look at where he was looking but nothing could be found. “I have my PhD,” he leaned down and added when you didn’t ask.

“When did you defend it?” your eyes lit up, “i’ve always wanted to watch one happen in real life, it’s so amazing what you guys can remember and work with on the spot, I’d be too nervous,” you laughed and brough your glass up to your lips.

He seemed to grow red very quickly, “I haven’t defended it yet, I’m…” he paused, “I’m close to submission on my paper.”

“Oh,” you nodded, “so you don’t have it yet?” You couldn’t help but laugh a bit at the way he was trying to get out of the hole he dug himself into, he was far from actually having his PhD. part of you felt like he already had people call him Doctor.

“I don’t,” he gritted out, “I’m going to grab a beer.”

********

You were working away in the kitchen to make your little desserts for everyone, Winnie had taken her break and was mingling with everyone else. Bucky joined you not too long after to simply sit and watch, he watched you in silence as you looked back and forth between the recipe and the bowl in front of you.

“I love it when you talk to yourself,” Bucky muttered, “you’re adorable.”

“Shut up,” you grabbed the whisk and started mixing.

You and Bucky stayed together in comfortable silence, both of you had done tons of talking already and just being near one another was enough. He had this calming presence that worked even when you weren’t aware you were up tight, it seemed his aura lowered your heart rate no matter what.

People would come in and out to fill their drinks or see what was going on in here, a lot asked if they could help but you kindly declined. The music could be heard from the kitchen but not the living room, you bopped around as you placed the cookie mix onto the cookie sheet.

At one point Bucky made his way around the island and towards you, picking up your wine glass and going to the fridge. He filled it and added ice cubes when you asked, making you smile to yourself as he softly replied. You looked over your shoulder to see him move swiftly but with care, slowly dropping them in so it didn’t bang against the glass or cause the wine to splash up.

His hands made their way around your middle, you plunked the cookie dough on the sheet as his head dropped to your shoulder and stayed there for a while. His entire body was pressed up against you, Bucky just swayed as you worked. Every once in a while he’d place a soft kiss to your shoulder to reach around to tuck some hair behind your ear, nothing that got in your way or annoyed you.

“I think it’s almost dinner,” Bucky whispered, giving you a squeeze.

“Can I sit beside you?” you joked, looking over your shoulder to see his smiling face. It was a no brainer but you still found it sweet he nodded quickly. “I also think this is going to be my last drink,” you took a sip, “it’s really nice but I’m getting tipsy,” you both laughed.

Bucky let go and took the tray to place in the oven, “my dad always breaks out the whisky at night,” he shook his head to himself, obviously remembering something, “beer makes me happy and funny drunk while whisky makes me all needy and clingy, get ready for that.” he walked over again, “I mean it.”

“You already are a grade A clinger,” you pecked his lips, “looks like you’ll be miserable with me in the guest bedroom.”

Bucky quickly shook his head, “nu-uh, I’m sneaking in or bringing you with me, I’m going to fall asleep on top of you, I’m calling it now.”

Everyone made their way into the dining room, you found your spot beside Bucky and looked around at all the food in front of you. For a moment you were overwhelmed but Bucky’s hand was swiftly placed on your thigh, when you looked over Bucky wasn’t even looking at you, he was talking to his gramps again.

As the food was passed around you put enough on your plate, getting coy when Bucky gave you a bun without asking. Little conversations began to build but you and Bucky stayed in your own little world, whispering to each other and laughing as if you were out on a date with no one else around.

After a while Bucky’s youngest cousin began to ask you questions, it was much more entertaining than the adults. She asked if you had any imaginary friends or dogs, everyone laughed as she rapidly fired questions.

“Do you and Bucky love each other?” the little girl asked.

“Very much so,” you giggled and leaned into Bucky, he kissed your temple.

“So…” she lost her train of thought, “do you and Bucky kiss?”

Everyone laughed and Bucky answered, “sometimes,” causing the room to awkwardly laugh.

The eight your old tucked her chin into her neck, “do you hold hands?”

You lifted your hand to show you were already holding it, bringing your other hand up to sip your wine.

“Do you have sex?”

Immediately spat out.

The white wine sprayed all over the kid’s face and food that people were eating, everyone erupted into belly laughs, including Bucky, but you stared horrified at the little girl crying in front of everyone. Your hand covered your mouth as you sat in shock, the little girl’s mother scolded her for asking that and wiped her face off with a decorative napkin.

