#i was trying to work on it this week because its spring break for me rn but i kept forgetting and i got classes again tomorrow so :( | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

marblehazel · 6 months ago

Text

Sitter

dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Part One | Part Two: Deeper

You’re spending spring break alone at home while your father is five thousand miles away when all of sudden, you fall sick. Enter Joel Miller: your father’s buddy, sent by him to check on you.

Tags: Explicit MDNI, no outbreak, age gap, no mother in the picture but your father has a named girlfriend (sorry), no bra household, dry humping, footjob while watching SpongeBob, oral (m and f receiving)

Word count: 6.8k

“Dad,” your voice is hoarse like it has just come out from a dying goose, and you spend the next five seconds trying to clear your throat.

“So like, I’m… sick, kinda, but it’s not really bad, so—” A train of coughs that feels like they are going to tear your lungs apart. “—sorry about that. It’s nothing. Don’t worry too much, don’t even think about it. I just wanted to let you know.” Another coughing fit. “Okay. Have fun, I love you.”

You click your phone screen and let the voicemail find its way to your father’s ancient block of telecommunication. It’s 11 p.m. for you, 5 a.m. in Tuscany, you calculate with your fingers. You might be wrong. Either way, your father is probably asleep. He had been away for a couple of days with his girlfriend Amy for her nephew's wedding. And they plan to spend another week there, because it’s their anniversary, and Amy had always wanted to go to Italy.

“Will you be okay?” your father asked, apologetic. He leaned onto your bedroom door’s frame while you were unpacking your backpack.

“Yeah, Dad, what am I, eight? Go.” you laughed lightheartedly.

“It’s just you came down here from school and then I go, you know. I wish you’d said yes and come with us.”

“And third-wheeling you and Amy for ten days?” you giggled. “Dad, it’s okay. Come on. We’ll still have the weekend together when you come back.”

You heard Amy call for your father from downstairs, followed by a question about his dress shirt. You grinned, gesturing for him to go.

“Me and Amy will make sure the fridge is full, okay?” he says, voice fading as he steps down the stairs. You shook your head. You’ve survived on dry ramens and day-old coffees in college. You would be okay. Right?

Loud buzzer sound. The game show on the TV you put on to distract yourself from the fever is not doing a good job. You try to focus, but the noises coming out of it sound muffled, and the colors are just so bright and saturated that they make your head spin. You click on mute before slamming the remote on the coffee table, and it lands safely on some crumpled Kleenex. A thermometer is sitting next to the box, the tiny display screen blank. It’s broken, and you make a mental note to scold your father for always keeping faulty things around the house as if he’s going to fix them. A few bottles of pills you fished out of your father’s medicine cabinet to at least ease your aching muscles are toppled next to a half-empty Nyquil Nighttime Relief bottle with its cap screwed but crooked.

You second-guess your decision to let your father know that you’re unwell. But again, he hates surprises, so letting him know that he might find your rotting corpse in front of his TV when he gets back is, perhaps, doing him a favor.

It’s dark in the living room, and the leather couch is sticking to your sweaty leg. You should probably put sweatpants and a hoodie on instead of biker shorts and a stretched out shirt that looks more like a rag than a proper clothing item. But climbing the stairs now? No, thank you.

You shift your body, trying to find the best position to fall asleep in since the wrong angle seems to block your nasal passage. A groan leaves your throat when you can’t pull the fleece blanket to cover your body. You find out you are sitting on both ends of it. To hell with it.

You blink slowly. The Nyquil seems to start working. Can’t sneeze or cough if you’re knocked out, you think. You close your eyes, the colors from the TV somehow find their way in and flash washed-out red, white, yellow behind your eyelids. You’re too tired to reach for the remote.

Maybe you’ll feel better when you wake up.

You jolt when something cold makes contact with your forehead. Within microseconds, you yeet the thing away hysterically, hitting yourself in the process. The thing flies and lands on the wooden floor with a wet, thwap sound.

“Easy, easy,”

If it was just a little bit not so sudden and confusing and designed to constrict your blood vessels until your organs fail, you would have yelped. You nearly snap your neck trying to find the source of the voice, and your tense shoulders fall as quickly as they were raised when you notice the familiar face belonging to a broad frame standing next to the couch.

It’s Joel Miller.

Of course it’s him. Your father likely has him on speed dial.

He and your father go way back. Went to the same school, crushed on the same girls, hit the same bong, and so on. They were even in a band together. Your father has pictures of them from years ago, with greasy hair, earrings, bass and drumsticks in their hands. Cringe.

Well, just your father. Not Joel though.

You haven’t seen him in like, what, a year? And yet he looks good as ever. Well, Joel has always looked good his whole life. When you saw the pictures of him from high school you thought, Oh Fuck, I Would Totally Have A Crush On This Guy. And then you had to sit in silence and ponder, because, well, you are having a crush on this guy. Sort of. Maybe.

He bends over to pick up the thing you just yeeted on the floor, which is apparently a washcloth, and dunk it in a basin on the side table, which is now clean from all the stuff that was previously there.

“Joel,” you chirp. “Hi.”

“Hey.” he smiles as he squeezes the washcloth. Beads of water come trickling down his knuckles back to the basin, gleaming in front of the still-turned-on TV. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. What time is this?” you straighten up, rummaging around the blanket to find your phone to no avail.

“One-thirty. Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Your old man asked me to check on you." He folds the cloth in two and dab it before stepping closer and pressing it against your forehead, nice and cold. His other hand supports your head from the back, basically cradling your skull.

“Your front door was unlocked when I came in.” says Joel, as if you are capable of digesting any kind of information at the moment. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “And sorry my Dad made you come here. You didn’t have to, it’s not so bad.”

“Come on, it’s only a ten minute drive. ‘S okay. I checked your forehead. Not too bad, but still a fever, y’know. You took the Nyquil?”

The thought of Joel Miller touching your forehead with his palm in the dark while you were asleep somehow makes the neurons in your brain stop interlinking for a second. Were you sleeping with your mouth open the whole time? You knew you did fall asleep that way since you couldn’t breathe through your nose. Man.

“I did.” you nod, shaking the thought away. You feel your lungs tighten, though. Another coughing fit incoming.

“Good,” Joel presses his hand to your forehead again as if trying to make sure the wet washcloth is properly glued onto your face. The soft pressure disrupts your composure and you cough like a machine gun submerged in a container full of Elmer’s glue, hacking up thick mucus up your throat. Joel leaves your side with hurried steps and, within seconds, somehow has a paper cup under your chin for you to spit into.

You try to grab the cup, flustered, but he doesn’t let go and instead helps you sit up straight, patting your back.

“Spit.” he says as you wheeze with phlegm in your mouth like an imbecile. You awkwardly grab his wrist for support and spit the mucus out into the cup. Soon you’ll realize how foolish it is to grab someone’s wrist using the same hand you used to cover your mouth while coughing. The string of saliva takes a ridiculously long time to break free from your lips, but Joel is unfazed. He takes a glance at the mucus, likely checking the color and consistency.

“Thanks,” you blink rapidly, still processing.

“You wanna go to urgent care?” Joel asks.

“Nu-uh,” you shake your head. “I’m okay, I promise. I feel a lot better already.”

“It’s probably just a bug,” he pats your back again before walking to the kitchen to dispose of the cup. “How long has it been going on?”

You wait until he comes back because you don’t think you can speak loud enough for him to be able to hear you from the kitchen without tearing your throat apart. Joel thinks you didn’t hear him the first time and is about to repeat his question when you say, “Uh, it got progressively worse last night.” you realize how serious that sounds and quickly add, “But not like, worse worse. I mean, compared to,”

“And before that?”

“Just a scratchy throat.”

He looks like he’s mentally taking notes with arms folded in front of his stomach. It’s the first time that night you take a full look at him under the glow of the muted TV. You can’t really make the colors out, but he’s wearing a dark t-shirt under an unbuttoned flannel shirt and jeans. He’s keeping his beard kind of thin compared to the last time you saw him, but still the same, well-tended mustache that makes a strong presence over his lips. You can’t help but notice the graying strands of hair that stick out among his dark, messy hair, complimenting him so well. You are pretty sure the ratio between light to dark hair has been shooting up this year. You like it.

And his eyes. They’re rich, and dark, and the fact that he furrows half of the time that it creates permanent dents between his eyebrows just makes him ridiculously hotter.

The mucus factory must be working overtime tonight because you can feel the slight slippery feeling of lubrication where you’re sitting. Fucking stupid, you think, read the room.

All of sudden, a lightning flashes, lighting up your surroundings before the grumbling roar of thunder follows through. For a second, you can make out the shapes and silhouettes of everything in the room like a photograph. Joel fits rightly in the left third of this main piece in your mind exhibition. You wish you could take screenshots with your eyes and keep it to admire later.

Joel glances out the window. Heat lightning reveals the blobs of clouds outside, and the strong wind is starting to blow debris to rattle the windows. He shifts his focus on you again. “Did you eat?”

“I’m okay,” you shrug. Storm is coming, Joel better go home before it gets worse.

He chuckles. “Yes or no?”

That chuckle tickles something deep inside of you. You smile shyly. “Yes, Joel. I’m okay.”

Joel stares at you, and you are pretty sure he senses that you did not, in fact, eat dinner. “I’m starvin’, actually,” he gets up and takes his flannel shirt off, and then tosses it on the couch before making his way towards the kitchen. You scream internally at the sight of his biceps like a deranged fangirl.

“Mind if I take a look in the fridge?” he yells while opening the fridge door. Just being polite. He knows your father will let him dismantle the house and take the pieces home if he wants to.

You free the tangled blanket from around your legs, only noticing now how under your old, sweat-dampened, Marlin Club shirt, your nipples are as erect as fireman’s poles. Was it the temperature, Joel, or both, you can’t conclude.

Joel whistles when he finds that the fridge is full. He grabs a can of beer and pops it open, studying the contents of the fridge and thinking of what he can cook for you as he gulps the beer down.

You follow him to the kitchen, jump to sit on the kitchen island as Joel grabs some produce off the fridge and sets them next to you. He looks at you, blinks a couple of times, then occupies himself with the food cabinet over the counter. You try to be helpful by unwrapping the basil and cherry tomatoes.

“So, how’s school?” Joel breaks the silence as he washes his hands. “And don’t just say okay, please.”

“You got me there,” you laugh. “Nothing really amusing, really.”

Then a few more superficial, classic-catching-up questions while you both prepare the pesto. Joel asks about the trip to Italy, how your father mentioned proposing to Amy soon, what do you think about that. You ask about his brother Tommy, work, and the average cost to renovate a room, to which Joel answers in detail really nicely. Then come the usual do-you-remember-when stories, melting down the strange and awkward atmosphere between the two of you. Laughters fill up the room. It’s fun and familiar.

“Did you remember when you used to call me Uncle Joel?” Joel sneers as he tosses a pan to the sink. “You used to be so nice and polite.”

“I was like six!” You snorted. “And you can’t even pay me to call you that again, Joel.”

Then, the once-your-pops-and-I anecdotes. You’ve heard some of them from your own father’s mouth, but you still listen to Joel’s versions eagerly anyway.

At one point, you start to cough again so Joel instructs you to just sit down on the counter. You don’t complain—it means you can just sit back and watch him from the back and imagine how it would feel to run your fingers through his hair.

When Joel stirs the pasta with the pesto sauce, the weather has gone full-blown insane out there.

“You should stay the night,” you try to sound as nonchalant as possible. His presence is sending arrays of erroneous signals to your reproductive organs, which will most likely result badly if he stays, but how can you let him drive home in this kind of weather?

Joel hands you a fork and pushes a plate of fusilli for you to eat. “Eh, we’ll see,” he shrugs. “I don’t mind drivin’ through a storm, but I can’t just leave you alone if you don’t feel well.”

“Dad told me you got a folded chair smashed through your windshield last summer.” You take a bite, the thick sauce coats your tastebuds and you groan in satisfaction, even though you can’t really taste it to the fullest because of your stuffy nose.

“Oh, yeah, that.” Joel chuckles. “I was lucky it aimed for the shotgun.”

He eats standing up across you, one elbow on the counter. When you both finish the meal, he takes your plate and starts washing the dishes. You tell him to do it later, and then offer your help, and he says no to both. You insist on drying the dishes anyway, standing side by side with him.

After the very late dinner, the two of you retreat to the living room. Joel asks you to take some medication again and you decline, stating that you feel better already.

“Headstrong, ain’t ya?” Joel sighs. “Okay, sleep then. Wanna sleep in your bed?”

“Not really sleepy,” you shake your head. “Feel free to take Dad’s bed, by the way. You have work in the morning, right?”

“Nah, I’m alright by the couch.” Joel scoots to make room for his legs and lies on his back, groaning like every other old person when they finally get to be horizontal. His feet are dangling on one side, his head on the opposite armrest. You take the old recliner that doesn’t even recline anymore near Joel’s feet, facing both the TV and Joel at an angle.

The TV is still on, showing the same game show but already on a later season. You unmute it and watch it together with Joel for five minutes before you realize that none of you has laughed yet, and you ask Joel if he wants to watch a movie instead. He says why not.

You open a streaming service and browse for movies on the home page. Joel probably likes action and other classic old man genre types. You pretend to read some of the summaries and see if Joel perks up at one of them, but he doesn’t seem to really care about the TV.

“I don’t know what to watch,” you admit. “Do you wanna pick the movie?”

Truth is, Joel can’t give a single shit about no goddamn movie. He’s been distracted by so many thoughts in his mind. But he gestures for you to scroll back up anyway. “Let’s see the trending ones.”

You stop at a tally of newly released and currently popular films at the top of the page, giving Joel a chance to read about them before moving to the next one.

“This one looks excitin’.” Joel points at the screen. The poster shows a man in classic Viking attire, staring intently at the viewer with striking blue eyes. Some kind of pelt is draped over his shoulders. His hands are on top of each other, resting on a sword handle, the blade facing the earth. Dried mud and blood are splattered over his face and armor. The Conquest, it says. You don’t recognize the actors listed. The summary says something about revenge, passion, blood, power, blah blah. You click play.

The movie opens with a battle scene. The movie looks like it runs out of lighting budget, and you need to squint to be able to tell what they are actually doing. Nothing can be heard except grunts and blades clashing. You look over at Joel to see his expression, but he’s looking at you. He quickly averts his gaze back to the screen.

Twenty minutes pass, and none of you are really paying attention to the plot. Not until the main guy enters a wooden tub filled with steaming hot water with his asscheeks out, and then a woman enters the scene with nothing but a thin white veil covering her body. She drops the cloth and joins him. The warm light from the torches is highlighting her breasts.

“Woah,” you look at Joel again, but he says nothing, but you can see his Adam’s apple moving awkwardly.

They kiss, and he grabs her bosom with his humongous palms and knead them. Then he buries his face between them, with the woman kissing the top of his head. After what feels like a millenia, he lifts her lower half from the water, and then puts her down to sit on the edge of the tub before performing cunnilingus. She moans.

You start to feel a pool of heat brewing inside of you. This feels invasive of their privacy, somehow, with no soundtrack added, just fire crackling and water splashing and erotic moaning.

Joel clears his throat. “Uh, maybe we shouldn’t watch this,”

“You’re the one who picked the movie.” you say, eyes fixated on the screen.

“Well, it didn’t say nothin’ about eatin’ a lady out in the summary.”

He reaches for the remote and turns the TV off, leaving only the sound of rain hitting your window in your eardrums.

“Hey,” you whine. “That’s not nice. I didn’t say yes.”

“It’s late. Go to sleep.” Joel folds his arms over his chest, partly staying warm, partly because he’s so flustered he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He then closes his eyes, knowing damn well he’s far from feeling tired let alone fall asleep.

“We’re both adults anyways,” you mutter, but Joel doesn’t move. He’s probably actually tired.

Your gaze is affixed on him. He surely doesn’t look like he’s sleeping in peace right now but he’s still handsome nonetheless. His old shirt is a tad bit too tight around his biceps. You can see the protruding veins beautifully decorating his arms and hands. His legs are slightly crossing with one ankle on top of another, and his breath is steady. He’s gorgeous.

In your wildest dreams, you would jump to straddle Joel, and he would grab your hips and fuck you to death. Is it bad that your immune system is fighting one of the worst battles in your life, and yet your number one priority is somehow to get laid, by this man specifically? It’s both excruciating and foolish.

The movie you just saw doesn’t help, either. In fact, it makes everything worse. Your mind keeps wandering back to it, the way the man eats the woman out, and then back to Joel, imagining the top of his head would look like when he eats you out. Fuck. You know that if you don’t get to touch this man in the next 30 minutes, you are either going to combust or burn everything in the vicinity.

You close your eyes, try to do the mindfulness practice you once saw in a magazine. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. You repeat “Release me from this earthly desire” in your head like a rookie buddhist wizard trying to cast a spell with a broken wand. You ball your fists in your lap so hard the joints start to hurt.

It’s not working.

Your mind keeps wandering back to different scenarios, different positions, different spots around the house. Low grunts, fingertips pressing your sides, tongue between your lips…

You can’t do it anymore. You need release. You need to at least be able to feel something, a little reward for your throbbing clit. Trying your best to be as casual as possible, you pull your folded legs closer to your body, your left heel even closer to your biker-short-covered cunt, and shift your body weight on it.

The pleasure that has been building up there bursts like a balloon. You sigh.

There are two things that Joel is not: young, and oblivious.

Oh, he is totally aware of what’s happening. You are not doing a good job trying to be subtle. From the non-stop staring, to the constant fidgeting, to the borderline sexual sighs, to the hard nipples, Joel knows you are going through something that is completely different from just being ill.

And he totally understands. He’s been there, done that. There was a time when his back wasn’t hurting and his face hadn’t been ‘graced’ with crow’s feet and age spots yet, when his hormones were at all-time high and his blood liked nothing more than flowing to his cock recklessly at the slightest inducement. He understands what you are going through.

So when you start grinding yourself onto your left heel followed by soft moans, he is not exactly surprised, just mostly in awe of your debauched audacity.

That is too much, even for him. He clears his throat, hoping you’d catch the hint and stop for good. But you don’t, and your eyes are closed and your eyebrows are knitted together in concentration, and your hips are moving slowly, sensually, chasing something, the sight of it stirs something up in his guts.

It is vulgar, and most importantly indecent in every way, but Joel can feel his own arousal creeping up no matter how hard he tries to convince himself that it is not happening.

He calls your name. Your body responds faster than the critically thinking part of your brain and you stop like you just got cursed by Medusa.

You can physically feel your heart drop to your ass. Your neck moves stiffly to find his eyes like a broken animatronic. “Yeah?” you croak.

“Do you think I don’t know what you’re doin’?”

You blink. Deny? Act stupid? Admit? Deny, deny. Wait, deny? No, act stupid.

“What… Do you mean?” you say, and you realize that you chose the dialogue option that actually sounds the dumbest.

Joel clicks his tongue. “Might as well hump me if you want it that much.”

Wait, what? Your eyes light up. “Really?”

Joel stares at you in genuine perplexity before lifting one hand up to massage his temples. He takes a deep breath, and in the softest way possible—like telling a puppy she can’t eat electronic parts—sighs, “No.”

“Oh,” you cover your mouth. “I thought you meant—“

“Yeah, yeah. My bad.” he sighs again, sounding significantly more frustrated. He then uses his hands to support himself to a sitting position, composing himself.

Silence. You don’t dare to look at Joel, but your cunt keeps pulsing like a metal detector. You understand that the beeping—desire—will not die down unless you get the valuable artefact from the bronze age—Joel—in your hand. Is this time to be bold and brash?

“Joel,” you call, and you can swear that was not a sober decision, but the stage curtains have been pulled back, and you are pushed to the stage to play your part.

“Hm?”

“What if… I hump you anyway?” you stand up, and your knees are slightly buckling but you act tough and bold regardless.

Joel’s jaws opens and stays slightly agape for a while before he says, “That fever is really messin’ with your brain, huh? Sit down.”

“You’re bricked up, Joel.” you accuse. You don’t actually know for sure since Joel keeps a hand on his lap to cover his crotch, but Joel gulps. Gotcha.

“Unrelated to you.” he hisses in defense.

You scoff.

“Joel, please,” you grouse, voice cracking and desperate. “I want this so bad.” you whisper as you take slow, threatening steps towards Joel until your crotch is not even an inch away from his knee. “I want you so bad.”

“This ain’t right, kid.” Joel puts a hand on the outer side of your arm, and it’s worth pointing out that he’s shaking. “You know that.”

Joel doesn’t tell you that he’s battling demons in his head, and he’s currently losing. A million impulses are catapulting burning boulders onto the gate of his conscience, and all he got is one bleeding, sickly troop with a chipped wooden sword. But he puts his best stern expression despite the fact that his body is betraying him.

He could leave now. Push you away. Clear his head. Come back later. Or not come back at all.

But he knows he doesn’t want to. He can hear his blood rushing and his heart singing battle cry. Not to mention his cock, hard and nearly burns a hole through his jeans.

A long pause. You want to push him further, but you know you don’t need to. The black marlin printed on your shirt does a worthless attempt at distracting Joel from your hard nipples, putting him into a trance.

Joel takes a deep breath. He knows he has lost. “You can help yourself, that’s all,” he nods, more trying to convince himself rather than talking to you. “Just to make you shut up and get rest. That’s it.”

That’s an unenthusiastic barf-colored green light, but it is a green light nonetheless.

You put your hands on Joel’s shoulder before putting your left knee next to his right leg and lower yourself down onto his thigh, while your other knee rests in front of his crotch and presses onto his raging hard-on. Your cunt pulsates in pleasure upon contact, and you let out a gasp. Joel anxiously places his hands on your sides to keep you steady, one thumb ‘accidentally’ brushing your nipple, earning a whine. You lock gaze with him, and start moving.

The friction sends buzzes up your head. You make each grind count, and every single one feels like heaven despite the layers of fabric between your cunt and his beefy thigh. Moans and Joel’s name spill from your lips indeliberately, and he tightens his grip on your body until his fingertips turn white as if you would fly away with a gust of wind if he doesn’t. If you weren’t so absorbed in your own pleasure, you would’ve noticed how shallow and rapid Joel’s breath has become. It turns him on watching you getting off because of him, using him, how your eyelids flutter and your pupils are having a hard time staying in place.

Joel wants to break free from his denim, badly. While he consciously thought, planned, and stated that he’s doing what he’s doing only for your satisfaction and be done with it, it isn’t exactly nice having your kneecap pushing button-flies shaped caves on his crotch repeatedly. Especially not when his cock, which probably has its own brain, has been begging to be taken care of, too.

You, on the other side, are having the best time of your life. As your climax is building up in your south region, you smile at Joel, who smiles back. His hand leaves your ribs briefly to brush the hair that is sticking to your sweaty forehead away from your face.

“That feels good, doesn’t it?”

You nod weakly. “So good, Joel, so good,”

For a moment there you consider kissing him. His face is merely two inches away from you, and he looks ravishing, all sweaty and blushing. And how you just want to have your tongue inside his mouth, his lips all over yours sloppily. But that feels like overstepping boundaries, like a whole uncharted area you can’t cross, spreading the flu aside. You opt to put your chin on his shoulder instead, trying to focus on your orgasm.

“I want to see your face,” Joel says in your ear, his beard grazing your cheek. Takes you three whole seconds to process that, and when you do, it tingles your core. Before you can answer, he continues, “You’re so beautiful like this.”

You pull back, meeting his gaze with flushing cheeks. You don’t know what to say, and maybe you don’t have to. You continue to be dumbfounded when Joel stops your motion and helps you to stand up.

“Hold on,” he says as he undoes the buttons of his jeans. “I need to take these off.”

He quickly kicks the jeans off his legs, revealing a dark gray boxer briefs under. A wet patch adorns the bulge right in the center. He then manspreads and gestures for you to come back onto him, to which you comply. “C’mere,” he says, “I need to feel you on me.”

You straddle him, positioning your cunt right on his cock, and on everybody and their mother, it feels good. No, it feels right. Joel lets out a groan that cuts into a gasp when you start to grind. “Fuck, yeah,” he grabs your ass, helping you settle on a rhythm.

The contour of Joel’s cock, albeit still covered by the fabric of his boxer briefs, touches every last nerve ending of your cunt in such a different way that his thigh did. You pick your pace up, getting the pleasure to build up again.

“Joel, I’m gonna come,” you moan, voice quivering. You rake your fingers through his hair, your noses almost touching.

“Keep going, baby,” he says through a smile. “Don’t hold back. You sound so pretty.”

The encouragement is shooting up fireworks in your lower belly, and you start making more sounds. You’re close. So close.

“Makin’ me so hard all night, you,”

You whimper as you come, hips convulsing. Time slows down, and it feels like your cunt is pulled towards a strong gravitational force within your own body as you are sinking down a quicksand, all while pleasure forces your brain to reboot itself.

“That’s it, that’s it. There you go. You’re so good.”

Joel holds the back of your head while you’re laying on his chest, limp. When you pull yourself away from him, he presses a palm to your cheek, smiling. “Attagirl.”

When you finally gather yourself, you pull away from Joel, leaving a huge wet spot on where you just had your cunt on, and scoot to the spot next to him on the couch. You are about to lean onto his shoulder when he stands up and picks his jeans up from the floor. He sees the wet trail of arousal you left on the fabric in the thigh area and snickers.

“Damn, kid, you’re practically a snail,” he points to it. “Poor thing.”

You wince. “What are you doing?”

“Puttin’ my pants on?” he answers in the exact same tone, fixing the position of his boxer briefs.

“But you haven’t even come yet!” you protest. “What the fuck? Take them off!”

“That’s not what I agreed to, remember? I help you come so you’ll shut up and sleep. You’ve come, now shut up, and go to sleep.” he lays it out like basic math while you press the base of your palms onto your eyelids, confounded.

“You’re a sick person,” you shake your head, and then point to his crotch. “You’re literally still hard.”

“That has nothin’ to do with anythin’.”

You stare at the open space, like you’re trying to break the fourth wall in a sitcom. Can you believe this guy?

“Joel, your line is ‘I’m going to fuck you so hard.’ Now let’s start again from the top.”

Joel, who’s struggling trying to fit his bulge back in the jeans without hurting it, stops fussing with his button-fly shortly to push your head back—softly—to the couch. “Sleep,” he drags his palm over your face to close your eyelids.

“Joooooel,”

“Your line is ‘Yes, Joel, good night.’”

“Yes, Uncle Joel, good night, Uncle Joel,” you mock as you swiftly jump from the couch and pull his jeans down to his ankle and force him to step out of it. You hear Joel yelling hey, hey, hey as he tries to simultaneously fight you and not hurt you. You throw the pair of pants across the room with all your might and it lands with a loud thud.

“What are your pants made of, steel?”

“What is wrong with you?” he takes a step to fetch it, but you stand up and push him back to the couch. Joel is for sure going easy on you, because if he wanted to, he could definitely launch you through the walls. Instead, he just accepts his fate and stares at the ceiling, defeated.

“Nobody sleeps with jeans on, Joel,” you reach for the TV remote again. “Now let’s watch something again and then sleep.”

“We’re not watching the viking movie again.”

“We’re not watching the viking movie again,” you repeat. “We’re watching SpongeBob.”

Joel groans.

“What, you don’t like SpongeBob?”

“Not my era,” Joel says. “I watched Gumby. Tom and Jerry. The Muppet Show.”

“No wonder you act like the heckling old guys.”

“I don’t, but, sure,”

“Oh, you’re more like the eagle. So serious all the time.”

Joel rolls his eyes. You play the first episode of the first season of SpongeBob Squarepants, and the familiar intro begins. You take a look at Joel in the corner of your eyes, how he has one of his forearm on the top of his head, bicep almost as thick as his head. The other hand is resting on his thigh, and you can tell that he’s at least still half-hard. You wonder how he looks under those boxer briefs.

On the screen, Squidward and Mr. Krabs are climbing a post with a sea of raging anchovies under them. Joel’s lips slightly turn upward. Ha, eat that, Mr. Old Cartoon Head.

You shift so that you’re on your back, legs resting on Joel’s lap. He gives you a look, but doesn’t say anything. Minutes later, totally absorbed with SpongeBob pestering his neighbor with a reef blower, he has a hand on your ankle, caressing it without much thought.

They would have written about you in a Greek tragedy the way you’re consumed by greed and lust. When your toes stroke Joel’s bulge, totally by accident and not precalculated at all, you pretend like you’re captivated by the TV. It’s hard and you can definitely discern the ridge of possible veins and the head of his cock.

Joel exhales, sounding so done and tired. “I know you were going to do this,”

But he doesn’t push you away. And that excites you.

You don’t say anything or look away from the screen, but you keep rubbing the outline of his cock, which is now more visible and grows slightly larger, with the space between your big and index toe. Your brain automatically puts the ice clinking in a vase while SpongeBob is getting dry under Sandy’s treedome as background noise to amplify Joel’s restrained grunts.

You like this. You like having Joel wrapped around your finger. Soon after, you withdraw your legs and sit up, causing him to open his eyes over the sudden halt.

You stare at him, bold. “Would you like my mouth?”

Joel nods.

You don’t even wait for a second. Joel helps you take off his boxer briefs, the length of his hard-on springs out like jack-in-the-box. You admire how it looks, how the tip is totally sticky and glistening, before lowering your tongue. Joal lets out a sound akin to a whimper as you let your saliva ooze down the underside of his cock and quickly retrieve it into your mouth using your tongue. He tastes slightly salty, like sweat. And if you could smell better you’d see how hypnotizing his scent is, like calling you to stick his cock down your throat until the world collapses.

“That’s it,” Joel says, out of breath. His cock is now grazing the soft wall of your cheek, and he wonders how experienced you actually are because you definitely don’t act like an amateur. You use one elbow to support yourself, the other one taking turns massaging his balls and the base of his cock.

The only downside of this is that Joel can’t really look at your face. He craves the sight of you, how your lips are wrapped around his cock, and how your cheek is bulging like a squirrel full of him. One of his hands crawls up your back under your shirt, rubbing it before it finds a new target: your breasts. He kneads on one, thumb flicking the bud. You can’t help but moan and take him deeper, sending vibrations from your throat to his cock.

Joel knows he won’t last much longer, and he would very much like to keep this thing going as long as possible. So he asks you to stop, averting your disappointment by lifting up your shirt and sucking on one nipple. He’s surprisingly tender with it, taking his time. You reach a hand to his cock again, trying to at least get him off with your hand, but he pulls your wrists back and locks them on your sides.

“Joel,” you whine. “Fuck me. Please.”

“No can do,” Joel answers as his lips are trailing down to your stomach, where he peppers kisses all over. You scoot backwards and like reading your mind, he tugs the hem of your shorts down to your ankle before yanking it away, revealing your throbbing, desperate cunt. He then dives down, nose pressing against your mound as his tongue explores the new treasure island.

Just like in the movie.

You try to grab on something, anything, but the leather couch does nothing but squeaks, and Joel instinctively laces his fingers with yours. The view of the top of your head is exactly how you imagined it would be. The moans released from your lips are rather loud, especially when Joel creates a suction cup with his lips right on your clit.

“Joel, Joel,” you grasp his hands with all your might. “This is fucking unfair, I’m so— I’m gonna—”

Before you get to finish your sentence, your body already decides that it’s time for another release. Your heels are planted firmly against the couch as your hips lift to the air, and Joel lets go. He kneels before your cunt, pumps himself to oblivion and comes all over you before you get to collect yourself, staining your stomach and breasts. Later you’ll realize that the first spurt went a little bit rogue and landed on your hair.

“Fuck you, man,” you complain, sticking out a middle finger at him. “I was supposed to make you come.”

Joel rests his head on the couch armrest, eyes closed. “You did.”

“I meant technically,” you attempt to nudge him with your leg, but he dodges and stands up to grab the washcloth he used to compress you with earlier. He then wipes your stomach and breasts with it, the cold water making you squirm.

“What now?” you ask when he hands you your clothes.

“Sleep. It’s four in the mornin’.” he says as he puts his stained, sticky, wet boxer briefs on and sits on the recliner. So you can’t drive me mad anymore, he says.

You whine, but you realize that your eyelids are actually very heavy. “Blowjob first time in the morning?” you offer before letting yourself drift off.

“Thought you were s’pposed to be sick.” Joel shakes his head. But he grins.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #dbf!joel #dbf!joel x reader #dbf!joel miller x reader #tlou #the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #dbf!joel miller

2K notes · View notes

stevie-petey · 9 months ago

Text

episode three: the monster and the superhero

“Breaking and entering into the school to retrieve confidential and extremely personal files.” You wince. It’s as bad as it sounds. Tapping Dustin’s shoulder, you break him away from the walkie. “Wait, we won’t need my files, right?” Steve eyes you up and down, shrugging indifferently. “Well–” Hitting his chest, he sputters at you. “Why do you keep doing that?” “You’re not reading my files, Harrington.”

Summary: you and steve can never have a normal conversation, dustin threatens nasa, eddie sadly eats his cereal because youre mean to him, youre once again nancys biggest fan, dustin and steve have an awkward heart to heart, and you and max become felons together and trauma bond (again) !

Rating: general, some swearing

Warnings: swearing, fem!reader, use of y/n, mentions of blood, trauma lol

Words: 13.5k

Before you swing in: hi hi hi !! so so so sorry for the wait. this chapter was a pain to write and i was so busy with school and work :( promise updates will become more regular soon. i was just simply in the trenches for a hot few weeks. things in the story are heatin up, so get ready gamers. anyways, enjoy !!

–

It’s quiet in Steve’s car.

Streetlights glow faintly, lighting the way home. The windows are down; the thick late spring air fills the car with the bittersweet scent of honeysuckles in bloom. In the dim of the car lies Steve’s faint outline as he drives. His hands rest against the steering wheel, his chest rises slowly as he inhales all the fear that settles inside the car.

No one speaks. The tension is suffocating you.

In the backseat resides Robin with Dustin and Max. The oldest sits in the middle, her fingers drum nervously against the head of your seat. Dustin stares out the window, he hasn’t looked at you ever since promising Eddie you’d be back for him tomorrow. He hadn’t wanted to leave him, he begged you to let him stay in the boathouse, but you wouldn’t let him.

Max stares out the other window. Her eyes are closed, she’s pretending to be asleep. You’ve come to learn what she looks like when she pretends. Her nose pinches slightly, her eyes can never stay still enough to convince you she’s asleep. It’s what she does whenever she doesn’t want to face your questions, your concerns and your fears.

Tension builds in the back of your skull, a dull throb rings within your ears. Exhaustion washes over you, fear pierces her nails into your skin. You can’t get Eddie’s terrified eyes out of your head. The way his voice trembled, the sticky blood on his fingernails from the skin he picked at.

If they’re back again, we need to know.

Vecna’s curse.

The static Eddie felt, Chrissy’s trance-like state. Her bones, the morbid angles they snapped. Barbara Holland, daughter and best friend. Bob Newby, superhero. Billy Hargrove, dearly missed son. Jim Hopper, renown chief and beloved father.

You’re the best of them, kid.

If the gate really has opened once again… Thick molasses grief coats your tongue and fills your mouth with remorse. There has been so much loss, so many funerals you’ve had to attend. Too many bodies buried without answers, without closure.

Over and over again.

“We’re here, Robin.” The gravel of Steve’s voice cuts through the endless dread. He parks the car in front of her driveway, the lights are off inside and you know that Robin is afraid of the dark.

“Need me to walk you in?” You ask her, quiet, but unyielding with all the love you have for her.

She shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. I’m brave, aren't I always brave?”

“The bravest,” Steve smiles at her, soft and unbroken. “Get some sleep, yeah?”

“I’ll… I’ll try.” Her facade slips, the fear that grips everyone tightens its hold. How could anyone sleep at a time like this? She shakes her head again, her smile returns, albeit forced, tired. Then she messily crawls over Dustin to exit the car, ignoring his cries of annoyance and pain when her elbow catches his ribs. “Sorry, little Henderson!”

“I don’t even let Steve call me that–”

“Too late, I’ve already decided to call you little Henderson,” Robin climbs out the car, lands with a soft thud on the pavement. She shuts the door with a glint in her eyes before poking her head through your passenger window. “Hey, uh. Y/N?” Her voice drops low, her eyes skirt to Steve, whose cool gaze meets her weary one. Robin clears her throat, you nod your head at her with slight concern. You know that she knows about your argument with Steve. He adores her, what he doesn’t confide in you, he confides in her. Knowing that Robin means well, you soften your voice. “Yeah?”

Robin hesitates, caught between her two favorite people in the entire world. Steve sees her hesitancy and sighs, turning away to provide some semblance of privacy. Relieved, Robin ducks her head down and whispers into your ear, “Talk to him.”

She’s gone before you can exhale.