“That was too good!” the PhD faker slapped his knee, everyone agreed except you.

You sat in horror as everyone calmed down and worked around their infected meals, you just curled up and kept your head down. The last thing you wanted was for this to become a household story that will show up next year, the embarrassment made your entire body boiling hot. You reached over and grabbed Bucky’s ice water, taking a couple gulps which also meant he looked over at you.

“No,” he whispered, “no stress hives,” he rubbed his thumb down your neck, “baby, it’s okay,” you didn’t listen as you kept drinking his water, feeling him rub your back as you tried to cool down.

Occasionally someone would laugh, all you thought about was the kid being wiped down in the nearest bathroom, it looked like a whale breached right beside her. She probably didn’t know what that meant and had run out of questions, she was so cute when asking other questions you knew she was coming from a good heart but not the right definition; she must have meant to say something else.

You kept to yourself for the rest of dinner, not really engaging in the conversations and no one talked to you anyways. Eating quickly, you finished with enough time to get the cookies out of the oven and have a moment alone in the kitchen. You found another cup and filled it with ice water, letting Bucky keep his own glass.

“Here are the cookies,” Bucky called as you walked in with the platter, “you guys, they’re amazing,” he took some of the plates away from the people who were done, “does anyone want coffee or tea?”

“Oh, Buck, I can do that,” George stood up from the head of the table, “stay here, alright?”

Bucky sat down and was quick to pluck a cookie for himself, making sure you saw him eat it and encouraging other people to eat as well. They all began to snack away, quickly looking at you with wide eyes; they were a hit!

“It’s a very old recipe,” you smiled.

“Tell them the story,” Bucky nudged your arm.

“Well,” you smoothed out your placemat in front of you, “My mom and I were moving out of this apartment complex because they were tearing it down for some…I don’t know, high rise,” you looked around to see everyone intensively listening, “and so when they were in the middle of construction my mom and I went back to check it out and it turned around there was this cookie recipe that seemed weird on paper with all the ingredients but we gave it a shot, it was old and crumpled up but you could buy it all at the store,” you took another bite, “so when we told people my mom’s friend said that it was probably used as insulation because our complex was old and people used to use news papers,” you laughed, “so we think this recipe literally came from the inside of a wall because my mom and I were in the rubble when we found it.”

“Isn't that crazy?” Bucky laughed and took another, “when I first heard it, I was like maybe it was keeping you guys warm the entire time, maybe it was next to old newspapers that kept you guys warm?” He slung his arm around you.

“Why couldn’t you guys get real insulating stuff?” one of the teen cousins asked.

“It was an old building,” you took a sip of water.

“Yeah but like,” he paused and scrunched up his face, “couldn’t they fix it, make it with modern materials?”

You thought about it though you knew the answer. You held yourself back from saying it was the cheapest building on the block but you instead smiled and said, “I’ll give you the landlord’s number, you can set him straight.”

Everyone laughed and the PhD guy chimed in, “does this recipe call for you to spray anything in it, because I don’t know if that’s a culture thing,” he chuckled, and the rest of the group laughed.

You could feel the heat spreading around your neck again, “ha, ha,” you smiled through it, “I’ll never live that down, will I?”

“It’s such a funny story, I’ll tell that one instead of that recipe one for next time,” he had the audacity to wink at you. His smile fell quickly, you hadn’t given him a face but when you looked over your shoulder to see Bucky beside you, it was clear.

If looks could kill.

********

You had called it a night a while ago, curled up in bed after finishing some work. Most of the family had left before it got too dark, not wanting to drive out of the lonesome woods in the middle of the night. Bucky stayed down for a while, of course drinking his whisky with his dad.

“It could have been worse,” you said out loud as you looked at your duffle bag sitting on the chair in the corner of the room. Nothing was perfect but you had made friends with Bucky’s family and learned a lot, they seemed to really like you and not swarm as much as you thought.

Hearing heavy footsteps coming up the stairs you listened close, smiling to yourself when you were able to label them as Bucky’s footsteps. Your back was to the door but you still closed your eyes, wanting to see what he’d do if he saw you sleeping. The door cracked open and you heard a gasp, he was drunk and needy.

His hands slipped under your curled frame and picked you up, “my sack of potatoes,” he whispered to himself and left the room, turning off the light. When you were tossed onto his bed you opened your eyes, Bucky was taking off his shirt and nice pants.

“Are you really going to-” he cut you off as he slipped under the sheets and laid right on you, just like he said he would. His face nuzzled into your chest and his arms held you close, you couldn’t help but play with his hair and watch how fast he fell asleep. “It's your birthday soon,” you whispered, “you’ll get your present soon.”

Bucky held you impossibly closer, “it’s already here, baby.”

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inkheartedwanderer · 1 year

Text

a tally on the left || s.h.

in which the most embarrassing moment of steve’s life leads him to you.

steve x fem!reader.

content: tacky leotards, steve in a crop-top, a fitness class. summer of ‘85, instant crush, girly reader (kinda). not very good i’m sorry :( more steve-centric than reader-centric

word count: 4.2k

Steve Harrington never thought the most humiliating moment of his life would come at the hands of two fifteen-year-old girls. Pleading doe eyes, empty promises of never ever bothering him ever again and his own goodwill to blame, he agreed with barely a qualm, just a deep sigh followed by El’s skinny arms around his torso and a less vehement than usual pat on the back from Max.

If he had known what he was really getting into, he wouldn’t have acceded so fast.

It’s times like this, when he’s standing in the middle of the Starcourt Mall parking lot in very short shorts and a fucking crop top -courtesy of a very amused Dustin, and that he’s wearing god knows why-, that he deeply regrets having a soft spot for the kids.

Leaning against his car, hands on his hips and duffle gym bag on the concrete by his feet, Steve waits for El and Max to get out of the vehicle with their backpacks. He’s not exactly sure why Max wants to do this in the first place, it seems precisely like the type of activity she would hate, from the outfits down to the music; but El is very excited, has been since they asked the boy to tag along a few days ago, and has apparently talked Hopper’s ear off about it to a point of near madness.

“Okay,” Steve claps his hands and motions for the girls to get closer, “here’s the plan. We walk in fast, get over with this batshit insane idea of yours, and dip. Clear?”

While El is agreeable and nods, Max rolls her eyes, a smug smile gracing her lips. Steve raises a questioning eyebrow and she snorts, “I can’t take you seriously while you’re wearing that.” Her eyes travel up and down his body, settling on the dark hair that covers his abdomen.

It’s remarkably awkward to be ogled by a child. “It was the only clean t-shirt I had left.” Steve tugs at the end of his top, a muted blue monstrosity that he will burn as soon as he gets home, and pinches the bridge of his nose with two fingers, eyes closed, willing himself to breathe deep and be a supportive friend. Babysitter. Whatever. “Let’s just do this, okay?”

El squeals with joy and laces her arm through Max’s, the girls leading the way towards the mall in their bright, colourful attires and matching leg warmers. They whisper with each other, heads close, their giggles reaching Steve, who’s a few feet behind thanking whoever was in charge of this whole mess for scheduling it so early that the parking lot is virtually empty.

We need an adult, they’d said, no one else is free. He can pinpoint now, as he replays the conversation in his head, all the times he could’ve said no. But he didn’t, because he’s an idiot (a good friend if he says so himself, but an idiot nonetheless); and now he’s crossing the upper level of Starcourt in the dead of summer, peak season in full swing, about to spend his morning doing aerobics.

The name of the small studio glows in pink neon letters, mocking Steve with the promise of cheesy music and cheesier moves. It’s a modest rectangular space that someone painted in bright coloured stripes, painful to the eyes, with wooden panel flooring and a large window wall facing -much to Steve’s dismay- the inside of the mall.

A small crowd of mostly middle-aged women is gathered on the left side of the room, all sporting leotards with tacky prints and tights. The only other man in the room is sitting down on a small bench, fastening his shoelaces. He’s very fit, all defined muscles and shiny hair, and seems delighted to be there.

Max pulls El to the far end of the studio, the designated space for everybody’s bags, and both girls giggle as they stare unabashedly at the others. Steve drops his stuff in the corner and stands next to them, grimacing. “Will you tell me why you really wanted to come here?” He’s beginning to question the girls’ motivations for this early-morning adventure.

El looks at Steve with a mischievous smile and whispers “The inst-” Her face drops and she looks at Max, frustration crossing her eyes, then sighs. “Uhm, the teacher is cute.”