Steve starts the car again after Robin has safely made it inside her home. Max and Dustin are quiet in the backseat. As Steve drives, his fingers absentmindedly play with the frayed edges of his leather bracelet. It had been a gift from you, the word constants etched into the material.

Constants. You were Steve’s constant, he was yours. Through everything you’ve been through together, all the heartbreak suffered in order to fall into one another, he’s the constant within your life.

Now you’re afraid that you’re losing him.

There’s still so much Steve doesn’t know. There are stories about your father that you still need to tell him about. Words Jonathan told you last night, the dangerous what if he brought into your life. You’re terrified of how Steve will react, he’s always been so trusting of you and Jonathan even after knowing the history you share.

And yet Steve also doesn’t know that the future you see involves him, that he’s in it with as much certainty as the sky is blue; you just don’t know how to tell him this, how to articulate the abandonment that sits heavy within your chest that prohibits you from getting what you want in the end.

You have to talk to him. Steve deserves to know everything, all he’s ever asked of you is to be honest with him.

The broken lamppost in front of Max’s trailer greets you. Steve slows the car, puts it into park. His eyes find hers in the rearview mirror. “This is you, Mayfield.”

“Thanks,” Max responds quietly. She goes to open the car door, but you turn in your seat and stop her.

“Hey, look at me.” Your tone leaves no room for arguments. She listens, her blue eyes meeting your gaze. For a moment you see Billy’s eyes reflecting within hers. It’s only for a brief second, it ends before you can even realize what’s happened. Startled, you momentarily choke on your words. “I–”

Max raises an eyebrow at you. You’ve been acting strange all night, she doesn’t understand why. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Her words couldn’t be more ironic, more painful to hear. “I-I’m sorry.” Billy is dead, he’s gone. You shake your head, try to get his eyes out of your head. “Just… promise me you’ll call if anything happens, please?”

You know that Max isn’t in any danger, she’s safe at home with her mother, but across the street resides yellow caution tape and boarded up windows. Eddie’s trailer is across from Max’s, the proximity makes you uncomfortable. It’s an eerie feeling, Chrissy died here last night.

Max seems to understand your concern, and she allows herself to nod. She doesn’t want to fight you, not tonight. “I will, promise.”

Squeezing her hand, you leave Max with a soft reminder to get some sleep. She smiles, a hidden joke between the two of you. Both of you know that there will be no sleeping tonight.

Once she’s gone, it’s just you, Steve, and Dustin remaining in the car. Tension creeps slowly upon the three of you. Dustin’s never ending annoyance towards you clashes with all the unspoken words left floating between you and Steve.

Dustin coughs awkwardly. Steve’s fingers tap anxiously on the steering wheel. You keep your head down, your fingers pick at the skin between your nails. The ten minute drive from Max’s house to yours is unbearably long. Stuck at one of Hawkins’ only stop lights, Dustin can’t take the silence any longer.

“Well, this is awkward.” He says to no one in particular. “Lots of tension tonight, huh?”

Neither you nor Steve laugh, and Dustin rests his head against the seat in defeat. He understands why you and him aren’t talking, he’s still angry with you for holding a knife to Eddie’s neck. What he doesn’t understand, however, is why there seems to be so much distance between you and Steve tonight.

Normally you’d be all over one another by now. The two of you can never keep your hands off of each other. As much as Dustin hates it, he’s grown used to the way your hands are always intertwined with Steve’s. Whenever he’s in the car with you guys, your hand always rests against Steve’s arm as he drives. At red lights Steve will always turn to you, pulled in by your smile.

Except tonight Dustin doesn’t think he’s seen Steve look at you once during the drive home. Your hand rests softly at your side, balled into a small fist. There’s a coldness between the two of you, one Dustin is ashamed to admit that he hadn’t noticed before.

Then he remembers last night. He’d been too lost in his anger towards you to recognize the tears in your voice. He hadn’t even stopped to consider that you wanted a code blue for any other reason besides lecturing him. His stomach twists with guilt at his own selfish actions.

Something happened between you and Steve, and you had needed your brother last night. But he had abandoned you, denied the code blue you’d needed so desperately.

When Steve’s car pulls into your driveway, Dustin runs out as soon as the vehicle stops. He’s frantic to escape his guilt, to escape the chasm that surrounds you and Steve. Slamming the door, he shouts, “Talk to each other!” Then, as an afterthought, he adds, “Good luck, Steve!”

The slam of the door echoes into the night.

It’s just you and Steve, now.

The air stills between you, reminiscent of the night you drove him home from the Halloween party. A year has passed since then, it’s been so long since Steve’s presence made you feel anything other than peace. The strings that have always followed you constrict against your throat.

“We need to talk,” Steve says, but at the same time you say, “We need to talk about Jonathan.”

The words come tumbling out of your mouth, slipping through the grooves of your teeth before you can stop them. They’d been building within you all day, fizzling to the surface. And now they spill out into the silence of Steve’s car.

His head turns to you, the street lights illuminate the shock and confusion on his handsome face. It pinches with bewilderment, he doesn’t understand. He had been ready to apologize to you, despite still not being able to comprehend how you don’t see a future with him. Steve doesn’t want to fight with you anymore, he was ready to just forgive and forget and hold your hand without the weight of guilt behind it.

Steve had been ready to salvage your relationship, and now you want to talk about Jonathan?

“Jonathan?” Shamefully, his voice cracks. He feels like a helpless little kid again, his stomach twists with the foreboding nausea that something bad is about to happen. “Why… why do you want to talk about him?”

The raw frailty on Steve’s face almost kills you. He’s drawing into himself again, preparing for the final blow that will decimate him and everything he knows.

You take a deep breath. This won’t be easy, nothing you’ve ever had to do has been easy. But Steve deserves to know. To hide something from him feels foreign, to lie to him feels like a betrayal.

“Jonathan, he–” Your voice shakes almost as violently as your hands do. Steve is looking at you but you can’t bear to face him just yet. “He called me last night, after our… after our fight.”

“What did he say, Y/N?” Steve knows, even before you tell him, where this is going. The light in your eyes whenever you talk about Jonathan is gone. His name doesn’t grace your face with a smile. Instead, the grimace of guilt replaces it. Steve’s stomach twists into tighter knots. It’s happening again.

Inhaling, you close your eyes and try to commit to memory the before. How Steve looked at you with such adoration before tonight. How his soft hands, laced with trust, felt against your skin before tonight. His open gaze, one filled with vulnerability, stared into you before tonight.

Opening your eyes, you exhale. Nothing will ever be the same again. “Jonathan asked me if I ever wondered if… if we made a mistake. Him and I.”

“A mistake?” Steve’s jaw tightens.

“I think-I think he was asking me if I ever… thought about what could’ve happened between us. If somehow,” you swallow, the words cement in your mouth. “If-if somehow we made a mistake, choosing you and Nancy.”

Steve is quiet. The muscles in his body pull tightly together. He fills with venom, anger and jealousy and hurt; so much hurt. “And you think he’s right.”

It isn’t phrased as a question.

Immediately your body turns to his. “No! God, no,” your hands search for any expanse of his skin you can find. Steve doesn’t lean into you, he doesn’t react to your touch. Panic overwhelms you, suddenly all you can do is talk and plead and beg. “Steve, I don’t think Jonathan even knew what he was saying, okay? H-he was high, and he’s been so lonely and-and he kept saying things were easy between me and him but-but that’s not how love is supposed to work and I know he’s just scared. He’s scared and he’s never been so alone before and I think-he’s just lost, okay? He’s lost and–”

“Why are you telling me this, Y/N?” The hardness in Steve’s voice cuts into you, stings your skin. He isn’t screaming, not like he did last night, but you almost wish he were. The way his voice is leveled, cold and hard, scares you even more.

“Would you rather I didn’t?” You’re helpless against his anger, you know he has every right to be, but you don’t know how to fix this.

Steve laughs bitterly. “I’d rather you not make shitty excuses for the asshole.”

“I’m not making excuses for him, I just wanted you to understand–”

“You are!” His voice raises slightly, almost imperceptibly so, but you hear it anyways. Steve’s chest rises and falls quickly. His hands fly wildly everywhere, he doesn’t know what to do, either. Then, almost as quickly as the anger surfaced, insecurity replaces it. “Is… Jonathan why you don’t see a future with me?”

Your fingers tighten around his wrist, almost as if you’re afraid he’ll slip between your fingers any second now. “I do see a future with you–”

“Pretty fucking hard to believe when you’re wearing the goddamn necklace he got you.” The words drip with acid. They’re hissed out with a jaw clenched so tightly you’re afraid he’ll somehow hurt himself.

The words startle you, catch you off guard. Your hand slips from Steve’s wrist. He’s never once insinuated any jealousy regarding you and Jonathan. He’s always been so trusting of you two together, he’s always been kind towards him. He always knew that he could never touch what you guys have, and yet his gaze now flickers cruelly to the bee pendant that rests against your neck.

What Steve has said hurts you, deeper than he ever intended to. He knows how you love, how deeply you care for others. It’s who you are. Regardless of the hurt he may be feeling right now, it doesn’t give him the right to throw this crucial part of you back in your face.

“I’m made of pieces of everyone I’ve ever loved, Steve. You know this.” The bee pendant rests against your skin as heavily as the charm bracelet does.

And Steve does know that you’re made of pieces of everyone in your life. It’s what he loves the most about you. His eyes follow where your fingers reside, skimming the silver chain that encases your wrist. He hadn’t meant to say what he did, the words had slipped out before he could stop them.

“Y/N…” Your name is spoken as an apology, it’s all Steve can manage in his shame.

But the moment is ruined, you’re exhausted and all you want to do is go home.

You shake your head at Steve, try to hide the tears in your eyes. He sees them anyways. “Can I leave, please?”

The way you ask so delicately to escape breaks Steve. Something in his chest shatters, his mouth fills with the taste of a broken promise. You don’t need his permission, he hates that you feel that you do.

“Yeah,” his voice is softer than it’s been all night, but it’s too late. He knows this. Swallowing, all Steve can do is be gentle with you. “Yeah, of course you can leave, angel.”

Angel.

You nod at him; if you try to speak you’re afraid you’ll break before him.

No other words are spoken between you. Steve watches as you leave.

–

The next morning you sit hunched over a mug of coffee, more exhausted than ever before. You haven’t slept properly in days now. Dustin finds you with dark circles under your eyes and a pathetic bowl of cereal before you. From the dazed look in your eyes, he knows you haven’t noticed his arrival, and he awkwardly clears his throat to get your attention.

“So, uh.” He scratches the back of his neck, your eyes are slow to look up at him. Pointing to your coffee, Dustin raises his eyebrows. “Rough night, I take it?”

You nod, too tired to say anything else. The cereal goes uneaten. Dustin doesn’t think your coffee is even warm anymore, he hadn’t heard you wake up this morning. He’s worried that you never even went to bed last night. You’re pale, sickly so, and Dustin hates that he hadn’t noticed the signs sooner.

“Hey,” he pulls a chair beside you, sits down with a playful shove to your shoulder. He’s your brother, it’s his job to take care of you just as much as it’s yours to take care of him. It’s how the two of you have always been.

For Dustin’s entire life you’ve looked after him, kissing his scraped knees and warding off monsters hidden underneath his bed. When your father left, the depression your mother fell into afterwards left Dustin clinging onto you. You were all he had left.

Dustin leans against you, he used to do this when he was a little kid and could still fit between your arms. Resting his head against yours, shoulders pressed together, the angle is awkward and uncomfortable, but it’s safe. “Is it too late to have that code blue?”

It’s a peace offering, an extension of an apology, and you can’t help but smile at your brother. Hand finding his mess of curls, you ruffle his hair and laugh softly. “Yeah, guess we can have a code blue now.”

“Good, you know I always love to shit talk Steve.” Dustin says with humor. You both know he admires the boy.

“Language,” you remind him as you always do. Dustin knocks his head against yours in response and the two of you break into laughter; laughing with your brother again feels good.

In between sips of cold coffee and bites of soggy cereal, you tell Dustin about Steve. You explain the original argument a few nights ago, how he didn’t understand why you wouldn’t want him to follow you to New York.

“It’s what mom did with dad,” Dustin says, looking down at the table.

You nod at him, you knew he’d understand better than anyone. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Does he know what happened with dad?”

“No, and I know I should explain what he did, but there’s–” You cut yourself off. Dustin would kill Jonathan with his bare hands if he found out about the phone call. Even though it technically goes against the rules of a code blue, you can’t tell Dustin about Jonathan. Not yet, at least. Clearing your throat, you continue. “There’s… other things that have prevented me from explaining dad to Steve.”

Dustin narrows his eyes. “Other things?”

“Other things,” you look pointedly at him, standing your ground about not elaborating. He denied your original code blue. You’re allowed to lie this one time. “And now Steve thinks that I don’t see a future with him.”

“Well then he’s an idiot.” Your brother scoffs. Anyone with eyes can see how much you fawn over Steve. Dustin has watched you fall for him for years now. “You’re practically ready to marry the guy.”

Taking a bite of cereal, you grimace slightly. “Okay, marriage is a little much–”

“Tell that to mom, she’s already started planning the wedding.”

Of course she has. She wouldn’t be Claudia Henderson if she wasn’t already planning the names of her grandchildren from Steve.

The bite of cereal turns into cement, your heartbeat pounds against your throat. With everything going on with Steve, the hurt the two of you have brought down upon the other, you’re not even sure there will be a wedding at the rate things are going.

As the days go on, you can feel Steve slipping away from you more and more.

Dustin must sense that the subject is hurting you, so he stands from his seat and claps his hands together. “Alright, I feel like we’ve covered our bases for a code blue. Checked all the boxes, felt the feelings needed to be felt.”

“I don’t like the feelings being felt,” you mumble, shoving your bowl away. You’re still drawn into yourself, pale and frail and unlike the lively girl your brother has come to miss. He knows things have been difficult between the two of you, a strain that can’t quite be loosened.

Dustin falters, his bravado fades. He sighs again and his hand settles against your shoulder. He looks at you with sincerity, his expression softens. “Look, you and Steve will figure things out. You guys always do.”

And he truly believes this. Steve loves you with such a ferocity that rivals your love for him. Dustin can’t imagine a world in which you’re no longer with Steve, where he’s let go of you and allowed you to walk away.

Except Dustin doesn’t know how to express this to you, but you can understand him anyways. Placing your hand over his, you squeeze it. “Thanks, Dustin.”

He smiles back at you and the code blue is over. The moment lingers for only a second longer before he frowns and sits back down next to you. “Do you think Eddie will be okay?”

And there it is. Eddie fucking Munson again.

Shoving down your annoyance, you force yourself to focus on the situation from last night. As hurt as you are that Dustin wants to talk about Eddie right now, you can understand why he would. Chrissy died in front of him, he’s being accused of murder.

You’re just being childish, easily irritated from lack of sleep and the stress of it all.

“I don’t know, I mean…the cops will be looking for him.” With ease you fall back into strategizing, putting the situation above your own thoughts and feelings. Your mind spins with everything you need to do, trying to come up with whatever you can do to help. “If we have any shot of protecting him, we need to figure out what they know.”

Dustin nods, following along. “Cerebro can tap into the Hawkins PD system, we can easily get intel from there.”

“It terrifies me that Cerebro can hack into our town’s police system.”

“Be grateful I stopped there, Suzie wouldn’t let me use it to tap into NASA.”

You learn two things after using Cerebro to gather information.

One, the radio is far too powerful to reside in your fourteen year old brother’s hands. He’s able to access the PD system with incredible ease, almost as if he’s done so before. It’d be impressive if you didn’t know the horrors that went on inside the kid’s head.

Two, Eddie is well and truly fucked.

He’s the main suspect. They think he’s killed Chrissy and have every man in the force scouring Hawkins to find him. Her death was gruesome, you understand the manhunt that unfolds. Dustin, however, nearly loses his mind when he hears chief Powell instructing his men to search Eddie’s neighborhood for the teen.

“We have to go warn him,” Dustin scrambles to his feet, the chair almost toppling over in his haste. “We need to leave, now.”

There isn’t time to argue, Dustin is already ringing Steve’s number. Either he’s already forgotten about your argument with the teen, or maybe he just doesn’t care. Regardless, the thought of seeing Steve again so soon after last night makes your stomach churn. You want to stop Dustin, make up some excuse to him about why you can’t help Eddie, but you know it wouldn’t matter. Your brother would only beg you to come, your worry for him would force you to listen.

All you can do is drop your head into your hands and sigh.

–

It was your idea to stop and get Eddie food.

Steve had arrived at your house within minutes. Dustin immediately went for the passenger seat, which was more than okay with you, and Steve had mumbled a soft “hello” to the two of you. His greeting went ignored by you, still trying to find your breath around him, and Dustin, who promptly demanded that Steve pick up Robin and Max before returning to the boathouse.

Halfway to Max’s, the silence in the car was thickening rapidly, so you offhandedly suggested stopping at the local grocery store to get Eddie some food and water. You figured he would appreciate the small act of kindness, especially considering the grime news you’d be delivering to him soon. That, and it’d give you an excuse to leave Steve’s car for a few moments and steady your breathing.

The boathouse isn’t nearly as creepy in the daylight, but still you make sure your knives are in your pocket before approaching it. Robin walks beside you, helping you and Dustin carry the groceries, while Max and Steve walk silently behind.

“Think we got him enough?” Robin asks, holding up one of the grocery bags. “I mean, don’t stoners eat a lot? Munchies or whatever?”

Rolling your eyes, you undo one of the buttons on your sweater, allowing the crisp spring air to soak your body. The sun is too warm to be worrying about whatever stoners eat. “If he complains, then he can starve.”

“Cat’s got claws today,” Robin nudges you with her arm. Turning to make sure Steve is far enough away so he doesn’t overhear, she lowers her voice. “Guessing the talk didn’t go well last night?”

“Oh, it was just peachy,” you grit out through a forced smile. “But we have to focus on harboring a murder suspect right now.” Because nothing in your life can ever be simple. If you aren’t hunting monsters, you’re protecting the town. If you aren’t protecting the town, you’re fighting alternate dimensions.

Robin opens her mouth to say something, but Dustin shoulders past her and bursts through the boathouse doors, ending your conversation. “Delivery service!”

Eddie nearly has a heart attack at the abrupt entrance. He jumps out of his skin and clutches at his chest after letting out a very unmanly yelp. The reaction is almost enough to brighten your foul mood, momentarily forgetting that Steve stands behind you.

“Someone’s jumpy,” you sidestep your brother and walk over towards the table. Setting the groceries down, you begin to unload them. “We got you some food, but please don’t eat it all at once. I really don’t want to spend any more money on you.”

“Thanks…?” Eddie slowly approaches you, both relieved for the food and offended you seem so begrudged to have gotten it for him in the first place. From his few interactions with you since last night, he’s coming to learn that you’re far from the girl who showed him such selfless kindness all those years ago.

Eddie doesn’t think you even remember what you did for him. He had been at such a low point in his life, one failed exam away from dropping out of high school and disappointing his uncle, until you appeared. It’d been your sophomore year, Eddie’s failed one, and you had given him your pencil.

The action had been small, meniscal, yet it saved Eddie’s life. He hadn’t brought his own pencil for some stupid English exam. He’d been too nervous for it that he had forgotten his, and Mrs. Greer, the teacher who couldn’t have cared less whether or not Eddie died, threatened to fail him.

The threat sank deep into his bones, freezing his intestines with dread. Eddie had promised his uncle he’d try harder in school, that he’d graduate, and yet he couldn't do something as simple as bringing a pencil to an exam. Close to tears, embarrassed and overwhelmed, Eddie almost hadn’t registered your softly whispered voice.

“Here,” you tapped his shoulder. Eddie remembers turning around, surprised you were even talking to him, and he remembers the immediate relief that sagged his bones when he saw the pencil extended in offering. He had nodded curtly at you before frantically rushing to begin the exam. He’d already wasted five minutes, he couldn’t afford any more.

It would only be later that Eddie learned you willingly failed the exam because you’d given him your only pencil, just so he wouldn’t fail. In the end, he passed. It was the first exam Eddie had passed in a long, long time; his uncle had been so proud of him that he bought him his electric guitar.

Eddie never thanked you for that.

And now you stand in front of him, once again extending your arm out to him with yet another offering, but your eyes are cold. Your body is tense around Eddie’s, he doesn’t miss the wide berth you seem to always give him.

“Thanks,” he says to you again, clearing his throat uncomfortably. He accepts the box of cereal you offer him and he wills himself to smile. “I, uh. Appreciate it. I’d offer to pay you back, but…”

“You’re wanted for murder.” You finish for Eddie.

He drops his head. “Yeah, it kinda ruins a person’s life, ya know?”

“I don’t, actually. Never been accused of killing someone.”

Eddie blinks at you. He doesn’t know what to do with the disdain you display towards him. “Right.” He looks at Dustin for help, silently begging the kid to step in before you gut him with your knives.

“Okay, why don’t you crack open that box of honey combs while we all gather around for a fun story time!” Dustin sets down the remaining groceries and ushers everyone to spread around the boathouse.

“‘Storytime’?” Eddie asks him, looking around in confusion.

“Y/N and Dustin did some detective work,” Robin offers him, trying to make her voice sound as cheery as possible. “They-uh. Well they found-I mean,” she doesn’t know how to break the news to Eddie, she feels awful for the guy. Deflating, she mumbles, “They’re definitely good detectives.”

Eddie only looks more confused by this, and Dustin sits down awkwardly on a stool next to you. “So, we got, uh. Some good news and some bad news.”

You snort at your brother. Steve stands next to you, his body angled away from you so that your skin doesn’t touch. The distance is small enough to go unnoticed by anyone, yet it’s a chasm that your stomach drops into. “That’s really how you’re gonna break it to him?”

“What are you guys breaking to me?” Eddie asks, eyes wide.

Dustin hits your leg and gets the teen’s attention. “Ignore her, look at me, alright? Now, how do you prefer it? Good or bad first?”

“Bad news first, always.” Eddie doesn’t even think about his answer, he responds immediately while shoving cereal into his mouth.

“The bad news is that you’re pretty fucked.” You inform him, arms crossed over your chest. There’s no easy way to lessen the blow of what you overhead from Hawkins PD. The news is bad, it’s all bad.

Dustin snaps his head towards you, “Y/N!”

“I’m not going to lie to the guy or sugarcoat things!”

“Would you just let me handle it–”

“Dustin,” Eddie hasn’t moved from his seat. His hand remains in the cereal box, his voice jagged and defeated. He’s tired. He just wants to go home. “Just say it.”

Your brother’s shoulders drop, the anger in his eyes extinguished. “We… We tapped into the Hawkins PD dispatch with our Cerebro, and they’re definitely looking for you.”

“Chief Powell thinks you killed Chrissy.” Unable to look at Eddie, your eyes trace the ground. As much as you hate him, you can’t help but feel awful for the hand he’s been dealt. No one will possibly believe he’s innocent. “He ordered all his men to track you down before word gets out that you’re the prime suspect.”

“Which leads us to the good news: your name hasn’t gone public yet.” Robin continues for you, her own expression pitying. “But if Y/N and Dustin could find out about you during breakfast, then it’s a matter of time before others do, too.”

“And once that gets out,” you shake your head, you know how cruel a small town like Hawkins can be. “There’s going to be a lot of angry people who know your name.”

Eddie clenches his jaw. You can see tears forming in his eyes; you’re not sure if they’re from frustration or fear. He inhales sharply, licks his lips in disdain. “Hunt the freak, right?”

It’s the way he says it, with so much despair and venom in his voice. The look of resignation on Eddie’s face breaks your heart. He knows his odds, he’s been tormented and abused his entire life by the people in Hawkins. You’ve heard all the stories. The exile he faced because of how he looked, who he would hang out with, the music he listened to and the drugs he smoked.

Eddie Munson, the freak. The moment the town finds out he’s wanted for murder, you’re afraid he’ll never come out of it alive.

The ice-hot contempt you feel for him begins to melt. He’s only a year or two older than you, still just a scared kid with no place to call home anymore. Despite the protests of your body, you step towards Eddie and place a hand on his shoulder. Your hand is tense, your fingers scratch on the rough material of his denim jacket, but he seems to calm at the touch.

“Hey, we’ll protect the freak, alright?” You mean what you tell him, your hand warms his skin. Whatever history you have with Eddie, good or bad, it doesn’t matter right now. He needs you, he’s lost and alone.

Eddie looks up at you, your kindness startles him slightly, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, his eyes find yours. They’re brown, almost doe-eyed, with a vulnerability within them so intense that it leaves a lump in your throat.

“We won’t let anything happen to you, Eddie.” Dustin’s voice cuts through, reminding you of where you are. Stumbling slightly, you remove your hand and walk back over to Steve, who gives you an odd, confused look. You ignore him. “We have to find Vecna, kill him, and prove your innocence.”

“That’s all, Dustin?” Eddie mocks, he doesn’t stand a chance and he knows it.

Dustin draws into himself, uncertain, before letting out a feeble response. You allow yourself to smile, enjoying his wallowing. You understand where Eddie is coming from. “It is a lot that we have to do in order to clear his name.”

“Okay, I know that everything Dustin is saying sounds totally delusional, but we’ve actually been through this before.” Robin tries to reassure him. She’s leaning against a doorframe, she’s trying her best not to let her own uncertainty show.

“We’ve been here before,” you say with slight bitterness. “You’d be surprised how many times we’ve almost died.”

Robin laughs nervously. “Well, mine was more human-flesh-based, theirs was more smoke-related. I didn’t necessarily almost die, but Y/N has some pretty sick scars on her body and Steve has been concussed more times than he’s had girlfriends–”

“Get to the point, Robin.” Steve finally speaks up, no hint of amusement in his voice. His hand rests besides yours, his fingers ache to curl against your skin. You’re wearing a soft blue sweater, tucked into your skirt, and your eyes shine against the spring cold. He doesn’t want to be here right now.

“Right. The bottom line is, collectively, I really feel we got this.”

Unable to bear the itch in his skin to touch you, Steve brings his hand to his face and rubs at his jaw to distract himself. “Except we usually rely on this girl who has superpowers, but-uh. Those went bye-bye, so–”

“And she’s in California, hundreds of miles from here.” You add on, picking at your nails. The topic makes you uncomfortable. With California comes the reminder of Jonathan.

Robin points at you and Steve. “Both good points, so I guess you could say we’re more in the-in the…?”

“Brainstorming phase.” Max supplies, which Steve snaps his fingers in agreement and Dustin hums thoughtfully.

“There’s-uh. There’s nothing to worry about!” Your brother says unconvincingly, voice high pitched and full of lies.

Eddie stares at everyone around him, studying the collective mess that he somehow must place all his trust in. None of you can give him a straight answer about what will happen next, and as you listen to Steve and Dustin try again to make sense of what’s going on, you recognize how hopeless it all sounds.

“We may not sound like much,” you interrupt the boys, trying again to ease the hopelessness Eddie must be feeling. “But we’re kind of your only option right now–”

The distant wailing of sirens drown out your words, loud and piercing. The sound sets everyone into a panic. Robin instructs Dustin to cover Eddie with a tarp while you, Max, and Steve run towards the window. Squished together, you watch as multiple cop cars fly down the street with an ambulance following them; your breath catches.

The last time you saw this many cop cars speeding through Hawkins, they had been a dead body in the quarry. It had been Will’s body, lifeless and pale. You had watched as his body was pulled from the water, you held Lucas and Dustin as they cried.

Only this time Will is in California, far away from danger. The onslaught of cars can only mean one thing.

“I think…” Your mouth fills with syrupy dread, coating your tongue with grief. Breathing becomes difficult. You hope, more than anything, that you’re wrong. “I think someone else died.”

The moment the words leave your lips, Steve grabs his keys and instructs everyone to get into his car. He doesn't ask any questions, he doesn’t question how you know. Dustin quickly tells Eddie to stay in the boathouse while you leave.

Your eyes squeeze shut as Steve drives, your hand clutches the seat in terror. Every second that passes, your body becomes heavier and heavier from dread. Steve’s knuckles are white against the steering wheel. Robin can’t look at you, Max and Dustin don’t say a word.

The white blanket draped over a body is what you see first. A horde of police surround it, there are lights flashing everywhere. People crowd behind a barricade, necks straining to get a look at the body on the ground.

Then you see who the cops are talking to, and your heart drops.

“Nancy,” you breathe out, already opening Steve’s door before he can even park the car. Something terrible has happened. Nancy stands in front of the officers, her arms crossed against her chest as if to calm herself down. She’s never looked so weak, she needs you.

Standing outside the car, the others join you. Steve has parked as close as he can to the crime scene, no one moves. Nancy releases a shaky breath when her eyes find yours. Raising her hand, she waves at you, unsure, and you wave back. She smiles, timid but genuine, and a pit forms in your stomach.

You haven’t told Nancy about Jonathan.

Steve looks away from her, gaze turning towards you, and he’s thinking the same thing.

–

Nancy guides everyone to a park bench at the trailer park. She doesn’t say anything as you all walk, her eyes are exhausted. The police hadn’t wanted her to leave just yet, they had more questions for her, but you’d quickly spoke with the men to let her go.

Sitting around the table, a bitter cold creeps into the air. The sun is out yet winter still lingers. Nancy sits across from you with Robin and Max next to her. You’re with the boys, Steve pushes his weight against you while Dustin sits stiffly beside you.

Seeing Nancy’s sunken cheeks and glass eyes, you reach across the table and grab her hand. “What happened, Nance?”

Tears well in her eyes and for once she doesn’t wipe them away. Nancy’s hand twitches in yours, she doesn’t hold onto you like you do her. She’s grieving, you’ve come to learn all the signs of someone who has lost a friend. “It-it’s Fred.”

She explains what they’d been doing, investigating Chrissy’s death at the trailer park. Guilt laces her words, she didn’t think anything would happen to Fred. He’s always been sweet to her, his crush obvious to you but unknown to her. A shiver runs through you; Fred was smart, he was nice to you whenever you spent your days in the yearbook room.

He didn’t deserve to die. Neither did Chrissy.

“That makes two deaths in two days,” you say out loud, voicing what everyone else is thinking. Death is common in Hawkins, an inevitability of what lies underneath it, but there’s never been such gruesome deaths so close together. “It’s happening again.”

“What’s happening again?” Nancy shakes her head. “I-I don’t understand, you guys already know what’s causing all of this?”

“We have a working theory, but it’s… not great.” Dustin slouches down, he isn’t sure how much he can explain to the girl with all that he still doesn’t know. “We think it’s connected to Chrissy’s death, something killed her in Eddie’s trailer. He told us she had gone into some sort of trance before her bones snapped and her eyes exploded..”

Nancy grimaces at the gory imagery and you squeeze her hand again. “I’m sorry about Fred.”

She gives you a tight smile before turning to your brother. “A trance? Like El? You aren’t… do you really think this has something to do with–”

“The Upside Down.” You and Max say at the same time.

“‘It’s happening again’,” Nancy echoes your words from moments ago. She understands, now. “So this-this thing that killed Fred and Chrissy is from the Upside Down?”

Steve nods at her and Dustin sighs heavily. “We think he attacks with a spell, or maybe even a curse.”

“But we don’t know if he’s under the Mind Flayer’s control,” you point out. “For all we know, he could just be someone with El’s powers. We know the lab tested on other kids, right?”

Max looks up at you and her face twists with apprehension. “I don’t know, something feels different about this, it’s almost like it’s something new. I don’t think it’s anyone like El.”

“It doesn’t make sense.” Nancy mumbles.

“No, I think Max is right. Something feels off about all of this.” Your arms draw together, it’s impossibly cold for late March. The chill has set into your bones.

Nancy nods at you, but there’s something else on her mind. “But Fred and Chrissy also don’t make sense. I mean, why them?”

“Maybe they were just in the wrong place? They were both at the game.” Dustin offers, and you shiver again.

Billy had been in the wrong place, too. It’s how the Mind Flayer got him. He’d just been unlucky and alone.

“And the trailer park,” Max adds.

Steve’s eyes widen slightly, he shifts against you and unconsciously moves you closer to him. “We’re at the trailer park, should we… maybe not be here?”

The wind picks up and a crow cries overhead. The barren grass rustles as shadows fall against it. Your spine prickles with nerves. Steve is right to be worried. There’s something eerie about the trailer park, the caution tape that guards Eddie’s door is still too fresh.

You wrap your sweater tighter to your body, cold with unease. Nancy’s eyes flicker around the park as the wind rustles the leaves. “Fred started acting weird the second we got here.”

Robin asks what she means, and when Nancy begins to explain how scared and on edge Fred had been, a dull throb slowly creeps up the base of your neck. The sensation builds until it’s a roar of nerve endings exploding against your temple, and you wince in pain.

Steve’s fingers skim the crest of your wrist. “Hey,” he’s lowered his voice so the others can’t hear, he knows you never like to worry others. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” the concern in Steve’s eyes burns you. He hasn’t spoken to you all day, but still his skin warms yours and he wants to make sure you’re safe. Comfortable. Okay. Even with the anger between you and all the unspoken half-truths, he still cares about you.

You want to tell him that you haven’t slept in days, that the nightmares are back and that they’re worse than ever before. You want to rest your head against his chest and listen to his heartbeat. It’s the only way you’ve been able to keep the migraines at bay.

But you don’t tell Steve any of this. Instead, you lie through your teeth. “I’m fine,” you reassure him again. There isn’t time for you not to be okay. Two people have died already, your migraines can wait.

Steve doesn’t look convinced. He knows you, he knows how you are and how much you push down for the sake of others, but before he can press you further, Robin interrupts. “Hey, lovebirds, we’re trying to solve a murder case here.”

“I’m listening,” you roll your eyes at her, skin flushing a bit with embarrassment. “Anyways, what if Fred and Chrissy saw something that made them go catatonic? I think we should be focusing on the trace-like state more, it’s a trauma response.”

“What, so they’re insane asylum patients?” Dustin asks with slight displeasure. “I mean, I guess that makes sense. But Vecna can cast spells, at least in DnD. I don’t think they just ‘saw’ something.”

Steve scratches his nose. “If I saw some freaky wizard monster, I would mention it to someone.”

“Would you, though?” You don’t mean for the question to come off as condescending, and you quickly try to alleviate the offended look on the teen’s face. “What I mean is, who would you go to about something like that?”

“I… I think I know who they’d go to.” Max stares down at the table, her eyebrows furrowed together. She’s deep in thought, remembering something. “I saw Chrissy leaving Ms. Kelly’s office. If you saw a monster, you wouldn’t go to the police.”

“They’d never believe you,” you bear your weight against the table. Nostalgia wraps around you at the memory of how scared you’d been to tell Hopper about El, the years it took for you to trust him. “That’s why I never went to Hopper when I first found El.”

Max nods, she’s relieved you get where she’s going with this. “Exactly, but you might go to your–”

“Shrink.” Robin finishes, sending you an apologetic smile for the offensive language against the profession you hope to one day go into. “No offense, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes, feeling defensive. “Again with calling Ms. Kelly a shrink. She’s not a shrink, she’s actually really nice.”

“You sound like you know her personally.” Dustin narrows his eyes at you. Nothing goes unnoticed by him.

All eyes turn to you, and you sink down in embarrassment. “I’ve… had a few meetings with her.”

Simultaneously both Steve and Dustin widen their eyes. They hadn’t known you were seeing Ms. Kelly. Nancy looks at you curiously, Robin bites her lip, and Max nods solemnly. It’s a large range of reactions, one that makes you anxious to deal with. “Can everyone stop staring at me, please?”

Steve lets out a quick breath and runs a hand through his hair. “You didn’t tell me you were seeing the school’s guidance counselor, Y/N.”

“She didn’t tell me, either.” Dustin mumbles bitterly. You’ve never hidden anything from him before. He wonders, distantly, when you started to.

“I didn’t want to worry you guys, it really isn’t a big deal.” When both boys bristle at this, you hold your hand up to silence them. “No, I don’t want to hear it. It’s not like I was seeing Ms. Kelly for anything serious, okay? She’s the guidance counselor, so I just. You know. Needed some guidance.”

It’s a horrible lie, you know that no one believes you, but they take pity on you and move on. Originally you really were seeing Ms. Kelly for college admissions help, but after a few sessions you slowly started opening up to her about the sleepless nights. The image of Billy’s lifeless body. Max’s screams.

Nancy clears her throat and changes the topic. She comes up with what to do next, creating a plan to ask Ms. Kelly what she knows, and you sit silently. You’re relieved the attention is finally off of you. Within minutes a plan is formed: you and Max will talk to Ms. Kelly to try and get more information.

Steve agrees to drive to the house. As you’re walking to his passenger side door, he notices that Nancy isn’t following. Instead, she’s going to her own car. “Hey, Nance. Where’re you going?”

Nancy turns around, a guilty but determined look on her face. Her eyes land on you, knowing you’ll be the hardest to convince of her plan. “There’s just-there’s something I want to check on first.”