“Instructor.” Max offers her friend, then turns to Steve. “He’s like, the hottest guy ever.”

Steve huffs, ignoring the not-so-hidden dig at him in her words, and crosses his arms. “What about your little boyfriends?”

“Mike is visiting his nana.” El’s hand fiddles with the yellow scrunchie holding her short hair up. She suddenly looks a little bit sad, her brown eyes clouding, eyebrows pinched together in the middle.

“I dumped Lucas last week.” The redhead shrugs nonchalantly at Steve’s bewildered look. “He forgot our seven-month anniversary. He’ll apologise soon. Meanwhile, we will enjoy the view.” She points towards the door, and Steve turns around.

The teacher can’t be much older than he is. He walks across the room with a powerful stride and too bright of a smile for this time of the morning, greeting the older, most likely regular attendees. His eyes land on the girls as he puts his stuff aside and takes his jacket off.

“Hey, you two,” he’s still beaming, a cheery tilt in his voice that makes Steve cringe, “aren’t you too young to be here?”

“We’re with him.” Max points at Steve, who gives the teacher a tight-lipped smile and a wave of acknowledgement, feeling entirely out of place.

That seemed to be enough for the guy, whose smile grew, showing two rows of perfect white teeth. “Well, alright. Some of the moves may be too intense, so just go at your own pace, alright?”

He claps twice, loudly, and motions for everyone to get into place. Like a well-oiled machine, every person knows their spot. Steve follows the girls to the back of the room, feeling all too exposed, and uncharacteristically nervous.

At the press of a button, loud, synth-heavy music starts playing from a brand-new shiny set of speakers. It’s exactly the kind of songs Steve was expecting, the ones he loves to scream in the car when no one’s watching, but not the kind he wants to jump and dance to, surrounded by complete strangers and two teenagers who will never let him live it down.

Maybe, he thinks, he can make a run for it and hide somewhere until the class is over. The backroom of Scoops Ahoy, he thinks, is perfect. If only his new co-worker and personal nightmare Robin Buckley weren’t working the morning shift today… she would pay good money, Steve’s sure, to see him right now. Possibly take a picture and send it to the local newspaper. They’ve only been working together for a little over two weeks and she’s made it her mission to keep track (literally, on her whiteboard, the words you lose earning tally after tally) of every single embarrassing moment of his life. She would have a field day with this.

Now, Steve’s always been athletic. He was a great swimmer, regularly winning races and regional championships as a preteen. Then, in high school, he moved on to basketball, and he was the star player until he graduated. He’s fought monsters with nothing but a bat and adrenaline and made it out alive.

This should be easy, right? Just moving around a little bit. That’s what he thought.

Fifteen minutes later, beads of sweat cover his forehead, light brown strands of hair falling over his eyes. Patches of perspiration stain his shirt, the cotton fabric hot against his clammy skin. To his right, El and Max are definitely going at their own pace, making up their own moves and laughing at each other.

Steve deeply regrets every single decision that’s brought him to this moment.

He doesn’t notice you, at first, too busy trying to follow the steps and not make a fool out of himself. It’s only when the instructor tells the class to grab a mat from the pile at the back of the room and sit down for the flexibility exercises that he finally sees you in his peripheral, to his left.

With your hair tied back in a ponytail that sways behind you every time you move, cascading over your shoulder when you crouch to settle on the floor; you’re a doll dressed in pale lavender and sunshine yellow, soft colours hugging your frame in all the right places as you sit down, legs apart, stretching your body towards your right, towards him.

Steve has to fight the urge to stare, failing miserably when you raise your head and your eyes lock. You smile, pretty pink lips curling upwards, turning your cheeks into round bright apples. He likes the way your nose scrunches, how you unintentionally try to hide behind your shoulder, shy under his gaze.

He can feel his face grow hotter, fire under his skin, a drum inside his ribcage. You’ve got the kind of face that makes him want to melt, the kind of smile that sends his heart into a frenzy; and he almost misses the small hi that leaves your lips. You blink up at him expectantly and stretch over the opposite leg.

Steve is frozen in place, knees bent awkwardly, a sweaty, heaving mess. But he reacts, and he hopes you keep on looking at him the same way. “Hey there.” He reaches out to touch the tip of his right foot unsuccessfully, his muscles protesting the pull, and winces.

You’re leaning forward now, your chest almost touching the floor, and your smile widens at his words. “You doing well over there?”

The boy inhales loudly and nods, a bashful smile across his lips. “I’m not very flexible, apparently.”

A chuckle floats between the two of you. “Here, let me help.” You crawl away from your mat and kneel behind him, placing one small hand on his back and another on his thigh. Your skin is warm as you press your whole body weight against him gently, helping him reach. He would complain about the sharp pain on the back of his legs, but he’s at a loss for words -it has been a long time since he felt the touch of a woman, and what once seemed as natural to him as breathing -chatting up pretty ladies, that is- is now nearly as scary as facing a hungry pack of demodogs ready to pounce at him.

"Hey, what's your name?" You whisper, close, very close to his ear, your breath hot on his nape, igniting his cheeks aflame. How he manages to mumble his answer is a mystery, but he does, and he can hear the smile in your words as you tell him your own name. A pretty one that suits you just right, he thinks.

Steve grunts when you lean back, relief washing over him as he sits up straight. It startles him, how he immediately misses your body on his body, your warmth on his skin. He wonders if you can see the effect you’ve had on him because you immediately place a gentle hand on his shoulder and ask, “Are you alright?”

“I- I think I just broke something.” A god, he wishes he doesn’t sound as profoundly mortified as he feels.

“Is this your first time?” Smiling, you sit back down on your mat and bring your tummy down to your knee. Although there’s genuine curiosity in your words, they come out low and raspy and they make Steve blush -again.

For the first time since the class started, he’s happy to be sweating, thankful for the loud music that conceals the loud thumps of his heart against his eardrums, and he prays that the flush that tints his skin is enough to camouflage his reaction. He swallows the lump in his throat, coughs, and nods. “It might be my last.”

Your giggle makes his breath hitch. "You just have to get used to it. It took me a few weeks."

Steve could tell since he first saw you you're not new to the class. As if it were muscle memory, your motions seem to flow from one to the next. It's methodical and easy; each movement calculated, almost innate. He forces himself to keep his eyes on yours and to answer with what little voice he finds. "I don't think this is my scene."

“And what is your scene, Steve?” You say his name with a lilt and a chuckle, like you’re hiding a secret and daring him to find it out. And maybe it’s the way you’re looking at him, a little bit shy and a little bit daring, or the strands of hair that have fallen out of your ponytail and now frame your face all pretty. Or maybe, just maybe, he’s too overwhelmed and not thinking straight and you’re the only girl who hasn’t looked at him like he’s a complete loser in too long, but he wants to find out.

The class is nearing its end, the music now softer, and the instructor moves on to stretching. He’s running out of time. It’s now or never. So Steve smiles that smile that used to get him both into and out of trouble, the one that’s soft and warm and a little cheeky and makes his eyes crinkle at the corners; and he rejoices in the way a deep pink blush graces your face this time.

“Are you hungry?”

You raise an eyebrow and a wide smile -certainly a little playful, maybe a little smug- stretches across your lips. “Oh, I’m starving! I haven’t had breakfast yet.” You both stand up, mats forgotten on the floor.

That smile and the obvious enthusiasm in your words take Steve by surprise, his brief surge of courage crumbling down like a house of cards. When you get used to rejection, much to his dismay (and he would never admit it), it’s easy to set your expectations low; but your eyes are shining, and all too pretty, and his smirk falters.

Two loud claps from the front of the room signal the end of the session and a collective sigh of relief makes the corners of your mouth twitch in amusement. The instructor turns off the music, and Steve is sure he would feel ecstatic about the silence, finally, if he weren’t so flustered.

“I- Well, I…” The boy can feel his brain freeze and turn into mush. He throws a thumb over his shoulder and clears his throat. “Wanna go? Together? For breakfast?” Well done, Harrington, you dingus.

Cursing Robin mentally for how her jabs have begun to seep into his own vocabulary, Steve braces himself for your rejection because why would you want to hang out with such a babbling idiot?

To his surprise, however, you simply shrug one shoulder and say, “Now?”

Steve blinks once, then twice and, as if in a trance, he finally nods. “Yeah.”

You smile again, this time a wide, pretty smile that lights up your whole face, innocent and sweet. “Sure! Let me go grab my things.”