Predictably, your shoulders tense and your eyes ignite with worry. “Please don’t make me remind you that there are people dying right now. You can’t seriously think it’s safe to be on your own.”

“I can protect myself, Y/N.” Nancy reminds you gently, understanding your concern but knowing it isn’t needed.

“You care to share with the rest of us?” Dustin calls over to the two of you.

“I don’t want to waste your time,” Nancy shoves her hands into her jean jacket. “It’s… a real shot in the dark.”

You frown at this. “If it’s something you think is worth looking into, then it isn’t a shot in the dark. You’ve always been right.”

Nancy blushes at your words, but Steve silently fumes beside you. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Are you guys out of your mind? No way is Nancy flying solo with Vecna on the loose.”

“I never said that she should fly solo,” you say slowly, not at all liking how he’s twisting your words. You had been complimenting Nancy’s intelligence, restoring her faith back into her work. You don’t understand where this protectiveness from Steve is coming from. “I know it’s too dangerous, that’s why I was going to suggest–”

“You’re right. It’s too dangerous. Bottom line. She needs someone to-Christ.” Steve isn’t listening. He’s too caught up in his head as tosses his keys to Robin, who only barely manages to catch them. “Here, Y/N and I will stick with Nance.”

You cross your arms and glare at him. “I’m sorry?”

Steve doesn’t look at you, he’s too busy staring at Nancy, and for a brief second you truly believe that there’s something soft in his gaze when he looks at her. They’re friends, you know this. There’s a history between them that rivals your history with Jonathan. Nancy was Steve’s first love, and now he loves you, and you try desperately to shake the insecurity that you feel.

If you’re being completely honest, you’re not even sure why you’re suddenly thinking all of this. You’ve never been insecure, at least not in your relationship with Steve. During the almost year you’ve been with him, there’ve been times girls have flirted with him or old flings that have tried to vie for his attention. But through it all your trust in him never wavered, you knew that at the end of the day it was your bed he was crawling into.

And yet there’s a voice in the back of your head telling you that the way Steve is looking at Nancy right now is different; it’s how he looks at you. The voice is darker, more cruel. It’s one you don’t recognize, and yet you do.

Steve seems to come back to himself and turns to you. “Robin can go with the kids to the shrink. Max can talk to her alone, it’s no big deal.”

Robin holds the keys away from her as if they’re poisoned. “I don’t think you want me driving your car.”

“Why?”

“I don’t have a license.”

Steve shakes his head with impatience. “Why don’t you have a license?”

“I’m poor,” Robin shrugs, and you laugh slightly.

Max raises her hand. “I can drive.”

“No!” You and Steve exclaim at the same time, both of you getting war flashbacks to when Max had driven you after Billy had knocked you guys unconscious. It’d been a rough night and waking up to a thirteen year old driving a sports car definitely hadn't helped.

“Please,” you look at Max with genuine longing. “Never, ever drive me ever again.”

“Literally anyone but you–” Steve sees Dustin make a face, offering himself to drive, and the older teen snaps his fingers at him in annoyance. “No chance.”

You shake your head as well. No way in hell are you allowing the kid to drive either. “Absolutely not, Dustin. You couldn’t even drive a golf cart properly.”

“I did a decent job!”

“I still think you’re the one who gave Steve his third concussion with your horrible braking.”

“We were being chased by evil Russians!”

Robin steps between you and your brother, holding her hands up. “Alright, this is stupid.” She grabs Dustin’s walkie from his backpack and marches to Nancy while handing Steve his keys. “Us ladies, sans Y/N, will stick together. Unless Steve thinks we need him to protect us?”

She raises her eyebrows, challenging the teen, and you watch him. He shuffles nervously, ducks his head down. Steve is guilty and ashamed and embarrassed. Your stomach clenches.

“He knows better than to doubt you guys,” you step in for him, saving him. “Right, Steve?”

Nancy laughs at the look of fear on his face and Robin smirks. Satisfied, they turn around and start to head towards Nancy’s car. You wish them luck as they leave, tell them to be safe. They wave back at you, and although you wish you could join them, you know that Max will want you by her side while she talks to Ms. Kelly.

Once the girls are gone, you hit Steve’s chest. “Nice one, buddy.”

He lets out a pained huff, but he doesn’t say anything. He knows he had it coming. With a sigh he follows you back to his car and gets into the driver’s seat. Dustin stares at him through the rearview mirror with a shit eating grin on his face. Tired, Steve glares at him. “Not a word.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Dustin defends himself.

“No, but you were going to, and-hey,” Steve turns in his seat and glares even more at your brother. “Did you make sure to wipe your feet?”

“Yes,” Dustin says at the same time as you and Max say, “No.”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose and starts the car angrily. His movements are jerky and uncontrolled. “Always the goddamn babysitter!” He exclaims, resentment marring his face.

You jump slightly at his raised voice. He hates being sidelined, you know this. Similar to you, all Steve ever wants to do is help. He does whatever he can, he tries harder than anyone. It’s what you first fell for, back when Steve originally crashed into your life.

It’s because of his kindness and devotion to others that you reach for Steve’s hand. His skin is cold, goosebumps raise at your touch, but you interlock your fingers through his and slowly, piece by piece, Steve relaxes.

He’s missed your touch. You’ve missed his, too.

–

Ms. Kelly, to her credit, tries to mask her surprise when she sees you and Max standing at her door. “Oh, hello, girls.”

“Hi,” you smile kindly at the woman. “We really hate to bother you over spring break, but do you possibly have a minute to talk?”

“With the two of you?” Ms. Kelly knew that you and Max were both grieving Billy, but she hadn’t known that you knew each other. “Y/N, I’m sure you’re aware that this is highly unusual to request.”

You wince. “Yeah, I’m definitely aware that this is a pretty strange thing to ask. It’s just that I was the one who convinced Max to start seeing you in the first place, and now that I’m also seeing you, we figured we could… talk to you together?”

It’s a horrible excuse. The lie is vague and too transparent to believe. Neither you or Max had a lot of time to come up with a convincing cover story during the drive here.

“I don’t know,” Ms. Kelly’s face strains with contemplation.

Max softens her eyes and does her best to look small, pleading. “Please?”

You try to appear troubled as well, though it isn’t hard. Your headache hasn’t left. The pounding in your head has only intensified since leaving the trailer park. Ms. Kelly’s gaze flits between you and Max, reading for any signs of lying or ill-will, before her resolve crumbles.

“Oh, alright.” She opens her door wider, ushers the two of you inside. “Come in.”

Steve and Dustin watch as you disappear inside the house. They’ve parked across the street, opting to be the lookout in case anything happens. You spare one last glance over your shoulder, eyes meeting Steve’s, before Ms. Kelly closes the door.

“Okay, they’re in.” Steve states the obvious, slightly unsettled to be stuck in the car while you’re inside.

“I’m missing collarbones, not eyes.” Dustin snorts. He expects Steve to say something snarky in response, but then he notices that the teen is still staring longingly out the window, tracing Ms. Kelly’s door. He looks pathetic, waiting for you, and Dustin sighs. “So… we gonna talk about it?”

Steve’s eyes linger on the doorway, a far off look on his face. When he realizes that Dustin has spoken, he turns to him slowly. “Huh? Sorry, talk about what?”

“Your temporary insanity earlier today when you basically threw yourself at Nance? In front of my sister?”

“Okay, first of all, that’s not what happened.”

Dustin glares at Steve, defensive over you. “Oh, really? I’m pretty sure it did, there were a lot of witnesses. Y/N included.”

“What are you implying, little Henderson?” Steve rubs his face, too tired for the kid’s mind games. He knows he was being weird earlier with Nancy, but he would never do that to you. Ever. He had simply been overwhelmed and confused and feeling a multitude of things that he still isn’t ready to face.

“I’m not implying anything,” Dustin puts his hands up. “All I’m saying is that I know you and Y/N have been fighting lately and that for some stupid reason, you’re doubting your relationship.”

Steve throws his head back against the seat. Of course you told Dustin about last night. “Look, I’m not-I’m not doubting our relationship, alright? I mean, I love her, man. So, so much. We just… things have been hard, lately. Really fucking hard.”

He isn’t sure how much you’ve told your brother. He doesn’t think you’d tell him about Jonathan, at least not until you know yourself whatever the hell he’d been trying to tell you the other night.

Dustin doesn’t say anything for a few moments. He stares past Steve, his eyes almost seem to glaze over. “It’s because she’s leaving, isn’t it?”

All the air in Steve’s lungs gets knocked out of him. “Yes,” he breathes out. His mouth is dry. He swallows, his tongue feels too thick for his mouth. “Sometimes it feels like she’s, I don’t know, like she’s outgrown me? I-I know it’s stupid, but she’s going so far for college and I’m stuck in Hawkins like some fucking moron and she-she didn’t want me going with her.”

“Did you know that I cried when she got into NYU?” Dustin asks him, a hurt smile on his face. When Steve shakes his head, the boy inhales deeply. “Yeah, cried like a baby the whole night. I mean, I knew she applied, I knew she’d get in, but… you’re right. She is going pretty far. I’ve never,” he wipes at his eyes quickly, embarrassed that he’s crying. “I’ve never had to spend a single day without my sister.”

Steve stares at your brother, finally beginning to understand the distance between the two of you. For weeks now it’s all you’ve complained about to Steve. How much you resented Eddie for being Dustin’s new favorite person, how much you miss singing with him in the kitchen while you baked. But now here Dustin is, teary eyed, explaining to Steve just how scared he is to be without his sister. “It feels like she’s leaving you, too.”

“Yeah,” Dustin wipes his eyes again, nodding. “Yeah, sometimes it feels like she can’t wait to get out of this town.”

“Even though we’ll still be here,” Steve says solemnly.

It’s quiet again. A few birds sing in the tree above them. You and Max haven’t returned, yet. After a while, Dustin turns to Steve. “She doesn’t mean it, you know.”

“Who?”

“Y/N,” the boy clarifies, and Steve’s heart skips a beat. “She doesn’t mean it when she says she doesn’t want you going with her to New York. She’s just… she’s scared, and she knows that it isn’t what you really want. Nothing gets past her, it’s really annoying.”

Steve scoffs a bit, fondness running through him. Dustin’s right. Nothing ever gets past you, you notice and see everything. But then he thinks about what your brother has said, the fear he hadn’t known about. “Why would she be scared?”

Dustin stiffens in his seat, his gaze once again blurs. He twists his hands anxiously, fixes his hat. The atmosphere shifts, Steve can see that he’s uncomfortable now. He’s about to tell Dustin that he doesn’t have to answer, but the kid does anyways. “Our parents, they-um. Met in college.”

Steve sits up as well. You and Dustin never talk about your parents, at least not about your father. Steve can’t remember the last time you’ve even mentioned him. He thinks maybe the man had called you once, during Christmas.

“They got married right before graduation. Our mom had been pregnant with Y/N, they got hitched and in their marital bliss, our dad somehow convinced our mom to leave Indiana. She grew up here, but our dad was from Virginia and he insisted that she move there.”

Bitter. Dustin is bitter.

“Everything was fine, I guess. I liked Virginia. Y/N did, too. But our mom was lonely, anyone could see that. We lived in a pretty small town, our dad was basically a goddamn Kennedy there. Everyone adored him, but our mom… things were different for her. She was always in his shadow, but Y/N and I were too young to notice for a long time.”

Steve swallows. “And then… the divorce?”

“The stupid fucking divorce.” Dustin spits out. “It wasn’t a surprise, but somehow we still felt blindsided. One day our dad was charming, cracking jokes with everyone and playing the guitar with us, then the next he just-he snapped. Became bitter, mean. Y/N idolized him, but when our parents started fighting every night and our mom cried over some woman named Carry… I lost my sister, for a while.”

“She told me,” Steve whispers, remembering the rawness in your voice the night you confessed to him that you were once cruel. “I had to remind her that she came back, in the end.”

The corners of Dustin’s mouth turn upwards slightly. “Yeah, she came back.” But then his expression darkens, his mood sours. “Our mother almost didn’t, though. After having to move back to Hawkins with barely any money to support us, it basically destroyed her. She had lost all her friends by that point, her own parents died while we lived in Virginia.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve’s throat constricts. He hadn’t known any of this. He feels like such an asshole now for assuming the worst in you. For allowing his own insecurities to blind him. “I-I didn’t know about any of that.”

“Yeah, well.” Dustin shrugs. “Now you do. And you need to know that Y/N is being her usual selfless self because of our mom and what happened to her. She doesn't want that happening to you, dipshit.”

Steve exhales through his nose, his head is swimming with so many more questions, so many apologies he wishes he could say. Instead, he stares out the window, waiting for you to return.

–

“So, what would you girls like to discuss with me?” The clock on Ms. Kelly’s walk ticks ominously behind her. She’s seated you and Max in her basement den. You can tell by the stack of books and messy desk that she uses the area as her makeshift office.

Max slouches against her seat. “Oh, it’s nothing too serious, we were just–”

“I’m worried about Max.” You interrupt the girl, not daring to look at her.

Ms. Kelly raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I think with all the murders happening, it might be affecting her.” It isn’t necessarily a lie. You have been worried about Max and her behavior. Especially these last few weeks. “It might be resurfacing some… memories.”

Max tries to argue, but Ms. Kelly holds her hand up. “You’ve both experienced trauma, Y/N. She lost her brother while you held his dying body.”

A lump forms in your throat, your lungs feel cold.

The woman turns to Max, now. “And when you keep your feelings in, your pain, bottled up the way you do, it doesn’t take much to trigger them again. I can see why Y/N may be worried.”

Max doesn’t meet Ms. Kelly’s eyes. She swallows heavily and looks down at her hands. “Yeah, I know.”

“You know you can always talk to me, Max.” You say softly, wanting desperately to reach out to her. But you’re afraid it’ll only drive her further away.

She frowns at you. “Like how you talk to Dustin, or even to Steve?”

Her accusation cuts deeply. You hadn’t known that she was paying attention to you. That your disguised “I’m fine’s” weren’t convincing her. Max must know this, because she lowers her eyes again and mumbles a quiet apology.

Ms. Kelly notices the tension and leans between the two of you. “Do you think you’re ready to talk more about that night?”

Max’s eyes gloss over briefly, her face distorts with discomfort. An onslaught of memories overtakes her, just as they overtake you. The echoes of her screams for her brother replay in your mind over and over again. The squelch of Billy’s blood trickles down your spine. You were right next to her when it happened. The blood still stains your clothes from that night at Starcourt.

“I live next door to where it happened.” Max changes the subject, her voice returning. When Ms. Kelly asks for more clarification, she continues. “Next to where Chrissy was murdered. The cops asked me a bunch of questions. Did they talk to you?”

The woman sits up, apprehensive. She hadn’t been expecting to talk about this. You sit there quietly, head still pounding from earlier as Max takes over. She interrogates Ms. Kelly, who does her best to dodge every question, and suddenly the warmth in the room becomes unbearable.

“Excuse me,” you stand up, hand clutching your stomach. Nausea swirls within you. You feel faint, the pounding has increased and sweat trickles down your neck. Both Max and Ms. Kelly look at you in concern, but you ignore them.

Blindly you stumble towards the kitchen you remember seeing when you arrived. Too nauseous and overwhelmed to care about niceties, you dig through Ms. Kelly’s cupboards until you find a cup. After filling it with water, the icey coolness of the liquid settles uneasily in your stomach. You lean over the sink, hands clutching the edge. Everything in your body feels unsteady.

Max comes up the stairs and finds you breathing heavily. “You’re not going to hurl, are you?”

“Trying really hard not to right now,” you breathe through your nose, out through your mouth. “Thanks for the concern.”

No response comes. Instead, footsteps walk up behind you. You hear metal clanking against glass, and when you turn around, you find Max holding up a pair of keys. She smirks, flashing you the white keyring attached to them labeled, “office”.

Your eyes bulge out of your head. “No, we are not stealing–”

Except Max grabs your arm and practically flings you out the front door. She shoves you, urging you to start running towards Steve’s car, and all you can do is stumble over your feet and follow after her. When you make it back to the car, panting from the exertion and thrill, Steve and Dustin turn to you with wide eyes.

“What’d she say?” Your brother asks, noting your frazzled appearance.

“Nothing, just drive.” Max dismisses.

“I just became a felon.”

The girl rolls her eyes at you. “Personal property theft isn’t a felony.”

“Jesus,” Steve does a double take, baffled by this entire conversation. “What the hell did you guys do in there?”

“Steve, drive!” Max shouts at him.

The tires of the car squeal against the pavement as Steve steps on the gas. He steadies the car, a wild look in his eyes. “Where are we even going?”

“The school,” Max holds up the keys she stole.

Dustin looks at her incredulously. “Are those–”

“The keys to Ms. Kelly’s office? Yeah.” You nod grimly. “I told you, I’m now a felon.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic–”

A voice comes through Cerebro, cutting Max off. “Dustin? It’s Lucas. Do you copy?”

Relief washes over you hearing Lucas’ voice. Between tracking down Eddie and dealing with interrogating school guidance counselors, you’d also been slowly worrying yourself to death over the boy. It’s unusual for him to be quiet for so long, and with all the murders now occurring… You’d been terrified.

“Lucas? Where the hell have you been?” Demands Dustin.

“Just listen, are you guys looking for Eddie?”

You and Steve share an uncertain look. Why would Lucas be radioing about him? How much does he know?

Your brother tells Lucas that you’ve found Eddie and tells him where he is, that he’s safe. Immediately, the boy responds, “You guys know he killed Chrissy, right?”

Predictably, Dustin doesn’t take this very well. “That’s bullshit, Eddie tried to save Chrissy.”

Lucas presses further, not believing what he’s hearing. Max snatches the radio from Dustin, tired of all the vague responses. “Lucas, you’re so behind it’s ridiculous, okay?”

“Technically we still haven’t elaborated on the whole Eddie thing,” you point out, which she glares at you for.

“Y/N?” Lucas asks, surprised to hear you’re with them.

You grab the walkie. “Hey, how’s your day been?”

“Awful,” he responds bluntly while Steve snorts at your question. “Why are you guys so sure Eddie didn’t–”

“Just meet us at school. We’ll explain later.” Max instructs, leaning over the car’s console.

“I can’t,” fear leaks through Lucas’ voice. You sit up now, looking at Steve again. He hears it, too. “I think some real bad shit’s about to go down.”

You feel your heartbeat pick up. “Lucas, what does that mean? Are you okay, where are you?”

“Sinclair!” A voice shouts, before the radio cuts into static.

“Lucas? Lucas!” Max shouts into the walkie, but he doesn’t respond. She sounds scared, it’s the most emotion you’ve heard in her voice in months.

You’re no better. You sit in the passenger seat, numb. The voice, you recognized it. You’d know Jason Carver’s voice anywhere. Everything clicks; you remember how Lucas was supposed to go to the party after the basketball game. Chrissy had been Jason’s girlfriend before she was brutally killed. The cops would’ve questioned him, they would’ve told him how her body had been found in Eddie’s trailer.

Eddie Munson, the town freak everyone hates.

“What shit could Lucas get into?” Dustin questions, annoyance twinged with worry for his friend.

You try to steady your breathing, nausea returning. You almost don’t recognize the sound of your own voice. “It’s Jason. He’s-he’s angry.”

The words settle in the car, linger in the air, before they crash heavily upon the four of you. The realization dawns on everyone, the inevitability of what will happen next is an unbearable weight.

Steve steps even harder on the gas. He knows the basketball team, how cruel teen boys can be.

–

Every time you’ve snuck into one of Hawkins’ schools, it’s never led to anything good. The first two times had been in the middle school for Will. Neither time involved very pleasant memories. This year you’re sneaking into the high school in order to violate your classmates’ privacy and read their deepest, darkest secrets.

“This feels wrong,” you huff under your breath, barely keeping up with Steve and the others as they run through the hallway. “I’d hate it if anyone read my file.”

“Would you rather risk anyone else dying?” Max responds, giving you a pointed look.

You frown but don’t say anything, figuring she’s right. As much as you hate to do this, it’s objectively the lesser of two evils. You’ll apologize to the students after this is done. If they question why you’ve baked them brownies, you’ll simply lie and say you had extra laying around.

“Dustin, do you copy?” Robin’s voice carries over the radio. Your heart skips a beat hearing her, you’ve missed her today. After your brother responds, she starts to explain what she and Nancy found. “So, Nancy’s a genius.”

“What else is new?” You say, and Robin laughs.

“My thoughts exactly, pretty girl.” She clears her throat. “Anyways, Vecna’s first victims date back all the way to 1959. Her shot in the dark was a bull’s-eye.”

The new information startles you. Vecna first started killing in 1959? Why didn’t you hear anything about it until now, and why didn’t El sense him before?

Dustin looks equally unsettled by the news. “Okay, that’s totally bonkers, but we can’t really talk right now.”

“What are you doing?”

“Breaking and entering into the school to retrieve confidential and extremely personal files.”

You wince. It’s as bad as it sounds. Tapping Dustin’s shoulder, you break him away from the walkie. “Wait, we won’t need my files, right?”

Steve eyes you up and down, shrugging indifferently. “Well–” Hitting his chest, he sputters at you. “Why do you keep doing that?”

“You’re not reading my files, Harrington.”

Meanwhile, Dustin urges Robin and Nancy to meet you guys at the school. By the time their conversation wraps up, Max has unlocked the office door. She heads straight towards the drawers, long familiar with the layout; you follow after her.

Steve and Dustin look around while you and Max dig through the files. They mumble something about Watergate, but you can barely hear them over the rush of blood in your eardrums. Max’s fingers rest on a specific file. The name printed on it makes you feel sick.

Fred Benson.

“Holy shit,” she exhales, grabbing it.

“Found it?” Dustin stands next to you now, neck peering down.

You struggle to breathe. “We didn’t just find Chrissy’s file.”

Dustin tilts his head, he doesn’t understand, and Max holds the file up. “Fred was seeing Ms. Kelly too.”

Steve and Dustin freeze. You can practically see their heartbeats still. The air in the room goes stale. Their eyes linger on you, they wish they couldn’t piece it together. Chrissy and Fred were seeing Ms. Kelly up until their deaths. You and Max have been seeing her, too. It’s one hell of a coincidence.

But that’s all this is. A horrible, awful coincidence.

“Y/N…” Steve breathes out, but you shake your head at him.

“Please,” your lip trembles. Not here, not now. He can’t look away from you, but you can’t bear to look at him. Instead, you grab the remaining files and hand them to Max. “We need to go through them. All of them.”

Dustin sits at the desk, Steve’s hand rests on the small of your back as you lean over Max to read the files. He shines a flashlight for the two of you, Chrissy’s file is the first one you read. The image of her once vibrant and alive smile stares back at you. There’s a column of writing to the left of her photo, the handwriting is neat, orderly, and it catches your attention.

“Are those…?”

“Symptoms.” Max softly answers, eyes skimming down the list.

Past trauma.

Terrible migraines.

Difficulty sleeping.

Headaches.

Max’s entire body tenses, her muscles pull taut against you. Your own body shakes, the tremors misalign your bones. Slowly, she looks up at you. Her eyes silently beg you to tell her that you’ve gotten it all wrong. Max’s blue eyes plead with you to tell her that none of this is real.

“Steve,” your voice catches, unable to inhale. “Can we see Fred’s file?”

He softly agrees, handing you the file immediately. You take it from him. The paper trembles in your unsteady grasp. Laying them down, you open the file and Fred’s photo burns you. Next to it is a list of symptoms.

They’re the same as Chrissy’s.

They’re the same as yours.

The headaches. Sleepless nights. The trauma you’ve been through, the nightmares that will never truly go away. Everything you’ve experienced within the last week.

Nosebleeds is starred, and for a moment your heartbeat settles. You haven’t had a nosebleed since you were five. It isn’t one of your symptoms; it can all still be a coincidence.

“This-this can’t be right.” You don’t know if you say this to reassure Max or yourself, but when you look down at her, you know. She has a far off look in her eyes. She doesn’t react to what you’ve just said.

It’s only then that you remember her nosebleed from earlier this week; it hadn’t been a coincidence.

“Max?” You shake her shoulders, tears already in your eyes. You know better than to be so naive, so blindly ignorant. You should’ve known better. You should’ve known that something was wrong.

Dustin and Steve try to wake Max, but she’s already left her body. She’s unresponsive, lost in whatever trance she’s in.

“Y/N, what’s happening?” Steve demands, fear in his own voice.

You’re hysterical, screaming and sobbing for Max to wake up. Her body is so small against yours, she’s frail and weak and her skin has never looked so translucent. Over and over you shake her, your palms rest against her cheeks and you cry.

You’ve come to know what fear is. How it can blind a person, leave them stricken with such raw anguish. Fear takes whatever air is left inside you and it poisons it with sulfur and leaves you choking.

The day Will went missing, the only air left in your body had been blood.

When inside the tunnels defending your little brother from monsters, the air in your body had been carbon.

Starcourt mall and the fireworks that exploded over Billy’s dangling and bloodied body left only just enough air in your lungs to scream.

But this fear, seeing Max unresponsive to your pleas, this fear doesn’t spare you any air.

Gasping and choking, you’re a wreck. “Max!”

Faintly you can feel Steve’s hands on you, or maybe they’re Dustin’s. Someone grabs you, pulls you away, but all you can do is scream.

It all makes sense now, Nancy’s question from earlier rings in your ears. You know why Chrissy and Fred were targeted. Why Ms. Kelly was somehow the center of it all.

The symptoms they experienced prior, the same ones that plague you and Max. You know what it is.

Venca’s curse.

⌑ series masterlist

⌑ if youd like to buy me a coffee ☕︎

⌑ thank you for reading ! feel free to like, comment, reblog, or send in an ask so we can chat <3

#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #bdyr #m's writing #oh dear this chapter has so much. like wow #all the conversations .....#whew

593 notes · View notes

baisemains · 2 months ago

Text

Elements of Desire

Chapter 6: On the Mend

single mom!sevika x reader

word count: 6.3k

contains: angst-ish, tension, language, food mention, vi (iykyk), some fluff!

description: school is back in session and after learning of some good news, you and sevika must learn to chart unfamiliar waters.

ao3 link | spotify playlist

previous | next // sevika masterlist

Monday morning, your eyes spring open before your alarm can even do its job, and you waste no time getting ready. Putting more effort than usual into your look today, you try at least four different outfits before deciding on one that’s a perfect balance between eye catching and comfortable.

Loading your things into your car, you put on your feel good playlist for your drive to work, determined to have a great day. Once there, your nerves start to creep in, but you do your best to settle them and remember that there’s no stakes involved with your announcement later. Sort of.

As usual, Ekko is the first one to arrive to class and he walks right up to your desk sporting a huge grin.

“Who has two thumbs and is going to the next round of the science fair?”

Pointing to himself, you match his smile and round your desk, hugging the boy.

“So proud of you dude, you have no idea how happy I was when I read your name in the email.”

Ekko had submitted this same project the previous two years but failed to make it past the first round each time. You had suggested doing something different this year but he stuck to his gut and it paid off.

“Thanks Teach, I couldn't have done it without your support, though.”

Letting him go, you place your hand on his shoulders and shake your head.

“That’s all you kid, from the idea to the execution. I was just a sounding board.”

Smiling, you walk up to the whiteboard and start writing the topic for today’s lesson, conversing with Ekko about what he did over his break. A few minutes later, the conversation ends when students start filing in and he turns around to walk to his desk, you doing the same. Pausing when you remember something, you spin around and call out to the boy.

“Hey! Um, Powder doesn’t know that she got in yet, so if she asks you about it, just say I haven’t said anything, cool?”

“Wait, she passed too?”

Nodding, you see his eyes light up as he fights back a smile and you quirk a brow. Interesting.

“Yeah, I forgot to email her mom when I told your parents,” you lied.

“Cool. I won’t say anything then.”

Schooling his face back into a neutral expression, Ekko continues his journey to his workstation and you face the whiteboard once again. You thought he would have been annoyed at best that Powder was also accepted, his lab partner being his competition for such a prestigious prize seems like it would be a nightmare.

Starting to think about it, the two have had tension between them since they met, but you honestly thought it was because they just didn’t get along. Smiling to yourself, you think, could there be a little crush there?

A couple more kids arriving brings your attention back to what you were doing, and you quickly finish writing what you had to on the board. Eventually, most of the class is in their seats, and when you glance up from your computer, you see Powder walking up to you.

“Hi Teach,” she says, unusually shy.

Smiling at the girl, you realize that you know nothing about what her last couple weeks have been like and it tugs at your heart.

“Hi Powder, how was your break?”

Beaming, Powder starts relaying everything she did, the girl’s animated storytelling making you laugh several times. She sees how your expression slightly changes every time Sevika is mentioned, and it almost makes her frown.

“So, I brought you a little something back. Or a couple somethings, actually.”

Reaching into her bag, she pulls out three keychains and raises them in your direction. You instantly pout, not expecting the gesture at all.

“Powder, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

Taking them in your hands, you look at each one in detail, loving them instantly.

“I wanted to though, these last few months would’ve been a lot harder without you.”

Looking up, you see the vulnerable look on the girl’s face and it almost brings a tear to your eye.

“Plus they were too cute to pass up, look at the dolphin one.”

To prove her point, she flicks one of the keychains, causing it to spin in circles. Setting them all down on your desk, you walk to stand in front of her, engulfing her in an embrace.

“This was so nice of you Powder, thank you. It means more than you know.”

She returns the hug, giving you a quick squeeze. No matter what her sister said, she believed you were a good person, and conversations like this only proved that.

“You’re my favorite teacher, I had to.”

Pulling apart, you thank her again and Powder begins heading to her seat. You catch Ekko’s eye, nodding your head to remind him of what you said earlier. Once everyone else arrives and the bell rings, you get their attention and begin the day’s lesson.

Soon enough, the end of the day rolls around and Sevika will be arriving shortly for your impromptu meeting. You’ve somehow managed to not think about it since the morning but as the clock ticks by, your nerves return. Busying yourself with organizing your classroom as if it’s something she’ll care about, you flit about from corner to corner, tidying up.

You hear footsteps in the hallway and almost sprint to the front of the room, cleaning off the board in an attempt to look casual when your visitors walk in. Hearing a knock from the doorway, you slowly turn around, instantly making eye contact with the woman who’s been plaguing your thoughts.

Neither of you say anything for a moment as you observe each other, and your stomach does a little flip when you see Sevika look you up and down. All that time picking out my outfit was worth it, then. You notice that her skin is a bit darker than the last time you saw her, and you mentally thank the beach Powder was telling you about this morning. She’s wearing a boxy work jacket you’ve never seen before over her signature plain white tee and dark jeans and though it’s simple, it brings a tingle to the back of your neck. She looks good.

“Hey Teach.”

Powder is absolutely beaming when you look over at her, recognizing her presence as well. Knowing you’ve been caught, you clear your throat and straighten up your posture, welcoming them in.

“Hi Powder. Sevika. Please, come sit down.”

The two of them move into the room and you allow yourself to stare at Sevika’s profile while you can, taking in every detail. It gives you deja vu, but there couldn’t be a bigger difference in your situation from then to now. Once they take their seats, you walk over to them, leaving a healthy distance between you.

“So, I received an email from the science fair committee last night regarding their decision. And I know I said that I would let you know as soon as I heard anything, but this felt important enough that I had to give you the results in person.”

A sharp inhale catches your attention and your gaze shifts to Powder, looking like she’s about to faint.

“Oh jeez.”

Sevika glances from Powder to you, an expectant look on her face. She didn’t show it, but she was actually nervous, and your tone wasn’t helping.

“What did they say?”

Taking a deep breath, a smile spreads onto your face as you tell them the news.

“Congratulations Powder, you made it to the next round.”

Jumping up, the girl immediately runs over to you, shoving her face into your chest as she wraps her arms around you, eyes welling with tears.

“Really?!”

At the same time, Sevika leans back in her chair as she brings both hands to her face, letting out the breath she was holding. Once you and Powder separate, she stands up, speed walks over to the two of you, and picks her daughter up, spinning her around.

Before you can blink, Sevika puts her down and embraces you next, catching you off guard. Immediately melting into her, you hug her back, feeling the muscles rippling underneath your fingertips while her cologne fills your nose. You vaguely hear a sigh, and you’re unsure of who it comes from.

Once Sevika realizes what she’s done, she straightens up and lets her arms fall away. Clearing her throat as she takes a step back and runs a hand through her hair, the tension hangs between you.

“Um, wow, this is amazing news.”

Nodding, you take a breath to try and clear your head of the Sevika induced brain fog. Itching to reach back out for her, you settle your hands on your hips in an attempt to keep them occupied.

“Absolutely, it’s well deserved too, her presentation was amazing.”

You then begin discussing what will likely come next, hearing from other teacher friends of yours who have been through the process before. The entire time, Powder’s eyes are bouncing back and forth between the two of you, a smirk plastered on her face. She knew Sevika still had a thing for you, and you clearly returned the feeling.

“And I’ll email all of this to you too, it’s best to have it in writing.”

Looking at Sevika, you try your best to keep a neutral expression as you talk, but a smile is fighting its way out the entire time.

“Like before, Powder will have to start staying after school again to work on this, and even though she’s up against less kids than before, attention to detail is going to be incredibly important and what’ll make her stand out from the rest.”

Nodding along, Sevika is absorbing everything you’re saying and reality starts settling in. The two of you will be back in constant communication, and as much as she thought she’d be upset about it, she actually feels a bit…happy. Yes, she had sprouted a little crush on you, but more importantly, you had begun a friendship, and she missed that more than anything. She decides that that’s a problem for later, and by the time you wrap up the meeting, her discomfort has subsided and she actually smiles.

You end your spiel with a nod and a smile, confident that Powder has what it takes to get to the next level.

“Take tonight, celebrate, and tomorrow, we’ll talk about when to start up again.”

“Sounds good.”

Sevika moves to give you a handshake, debating if she should say what else is on her mind. Not seeing any reason not to, she continues.

“And thank you for everything you’ve done for Powder, it means more than you know.”

Shaking your head, you tell her it’s not a big deal and Powder gives you another quick hug, waving as the two of them begin making their way toward the exit. Sevika then turns around, giving you a quick smile before she disappears through the doorway. You can tell it’s genuine, and a feeling of joy bubbles up in your chest.

Arriving home, Powder sprints out of the car to tell her sisters the news, leaving Sevika alone to take a breather. It was so nice seeing you in person again, even if she wouldn’t admit it to anyone.

She missed the way you brightened up a room with your positivity, always making her feel comfortable. It was so easy to talk to you, she never felt like she had to force anything, and though she had other friendships, it was different with you. Shaking her head, she gets out and walks in the house, thinking about what to cook for dinner.

By this time, Powder is already relaying what happened to the other girls, bouncing with excitement. They immediately congratulate her, Vi giving her a noogie, causing Powder to chase her around the house until Sevika walks in and Vi takes refuge behind her.

“Mom, Vi keeps messing with me!” Powder whines as Vi sticks her tongue out from behind the woman.

Taking no time to assess the situation, Sevika groans and pushes the two girls apart.

“Come on guys, we just got home.”

The two teenagers start bickering when Sevika claps her hands once, the noise silencing the room.

“Enough. We just got some great news, you guys should be happy.”

Caitlyn and Isha only look at each other, containing their laughs as the two get scolded.

“Anyways, I was thinking, you guys feel like going out to dinner tonight? We should celebrate.”

All the girls cheer at that, eating somewhere outside their home was a rare treat. Not that they had many meals that could top Sevika’s cooking, but it was always a fun experience. Looking towards Powder, Sevika asks her if she had any place in mind and her eyes light up immediately.

“Hibachi! I wanna see if I can catch more shrimp than last time.”

Of course, Sevika thinks. Leave it to her middle child to choose somewhere they play with your food and light it on fire.

“Okay then, give me a bit to shower and change and we’ll leave.”

Heading to her room, Sevika hears Powder and Isha grabbing snacks to practice for the restaurant, making sure to tell them not to fill up before dinner.

Once they arrive at the restaurant, Powder chooses the middle seat directly in front of where the chef will be, leaving everyone else to fill in around her. Sevika chooses to sit two seats down from her, putting Isha in the middle of them, and Vi and Caitlyn take their seats on the other side of Powder.

A little while later, almost all of the seats around the grill are filled and Powder can't wait for dinner to start. Her and Isha are going over strategy when she sees someone stop in their tracks behind Sevika and looks up, eyes widening.

“Teach!”

As soon as your meeting with Sevika and Powder ended, you were in a happier mood and it took you no time to pack up and grab your things.

You didn’t feel like staying home, though the weather outside was miserable, and texted your roommates if they were free to go to dinner with you. Two of them said yes, the other was at work and wouldn’t be home until later so she declined. Hearting all of the responses, you drove home and thought about where to go.

Once there, your roommates were almost ready to leave, and when you saw their outfits, you decided to upgrade your look into something a bit nicer than what you had on.