As you turn around and head towards the back of the class, a spring in your step and your ponytail bouncing behind you, Steve lets out a deep sigh and rubs his eyes with the back of his hands. He wants to kick himself silly. His plan was to ask you out on a nice date -breakfast at the diner right outside of town, pancakes and coffee; ideally, after a shower, when he’s not sweaty and, he remembers suddenly, wearing the ugliest outfit known to man.

A cough startles Steve. He turns around to find two sets of eyes fixed on him. Max’s eyebrows are furrowed, but Steve can see the barest hint of an amused smile tugging at her lips. El is giggling, hiding behind her friend’s shoulder, and the boy would buy the coy act if he didn’t know better.

“What?” He says, curtly, tugging at his shirt with a sour face.

“Pretty.” El states, voice soft, stealing glances at you while you stuff a small pink towel into your equally pink bag.

“I know.” Says Steve, still wary about the girls’ intentions. “I-”

Max, never one to not speak her mind, cuts him off way too loudly for his taste. “Are you taking her out or what?”

Steve huffs. He plays with the strands of hair that fall flat on his forehead, too damp to stand up in his usual quiff, then gives the redhead a stern look. “You cannot talk to me like that, alright?” The boy points his index finger at the pair of friends. “Not today.”

“You’re still wearing that,” Max says, waving her hand lazily at his outfit, “and I’m still not taking you seriously.”

“Ungrateful children…” Steve complains, throwing his head back with a whine.

“So, are you taking her out or what?”

“Yes, I am!”

“Then what about us?”

Steve’s head snaps back down and stares at the girls with raised eyebrows. Unbelievable. “What about you?”

“You said you’d drive us back home.” El giggles, her arm wrapped tightly around Max’s.

The boy’s mouth drops. “But… I can’t.”

“Is everything okay?” Your voice makes Steve turn around with a jump, and Max and El chuckle under their breaths. You’ve put on a soft-looking jacket and your bag rests at your feet, and you look lovely.

Steve grimaces. “Everything is fine, I just…”

You raise one eyebrow, eyes jumping from the boy to the two girls who now snicker unabashedly behind him. "I can just go home if you're busy or something-"

"No!" Steve waves his hands frantically in front of your face. "No! I just-"

Steve is certain his poor neurons have never ever worked this fast -not when Nancy pointed a gun right at his face, not when Billy Hargrove beat his ass-, yet so slow.

It feels like a movie reel in motion in his head, Steve travels the mall mentally to find a place to keep the kids entertained, just for an hour or two.

And just like a revelation, a miracle, an oasis in the desert, the light bulb turns on and he's never been so grateful for his job before.

He smiles. You smile back. Max and El take a step back. "Do you ladies like ice cream?"

The way from the studio on the top floor, down the mechanical stairs and across the food court to Scoops Ahoy takes your little group a dreadfully long time. For Steve, it’s never-ending. He’s not used to feeling self-conscious, quite the opposite, actually, but he’s struggling to cover his midriff with his duffel bag.

Steve leads the way, rushing towards the stairs, trying to avoid the families and groups of tweens that arrive early, hiding from the scorching late June sun inside the cool shade of the mall.

He sees Lucas Sinclair’s little sister, Erica, sitting on the steps across the big fountain and tries desperately to cover his face with his hand and stepping up the pace. She can be mean, has been mean before -when Robin refused to give her more free samples of cherry ice cream or whenever Lucas walks by, so Steve doesn’t want to risk being seen.

You’re happily chatting with the girls, who are bombarding you with questions about your outfit (from JCPenney) and your bag (Sears), where you live (on the other side of town, near the library), if you attend this class often (every weekend like clockwork).

It’s almost cute, Steve thinks, how El’s eyes shine with curiosity when you answer, and the genuine smile that has replaced Max’s smirk. Maybe, if his plan doesn’t work, you won’t mind them coming along.

When you finally reach the ice cream parlour, the mall is buzzing with energy. The calmness from earlier this morning has been disturbed by loud voices and laughter, babies crying and kids running around.

There’s a line already at the counter, and Steve can see his co-worker, Robin, a sullen look on her face, handing a chocolate cone to a young girl. He doesn’t really want to do this, because he’s certain her mockery will be endless.

But when he turns around, you’re standing there, so beautiful even after that workout, happy and patient, and he really, really wants to take you out. You’re looking at him with a smile so big your eyelashes touch. There they are again, those red apple cheeks of yours. He could just take a bite.