When you all finished, you piled into your car and put on a relaxing playlist for the drive. The three of you started talking about your days, and eventually the conversation landed on Sevika and the meeting. You confided in them how seeing her in person made you feel, and after they exchanged glances, they asked you what you planned to do moving forward.

At that question, you paused and thought of your answer carefully.

“I’m not sure, there was a little bit of a moment when she hugged me, but that could’ve just been excitement, and because she doesn’t want it to be awkward. The next deadline is in a month, so we’re gonna be around each other until then.”

You swear you could’ve heard a record scratch at the casual confession.

“Wait, back up. She hugged you? Like a full on ‘arms wrapped around you’ kind of hug?”

Sheepishly glancing at your friends, you nodded.

“Yeah, she was happy about the news, it’s understandable.”

“Right, I’m sure she goes around doing that to all her kids’ teachers.”

Exhaling harshly, you attempted to gather your thoughts.

“Honestly, I’m trying not to think about it too much cause I don’t wanna get excited over something that isn’t concrete.”

Your roommates nodded in understanding and one spoke up next.

“Well, we’re always here for you, no matter what happens.”

You looked at her through the rearview mirror and smiled in gratitude, they really did always have your back.

When you walked into the restaurant, your two roommates continued their conversation behind you as the host led you all to your table. As you made your way over, you saw a familiar silhouette sitting towards the corner of it and your stomach sank as your fear was confirmed.

So now here you are, standing in front of the woman you were just thinking about, eyes locked with a tension so palpable you can’t tear your gaze away. Her eyes look you up and down, even more intensely than earlier, and heat begins crawling up your back before spreading throughout your body.

Remembering you still haven’t responded to Powder, you snap out of it and say hello, looking at everyone else sitting with her. When Vi catches your eye, you see the scowl etched on her face and she looks away, ignoring you.

Isha leaps out of her seat to give you a hug, arms wrapping around your waist. You return the gesture and let her go as she signs that she’s happy to see you. Meanwhile, your roommates are behind you, watching this entire interaction with curiosity.

Standing back up, you glance around the table and see that the only empty seats are next to Sevika.

Just your luck that it would be fully packed on a Monday.

“Do you mind if we take these?”

Looking back at the woman, she quickly shakes her head as she extends her hand out towards them.

“No, of course not, go ahead.”

You, being the closest to her, take the seat right next to Sevika as your roommates sidle in beside you. Your heartbeat is thrumming by now, hyper aware of your movements and how close the two of you are.

Turning away from her, you see the looks on your roommates faces, slight frowns as they glance over at Sevika. Mouthing stop it, one of them rolls her eyes as the other looks at the menu in front of her. A waitress then comes by and quickly takes your orders before leaving you alone with your thoughts again.

Now you’re stuck. You’re not sure if it’s rude to ignore Sevika, while also feeling like you’re obligated to talk to her because you’re sitting next to each other. Rubbing your temples, you hope the chef comes out soon so you can have some sort of a distraction.

Your prayers are shortly answered when she arrives a minute later, immediately throwing food on the grill, causing Powder to cheer. You watch as her and Isha are enraptured by the flames, bringing a smile to your face. Those two may usually be shy kids, but seeing their personalities surface like this warms your heart.

Hearing your name, you turn around and see your roommates engrossed in a conversation, one of them catching your eye and leaning in towards you, whispering.

“That’s the oldest daughter? The one at the end?”

You try to recall the seating order from memory, not wanting to turn around and have someone catch you looking.

“The girl with the red hair, yeah, next to her is her girlfriend.”

Seeing her glance over, she looks up and down, assessing Vi, you assume.

“Hm. Okay.”

“Stop looking, I don’t need to give her another reason not to like me.”

Looking towards the chef, you watch her for a few seconds before your attention is brought back to your roommate.

“Hey, why don’t you just tell her what really happened? Clear the air and let her know that’s not the person you are.”

At her comment, you slowly shake your head, knowing Sevika wouldn’t go for that. Why would she believe you over her own daughter?

“I think it’s too late for that. She didn’t reach out the whole two week break, that says enough.”

Looking at Sevika from the corner of your eye, you see her staring at the fire with a blank expression, seemingly lost in her own thoughts.

“Wait, didn’t you say you had copies of all the texts between Gert and the side bitch?”

Suddenly, old memories come flooding back. You had emailed yourself screenshots of Gert’s cheating when you were still deciding whether you should leave her. That was only meant for your eyes though, showing them to someone else who wasn’t involved didn’t seem right.

“I don’t know, that feels…wrong.”

Sighing, they look at you with exasperated looks on their faces before one of them speaks up.

“Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but if you like this lady, you have a way to clear your name, that’s all I’m saying. Don’t keep letting your old shit get in the way of something new.”

Leaning back in her chair, she turns to watch the chef tossing shrimp to people at the table, ending the conversation. Sighing, you know she’s right, and you needed the tough love, it was just the idea of exposing how badly someone treated you that made you apprehensive.

You hear Powder’s voice next to you, turning your head and seeing her almost stand up from her chair to get the cook’s attention. Everyone cheers when she catches a piece, and you clap for her, setting your hands on the table when you brush something. Looking down, you see that Sevika also has her hand laid on the table and you freeze.

How had you not noticed it was so close to yours until now?

You were suddenly extremely aware of her, realizing the woman was sitting closer than you thought. Sevika must have noticed too, because her hand twitched and pulled away, moving to lay on her thigh instead.

Before you could react, the chef calls out and you look back toward her to see what she’s talking about. Holding a piece of shrimp on her spatula, she gestures towards Sevika, who sternly shakes her head, much to the disappointment of her daughters. Powder and Isha start jeering before she quiets them with a raise of an eyebrow, reminding them of where they’re at.

The chef then turns to you, and your eyes widen. Opening your mouth to tell her no, you hear a “Yeah, Teach!” to your left and see Powder smiling at you. Isha gives you two thumbs up and even your roommates start quietly cheering you on. With so much attention directed your way, you feel obligated to say yes so you look back towards the chef and nod.

Watching the shrimp fly through the air, you can tell you won’t catch it unless you move, so you lean back just a bit further in your seat, or so you think. It feels like everything is moving in slow motion as your feet leave the ground and your chair starts tipping back, the feeling of falling settling in your stomach. Hearing gasps from around the table, you brace yourself for impact, praying your ego will recover from what’s about to happen.

Suddenly, your chair stops moving and you fly forward, all feet planted back on the ground. Glancing around, you then see Sevika’s arm wrapped around the back of your seat and a worried look on her face. Clearing your throat, you scratch the back of your neck and tear your gaze away from her, knowing your entire table, and maybe the whole restaurant, just witnessed you almost falling on your ass. Powder and Isha look shocked, and behind them, Vi has a smirk plastered on her face, clearly enjoying your misstep. You hear your friends asking if you’re okay, and after slightly nodding, you face Sevika to give her your gratitude, fighting through your embarrassment.

“Um, thanks. That could've been really bad.”

She only nods, looking at you with an understanding gleam in her eye.

“Don’t mention it, I’ve seen my fair share of falls with those three.”

She points her head in the girls’ direction, and you know she has stories. Holding back a smile, a vision of a tired Sevika protecting her rowdy girls springs to mind, and it’s adorable.

“Yeah, I bet they keep you on your toes.”

You look over at the girls, who are talking amongst themselves, no doubt about what just happened, and let out a small chuckle. It’s not hard to imagine them as little runts, constantly running Sevika ragged. Thinking about what an amazing parent she is, your gaze returns to the woman to see her already staring at you.

Her gaze catches you off guard, and she breaks eye contact right away, turning back towards the flame. Looking down towards your hands in your lap, you smile to yourself, starting to watch the chef again before hearing her voice cut through the noise of the restaurant.

“The girls missed you.”

Whipping your head towards her, you see that Sevika isn’t looking at you but straight ahead. You weren’t expecting her to strike up a conversation at this point in the night but you take advantage of the opening.

“I…missed them too.”

A sad smile adorns her face at that, and you get the urge to kiss it away. Thankfully, she speaks before you can embarrass yourself further.

“They didn’t stop talking about you our entire trip. Did Powder give you the keychains she bought?”

Slowly nodding, she turns her head towards you and lets her eyes flicker between yours, giving you the chance to do the same.

God, she’s beautiful.

“Good. She was really excited about them.”

The two of you make small talk from there, talking about the restaurant and the weather. After a few minutes, the conversation naturally ends and you no longer feel the awkward tension from earlier. You pick up your glass to take a sip when your attention is grabbed once again.

“So…when should Powder bring her project back to school? I get off early tomorrow so I can bring it with me when I pick her up.” She clears her throat, “If that’s okay with you.”

Looking over at her, you see the apprehension on her face and let yourself smile this time.

“Yeah, that works. You know where to park.”

The two of you get pulled into other conversations but the thought of seeing each other the next day carries you through the rest of the evening.

Eventually, dinner comes to an end and it’s time to go your separate ways, all of you standing up to leave.

Powder and Isha are the first ones to say goodbye, hugging you and telling you they missed you. Hearing them echo Sevika’s words from earlier warms your heart and has you squeezing them a little tighter. Sevika follows behind them, bidding you and your roommates good night with a tight lipped smile, and you return the gesture, albeit with a genuine one. Vi brings up the rear, dragging Caitlyn past you, but not before Caitlyn can sneakily wave at you behind her girlfriend’s back.

Not until they leave and you start your own journey to the exit do you realize that you failed to introduce everyone. Thinking about it, it probably wouldn’t have gone well so you decide it was for the best. Your roommates then pipe up behind you as you all reach the car.

“The girls were so cute saying bye to you, they seem really sweet.”

You beam as if they were your own, getting in and buckling up, checking all your mirrors.

“Yeah, they’re really good kids. Sevika’s doing a great job with them.”

The two of them exchange a knowing glance but say nothing. The drive home is filled with jokes and banter, and once you arrive, you see that your third roommate is in the living room on her laptop. Skipping hellos, your other two friends immediately start telling her about how the night went, not leaving out a single detail. When they get to the part where you almost fell and Sevika caught you, her mouth is agape and she starts laughing.

“Listen, I’m not her biggest fan but that was smooth, I’ll admit.”

They then tell her about how you two started talking later on, and they ask you what the conversation was about.

“Literally just the weather and how dinner was. And that she could bring Powder’s project back to school tomorrow.”

“So…that means you guys have to talk again?”

Biting your lip, you think thankfully.

“Well yeah, it’s the same schedule as before. Except now we have less time before the next deadline.”

Your roommate only nods at that, hearing the slight nerves in your voice, and you change the subject, afraid of getting your hopes up.

An hour later, you all decide to head to bed, tired from the day. Gliding through your bedtime routine as if on autopilot, you climb under the covers and wrap them tightly around yourself. That night, you dream of grey eyes and steady hands.

The next day passes by uneventfully, and after the final bell rings, Powder walks in, holding onto her backpack straps with a smile.

“Hey, Teach.”

You turn around and wave her in, clearing off your desk. Sevika had texted you a few minutes ago that she was on her way with Powder’s project so now the two of you are waiting for her, talking about a new movie that’s coming out soon. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and when you check the screen, you see a text simply saying “Here”.

You both walk out to the parking lot, propping open the main door as you make your way over to the truck parked nearby. Sevika’s already grabbed the two biggest boxes, hauling them with no effort and the sight never fails to make you swoon.

“The smaller two are in the backseat, you guys can grab those.”

Breezing past you, you’re able to stop yourself from looking directly at her, but the little bit you catch in your peripheral has you smiling. Snapping out of it, you remind yourself that you’re only trying to be cordial with her, nothing else.

Picking up the remaining boxes, you and Powder quickly follow Sevika inside to your classroom, setting them down in the corner. Looking around, you try to decide between asking if Powder can start working on it now or letting her go home for the day.

Sevika watches you walk in with an indiscernible look on her face, arms crossed over her chest as she waits for your direction. As the boxes are set down, she takes her phone out of her pocket, looking at something and making the decision for you.

“I’ve gotta head back to the shop real quick, but I can leave Powder here if you guys want to get started.”

Shifting her gaze towards you then Powder, you tell her it’s fine and she puts her phone back into her pocket, kissing her daughter on the head as she heads towards the door. Turning around, she calls out to you.

“Be back in a bit!”

As soon as she’s out the door, Powder starts to work, taking out the supplies she needs before placing them on the table. Watching her for a moment, you decide to start some grading at your desk, turning on your computer and pulling up the stack of papers.

Time seems to blur as you’re distracted by the numbers and comments you’re putting on the tests. Glancing back up, you see that Powder is still working diligently. You’ve come to appreciate how good she is at staying focused.

A rough knock at the door breaks you out of your thoughts, your head whipping towards the sound. You call out to let the person come in, assuming it’s Sevika.

When the door opens, you’re surprised to see Vi standing in the doorway. Her eyes flick around the room, a curious expression on her face when she sees Powder working, but a scowl replacing it as her gaze lands on you.

“Sev got caught up with something else, so she sent me to pick up Powder.”

You murmur out a stern okay, watching Vi stroll over to her sister as she looks over her shoulder at the project.

“What is it?”

Powder looks up, eyeing the girl.

“If I explain, will you understand what I’m talking about?”

“No.”

“Then why would I?”

The interaction causes you to hold in a smile, careful not to let them see you. Powder is feisty when she wants to be.

After a couple minutes, Powder grabs her things and walks over to your desk, Vi a few steps behind her. She lets you know what she worked on today and you smile, telling her you’ll look it over and give her your notes tomorrow. Telling you goodbye as she walks out, Vi follows, giving you a once over but not saying anything.

A few minutes later, you’ve written down your notations for the project, sliding them into your desk. Letting out a sigh, you gather your belongings, shoving your laptop inside, deciding you’re also done for the day. You’re ready to go home, eat your leftovers, and numb your brain with as much reality television as it will let you.

That week, you and Powder get into the swing of things with no problem, back to how they were before break. The only thing that was missing was Sevika’s homemade cooking waiting for you when she picked Powder up, and you missed it more than you realized.

On the bright side, you and Sevika were back to talking on a regular basis, which you were ecstatic about, even if it was only about Powder’s schoolwork. Two weeks of no contact didn’t sound like much, but you had grown accustomed to hearing from her daily and you missed your conversations more than anything. It was hard to find real connections as an adult, and if friendship was all that was in the cards, then that was good enough for you.

The comment from your roommate about showing Sevika the texts replays in your head the next few days, and you decide to go along with her idea. More than once, you almost had a chance to bring it up to Sevika, but something always interrupted the moment. A couple times, it was a work call she had to take, but most of it was by way of Vi hanging in the background, always watching you.

She had decided to start accompanying Sevika to pick Powder up after school, surprising all of you. You learn that she doesn’t have to be back at school for another month, and with nothing else to busy herself with, she decides to become Sevika’s personal chaperone. Knowing the reason why, you can’t blame her but you still wished she’d leave the two of you alone long enough to let you rectify the situation.

Another week passes, and your frustration starts to build. Sevika is still keeping your discussions very surface level, and you feel less and less confident about explaining your side. Even Powder has started to notice that something is wrong. She’s a very perceptive kid and sees the way that your shoulders have slumped, interactions with Sevika more reserved from your side.

As she works on her project, you sit at your desk, pretending to look over some papers so you can watch the door. Today, your eyes are glued to the clock, the seconds ticking by like hours.

As if you summoned her, a familiar figure steps into the room. Sevika, dressed in her work coveralls, glances over at Powder before her eyes catch yours. Giving you a small nod, she smiles faintly but her eyes still hold that weary look you’ve grown used to.

As usual, Vi is right on her heels, walking over to lean against one of the desks, propping her hands on top and crossing one leg over the other. They both watch Powder start to pack up her things, the three of you waiting for her to finish.

“How’s she doing?”

Sevika glances over at you, expectant.

“Really good. We’ve tweaked a couple things so she’s in the process of testing the new model but I have high hopes.”

You smile softly at the woman, sincerity laced in your voice. She grins back and her gap makes an appearance, causing you to look down at her lips. Luckily, Powder starts walking over that very moment and grabs everyone’s attention, causing Sevika to speak up.

“Ready, kid?”

“Almost. There was something I wanted to show Vi in the gym.”

The teenager in question looks up from where she was texting on her phone with a puzzled look.

“What?”

Sevika’s gaze flicks between Powder and Vi, looking as if she’s about to protest. Her hand even reaches out, just a fraction, but Vi is already putting her phone away and standing up as she groans.

“Fine, make it quick though, I got things to do.”

“What, like your girlfriend?”

Powder whispers that part, but in the quiet room, it reaches everyone’s ears. Seeing the angry look on Vi’s face, she sprints out of the room and down the hallway, her sister following close behind. Sevika can only sigh, closing her eyes as she rubs her forehead.

“Those girls are going to be the death of me, I swear.”

You stifle a snicker, taking the opportunity to fully stare at Sevika. Her uniform is old, covered in stains and the occasional frayed tear. It’s slightly unbuttoned at the top, leaving her throat and the middle of her collarbones exposed. The hand on her face is smeared with oil, and you think this might be your new favorite look of hers.

She shifts to stand up, and you realize the two of you are alone for the first time in weeks. A weight settles in your chest as you register that this is the chance you’ve been waiting for.

“Hey, can we talk?”

taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @vii-v @runawaybaby3 @ferxanda @sevikas-whore @vikashoneybee @sleepingwasp @savedforlaterr @lia-winther

#would you believe me if I said the restaurant scene wasn’t planned and I made it up as I went 🫣 cause that’s literally what happened LMFAO #anyways! hope everyone loves cliffhangers 🤭#next chapter will be coming next week either thursday or friday 😁#thank you for reading! mwah mwah mwah #sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika angst #sevika fluff #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane angst #arcane fluff #sela writes

223 notes · View notes

greenwitchfromthewoods · 4 months ago

Text

bonfire. l Joel Miller

Summary: some things just happen

Warnings: fluff, angst (tones of sadness), Ellie is mean to Joel, Maria and Tommy are like that too, blood, clinic, tw: miscarriage

A/N: two chapters in two days. sorry. in my defense, i had this one written for a while, but i finished it today. a nice person asked me to break her heart. i'll just say this chapter is sad. if any of you have experienced a miscarriage, i'm so sorry. i can't imagine your pain. i hope you have support around you and you're not alone in this. maybe you'll hate me after this chapter… i expect that.

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

The soft clinking of cutlery filled the living room of Tommy and Maria. The evening sun was streaming in through the large windows and you were all sitting at the table eating a really delicious roast. It was a nice evening.

"What's funny?" Joel asked, glancing at Ellie who was clearly trying to stifle her laughter.

Everyone's eyes focused intently on the girl who was chewing a bite of meat. "This is the third day you haven't tried to get rid of your stomach." she said, glancing at you.

"Ellie!" Joel groaned rolling his eyes but then he looked at you because you were clearly trying to stifle your laughter.

A chuckle spread through everyone and only Joel seemed disgusted.

"I'm sorry." you said once you calmed down. "I didn't think you counted that?"

"Of course! That was disgusting!" Ellie took a sip of water and put more baked potatoes on her plate.

"Maria had a similar one." Tommy mumbled and shrugged when Joel gave him a reprimanding look "What? Sometimes it's just like that!"

"Do we really have to talk about this over dinner?" Joel sighed resignedly.

Tommy winked at Ellie and the girl smiled broadly.

"What week are you in?" Maria asked, trying to feed her son who was sitting in a high chair at the table.

"Eighth? I think so." You answered uncertainly "I'm due in the middle of winter."

"It's not that bad." Maria wiped the baby's dirty wake "The little one will be quite big in the spring. You must be excited."

You and Joel exchanged quick glances. This issue still had the status of "it's complicated". Although you had already come to terms with what had happened to you to some extent, you still had many doubts and fears in your head. However, with Joel by your side, you knew you would cope.

Soon Tommy brought up the subject of Mr. Brosman's roof renovation and the conversation changed its course, allowing you to breathe a sigh of relief. Dinner went on at its own pace and only when you offered to help clear the table did Joel quickly get up.

"I can do that, no need for you to be worrying about that." he said, taking the plate from your hands.

"But I wanted to..." you started but quickly gave in.

"Man, I already knew you were obsessed with her but now that she's pregnant this stuff is a whole next level." Ellie snorted and Tommy grinned.

"He also has this stupid little smile that I have never seen before. When he looks at her, right?" Tommy added and you felt heat creep up your neck.

"Oh, please!" Maria groaned "Get off them! You're awful!"

Joel didn't answer, hastily collecting the dishes and taking them to the kitchen. When Ellie took his nephew for a walk, and you and Maria engaged in conversation, Tommy was next to him, handing him a glass of whiskey.

"So it's good?" he asked quietly "Between you two?"

Joel nodded. "She's still worried. So am I. But it's better." he took a sip "The doctor wants to see her next week."

"It'll be good, you'll see." Tommy tapped him on the shoulder "And how's the work on that thing going?"

Joel's thoughts ran to his studio, which he had at home. One of the rooms on the ground floor was designated as his own place. He hid there whenever he needed to think or rest. Between the pieces of wood and tools, he found peace and relief. You and Ellie rarely went there, respecting his space. But Joel had taken Tommy there recently to show him something.

The cradle he was building still needed a lot of work, but Joel had time - or so he thought. He tried to make even the smallest elements nicely decorated, so that the wood was suitably smooth, and the cradle itself was functional. He wanted to ask Ann to prepare bedding for the baby, maybe in a nice pattern, something that you would also like.

"I had to cover it with a sheet." Joel replied. "She was looking for a hammer recently and stormed in there."

"Oh! I get it." Tommy laughed, glancing at you and Maria sitting on the couch. "You know, I didn't think I'd ever see you like this again. Like I remember you back then."

Joel shifted uncomfortably, as if confused by his brother's words. He still felt uneasy when they talked about the past, about their previous lives. Tommy had to see that.

"I know it's not the same. But Joel, it's rare for someone to get a second chance at life. And you have it in your hands."

He watched as his brother finished his drink, then twirled the empty glass in his fingers as he spoke quietly. "I've been dreaming about her again lately. About Sarah." he mumbled quietly. "But this is different. She's different there. She's there too." he added, nodding his head in your direction. "Sometimes I wonder..."

"Sarah would love her, I'm sure of it." Tommy replied. "She'd be happy that there's someone who cares about you, that you're still alive, that you're happy. Because you have the right to be happy, Joel."

Ellie felt like her lungs were burning, but she didn't stop for a moment. Mr. Brosman’s house grew before her eyes, and on the roof she saw a man. She guessed it was Brad, because he was much more agile than Joel should be in such a place. The girl ran to the stairs when she heard a familiar voice.

"Ellie! Is something burning?" Tommy smiled at the sight of the girl, but when he saw her face he frowned "What's going on?"

"Joel!" Ellie gasped, struggling to catch her breath "Where's Joel?"

"Back of the house, but..."

Ellie ran off the porch and ran around the building. She saw Joel, preparing the boards that were to be installed on the roof, but when Ellie appeared in front of him, he froze.

She didn't have to say anything. Three words fell from his lips. "Where is she?"

He didn't remember the way to the clinic, which he ran halfway through with Ellie right behind him, who nervously told him the whole way what had happened.

"I was coming back with Dina when I saw her. She was kind of weird..." she said, gasping for breath, strands of hair sticking to her sweaty face. "When she saw me, she just said she had to go to the clinic, that she needed a doctor, and that I should find you."

"Was she hurt?" Joel growled.

"I don't know!"

Fuck! He shouldn't have left you. What didn't he foresee? What could have happened in those few hours?

The door slammed as he ran into the clinic and immediately spotted Ruth, an older woman who worked as a nurse. At the sight of Joel, she straightened up abruptly.

"Mr. Miller." she said, then glanced at the closed door. "You can't go there right now."

"What about her? What happened?" Joel panted, feeling the sweat running down his back.

"Doctor Morris is checking her out. I'm not sure..." she glanced at Ellie, who rushed in after Joel, gasping for breath. "We have to wait."

Every minute dragged on forever. There were no sounds from behind the door, only the floor creaked under Ellie's steps as she sat down on one of the chairs. Ruth tried to occupy herself with something, but the atmosphere was not helping. It was only after ten minutes that the door opened and Joel saw the doctor's familiar face.

"Mr. Miller." he sighed when he saw the man, then glanced at Ruth and nodded, "Please, get everything ready."

The woman must have known what Morris meant, because she quickly disappeared into the hallway. The doctor looked at Joel now.

"What about her? What's wrong?" he asked, feeling as if his tongue was refusing to obey him and his hands were icy cold.

"Joel... She came here with heavy bleeding. There were also severe cramps. She told me it started at home, but she managed to come here." Morris threw a quick glance at Ellie, who covered her mouth with her hand. Her dark eyes widened in fear. "I examined her. I didn't hear the baby's heartbeat. It must have stopped a few days ago. I’m so sorry."

"She hasn't had any nausea in a few days." Ellie blurted out.

"The symptoms that were going away were the beginning. Her body needed time to spontaneously miscarry."

He lost his breath for a moment, not understanding the doctor's words. When he spoke, his voice sounded distant. "Can I see her?"

Morris nodded. "We need to prepare for the procedure. We should try to avoid infection. Sure, sure... Come in, she needs you."

Step by step, he moved toward the door, whispering a quiet "Stay." to Ellie. He wasn't sure what he would see on the other side. He wanted to see you, but he wasn't sure if he would be ready for all of this.

You were there, sitting on the couch where you had listened to the heartbeat for the first time a while ago. He noticed your blood-stained pants lying on the floor. Ruth had to give you a towel, but it was already a little dirty with blood.

However, when you raised your head and looked at him, Joel felt as if someone had put a gun to his head.

"Joel..." you groaned, and he quickly approached you.

He took your face in his hands, looking at you carefully. Eyelids swollen from crying, your fingers showed traces of trying to wash the blood off. His head was empty.

"I don't know how it happened." you sobbed, and more tears ran down your cheeks. "I was darning Ellie's shirt, and when I got up... There was so much blood, so much blood..."

"Sweetie." he tried to interrupt you, but you tightened your fingers around his hands and didn't stop talking.

"I just changed and came here, but the doctor said... It's a good thing Ellie found you... He said the heart must have stopped beating a while ago. I didn't notice it. How could I not feel it?!"

"These things happen..." he said quietly, not knowing if you would even hear him.

"Morris said the same thing, but... Fuck!"

He hugged you tightly. It was all he could do. You clenched your hands in the t-shirt on his back, sobbing louder and louder. He couldn't find the words to say. His cheeks were wet with tears as well.

How was he supposed to help you now? He couldn't, he didn't know how. What had happened hit him with such force that he wasn't sure how he was supposed to become a pillar and support for you.

His hands were still shaking, so he clenched them into fists and closed his eyes, trying to calm the thoughts swirling in his head. In an instant, you had lost what you had been given. And now Dr. Morris was trying to keep you from getting infected, so you would survive.

How were you supposed to survive what had happened? And how was he supposed to be by your side? For a moment, he thought that Maria or Ann would be a better choice here. Any other woman, but not him.

His heart was still pounding in his chest as the door at the end of the hallway creaked open and Dr. Morris appeared. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, then he even tried to smile at Joel to reassure him.

"Everything looks good. I'd like her to stay here tonight though. Just to be safe, okay?" he said, and when Joel just nodded he walked over and sat down next to him, "Joel... Listen to me. These things happen. It's none of your fault and don't even think about it. We live in hard times. She's strong…" he paused for a moment, then sighed, "You'll get through this, but you have to be together and support each other. She needs care right now, she needs you..."

"What should I do? How should I talk to her?" Joel asked quietly, feeling his throat burn from the emotions he was suppressing.

"Allow yourself to feel the emotions. All of them. I will pray for you..."

When Tommy showed up at his brother's house, he didn't expect what he saw. His brother, one of the strongest guys he knew, was a wreck. His eyes were swollen from tears and he accepted the bottle of whiskey that he had brought with him with relief.

"She had to stay there, in the clinic. She's... She's devastated." Joel spoke, each word struggling to get through his throat "Morris said that things like this happen, but... Fuck. I can't understand it, Tommy! I just can't!"

"I don't know what to say..." he mumbled, squeezing the glass in his fingers and staring at the wall in front of him "It's just not fair."

Joel rubbed his face with his hand. He took a few sips and immediately poured himself more.

"Where's Ellie?" Tommy asked, noticing the strange silence in the house.

"At Dina's. It's good, she has support. It's hard for her too." Joel replied "When I got home I found traces of blood. Jesus Christ! She got upstairs and then went to the clinic. Alone! I should have been with her then and..."

"You couldn't have predicted this!" Tommy raised his voice even though tears appeared in his eyes "None of us considered this! The doctor is right!"

"Bullshit!" he stood up and nervously walked through the living room, then turned his back to his brother. Tommy noticed small spots of blood on his shirt that had to be yours. A quiet sob reached his ears.

He saw how his brother was suffering and would do anything to take this pain away from him. But he couldn't. Helplessness was eating him up.

That evening a bonfire lit up behind the house marked with a mailbox with the name Miller. Tommy didn't stop Joel. He didn't see the point. They both watched as the unfinished cradle was consumed by the fire until it turned to ash.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again @callmebyyournick-name

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller x f!reader #short stories from life #short stories from life series

300 notes · View notes

mikerickson · 2 months ago

Text

Thu 4/10/2025 - Sat 4/19/2025 I've now visited three G7 countries. Yes that means exactly what you think it does: we just got back from Italy! Some NOLA friends that we traveled to Ireland with back in 2019 wanted to do another international trip and invited us along over their Spring Break week, which just happened to fall right before Easter during a Jubilee year in the Catholic calendar. I was afraid of a perfect storm of unmanageable crowds, but everything ended up working out and we had a great time. More under the cut.

Italy is six hours ahead of EST, so I tried pre-emptively adjusting my sleep schedule before the trip. The day of our departing flight I woke up at 4:30 AM (10:30 AM Italy time), hoping that by the time our overnight flight took off I'd be tired enough to just sleep on the plane. Turns out, my body still refuses to relax while airborne, so when we landed I'd been awake for 20 hours and the whole experiment kinda backfired. The first day in Rome was kinda rough.

The train from FCO airport into Rome's main Termini rail station was supernaturally smooth and silent; I wasn't even really aware we were moving at first.

I've been to dozens of old European churches and cathedrals at this point, but Saint Peter's in the Vatican City really caught me off-guard. Even from just a structural standpoint I wasn't aware it was possible to build a church that large. The ceilings were so high it felt like the building had its own atmosphere.

One evening in Rome we were getting dinner in some hole-in-the-wall place when a gaggle of about two dozen Italian gay men came in and took up half the place. Eventually one of them stood up to give a speech (I'm like 99% sure it was his birthday and he was thanking all his friends for coming out for a get-together), but he made a joke that he said too quickly for me to translate in my head and both tables turned to all make eye contact with me and smile. I just kinda awkwardly smiled back with a raised eyebrow before they laughed and continued on. I just hope it was something raunchy.

That same night walking back to the hotel we got stuck behind a slow-walking British couple. The older man loudly ripped ass and turned back to my buddy walking behind him with a grin before apologizing: "Sorry, I thought you were my friend." We sped past and kept laughing about that interaction for the rest of the trip.

When we were trying to get into the Roman Forum ruins we witnessed a Category Five Karen Moment as some American(?) woman was shouting at worker who pointed a finger in her face and told her not to cut the line. Also when we were going through the security checkpoint the guy who was supposed to be scanning my backpack with an x-ray instead maintained eye contact with me the entire time before letting me in with no comment.

We unintentionally stumbled upon a dress rehearsal for a classical music concert in a beautiful church off of the Piazza Navona. The upright bassist and the conductor were NOT on the same wavelength, but once they got past some hiccups in the beginning it sounded really nice.

In the Palazzo Venezia (it's located in Rome, but has that name because that's where Venetian officials would stay when it was a sovereign entity), there's a central courtyard with a bunch of orange trees that were bearing fruit. I wanted one, but there were a bunch of signs saying not to touch the trees. I guess it was super obvious that I was just waiting for the museum staff to meander out of sight, because this older tourist couple was just blatantly watching me to see what I would do.

Anyways, the orange was delicious and perfectly ripe.

One of the stops I was most excited for on this trip was a small town called Civita di Bagnoregio that's kind of out of the way. It's built on a small mountainous outcropping in the middle of a valley with a very steep approach that can only be done on foot. When we first caught sight of it, everyone else was like, "Mike, what the fuck are you about to make us do…" I was definitely winded by the time we got up there, but even with all the ribbing I was getting it was worth it.

When we got into Siena super late and I asked the hotel staff how to get to their parking lot at the rear of their building, the guy at the front was basically like, "it's super confusing, just let me come with you." So he hopped in the front passenger seat and guided me, and to his credit it was kind of a convoluted path that I don't think I would've been able to follow with just verbal instructions even in English. But he did try making a joke along the lines of "If you're going to hit a pedestrian with your car, you need to just run over everyone on the street so there are no witnesses," that struck me as being in poor taste.

I was expecting Rome to feel like a more modern city that had old stuff interspersed here and there and that Florence would feel more like an open air museum where the locals were held prisoner by the past. It was the exact opposite. Where Rome gave the impression that 21-st century citizens were squished between historic monuments, Florence came off as more or less contemporary with current-day stores and international businesses that I recognize, while also being proud of their Renaissance legacy.

I don't really drink alcohol at all, but my buddy signed us up to a wine tasting in Florence where we sampled three whites, three reds, and a bonus "mystery" wine. I told the guy conducting it that I'd try, but I wasn't going to like anything, and he took that as a challenge. The only one that I could describe as "not bad" was the mystery one, which was the only one that wasn't an Italian wine (a French Sauvignon blanc), and I think he was a little miffed about that.

The same guy also said I looked like Jake Gyllenhaal. I guess he told his coworkers about it, because one of the staff came out, thought she was being slick by side-eyeing me while I was clearly watching her, and then she turned back to the kitchen nodding her head affirmatively.

Towards the end of the trip we were all getting tired of having Italian for every meal, so we stopped in a McDonald's somewhere just outside of Verona. The place was absolutely packed with locals and it tasted identical to what you could get back in the States.

We saw tons of dogs (as pets, not strays) in every city, but Milan had the most by a lot.

Overall, people were way more receptive to foreigners speaking the local language than I experienced in the Netherlands, which was my last international trip. In Rome and Florence maybe they'd be a little quicker to switch to English if they saw that I was struggling, but in Venice specifically I noticed everyone would continue in Italian if I kept trying, which I appreciated. Definitely felt like my time spent language studying before this trip was more rewarded than the last time.

Times my fear of heights scared me (9): Castel Sant'Angelo, the Roman Forum, Monumento a Vittorio Emanuele II, Civita di Bagnoregio, Duomo di Firenze, Campanile di Giotto, Campanile di San Marco, Castello Sforzesco, Duomo di Milano

#life #travel #Italy

119 notes · View notes

bellamoooon · 5 months ago

Text

Childhood best friends to lovers, i love this concept a little too much and got carried away lol <33

She’d never know, at least that’s what he convinced himself of.

She’d never know that she was like a breath of fresh air after drowning for hours, that she was like the first bit of light rising up in the morning, that she was like the feeling of warmth when getting praised, that talking to her was like hearing his favorite song for the first time again, that her laugh was engraved in his brain and he could hear it even when she wasn’t around, that her presence radiated light that seeped right into his bones, that seeing her was like a shot of espresso immediately waking every nerve in his system, that her smile gleamed with such brightness it could light up the whole world in an eternal darkness, that her eyes said so much more than anything she had ever said, that she was a perfectly aligned harmony when everything else was out of tune.

She’d never know, but he did.

She lived within him; His whole life had been reduced to her.

“Wow Art, this is really good!” his literature teacher spoke as she read his paper, “y’know, if the whole tennis thing doesn’t work out, you could be the next big writer, I mean it.”

For his literature class, as a “creative exploration exercise”—his teacher calls it—they had been assigned to write a paper on someone of something which they could understand as unrequited love, of course he had chosen you, because what better example than you and Art.

You and Art have known each other since diapers due to your parents being best friends from their college days up to the present day, which sort of brought the two of you together one way or another, but you wouldn’t have it any other way, and neither would art.

Growing you with you might’ve been one of the best things he has ever been able to experience, he wishes people could actually get to feel what its like to be shined on by your light, for him, it truly is unearthly every time.

Sure, you two had distance shoved in your faces when he went to MRTA, but when he returned home for breaks, it was like nothing changed, it was just you and Art.

And of course as cliché as it may be, the inevitable happened, Art began to fall in love with you.

At first, he tried to convince himself that it was just the affection he had for his best friend, but he had no way to deny it. From the second he stopped just seeing you, but when he started seeing you.

He could try to blame it on his hormones and being a teenager, but everything else contradicted that.

In the summer, seeing you in your two-piece swimsuit didn’t seem the same, especially since you had started to grow into your big girl body, as his nana said.

At Christmas when he saw you walk into the living room dressed as Cindy Lou who from shoes to hair, with a goofy smile, but why did it make him blush? You seemed the same, you did this every year.

Patrick mocked him for having a small picture of the two of you in his wallet, but he didn’t care, whenever he was having a bad day, or missed home, he’d look at the picture, instantly erasing anything that disturbed his thoughts.

But you’d never know that. And he was okay with that. For the most part.

A couple of weeks he went back home for spring break, he was feeing at ease, he’d see his parents, his nana, and…you.

“Artie! My sweet boy!” his grandmother called out as he walked out of the car to the front porch with a suitcase in his hand, and a wide smile. His grandmother ran up to him wrapping her arms around him, her warmth immediately transferring to his skin, he was home.

“Nana, hey, how’ve you been?” he spoke with a sweet tone as he hugged her back. Sure, tennis was his whole life, but coming back home felt like a weight was lifted off his back, he doesn’t have to be THE Art Donaldson, he was just…Art.

“You look so tired baby boy, let me take your bags, go take a shower” his nana said as she shut the door behind her.

“Nana, seriously don’t worry—“

“Will you just let me take care of you while you’re here? You’ve gotta do all this yourself at school, but not here Artie” and well, there isn’t much arguing with nana Donaldson, it’s just how it’s been his whole life.

After his shower, Art walked in his room with a calm breath and loose muscles, how he needed that warm shower, as he walked over to his bag, which was placed next to the window he began to look for some clothes.

He wasn’t one to feel prying eyes on him but by reflex, Art lifted his head as he looked through the window, it was you.

You covered your mouth clearly giggling as he looked down at himself completely naked only covered by a towel wrapped around his waist, “fuck me” he muttered as he looked up once again but now face completely flushed and the tips of his ears burning red.

He waved awkwardly as he pulled the curtains closed feeling flustered, he wanted to get his mind off of her, so he said, how’s that going? Not great.

His nana looked up as he came downstairs with a puzzled expression, your name left his lips.

“What about her?” She asked as she left a plated grilled cheese in front of him.

“Why didn’t you tell me she was home for the break?” She laughed, why is she laughing?

“Sweetie, I thought it was obvious, she always come back home for breaks” she shook her head as she smiled playfully, “though, I think there’s something about her being here that bothers you”

“What— no, no, it doesn’t bother me, I just— would’ve expected something else, I don’t know”

“You sure?” She slid the paper across the counter with delicacy, “are you absolutely sure baby?”

“Nana! I told you to stop snooping, come on!” He said taking the paper as quickly as possible, could this day get any worse?

“One, I wasn’t snooping, it fell out of your backpack, and two, Artie, you know you can tell me anything, right?” He lowered his head ever so slightly as he grabbed the sandwich to then take a bite.

“I know.” He said once he swallowed, she leaned against the counter with curious eyes.

“She’s good, she’s smart, and really talented, did you hear she put out a song?” He lifted his brows in surprise, you really had picked music, over psychology, huh…

“Huh…well that’s great, I’m sure she’ll do great with all that” his nana scoffed as she muttered a small “art…” with a warning tone, “what? I mean it”

“You gotta give me more than that after that thing you wrote, Art, I taught you better than this.”

“I just—! I don’t know what to say, Nana, that’s the problem. Not to you, not to Patrick and most definitely not to her” he spilled, fiddling nervously with his hands, “I’d screw our friendship, one sided feelings aren’t worth risking years of trust.”

“Well you never know Artie, sometimes holding onto those feelings is painful, even if something is on the line, it isn’t worth it if you’re hurting” she was right, but Art would never say that out loud, this was all too much for him.

“It’s just…it’s not easy”

“Well my boy, no one said love was easy, and sometimes, just sometimes, the most complicated loves, are the most beautiful ones” he listened intently as he finished off the grilled cheese, she was right, maybe all he needed to do was tell her.

You had to know.

So there he was at 2:34 a.m throwing small pebbles at your window, just like he did years ago to then go the skate park at midnight and sit at the top of the ramps while you talked till sunrise.

“Stop throwing rocks Donaldson, you’ll wake the dog” you came out the door in pjs but wrapped in a jacket, he turned with a confused expression “I came running down when I felt the first two rocks” you laughed softly as you blushed slightly, God you missed this.

It’s like being kids all over again.

“So how’s tennis and all, Mr. Stanford?” You asked as you swung your hanging feet off the ramp.

“Y’know tennis is the same always, trust me, you don’t care” he laughed as he shook his head, “but Stanford is nice, just not the same without you and Patrick on my ass all the time”

“Ah, of course, because that’s the biggest change you’ve had since we were kids up to today” you rolled your eyes as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah…” he chuckled dryly as he looked away, could he be more obvious, goddamn.

“What?”

“No— no, it’s nothing” he insisted.

“Art I know you, it’s not nothing, what’s up?” You pushed as he looked up at the sky biting his lip while humming, “Art?”

“Hm?” He turned to look at you again, you lifted a brow silently asking once again, “ah…I— I love you” he blurted out unable to stop himself.

You opened your mouth but nothing came out.

“I have since the summer you turned fifteen, you just— you kinda started to seem different to me, and I— I fell in love with you.” He sighed, “and I know timing sucks and it’s gonna make things weird, but if I didn’t tell you, it would eat me alive, y’know it’s been so long—“ his rambling got cut off as your lips crashed onto his almost immediately.

His body tensed up completely, the feeling of your lips foreign to his, but so familiar at the same time, the reality was better than any dream he had ever managed to build up in his mind, your plump lips tasting faintly like cherry lip gloss, he was most likely dreaming, he thought, cause there is no way he had told you how he felt, and even less probabilities of him kissing you.

As you pulled away, he found himself instinctively following you with parted lips and eyes shut, he was so high with your mere presence, a soft giggle from you snapped him back to reality as his eyes opened up slowly, pupils blown, he looked as if he had just seen God.

“…Did you just—“

“Kiss you?” You ask slightly tilting your head with a giddy smile, “seems like it”

You shrugged as you snorted softly.

“Oh.” Oh was the only thing his brain could process for him to say still stunned.

“Okay— so you tell me you love me, but I kiss you and all you say is ‘oh’, I mean—“ you said as you licked your lips as you thought.

“I just— I didn’t think you’d— like…you…like…” he fumbled as he tried to pull a thought out of the back of his brain.

“Art, you’re telling me you didn’t expect me to kiss you, when I’ve literally had this…I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, and I’ve been as subtle as a marching band” you tell him as a blush creeps up your face while you chuckle nervously.

“You’re kidding, right?” You shake your head with a small grin, he scoffs as he covers his face with his hands, “am I just that dense?”

“Not dense, more like…oblivious” you laugh as he glares back playfully.

Then there’s beat of silence, that moment where suddenly everything had fallen into place, he’s been pining over you for years, and you’ve waited for the right moment for as long as you can remember, but then the question settles in, what now?

“Uhm…art…?” You turn to him with hesitation, he hums in response “what now? I mean, you’re going back to cali after break and I’m going back to New York…”

“Hm…I hadn’t really thought that far into it” he said softly turning to look at you with gentle eyes, “what now?” He asks back softly.

“I— I like you, Art, I’m in it for the long game.” You spoke honestly as you fiddled with your fingers.

“I’ll play the long game. You’re out there, I’m out there too, we’ll see each other in summer, thanksgiving, and Christmas…I mean it, I— don’t just like you.” He confessed as he chewed on the inside of his cheek nervously.

“I can do that” you said softly, smiling back at him, letting out a small breath, “long game…?”

Your hand cupped his cheek making him face you, he smiled as he nodded, looking down at your lips and back at your eyes “long game.” He muttered as he leaned in kissing you once again, holding you gently in a fear of breaking you.

That right there. That was it, you were the living proof of unrequited love for him.

#art donaldson #mike faist #challengers #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson fic #childhood best friends #i actually love this #baby moon yaps #baby moon writes

106 notes · View notes

etirabys · 1 year ago

Text

meandering post about reading Orson Scott Card again

I've been offline starting at 9pm every day (except once. I was drunk at karaoke and asked for anons at 8:30pm) for six weeks, with the result that in befuddled boredom two nights ago I picked up Orson Scott Card's Songmaster from the house bookshelf.

I read Ender's Game and three sequels when I was a teen thought the books were mid. Since those are OSC's best works I assumed he had nothing more interesting to offer me and didn't try more of him for fifteen years, but Songmaster was compelling enough that I immediately afterwards picked up The Memory of Earth, the first book of a pentalogy.

TMoE is extremely my jam: after humanity blows itself up on Earth, AIs monitor thriving human civilizations in the planets that survivors managed to escape to, and suppress any tech that enables large scale violence by exerting low key mind control via satellites. But forty million years pass, many of the satellites break down, and the AI needs help from humans to restore capabilities. Because as its control wanes, people are starting to e.g. conceive of airplanes or bombs again, and override the injunctions against entering military alliances more than two edges of connection away.

The AI is worshipped as a god all over the planet, but the fourteen year old protagonist that becomes one of the AI's agents tells the AI from the beginning that he'll break with it if its morality seems wrong to him. I like the fourteen year old – unlike Ender or Songmaster's protagonist (adult minds piloting ten year old bodies), he's a normal gifted kid who's unpopular 50% due to his ego and big mouth and 50% because he's socially inept and offends people even when he's trying to be nice.

Songmaster is also partly about a permanent solution to large-scale violence, albeit through one guy who establishes a monopoly on violence and sweeps in pax galactica. Both it and TMoE are preoccupied with the eradication of suffering from evil / human violence, which is closer to my resonant frequency than narratives about defeating particular people or ideologies. At the moment I can't think of any other book with such an insistent focus on the matter than T.H. White's The Once and Future King. It's hard to make a compelling story out of, and I don't think Songmaster really succeeds, but TMoE's premise is well suited to explore that. (I'm also enjoying the matriarchal culture where everyone is expected to have multiple serial-monogamous marriages.) After reading 70% of TMoE last night I wrote:

Usually when I read fiction there's a small part of me going, how can I use this as fodder for my own growth, how can I remix or improve or react against this, how do the author and I measure against each other? (If the quality and content are at an anti-sweet spot, the small part becomes quite large and I feel all teeth towards the author.) But on occasion I read something so close that the absence of that measuring-feeling is its own sensation – ego departs, or at least is split across two bodies. There's just amity and recognition

And it's pretty interesting to feel this way about Card for, well, the reasons.

(If you're familiar with Card drama none of the following will be new to you; I'm coming to it fresh so the rest of this post is me going "uh... wow")

I vaguely knew he was a homophobic Mormon who'd gotten into fights about gay stuff, but I couldn't tell from the Ender books I read. But in Songmaster his issues spring off the page in such a weird way. Every fifth Goodreads review of this book is "Card, u gay?" because, well,

(One review, possibly from a fellow Mormon, that went "Card, it's so sinful of you to be this gay in your novel". Why did he write this book that would predictably make everyone mad...)

it's full of gay male desire. The protagonist (Ansset) is approximately a castrato and characters notice him sexually a lot. The first and only time Ansset has sex it's with a Kinsey 4-5 male character he loves, who's married to a woman but has fallen in love with Ansset. It turns out the drugs Ansset took to prolong his singing career painfully and only-kinda-figuratively explode your balls when you have your first orgasm and you'll never feel sexual desire again. (You'd think his loving teachers would have warned him of that, but, whatever, they didn't.) The other guy is literally castrated in punishment for inadvertently torturing a highly valuable castrato. It's pretty bald: GAY SEX IS ALMOST IRRESISTIBLY TEMPTING BUT YOU SHOULDN'T DO IT.

(Sidenote: both Ansset and the guy's wife are very close and have a "there's enough love to go around" attitude about the gay sex initially, before they go "wait Josif is a SERIAL MONOGAMIST... he can only love one person at a time... the moment he had the gay sex his marriage was destroyed". It's funny in a mildly stupid way that Card would set up this parable of homosexuality destroying lives and a marriage but almost everyone involved is peacefully ready to sail into an open marriage. I guess it makes sense if you want to say very clearly that THE GAY PART IS THE BAD PART)

which is fascinating to me, because... why would you tell on yourself like that

(81k also told me secondhand of an essay? interview? where Card openly says "we have to stand against legalizing gay marriage because everyone will get gay married and society will collapse", so that's informing my read of Songmaster as well)

I am pretty dang open about my personal life online but if I had a lot of feelings I thought were disgusting and immoral I would not write a novel dripping with those feelings before pointedly castrating the leads for them. Especially if it wasn't relevant to the actually highbrow themes of (checks notes) winning over your adversaries with kindness and never relinquishing your monopoly on violence. I would be so so so so embarrassed to let this go to print, it's so psychologically transparent, what was he thinking

(Well, I assume he's a very different person with different social incentives. For all I know, people in his church went "hey Orson we read your book and it's clear that you're gay but signaling strongly that you won't give into the gay feelings, we're here for you, it was really brave of you to publish this".)

#rambl #orson scott card #eti reads stuff #eti reads the homecoming saga #songmaster #content note: homophobia

553 notes · View notes

solifloris · 1 month ago

Text

≡;-꒰ 𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒋𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒆𝒏 - 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏

╰┈➤ ❝ xavier x afab!reader | 18+ only

tags : long fic, porn with plot (but the smut only happens in part 2), prince!xavier x knight!reader, separate from the lightseeker era we know and more of a different royal au, slight angst, hurt/comfort, slowburn ish, mutual yearning, slight miscommunication (well it's xavier…), still has soft fluffy moments though, use of "my prince" "my liege" "your highness" from reader. smut tags to be identified for part 2!

IMPORTANT - this is part 1 because apparently tumblr has a 1000-block limit that won't let me post the entire fic in one whole post...... so please see this link for part 2, or the full fic on AO3 !!

wc : 19.8k total / part 1 - 12.3k / part 2 - 7.5k

an : something probably possessed me, and also this was written while the lovebrush chronicles theme was on repeat lmfao <3 somewhat late but! for @xavmc-week days 1 (knight x royalty), 2 (firsts), and 3 (moon/stars), another royalty fic from yours truly! now IF you're here for the smut... then that's in part 2, but it does work better with the context of part 1 <3

taglist to be reblogged : SIGN UP HERE ; but also special tags for @xaviersknight (WHO INSPIRED THIS ICB YOU IVY) + @star-in-deepspace + @ourlittleuluru for the moral support 💖

ko-fi jar / commissions

With a single word and a gentle touch, you turned a moment into forever.

"Again."

Xavier's tone was even. Even as he stepped back into position, there was nothing different in the way that he looked at you—head tilted slightly in a challenge, an air of anticipation of your next move.

Yet, behind those steely eyes showed a brief spark of amusement.

Xavier had always been the better one with the sword, but it was never a factor to prevent you from being coached by him. In your belief, part of a knight's duty was to learn—You could never be at your best possible ability if you refused to, and you could never be able to protect His Highness when it counted the most. No matter to you that the very subject of your guard was the very one you were trying to best—

It still counted.

And he had always been, thankfully, quite easy to learn from.

Now, in this moment, a gentle spring breeze brushed through your features, and you raised your practice blade with a steady grip.

Again.

Feet apart, shoulders squared.

Eyes focused.

"You're going to bruise," you mumbled. Not for haughtiness to break through in your tone, but enough to give yourself an adequate boost of confidence—you were, after all, his chosen attending knight.

"You say that like it's a deterrent."

Smooth words fell from his lips even at the moment of your advance. Wooden swords met in a sharp clash, a resounding clunk from the impact. Even in his response he acted swiftly—precise movements, not simply like a trained knight, but like someone who had studied and even mastered the art of war with diligence. You could mumble to yourself about how learning under the same master could yield vastly divergent results, and the proof of it would be manifested in the both of you. But at the same time, it was something you knew well. For Xavier, this had begun long before you had taken up your own armor.

Strategic, calculating, intentional. Not a single movement was wasted. Of it all, you thought, it was a quiet elegance well befitting of the crown prince.

However, you'd also like to think that he taught you well.

And there it was.

A sharp twist and a pull earned you your opening, easily allowing to you disarm. The wooden sword in his hold clattered thickly onto the ground, but before he could move to retrieve it, you quickly stepped on its hilt.

Xavier looked up from where he'd dropped to one knee.

His lips quirked; not a smile, nor a threat, but a rather amused notion of acknowledgment. "Is this how you treat your prince?"

Hands on your hips and an air of well-earned victory, you grinned. "Only when he insists on getting himself killed in the yard. May I remind you that this was your doing, Your Highness."

"Well, I could order you to be gentler."

"You wouldn't."

"I could."

"…Hm. And so we can say that I'd pretend to obey."

With a soft chuckle and a shake of his head he stood, the spring breeze ruffling through his hair. Your eyes caught in it—you could marvel at how soft he would always keep his hair no matter how grueling the training, and it seemed in that moment that the way the sun filtered through it made him glow even brighter today.

Even despite the defeat.

"Prince Xavier," you raised an eyebrow, "you wouldn't intend to tell me you'd orchestrated my win, did you?"

"I could never do that."

"But… you go easy on me far too much. You mustn't spoil a knight like this."

"And are there to be consequences?"

That same smile curved slightly at his lips again, and he dusted off his pants. You, in turn, stood still in your place. Even as he moved closer, took a step towards you in a manner completely unnecessary, you hadn't the heart to rebuke him for it.

He was teasing.

"…I wouldn't dream of it, my liege," you mumbled.

And he smiled.

"I'm not going easy on you. The reason for you to stand by my side so often that you do is your own abilities."

A strand of your hair had become loose from your ponytail, and he reached a gloved hand out to brush it behind your ear.

Your breath caught in your throat.

"But you're very loyal," he added softly. "You always have been."

The pause between you both indicated well how much you wished you could say otherwise—and you wished you could. Your loyalties had always been with him, and him alone. Your reasons for staying were him, and him alone.

But you couldn't say things like that, and it was expected anyway that you wouldn't.

Instead when you spoke, it was with the same reverence in your voice as all the other knights. You took a step back before you forgot all that was necessary in your stature, and played the role that laid your loyalties bare for the palace as a whole.

"I serve the crown."

Automatic, like protocol.

Your head bowed, immediately dropping to the knee before him. Moments ago this position had been reversed in lieu of your duel, and you could only seek to erase such a scandalous image from your head. It should only be this way—Right hand tucked behind, left in a fist, crossed steadily over your heart.

A sign of the oath.

For it were the knights who yielded to the royals, and never the other way around.

"Your Highness, you know very well that my life lives only for yours."

And you remembered the first time you had recited it.

Years ago still, on the day of the accolade. You had been officially dubbed a member of the Order—The Lightseekers, as they were so reverently called; an elite force trained to serve the royal household to the death. You remembered the rush of adrenaline as you raised your hand to give your life as an offering:

Here do I swear, by mouth and hand, fealty and service to the Crown and Kingdom of Philos.

Even now, despite your closer relationship to the prince himself, you could never bring yourself to abandon such an oath.

Yet, Xavier tapped you gently your shoulder.

Two simple words:

"At ease."

He bent once more to retrieve his blade as you rose, respectfully dusting it off despite it only being a simple practice weapon. Handing it to you, you realized as you looked at him that his eyes held a strange sort of softness to it—and it was this expression that you had never learned to read. Even after years spent together, it was still one that had never failed to elude you.

"How strange," Xavier mumbled. Quiet, exceedingly so—almost enough for his words to evade you completely. "So do I. But… I find that I care more about the knight holding the sword."

And you could call yourself an accomplished knight.

Despite everything, what he'd said about your abilities rang true—you hadn't been recommended this position, you'd climbed to it yourself. You were acknowledged in the Order as someone who had what it took to protect him; acknowledged in the palace, even, for your very skill with the blade you held.

But of all the shields and all the armor you'd bested in the past, there was one that you could never.

Because Xavier had been like this for as long as you'd remembered.

Quiet.

Dutiful.

How long had it been since he'd freely let himself feel, you wondered?

It had been far too long since then. The first time you saw him cry, he was eleven. A small figure cloaked in midnight velvet—

Standing far too still for a child at his mother's funeral.

You weren't a knight then, not yet. Just a simple commoner, too young and unimportant to be noticed. The entire Kingdom had been invited in service of the Queen, and you were lined up with many others; eyes front, knelt before her coffin.

The royal family had been in mourning.

Yet, Prince Xavier hadn't made a sound.

Quiet.

Dutiful.

Even then he'd carried himself with such an air of elegance; even then he'd resigned himself to display any more vulnerability than was necessary. People came and went, knelt before the Queen and left just as you did. And behind him, you knew—courtiers, maids, assistants—they would whisper; marvel, even.

Because Prince Xavier stood simply beside the coffin, chin lifted.

And he watched.

And he waited.

Perhaps, longer than the others.

Even the King had left, and the halls had closed.

You remembered that day clearly—because the moment he stepped outside of the chapel, his head was down. That crown of silvery hair, a striking feature of all members of the royal family of Philos, stuck wetly to the skin of his forehead. No longer neatly combed. No longer properly styled. And that perfectly-tailored suit had soaked through as he stood.

All preparation of his attendants could be viewed as all for naught, and the clouds surely showed no mercy.

Eleven-year-old Prince Xavier stood, limbs hanging limp at his sides, not even flinching at the slightest rumble of the thunder… His fingers curled slightly, but that was the only remaining hint of movement left, as if he'd long since stopped trying to be.

His gaze remained downcast.

For you, just a little girl in rags for robes, this was a moment unseeming of you to intrude on. You'd understood this to be a private moment for the prince, surely—and even thinking back, you were never quite sure what had compelled you to act. Only that a member of the royal family couldn't possibly be left out of the rain.

So thinking, perhaps, outside of your best interest, little feet padded the steps between you and the prince. You were far more used to the rain than he, you figured. You were far more accustomed to the soil beneath your feet. And with a little bit of a tiptoe, you raised your feebly constructed bamboo umbrella over his head.

"You'll get sick out in the rain, Sir Prince," you'd smiled. As if your umbrella could withstand the rain for long; as if it were truly enough to shield him like a better constructed one would.

But no matter, you'd thought, for the King would find him soon enough.

And blue eyes met yours, and then the rainfall was all you could hear. Words weren't exchanged any further. You only smiled brightly, offered a curtsy with as much elegance as you were able. With the umbrella transferred into his hand, you'd done what you had approached him to do.

Of all the shields and all the armor you'd bested since you'd decided to enlist… there was one that you could never.

You hadn't seen Xavier cry since that day.

That shield—it was standing right in front of you. And you knew that your vow had been made much sooner than the day of the accolade.

Long before he remembered you, you had already chosen him.

Instinctively your grip around the two practice swords in your hand tightened, and you lowered your head so as not to meet his gaze.

I care more about the knight holding the sword.

"My liege… You really mustn't say things like that."

&—

That night, you found him exactly where you thought he'd be.

On the floor of the upper library, ten paces to the right.

This was a location you had marked on your mental map with a star; one of Xavier's most frequently visited night spot.

They called it the high eastern balcony. During the day, it was often filled with various staff and members of the palace itself, yet it tended to be unattended in the evenings. The library you walked past had closed hours earlier in the night; there was little to no reason for anyone to remain here.

Xavier liked the quiet.

You knew him well enough by now to know that.

And so you rounded the corner, the stone ledge of the balcony curved like a crescent moon over the sleeping gardens below. In this blanket of stars and the hush of silver light, it was true that the hour was later than either of you would truly care to admit.

Xavier didn't turn.

He had a hand braced on the balustrade, head tilted towards the sky. His coat was folded beside him—neat, to be tucked away. His hair, on the other hand, was slightly tousled, as though he'd run a hand through it already one too many times. Yet the silence wasn't one to keep you away—it was only one you took as an invitation.

Your footsteps slowed.

"So you were here," you murmured softly.

Walking from the archway to stand beside him, you leaned against the balustrade. The breeze stirred; you gently nudged his coat towards him.

He glanced at you, but he didn't take it.

“I didn’t expect you to come."

15 centimeters apart.

You shifted, aware of how close you'd gotten, and he didn't stop you.

You shrugged; “You’re not hard for me to find. But you should be asleep, Your Highness."

"So should you.”

“I’m not the one with a council breathing down my neck by sunrise.”

“I'm not the one with training drills in the morning.”

Another pause.

This time, the both of you looked at each other, and a soft laugh spilled from your lips. Your shoulders relaxed, your eyes softened. You regarded his figure, then—properly. Took in his form, the outline of the moonlight bringing a different glow to his attire than you'd seen from the sun just this afternoon.

The only reason Xavier so often came to this balcony was to watch the stars…

Because the stars were there to offer him comfort.

"…You've been restless lately," you whispered. You let your words be carried through the wind.

"So you've noticed."

“I’m trained to notice.”

He smiled.

The first time that night, he turned to face you, and his head tilted down—something of another quiet challenge, like he often did with you. Cheeky, still. Boyish, a little. Your heart skipped whenever you thought that you could bring out this more easygoing nature, of the Crown Prince of Philos.

“And if I asked what you thought was keeping me up?” he raised an eyebrow.

"Then… I’d say you were thinking too much about what everyone else wants from you. Or, of you. Things like that."

Just like the little girl who'd run up to offer him her umbrella, you spoke with a conviction, now, that you didn't know you could still have.

A little pretentious for a mere knight to say, you thought grimly.

But instead of chastising you, Xavier only chuckled.

"…Sorry. I mean it's only that, far too often… I always wonder what you think about. If you tense at all the duties that you have, and all the expectations you've been trained to meet from the moment you were born…" Your expression turned feeble as you added, "Prince Xavier often looks like he feels a little trapped. Sometimes, that's what I think."

"Do you think everyone notices?"

"Only if they care enough to, I guess."

"So… you care enough to."

"I… suppose."

Again the breeze passed, ruffling through your clothing.

"Then. Do you also want something from me? Like the others?"

He met your gaze. Held it. It was a silent command for you not to dare turn away in this instant.

"…Of course not, my liege. If I were to wish for something, then it… would be only for more of your own freedom."

You received yet another smile, then.

Yet in that moment, you didn't know, yourself, how true your words were. Whether that was all that you wanted, or whether a part of you still yearned for that something more that you always insisted on keeping at bay. Could you had deluded yourself into thinking it was nothing? Could you had deluded yourself into believing you had no selfish desires of him?

It was an opening for you to speak of it, but you didn't.

You couldn't.

You couldn't, not even to bring yourself to confront them in your head.

Because that was unbecoming of a knight.

Xavier didn't press you on it. Whether he believed you or he didn't, you couldn't tell, but still this time it was his turn to look away. There was a hum as he leaned into his palm, and far below, a lone guard crossed the courtyard. His boots echoed—faint and distant.

"Do you ever think about leaving?" he murmured. “This.” He nodded out into the gardens. It was a subtle gesture to indicate what he'd recognized to be your own cage. “The castle. The role. The duty. I'm not the only one trapped here."

And you should have expected it.

Often, Xavier would say things like this. The burden of your duty this, the burden of your guard that.

You hesitated—

"No." You could never leave; you were here for him. You wouldn't unless he did. "It was my choice to come here. So then, it's my choice to stay."

With a small shake of his head, he looked away again. "Well, I wonder, sometimes, what I’d be without all this.”

“…Your own duties?"

"Mn."

"I think… then you’d still be you.”

“And, you? Who would you be?”

"…Someone less useful. Probably. Because to me, you're…"

You caught yourself.

Perhaps, if you knew Xavier a certain amount, then it was to be expected that he knew you equally as much. Because he knew exactly what to say to you. If you'd continued… then he'd understand exactly why it was that you'd refused to leave.

You absolutely couldn't be loose-lipped on such a selfish thing.

Your sentence sat unfinished.

But still he didn't push, and that little smile edging at his lips—still at your unwillingness to breach the subject—was his only acknowledgment.

Instead of responding directly, his gaze shifted from the gardens and back up to the sky; you watched as it did. Watched the way his gaze seemed to relax at such a simple motion, the way the galaxy seemed to reflect in the blue of his eyes that you'd come to adore so much. The wonder that filled his expression was always different when he watched the stars. You wondered if the same thing happened whenever you looked at him.

"Do you know their names?" he said quietly.

He didn't take his eyes off the sky, and you shook your head. "Not really. I… I know the Scales, I think, and the… Wolf, was it? The one they say guards kings?"

He scoffed lightly, "That sounds fitting for you."

"Yeah? I always liked that one, but I can never point it out."

Xavier glanced at you then, and then gently reached out to hold you at your wrist. The leather of his gloves was softer than you remembered—but you didn't remember the last time he'd touched you. Not like this.

Your eyes followed, tried not to focus on the warmth of him being so familiar with you—

"Lupus is very faint," he said quietly, "the wolf. It has many stars, so it gets difficult to point it out. But… it's a clear night tonight. So there it is. I think wolves are often associated with protection, and maybe that's why it has a reputation like that."

Slowly he drew your hand up with his, pointing out little stars that formed the vague outline of a wolf.

You could see it only if you squinted.

"…I wouldn't be able to see it unless you draw it out for me," you huffed, and in response to that, he only chuckled before he pulled away.

His touch lingered even then.

Your gaze drew down to his hands.

"Do you… have constellations that you like, Your Highness?"

For a moment he didn't speak.

From the stars and down to you, he too, lingered—you could feel it, the stare; the way he seemed to be searching for an answer that he could only possibly get through you.

"I… used to like the ones I couldn't name."

You blinked, looked up at him.

It wasn't the answer you were expecting, and he knew that.

There was that smile again.

"They didn't owe anyone anything," he said softly. "So I used to think it must be nice, to be nameless."

But I like your name.

You couldn't bring yourself to say it.

Instead you stepped a little closer.

15 centimeters became 5—

Your shoulders brushed. Then stayed.

"I like the ones I can name," you murmured. "Things feel a little more real when you name them. A little more within reach, and not so high up in the sky like that."

A smile peeked at your lips.

"…Right, Prince Xavier?"

This, here—this one was real, too.

&—

You hadn't seen it coming.

The patrol was supposed to be routine—a simple escort through the northern woods after a diplomatic visit, a simple ride past those trees that you had already been familiar with for long. Nighttime made it unnerving, but you'd done this job one too many times. You had never once come across any issues.

…Not until that moment.

The trees had been too still. The birds had been too quiet. And then came the arrows, the flash of blades from under cloaks, the glint of then moonlight on steel—real, real swords this time, no longer practice ones.

Your body moved before your thoughts could form.

A hiss of air; the sound of metal slicing wind… It was this moment you knew what it meant to be a serving knight, and perhaps it was the cold fear of your prince getting injured that had you moving then without hesitation.

You lunged; shoved him hard to the side.

A blade meant for him, fallen only instead to you—

Here do I swear, by mouth and hand, fealty and service to the Crown and Kingdom of Philos.

You hardly remembered what had happened afterwards. Only that you'd been met with darkness far too soon; much sooner than you'd liked to admit.

&—

When you came to, the room you were laying in was dim.

Your vision took a while to focus. This wasn't the silvery light of the moon; it was candles. Lanterns. Two of them, and then the fire in the hearth. Rain tapped softly against the windowpanes, echoing the hush that had fallen since the healers left… You felt faint traces of them, the healers—and undeniably, the pain in your shoulder had lessened.

You blinked and sat up from the bed.

Your bed.

This was your room.

You'd made it back safely.

Nevermind that you were bare from the waist up save for the cloth binding wrapped around you; you felt the way your hair clung damply to your face and neck. Sensation began to creep back into you, and you were very much awake.

Awake enough to notice the figure clad in white, not too far away from you, back still turned.

Awake enough to scowl at him.

"You’re supposed to be at council,” you frowned. A quick glance out the window told you that a day had passed. Several, perhaps. The sun was setting anew; you didn't know, anymore, how long you'd been out.

Xavier, on the other hand, stood by the fireplace, a brand new suit and cloak to sport—

He shouldn't be here.

Yet he turned, anyway, and gave you a cold look.

"They can wait."

You watched as he made his way towards you, sharp steps of his boots on the concrete.

The firelight caught in his hair.

"…You're being dramatic," you mumbled. "I've had the healers, right? And you're not even the one who got hurt..."

"That's not what it felt like."

You watched as he dropped down to a crouch beside the basin, jaw tight, hands red to the wrists.

The silence was sharp.

Uncomfortable.

Xavier was a man of few words, but this was something else. The way that he spoke to you now made you shiver—no longer that kind, gentler prince you knew him to be with you…

Now, he was upset.

You watched him draw in a breath, and then he glanced at you.

“You were reckless,” he muttered.

You didn't answer.

You probably were.

He looked up sharply then as if to emphasize his point, “You could've been killed.”

"No, you could've been killed."

"That’s not the point.”

“Yes, it is!”

You frowned deeper this time, sat up straighter. Dared to meet his gaze. Challenged him.

So unbecoming of a knight, yet you did it anyway.

“That’s exactly the point," you leveled; "I stepped in because that is my duty. Because that way you wouldn't get hurt. And you didn’t—thank God you didn't.”

The tension stayed.

Xavier turned away, rinsed the cloth again, wrung it out with more force than necessary. Water splashed on the stone.

"I had guards,” he huffed, "other guards. You didn’t have to—”

“I did, because you were in danger! I made a choice that I had to, Your Highness, and I'm still your attending knight for a reason."

Again for a moment of pause, he pressed the cloth to your arm. But the silence stung more than the pressure; more than the pain that shot up through your wound.

You didn't wince.

Your jaw tightened, but you didn't wince.

And when he spoke again, his voice was softer—cold, still; upset, still, but… softer.

He kept his focus on your arm.

“You can’t keep doing this,” he mumbled. “Throwing yourself in front of every blade meant for me.”

"You know that as long as they swing, then I'll have to."

"It's not right."

"It's my duty. It doesn't have to be right."

He gave a low sound, almost like a laugh, but bitter. “Then do you always have to be like this? Fearless? Foolish?”

"Faithful.”

That made him fall silent.

The both of you were close, now, just enough to feel his breath as he leaned in to inspect your injury. His hand, gloved still on one side, was warm against your skin. This was the second time you could recall that he'd touched you so tenderly.

It was enough, too, to make you pause. Normally you were so good at maintaining the distance, but this was difficult. His skin was searing to the touch; you felt almost guilty for it.

But you felt it, the tremor. Slight, but still there.

"…You were shaking," you said quietly. "I… I remember. Afterwards. For a moment, I thought I…"

"I didn't like it."

You looked at him, and he gave you one short glance before looking back away.

"I… didn't like seeing you bleed."

You bit your lip.

Again, you recalled what he'd said—I care more about the knight holding the sword. And then something raw opened in your chest, but you swallowed it down.

No.

Now wasn't the time.

And so you waited, in silence, as Xavier finished dressing the bandage with slow, careful precision. His fingers lingered—tender, still, but just shy of affectionate.

You really must be delusional.

The silence that stayed was heavier than any blade you'd taken.

&—

Days passed.

Now you walked through the halls, another morning to start anew. The sun broke clean, and golden... It streaked through the tall palace windows, bathed the stone floors with light. At the same time, there were voices that echoed distantly. Servants, guards… You heard someone in the courtyard call for a stable boy. All just normal occurrences in a day, and you flexed your shoulders as you walked.

You'd healed since then. The gash on your shoulder had long since gone from that evening.

Everything should be normal.

But… some things didn't quite go back to the way they used to.

Polite nods, a shared glance across a room.

You were still around Xavier—you should be; it was required of you. But you hadn't seen him much, not properly. You'd caught him watching you get back into your training, but he hadn't approached; always stayed in his place to look at you from afar.

Polite nods, a shared glance across a room.

Xavier had distanced himself.

You had to think back to your last encounter, those last words. He'd treated you once, that day, and hadn't returned— you knew that he was upset. He never quite told you why, other than clearly expressing displeasure for your impulsiveness that had gotten you injured, but you figured that you could guess. Xavier wasn't good with emotions. You could only surmise based on what you knew that he didn't want to risk seeing you bleed like that by getting closer to you.

And it was to be expected, wasn't it? It shouldn't have bothered you; every knight was the same. In service of the crown, only you had ever gotten so close to the Crown Prince himself.

You should have been just fine without it—

Like everyone else was.

Still his absence left a gaping hole, and though you willed yourself to get used to it, to go about your daily routine as you did without him, it was something else to get used to.

Your footsteps continued down the hall, and you missed him.

And it was such a pretentious thought for a knight.

Yet—

There he was.

You'd rounded the corner.

There walked Xavier, looking decidedly less princely in a simple linen shirt and a travel cloak less fitting of royalty. He hadn't noticed you yet; he had his gaze settled onto the gloves he was still tucking into his belt.

There he was.

It had been a while since you'd had time alone, and you— froze. Could only stand there, like an idiot, and then he was the one approaching.