So Steve Harrington swallows his pride, squares his shoulders and takes one step ahead. "Wait here." He tells you. “You two, follow me. And behave. Please.”

El and Max follow him into the shop, ignoring the line and the objections -and threats- of those waiting.

“No-fucking-way.” Robin Buckley is already bending over laughing when Steve reaches the counter. Her eyes are settled on his top, a hand over her mouth to perfunctorily conceal her amusement. “Is this a dream, Harrington? Please, don’t pinch me. I love it.”

“Don’t say another word.” He pleads, brown eyes wide and desperate, one finger up in weak command. “I need a favour.”

Robin bites her lips, torn between her need to cackle as loudly as her lungs will allow her, and the pity she feels at how utterly hopeless the boy in front of her looks. She coughs, barely hiding her delight. “I’m all ears.”

“See that girl over there?” Steve turns around, waving discreetly at your figure while you look up at the Scoops Ahoy sign, amused. When Robin, who’s leaning on the counter, hums, but remains quiet otherwise, he goes on. “I’m taking her out. Like, right now.”

“Wow. You got a date with her wearing that? Right.” Robin takes a step back and grabs a cone from the glass display case by the cash register. She resumes her duties, scooping ice cream for the unhappy customers behind Steve with an even unhappier expression herself. “Comedy is not your forte, dingus.”

Steve rubs his face, sighs deeply and walks behind the counter. “I’m not joking, we’re having breakfast together.” He waves at you when you make eye contact with him, your smile perennial, your eyes bright. His legs are shaking, willing him to run towards you.

“And what’s this favour you need? Do you want me to go with you? Help you not mess up, Stevie boy?” She snorts, and so does Max from her spot, sitting on a boat-shaped booth.

“Ha-ha, funny, Buckley, really funny. No, I need you to keep an eye on these two.”

His younger friends smile, all fake innocence and girlish charm.

“You want me to babysit.” Robin deadpans, matter-of-factly.

“No.” Steve grimaces. “I mean, yes, kinda. But this is an emergency. Please?”

Robin looks at him, up and down, once, then twice. The boy can see the gears in her brain turning and plotting, and he knows nothing good will come from it. She stays silent as she grabs two cones and places them neatly on the metal holders, and as she takes two big scoops of chocolate brownie ice cream (Steve’s favourite, he notices with a sour look) and sticks a little plastic spoon on each one.

“What’s in it for me?” She finally says, placing a maraschino cherry on top of one of the scoops and looking at her work with a pleased smile.

“Anything.”

“Okay.” Robin takes the cones and hands them over to Steve, who looks at her, bewildered. “You’ll do the weekend morning shift the rest of the summer. Wait here.”

She walks into the backroom, leaving a perplexed Steve behind, and comes back shortly after holding her Polaroid camera and grinning maliciously. She’s too quick for Steve, the camera flashes before he even has time to react. The white paper rolls out from the front, and she snatches it and starts shaking it eagerly.

In any other circumstance, he would fight for that picture, he would tear it to pieces and burn them so nobody could ever see the Steve Harrington wearing a sweaty, ugly blue top.

But this is the nicest Robin’s ever been to him, the first time she’s agreed to help him without complaining, and Steve is not going to wait for her to start, so he shakes his head, still puzzled, and slowly walks back towards the door.

“The rest of the summer, Harrington!” Her voice travels across the store.

Getting up early every day for the next two months to work at an overrated ice cream parlour is almost as bad as getting up early on a Saturday to take two teenagers to an aerobics class. But your face lights up when you see the ice cream, and you thank him earnestly when he gives you the one with the bright red cherry on top that matches your cheeks.

Even though he knows she doesn’t like him, and even though he’s still not sure he likes her that much either, Steve turns around and gives his co-worker a thumbs up in gratitude. He smiles when he sees her take out her blackboard and draw a thin, black tally on the left.

🌷 🌷 🌷

a/n: i’m baaaaaaaaack. this is probably one of my worst stories (i like my original idea, but i’ll admit i wasn’t sure where to go with it) but i am a bit rusty and need to fall back into it.

i’ve missed writing so much, but i needed to get out of the house really badly. i hope you don’t hate this one. as always, likes, comments and reblogs are welcome and appreciated. much love!

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #fluff #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you

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