"You look well," he stopped in front of you. A once-over, and he nodded, one simple regard of acknowledgment. Like he had been doing.

"…Better now, my liege. I've taken up training for the past week, and have since made a full recovery."

"That's nice to see. No more pains?"

"None, Your Highness." Your head lowered. Your throat felt dry when you continued, but you did, still, anyway. "I'm to be at your service once more, if you'll have me. You know… where to find me, if you have something to ask of."

And as if by instinct, as if expecting this to be yet another moment to simply pass you by, you stepped aside.

He didn't move, not this time.

Instead you stood like that, eyes locked onto the ground, noted the dust on his boots—and these ones you realized looked a lot more worn out than his usual.

Then, with something like hesitation,

“I was on my way down to the town.”

You looked up. "I… see."

“They’ve reopened the northern market street. I wanted to… walk it. It seems there's to be many new shops reopened.”

You nodded.

A longer silence.

Then he added, almost too casually, almost too obvious in his attempts at shoving the tension in the air right away— “You could come with me. If you like.”

It had been days since you'd heard him say something similar. Anything similar.

You couldn't help the smile tugging at your lips.

"Is… is that a command, Your Highness?”

“It’s an invitation,” he tilted his head slightly. “One you’re free to refuse. But… I'd rather you don't...”

So you did smile, this time. With enough time to look away to hide it, you did smile. Still you weren't sure just how willingly you could take his words, but—this might truly have been the first time he'd addressed you so directly since that night.

You were weak.

Pathetic, almost.

You'd grasp at straws of his affection like your life depended on it.

And when he spoke again, his voice was softer—a little less distant. "You… said that you liked it, when things were named. As for me, I… could use your judgment—" If his voice could nudge, this would be akin to it. "…And your company."

When you looked back at him, you noticed it.

There was a flicker of something boyish in him just then. Dare you say it—hopefully boyish. Not the crown prince, not the diplomatic heir, but a young man with the anticipation of spending a day out in town with…

You.

With you. You gave a quiet smile, “Then I’ll come.”

Fully, then, his expression softened into something warm, and you watched as his shoulders relaxed.

Was he nervous?

“Good," he nodded, "I’ll have horses prepared for us both.”

You realized, then, that the conviction of that little girl—the one who gave him the umbrella, the one so bold as to assume of his struggles… She still existed. She always had. And now, you grasped at the loose fabric of his cloak.

"Prince Xavier."

He looked over his shoulder.

"I… didn't say I'd come just because you asked.”

He held your gaze for a long second, and then with the barest tilt of his head, he said—

"I know."

You could have sworn you'd seen a smile on his face before he left.

&—

The town was alive with spring.

Bright pennants fluttered above cobbled streets, the scent of blooming flowers mingled with roasted chestnuts and freshly-baked bread. Market stalls stretched out in neat rows. Each one seemed to be bursting with color—baskets of fruit, rows of dyed fabrics, arrays of trinkets, and even displays of spice jars… It had been a while since you'd ventured out into town, and you couldn't recall it being quite so colorful. A lute played in the distance, a melody jovial enough for a town square dance. Just a little down the block you could see the townsfolk gathering over to dance, and even the mere sight of it made you smile.

It was so easy here, to forget about it. The duties, the formalities.

You even nudged the man beside you to point him in the direction of the ongoing dance, and you were pleased to see that the smile Xavier was wearing wasn't quite the forced, polite grin he often wore in front of the court.

And Xavier wore his most inconspicuous cloak.

He called it that, anyway.

It wasn't very inconspicuous.

Even browsing through the markets while many were occupied with the dance still drew glances here and there, and you shrank, a little, into your cloak.

"You’re drawing more attention than I am,” you said dryly.

"Oh. Is it the boots? They do shine a bit…”

Oblivious.

"No, you've even dusted them. I'd say it’s more the way you look like… uh, someone who’s never had to haggle in his life.”

Almost as if to prove your point, you watched with a sigh as he stopped at a stall. Honeyed pastries, you noted—not that you knew Xavier to have a particularly sweet tooth, but you let him be anyway.

He held up a coin. "How much for two?"

The vendor, a stout man with a crooked smile, squinted. “For you? Five copper.”

“That seems high…"

You crossed your arms, and at your lack of response, Xavier turned to you disapprovingly. "You’re supposed to back me up.”

Another grin made its way to your face, and an eyebrow raised. "Should I? But this is the real world, my liege.”

Xavier hadn't the heart to argue then.

He handed over the necessary coins, then gave one of the pastries to you with a little frown on his face.

The thought made its way to your head before you could stop it:

Cute.

"You're enjoying this," he mumbled.

“Immensely.”

And wandering through the square proved easy enough.

Every now and then the tune would change, a couple more musicians would join in the fun, and the music would become a little livelier. You and Xavier, on the other hand, took an easy pace—sampling food whenever you could, and pausing to admire the local handiwork on display. So many things were adorable. Though your own room was quite plain and you thought you had little need for trinkets and displays, a smile would show whenever you stopped by one that had caught your attention.

The next time it happened, you'd run your fingers over a bundle of blue-and-yellow blossoms, a striking difference out of the other ceramic paper weights. And Xavier caught your wrist.

"You want one?" he asked quietly.

"I… I don't need one—"

"I didn't ask if you needed them."

Xavier was a man of a few words, but oftentimes it was his actions that shone through the most.

You couldn't answer him.

He bought the paper weight and handed it to you with a little air of triumph—"They're forget-me-nots," he smiled. "If we can find the real flowers one day, then I'd like to give them to you."

You didn't think about how his voice was so gentle; you didn't think about the implications of receiving flowers from the Crown Prince.

Instead, ignoring the skip of your heartbeat, you stared forward.

At the end of the street, the corner rounded into a bookstore that you knew had already been marked on Xavier's itinerary.

You glanced up;

Noontime.

You'd spent the entire morning here, and likely would a couple more hours at this one final stop. Briefly in your head you wondered how Xavier had gotten out of his royal duties for the day, but you didn't question it aloud, you just followed him in.

With a soft jingle, the bell above the doorway signaled your entrance. Immediately the music from town square seemed to drown itself out.

It was quiet here. Serene, almost. And even if you hadn't yet been here before, the scent of ink and parchment washed over you, old and familiar. Naturally Xavier had been drawn towards the back shelves, but you stood a while by the entrance in awe at the vast collection—It was almost as big as the royal libraries.

Separated from Xavier, you were left to browse in silence. Your hand trailed over the spines of various travelogues and maps; various novels, encyclopedias, memoirs…

And then a few few minutes passed by like that before you heard it.

“You have good taste,” came a kind, gentle voice.

It was somewhere off to the distance—you weren't far behind from where Xavier had headed off to, and it seemed to be coming from there.

You heard the flip of a page, then, and a quiet laugh—

"I try," came Xavier's voice next. Cordial, polite, and just friendly enough to engage.

But this was not his princely voice. You knew it well, but perhaps you'd gotten too far in your head to believe he'd only use such a tone with you alone.

The girl laughed, and you quietly approached the section. “You picked one of my favorites! I always hoped someone would notice it. It's been a while since anyone had."

"Really? Then I'm honored."

You saw her, then. Peeked through the shelves to catch a glimpse. A young woman with neatly braided hair stood across from him, sorting a stack of volumes just nearby. She was charming, in a sense—you could see it, from where you were. A little soft-spoken, despite the excitement in her voice, and decidedly friendly. Looking at her like this reminded you of sunlit flower patches, even—of the spring breeze, just outside where you'd come from.

Perhaps, she's…

“I’d… offer you a list of recommendations?” she peeked at him, “but I imagine you already know what you like…"

Xavier shook his head. "Still, I’d be curious to hear.”

It was a scene you couldn't bring yourself to watch.

With a quiet exhale, you put down the book you'd been holding, approached them to give a bow in the woman's direction and a tap on Xavier's shoulder—

"I'll be outside if you need me."

You couldn't even bring yourself to look at her.

Already a knot had formed in your stomach, and you wondered just how selfish you were being.

Best to just remove myself from here.

You didn't listen for Xavier's response before you turned and left.

Outside, the late afternoon air was different; sweeter. You'd spend more time inside than you thought, as now the music had died down, and the stalls were picking up. The street was still warm from the day; children were scattered playing a ways off and kicking a ball through the patches of grass. Lively, in its own way, but a lot… different. As if whatever festival had taken place in the morning had since simmered down into a gentler sun-soaked gathering.

It was calming.

The fresh air was nice—if the bookshop felt like its own little world, then this felt more… grounding.

Off in the distance you could see the outline of the palace you'd come from, and again you would recall what you really were. What you were allowed. What you should.

How pretentious for a mere knight.

You'd gotten so caught up in the day's events that you were right back where you'd started. You were a knight; his knight, sure, but a knight nonetheless. Special treatment be damned.

You traced the paper weight you'd kept in your cloak, and thought—maybe it wasn't even special treatment; the Prince was free to be comfortable with whomever he chose. The Prince was free to speak with whomever he chose.

So, the Prince was free to be friendly with whomever he chose.

It shouldn't even matter to you.

Yet you smiled bitterly, kicked absentmindedly at the concrete. You had to remind yourself—you weren't special; you couldn't be. You were just a knight, after all.

That was all there was to it.

The door creaked open behind you a minute later.

“You vanished."

Xavier's voice.

Again came that tongue of yours without thinking, a sentence you'd dared to utter before recoiling with a wince—

“Didn’t want to interrupt your literary courtship.”

A breeze passed.

One glance at him showed he hadn't gotten a stack of books like you'd expected, but instead carried a single novel.

It wasn't the one they'd been talking about when you left.

"You… think that's what it was?"

He spoke slowly, as if unsure—

You, on the other hand, turned away and spoke too quickly.

“No,” you coughed, “of course not.”

“…Hm.”

He didn’t say anything else.

He just walked beside you again as you made your way toward the stables, steps aligned still, but—

Quieter, now.

And though nothing had changed between you outwardly, you couldn’t quite ignore that same pinch in your chest; so uncomfortable. The sharp awareness of how easily someone else might belong in that quiet, private moment with him—how simple it could be.

Too simple.

As you mounted your horses, you stayed a respectable pace behind him. By now, the sun was dipping low, and it was the close of the day. Neither of you spoke for several paces.

Instead you busied yourself with the streets that faded into fields, the lush green mixing with the tangerine reflections of the sunset. The horses were comfortable; trotting along at your leisurely pace and completely unaware of the awkwardness that had settled between you.

It was Xavier who broke the silence first.

"You know, she only spoke to me because I picked her favorite book.”

You let out a soft laugh. "I didn't say anything."

“You didn’t have to.”

There was no edge in his voice—just quiet observation, a statement offered like a coin left on the table. Dare you say that it was gentle, as if clearly offering to soothe.

How embarrassing.

You closed your eyes, allowed yourself to feel the wind through your hair as you rode past the fields. And then you let out a slow breath.

"It wasn't jealousy."

It was.

"Wasn't it?"

He turned back to face you ever so slightly, and you could have sworn you heard him scoff.

He didn't believe you.

You didn't believe yourself, either.

"Why… Why would I be jealous?" you muttered.

“I don’t know,” he hummed, as if that wasn’t the point, “but it lingered.”

It… lingered?

Something about it twisted in your head—and though you wished, so desperately wished you didn't think it, you wondered, just then, if that moment of jealousy had sparked in him a little.

Did it bother him?

Was this his way of apologizing for it?

You could have scoffed at yourself just for thinking it.

Selfish. Unbecoming. Absolutely out of the protocol.

The horses had trot a little while further, and the castle became clearer in your view.

Then he added, softly; "You don't have to explain it."

And leave it to Xavier to know what to say to you.

You couldn't explain it even if you were asked to, but somehow, that was soothing enough. That was reassuring enough. Such a simple sentence, just a few words—in a way, it placated the restlessness that had settled in your heart. You wondered if that was a good thing or not.

He's too kind, you thought. He's too…

You were grateful, in that moment, that he was still that few paces in front of you.

He couldn't see the small, giddy smile on your lips, the faint blush at the tips of your ears.

He's really, really, truly… the Prince of Philos.

The rest of the ride was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Perhaps… you'd become too used, to leaving things unsaid.

When your feet touched the cobble of the palace grounds, he spoke again. First, as always; as an invitation for you to follow. "Thank you for coming with me today.”

“…I didn’t mind.”

“I know. But I'm glad you came anyway."

He offered a gentle pat on the top of your head, a light, fleeting touch, before he left.

Your own words stayed on the tip of your tongue.

I was happy to be with you, too.

&—

It became frequent. Sort of a ritual, by now.

Escapes beyond the palace walls; little excursions, here and there. Whenever the both of you could get a moment, you'd simply take the chance. By now, it was a wonder to you that not a single soul had questioned it. The guards stationed at the gate would let you through without thinking; your fellow knights would wave you off when you'd excuse yourself on behalf of the Prince's orders.

Or, so he'd say—

Xavier would find reasons to ride out, and you would be summoned to accompany him, though it was never quite called an order.

Always an invitation.

One you were free to refuse, at any given moment, but you—

You never did.

You never could.

Still, selfishly, longingly, you would grasp at the straws of his affection. At another chance, another moment, to still be with him.

This time, now, it was a simple ride out into the forests.

Nobody questioned the prince's whims. Therefore, nobody questioned you, either.

And so you took the forest trail at an easy pace, your horses side by side beneath the arching trees. It was still spring—the breeze was cool. Flowers littered the path at given moments, and the rustling of the leaves overhead seemed to soothe.

You could recall when all things, had been like this.

And Xavier voiced your thoughts with a hum.

"I missed this,” he spoke, shifting in his saddle as he ducked a low branch. “When it was just sparring, riding, running drills without purpose...”

“No politics,” you laughed.

“No courtiers.”

“Just… bruises.”

He smiled, “Simpler times.”

The forest welcomed you as you rode in further, the canopy above thick with green and filtering sunlight into dapples across the path. As silence settled between you, the birds chirped softly overhead. The horses' hooves thudded rhythmically over soft earth. In this brief moment of respite, you noticed the way your leisurely pace blended seamlessly with the breeze, and Xavier's cloak fluttered lightly.

"You remember though, don't you?" he glanced to you before going on ahead as the path narrowed slightly. "How we used to train here before."

“Vividly. Because you kept distracting me.”

“Me?”

You could hardly believe that he was being incredulous.

"Yes, you! Every time I had a chance at winning, you’d charm a bird into landing on your shoulder!”

“That bird chose me,” he waved a hand dismissively, “I can't control the woodland creatures."

“But you also had a rabbit interrupt us. And once, a deer.”

“That was a noble stag. I remember… he had kind eyes. I thought he deserved a moment of my time.”

“You offered him your apple and called it a diplomatic exchange."

“He accepted, didn't he?"

“And I looked like I was going to win that round, until you called for a break!"

Xavier’s laugh echoed softly through the trees. “You were only grateful for the interruption. You could never beat me with a blade.”

Why, you—!

"Ugh, you just had longer arms!" you cried indignantly. "And better balance! And the annoying habit of being infuriatingly graceful!"

Yet even though you wished to throw a rock at him, the light bickering made you smile. Truly, simpler times. Back then, it was easier for both of you to be close—that even in all your loyalty, you'd felt the presence of a boy, and the friendship of one.

You wondered when exactly that had changed.

"Let's stop here and rest."

Your horses eased to a halt as the trail opened into a small clearing.

This was a clearing you knew well from the earlier days—our enlistment as a knight-in-training; your trainings with the others and especially even Xavier himself. It hadn't taken long for you to rise to a position that had his personal swordsmaster take you in as an additional apprentice, but those days still laid fondly in the forefront of your mind. Now, here, again after so, so long, you let your gaze sweep around. These things were still here. The underbrush was dotted with the same low shrubs that used to snag at your boots during drills, and the worn stumps still sat in a half-circle where your instructor had once set up little sparring exercises.

Just as you remembered.

Xavier dismounted and looked around with you while wearing a small, thoughtful smile, “I used to think this place was the whole world,” he said, running a hand over the mossy bark of a tree. “Before councils and court politics and formal wear.”

“Pff. You hated formal wear back then.”

“I still do.”

Following in his movements, you slipped off your horse and stretched.

Again the quiet, soothing sounds of the forest rang through the clearing.

“…Remember? You also used to say this place was better than any hall in the palace.” The way you said it carried a quiet laugh.

"But don't you?"

"No, no, I do! I mean, even… now, I think. It's just more peaceful here. Something about the quiet… geez, you must be rubbing off on me."

It was Xavier who liked the quiet, right?

With a playful roll of your eyes, you who chose a spot under a tree, leaning back against its trunk to stretch your legs. "Ugh, but I really did try to beat you, you know,” you huffed at him.

“I know.” He looked down, and his smile turned soft. He sat cross-legged across you, fished an apple from his satchel and tossed it over. “You always fought like you had something to prove, even when you didn’t need to. How old were we then?”

“Well it was because I used to get so frustrated when you beat me!" You shook your head, caught the apple and polished it with your sleeve. “I trained so hard, you know? And you made it look effortless!”

“Only because I started much earlier, and you were a new knight-in-training. But…"

Xavier stopped, then.

In the pause, he looked at you—really looked at you, this time, you felt. And when he smiled, you thought you'd never seen him look at you so fondly before. "You were formidable," he added, sincerely. "Even back then. And even now."

His words flowed so easy. Like sunlight, filtering through the leaves.

And the two of you leaned back in silence, staring up at the sky, enjoying the breeze and the quiet moment that you had for your own.

If only… things could always be like this.

Xavier made a thoughtful sound, then.

The both of you saw it—clouds began to gather, and though the droplets had yet to fall, you knew the blue of the sky would slowly drown out into gray.

"…Rain," he murmured.

You huffed in disappointment and moved to sit up.

Xavier was quick to mount his horse. "We’re not far from that old shed," he nodded ahead, "the one near the upper ridge. If it starts to pour, we’ll shelter there."

You could make it, you thought.

And when the rain came down—soft at first, then heavy, soaking them through in minutes—you'd kicked your horses into a light canter, water flicking off hooves and cloaks, until the familiar silhouette of the weathered wooden shed came into view.

Inside, you tied the horses to the sheltered posts and ducked in, breathless and dripping.

He shook the water from his hair. “I guess… we made it in time. Somewhat.”

You wrung out your cloak, glancing around the space.

Outside now the rain fell in a steady hush, cloaking the forest in silver dew. But here, it smelled of cedar and damp earth. The wooden beams creaked softly overhead. It hadn’t changed—rough beams, a dusty cot, and a cracked window that, thankfully despite the spring pour, seemed not to bother them.

A memory stirred.

Not too far from here, the chapel…

Wryly you took off your gloves and leaned them on the windowsill, watching droplets streak down the glass. “So this place is still standing, huh? That’s something.”

He gave a quiet laugh, stepping closer to peer outside.

You watched him, a moment. A memory stirred—if, for you it was something, then you could only imagine how it might be like for him.

"Are you… okay? Being here again?" you tested the waters with a gentle tone.

Reliving the worst moments of your life tends to be difficult. If he perhaps needed a distraction...

Yet contrary to your expectations, he didn't look back at you, only shrugged, slightly. His tone was even when he spoke. "It's not far from the training clearing, I don't mind. I guess it's only that it's been a while."

You weren't sure if you were thinking the same thing. So instead of trying to push it further, you moved to sit down on the edge of the cot.

The rain continued to patter rhythmically on the old roof of the shelter.

As usual, still, it was Xavier who spoke first to fill that silence.

"The chapel's nearby."

It was then that he turned towards you, and he leaned against the window with his arms crossed loosely over his chest. There was a faint smile on his face. One that didn't quite meet his eyes. "That day… My mother's funeral was held, and it was raining, too."

You looked at him, stayed silent.

"Your hometown. It's not too far in this direction either, isn't it? A small village over to the west."

"…Mn."

"And you joined the knights when you were fifteen." Xavier glanced out again. "When we met, you were already more loyal than the other knights-in-training."

You watched as a faint smile became visible on his lips.

He nodded his head in the direction of the corner behind you—

And when you turned, your breath caught in your throat.

"You'll get sick out in the rain, Sir Prince."

You could hear that tiny voice; the younger you.

Without waiting for him to speak, you stood up; walked towards the umbrella leaning by the wall, picked it up as if it were so fragile it could break at just a single touch.

"You… remember?" you whispered.

There was no way that he could. You continued to stare at it, eyes slightly wide, a frown of confusion on your face—disbelief, in its purest form. You couldn't recall exactly how many years it had been, but though it had meant something to you, you didn't know if could mean something to him.

Yet your back remained turned to him, but you could see him smiling.

"I've never forgotten."

Gently you ran your hand over the now-torn cloth binding the bamboo together. Such a flimsy umbrella. You'd given this to a prince.

"The first time we met," you mumbled, "it wasn't at the hall, when I'd applied, it was…"

"Out in the rain."

He finished for you.

"…Yeah."

This time, you turned. You raised the hand that held the umbrella. "Why did you keep this?"

Disbelief still continued to lace in your voice, but it was a fond one. One that almost made you laugh, one that almost made you utterly at a loss of what to say or really do.

The Crown Prince was full of surprises.

"I mean, you— didn't even know me. How could—?"

Xavier laughed, quietly, and shook his head.

"You took my hand, and you were kind. And then you were the only one who didn't approach me like I might shatter. I always hoped I'd see you again."

And when you looked at him then—truly looked, your eyes settling fondly onto his—you caught sight of it.

In his eyes laid something steady, warm, and unguarded.

"So a moment you think was small can be everything to someone else," you murmured.

Your gaze flitted momentarily to the umbrella as you set it back down, and then you took slow, tentative steps towards him.

“I think,” Xavier laughed softly, “you’ve been by my side longer than either of us realized.”

And my oath began long before I'd taken the blade.

Now, between the both of you, settled a silence.

It wasn't awkward.

It wasn't tension-filled.

It was full of unspoken things, of shared space, of a history now revealed in the low light and the scent of wet earth—

But it wasn't awkward.

Somehow, having the truth out in the open felt as if the two of you had taken a step closer.

Once again, 15 centimeters became 5.

In that moment, Xavier shifted first, stepping away from the window. He shrugged off his outer cloak and crossed the space toward you, holding it out—

“You're soaked."

You stared for a moment.

"You're also—?"

Yet your hands reached for the cloth as if you were physically unable to disobey, and you weighed it carefully. It was— warm. You'd forgotten his was more well-tailored, obviously better off than your own. Only its outer had been wet in the rain, and inside, the wool was still warm from his own heat.

You'd gotten the brunt of the rainfall, but he hadn't.

"I don't have a bamboo umbrella to give," he said lightly, "but this should be enough."

The tone to his voice told you that he was joking, and you couldn't help but scoff. "Won't you be cold?"

"You're the one who's wet. So I'd rather that you don't."

So you folded the cloak over your shoulders and sat back on the edge of the cot, the old wood creaking gently beneath.

You watched—Xavier moved and crouched near the fireplace, then. You couldn't quite tell why he was busying himself; the ash had long gone cold, but he still bothered to sort through what remained of the kindling pile.

When he stood again, he held something small and folded—an old piece of cloth, thin and soft with age.

He offered it to you wordlessly.

Something akin to a cat, when it had caught a prey it was proud of.

The imagery almost made you smirk.

"…Uh?"

"Your gloves," he smiled patiently. "I could at least dry them a little. It's better than nothing."

That smile really does look like a proud kitten's...

You coughed, looked away. Tried to compose yourself.

What were you doing?

"Your Highness, with all due respect, you shouldn't—"

"No, I'll do what I'm able."

Silence.

You looked back at him, both aghast and a little bit amused, and then you sighed.

An owner never refuses a cat's gifts if she wants to make it feel loved, anyway... Right?

Slowly you peeled the gloves off, one by one. Undeniably, your fingers were cold—again you were reminded that you'd gotten way too much of the rain soaked through your clothes, and you were suddenly grateful for Xavier's offered help. It was as if he knew that when he took them from you, carefully, like they were something delicate, and he knelt by the cot’s frame. Pressing the damp leather gently in the cloth, you watched his hands. Steady, careful, far more patient than you ever could be.

He looked up.

Your eyes met again.

And this time, he shifted beside you, enough at least for your shoulders to touch once more. As if that warmth, from just earlier, was one he would rather not be without.

You breathed in slowly. The moment felt… still. Peaceful, even.

You could, just…

You rest your shoulder right against his.

He'd subtly drawn you closer with an arm around your waist, half to shift you into something comfortable, half to just—

Press his lips into your hair.

It was so light, so subtle.

Barely there.

Yet your heart stopped, a moment.

When you looked up at him, there was one expression you had never quite seen before. One you didn't know how to react to, but one you knew felt more real, and more vulnerable, than all the others.

"May I?"

He didn't ask it out loud, but you could hear it.

And you didn't move—he did.

Leaned in.

Slow, steady movements—like he was still thinking about it, like he was still unsure, but like he still—wanted to.

Your breath caught again. He hadn't leaned in all the way, just enough that your heart stilled a second time, and your fingers curled slightly in the folds of the cloak.

It would be easy. So easy.

If he just moved, a little closer, a little more—

A pause.

He didn't.

Instead of kissing you, Xavier rested his forehead against yours, looked at you in that same gentle, quiet manner that he often did.

A pause in time.

You could feel how close he was; how just a little movement could brush your lips against his.

And then he pulled back with a quiet breath and spoke; “We should get back.”

…Ah.

You gulped down the bile that had formed in your throat, and out of the corner of your eyes you could see the rain beginning to still.

You looked away.

Nodded, once.

"…Yeah. We should."

And the thread had been pulled tighter.

&—

That evening, you weren't quite expecting to see him still awake.

The corridor was quiet, lined with golden light from the torches on the wall, and you'd just passed his door on your way to the stairwell when it opened with a soft creak.

Xavier noticed, called out to you gently. “Are you done for today?”

You stopped in your tracks.

Nightly patrols were so normal, you'd have forgotten that otherwise, you didn't really have the need to pass by here.

Yet when you turned to look back at him, he'd made his way to the doorway, opened it a little wider.

It was rare for you to see him like this. A shirt over trousers, already untucked, sleeves half-rolled, a slight tousle to his hair to give it a look quite unlike the neatly-combed style he wore in the mornings.

This was little less like the prince you knew—even less than the one you'd seen, that day you went out into town together, and even less than the one you do see on your excursions.

Now, that air of elegance about him gave way to a sort of boyish charm, one less looked after, one less coerced into the face that stood in the court.

So rare.

You felt your heart skip a beat the longer you looked at him, and you could have sworn your cheeks had heated up even a little bit.

Xavier had always been handsome, but this was quite something else.

A smile played at his lips as you shyly looked down, and answered, "Yes, my liege, everything's settled now for the evening.”

He didn’t move right away. Just leaned a little against the doorframe, gaze still thoughtfully resting upon you— Then he stepped back and opened the door even wider.

“Do you… want to come in?”

You stopped. Looked at him, blinked rapidly as if you believed you'd heard wrong—

Well, you did believe that, sort of. Xavier had never invited you inside before.

Little peeks here and there, of course, and conversations in the doorway, delivered letters and reports as necessary— but— only his maidservants were ever the ones allowed inside.

That was a privilege even he had never granted to you. Nor, you assumed, any other royal, to any other knight.

This was out of the protocol.

You wondered, then, if a panicked look had come across your face without your notice, because he let out a laugh next—

"Don't worry, you're not breaking any rules. I just think… maybe, we can have some tea together."

Your throat felt dry.

Not in a bad way, but rather, uncertain. And giddy, almost.

Yet when had you really refused him?

You wondered if you were only making excuses for yourself, but he had invited you. And he was right, of course, you weren't breaking any rules, so you could just—

You nodded.

Slowly you stepped in, took a look around a little more properly.

It was much bigger than yours, of course. Much neater, much more well-kept, despite all the fancy beddings and fancy furniture and fancy—well, everything, really. Off to the side, the hearth was low and steady, casting the walls in quiet amber. It all gave off a certain kind of warmth—a certain comfort—despite the way you noticed papers spread across his desk, an unrolled map on the edge of it with markings you weren't well-versed enough to understand.

Cozy.

The first thought in your head.

"I… didn't expect you to be up so late, Your Highness," you scratched your cheek sheepishly. "I hope I'm not interrupting…"

But he waved your concerns away quite casually. "No, I was only pretending to be productive. I've been more of… reading. But I told myself I’d stop after I finished this page, and that was… three pages ago.”

At the sound of his chuckle, you too laughed, and then you found the courage to approach a little deeper into the room. You moved towards a seat near the fireplace, took note of the little pot of tea he'd placed to the side.

You didn't pour yourself one just yet, but it made you smile.

There were two teacups there.

Maybe you were delusional enough to think he'd actually prepared it like this.

"That, uh, sounds familiar," you smiled a little. "I told myself I’d rest after the watch changed—final patrol of the evening and all, you know? But that was before I found the kitchen boy asleep in the armory. With a basket of warm bread.”

He glanced up again, eyebrows raised slightly in amusement. “Did you tell him off?”

"No, he… looked half-frozen. I gave him the cloak off the rack, and told him to disappear before someone less forgiving found him.”

"Kind, though the kitchen may be missing that bread.”

You quirked another smile; shrugged. “I’d be more concerned about the missing cloak, actually. It was even embroidered...”

“Then I suppose that’s a mystery for the morning.”

Another shared laugh.

Yet silence fell again as it was he who reached for the tea. Taking a seat next to you, he poured two—one for him, and one for you, and gently handed it over. The fire was warm enough, you'd thought, but the cup in your hands filled you with such homeliness that you couldn't say anything quite in protest.

Instead, you gave him a grateful smile.

"W- well, I… heard something strange earlier,” you started quietly, swirling the tea in the cup. “The steward was fretting about someone rearranging the seating plan for tomorrow's meeting, or something. Is it so much of an important one, I wonder?"

Xavier made a face. “It seems the case. I walked past the hall and heard someone debating the proximity of the soup course, to a single baron’s allergy. I decided to leave.”

Your smile turned to yet another grin; it was just like Xavier to want to avoid such things.

"Wise, though," you mused. A sip of your tea before you let it rest again. "I suppose they'd have dragged you in for a pointless conversation if you'd stayed."

He laughed, soft and muffled behind his own tea cup, and gave you a slight nudge.

"How are your patrols? I believe it's a new rotation starting tomorrow."

"Yeah, the new roster got posted just after supper earlier." You leaned back a little, let out something like a sigh. Just remembering the discussion it had sparked just earlier made you wrinkle your nose. “One of the guards thinks someone’s out to sabotage him. He’s on the northern courtyard again.”

"Is the northern courtyard so bad?"

"No, just… quite large, and further away. It does get a little boring…"

“Maybe he just draws the short straw.”

You couldn't help the grin that formed on your face. "You know, I did tell him that," you chuckled. “He didn’t like it.”

In that moment, your eyes met briefly across the firelight. It wasn’t a moment charged with anything obvious, but there was comfort in it.

Familiarity.

The quiet that settled was filling, but not deafening, and you both stared quietly into the room as you sipped your tea.

It was only after a moment that he looked down at his desk again, then closed the book with a quiet snap.

“It’s late,” he said. “You should rest.”

The inevitable.

You'd forgotten for a moment that you were in the prince's quarters, and the mere thought of it—the realization of it—caused you to rush up almost abruptly.

"Oh! O-of course, Your Highness, I should let you rest!" You sat down the teacup, brushed your hands on your tunic, "I— I'll get going, thank you. The tea was… lovely."

Yet even as you made brisk steps towards the door, he followed you still. You'd barely even made to push it open, when his fingers caught yours briefly—

“Wait.”

Your heart thrummed in your chest, almost terrified to turn around.

The way he'd said it was so… soft.

Pleading, almost.

Vulnerable.

It had been so long… since you'd ever heard him so vulnerable. You weren't sure if you were even allowed to see.

Yet—

"…Look at me?" he murmured.

And it wasn't an order, it never really was, with him, but… you could never refuse.

Your head turned, slightly, just enough to catch his gaze. Just enough to melt.

"Yes?" you whispered.

And he didn't answer with words.

Instead he leaned forward, slowly, carefully… and pressed a tiny kiss to your lips.

Soft, gentle.

Unspoken, as though it had always belonged there.

Your mind fogged.

You didn’t lean in, didn’t pull away—just stayed there, breathing in the stillness of it, allowing yourself to burn this sensation into your mind.

He's kissing me, you thought.

Prince Xavier is….

You were dizzy when he drew back, yet he didn’t look surprised by what he’d done. He only smiled.

That soft, adorable, gentle little smile.

He let go of your hand.

“Goodnight,” he said quietly.

You felt had barely the consciousness to reply.

"G- goodnight, my prince."

And you turned, left, and the door closed quietly behind you.

The corridor felt longer than usual when you walked away.

The warmth of the firelight still danced behind your eyelids; your fingers brushed absentmindedly over the walls, as though trying to hold on to the moment a little longer.

Your first kiss.

Your first kiss… with the Crown Prince of Philos.

You had to place a hand over your heart; it was racing much too quickly. You couldn’t even quite remember how your feet had carried you out of the hall, the only thing you could was the quiet hum of his voice. The way his lips had felt, how easily the kiss had unfolded—so natural, as if it were always meant to happen.

This was insane.

The candlelight flickered softly in the hallway, casting long, quiet shadows along the stone walls as you continued to walk. With how late it was, your footsteps echoed. Rhythm unsteady, slower than usual—as if your feet were floating above the ground. Given that your mind, too, was drifting somewhere far above the confines of the castle, it made complete sense—

You were in fact somewhere soft. Somewhere warm.

Somewhere with him.

You were still grinning to yourself, and it felt ridiculous by now. Your heart was still pounding, because you had always kept your composure around him, every step measured, every glance controlled, but—

Professionalism? Where would that fall?

Now everything felt lighter, like the rules you'd built around you were suddenly so... unnecessary.

And once you reached your room, you faltered. Shut the door behind you, leaned against it, buried your face in your hands with a barely-contained squeal.

Your fingers unconsciously reached up to touch your lips, and you knew.

Oh, you were so, so, fucked.

:: CONTINUED IN PART 2.

© solifloris. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

84 notes · View notes

goldenlikedayl1ght · 10 months ago

Text

weren't we the stars in heaven? | m. murdock

a/n: hi guys. so sorry i haven't posted a full length fic about matt in a while so as a sorry here's a BEAST of a fic. i have nothing much to say about this, but i will say that i am not thrilled with the ending but oh well. enjoy! i'm gonna go take a nap but i am really proud of this so if you guys like it, let me know! warnings: oh boy. so many things. cursing, use of weed, drinking, matt is married but it's an open marriage, lots of religious imagery, sex, rough fucking, unprotected sex, no use of y/n, lowkey some mean matt smut, his kid is autistic but its not mentioned a ton, reader is hard of hearing but its only mentioned once, female reader with female anatomy, age gap, nicknames, ANGST, dirty talk, hella flirting and pining, just. it's a lot. word count: 9.2k (holy moly) summary: you develop a crush on a friend of your dad's from work. the only problem is that he's married, twice your age, and you babysit his son. pairing: dbf!matt murdock x fem!reader now playing: anything - adrianne lenker "lay on your lap when i'm crying/weren't we the stars in heaven?/weren't we the salt in the sea?/dragon in the new warm mountain/didn't you believe me?"

Spring

A week at home is too long. You think about how torturous a whole summer here will be. It’s almost enough to make you sign up to be a summer orientation leader or even a tour leader. Almost. The pay isn’t that good to stay in the dorms without AC all summer.

Of course, your mother asks you to go to church on Easter Sunday and because she did your laundry and cooked you your first home-cooked meal in months, you oblige her.

And as you’re sitting there, on your knees with your hands folded, your eyes peek open, beginning to wander around the church. It’s way too hot in this church, and you are bored out of your mind.

You realize you are the only one who is bored out of your mind. Well.. Almost.

Your gaze catches onto a man who looks just as bored as you do, only, you can’t really tell if he’s looking at you. You lean your head back and roll your eyes, trying to signal how god damn bored you are to him. He just smirks, and your heart flutters.

It almost looks like his smirk widens at that.

Your face flushes and you just put your head back down, closing your eyes as if you’ve been caught doing something you’re not supposed to.

Eventually when the service is over, you’re still thinking about the strange man on the other side of the church as you sip church lemonade that is way too sweet—But you’ve been up for hours and this is the first thing you’ve had since you woke up.

Your parents are making pleasant conversations with various friends they know, and you smile awkwardly at friends from high school. You almost choke on your lemonade when you see the man make his way out of the church, his arm hooked to a woman’s as he taps a cane against the pavement, a young boy next to them as well.

And before you know it, the family of three is approaching your family and your ears are burning red.

Your dad happily shakes his hand and pulls him in for one of those weird man hugs that you don’t really understand, as your mother does one of those weird moves where she presses her cheek against his wives.

Your father gestures over to you and says, “This is our daughter,” And he gives them your name, “She’s home for spring break from school.”

You wave to the kid, before shaking the wife’s hand, and then his— His hand is warm. Your heart is racing and you just shake his hand, trying to ignore the soft squeeze that accompanies the shake.

“Matthew,” He introduces himself like your insides aren’t discombobulated, “Matthew Murdock.” You just look at him, blinking for a second, and your mind begins to wander. How did he know you were rolling your eyes in the church if he’s blind? And how is he so hot?

You think you might die—Your face is flushed, and you think for sure that you’ve been caught, and that his wife will see right through this little charade and knows that you have a huge crush on her husband, whom you just met. He must know what he’s doing because he just smirks at you and opens his mouth to say something, but your mom just looks at you with a look of concern.

“Honey, are you alright?” she asks, “You look warm,” You shake your head with a soft smile.

“No, I’m uh.. Well, I think I’m gonna take a quick walk, find some shade—Excuse me.” You say politely, but before you can leave the conversation, Matt smiles,

“I’ll come with you. I could use the fresh air.” He offers, and you almost say no, but your mom smiles like she’s trying to fucking kill you—

“What a wonderful idea, You can tell Mr. Murdock all about your studies.” She offers, and something in your stomach twists with embarrassment—the way she phrases it makes you sound so.. young. So, you just offer Matt your arm, and he hooks his hand onto it like it’s casual.

And so, the pair of you walk through the courtyard of the church, eventually finding a bench where the sun barely creeps through the leaves of the willow tree that hangs over it, and the pair of you sit down, silence overwhelming you.

“So, what’s your major?”

“Oh, uh—English. I’m an English major.” You say, almost ashamed at how boring you sound, “And.. what do you do?”

“I’m a Lawyer,” he smiles. Your dad is a security guard at the court you have in town, so there’s no question of how they know each other.

“Your wife seems nice,” you blurt out, wanting to say something nicer to convince him—maybe yourself, that you really truly are not jealous of a woman you just met.

“She is,” he answers politely, as if that’s.. the kindest thing he can say about her.

“What’s your son’s name?” You ask curiously.

“Lucas.” He smiles fondly now, and your heart melts at the thought that this man truly feels nothing but pure, burning affection for his son. “When do you go back to school?” He asks curiously.

“Oh, tomorrow.” You smile, “Thank god.”

Then, he catches you off guard.

“That’s the most genuine thing you’ve said since we sat down.” He smirks, “Not a fan of your hometown?”

You don’t know how to explain it, not really—When you were applying to college, your mom asked you if you wanted to apply to any local colleges. And while you’re persistent that there’s nothing wrong with community college, you were sure that you needed to get out of here, or else you think you would’ve died.

But, you owe Matt an explanation.. Well, maybe you don’t, but you think you do.

“It’s not that,” You promise, “There’s just something about being here that brings out the worst in people.” You sigh.

His hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, and while it’s subtle, you notice the way that his thumb rubs against your skin, and you might melt right into him.

“Don’t let anyone ever shame you for leaving.” He offers gently, and you think you just about fall in love with him. Then, his head picks up as the screechy tone of his wife calling for him interrupts your conversation. He just sighs, and makes a bold move—his hand goes to your thigh and gently, just barely, rubs his fingers against the fabric of your sundress, the tips of his fingers teasing your skin. “Well, I’ll.. see you in the summer then?” he ponders.

“Uh-huh..” You say, your eyes soft with want. Then, he walks right out of your life.

Summer

As spring melted into summer, and as you finished the rest of your finals, your dad picks you up from your dorm, packing everything you hold near and dear into his truck, and then starting the drive home.

For the past month and a half, you have heard nothing about Matt or his family. Sometimes, you ask your parents, ‘How’s your job, how’s the church’, begging for any crumbs of information about Matt. And you aren’t even sure why, because in your mind, he is very happily married.

It takes about a week. You sit, day after day, summer job hunting, waiting to be doomed to minimum wage and exhausting hours. Then, your mom comes home with groceries and a smile that you know can only mean bad news.

“I found you a job!” She declares happily, as you put the milk in the fridge.

“In the dairy aisle of the grocery store?” You question, and she laughs.

“No, no, I found you a babysitting job for the summer.” She smiles. “For the Murdocks!”

You squeeze the orange in your hand so hard that your thumbnails pierce it as orange juice drips down your hands, blinking before throwing out the orange, your hand reeking of the tangerine, fingers sticky with sugar.

“I’m sorry?” You manage to squeak out.

“You’re going to be babysitting their son, Lucas. They both work from nine to five, sometimes later. You’d get paid to just hangout with the kid,” She shrugged with a soft smile.

Oh, great. You’re gonna be trapped in the man’s house, looking after his kid. Fucking amazing.

But, you really don’t even see Matt, especially not the first day. Well, really, you barely see him over the course of the first week, but you get whispers of him, and it’s almost worse. You see his graduation photos, his wedding photos, a photo of him holding Lucas in the hospital.

You see his office door cracked open, you see a mug with his name on it, you see his wedding ring on the table—

You see his wedding ring on the table?

He’s elusive. But, from the fragmented sentences you get from Lucas, he tells you how his parents aren’t quite like other couples. Your mind is caught on the fact that Matt and his wife might not be 100 percent happy together, and then you feel guilty that you want to take it as an opportunity to comfort him, in the least Godly way possible.

Matt and Lucas’ mother will be working late tonight, she tells you in the morning, there’s money for dinner on the counter, and you can just relax until they get home.

Lucas drags you all over town that day. The park, the comic bookstore, and then you spend two hours in target, trying to find anything related to Bluey or Cars 2, the only two things he wants to talk about. Your body is sore from looking after him. He’s a very nice kid, but you recognize that he’s.. different.

Nobody in your town has a diagnosis, but you can tell that Lucas is on the spectrum, and you have every intention of telling Matt to get him a diagnosis, so he has the resources he needs to succeed in school.

But, tonight, you’re tired. Very very tired.

So, after putting Lucas to bed and enjoying a slice of semi cold pizza, along with flat diet soda, you find yourself in the backyard. Lucas’ window is open, and you can see the downstairs steps from where you’re sitting, so you’ll be able to see Lucas if he needs anything.

You’re sitting in a patio swing, letting your feet rock you back and forth. Maybe it’s unprofessional of you.. but you scrounge through your bag, finding your pen and turning it on, taking a long hit. You walk to and from work, so it’s not like you won’t be able to drive yourself home.

Then, you see Matt come in, and you freeze. Fuck.

You watch as he sets his bag down, slipping his suit jacket off after. Then, he tucks his cane somewhere safe, before his fingers begin to work at folding his sleeves up to his elbows. His fingers rub his temple for a minute, obviously exhausted from a long time. Then, he takes off his glasses and your heart skips a beat.

He pauses as soon as your heartbeats and he smirks when he turns towards the backyard door. Oh fuck.

He slides the patio door open and approaches you,

“Why are you outside?” he asks, sitting next to you.

“Uh.. Just, enjoying the weather.” And he laughs like you’re the funniest person he knows as he sits down next to you, groaning as he does, and your heart can barely take it.

“You’re a horrible lair, sweetheart.” He tells you. Does he know how desperately you want him? “What are you really—” Then he pauses, his nose twitching. “Are you smoking weed?” He questions.

“No.” You say, but as you breath out, smoke blows out of your mouth as you cough a bit.

“Oh my god—”

“Wait, wait, wait, don’t fire me—”

“Hand it over.” He says, hand outstretched, waiting for the pen. And not even for a second does your brain imagine denying him. It doesn’t cross your mind that maybe he doesn’t have that authority over you and you’re a grown adult.

In fact, you’re foolish if you ever thought he has no authority over you.

You hand over the pen sheepishly, but.. you’re caught way off guard when is fingers study the pen, finding the button and taking a hit for himself. You just watch him, mesmerized as he exhales through his nose.

“Sorry,” he starts, taking another hit before passing it back to you, “I’ll make it up to you.” he promises.

“It’s okay,” You giggle, a little bit from how comical it was, but a little bit from how fucking hot that was. Then, you take another hit, as he just rocks the porch swing back and forth, like he’s rocking you to sleep. The night is cool enough that the smoke barely rattles your lungs, and the intensity of summer has gone to sleep. Silence fills the air, as you just pass your pen back and forth, love in your eyes.

“Why is your wedding ring on the table?” You finally ask. You expect Matt to tense up, to scoff and tell you to mind your fucking business, but he just blows out more smoke before responding,

“My wife and I don’t have the most.. conventional of relationships.” He responds, “We’re in an open relationship.” He adds.

“Oh.” You breath out.

“Yeah. Oh. It’s more like.. She goes out and dates and fucks and I flirt occasionally, but that’s sort of a long title.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” He takes a hit, “Oh.”

You don’t have anything to offer to that.

“Are you from here?” you ask, and he just smiles.

“No.” He says, and now there is true yearning in his voice. “Hell’s Kitchen, New York.” He responds.

“Do you at least like it here?” You ponder, as if his far away voice didn’t give him away.

“At first it’s fine. You try to fit in, just, make your way through, settle down. Then, you begin to hate it. You feel like if it sunk into the ground right at this very second, you’d die happy. Then, you become.. indifferent. You don’t mind the numbness of it all, you just stay perfectly complacent. Then, you wake up and are desperate to escape, like your own personal Truman show. The Matthew Show. Wouldn’t that be something to see?” He muses.

And again, you have nothing to offer but another piece of your soul, just throwing it out there,

“Would you date anyone?”

“Excuse me?”

“Like, if you had someone you were really into, would you date her—Them, whoever?” You ask. “Whomever?” You ask, quieter now, mostly to yourself.

He smiles.

“If someone came along, someone say, who smoked weed, got along very well with my son, and was a horrible liar? Bonus points if she—they,” You suspect he’s making fun of you, “were an English Major?”

You tilt your head with a doe eyed smile.

“You remember I’m an English major?” He coos at you like you’re stupid,

“I remember everything about you, sweetheart.” What is wrong with him? What is wrong with you? Why aren’t you saying anything more to him?

“You know, sometimes, I remember the feeling of your fingers on my thigh when I touch myself,” And he grins like he knows he’s won.

“I bet you do,” He whispers, leaning forward so that his breath was hot against your skin, “Bad, Bad girl..” he ticks, and you can’t help but blush.

“Sorry,” You giggle out as your hand comes up to his face, just to move the pads of your fingers over his scruff.

“It’s okay, sweet girl,” he purrs, his hand finding your thigh again, the twitch of your legs not lost on him. “I don’t mind,” he hums. The weed you smoked is starting to kick in, and with it, your inhibitions start to slip away, your hand reaching so that you can barely touch his hair with the tips of your fingers. He takes another quick hit of your pen before taking your face in his hands, squeezing just a bit so he can lean in and blow smoke into your mouth, and as if it’s communion wine, you inhale, wanting every part of him you can have. Maybe it’s greedy, but you’ll atone for your sins later.

When he pulls away, you think you might just die and go up to heaven.

“I think..” You think so many things. You think that maybe he’s fucking with you. You think that this is a nice little dream that you’ll think back on when you’re old and wrinkly. The deepest, darkest, most insignificant piece of you that you pretend isn’t there, says—

What if he leaves his wife for you?

And you completely understand that you’ve barely kissed the man, but you never claimed that the deep dark part of you was smart, chill or even a little bit in touch with reality, only that it exists.

Besides, the deepest, darkest, most insignificant piece of you that you pretend isn’t there isn’t something you can ignore. Ignoring it is like trying to hold a beachball underwater—Eventually it’ll pop back up and hit you in the face.

“I think that maybe I should head home.” You finally answer, and maybe it’s the weed, but you see a flash of.. disappointment cross over his features. But that couldn’t be it, you’re much more pathetic than he is, he wouldn’t be so upset over you having to leave..

Would he?

But as quickly as the disappointment was there.. It was gone. Poof. As if it had never even existed.

“That’s okay,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and handing your pen back to you so you can tuck it into your bag, until the next time you need another hit. His head picks up as you glance over to door, where his wife walks in, putting her things down. He glances over to you, “Let me walk you home.” He offers.

You smile gently, standing up with him. You don’t say much as you make your way to gather your things from the front door, making pleasant conversations with his wife as he waited for you to get your shoes on. Soon enough, you’re making the quiet walk back to your house, and you’re accepting the swirling mess that is your emotions—Sure, he’s married, technically your boss, way older than you, and most definitely able to read you like a book, but there’s something about him that makes you forget all of that.

Maybe it’s just the general look of him—the salt and pepper hair, the stubble that’s just a bit too long, the sleeves rolled up to his elbow, the way his hands have just a few wrinkles and are covered in scars (from what, you do not know), the feeling of his hand on your thigh or the way his pink lips blew smoke into yours, the way his pants hug the curve of his ass, or maybe, you pathetic college student, maybe it’s the shine of his shoes, professional but just begging you to ride them.

Jesus, you’re too high for this.

But you’re almost certain that what did you in, the roots of your delusion, is the way he squeezed your hand the first time you met. You think, with the upmost affection, that your handshake was the most intimate two strangers could get on a Sunday in the blazing sun, the hypnotic daze of the light shining through the stained-glass windows of the church finally wearing off.

You want to tell him as much, to tell him that you haven’t gone a day without thinking about him since that day, that no amount of college students who ask you out for coffee have been able to drown out the sound of his voice in the back of your head, that the deepest, darkest, most insignificant part of you thinks that he might leave his wife for you.

But the walk home is silent.

You say nothing, but you listen to his breathing, calm, steady. You’re envious. Sure, he’s blind, but there is quite literally no part of you that doesn’t betray you, that doesn’t give you away.

He stops at the end of your driveway, and you hold your breath, waiting for him to speak. You can tell he has something to say, by the way he inhales, lips just barely parted. Sure, you’ve been an English major for years, but you’ve quickly picked up a minor in Matt Murdock studies.

“If I made you uncomfortable tonight, I’m sorry.” He starts, and your brows furrow in confusion.

“I’m—You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” you promise. If anything, even though you were the one who said it was time to go, there’s a twinge of disappointment in your throat.

“Still—I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you or anything..” He starts, “Just.. Have a goodnight.” He smiles gently, his hand slowly, all too slowly, sliding off your arm as he steps away, but in a moment of, possibly THC induced, boldness, you grab his hand as he stands, arm outstretched to you. His sightless eyes hold onto you.

“You aren’t even gonna kiss me goodnight?” You ask, your voice vulnerably hopeful.

His lips twitch up in a smirk, pausing for a second, his head tilted in the most curious way. Like he’s waiting for the perfect moment. Then, he pulls your hand towards him so now you’re the one with the extended arm, like the two of you are dancing, pulling each other back and forth with an intensity birthed from desperation.

He brings your hand up to his lips and presses a soft kiss to the back of it, something straight out of a fairytale. But just as quickly, he gently drops your hand, his eyes blazing with affection.

“We’re okay?”

“We’re okay.” You confirm with a soft smile, not wanting to dwell on any uncertainty that’s between the two of you. To accept that there is any uncertainty at all would be to accept the chance that this is as far as you two will get—lingering crushes and the ghost of a pair of lips on your hand.

He waits until you get back into your house, then walks down the sidewalk back towards his house, putting the idea of you in the trunk that sits in his armoire, only in the back of his mind, next to his old suit, his old friends, and his old life.

On Monday, you get to the Murdock’s house after Matt and his wife have gone to work, but before Lucas has woken up.

On the counter, a tiny envelope sits, your name typed onto the envelope. You tear it open, finding a freshly bought cartridge for your pen. A note falls out of the envelope, and it’s.. in braille.

You sneak into Matt’s office, pulling out a braille dictionary, and you quickly figure out that the note says, ‘We’re okay?’

In the middle of his work day, Matt gets a text.

‘We’re okay.’

When you tell your mom you got invited to go out with some friends from high school, she nearly jumps with excitement. You weren’t exactly popular in High School—that’s not really something you hide, since you’re now going into your senior year of college and you can admit that you were something of a loser in high school..

And in college. But, at your college, that’s more normal and even encouraged, so you run with it.

But your stomach churns at the idea of hanging out with the girls that you hung out with in high school—Wasn’t one of them married?

You knew from your mom, mostly, that the three girls from high school stayed very much in touch throughout their time in college. They were always closer to each other than you were with them, but you know that wasn’t really their fault. They were dumb teenagers just like you.

Maybe not inviting you to hangout outside of school was a side effect of being a seventeen-year-old, as so many things were.

You tell her that you have no interest in going out with them, but she tells you that you should have some friends at home! You want to tell her that having no friends was one reason why you went away to school, but instead, you text them back, asking what they had in mind.

So that’s how you end up in a bar two towns over, liquor burning the back of your throat, your head pounding and your ears aching. Your face twists into despair as you swallow the shot, not feeling as good as your ‘friends’. You’ve never been a fan of drinking, even feeling guilty when you took your first shot of communion wine when you were 8.

Your friends start giggling and laughing as you try to keep up with the conversation, a little lost, a sinking feeling in your stomach as you poke at the ice in your empty glass with a straw.

Then, the bartender comes over to you, placing your drink of choice in front of you, your friends pausing their conversation as she does.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t order that,” You say politely, smiling awkwardly to her. You wish you were underage, you wish you were anywhere but here, you wish—

“Actually, the gentleman at the bar got it for you,” she smiles, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion, glancing at the bar and—

Warmth explodes in your chest, your heart beginning to thump loudly in your ears.

Your friends laugh a bit, shoving your shoulders gently, teasing you.

“You have to go talk to him,” One starts, and another picks up,

“He’s hot!” You smile shyly down to the drink in front of you and nod,

“Fine.” You hum, picking up the drink and walking over to where Matt sits at the bar, sipping a whiskey on ice. You sit next to him, and for a moment, neither of you say anything, and then his head turns to you.

“Why are you here with people you don’t like?” he asks, and you just blink in surprise.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your friends. You don’t like them.” He says, and you just blush, embarrassed.

“How do you know that?” You ask, and he shrugs, taking a sip of his drink.

“You’re just.. quieter than usual.” He says honestly, sending you a sympathetic smile. You feel seen in the worst way possible. It’s like you’ve spent your entire life hiding, and Matt can see you for exactly what you are. Your face burns with embarrassment, taking another sip of your drink.

“Can we just flirt and almost fuck like we usually do?” You wonder.

“That makes it sound so much more.. casual than it is.” He pouts, and you just laugh, already feeling more relaxed than you had been before. And it isn’t even because of the alcohol, or so you suspect.

“What are you doing in a bar two towns over?” You ask, unsure how to respond to his comment about the casualness of your.. relationship, although that’s a rather strong word for what you two have.

“I was meeting with a client in town,” he responds, “Thought I’d stop for a drink before going home.” He says, and all you can find to respond is,

“Won’t your wife be mad at you for getting a drink when you could be home?” And he laughs, like you said something funny or cute.

“No, when she says she’s working late, she’s probably getting a drink and hooking up with someone. I thought I’d try it.” He smirks, and your face flushes. This is not a man who has any pure or holy intentions, and that absolutely turns you on. You have so little inhibition at this point that you simply lean forward, grab his tie, and pull him in for a long kiss.

Your nose twitches at the smell of vanilla, mixed with a bit of the whiskey, but quickly followed by just a hint of lemon. His hand quickly finds your waist, causing your posture to straighten as he kisses you deeper, his other hand trailing up your thigh, just like that first day outside the church.

The bar is dingy, so no one cares when he pulls away to finish his drink, then, straightens out his tie (which might kill you), and then he stands up, taking your hand in his.

“Let’s go,” he says quickly, pulling you along to the hallway that leads to the bathrooms. On the way there, your friends whistle and hoot, and while your face flushes, Matt does not seem to even notice. He opens the bathroom door without hesitation, like he knows it will be empty.

And the bathroom is.. disgusting. It’s dingy, dirty, but the sink looks.. clean enough. As soon as the door is closed behind you, Matt has you against it, his hands exploring your body as he kisses you, your hands instinctively going to his hair, as if you’ve done this a million times before.

His kisses are gentle, but invasive, like he wants to taste every single inch of your mouth with his tongue, and you happily let him. His fingers slip beneath your skirt, creeping up, finally finding the waistband of your panties, and he hums against your lips as if to shush you when you whine at the contact, his fingers slipping right under them to touch your throbbing cunt—It’s the type of warmth he’ll chase during cold, snowy days come winter.

His lips begin to attack your skin, kissing your jaw and your neck as he rubs circles into your clit, sucking up the breathy moans that escape your lips as he touches you. You’re soaking wet, and he wonders if you’ve ever been with anyone who knows where your clit is.

His fingers don’t even slip inside you, they just rub your clit with the attention it deserves, Matt taking your moans and how your hands grip his shirt as payment. But the movement of his fingers are too much for you, and before you know it, you’re squeezing your eyes tight, hands tangled in his clothes and hair, as you reach your first orgasm of many brought to you by the man.

He continues to rub your clit as you come down from that high, your breath getting more even, despite the way your skin burns and cum drips down your thighs. Then, he kisses you, jarringly soft—

“All that over some attention from my fingers?” He teases, that shit eating grin on his face. Part of you wants to tell him to fuck off, defend yourself, but you recognize, as does he, that he holds all the power in this dynamic.

“If I say yes, will you fuck me properly?” Because ‘make love’, despite what your mother and aunts always said, doesn’t seem proper. You two aren’t in love.. you’re in lust for this man—Or at least, you’re telling yourself that because of how desperately you want his cock inside you.

“I guess you’ll have to try it and find out.” He says, as if he’s not hard, his cock twitching in his pants at every little whiff he gets of you.

“Yes.” You hum, “All that over your fingers,” And he just smirks before asking,

“Anything else?”

“…Please?” And it seems to be the magic word, because he leans forward and kisses your cheek before adding,

“Good girl.” And at how excited that makes you, Matt finds himself practically fumbling for the condom he had put in his wallet the day he met you, but as soon as you realize it, you’re grabbing at his hands, trying to take it out of his hands, and his free hand finds your chin, gripping it just tightly enough to make your brain feel fuzzy, “What? What is it, baby?” he asks, and you have to take a moment before you respond,

“I’m on the pill, we don’t need a condom,” And a part of Matt’s brain that never quite grew out of the Catholic upbringing in which he was raised wants to remind you of all of the complications that could come with that, but another, stronger and more tempting part of his brain, the devil part of his brain thinks about the feeling of being buried deep inside of you, in the middle of this dingy fucking bathroom, with your ‘friends’ waiting outside, and he literally tosses the condom on the floor.

No words are spoken as he kisses you again, his hand that was holding the condom now working on unbuttoning and unzipping his pants, his free hand simply holding yours—perhaps the most romantic thing a man has ever done for you.

Eventually, your panties are rolled down to your ankles, and he pulls you just to the edge of the sink so you’re hanging onto him for dear life, and he just kisses you, and in between kisses he says, “Shh, shh, I’ve got you, just like that,”, and you trust him.

He pulls away from kissing you, to take your chin in his hand one more time and demand your attention.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he starts, “And it might hurt at first, but we’re gonna go slow, okay?”

“Okay,” and he kisses your forehead, strikingly loving compared to the situation that you have found yourself in. You wait, anticipation dripping down your thighs, before Matt slowly pushes himself inside of you, and as he fills you up, you moan into his skin.

There’s a part of Matt that starts shaking at the feeling of how tight you are around him. He lets out a low groan, his breath hot against your neck, as he bottoms out inside of you, his finger twitching a bit, aching to fuck you so intensely you’ll forget your own name..

But he resists, waiting for your grip on him to loosen softly,

“We’re okay?” He asks, and you nod.

“We’re okay,” You breath out, ready for him to move.

“Yeah, I know, baby, we’re okay,” he purrs, before slowly, agonizingly slowly, beginning to thrust in and out of you, only encouraged by your moans as they begin to pick up, thrusting into you faster, unable to resist the way you clench around him.

Your fingers barely scrape over his skin as he thrusts into you, his lips kissing your skin. He wants to tease you, he wants to tell you that you’re so dirty, letting a grown man fuck you in a dingy bathroom, but he finds himself lost in your warmth, unable to provide you with the dirty talk that he has dreamt of giving you for months.

But.. this is better. This is a well put together man, who falls apart at the feeling of your cunt, who shudders at the feeling of your hands on his, who tears apart at the seams of his being when your lips touch his. It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to being an artist, mending and molding him with your hands.

It’s mesmerizing, and if you could, you’d stay here forever, letting him fuck into you like it’s his god damn job, slowly becoming faster, harder, more intense, never letting up, so you decide to push him—

“Need you to come inside me,” You pant out, and Matt won’t ever admit it to you, but he almost comes right then and there, not even bothering to give you a warning. Almost.

“I will, baby,” He hums, kissing your neck as sweat glistens his forehead, trying to push himself, trying to fuck you like you deserve, like he knows you deserve, his thrusts unrelenting.

Your thighs begin to shake as you claw at him, your breath catching in your throat.

“Matt- Please, oh my god—” You whine, “I’m gon—”

“Yeah, I know, baby, You’re squeezing around me so well,” He purrs, “C’mon, you can cum, you just gotta let go for me,” He advises, “C’mon, show me how good I’m making you feel,” And as you creep closer to the edge, your heart thumps loudly in his ears- You can’t help yourself. You’re sort of taken by the fact that when he’s breathless like this, you can hear his New York accent twinge out of him..

And that might just be what pushes you over the edge.

You cum with a moan, shuddered into his ear, panting as he keeps thrusting into you. The only time your mind wanders is rather briefly, as the way the stained glass windows looked in your church on the day you met him.

He lets out a soft whimper as he bathes in the feeling of you coming around his cock, the feeling of your hands in his hair, the feeling of your breath against his neck—he’s actually falling apart, and his thrusts only stutter as he comes inside you, deep deep within you.

Neither of you say anything as your hips pathetically roll, and he leads you down from your high as he slows his thrusts. For a moment, you both need to sit in the silence of your breathing..

And then, you start to laugh.

He laughs with you.

“What’s so funny?” He asks through laughs, tracing the side of your face with his hand, and you just laugh harder.

“You’re just..” You find the words, “You just exceeded my expectations is all,” and it’s so funny to him, that that’s where your mind goes after he fucked you so well. You’re adorable, he thinks, and he needs to keep you like this forever, stuck in time with his cum dripping down your legs.

When you both come down to earth, finally, he kisses you and says gently, “Let’s get you cleaned up,” And you happily oblige him.

He helps you off the sink, steadying you with his arms as your legs shake, holding onto him like a newborn deer, unsure of your movements.

But soon enough, you’re stable enough to stand on your own and the dawning realization hits you— you just ran away from your friends to go fuck a married man. And.. there’s so little regret—really, there’s nothing much at all that you feel besides an aching in your core for more.

He squeezes your arm gently, before asking,

“Feeling okay, honey?” he asks gently. And you just grin at him.

“Never better.”

So, funny enough..

You get grounded after your night out.

“Grounded?” Matt laughs as you tell him that, not at all caring that he has you sitting on his office desk, hands wandering your thighs, “You’re twenty one, how’d they ground you?” He ponders, and you huff.

“Well, my fuckin’ friends were telling their parents about this hookup I had in the bar, and their parents told mine, and they got mad at me—So now I’m only allowed to go to work, and then go home.” You huff.

Matt smirks against your skin, kissing your neck. He pulls back and grips your chin, tilting your head up to look to him, his thumb slipping into your mouth, pressing your tongue down.

“What’re you gonna do all summer, stuck in your big bad bosses house?” he asks, and you just roll your eyes as your face reddens. “Don’t worry, pretty thing,” he says gently, planting a long kiss to your jaw, “Your old man is gonna take good care of you.”

And you know he means it, too.

One weekend, your parents go away. They trust you won’t have any boys over, not even considering the idea that you’d have Mr. Murdock over.

He has his arm wrapped around you as you lay in bed, mumbling something soft in your ear. You roll over, admiring him for a minute, the way his eyes look.. he’s so pretty. You reach out and gently touch the skin around his eyes, noticing the scarring around his eyes.

“Hm?” You question, tilting your head. You didn’t quite hear him. He looks at you for a long time before responding,

“I think you’re hard of hearing,” And you can tell by the tone of his voice that he means it. “I’ve noticed it a lot, you always miss things when you aren’t looking right at people, and you’re always asking people to repeat themselves. There’s nothing wrong with that, I just.. You should be able to get the resources you need to help with that.” He shrugs, like it isn’t the most observant anyone’s ever been of you.

You lean in and kiss him, for a long time, your hand on his cheek. When you pull away, you take a second to breath before kissing him again.

“What was that for?” He eventually asks, a smile on his face.

“I just..” You shrug, “No one’s ever really noticed anything like that about me.” You feel seen, in a way that pulls at your heart. He smiles gently to you, kissing your forehead before responding,

“All I’ll ever want is for you to feel seen.”

The end of the summer comes a lot faster than you would’ve liked. You had a great summer, you tell yourself, you spent a lot of time at work with Lucas, smoking weed, sitting under the stars, and being with Matt.

But, as your move in date for your senior year approaches, and you begin to start packing, an anxiety starts to creep into you.

How will you say goodbye to him?

Neither of you have discussed what will happen when that day comes, but it looms over you like doomsday. Each day that passes, you get hit harder and harder with the realization that summer will end, and nothing will be the same.

And eventually, though you will and pray it does not, the day comes.

It’s hot. Blaring hot, hotter than you would’ve liked. Even as the sun begins to set, there’s a brutality to the air that does not provide any relief.

You’ve already said goodbye to Lucas and Matt’s wife, so now, you just sit on your front porch, staring at the house down the street. When the door to the house opens, you advert your eyes like you’ve been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.

Soon after, you pick your head up to see Matt approaching you. He smiles to you, and you try to smile back, but your heart aches with the knowledge that this will be the last time you see him until.. well, you aren’t sure when. You stand up to meet him at the end of your driveway.

“All packed?” he asks. You scoff softly.

“Something like that.” You shrug, and he smiles.

“What’re you still missing?” You answer before you can stop yourself.

“You.” You say, tears beginning to well up in your eyes. Immediately, his arms are around you, overheating you in the late August weather, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. He holds you gently, as if you’ll break when he lets go, crying into your shoulder. His hand rubs your back as he gently shushes you.

“It’s okay,” he says gently, “I’ll be here when you get back.” He promises, and you know he’s right. But for the first time, leaving your home will be hard, and you do not know what to do about it, other than buy a candle that might smell like him.

You stay like that for a long time, longer than you care to admit, before he slowly pulls away. You look to him for a few minutes, before he kisses your forehead. He hands you an old Columbia tee shirt of his, one that smells just like him, and you clutch it like your life depends on it.

“We’re okay?” He asks gently, and even if it’s a lie, you nod, and respond,

“We’re okay.”

Fall

Adjusting to dorm life comes back to you quicker than you would’ve thought, despite your heartbreak that came with living. You and your friends fill your time with studying, smoking, and doing anything you can to distract yourself from the aching in your chest.

But, you can’t deny, that on nights where it’s too hot to sleep, you scroll through Facebook—yes, Facebook of all things, looking at photos of Matt, getting just small glances into his life from two hundred miles away.

And as the time melts away, you become more and more.. numb to the pain that stung so intensely.. But you also spend a lot of time looking for the cologne that he wore, and you won’t deny that when your roommate leaves for the weekend, you spend hours in the memories of the summer, with your hand between your legs, aching for just a bit of the pleasure he gave you.

You almost have a heart attack when your mom asks you to come to church with her while you’re home for fall break. Of course you’ll go, of course it’ll be your pleasure, mainly because you’re hoping—maybe even praying for him to be there.

When that Sunday comes, you spend an hour getting ready. You know that Matt is blind and won’t care, but maybe a part of you believes you need to dress all pretty for him. You even wear the sundress you wore for Easter Sunday.

Your thighs are already slick with heat when you get there, and your eyes scan the crowd for Matt.. and when you eventually find him, your breath hitches in your throat, just like the first night you felt him inside you.

You grin as you see him, all by himself, at the back of the church. You excuse yourself from your parents, making your way back to him like it’s your god damn birthday you’re so excited.

But as soon as you approach him, someone calls his name behind you—an old friend or maybe a coworker, and Matt walks toward you, and you open your mouth to say something your eyes following him, and then—

He walks right past you, avoiding you completely. Your face falls with disappointment, your heart sinking. Maybe.. he just didn’t realize it was you. Maybe. You don’t know, but it messes with your head throughout all of the service.

You and your family are sitting more towards the back, while Matt and his family sits in front of you—You watch him like it’s your damn job, waiting, waiting, Until—

He gets up, quietly making his way towards a door to the side, one that will lead downstairs and to a restroom. You begin to count to sixty, waiting so very patiently, before quietly excusing yourself, and following him down the stairs.

As soon as you open the basement door, Matt is pulling you further into the basement, to a deep dark corner, and immediately, you’re pressed against the wall, his mouth on your neck. You moan softly as your hands find his hair, tugging on it, as his hands begin to explore your thighs like a starving man.

“Matt—” You go to say, but his hand clamps over your mouth as his free hand tugs off your panties, his hand cupping your cunt as you roll your hips, desperate for more contact than that.

“You gonna behave for me, pretty thing?” He grumbles, and you nod against his hand, so he bites down on your shoulder, “There we go,” He mumbles, his hand coming off your mouth to pull your panties down, before working on his belt and his zipper.

Your hands work at his hair, trying to cope with the fact that he is not being gentle, in fact, he seems to be purposefully mean, like he’s trying to see if you can even take it. This is nothing like when he first fucked you—this is a fucking that is making you see stars, and will leave you in tears.

Two of his fingers spread you open, making sure that you’re ready for him to fuck you. When he decides he is, still kissing your neck, he thrusts into you quickly—unapologetically. He doesn’t care about much else besides chasing that feeling of you clenched around him. He bottoms out inside you and moans against your neck.

Then, his thrusts start. He doesn’t even pretend to start slow, immediately he is thrusting into you, harder than he had in months, relishing in the feeling and the sound of his skin slapping against yours.

“Missed your tight cunt,” He mumbles into your ear, “Missed how well you take me,” he hummed, his pace relentless. He’s trying to satisfy his cravings for you, but his attempt is messy and he’s losing his mind over the idea of not being able to fuck you for another few months.

“I’m—” You whine, your hair falling into your face, your brain fuzzy, “I’m gonna—” He coos softly as he grips your chin with his free hand.

“C’mon, pretty thing, cum for me—” And just like that, you do. You absolutely do. You don’t hold back, and as soon as he feels you clenching around him, he’s coming too. You don’t know what else to do other than let him ride his high. When he pulls out, his hand comes back to your thighs, beginning to gently massage the mess the two of you had made into your thighs, pulling your panties back up so that for the rest of the service, you kind of just.. have to sit with that.

Your hands stay in his hair as he cleans the pair of you up, and you lean in to kiss him, and he lets you, but.. he doesn’t really kiss you back. And it breaks your heart. Your eyebrows furrow, as you reach for him like a child, and he just grabs your hands, “Just.. relax, okay?” He sighs.

“Why are you being like this?” You ask, “You’re..” You struggle to find the words as he buckles his pants, ignoring your gaze. There’s something inside him that’s stopping him from being affectionate towards you, that reminds him that you’ll be heading back off to school in a day or two and his heart will break all over again.

“Go back upstairs, Honey,” he says, but you shake your head.

“No, stop ignoring me—”

“Now.” He says firmly, ignoring the nauseating feeling as the saltiness of your tears fill his senses.

“Fuck. You.” you spit out, and he’s not angry with you for your reaction. It’s valid, of course. He knows why you’re angry, he just fucked you lovelessly, in the basement of the church where you first met.

He doesn’t say anything.

But he listens to the angry sniffles and foot stomps as you make your way back upstairs.

Matt’s neglect made you turn a new corner, and as soon as you get back to school, you find yourself constantly working and studying. You can’t possibly think about the intensity of his thrusts, the sternness of his voice.

You can’t talk about it, you can’t talk to any of your friends about the way you fell in love with a married man, you can’t talk to your parents about how you developed such intense feelings for the man who lives down the street..

So, you study.

On Halloween, you get a little too fucked up.

You drink an intense amount, needing to wash away the anger you have for Matt. At some point, you’re sitting in your bathroom floor, leaning against your wall.

Matt does not answer your call.

But you listen to his voicemail like it’s a sermon.

Winter

After Halloween, you begin to drink water every day, you eat more balanced meals, and you cut back on your substances. Truly, you know you need to make a change. And you do—school work becomes less of a coping mechanism and more of your job again. You mostly focus on enjoying your senior year.

But as the winter creeps in, you shop around for a gift for Lucas, fondly remembering your time with the young boy, despite your interaction with his father back in October. You store the gift away and focus on your finals. By the time you make it home, you’re exhausted.

You sleep most of the day on the 22nd, and then on the 23rd, you spend your day unpacking and helping your mom get ready for Christmas. Before you go to bed, you wrap Lucas’ present, and store it away, not caring much to deliver it any time soon.

You tell yourself you’ll drop it off tomorrow, and you aren’t sure if you’d rather come face to face with Matt, or his wife. The walk takes seemingly forever, and you feel anxious the whole way there.

You knock on the door, and wait with baited breath.. When Matt opens the door, your breath catches. He looks really good—A grey button up and dark jeans. You just smile at him.

“Hey,” You breath, “Uhm, I was just.. I wanted to give this to Lucas.. Is he here?” You question, not knowing where else he’d be on Christmas Eve.

“Oh, he’s actually staying at his moms today,” And your head darts up.

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” Matt says somewhat sheepishly, “We’re.. Separated. In the process of getting divorced.” He confesses.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” He chuckles, “I guess It was inevitable.”

“Well.. Then I guess you’re not doing anything tonight, huh?” You wonder, and he nodded.

“Yeah, I’ll probably just have a drink and listen to Christmas music.” He chuckles. You ache for him to invite you over. But you don’t get to tell him that before he says, “I’m so sorry about.. October.” He sighs gently, rubbing his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” You say gently,

“No. It’s not. I was a dick, and you didn’t deserve that. I really am sorry.”

“I got over it,” You shrug.

“So.. We’re okay?” He offers.

You smile.

“Yeah. We’re okay.”

“Good. Because I’d really like to take you out sometime. Like, a real date.” He offers, and your face flushes.

“Yeah, that would be really nice..” You grin.

“No more sneaking around?”

“Well.. Maybe from my parents.. And it is kind of sexy,” You grin, taking a step up further onto his porch.

“Yeah?” He laughs, his hand coming down to rest on his waist. “Maybe that could be arranged.” He hums.

“Good,” You hum, and then you open your mouth to add, but he cuts you off.

“Do you want to stay for dinner? Tell your parents you’re keeping your old man company?” He hums, and your face flushes.

“I’d really like that.”

“That’s my baby,” He hums, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

#matt murdock x reader #daredevil #matt murdock x y/n #daredevil fic #matt murdock fic #matt murdock #daredevil fanfiction #danny speaks to the void #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x fem!reader

197 notes · View notes

thesafeplaceweneed · 8 days ago

Text

Shadow and Little flame

I am really happy you liked the first part! And I am sorry for taking so long, but school is killing me. I have so much work to do with basically no time left to chill or write. But I will try!

Part 1

Part 2

The Autumn forest near the Spring border was unusually quiet. Beron’s power was pulsing beneath the surface through every living being. It was the place where Vanserra’s name causes suspicion and fear, and Y/N hated every part of being the cause of fear. She moved like a whisper in the wind with Azriel trailing behind her, the glamouring spells covering them both. His shadows kept whispering to him, but he never paid attention to them keeping his focus on the Autumn princess in front of him.

“If you’re trying to be intimidating with your silence you should really try harder,” I said without looking back at him. “I was raised by Beron.”

Azriel didn’t answer, he couldn’t because he knew she was right, but he would never admit it to her. Yes, he tried to be intimidating and normally his silence and deep stare would work. He had another reason be not say a word though and it was her voice. He hated her with passion but something in her voice calmed him and his shadows. And he hated her for that even more.

“We’re at Spring.” I said and stopped to look around. “We need to be careful now. Tamlin let his guards down but keeps patrolling his lands.” I didn’t wait for him to answer. I expected no answer at all. “Hybern is sending his supplies through the south port. If we cut it now, we can delay them for at least a week or two.” I turned to him only to find him studying me closely.

“Why are you really helping us?” He asked and I furrowed my eyebrows at first. Then I chuckled darkly and crossed my arms.

“I think it’s pretty obvious why.” I glared at him. “But I understand that your thick skull can’t grasp it, so I will tell you again.” I took a step closer to him raising my head slightly. “I want Hybern dead.”

“Doesn’t sound like answer to me. Sounds like your personal vengeance.” He took a step closer to me as well trying to intimidate me with his height.

“Vengeance is my answer.” I chuckled again. “You of all people should understand.”

Azriel grabbed my neck forcing me to raise my head to him again. I showed no fear and waited for his next move. I could burn him from the inside out if I wanted to.

“You and I are nothing alike.” He growled.

“Are we, Shadowsinger?” I whispered. “Tell me what you want to do to my brother for what happened to Morrigan.” He let go of my neck and without a word walked away. I didn’t care where he went to, but I was sure I felt something tickle my ankle. I looked down only to find one of his shadows leaving me and going after its master. I let my flame dance around my fingers for a second to calm down.

He came back a second later, so I crossed my arms while glaring at him. He said nothing only stalked to me. “Hey!” I snapped when he grabbed my arm only to winnow us to the port. I pulled my arm away from him. He turned away from me and looked at the port. I went to stand next to him and looked down. “Good luck.”

Azriel looked at me and furrowed his eyebrows. “Why don’t you use your little flame and be useful for once?” He snickered.

I crossed my arms and shook my head. “Sorry to break it to you, but I can’t do that.” I glared at him. “Why do you think I needed you to go with me? You though I brought you along just because I like your presence?” I chuckled, uncrossed my arms and took a step closer. “They say you’re smart, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel said nothing, only winnowed down there. Y/N stayed hidden on the cliff above the port watching Azriel moved like a smoke in the wind. Only his shadows were visible from her view. She had never seen anything like that before. Even if he was killing people and destroying their supplies he moved with a grace. Once again, she felt something curling around her ankle. Not bothering to check what it was, because she already knew she would find one of his shadows there. Azriel was making sure she stayed in the place not only because he didn’t trust her but because of the tiny voice back in his head telling him to make sure she was safe.

#azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #acotar #shadow and little flame

48 notes · View notes

crushedsweets · 3 months ago

Note

hey crushedsweets!!! i've been thinking about making my own vn in google slides like you did, do you have any tips/advice?? (like how you added different routes and how you put music in the bg)

hello hello!!!

okay so it's kind of hard to explain it all over text. if i get Enough requests i MIGHT do a tiktok video but as of right now, ill try it here. ALSO EVERYTHING IS PROBABLY ALREADY A TUTORIAL ON YOUTUBE BUT IM HELLA ANNOYING AND REFUSE TO WATCH TUTORIALS T_T I JUST STRUGGLE N FIGURE IT OUT

honestly this is such a shitty explanation so i might do the tiktok tutorial if i have free time next week (cuz im on spring break now LOL)...

also, if you guys want, i might make a copy of the slideshow and give yall full access to it so you can poke around to try and understand it cuz my "tutorial" is ASS

DIFFERENT ROUTES

okay so. i don't really do different routes, i just give 3 decisions that funnel into the same route so the game FEELS like a game...but its not rlly one.

i'll try to take it step by step:

make options. make sure you already have the following slides/routes created

make the blue textbox cover the entire beige box. if you don't, then when players click, it'll direct them to the NEXT slide, not the route you want

Click on the blue lines of the textbox and click CTRL+K. You should already have the route slide created, in which you just input the slide number. IF YOU WANT PLAYERS TO RETURN TO CERTAIN SLIDES W/O GIVING THEM THE OPTION SLIDE, HERES AN EXAMPLE..(?):

>the "stay in bed" option is on slide 14. >this options directs you to slide 16. >slide 16 is a joke option. because of this, i want the player to go BACK to slide 14 to make a serious decision. >to do this, i turned EVERY asset into a CTRL+K link that sends you back to slide 14. this includes the background, text box, beige text holder, the apple png >this way, no matter where the player clicks, it sends them back to slide 14 (so they can make a real decision) >this gives you full control of where the player goes, even if its going backwards

EXTRA TIPS:

after every choice-slide, i created this warning slide. this makes sure that even if the player doesnt click correctly(i.e clicks the background, uses spacebar), they'll know there was a mistake and it'll send them back

I ALSO PUT THIS RED SLIDE BETWEEN EVERY "ROUTE CHUNK". what i mean by that is..

>as you can see, there is the decision on slide 196. >the first decision on slide 196 sends you to slide 198. >so slide 198-204 is a "route chunk". >when players finish that route chunk, i link(CTRL+F) ALL ASSETS on slide 204 to slide 215 >i do this because slide 215 is the end of the "route chunks" and leads you to the direct story. slide 204 AND 213 both link to 215 >this allows readers to progress smoothly regardless of what decision they made, since all decisions are meaningless in my VN (sorry)

>HOWEVER, this means you have to try and make sure all decisions leave no tangible impact on the story - i try to make them impact the player, not the MC (i.e leaving canine teeth in the drawers so the PLAYER will feel uneasy, but the MC never mentions it again)

i use these red slides to separate the slide chunks for two reasons:

makes it easier for me to keep track of route chunks when editing

if there is a mistake, players know to go back one slide so they can fix it. this way, they wont be progressing through random, unclear routes

okay. that was the best i got for the routes.

NOW FOR MUSIC

honestly? i dont even remember what website i used, but...

FIRST, you need to download a youtube video with whatever music you want. i think this website should work

SECOND, you now have an MP3 youtube video. GO ONTO GOOGLE DRIVE, click NEW, click UPLOAD FILE, then upload the MP3 file

THIRD, go into your slideshow. click INSERT, click AUDIO. now you should have the audio on your slideshow.

FOURTH, now its all up to preference. you should have a little audio icon pop up. click AUDIO ICON, click FORMAT OPTIONS, click LOOP AUDIO.

YOUR AUDIO SHOULD PLAY THROUGHOUT THE ENTIRE SLIDESHOW NOW!!! :3

extra:

i havent done it cuz i was getting busy and just wanted to finish it, but honestly, you could probably change the audio throughout your slideshow - upbeat music to scary music when the scenes change, etc. maybe even layer them? i dunno. thats for you to play around with, cuz I DUNNO cuz i didnt do it. but yahh

ok... thats all... im so ass at explaining but i might make that tiktok. but my laptop screen is cracked so im embarrassed recording pics of it HAHAHAHA

#asks #crped vn #omfg. this is so stupid im so bad at explaining #i hope this made evn an ounce of sense

37 notes · View notes

prettyiwa · 30 days ago

Text

Red

(Previous)

Relationship: March x NB!Farmer Content Tags: March POV, Alcohol Consumption, Light Flirting/Teasing, March is March (emotionally constipated), Developing Feelings, 4-Heart Event, Incidental Shooting Star Festival, Referenced fear of the sea, References to March's parents (spoilers?) Summary: March begins to accept the Farmer's presence in town—at least so far as their usefulness. (Denial). Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: Tumblr was being finicky about my header and hiding my attempts to post Summer a month ago. I finally figured out it was my header and instead of keeping Spring/Summer in one post, I decided to split them again. As always, special thanks to @owoasis for letting me talk your ear off about March, your favorite character to hate 💜💜 Also thank you to the metalsmith who let me ask questions for a throwaway conversation ahahaha

SUMMER, Year 1

There is no relief to be found from a summer breeze as the sun bears down upon him, even in the evening. Between the heat of the forge in the early morning and the weight of the sun on his back all day, he’s had no reprieve from this week’s heatwave.

Ryis and Reina are both preoccupied, leaving March alone in his trek to the beach, not that he’s complaining.

As far as he can remember, he’s always found comfort in the sand, in the briny scent heavy in the air. Even now, in his approach, he feels better simply for the whiffs of sea that waft over the trees near Sweetwater. It’s always been this way, but he doesn’t know whether it’s tied to the natural presence of the sea or if it’s some enduring association with his dad he’s tried forgetting.

Doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, he’s made it his own.

Breaking through the tree line, the heat turns blistering, the last bastion holding on as the sun hangs low in the sky, blinding in its descent. He raises an arm to block out the light, eyes scanning the shoreline in search of someone (anyone). There’s a figure seated at the docks, looking out to the west, and he heads in their direction.

Not until he’s coming down the steps from Terithia’s does he realize that it’s you, though, again, he’s not complaining.

Despite his hard words when he gave you the hoe, you’ve lingered, almost constantly in his peripheral. Both Olric and Ryis talk about you, the latter more than the former. Since he unleashed on you in the spring, you’ve ensured a steady supply of fresh produce, helped restore the mill, and are currently working with Ryis to renovate the general store. That’s not mentioning the ore you give Olric to give to March. Can’t really complain about someone who’s chipping in.

His boots knock against the pier and you half-turn in acknowledgment, face mostly hidden between the wide brim of your hat and your sunglasses. Adorned in a loose-fitted button up and shorts, your boots sit to the side, allowing you to dangle your feet above the flow of the rising tide.

“What’s up?” you ask, keeping your eyes on the horizon. Do you know who’s at your side?

A wave comes, larger than those before, reaching your feet. With a kick, you splash the water, the subtle lift of your cheeks telling him of your mood. He removes his own boots, tucking his socks within them, and joins you on the edge, bumping your shoulder on his descent.

“Trying to escape the heat,” he answers, ignoring the urge to look at you (made infinitely harder when you start at the sound of his voice, turning to face him with obvious surprise).

“Ah. That makes sense. I don’t know how you can handle the forge for as long as you do.”

“You get used to it. An artisan such as myself can’t afford to stop just because of a little heat.”

With a snort, you return your attention to the horizon, allowing him to sneak a glance. Your shirt’s half-unbuttoned, bringing a new heat to his face—he can and will blame it on the sun if asked. But more than that, he’s drawn to the curve of your lips, the serenity in your smile.

“Oh, of course,” you say, sarcasm drawing out your words. “I guess I’ll just have to spend more time at the forge. Maybe then the rest of summer will be bearable.”

“Are you really such a wimp that this is too much for you?” As far as you’re concerned, this heat is nothing to him (even if there’s a part of him currently wishing he could venture further into the sea than his calves).

Rather than bristling like expected, you laugh, loud and uninhibited. “Jeez, only you.” Wiping tears from behind your glasses, you say, “Beaches up north are cooler than here. Never liked the heat of the capital, either. Maybe I am a wimp.”

You’re completely at ease, more than he’s seen from you sober, though it’s probably just the atmosphere.

The sun hovers near the line of the horizon, turning the sky. Calm azure meets the copper that bleeds from the sun. Salt kisses his skin as the tide ebbs and flows, lapping at his feet, and a breeze finally begins to blow.

“Say, Red?” Leaning back on your arms, your voice lifts with an impending proposition. “You wanna share a beer with me?” A quick glance around confirms a distinct lack of beer around. Anticipating his question, you add, “In exchange for my imported beer, Terithia let me use her cooler.”

“Imported—? Hemlock’s brew isn’t good enough for you now?”

“Ah, you’ll see.” The sun hits your face just right so he can see past the shade of your sunglasses as you turn, allowing him to admire the crinkle of your eyes with your grin. “I’ll be right back.”

Grabbing his shoulder, you pull yourself up, the water from your feet splashing where they land. With your back to him, he’s free to watch as you run toward the shack, not minding your bare feet on the hot planks.

He closes his eyes to the sky. What the hell is he doing? The longer you spend here, helping folks, the tighter his chest grows, wary you’ll leave like all the others. It’s only a matter of time.

The padding of your feet brings him back, though he doesn’t turn to look away until you’re only a few feet from him. The bottle you hand him has a black label, some brew he doesn’t recognize (he didn’t expect differently). As he goes to remove the cap, he realizes it’s not a twist-off.

“How am I supposed to open this?”

Settling down beside him, a few inches further than before, you look up. “Hm? Oh. You don’t—? That’s fine. Gimme,” you say, wagging your fingers at him.

Passing over the bottle, he watches you line up both bottles in the same hand, the edge of his lid above yours. Bringing both down against the wood, his cap goes flying backward, clattering against the dock. When offered, he accepts his bottle, trying to hide the sliver of awe he feels.

He brings the bottle to his lips, watching as you pull the knife you keep on your belt, using it to leverage your cap off. Feeling his stare on you, you meet his eyes again, offering a wink and a lopsided smile. Warmth spreads from his neck as he turns away and you laugh as he takes a swig from his beer. It’s smooth as it goes down with a pleasant crisp that lingers on his tongue.

“Nice, right?”

Grunting in response, still a little bitter that you winked at him, he takes another sip.

“That’s what I thought.” He can hear the smile on your voice. “It’s from home, a little town in the mountains. One of the only things I miss from there. Like it better here.”

You probably liked “home” at some point, too, but you still left.

“It’s alright,” he mutters.

Laughing again, he glances over, catching the way you hold your tongue between your teeth. “Yeah, okay.”

Silence falls between you both, the horizon catching fire with the sun almost gone, a last flicker of flame before night takes hold. It’s gorgeous, accompanied by the steady wash of the waves against the shore, the occasional cry of a seagull. He savors the citrus of the beer as the wind grows persistent and his muscles begin to relax.

Giving into impulse, he shifts to watch you.

Stray hairs fall from under your hat, framing your face. You’ve taken off your sunglasses, hanging them from your shirt, allowing him to watch as the remnants of the sun reflect in your eyes. Your smile never falters and he envies you for it.

Without so much as a glance in his direction, you say, “I’m not going anywhere, Red. I like it here. I like my farm. I like working the land. I like helping Ryis and Adeline and Hayden. I like being useful.” Lifting your knee, you rest your cheek, eyes flitting across his face before meeting his gaze. “I think I could even come to like you, too.”

The slow lift of your lips gives away your tease, the reluctant press of the corners of your mouth as though you’re trying to repress your smile that causes his blush to blossom across warm cheeks.

Part of him, and he doesn’t know how large a part, wants to believe you. But he’s heard those words before from another adventurer who once settled down. That didn’t stop them from leaving. Words don’t carry as much weight as actions, not even pretty words like yours, so he’ll wait and see.

He lays back, eyes catching on the stray clouds scattered across the twilight sky. A stronger breeze blows through, combining with the chill of the sea at his feet, sending shivers down his spine. A chuckle escapes you, the sound pleasant, different from the others he’s heard before. Propping himself up, he notices the clouds that gather to the south, beyond the sight of you. Following his line of sight, you sigh, the sound forlorn, though he can’t imagine why.

“Juni gave me a crystal ball that predicts the weather. With how hot it was today, I didn’t want to get my hopes up about its prediction for tomorrow.”

The rustling of your movement draws him to you once more, watching as you start to pick yourself up. He lays back down as you bend over, your sunglasses almost slipping lose as you reach for your shoes.

“We shouldn’t stay here much longer.”

Can’t argue with you there, but he can’t quite find it in him to move. Sensing this, you tuck your empty bottle into the shaft of your boot, freeing your hand to offer it as help. If not for the beer, he’d otherwise smack it away. As it is, he’s already pulling his feet out of the water and reaching for your hand.

Calluses litter your palm, different from his, solidified after years of blacksmithing. His thoughts travel to the life you lived before, the one that gives you experience with your sword, the one that created the habit of keeping a knife on your belt. Did your calluses develop then? Or are they from your first few months here?

Effortlessly, you pull him up, and he feels a little dizzy. The moment he registers the warmth of your hand still wrapped around his, he lets go as though you’re metal fresh from the forge.

As he goes to pick up his boots, his attention remains on the incoming clouds, blotting out the stars as they grow in volume. Before he can ruminate, before memories of the past can pick up, you distract him.

“You haven’t seen the farm yet, have you?”

“You need a chaperone to make it home?”

His shoulder jolts as you push him, clicking your tongue. “You wish. I actually wanted your input on some plans I’ve been drawing up. It’d be easier if you knew what I was working with.”

Yeah, right.

“Ryis is the one you want to talk to about things like that,” he says, denial settling in his chest.

You start walking backwards, urging him to follow if only so you don’t trip over the edge of the docks. That’d be a nightmare—you, finding out he doesn’t swim on the off chance you fucking fall into the sea.

“Please. Can you look where you’re going?” His arms come out, ready to grab you if you fall, though you never do.

Oh, if only he could wipe that shit-eating grin off your face.

“Worried about me? How queer.” Despite your tease, despite your glowing smile, you comply, turning, allowing his heart to slow. “If you don’t wanna come, don’t worry about it, but I meant it about wanting your input. I’ve been trying to hone my blacksmithing skills so you don’t have to worry about orders from me, too, but I think I might be out of my depth.”

Of course you are. “What do you mean, so I don’t have to worry about you? Do you think I can’t handle it?”

This sigh is exasperated, tired, making your cheeks fall. “That’s not what I meant. You think I want to hand you yet another order for nails? I’d rather commission you to craft my next sword. That seems more worthy of your skill.”

Oh.

He’s left watching as you finally bristle, rolling your eyes before turning toward the shore, leaving him to follow in your wake. In the silence that follows, he reflects on your words, letting your sentiments replay in his mind. The walk to Sweetwater takes on a different tone until something strikes him.

Reaching the edge of the ranch, he stops you.

“Don’t tell me you’re still using that rusted piece of garbage when you go into the mines.”

You’re still the only person daring enough to enter the mines in any meaningful fashion, and each time he sees that rusted junk attached to your hip, he becomes dangerously close to having an aneurysm.

“Yeah. I miss my old sword, which is why I wanted to commission you for a new one. Among other things.”

“What happened to your sword? What kind of adventurer loses their sword?”

You pause, eyes widening imperceptibly, and he realizes it’s the first time he’s properly asked about your past—up until now, everything he’s learned about you has been against his will. A slow smile appears, your previous irritation falling to the wayside, and you say, “That’s a tale for when I have a few more drinks in me. Doesn’t really matter since I don’t have it though. The way Balor spoke of this place, I didn’t think I’d need it. A little hamlet in need of hard work? Somewhere he felt comfortable staying for a time?” You chuckle at some memory, lost to him. “Imagine getting here and being handed a rusted piece of shit instead of a scythe.”

He’s not sure he wants to hear the story, something grating in the back of his mind at your words, but he does know that the mention of crafting a sword has his mind working overtime. It’s been so long…

“So. Final offer: wanna swing by the farm? Or should I just come and bother you later this week?”

“Olric doesn’t like when the weather gets like this. I should head back,” he says, not looking at you. “But you know what? Come by the shop tomorrow. We can talk about that sword.”

The smile you reward him with is blinding, causing his heart to hiccup at the sight. For as long as you’ve lived here, he’s never been on the receiving end of it, and he’s not quite a fan of the fluttering it causes beneath his skin.

“Hell yeah,” you say, your smile never fading. “In that case, I’m gonna head home.” He watches as you turn, heading toward the path he’s never taken. After a minute, you look over your shoulder, that smile still there. “I had fun hanging out with you today, Red! Thank you for sitting with me.”

Yeah, he really doesn’t like that fluttering you leave him with.

“Eighty tesserae for each ingot? Are you sure?” March asks, eyeing the crates loaded onto Balor’s cart outside of the inn. “That’s… that’s amazing!”

“It is, isn’t it? That means I was able to get quite a bit more iron than we had originally agreed upon for the same price,” Balor says, pride heavy in his voice. “The problem is, I injured myself loading all of it beforehand, so I won’t be able to help unload. I’ll cut another five percent off the price if you and Olric take care of it yourselves.”

“That’s… You’re joking.”

“I am not. I’d like to get to Valen before my next excursion, but I can’t do that until this is taken care of.” While Balor’s smile hasn’t faltered, there’s an edge to his voice that March would rather not test.

He’s in no position to complain, nor can he pass up the opportunity to save tesserae where possible. Factor in his current workload and there’s no time to complain.

“Right. We’ll handle it. Let me get Olric.”

Balor’s response is lost to him as he hurries down Main Street, eager to not let this deal go to waste. He’s grateful, not just for the discount, but for the extra ingots which will be useful in the coming weeks. With fall around the corner, the rush for repairs will compound his workload and the additional iron will allow him to get a head start.

Rounding the corner, he calls out to Olric, apprising him of the situation, only for his eyes to fall on you.

You’re slipping on your blacksmithing gloves and his first thought is that you’re here to try and work on your own projects, comfortable in your skill to handle them without help in the immediate.

“What are you doing here? Not trying to use the forge, right?” he asks, though it comes out like a bark.

Olric chimes in and March realizes what happened. The traitor. As March readies himself to dismiss you, he’s reminded that Hemlock asked if he could craft the inn a new cauldron, something he wished to deliver tonight.

Fuck.

“Fine. Stick around and help if you think you won’t slow us down.”

Your eyes narrow, but your lips curl into a wry smile, asking, “When have I ever genuinely slowed you down, Red?” Olric shifts beside you and your eyes flicker to him. “Alright, what do you need, Boss Man?”

Another—? “First: Olric— no, wait. First, don’t call me that.” Olric’s worry lines disappear at the sound of your laughter. “Second: Olric, I need you to start carrying over the shipment. Balor has it at the inn. You,” he commands, finding you annoyingly attentive, “get the forge fired up.”

Olric disappears from view and March follows as you prepare the forge, something akin to pride flaring in his chest at how easily you take to it, remembering the lesson. With the fire going, you look over your shoulder, smiling when you find him already watching.

“So you have a problem when I call you ‘Boss Man’ but not when I call you ‘Red,’ eh?”

Heat crawls up his neck, settling across his face and he rolls his eyes. “Shaddup, will you? Let’s just get this done.”

“You got it, Red,” you say with a wink, laughing when he turns around.

Working alongside you is different than when you watch him in the afternoons or he watches you in the evenings. It’s different when you move around him before he can ask, when you’re quick to take direction (and you’re so easy to direct). Unlike when he works alone, you’re largely silent, offering little more than the occasional wink or small nod as you two work.

About halfway through, you step back, slipping off the glove on your right hand to grab your canteen. His eyes are drawn to the bob of your throat as you drink, to the trickle of water that escapes your lips. With your forearm, you wipe away the sweat gathering on your forehead.

“Think you were one hundred percent right, Red,” you say, removing your second glove. He pauses, openly watching as you pull your hair up.

“Of course I was. About what?”

“I am a wimp when it comes to the heat. I’m more than a little impressed that you can do this everyday.”

“Then why even come? Your plan of avoiding the forge until the evening seemed to be working for you.”

Grabbing your gloves, you start slipping them on again, teeth biting your bottom lip before that grin breaks free, wide and carefree. Your eyes meet his and he can’t look away. “And miss out on the opportunity to do all this?”

There’s something in the way you say it, something in the way the words drop from your lips like honey. Is there more that you’re not saying? Your following wink seems to support that (you need to stop).

“S-stop joking around.”

Returning to the barrel hoops, each strike of his hammer seeks to suppress the creeping flush, the image of you burned so thoroughly into his retinas that he sees you without looking. Venturing a glance, he sees you hard at work, focused on your hands, smile still present.

When Olric returns from speaking with Adeline, you grow chatty, cracking jokes and telling anecdotes of your life in the city. Then come the compliments. Compliments to Olric, to his patience and strength. Compliments to March, to his efficiency and concentration. Things neither would even think of, things he doesn’t believe to be deserving of attention as they’re simply facts of his work, but the way the words come make him pause. They make him fluster.

Which is stupid.

He doesn’t need your supposed praise to know he’s doing a good job or that his work is the best around. There’s no reason for him to be heating up at your words. Even if he finds himself getting into the zone a little easier. Even if the weight of the work before him seems lighter. Even if, for all intents and purposes, he’s starting to have fun.

You say as much when the work is finished, when the three of you are sweating and tired from everything you’ve accomplished. Wiping the sweat from your brow, you almost look like you belong here.

The moment it crosses his mind, he feels on edge, eyes shifting to Olric who looks all too pleased by the outcome of everything (of course he would; he’s the one who invited you in the first place). As possible as it is that Olric only invited you here to lighten the load, it’s possible there was another reason for his actions, some quiet wish he hasn’t voiced to March.

Whatever that could be…

It’s suddenly all too hot and he’s entirely too aware of you and Olric to think.

“I… I need to cool down. I’ll be inside,” he says, rushing past you to the shop. As his hand wraps around the doorknob, he turns to you, spotting the slight pout of your lips. That’s— “I’ll need time to recover from all the work we did today. Come by again on Sunday and we can talk more about your sword.”

Your tongue laves your bottom lip before you offer a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah. Okay. See you then, Red.”

The door shuts behind him as the nickname leaves your mouth and he presses himself against it, trying to catch his breath. That he has to catch his breath at all is—

maddening.

Crickets begin their song along the path leading to the Narrows and the moisture that hangs in the air adds to the weight of the swing of his hammer. March’s clothes stick to him as he works, partly because of his refusal to stop working, partly because of the insufferable humidity lingering from last night’s storm.

Harsh clangs ring throughout the square in time with his strikes as people start making their way to wherever they’ll be viewing the stars. Every strike of his augments the irritation that’s been building since this afternoon, your noted absence making it worse.

He’s seen scant trace of you since you helped out on Thursday, barely catching sight of you at the inn on Friday. Even if his appointment with Vera ran long yesterday, he expected you to stop by in the evening as you are prone to doing. But there has been no sight of you. The heat has come and gone, the shadows have danced across the ground until swallowing the world, and still no sight of you.

It’s not as though you two have a lot of history making plans—you come and go as you please—but the two times he has asked for you, you’ve been punctual. Hell, when last he asked you to stop by and talk about your commission, you were waiting in the rain before the shop even opened. It…

It shouldn’t bother him. He shouldn’t be bothered by your absence. (If anything, he should feel relieved). (If he is bothered, it’s only because he asked you to come and you agreed). The longer he ruminates, the more irate he grows, blaming it entirely on you because it’s your face he sees when his hammer makes contact and sparks fly.

Laughter rings out near the fountain and he looks up, catching the amethyst of Juniper’s hair as she leads Valen. They turn their heads toward the anvil and Valen offers a wave. As March nods in acknowledgment, Juniper adopts her usual haughty smile, heading down the steps toward the inn. If he concentrates, he thinks he can hear Balor and Hayden. Are you caught up with someone else in town, readying yourself to look at the stars with them?

Something ugly starts gnawing behind his sternum and he rolls his eyes. Footsteps approach from the woods, and he assumes it’s Olric with one last ditch effort to get him to watch the sky.

“I already told you, I’m not interested.”

“Oh, but Red,” he hears you say, making his heart pick up in his chest, prompting him to look over his shoulder, “I think you will be.”

You’re dressed in a thick cotton blouse and jeans, though they’re torn just above the knee. Blood stains the fabric and there are light scratches littering your forearms. Either you’ve done him the courtesy of hiding that rusted abomination, or you went into the mines unarmed. A flash of heat flares in his chest at the thought, and you smile knowingly, eyes twinkling in a way that promises nothing good.

“Where the hell have you been?” he asks, fist clenching around the handle of his hammer before releasing it, letting it clatter against the anvil as he turns around.

“Did you want to spend more time with me that much?” you tease, oblivious to the anger that must be radiating from him as you shuffle out of your sack, positioning it for easy access. He steps forward and your eyes flicker up, flitting across his face. The edge to your smile softens as you turn your eyes back down.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” you start, unexpectedly earnest. “I justified it by telling myself I wouldn’t be too long and that we never agreed on a time and…”

You’re rambling. You don’t ramble. Do… Is it that you feel bad for what could ostensibly be considered standing him up? (That makes it sound like a date, which this is very much not).

Deft fingers pull at the leather straps of your rucksack, pulling the flap to reveal the familiar sheen of silver.

“I found silver.” There’s pride in your voice and something that sounds almost conspiratorial. His anger begins to dissipate as you loosen the strings, letting him slip his hand inside to grab a piece.

Its weight is familiar, sitting differently in his hand than the copper or iron you’ve brought him thus far. It’s been over a year since he was able to work with silver. Rotating it in his hand, his thoughts drift to Josephine and Valen, to much needed silverware and medical supplies.

“You found silver.”

You beam at him, the same smile you shared with him when he first promised to do something about your sword, and the back of his knees start to feel weak.

“It’s all yours if you forgive me for being late.”

“Not a chance. It’s not like you know what to do with it otherwise,” he bites, not quite ready to free you from his ire. He hasn’t taught you how to work silver, but that lesson isn’t too far away.

Swiping the silver from his hand, you say, “I could give it to Balor with explicit instructions to sell it outside of Mistria.” A hollow threat if ever you’ve given one. With how much you insisted upon a silver sword, you wouldn’t relinquish it so quickly. “And what, you’re gonna make something for me if I gift it to you?”

“You wish,” he says, eyes narrowing. Truth is, he’s tired of the orders he’s been working on and he’d need to re-familiarize himself with silver before undertaking an order from Josephine or Valen. The silver you give him now will likely go to something you could use if only because he knows you’d be quick to bring more.

But you don’t need to know that.

(Even if he suspects that you already do).

“Yeah, sure,” you dismiss, bringing your bag to his work bench. He follows, watching as you unload your silver delivery until the bag is empty. Reaching into the front pocket, you pull out what he can only imagine to be food, wrapped in the butcher paper from the inn. Glancing at him as your fingers begin to pull at the wrapping, you ask, “You mind if I eat while we talk? I haven’t sat down since I got up this morning.”

“Would you stop if I told you I minded?”

Your fingers stop pulling at the tape, the hint of a smile disappearing before you bob your head. Guilt pulls at his throat, not expecting you to take his rhetorical question seriously.

“It’s fine! Eat if you’re hungry! Should’ve taken a break earlier.”

Without missing a beat, your finger slips under the tape to undo the wrapping, revealing a lobster roll. He watches as you tear the sandwich in half.

“Share with me?”

You pose it like it’s a non-issue, like you couldn’t care either way, but he has a feeling you do. As he prepares to turn you down—it’s your food and you just said you haven’t rested since you got up—his stomach growls, betraying him.

“... Fine.”

“It’s Reina’s, if that makes a difference.”

“It’s fine,” he says, taking the offered roll.

You follow his lead, coming to sit at the edge of the steps of the forge, arm’s distance from one another.

Just as he’s about to take a bite from the sandwich, you say, “So. About my sword…”

He closes his mouth, lowering his sandwich before looking at you. “You want it to be silver?”

“I do! I know what you’re gonna say: steel will last longer and work better. But silver’s great against monsters.”

Rolling his eyes, he sighs through his nose. Hunger wins out over the urge to rehash this argument, so he tells you, “Go ahead. Make your case while I finish.”

“I mean, what’s there to say? Silver weaponry always works better against monsters, and considering that’s all I’m using my sword for, I think it’s for the best. I don’t know if you’re aware, but the magic here is overwhelming. Silver just… cuts through it all. It’s not like I’m fighting people in Mistria, so silver will protect me just fine. Any other situation, hell yeah, I’d defer to you, but I’m gonna be a little pushy here. And before you even say it, I do trust you as a professional, but I’m asking that you trust me as a professional, too. You’re the best blacksmith I’ve seen, so I don’t want you to think that I’m discounting your opinion.”

Swallowing, he wants to suppress the heat that crawls up his neck. “I’m the only blacksmith you’ve seen.”

“In Mistria? Yeah,” you laugh. “If it makes you feel any better, you’re certainly my favorite.” Glimpsing in your direction shows your cheeky grin. “I could always commission you for a steel sword after we get the blast forge built?”

“I’ll charge extra.”

“Worth every tesserae.”

Outside of Balor, you’ve certainly the most experience with monsters (perhaps the only one with genuine experience). He’s unsure about all this magic talk, but he’s coming to trust your experience as an adventurer. As you eat, he weighs your words, eyes dancing across the scratch on your leg, the nicks across your arms.

“I’ll get started on your silver sword.”

“Thank you, Red,” you effuse, your smile audible.

The sincerity of your gratitude eats at him, making his skin tingle, and he can’t stand watching you. Beside him, you turn your face upward. It’s a moment before you nudge his shoulder. When he looks, your free hand is extended, pointed toward the sky.

“Hey, look.”

Stars shoot across the sky, vibrant against the backdrop of the cosmos, one right after the other. He’s mesmerized by the way they move, unable to look away.

“Did you know this was tonight?” Reverence drips from your tongue, so strong he wants to watch you instead (he doesn’t).

“Yeah, but it’s no big deal.” Even as he says it, he’s not so sure anymore. He never felt like he was missing much when he skipped this night every year for the last couple decades.

“Wow, they’re so clear here. I’d watch them when I was in the capital and sometimes at home, but they never looked like this.”

The urge to look at you grows, demanding his attention be torn from the sky and be placed upon you. Uncertainty grows at the revelation and he keeps his eyes trained on the sky, even if he’s otherwise focused on you. Even if he wants to meet your eyes when you turn to look at him.

“Did you ever hear about the legend surrounding tonight?”

“No. I… never cared about the festival.”

“... That’s fine. It’s just a story anyway.”

Something in his chest aches and it feels almost as though something is crawling under his skin at the thought of asking you to clarify, so he doesn’t. You’ll probably share it with him one day anyway.

Red Masterlist | Next ➥

#fields of mistria x farmer #fields of mistria x reader #march fom x farmer #fom march x farmer #march fom x reader #fom march x reader #march fields of mistria #fom.✒#red.✒#✒.ix writes #fom.📖

28 notes · View notes